#Sherlock did you blow up the living room again?

[221beloved]

Stormy Night

(Link to ao3)

"Quite stormy outside, isn't it?" John asked, pressing a scotch into Sherlock's hands.

They were standing in front of the living room window, looking out into the darkness.

"Well, just what the weather report predicted," Sherlock replied, leaning back into John's body.

The wind was whistling outside, rattling on windows and doors, and even the street lamps were swaying gently.

It had been windy all day, but the more the evening had progressed, the stronger the wind had become, developing into a full blown storm.

John hummed and wrapped his arms around Sherlock from behind, pressed his cheek against the other man's back.

"I like this," he murmured. "When it's rough outside, rainy or stormy, but you're inside, safe, warmed by fire and blankets. By loved ones..."

"And don't forget the drink," Sherlock chuckled. "It's warming from the inside."

He took a sip and John hummed in agreement, rubbing his cheek against the fabric of Sherlock's jacket.

"Let's go out there," Sherlock said suddenly.

At first John didn't realise what Sherlock meant, then he lifted his head, frowning.

"Did you listen to me at all?"

"Yes." The grin on Sherlock's face was obvious in his voice, his body was positively radiating energy. He gently loosened John's grip around him, emptied his scotch and went to fetch his coat.

John only stared at him, disbelieving.

"You want to go outside. Now. Now?"

Sherlock grinned at him, winding the blue scarf around his neck.

"Yes! When else? Come on John!"

He made the impression of an excited child, almost bouncing on the spot. John just couldn't deny him anything.

"Alright, alright." He shrugged into his own coat.

"And what do you plan to do out there? Now. In the dark, cold, stormy night? When everyone else is enjoying the warmth of their homes?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and grabbed John's hand.

"Oh come on. We'll just take a short walk. And afterwards you can enjoy your blessed warmth even more."

"You will have cold feet once we're back home. If we survive that storm, that is. And I know where you'll warm them."

"I can light the fire, if you want?" Sherlock skilfully ignored John’s comment about the cold feet.

"You little blackmailer!" John teased. Then he tilted his head thoughtfully.

"And you'll be big spoon tonight?"

Sherlock looked at him through narrowed eyes.

"Yes, okay,” he gave in. “But now come on."

John grinned triumphantly and followed Sherlock down the stairs.

Sherlock had to grip the front door with both hands to prevent it from banging against the wall once he opened it. He ushered John outside and closed it as gently as possible, then turned and hopped down the two steps onto the pavement.

John watched him, shaking his head. The wind was tousling Sherlock's curls violently, blowing through his clothes, and his coat was fluttering and swishing behind him.

Sherlock was standing there on the pavement, illuminated by the dim light of the swaying street lamps, looking absolutely dishevelled, and he was grinning broadly.

John stepped up to him, sneaked a hand into one of the large coat pockets.

"I thought you didn't like wind."

Sherlock cupped John's cheeks with his palms, which were surprisingly warm compared to the biting wind, and pulled him into a fierce kiss.

"I do like the wind," he grinned, his eyes all but glowing with happiness and excitement.

"I just don't like what it does to my hair."

John rolled his eyes but grinned.

"You are ridiculous, you know that?"

"I think you've told me that once or twice already."

“I’m in love with a madman!”

Sherlock was still grinning widely, but his smile was softening.

“You knew that already.”

And John couldn't resist to kiss him again. He had to admit, there was something to it. The wind tearing at their clothes as they held each other. Warm breath meeting cold skin, burning. Hot flesh caressing cool lips, warming them.

"Now," John panted when he pulled back eventually.

"Now that your hair is tousled, can we go back inside again?"

Sherlock pouted.

"Come on, let's at least go for a short walk, since we're outside anyway."

John grimaced. "You'll make tea then, too."

"Tell me again who's the blackmailer." Sherlock took John's hand and turned towards Regent's Park.

"Yes, I'll light the fire, make you tea and cuddle you to sleep tonight. Are you content with this?"

"Alright, I think it will make up for what you're forcing me to do. Barely, though."

"Such high demands," Sherlock teased. "Who spoiled you like this?"

"You only have yourself to blame," John grinned.

Sherlock would deny it if asked, but he was caring for John just as much as John cared for him.

"I love you," Sherlock whispered, the words barely reaching John's ears, before the wind carried them away, carried them out into the world, for only those who listened closely to hear.

And John was considerably warmer from the inside.

--

Please tell me if you want to be added or removed from the list!

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@quiscustodiet @willamholmeswatson @calaisreno

[fezwearingjellybananas]

Flufftober day 21: Bonfire

Here, have a very quickly written short untitled Barriscowest Sherlock Holmes AU snippet that, in a break from the usual, is in third person and it's Barry's go to tell a story:

Bart and Jenni were plotting.

They were huddled by the back door, talking to each other in the way small children did when they were trying to whisper and not very good at it yet.

Barry chuckled.

They both shrieked as he scooped them both up, squirming vigorously as he shuffled them around a little.

He was getting too old for this.

"Has everyone gone out to solve a mystery and left me with the little ones again?" he asked. "Now, that sounds familiar."

"Grampa!" Bart protested.

"Just like your parents," Barry chuckled. "I was forever trying to keep them from sneaking out after Grandma and Uncle Cisco when they were little. Aunt Nora too. I know all the tricks, young Bartholomew."

"We wasn't!" Jenni protested.

"Weren't," Barry corrected gently. "I have no doubt you two will be fine investigators one day, but you have to wait until you can outsmart me and sneak off."

"We wanna go!" Bart whined.

"Please, Grandpa?" Jenni asked.

"I think I'm going to have to put you down," Barry said.

He winced a little as his knees bent more than they wanted to.

"Now," he crouched in front of where they were both standing.

Bart wiped his nose on his hand and Barry tutted and pulled out his hanky to wipe him clean.

"I know you both love the stories already," Barry said. "There are parts no one wants to tell you yet, parts you won't understand until you're grown-ups, and parts we want to keep you safe from. Do you understand that?"

Little Bart shook his head, but Jenni- a few years older- looked like she was considering it.

"You can't go yet, because you might get hurt," Barry said, "and you being hurt would be the worst thing that could ever happen."

"Will Mama get hurt?" Jenni asked, suddenly nervous.

"No," Barry said. "Your mama went because she's a very good nurse, and she knows how to help if other people get hurt. They'll come home, they always do."

Jenni still looked nervous, and Bart confused, and Barry pulled them both into a hug.

Decades and he still didn't know how to comfort them when he had the same concerns.

"Why don't you both come and help me build the bonfire?" Barry asked.

They both nodded and Barry took their hands.

.

Baker Street didn't have a garden. Barry may have grown up in a reasonably sized town, but he and Eobard had lived near the outskirts, the Downs only just behind him, and before he'd lived near North Laine, crowded constantly, and easy enough he could run to the sea.

Moving to London had been rather a shock.

Dawn and Jeven hadn't left London, but they were further out the centre, and their little home came with a small garden for Jenni to run around.

And a little garden meant there was a little room for a bonfire.

"A little bonfire," Barry said. "We don't want to burn down the neighbour's houses, do we?"

Jenni giggled.

"What's it, Grampa?" Bart asked.

"For Guy Fawkes night," Barry said. "Bonfire night is one of my favourite nights."

"Why?" Jenni asked.

"Bonfire night is very important in Sussex, where I was born," Barry said. "Lots of places have marches where people dress up and carry torches and blow things up."

"Did you?" Jenni asked.

"I only watched," Barry said. "My uncle used to worry about me ever so much. But when I was a little older I took the train to Lewes with my friends and we somehow staggered all the way back to Brighton rather drun-"

Bart and Jenni blinked up at him.

"Maybe I'll tell you that when you're older," Barry said. "I used to go back, to meet my friends, after I had moved. My third year your grandmother and Uncle Cisco came with me and we were stood by the bonfire, the light from the flames flickering across your grandmother, the sparks in the air seeming to circle them both like halos, and I could wait no longer and I asked your grandmother to marry me."

He smiled fondly at the memory, at the look on Iris' face, at seeing her hand clutching Cisco's so tight, at the memory of looking at Cisco too, asking him to be part of Barry's life forever too.

"We had talked about it," Barry said. "The three of us. Uncle Cisco helped me choose a ring. And still I stumbled over my words so much your grandmother had to take over."

Bart still looked confused, but Jenni was smiling at the story.

"That is why it's one of my favourites," Barry said. "It was the day your grandmother agreed to be my best friend for the rest of our lives."

And Cisco. Bart and Jenni were young still, too young to understand, but Iris was talking about writing them a book that would have the whole truth in its pages.

"What other ones are your favourites?" Jenni asked.

"Our wedding day," Barry said. "Grandma will tell you about that, it did not go quite how I had hoped. The day your Aunt Nora was born, and Dawn and Don. And the days you two were born. There was a time where a life like this was not something I could ever dream of, and now I have you. I love you both so very much."

"I love you, Grandpa," Jenni said.

She scrambled to hug him and Bart rushed to join in too.

"Love you, Grampa!" he said.

"My beautiful girl and my beautiful boy," Barry said, nostalgia at the endearment he had used for Nora, for the twins, the endearment his mother had once used for him. "You are both so very loved. I hope that is the part that shines the most when you remember this."

[thefisherqueen]

All right, reading The Bruce-Partington Plans this evening! Two more stories after this and I've caught up with Letters from Watson :)

In the third week of November, in the year 1895, a dense yellow fog settled down upon London. From the Monday to the Thursday I doubt whether it was ever possible from our windows in Baker Street to see the loom of the opposite houses. It blows my mind how normal this kind of heavy, extremely unhealthy smog was in this time. Makes me wonder what in another 100 years people will have going like "You lived like that?!" (I hope it's parking lots and highways and office buildings)

But when, for the fourth time, after pushing back our chairs from breakfast we saw the greasy, heavy brown swirl still drifting past us and condensing in oily drops upon the window-panes, my comrade's impatient and active nature could endure this drab existence no longer. He paced restlessly about our sitting-room in a fever of suppressed energy, biting his nails, tapping the furniture, and chafing against inaction. Bored Sherlock Holmes, oddly cute

“Look out this window, Watson. See how the figures loom up, are dimly seen, and then blend once more into the cloud-bank. The thief or the murderer could roam London on such a day as the tiger does the jungle, unseen until he pounces, and then evident only to his victim.” Oh my, Doyle was really in his tiger fangirl fase when writing these last few stories

Well, well! What next?” said he. “Brother Mycroft is coming round.” “Why not?” I asked. “Why not? It is as if you met a tram-car coming down a country lane. Mycroft has his rails and he runs on them. We'll get to meet Mycroft again! :) Also, quite a funny image, Mycroft running on rails

You told me that he had some small office under the British government.” Holmes chuckled. “I did not know you quite so well in those days. One has to be discreet when one talks of high matters of state. You are right in thinking that he under the British government. You would also be right in a sense if you said that occasionally he is the British government.” And this was me thinking that the BBC series had sucked Mycroft being this whole goverment mastermind out of their thumb. So that's canon?:O

“Well, his position is unique. He has made it for himself. Nice parallel between the brothers here!

“There has been an inquest,” said I, “and a good many fresh facts have come out. Looked at more closely, I should certainly say that it was a curious case.” “Judging by its effect upon my brother, I should think it must be a most extraordinary one.” He snuggled down in his armchair. “Now, Watson, let us have the facts.” I just love this interaction. Holmes being all excited and trusting Watson to tell the important things to him :)

So the case is about a dead clerk that was found - murdered, in all likelihood - carrying some seriously important papers. Which he himself had stolen. And some of which were again stolen of him. Intriguing.

I'm hoping for some fun investigations in tunnels and along train tracks (I hope our men are careful)

If the papers were guarded with the same 'super secure' protective measures as the secret papers we've seen so far, they couldn't have been hard to steal

The actual official guardian of the papers is the famous government expert, Sir James Walter, whose decorations and sub-titles fill two lines of a book of reference. He has grown gray in the service, is a gentleman, a favoured guest in the most exalted houses, and, above all, a man whose patriotism is beyond suspicion. I already don't trust him. At least it's not a colonel?

“Has the fact been verified?” “Yes; his brother, Colonel Valentine Walter, has testified to his departure from Woolwich, and Admiral Sinclair to his arrival in London; so Sir James is no longer a direct factor in the problem.” But his brother is! Very suspicious

“Well, well!” said Holmes, shrugging his shoulders. “Come, Watson! And you, Lestrade, could you favour us with your company for an hour or two? Off they go!

It was one of my friend's most obvious weaknesses that he was impatient with less alert intelligences than his own. Savage, Watson

Watson, we have done all we can here. We need not trouble you any further, Mr. Lestrade. I think our investigations must now carry us to Woolwich.” No don't leave the creepy tunnels and train tracks yet :( I want more adventure

No theories yet. I can't figure out what Holmes means by points and curves and not wanting to investigate the train's carriages

“That should be helpful, Watson,” he remarked as we took our seats in the Woolwich train. “We certainly owe Brother Mycroft a debt for having introduced us to what promises to be a really very remarkable case.” It's 'we' and 'us'. They are so Together

“The end is dark to me also, but I have hold of one idea which may lead us far. The man met his death elsewhere, and his body was on the roof of a carriage.” That explains a lot: why there was a loud thud, why the clerk hadn't a ticket, and also why there was no blood on or near the tracks

The house of the famous official was a fine villa with green lawns stretching down to the Thames. As we reached it the fog was lifting, and a thin, watery sunshine was breaking through. A butler answered our ring. “Sir James, sir!” said he with solemn face. “Sir James died this morning.” Oh! There's a second murder victim?

“It was this horrible scandal,” said he. “My brother, Sir James, was a man of very sensitive honour, and he could not survive such an affair. It broke his heart." Ah, of course, no murder but the mysterious victorian Death by Sadness disease. If he really is dead. Btw, I don't trust the brother

I have a theory: mr. colonel learns of the top secret papers because likely his scientist brother can't keep his mouth shut, either convices his brother to take the papers home, or he steals his key and takes them himself. Anyway, Cadogan West catches them being all suspicious and impulsively (he was hot-headed) follows them to try to stop them. Which doesn't end well, he knows too much so he's murdered, and they place 7 of the papers upon his body so he can take the blame. Of course the brothers cover for each other

Arthur was the most single-minded, chivalrous, patriotic man upon earth. He would have cut his right hand off before he would sell a State secret confided to his keeping. It is absurd, impossible, preposterous to anyone who knew him.” Always trust the opinion of his fiancee. This young clerk was innocent

My friend's face grew graver still. “Anything else?” “He said that we were slack about such matters—that it would be easy for a traitor to get the plans.” Poor security. Why am I not surprised

“We were to go to the theatre. The fog was so thick that a cab was useless. We walked, and our way took us close to the office. Suddenly he darted away into the fog.” “Without a word?” “He gave an exclamation; that was all. Clearly no planned theft then.

“I'm afraid,” said Holmes, smiling, “that all the queen's horses and all the queen's men cannot avail in this matter.” He had spread out his big map of London and leaned eagerly over it. Holmes is a map nerd! Same, Holmes, same. Now the question: what clue did he find from the map?

All the long November evening I waited, filled with impatience for his return. At last, shortly after nine o'clock, there arrived a messenger with a note: Am dining at Goldini's Restaurant, Gloucester Road, Kensington. Please come at once and join me there. Bring with you a jemmy, a dark lantern, a chisel, and a revolver. Danger date! Love it. No clue what a dark lantern is

Try one of the proprietor's cigars. They are less poisonous than one would expect. That is not reassuring at all, Holmes

When I found that the leading international agent, who had just left London, lived in a row of houses which abutted upon the Underground, I was so pleased that you were a little astonished at my sudden frivolity.” So the colonel was innocent this time? Or did he still steal the papers, and then sell them to this agent?

We must bear in mind that Oberstein has gone to the Continent to dispose of his booty, but not with any idea of flight; for he had no reason to fear a warrant, and the idea of an amateur domiciliary visit would certainly never occur to him. Yet that is precisely what we are about to make.” “Could we not get a warrant and legalize it?” “Hardly on the evidence.” They are going to break in! Exciting!

He sprang up and shook me by the hand. “I knew you would not shrink at the last,” said he, and for a moment I saw something in his eyes which was nearer to tenderness than I had ever seen. The next instant he was his masterful, practical self once more. Awww :) Be gay, do crime, boys!

“A fairly complete record, Watson! If we could only get at the man at the other end!” He sat lost in thought, tapping his fingers on the table. Finally he sprang to his feet. Colonel! I haven't given up on my theory yet

I think we might drive round to the offices of the Daily Telegraph, and so bring a good day's work to a conclusion.” I guess that Holmes wants to lure the other accomplice out by placing a new message

But some of these days you'll go too far, and you'll find yourself and your friend in trouble.” “For England, home and beauty—eh, Watson? Holmes you flirt

“By George!” cried Lestrade. “If he answers that we've got him!” “That was my idea when I put it in. I think if you could both make it convenient to come with us about eight o'clock to Caulfield Gardens we might possibly get a little nearer to a solution.” We're nearing the conclusion :)

One of the most remarkable characteristics of Sherlock Holmes was his power of throwing his brain out of action and switching all his thoughts on to lighter things whenever he had convinced himself that he could no longer work to advantage. I remember that during the whole of that memorable day he lost himself in a monograph which he had undertaken upon the Polyphonic Motets of Lassus. For my own part I had none of this power of detachment, and the day, in consequence, appeared to be interminable. The great national importance of the issue, the suspense in high quarters, the direct nature of the experiment which we were trying—all combined to work upon my nerve. It was a relief to me when at last, after a light dinner, we set out upon our expedition. This is a wonderful bit of insight into their characters. Watson is anxiety-inclined. Holmes is able to switch that off to a perhaphs unsafe level - anxiety helps keeps you alive, after all, not good to not have it at all.

The man glared round him, staggered, and fell senseless upon the floor. With the shock, his broad-brimmed hat flew from his head, his cravat slipped sown from his lips, and there were the long light beard and the soft, handsome delicate features of Colonel Valentine Walter. The colonel again. I fucking knew it. Careful, Watson, if you can find more words for his beauty you might faint yourself

I did not murder him! I'm innocent! I only did nothing to prevent it and then did not call for help and then helped get rid of the body!

Some weeks afterwards I learned incidentally that my friend spent a day at Windsor, whence be returned with a remarkably fine emerald tie-pin. When I asked him if he had bought it, he answered that it was a present from a certain gracious lady in whose interests he had once been fortunate enough to carry out a small commission. Cadogan West's fiancee gave Holmes a present? That is so sweet

Another fun read. I couldn't care too much about the fate of those papers, but it was a good case. The yellow smog and trains and tunnels added a lot of atmosphere. And Holmes and Watson interacted very cute in this story

[laceandsilkhandkerchiefs]

My First Snzfic (N/ewsies)

I was informed that people would be interested in reading my, *ahem*, N/ewsies snzfic, so... here it is. I don’t really know where it came from, I just got possessed by the idea recently and... this is the result. It’s also the first snzfic I’ve actually worked up the courage to post here so... that’s an important milestone, right?

Please note that the characters here are aged-up slightly from canon (early 20s). This also takes place in my Modern College AU, which is honestly so far removed from the original source material that you don’t really need to know anything about N/ewsies to read this. It’s basically an original story, I just borrowed the character’s names and a bit of their personalities.

I think that’s everything so... enjoy! And feel free to let me know if you’d like to read more stories featuring these characters/in this universe, or if you have any other ideas you’d like to see me write. I’m open to inspiration.

When Katherine opened the door to her apartment, Jack was taken aback. The normally extremely put-together journalism major was clad in a sweatshirt and flannel pajama pants, her hair was piled into a messy bun on top of her head, and she wore a large pair of glasses. Perhaps most alarmingly of all, her eyes looked heavy with dark circles underneath, and unshed tears made them appear glassy and unfocused. Katherine's nose, too, looked like it had seen better days, flushed a deep red and clearly swollen.

"Woah, Ace... you okay?" Jack asked as she stepped aside so he could enter.

"Mby whole he-hhh-head itches," she replied stuffily, pressing a crumpled tissue to her nose as her nostrils twitched wildly. Jack shut the door behind him and waited a moment to see if anything came of it, but the urge to sneeze seemed to back off as Katherine lowered the tissue with an exasperated sigh. "I hate this."

Jack frowned sympathetically. "Yeah, I hear ya. Allergy season's been bad so far, Crutchie's got it even worse than you."

"Poor guy," Katherine murmured. "Although I don't see h-hehhh... uhhHHHH- UHHchiew! Hngxt-chew! Ugh, sorry. Snf. I don't see how that's possible."

"Trust me, it ain't pretty." Jack shook his head, then held up the plastic bag he was carrying. "I got the medicine ya asked for. Ask me, though, you should get somethin' stronger from ya doctor."

Katherine shook her head. "I did, years ago, but it made me so drowsy it was impossible for me to work. This doesn't fix all my symptoms, but it at least takes care of the sne- ehhhh- AHH-gnxgt! The sndeezing. Snf."

"Bless ya." Jack handed her the bag, which she took gratefully. "Well, here's hopin' it does the trick."

Katherine nodded, reaching into the bag and pulling out the small box which contained the nasal spray she swore by. Swiping at her relentlessly dripping nose, she gestured to the side table in her living room, upon which sat a box of tissues. "Sorry, cand you hand me a couple tidssues? I ndeed to blow mby ndose before I take this." Snf- snf! "Ugh."

"Sure." Jack obliged, grabbing the box and pulling out a couple tissues which Katherine accepted gratefully. Steepling her hands around her nose, she let forth a productive sounding blow, causing Jack to wince in sympathy. She must really feel miserable.

Katherine aggressively rubbed at her nose with the tissues when she was done, her breath hitching and her head tilting back as she inadvertently coaxed more sneezes forward.

"Hah- ah- ahhh- AHschngxt! Ngxt-shiew! Da-hhh- damnit... Hihhhh..."

"Don't hold 'em back, it'll just make ya have ta start all over again," Jack advised, earning a watery glare from Katherine as she geared up for another round. She did listen to him, however, as she convulsed forward into the tissues with a fit of surprisingly loud unstifled sneezes.

"Ihhhh- ISCHIEW! Aaaa- aHHHH- A'kSCHIEW! K'SCHIEW! Heh- ESCHIEW! Hahhhhh... snf... ahhhHHH- AH'gschiew! Guh..."

"Jeez, Ace, bless ya. You really weren't kiddin' on the phone, huh?"

"Obviously not, Sherlock," Katherine grumbled, pushing her glasses back up onto the bridge of her nose. She took advantage of the momentary respite and pried open the box, taking out the spray without bothering to read the instructions. She was something of an old hand at this.

Inserting the nozzle of the bottle into each of her still twitching nostrils, Katherine sighed in relief as the cooling spray calmed her inflamed nasal passages. The tickle she had been fighting all day began to dissipate, and she gave an experimental sniff before smiling at Jack.

"Thanks, Cowboy. Sorry about... all that."

Jack waved her off. "Don't worry about it, Kath. 'S what friends are for, right? Plus now I can go tell Crutchie he's gonna have ta step up his game. He's got serious competition now."

Katherine shook her head, wiping her nose with the tissues as she spoke. "You're an idiot, Jack Kelly."

[are-we-really-doing-this]

Tagged by @bl33ditout THANK YOU SO MUCH, I’ve been wanting to do one of these again

Rules: Shuffle your library and list 10 songs and tag 10 people (this is from my liked songs of all time which is currently at 1,455 flat)

1. I Wonder Why - Dion and the Belmonts (fucking catchy and I like his weird little sounds)

2. Heridas - aNeurisma (obscure Chilean “Aggro Metal” band goes hard, lowkey)

3. Self Esteem - Offspring (I like the Offspring, they’re kooky and dorky and know how to write a hook)

4. Possum Kingdom - Toadies (what the hell is this song about, I don’t care, it’s hot and scary and also incredibly lame but in a good way)

5. Rocket Man - Elton John (started sobbing during his biopic on Thanksgiving and went into the garage and very intensely tuned my old guitar, good fucking song)

6. Blind - Korn (been getting back into the music video for this, thinking about if I should get an eyebrow piercing)

7. La Danza - Il Volo (I already said, I fuck with the opera, seen them three times live, fantastic)

8. How Did You Love - Shinedown (not my favorite Shinedown song but they play it on the radio down here a lot and it’s still good, forever pissed I could’ve seen them live this year but I was too hungover to get out of my hotel room)

9. Not In Blood, But In Bond - Hans Zimmer (okay, this is just the song with that sexy violin riff from Sherlock Holmes when the pier blows up, I’m a sucker for a good soundtrack)

10. Epitaph - King Crimson (best song ever written, would marry it if it was a person even though it’d probably retreat into art and religion then murder me and eat my heart in catharsis)

@tache-noire @c0unterfe1t @3dollarbillyalls @downtherabbitholewithlucy @secret-slipknot-thirst-account @lauraleshauntedmp3 @himbos-hotline @teeboyswaggins @dysphorie @ao3userglitchesaintshit If y’all wanna, I just had to put 10 names, sorry if this was annoying or if you’ve already been tagged.

[geeoharee]

Theatre again tonight! Nearly thwarted by the 41 bus, should have known better, that is a terrible route.

Saw a version of Valley Of Fear in a tiny tiny theatre in my old home town. The room's more like a school hall than anything and I went through my usual half-an-act of not being able to look directly at the actors' faces because I was sat too close. But that has nothing to do with whether it was good or not.

It was, I think! At first I thought Watson was being mis-used - he had the most painful-looking limp I've ever seen on a Watson and was doing mainly comic relief stuff, so I was worried they weren't going to fully use him. But then they got into the case (executed by interleaving scenes of the American flashback with scenes of the investigation at Birlstone Manor - everyone playing several characters and moving around the chairs and suitcases that they had for props) and yeah that was just my usual 'Oh No Is Watson Being Wrong Done By' nerves, he was fine.

-- Oh, I just remembered the thing they got horribly wrong here! I don't want it to sound like I was just being horrible about his leg. Yeah, it's the scene where Holmes and Watson and the cop are all in a carriage going to the Manor and Watson has got a bag of sweets from somewhere and is eating them, then Holmes starts maliciously describing the effects of blowing someone's head off with a shotgun and Watson puts his sweet back in the bag. Watson was a med student and then he was a soldier. I would be amazed if it's possible to gross him out at ALL, and a bit of blood and brains certainly isn't going to do it. Anyway, back to the review --

Actually they made some really interesting points about VALL being 'the other Moriarty case'. They stated it was 1895 but also it was 'three years since Watson got married' (What are dates! We just don't know) which allowed for some sneaky "Several times in the last three years, I thought about telling you..." that Moriarty existed. Watson is somewhat put out that Holmes has been fighting a criminal mastermind who explicitly threatened John and Mary and has not, like, mentioned it. Watson threatens to quit, actually. Which means Holmes says '...well if it's our final adventure', with stifled laughter from some quadrants of the audience. And then you get a wonderfully tense 'you can get the train back to London if you want' moment except he even says 'back to Mary'. I like this writer, I really do.

Oh yeah the threat. This was a new bit (Moriarty doesn't have lines in VALL. Okay, he has one.) which I felt was SUPER effective. Holmes says, actually, I did meet this mysterious reclusive murderer once.

Watson: Where was I?! Holmes: [pointed] On your honeymoon.

And then we get the flashback, which is Holmes at an art exhibition (Watson scoffs at this! someone did their reading!), when he's joined in front of a painting (both of them staring out into the audience - Holmes does a lot of that when he's thinking, too, which I really liked) by a softly spoken gentleman with an Irish accent. They make idle conversation for a bit about the painter, who was unhappy. Drank too much. Lived on a clifftop and liked to paint the sea. Like this painting of the sea, which is beautiful, isn't it? The critics thought it was a mistake. The light's coming from two angles. The sun's over there. But he only painted what he saw, the bright stars in the sea, the reflected sparkles of the other light.

"It was his house burning down. And his best friend was killed, and his best friend's wife, too. If only he had looked the other way."

I would NEVER encourage people to give Moriarty more lines, god knows he takes up enough space in the public image of Sherlock Holmes, he turns up in stories he isn't bloody in, but I thought that was marvellous given that it's not really clear why he's in VALL in the first place and if he HAS to be, he might as well be goddamn scary.

Anyway, everyone knows the rest. "I am Birdy Edwards!" was done very well, I thought. The actor who plays Holmes had to be Baldwin because if you make him Edwards it poses logistical problems. And it really got me thinking, I almost want to re-read VALL and see if the parallels they drew are actually there, because Douglas's "death" - Holmes taking one look at his wife and realising she isn't grieving - I mean, that's suggestive. That might give a certain kind of mind an idea about the pre-requisites for successfully faking one's death.

(For god's sake, they have Holmes complaining that Watson snores, and set up a thing about him dozing off on stake-outs to get away with it. I really, really like this writer. And the actor playing Holmes flitted and spun and flung himself on the floor with the best of them. I really want that frock-coat he had on.)

[sweettoothedtrickster13]

A Second Look Chapter 5

Tags: Female Sherlock Holmes, Elementary, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Season 1 Episode 12- M.

Warnings: None

Summary: When a case touches a nerve, Sherlock spirals.

Notes: Whew. So I hate watching this episode, and actually the next one too bc I hate seeing Sherlock so broken. But it's also a really important episode, so I figured I'd write it. Hope you enjoy!

AO3 Portal

Sherlock had been happily watching some of her bees buzz for some time when Watson comes down the stairs. “What are the bees doing in here,” Watson asks.

“Buzzing,” Sherlock provides.

“No, I mean what are they doing inside. Why aren’t they on the roof with the other bees?” Watson stops next to her.

“I’m seeing how the indoor temperature suits them. Our six weeks together are very nearly up, Watson,” she says as she stands. “In a matter of days, your room will be vacant. I’m very seriously considering turning it into an apiary. Finally the space will serve a purpose.”

“You say the nicest things,” Watson says as she moves behind her. “The end of our companionship is actually what I wanted to talk about,” she notes. 

“Do tell.”

“When I’m wrapping up with a client, I like to carry out exit protocols,” Watson continues.

“Sounds ominous.”

“No, we just need to talk.”

Sherlock pauses. Talking. That sounds ominous, as well. “It’s time I tell you Watson, you place far too much emphasis on talking. Most of what humans say to one another is communicated haptically,” she explains, gesturing to her body and looking at Watson. “When I think of the many thousands of words you have wasted during your time here-”

“And yet there was one sentence that if I had never spoken we wouldn’t have realized we were soulmates,” Watson says. “Just because we won’t be companions anymore doesn’t mean we don’t have to see each other anymore. I explained that to you during the Purcell case.” Watson’s voice turns soft.

“Keeping that in mind, we don’t really have to do the ‘exit protocols’ now, do we?”

“It will be the end of our companionship. I want to get that formally over with so when I move to my next client, we can start with a clean slate.”

“Consider the slate clean.”

“That’s not how this works. So, we’ll have dinner and talk, out loud, and discuss my six weeks here and reflect on your progress.”

“Reflections are for mirrors. If you’d like, you can just give me a report card.”

“Sherlock.” Sherlock waits, but Watson doesn’t continue to talk. She looks at her. “Don’t blow me off, ok? Just do this. For me.”

Sherlock’s phone rings and she picks it up, looking at the caller I.D. “Captain Gregson. How may I be of assistance,” she answers.

“Got a weird one for you.”

“Perfect. Address?”

“I’ll text it to you and brief you when you and Watson get here. Bye.”

Sherlock hangs up. “Come, Watson. A murder awaits.” She goes to her room and changes and meets Watson at the door and they hail a cab to get to the address Gregson had provided.

“The owner of the house is a CPA by the name of Ian Vickers,” Gregson says as he walks them in the door. “We’re pretty sure he’s also the victim.”

“By ‘pretty sure,’ you mean,” Sherlock prods.

“There’s no body. Just blood.”

Gregson stops at the edge of the living room and Sherlock takes a step to her left. She stares at the large pool of blood on the floor. Her own starts to roar in her ears as everything starts to rush through her mind. 

“Hey,” Watson’s voice breaks through, and Sherlock focuses again. “You ok?” She nods wordlessly.

“Aside from the blood,” Gregson continues, undeterred. “The scene is clean. No footprints, no witnesses, no nothing. Whoever did this, we don’t know the first thing about him.”

“He’s tall,” Sherlock remarks.

“Excuse me?”

“He’s tall. Strong, too. He’d have to be to hang his victims from a hook. Hook’s gone now, but it was once attached to a tripod device of the killer’s own design. He assembled it after he incapacitated Vickers, hung him upside down, and slit his throat. Gravity and the last few beats of his heart pushed every last ounce of blood from his body.”

“A tripod device,” Gregson asks, incredulous. “Look, Holmes, I know you’re good, but what the fuck are you talking about?”

“Here,” Sherlock says, crouching and pointing. “It’s from one of the legs. There are two more groove marks in the perimeter of the blood there and there,” she indicates. “After he’d completely drained Vickers, he dismantled the device taking it and the exsanguinated corpse of his victim with him.”

“Sherlock, how did you deduce all that from this pool of blood,” Watson asks.

“I didn’t deduce anything, actually,” Sherlock admits. “I’ve stalked this particular madman before. In London.”

“I’ll get the files from Scotland Yard sent to me,” Gregson says. “Come to the precinct tomorrow, I want a total debrief on what you know.”

“Certainly.”

She stands at the edge of the living room and watches the crime scene technicians process the scene.

The next morning, Watson drives them to the precinct. They walk into the bullpen, where Gregson had set up boards concerning the serial killer. “Now, Holmes has tailed this guy before,” Gregson says to the precinct as they settle into chairs and stand around. “That means she knows the most. I’ll have her tell us what she knows. Holmes?”

Sherlock walks to the boards and puts her back to them. “M,” she starts. “A simple moniker for a complicated monster. He is, without question, the most sinister taker of lives I have ever had the displeasure of pursuing,” she says. “He’s been active since January of 2002. During the last ten years, he has tallied a body count of thirty-seven. His image has never been captured. He is methodical. He is as efficient as he is clean. He also has no type or victim profile, which makes it almost impossible to predict when, where, or whom he might strike. His oldest victim in the U.K. was in her late eighties. His youngest a mere twelve.” She hears quiet sighs and gestures to areas of the boards as she talks. “He drains his victims of their blood and then dumps their bodies in the ocean. Bodies of twenty-one of his victims were recovered from the shoreline. The other sixteen were presumably carried out to sea. I wouldn’t be surprised if the body of his latest victim, Mr. Vickers, were to make an appearance on one of your beaches in the next few days.”

“I’ll call the Coast Guard, tell them to keep an eye out,” Bell says. 

“Yeah,” Gregson assents. 

“I trust that the lab has, by now, confirmed that the blood at the scene was Vickers’,” she asks Gregson.

“All twelve pints of it.”

More quiet noises of shock and revulsion. “M’s fascination with blood is as mysterious as the man himself. He mentions it in his correspondence with police,” she says, striding forward and picking up the stack of photos of the letters. “But only rarely,” she hands a stack to the nearest detective. She walks about the front of the room, handing out stacks for the detectives to pass among themselves. “You’ll notice he has a tendency to ramble. Do not be fooled. I have long suspected that M isn’t nearly as mad as he’d like to lead the authorities to believe. His letters are, in my humble estimation, a feint. An attempt to make everyone who would attempt to analyze him believe he is one thing when he is, in fact, vastly another. Finally, M tends to kill in bunches. So be prepared for more bodies to drop. I’ve brought my personal files on this killer to the station, and I’m arranging them for your consumption.”

“Alright, let’s get to work,” Gregson announces. Sherlock walks off to the side and the gathered detectives and officers start to murmur. She goes to the conference room where she had stacked her case files. 

“Hey. How are you doing,” Watson asks when she walks in behind her.

“Quite well. Why,” Sherlock questions as she starts to leaf through a pile of papers. 

“You seem oddly chipper.”

“I do?”

“And last night, at the crime scene. The way you were staring at the blood.”

“I was struck, I suppose. The moment I laid eyes on the scene, I knew who has done it. Not by name, of course, but by method and moniker.”

“And this morning?”

Sherlock looks at her and strides behind her, closing the door to the conference room to leave them in relative privacy. 

“Ten years ago, when M first started killing, I was an integral part of the investigation. By the time he had claimed his 36th life, however, my addiction was out of control. I was, I’m embarrassed to say, useless to Scotland Yard. Now, his appearance in the colonies is a second chance for me. To do what I should have done years ago- bring a ruthless killer to justice.”

Gregson opens the door. “Let me ask you a question,” he says, coming into the room. “This M. character. What was his awareness of you back in London?”

“He might have made reference to me in a letter or two. Why?”

“And his appearance in the States, in New York, so soon after you is, what, a coincidence?”

“I hadn’t given that much thought, Captain.”

“Maybe he knows you’re here.”

“Perhaps.”

Gregson sighs. “I’m posting a couple of unis outside your door until further notice.”

“Captain, that’s hardly necessary-”

“No arguments.” He sighs. “I’m not losing my soulmate if I can help it.” He smiles a little and turns. With his hand on the doorknob, he looks back. “The uniforms will be there whether you like it or not.” Sherlock follows him out after a moment and goes to the copier, feeding a paper into it.

“Well, I have an appointment soon but I’ll be back in a couple hours,” Watson says, following her. 

“I shall count the seconds until your return.”

“And when I get back, I’ll help you with the M files.”

“Actually, that won’t be necessary.”

“You need all the help you can get.”

“While I appreciate that, I’ve realized I’ve become too dependent on your assistance. Much as it pains me to admit, you’ve become a crutch, at least in part. I need to get used to working alone again.”

“You sure,” Watson asks gently.

“Positive,” Sherlock looks at her. “You go to your appointment, Watson. I shall keep you apprised of both my work and the progress of the case via email.”

Sherlock goes between the conference room and the bullpen, working the case. “Holmes,” Gregson calls, and she looks up. “Vickers washed up. Come on.”

Sherlock follows the man. Just as he described, the bloodless body of Ian Vickers is on the coastline with CSU technicians working around it. “No evidence,” Sherlock asks, already knowing the answer.

“No. Water must have washed it all away.” Gregson sighs. “This guy’s good.”

Sherlock doesn’t reply.

“Hey,” Gregson says, and she looks at him. “Don’t worry. We’ll get him.”

“Oh, of that I have no doubt, Captain,” she nods. 

Gregson looks a little taken aback. “And like I said, those unis will be posted at your door all night, just in case M tries to get at you.”

They stay with the corpse until it’s transported to the morgue, where Gregson leaves her alone after the autopsy. Sherlock texts Watson the details and where she is before she puts on gloves and examines the body closely. 

“Hey. I got your text,” Watson says when she walks in.

“Meet Ian Vickers,” Sherlock says. “Washed up on Roosevelt Island. Which narrows M’s dumpsite to the whole of east Manhattan.”

Watson walks to Vickers' head and examines it. “My money’s on the Brooklyn Navy Yard. Oil in the hair. There’s a high concentration of industrial oil in and around the Navy Yard. I donated to the cleanup effort a couple years ago.”

“Noted and informed Gregson.”

Sherlock walks to Vickers’ head and sniffs his hair. She runs her fingers through a section of it to more closely examine the oil both she and Watson had noticed. 

“I’m gonna miss this,” Watson admits quietly.

Sherlock looks up and raises an eyebrow.

“Well, not this,” Watson gestures to the body. “But…this,” she gestures between herself and Sherlock. Sherlock slowly straightens. “Working with you,” Watson shrugs. “I think what you do is amazing. I wanted to tell you that at our wrap-up dinner, but there’s looking to be less and less of a chance of that happening with everything that’s going on.” Sherlock stares at her for a moment. “I’ll wait outside. Give me a five-minute warning and I’ll call a cab.” Watson turns and walks out of the morgue.

Sherlock examines the body further, then texts Watson the requested five minutes before she’s done and they go home. 

“So given that it’s after 11, our delivery options are pretty limited,” Watson says while they walk in. Sherlock stops at the edge of her library. “There’s that Vietnamese place on 23rd, but I think you said it was a front for songbird smuggling.”

“Watson, I need you to be very, very quiet right now,” Sherlock requests.

“Why?”

“Because I believe our home has become a crime scene.”

Watson stops next to her and gasps when she sees the note. 

“I’ll call Gregson,” Watson says. Sherlock nods and they don’t move. “Gregson. You need to get to the brownstone. M’s been here. No, no blood. He left a note.”

Soon, Gregson comes with a veritable army of detectives, officers, and crime scene technicians. He stands next to Sherlock. When the all clear is sounded, Gregson picks up the note with gloved hands. “Men make plans, God laughs,” he starts to read the note that had been comprised of letters cut from magazines like a stereotypical ransom note. “I am laughing at you now, as I always have. You think you honor me with your pursuit, you do not.” Sherlock and Watson look at each other before returning their attention to Gregson. “You are a mouse chasing a lion, a mere planet in orbit of a raging sun,” he turns his attention to Sherlock as he reads the last few words. “You talk to Ellis and Hitch yet,” Gregson turns to Bell.

“They were parked out front all night, never saw anyone come near the door.”

“He came in the back,” Sherlock says. “The lock was picked, quite expertly if I might add.”

“I guess this answers the question if he knows you’re in New York or not.”

“My apologies, Captain. If I had any inkling that he might follow me-”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Gregson says, stepping in front of her and looking her in the eye. “He’s the twist, not you. This isn’t on you.” He puts his hand on her shoulder. “You two go pack a few things, I’m putting you both up in a safe house until we catch this guy.”

“Captain, all due respect, I hardly think that’s necessary.”

“Sherlock, a psychopathic serial killer with 37 notches in his belt is after you and was in your home!”

“If he wanted me dead, he would have lain in wait, not leave me some bombastic note.”

“Sherlock-”

“I’m as safe as houses here, Captain, I assure you. Put more uniforms at the back of the building if you want, those are the only two entrances into this apartment. But I am staying.”

“I’m not losing you,” Gregson says quietly.

“And you won’t. He wants the chase, wants me fully engaged. That’s all.”

Gregson shakes his head. “What about you, Ms. Watson? I’m sure you’ll feel safer somewhere else.”

“If Sherlock says we’re safe here, I believe her. And I go where she goes.” Gregson looks between the women, incredulous. But he shakes his head and stands at the edge of the library until everyone clears out. 

“Thank you very much,” Watson says as everyone leaves. “Good night.”

“Sherlock,” Gregson says when everyone else is gone, and walks towards her. “Are you sure you don’t want to leave?”

“Quite.”

“And I can’t keep someone in here?”

“I box, Captain. And I assure you, I have more than enough weapons to defend myself.”

“You have guns?”

“No. I do, however, own a singlestick.”

“A what?”

“A long stick, rather like the handle of a broom, that I can use to defend myself. It’s used to strike the opponent in the pate,” she gestures to her own. “I can take care of myself, Captain. Thank you for your concern.” Gregson sighs. 

“Goodnight, Sherlock. See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Captain,” Watson says.

“Night.” He leaves.

Sherlock goes to her computer and pulls up the website to the property she’s planning on.

“What’s that,” Watson asks from behind her.

“Another one of my father’s properties. I’m think of moving once we’re through.”

“Since when?”

“Since our home was violated by a madman.” Watson frowns.

“You told the Captain you weren’t worried.”

“I’m not. Just thinking ahead; my enemies are legion. The next one might leave more than a note.”

“Well, I’m going to bed. Night, Sherlock.”

“Goodnight, Watson.”

Sherlock listens for her footsteps to disappear before she retrieves her security camera and downloads the information on it. She pauses it on M’s face. She makes a few calls.

Sherlock gently closes the door behind her and walks into the kitchen to get some food. Watson is sitting at the kitchen table. “Care to explain this,” she holds up the photo of M. “I got it from a friend of yours. Teddy? No? What about this,” she continues, sliding the book she had hidden the camera in across the table towards her. “I looked around, I found three more. I can’t imagine how many I didn’t see. It’s funny, when I moved in, you didn’t mention your little security system.”

“This is my sanctum sanctorum. You didn’t expect me to leave it unguarded, did you,” Sherlock speaks at last.

“Is this M,” Watson demands, pushing her finger onto the picture. “You told a bunch of children to go to upscale hotels and look for him. Why?”

Sherlock approaches and picks up the photo. “Note the hands. Vintage MG driving gloves. Quite expensive. But not nearly as expensive as his John Varvatos shoes. M has money- that much is obvious. He’s also a recent addition to New York. Why did I assume he was in a hotel as opposed to a property he might own? Quite simple. There was a curious scent on his note. High-end hand soap and an even higher-end mint shampoo. Both products are used individually by various upscale hotels around the city, but only one chain, the Betancourt, stocks both. My lieutenants and I each staked out a Betancourt and watched for M.”

“Oh, very impressive. I want to know why you shared a photo of a known serial killer with a bunch of kids rather with the police precinct you belong to!”

Sherlock turns off the sink she had been planning on getting a glass of water from. She pauses but puts the glass down and turns, walking back to Watson. “Several weeks ago, you learned of the existence of a woman named Irene Adler. I told you she’d died.”

Watson looks shocked. “M killed her.”

“Obviously he realized the degree to which I was assisting Scotland Yard in the hunt to find him and he made it personal. As to why I’m withholding this information from the police is quite simple. I have no intention of letting him be captured. I have every intention of torturing and murdering him.”

Sherlock walks away. 

“What do you mean, you plan to torture and murder M,” Watson demands, following her.

“I hardly think I could be much clearer.”

“This isn’t a joke!”

“No. This is revenge.”

“How are you so calm,” Watson asks as Sherlock retrieves her kit.

“I’ll let you in on a secret. I’m not calm. I’m merely presenting a calm exterior. Inside I’m roiling. I have been dreaming about this moment for quite some time- one year, six months, twenty-two days. That’s when he killed her.”

“Irene.”

“We’d been together seven months by then,” Sherlock details, moving around the room and fetching various items. “I won’t bore you with the details of our courtship. Suffice it to say, I was quite smitten. Until that point in my life, I’d found most people quite boring. A means to a physiological end. Irene was different.”

“You were in love.”

Sherlock looks at her. “Prior to her murder, my drug use had been recreational. Something to do when I was bored or needed a boost during a particularly challenging investigation. After Irene, I lost control. I used various stimulants as I tried to help the authorities identify M. Once went several weeks without sleeping. When the trail went cold, I turned to opiates.”

“Look, I’m grateful to know the whole story,” Watson says. “But you’ve come a long way since London. I’m not going to let you risk it all by chasing down a psychopath.”

“I don’t think you understand, Watson. Without you, none of this would have been possible. Everything you’ve helped me do during the last 6 weeks- every meeting you dragged me to, every exercise you made me perform- everything has been in preparation for this moment. I’m not throwing away anything I’ve learned. I’m using it. I’m as clearheaded and focused as I ever have been. There’s a clarity to my thinking that’s…frightening.”

“I didn’t help you stay sober so you could become a murderer.”

“You didn’t realize that’s what you were doing. Nor did I, for that matter. Not until I walked in on that crime scene and saw M’s handiwork. I realized I’d been given a second chance.”

“Is that why you didn’t want me to help with the M files? You didn’t want me to see Irene’s name and figure out that you were up to something? I was the only one who could make that connection.”

“I’d hoped we would never have this conversation. I don’t want you to feel responsible for something I have to do.”

“You lied to me because you know what you’re planning to do is wrong.”

“If you’re considering following me, I strongly advise against it.” She doesn’t want to hurt Watson. But she will if she has to.

“I’m not gonna follow you.”

“Good.” Sherlock walks away. 

“But you know that I’ll call Captain Gregson.”

“Do what you feel you must, Watson. That’s what I’m doing.” She leaves.

Sherlock goes to Theodore. She taps his shoulder while he’s putting out the trash, making him whirl and exclaim in shock. “Theodore. Heard you met another one of my associates today. She said you had something for me.”

“Depends. You got something for me?”

She holds up an American hundred dollar bill. Theodore reaches for it but she pulls it out of reach. “Tell me.”

Theodore does.

Sherlock goes to the woman’s apartment and stands behind M. He’s watching a football game. “Oh, that’s a joke,” M exclaims. “He hardly touched him!”

“Arsenal fan,” she remarks, making him turn. “As if I didn’t have enough reasons to despise you.”

“You,” M sneers.

“Me. Baton,” she extends it, and knocks him out.

She goes to the woman. “I will cut you free, but only if you don’t look at me. If you’d please wait ten minutes, you can call the police. Do you understand?” The woman nods. “Alright then.” Sherlock cuts her free and the woman doesn’t turn. 

Sherlock drags M out and into the waiting car. She drives to the property. She hangs him up on the scaffold, suspending him by his hands tightly enough he doesn’t have a hope of getting away. She sits in a chair and waits. 

M stirs. He strains against the restraints, trying to pull himself out of them. Sherlock stands in front of him, and M laughs.

“Hope you don’t mind being hung right-side up. I know you prefer the opposite for your victims.”

M looks at the various weapons she had laid out. “Figured out where you’re gonna start yet,” he asks conversationally, as if they’re sharing a cup of tea.

“I have not,” Sherlock admits. “I had hoped to use the bees in some capacity, but then it occurred to me that you might be allergic. After all this trouble, I’d hate for our fun to be over so soon,” she smiles.

“That would be a pity. Bit surprised at you, though,” M cocks his head. “I thought you were more of a by-the-book sort of broad. Why here? Why not take me straight to the nick?”

“I think you know why,” Sherlock approaches him. 

“I think I don’t.”

“Irene.”

M pauses but shakes his head, frowns, and shrugs. 

“Pretending the name isn’t familiar to you will not make things any easier for you.”

M thinks more. “Addison?” He grins, tilting his head back. “No. Adler. Irene Adler. Got killed in her flat, Camden lock, about a year and a half ago. Sorry to disappoint you, love, but that wasn’t me.”

“Of course it wasn’t. It was probably the other blood-draining maniac with the tripod device, hmm?” 

“I was banged up in Brixton for six months. Got into a bit of a disagreement with a Man United fan. He was running around, slagging off the Arsenal. Didn’t paralyze him, just bashed him up a bit. And while I was doing the stretch, I read in the papers that the notorious ‘M’ had struck again. Imagine my surprise. But you disappoint me. And Scotland Yard, of course. Falling for that copycat so easily?” He chuckles. “Tell me. You and Ms. Adler, did you two shag? Because if you did, I would have paid a pretty penny to see that.” She restrains herself from throttling the man then and there.

“I must say, I’m a little disappointed in you,” Sherlock says. “I though you’d be a much better liar.”

“Haven’t lied yet.”

“Why would you, when you’re facing an agonizing death?”

“Ex-Royal Marine, love. Death’s an old friend.”

“Is he,” she asks, approaching him. “What about torture? Is he an old friend as well?” She pauses. “You made me a shambles of a woman,” she admits. “I’m going to return the favor.” She punches him in the ribs. Then the face. She walks away and hears M spit twice behind her.

“Anyone ever tell you that you punch like a woman,” he mocks.

“A woman did once. But she was much bigger than me.” M turns his head and spits blood again. “And the abductor of young girls she then used to turn a profit in the sex trade.” Sherlock shrugs. “So I didn’t really care about her opinion.”

Sherlock peruses her weapons.

“Well, you move quick. I drop my first body here, what, 72 hours ago? What’d you do, jump on a plane?”

“A plane from where,” Sherlock looks over her shoulder at him. M raises his eyebrows.

“Uh, London?”

“What made you think I’d gone back there?”

“What are you talking about, ‘gone back,’” M asks. “You trying to tell me you live here now?”

“You know very well where I live.”

“How would I know that?”

“Because you paid a visit there. Left me a note. Feigning amnesia will do you no good.”

“The brownstone was your place?” M shakes his head. “Something’s not right. I’m not what you think I am. I’m not a serial killer, love, I’m an assassin. I have an employer.” M must see Sherlock doesn’t believe him. “Look, I receive the names of everyone I kill for him. He pays me.”

“I already told you you’re a terrible liar, didn’t I?”

“Once again, I’m not lying. He sold me out. He never told me you was here.”

“Who didn’t?”

“My employer. The MO’s, the notes, all the serial killer bollocks, his idea!”

“Let’s pretend that I believe you,” Sherlock turns and leans against a table. “What was his motive for killing 37 people?”

“I don’t know, I never met the bloke. He sends me coded messages on me cell phone. It’s in my jacket. Have a look if you don’t believe me.”

Sherlock fetches it and looks through the messages. “This gobbledygook? Proves nothing.”

“Sebastian Moran, that’s my real name. Look me up! There was a trial, it was in the papers. You’ll see I was locked up when Adler was killed.” Sherlock types in Moran’s phone. “He talked about you, was obsessed. He never told me you was here and he sure as fuck didn’t tell me it was your flat I was breaking into. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s the one who killed your girl.”

Sherlock starts to shake. “No.”

“Don’t let him play you as well!”

“No. It’s you. Has to be.”

“You saw the article, didn’t you? I’m telling the bloody truth!” Sherlock just breathes. “You can kill me for all the others, but your girl? That was him. That was Moriarty. He’s the one you want, not me.”

Sherlock puts aside Moran’s phone. “I seem to recall you saying you weren’t afraid to die.”

“It’s not fear I’m feeling right now, love. It’s anger. Righteous anger. Moriarty sold me out, and I’m gonna get even.”

“You’re a monster. A sadist. A murderer.” She turns back to her weapons.

“All of that. But I’m not a liar. I didn’t kill your girl.” Sherlock starts to shake again.

“You killed her.”

“I never touched a hair on her head!”

“You killed her.” She picks up an ice pick and grabs Moran’s head, holding it up to his eye. 

“Moriarty said you was obsessed with puzzles. But he’s the greatest puzzle you’ll ever come across. You kill me now, you’ll be killing the best clue you’ll ever get.”

Sherlock lets go of his head and steps back.

“I knew you’d make the right decision,” Moran says. “You’re a rare thing in this world, Holmes. You’re an honorable woman.”

“A famous statistician once stated that while the individual man is an unsolvable puzzle, in the aggregate he becomes a mathematical certainty. You can, for example, never foretell what any one man can do, but you can with precision say what an average man will do.”

“You’re not average, though, are you Holmes?”

“Individuals vary. Percentages remain constant. I am not average, you’re right there Moran.”

She stabs him, making him scream. She backs away. Moran starts to laugh. “You made the right choice, Holmes. What do you want me to tell them?”

“Whatever you want.”

She releases him and drags him to the car, driving to the station with Moran laid out in the back seat, groaning. She pulls up to the station and drags Moran in. “This is M,” she announces to the bullpen. They’re swarmed and Moran’s stomach is wrapped in bandages. He’s cuffed and brought to Interview One. 

Gregson arrives and points at her. “Park it in my office.” Sherlock goes, sitting on the couch. She makes a call to Brixton.

Watson walks in. 

“You’re missing out on quite a story back there,” Watson says. She puts aside her coat and approaches her. “The stab wound he sustained? He claims he got it in a struggle, but I’m pretty sure if he had, there would have been more damage.” She drags a chair over and sits. “Looks more like he was stationary. Maybe even restrained. I used to be a surgeon, but I doubt I’d find a place to stab someone without actually doing any real harm.” Watson just looks at her, but Sherlock keeps looking straight ahead. “If that’s what you meant to do, I’m impressed. If you’re trying to make some sort of point-”

“He presumed to know me,” Sherlock cuts her off, looking at her at last. “He needed to be shown he did not.”

“He’s willing to confess to all the murders, but he won’t give you up.”

“He believes that he’s been wronged. He thinks I’m the best chance he has at bringing whoever wronged him to justice.”

“Are you planning on helping him? The man who killed Irene?”

“As a matter of fact, he did not.” She extends her phone, pulled up to the article. “He was incarcerated when she died. I confirmed it a short while ago.” She inhales. “I’m sorry that I lied to you, Watson. The last few days have been quite vexing. Even now I’m unsure I’ve done the right thing, allowing M to live. Strange, really. I’m rarely conflicted about my decisions. The beauty of deductive reasoning, I suppose. Makes a science of nearly everything. But not this.”

Watson stands and sits next to her. She lays a hand on Sherlock’s arm. “I’m going to miss this,” Sherlock whispers. “Maybe not this, but this,” she says, laying her hand on Watson’s and looking at her. “Working with you. I think what you do is amazing.” Watson presses against her side and lays her head on Sherlock’s shoulder. “I’m sorry our last days together had to go so poorly.” 

Gregson walks in, furious. He closes his door. “Moran might not be giving you up, but I knew what you did, Holmes. You’re done. Joan, take her home.”

They stand and go home. Sherlock goes to sleep on the couch. 

The sun eventually wakes Sherlock, and she turns and sees Watson on her phone, looking at something. “Watson, what is it,” she asks. She rolls off the couch and gets to her feet.

“I called your father last night. Given everything that’s happened, I recommended staying on a while longer.”

“And,” Sherlock asks, trying not to hope.

“He agreed.”

“I suppose the apiary will have to wait.” Sherlock walks to her evidence wall and takes everything down. When the wall is clear, she writes a single name on an index card and puts it up. She sits in a chair in front of it and looks up at it. Watson brings her tea and puts it on the floor next to her before silently sitting on the couch behind her. Sherlock sips and stares at the wall. 

[jazzandpizazz]

daily dose of granada holmes: ms. hudson is probably used to this by now…

october 26, 2022

[persephonescottage]

PONY | 17.

Pairing: Billy RussoxFem!Reader

Summary: Billy doesn’t like his new nickname.

Warning: References to sexual situations, swearing, obsessive thoughts. Although this chapter might not include it, this fic will include stalking, somnophilia, CNC (between two consenting adults), knife play, age gap, dub con, Stockholm syndrome, gaslighting and other triggers I will include as we go along, please only read if you’re 18+. If any of this warnings trigger you please don’t read.

A/N: So 3 parts? Yeah… it’s confusing I just made it chapter 17 whatever… so writing smut is weird for me be kind, I did not proof read this cause I just wrote 5k words and my brain is fried so I’ll come back later for corrections. Thanks bye.

You feel a brush of skin on your cheek and open your tired eyes to see a shadow standing next to your bed, brushing the hair our of your face.

“Oh goody.” You grumble “ You’re here.”

“You’re drunk again Pony.”

“No shit Sherlock.” 

You mumble rubbing your right eye slightly, you’re still a little too drunk to be polite and you shakily sit up and stare around the room trying to remember how you feel asleep and got to bed from the living room. 

That’s when you look up to him. 

He’s not wearing the mask.

The candle you lit before falling asleep is still on and it feels wrong to see him in anything but the darkness, even if the room is dim. It makes him more real.

“Blow the candle.” You demand refusing to meet his eyes.

He turns and does as you say and you’re so surprised at his sudden obedience that you almost snap another demand just to see what he’ll do.

“I need to take my dress off. I suppose you’re going to watch me, aren’t you?”

The alcohol is making you feel bold right now and you’re trying to forget about consequences or the threats he made you on the phone. Even the fear you usually feel swirling when he is around is muted, it’s like you could say or do anything, like vodka is you protective armor, when in reality it just makes you more vulnerable.

He leans against your closet door and watches you struggle with the back zipper of the stripped white and blue dress.

“Will you ever tell me your name?”

“I gave you a name.”

“Ok Birdy.” 

Finally you’re able to reach the zipper and start to pull it down as you straighten and look at the fabric pooling on you waist in victory, you speak again before he can even open his mouth.

“I do quite like calling you Birdy.”

“But it wouldn’t sound so good when you’re screaming it.” He taunts, his voice a little closer than it was before.

You look up to see he has stepped away from the door, now creeping through the darkness right next to your bed and the rays of moonlight that come through the sheer curtains let you see the contours of his face, the strong jaw, the dark hair, the pretty nose.

“You don’t think so? I bet I could make it sound good.” 

It looks like his entire body hardens and that makes you feel even bolder, you finish sliding the dress off your legs and climb up the bed wishing you had chosen a matching set of underwear this morning, and hoping the darkness makes the light yellow bralette and pale pink of your panties look at least similar.

He gets a good view of your ass but that’s the least of your concerns when you grab a pillow and you straddle it and the movement has your panties swallowed by your cheeks.

“Pony.” He growls his warning. 

the deep rumble of his voice has dampness gathering between your thighs already and you can’t help but think how unfair the physical effect his voice has on your body is, but how right now it’s really working for you.

You start grinding on the pillow, the soft satin of the pillow case making it easy to build up a rhythm as you tip your head back and moan his new nickname.

You squeak when you see his hand flying toward your face from the side of your eye. The alcohol sucked away all your reflexes and his quick hand grabs your now messy ponytail roughly.

Your back arches as he yanks your head back and you fall from the slippery pillow, from the side of your eye you can see the scar on his neck illuminated by a ray of moonlight coming from the window but your vision is blurry with tears forming in your eyes.

“I warned you.”

He is terrifying and he sounds pissed.

“What?” You breath out innocently.

He leans down and softly brushes his lips against your ear. You can feel small electric shocks where his tongue touches your skin in the most delicate way and you suck a sharp gasp as he licks your cheek, appalled by the reaction his body creates on yours.

“Sir.” He whispers against your ear “That’s the only way you may adress me tonight.”

He took all your breath away.

For a second you thought he might have given you back the soul he took from you, but if that have been the case, he might have snatched it right back with him again.

Danger.

You’re drunk and you don’t know this man who’s been stalking you and threatening you and now has you on all fours and half naked on your bed, you need to get away from him, you arch further on the bed unsuccessfully and he easily pulls you back to him from you hair.

“Oh so you’re gonna force me?”

“Force you?”

“Last time you drugged me, this time I’m drunk. Is it going to be you forcing your dick in my mouth tonight, to keep the oral sex theme going?” 

You spit at him narrowing your eyes. You can see his silhouette through the mirror on your vanity, he looks so tall and big.

“I thought about it, you deserve a punishment after the way you’re behaving-“

“The way I’m behav-?“

“I’m not done talking shut up!”

His voice is stern and loud but he is not yelling and you feel small, something tells you maybe you should shut up.

“I did think about it, as I was saying” he admits in a murmur “ I would love to see you swallow my cock tonight.”

There’s a but and in your drunken state you’re almost offended. 

How dare he.

He should be so lucky.

He’s supposed to be obsessed with you.

“But you’re still wasted and you’d vomit all over my dick the second it touched the back of your throat. I’m kinky Pony but not that kinky.”

And now you’re really offended.

“I would never!”

You try to get away from him but he reinforces his hold on your hair and keeps you still, his hand on your waist. Always forcing you, always remind you he is in charge.

He laughs, the sound is dark and cynical but somehow it sounds sweet, like you’re amusing him, like a man who has seen it all but you are the breath of fresh air he just discovered.

“Are you saying you want to do it?” He teases.

“No!” You scowl “You know what? You’re right! I would vomit, but not because I’m drunk, but because I would be so disgusted by it.”

The words spew from your mouth are uncensored and you can feel his grip become tighter on your hips and your mouth dries.

It sure is scary when he does that.

Well that’s it, you think, today is the day when he snaps, when he finally murders you, hurts you, kidnaps you. Your face will be in social media in seventy two hours and no one will care and you will die. 

All because you thought this man gave good head.

When the hand on your hip reaches for his zipper and slowly pulls it down you know you fucked up.

You just couldn’t keep your mouth shut couldn’t you?

You just could’t try on the dress and say thank you and go to the gala by yourself and come home by eight and have a cup of tea and go to work on Monday and live life normally.

You stare at his hand movements through the mirror as if he’s about to open a grenade.  He pops open the button on his pants and you can see him adjusting his clothes to release himself.

You’re still in front of him in all fours and the position won’t let you see him but suddenly you feel something warm touching the back of your thigh and if the darkness and the drunkenness haven’t affected your sense of dimension, it’s not small.

Fuck.

Fine.

Okay.

It feels pretty big and you start to feel anxious at the though of his threat of choking you with it, because you could possibly die with this thing down your throat, but then again, would that be the worst way to go? 

When your mouth is literally watering just thinking about the way it will feel against your tongue. 

Otherworldly probably.

Jesus you’re sick.

He starts to rubs his pre cum on the back of your thighs and your pussy clenches in response. You’ll never tell him how glorious he looks right now as he yanks you hair closer to him and he whispers in your ear again.

“I won’t let go of your hair, and you’re gonna turn around in all fours like a good little bitch, understood?”

You roll your eyes and he tugs on your hair as a warning before you nod in agreement.

Look who learned to be quiet for once.

You go slow, struggling with the pressure he has on your scalp as you move you palms in sync with your knees on the soft surface of the bed and your forehead touched the soft texture of a dark tie.

You look straight ahead.

It’s burgundy.

“Under no circumstances you are to make eye contact with me, understood?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

Another tug on your hair and an angry moan from you that he seems to enjoy a little too much.

“Yes sir.”

“Good girl, fast learners these librarians. Now where were we? Oh yeah, here.”

He holds his now fully erect cock in his hand and yanks your face closer until it’s touching your chin.

“You think you can handle it?”

“Yep.” Your voice is wobbly and your false bravado is slipping away with the vodka “But I gotta warn you. I’m a biter.”

You’re too busy staring at his cock to notice the smirk on his face, the tip sliding against your jaw and he starts to pump slowly, the veins bulging beneath his grip. Even swallowed in his large hand it looks intimidating.

“What are you doing?”

He slaps the head of his dick on your cheek in response, silencing you with a gasp and continues to pump when you realize he’s jacking off on your face and you start to struggle on his grip.

“Do I have to bound you?”

His hand tightens painfully and pain blooms along your scalp. Maybe you should stop moving around and accept it, maybe he’ll come quick if you don’t move. Maybe you should let your pussy know this isn’t sexy and you’re not getting fucked tonight.

“Let me go!”

He let’s go of his dick and his hand rushes to your face, squishing your cheeks painfully together, your teeth bitting into your sensitive flesh, but he doesn’t let up. 

The fear paralyzes you suddenly and finally terror takes away the remains of your drunken fog because he could easily kill you with his bare hands, his fingers are digging into your skin and tears start to roll down unchecked.

“Don’t give me that now, smart mouth. You’re going to swallow my cum like the fucking bad girl you’ve been and I don’t give a fuck if you don’t like it. I’ll give you something to really cry about.”

Tag list: @bxtchopolis | @wheresthesunshinesblog | @adriennebarnes | @restingbitchsblog | @sm2324 |@fruityfucker | @ruleroftides | @lilacs-lavender | @dragon-of-winterfell | @virginsvicide | | @spear-bearing-bi-witch | @iiirhiane-g | @simpforbuckyb | @snowkestrel | @fific7

[theresawritesstuff]

Sherlolly prompt: "I didn’t know you wore glasses and I’m thinking normal and platonic thoughts about you right now I swear" (I can message you a link to the actual list if you like!)

I'm sensing a childhood friends AU…

Sherlock never put much stock into religion. He may have once when he was younger but certainly not now that he was seventeen, practically a grown man. He'd be off to uni next year. Therefore he was far too sensible to buy into that sort of thing when science was clearly behind the changes in the atmospheric pressure.

However, when a windstorm knocked out the power across the street and landed his dear old friend Molly –who he definitely did not fancy thank you very much, Mum– in his home to bunk on the pullout couch, the actions of a higher power may not have seemed quite so ludicrous.

"Thanks again for letting us stay here, Mrs. Holmes," Molly said as she settled overnight bag on the living room floor.

"Oh it's no trouble, dear! Make yourself at home. Sherlock can show you where we keep the extra towels in case you need them," his mother assured her.

"Same place they've been since we were six," Sherlock told her, earning him a pinch in reprimand from his mother.

"Cheeky boy," his mother chided. "Now then. Don't forget it's still a school night for the both of you."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Yes, Mum."

His mother nodded satisfactorily, leaving the two of them alone.

"So…did you finish your chem homework?" Molly asked after a moment, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Psh. Of course. So easy," Sherlock blustered.

Molly looked down shyly. "Oh. Yeah… I'm still stuck on the last formula on the second page."

"There was a second page?"

"Nothing you can't handle, I'm sure," Molly teased.

Sherlock pushed aside the funny feeling in his gut as she smiled up at him. 

There was no reason for him to get all funny just because Molly was sleeping over.

In his house.

On his old sheets…

"Okay well I'm going to get changed," Molly said, holding her pajamas and toiletries.

How long had he been just staring?

"Sure." Sherlock nodded, letting her go.

After a few minutes, he found himself knocking on the door to the guest bath.

"Hey, Molls?" he ventured. "I was thinking…Maybe we could work on that homework together. I could make popcorn."

The door to the bathroom opened and out stepped Molly clad in an oversized t-shirt and flannel pants, her hair braided to the side. 

And glasses perched on her delicate nose, framing her brown eyes like works of art. A color study of earthen hues.

"Sounds fun!" Molly chirped, finishing the elastics in her hair.

Sherlock blinked, mouth agape, feeling like his brain was short circuiting for yet a second time this evening, getting uncomfortably stuck on a little tidbit on librarian fantasies he'd heard about…

"Everything okay? Do I have something on my face?" Molly wondered self consciously.

"Fine! I didn’t know you wore glasses and I was just thinking normal and platonic thoughts about you right now I swear," Sherlock blurted. "I'll go make that popcorn now."

"Okaaay…" Molly watched him practically run down the hall towards the kitchen and away from her. "That was weird."

Sherlock's father paused in the hall to avoid colliding with his son. He glanced after the blue that had been Sherlock, then back at Molly.

"Nice specks Molly. New?"

"Got them last month. Contacts are still easier for lab goggles though."

Mr. Holmes chuckled. "Sure. What's Sherlock doing?"

"He said something about popcorn?" Molly ventured. "We were going to study together." 

Mr. Holmes nodded. "Very good. Well you go on ahead. I'm going to just check in the kitchen and remind my son about a little chat we once had about um…study etiquette."

And after several more minutes Sherlock and Molly found themselves on the couch, their chemistry books between them, the storm blowing outside.

And Sherlock may have realized his mother might not have been entirely wrong in her deductions about his heart.

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Cult Girl (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 7

Sorry this took so long y'all. This chapter was difficult to write. Hannibal invites Theresa for dinner and y/n finally confronts her.

Trigger warning: mentions of suicide, child sex abuse; graphic descriptions of violence; confronting an abuser; body-shaming

The stitches in your cut hadn't even dissolved before Theresa intruded on your life again. Before you stormed out, Hannibal did in fact invite her to dinner. Polite society would rule the invitation null and void after that confrontation, but Theresa felt herself exempt from the laws of politeness. Like Evangelicals or craisins, Theresa loved to insert herself where she was clearly not wanted.

Of course, you were peeved at Hannibal for upholding the invitation when she called. But you could tell he had something planned. He was intrigued by her audacity and wanted to see how far it would take her. You couldn't begrudge him professional curiosity, as you too wondered what the fuck her problem was.

In truth, you saw what he did to your grandma, and you wanted to see him do it to Theresa. You wanted her subject to the same psychological torment that she put you through. And that, you realized, was why he honored that invitation. He wanted to vindicate you. And that was the sexiest damn thing you could possibly imagine.

Theresa showed up alone. That was her first mistake.

"Thank you for having me, Dr. Lecter." Theresa greeted, shedding her long coat and dropping it to the ground. "Will [F/N] be joining us?"

"[F/N] will most certainly be joining us." Hannibal said, his voice hardening. He noticed her coat in a pile on the floor and something in his head clicked.

"I hope I'm not overdressed." Theresa tossed her hair over her shoulders. 

She was. And you knew even before she showed up that she'd wear that green evening dress with the plunging neckline. It was the same one she wore to prom. She kept it as a memento all these years to memorialize the day she completely fucked you over. 

She was here to make history repeat itself. 

"Not all, Ms. [L/N]," Hannibal grinned, glancing at the staircase. "[F/N] is just touching up her makeup.”

“That sounds like [F/N].” Theresa laughed. “She always took the most time getting ready in the morning. And she was always the ugliest. It was quite sad, really.”  

Hannibal reminded himself what he had in store for Theresa before letting himself get angry. “If you could join me in the kitchen, I could use a little help with the appetizers.” 

Theresa took the bait and followed him through the threshold into the massive kitchen. 

“Could I trouble you for some psychological advice, Doctor Lecter?” She said, leaning against the island.

“That depends.” He answered, though the tone of his voice connoted a firm ‘no’. “Are you going to be honest with me?” 

Theresa mounted herself on top of the island and crossed her legs. “I’ve just been having quite a bit of trouble in my marriage.”

"Please get off my counter." Hannibal politely demanded. "I just sterilized it this morning."

“My husband just isn’t so excited by me anymore.” She pouted like a child. “He just doesn’t seem interested in... well, any of the things I have to offer him.” 

“Have you considered the possibility that you have nothing to offer?” You said. You approached them with purpose, the skirt of your purple dress fluttering behind you. Your favorite pair of strappy heels clacked against the tile and echoed through the room with every step. 

“[F/N] makes a valid point.” Hannibal agreed, taking you under his arm. “You’re an abusive narcissist, a serial adulterer, and you’re quite horrible at flirting. I certainly don’t understand what you could possibly have to offer.” 

“Nice to see you again, [F/N].” Theresa said, resigned to her defeat. “I didn’t want to say anything at the wedding, but you look like you’ve gained a few pounds.” 

You almost laughed. Growing up, Grandma had subjected you to every form of body-shaming known to man. Nothing Theresa could say would have any effect on you. 

“Really? Because I’ve never felt better in my life.” You smiled, knowing it to be true. “Hannibal is an amazing cook. You’d probably gain weight too if you were eating so well.” 

"Well, I have appearances to keep up." She refuted. "Gideon and I both have very busy schedules. Besides, he finds the kitchen more of a woman's domain."

"Unfortunate for you." Hannibal threw a dish towel over his shoulder and picked up a wine bottle by the neck. He kept his hands busy by pouring three glasses of wine. "That Gideon does not put in the time to keep you well-fed and fulfilled. Might I suggest not molesting children as a remedy?"

You snickered as he handed you a glass. You migrated to the dining table, where the trial was set to take place.

"Did you invite me here just to gang up on me?" Theresa leaned back in her chair. "Because if so, that's really mature."

"Of course not." You said, Hannibal pulling your chair out for you. You placed your napkin in your lap. "Well, maybe a little."

Theresa took a long sip of wine. "You're not going to get an apology if that's what you're after."

"Oh no." You shook your head. "I've stopped expecting basic human decency from you years ago."

"Good." Theresa huffed. "Since that's clearly what you want me to be, that's what I'll be."

"Don't give me that shit." You sighed. "I know what gaslighting is and you're not as good at it as you think."

"Y'know I never asked to be a parent figure to you and Anna." She crossed her arms.

"You may not have asked for it but you sure as hell enjoyed it." You countered, furrowing your brow. "Don't act like you weren't the dictator's right-hand man. You sucked up to grandma and always got preferential treatment."

"I was a kid." She shrugged. "You're really gonna blame me for the shit I did before my skull fully hardened?"

"Well, it exposes a way larger pattern of behavior." You explained. "You're a megalomaniac that wants power without responsibility. So you attach yourself to someone with power, probably another narcissist who's too self-involved to see what a leech you really are. It's what you did with grandma and it's what you're doing with Gideon."

Dressing Theresa down like that gave you a rush. It made you feel alive. But more importantly, it made her look small. It stripped her of her power.

"Well done, Sherlock." Theresa taunted. "But you're forgetting one thing. If I were a megalomaniac, why would I waste my time beating up on you? Some nobody with no power to speak of?"

"Because I'm a living reminder of your past." You narrowed your eyes. "I remind you that you can't just beat everyone into submission."

"Ladies," Hannibal interrupted, holding three bowls. He placed one in front of you, the savory broth enticing your nose. "This is pot-au-feu. It is a simple French stew made from beef, vegetables and potatoes. I added a marrow-bone for extra richness. It's the perfect combination of simplicity and substance."

You couldn't even wait for Hannibal to sit down. You'd been so hungry all day. Smelling the meat slowly braise over the course of the day was torturous. You went straight for the marrow, which was a recent favorite of yours.

Theresa picked the bone up between two fingers and dropped it onto the table, her face wrapped with disgust. "I think I'll pass. I'm not a dog."

"You are not." Hannibal said, spearing a piece of meat on his fork. "I find dogs much better company."

Theresa tented her fingers and glared at Hannibal. "So you're just going to let her rip into me? Aren't you supposed to be the professional here?"

"Don't discount [F/N]'s analysis just because she is a student." Hannibal glared back at her. "From what I know about you, she's dead on."

"Isn't this entire interaction a professional conflict of interest?" Theresa folded her arms. "I don't trust her to analyze me because she hates me."

Hannibal put his utensils down. Anger flashed across his face. "I don't think you quite understand what this interaction is. You are not owed an unbiased psychological profile, especially not from me. You are not my patient. You are [F/N]'s abuser."

Theresa narrowed her eyes and leaned over the table. "So if you understand that, why am I here?"

"You think very highly of your intelligence, Theresa." Hannibal glanced down at his dish. "Perhaps you can figure that one out yourself."

You coughed, narrowly avoiding choking on your food.

"Darling, please pace yourself." Hannibal instructed, though he seemed pleased with how enthusiastically you inhaled your meal. "You're going to make yourself sick if you eat too fast."

"I'm sorry." You said after taking a long sip of water. "I don't know why, I'm just so hungry today."

Hannibal dropped his eyebrows, looking worried. "Did you take your medicine this morning?"

"I think so." You nodded.

Theresa smiled and reached for her phone. The movement caught Hannibal's attention, and he could tell what she was up to right away.

"Theresa, it's very rude to text at the dinner table." He scolded, taking a sip of wine. "Surely, anything you're saying to your grandmother and Anna, you can say to us."

Theresa, too proud to back down, slipped her phone into her purse and met your eyes. "You're pregnant."

"Brilliant fucking deductive reasoning." You rolled your eyes. "A woman gains a little weight and has a healthy appetite? That's the only logical conclusion I would draw."

"Well, aren’t we defensive?" Theresa taunted. "Congratulations, by the way."

"Theresa, stop it." You gritted your teeth, trying not to convey how pissed you were.

"You're going to need to drop out of school to take care of the baby full time." Theresa sneered.

You knew exactly where she was taking this and you wanted more than anything to just disappear. You reached for the wine bottle and refilled your glass. "Shut up, Theresa. Shut the fuck up before you say something you'll regret."

Her face lit up from the satisfaction of finally making you angry. "And someday you'll blow your brains out just like your mother!"

This time, she would regret it. You chucked the empty wine bottle across the table. It hit her directly in the face with a deafening crunch before ricocheting off the table and shattering on the ground.

Theresa brought her finger to her nose, noticing the stream of blood trickling from her nostril. She stood up, stabilizing herself with the back of the chair.

"I didn't think you had it in you." She jabbed before collapsing to the ground.

You went silent, too afraid to look at Hannibal.

"For what it's worth, darling." Hannibal piped up. "I always knew that you did."

[amara-scott]

Old Friends

part two

Movie: Enola Holmes Characters: Sherlock Holmes x Reader Categories: Reunited Friends, cutesy, fun

you are reading part two | part one

It has been a few hours now that Sherlock and Mycroft were back home. Sherlock being the Private Investigator that he is started looking around, observing, reading and listening for any clues that his mother might have left before she disappeared. I could only admire him from afar, sipping my cup of tea with Miycrofft who keeps asking me numerous questions about Enola. Why not ask herself? She is a young woman already, perfectly smart and capable of talking herself and explaining her situation. 

“But why not a governess? That is the very least Mother could have done if she really valued her education.” Mycroft fusses and sips his tea, wincing slightly as it’s still quite hot. 

“I do not know, I only visited a few times, taught Enola history and-” “-history? But what exactly is it about history that is so important for Enola to know at her age? Or rather- at all.” He chuckles and shakes his head in disbelieve. 

It takes me a second longer to think of a reply because he leaves me stunned with his ignorance. But before I can say any witty remark Sherlock enters, making his appearance even more noticeable with a cough. He folds todays paper and takes a seat beside his brother on the couch opposite me. I gulp and blow some cooling air on my tea. 

“Will you be there tomorrow to help?” Sherlock asks and I lift my chin to glance at the brothers. I nod quickly.

“Yes, of course. If I can be of assistance, I will help gladly.” He smiles, giving me a nod. Our eyes lingering until Mycroft stands up abruptly.

“Well, it seems rather late now, why don’t I guide you to the door, (Y/N).” He stops by the couch I sit on and holds his hand out, a smile that does not reach his eyes adoring his face. I sigh, blinking back into reality and stand up, sending Sherlock a last smile before taking Mycrofts arm to be lead outside.

“I believe you will be walking or should we fetch you a ride?” He asks but I shake my head.

“No need, I will be indeed walking home. It is only a few minutes as is.” I turn toward him as he clears his throat, standing up straight, both his arms now behind his back as he looks at me. I glance around for a second, waiting for him to say what he wants to say. 

“Well, it was a pleasure, always is, (Y/N). We will notify you if we need your pair of eyes on the case or help with Enola. Have a peaceful night.” With a curt nod I hold back a confused frown.

“So, I shall not be back by tomorrow? Enola might benefit-” “Oh, don’t be silly now. We will take care of that. I found a the best place for her to get educated and she will be taken care of properly.” I raise a brow but don’t question it any further as I do not intend to listen to him ramble on about female education. 

“-But” I glance back over to Mycroft as he sends me a tight smile, holding out a hand to me. I hesitate, eyeing his flat fingers but in the end oblige, placing my warm once upon his cold skin. “-I think that I- well I would benefit from your visiting.” He eyes me, awaiting a response. But I am struck. Did he- intend to- 

He bows down and lifts my hand to kiss my knuckles briefly. My eyes grow wide, as wide as they’ve never grown. I pull my hand off of his’ as quickly as his lips leave my skin and hold it in my other one.

“Well, good night then.” I try a smile but can’t help and linger with wonder. I curtly turn and walk off, maybe a little too quickly than needed. I feel embarrassed but also amused. Mycroft would not be the type of man I would want to court. At my age I should be looking for a suitable husband but- at the same time, I don’t want to. Why should I? Why would I? I feel very content living by myself and not having to worry about looking proper or dressing accordingly or making tea and tending to my husbands needs. No way would I give up my freedom for a construct simply built by society. 

But at the same time- if there were to be a man I felt intrigued by, I don’t think I would want to wait get to marry him. That man surely would never and no way be Mycroft Holmes. 

___

Just a day after seeing the Holmes family I received a telegram with the notice of Enola going missing. 

I hurriedly make my way to their house and knock a couple times, Sherlock opening the door and I frown, he looks calm and collected.

“Sherlock, what is going on?”

“Well, come on in, (Y/N).” He smirks and steps aside, I gulp and glance down as I enter. “I hope you’re doing well today?”

At that I glance back up at him, he leads me to the living room and we sit down.

“I- I don’t know, I guess? Do you think Enola is looking for her mother?” He sighs, nodding, his eyes meeting mine again. I only realize how close we sit as one of his hands find my enterwined ones in my lap. His thumb caressing my skin.

“Don’t worry about her. We will find her, not to mention she is a smart girl, you made sure of that too.” His smile unlocks my own and I nod, placing one of my hands above his.

“Thank you, Sherlock.” I add quietly and we pull apart as Mycrofts cane indicates his arrival down the hall. I sit up straight, flattening out my dress. Sherlocks stands up and walks toward the window near the couch, glancing outside. It’s a grey and cloudy day. Nothing unusual for the time of the year.

“(Y/N), you’re here already, great.” He sends me a short smile before turning back to his brother. I listen in as they talk about Enola and their mother. Mycroft insisted on Sherlock looking into the cases and prioritizing their mother.

“She’s just a child, Mycroft.” It’s the first time Sherlock speaks back strongly today and I can’t help and admire his stern expression. “I will of course look for Enola before anything else. She’s our sister for goodness sake.” The both stand now, sharing a long look and when Mycroft realizes there’s no arguing with Sherlock he turns to me, pushing his cane down once.

“(Y/N), dear, would you mind accompanying me-“

“-actually, Mycroft, Sherlock and I were about to go look for Enola. I probably know her best between us three; as strange as that sounds, but I might have a few places in mind she could be spending time at.” His moustache twitches at me cutting him off and he swiftly turns.

“Well, what are you waiting for then?” He calls over his shoulder as he leaves the room, down the hall. I sigh once he’s out and turn to Sherlock, who is wearing an amused grin as he eyes me.

“What?” I ask, holding back a grin myself. I take a step toward him and take his arm, wrapping mine around it, guiding him out the front door.

“So, you are not interested to court my brother?” He asks, amusement still prominent on his face as well as in his voice. I hold back from rolling my eyes and make out how tall he is next to me despite my heeled shoes I decided to wear today.

“Mycroft? Really? I thought you knew me, detective.” I reply and send him a smile, he looks down at me as we walk, not really anywhere specific but just down the path leading up to their house.

“Well, anything can happen over the course of a few years.” I nod, agreeing my eyes back forward as I make out a squirrel running across the lawn.

“Precisely. But no one could change that much for me to change my view on them in that sense.”

We linger in a peaceful silence shortly after and I enjoy the birds chirping and wind blowing.

“Then let me- make a proposition.” We come to a stop near a small pond, ducks and their offsprings swimming and chatting.

“What would that be?” I turn to him, letting go of his arm even though I miss the feel of his jacket between my fingers.

“If you were willing, I would like to take you out. Perhaps another stroll around a park or maybe-“

“-I could cook us a meal and we can have a picnic?” I add excitedly. He smiles down at the ground, hands behind his back and that one curl falling forward in the process. It’s sitting rather delicately on the side, making him appear even more handsome if possible.

“What would your answer be to such proposition?” He raises a brow, no smile this time, just pure seriousness.

“I would feel honored, Sherlock. Truly.” I admit and feel my warm cheeks. They give me away and he smiles, taking a step closer and picking up on of my hands. He doesn’t break our eye contact for a second as he guides my hand to his soft lips and places a delicate kiss upon it. This time my skin tingles and I feel warm inside, not sure if his lips still touch my hand or if it is only the memory of his touch that I feel. I just know that I don’t want it to stop.

_________________________________

you read part two | part one

More Enola Holmes Imagines

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[d3monslust]

𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 - 𝐀.𝐃.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Only setting up traps for them , Andy didn't see any of this coming

𝐖𝐂 : 3,151

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: pregnancy, mentions of miscarriage & abusive relationships , cheating , manipulation , violence

𝐀/𝐍 : tumblr deleted the original and I thought for couple of minutes I haven’t backed it up to the point I had a panic attack :) also I worked really hard for this , any kind of interaction is appreciated!!

////////////////June 7th 2020\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Every story has a happy ending , where the villain gets defeated and the heroes win , but in eden , no one could recognize the corruption and the decent. Everyone hid their darkest and filthiest desires deep down inside them , in their abyss of their souls . Andy knew that , from first hand . He was still getting to know the place , the idle juveniles laying in the sandy beaches , the laughs of the middle aged men echoing through the thickness of the trees’ leaves . A literal paradise ... with no God .

Dolan had promised his wife to keep her safe, and eventually after his decadence , he was more fazed than anything . Their inseparable form could be made out from kilometers ago, their vivid and full of life auras leaving hints of sunshine from time to time . Winning the couple of the year and being stunned was not in their plans but the did not dodge it . Until Dolan started venturing at inexcusable bars , reciprocal pink lipstick decorating one side of his neck while he reclined next to his bond , mumbling about his ambiguous accomplishments. He had her to the point , Mariah felt overwhelmed. The weight of his nifty assets , the gravitas of his clumsy , yet anticipated acts made her scream and wince .

But Mariah David Dolan , did not intend on giving up so easily , only because her husband was demonstrating his incompetent self . Haphazardly, or not , the female found herself at Sherlock’s , who fasty evaluated and corrupted all of her nasty problems . Taken the right measurements, Mariah decided to treat themselves to a dinner , the brunette averting his gaze back from his laptop to his wife. “Did something happen ?” Mariah never cooked , even at special , “crowded” occasions , she wouldn’t lay a finger at the metallic kitchenware . “No . I just though about all the work you’re recently hooked with. A nice dinner with your wife would help you blow off some steam” smirking at the fit of the last words, she left Dolan alone, drowning in his intellectually safe thoughts.

The capriciousness of the vexing atmosphere made the couple exchange some absurd looks. With Andy being the always tired one, sexual intercourse was lost long ago . “Something you would like to say ?” “No .” She went for a debate , any sort of the key for relationships , communication. If that clink unraveled , there would be no sweet salvation for the married couple . “Well , I want to say something.” Andy whispered a silent “go on” as one of their housekeepers wiped off him some of the pasta’s sauce . “I’m pregnant .” the brunette almost choked at the hear , she couldn’t be . “What ?” voice so small , the trait of vulnerability showing .

The fraction made his stomach toss and turn with anticipation, his dreams for the unknown slowly falling apart . “I’m pregnant on the 3rd month .” eyes infested with fury , the blue like sea color dissipated. “And when were you planning on telling me , hm ? When the waters would broke ? Or when the bump would start to show ? Or when you couldn’t fucking miscarriage?” his excessive, painful words ventured to withhold her insurmountable fury . Unceremoniously, his unbeatable character almost took back his sharp words , the marvel Mariah always waited for could intervene their scold and corrupt his grudge . Albeit she had cried and prayed for that baby to come , her husband didn’t yearn it .

“Did you talk to the gynecologist? Can you ?” he stated chastely , reclining his tensed back to the chair . Who could envision Andy Dolan with a child ? The reluctance became vexing , the tension had to be dwindled if she wanted to keep that inexcusable -for him- child . “Yes . We ... discussed and he said that I cannot ... get rid of it .” her unconvincingly words passed from the one ear to the other . He abruptly threw his crystal glass at the respective wall , agitating the woman to run to clean the mess . The hot , ambiguous tears wetting her cheeks . “Cant you just love me ?” she mumbled , her fasty movements elicited a cut from the sharp glass . She hissed at the pain , she wanted to resemble the perfect , sincere , housewife Andy pleased . To conquer the theme , so as to stand next to him with all her lucid pride while clutching his right hand .

And the things became even worse , chaos consuming the island , darkness drowning the residents . But the worst was Andy’s behavior shift . The unintelligible man faltered and his intriguing about his serene family faded , woefully leaving only his malice and possession . Fighting with his own demons , his rigid and virile facade came and ended up resented . The 24-hour absence of the paternal figure made the child cope with egregious insults and quarrels . Curling up in her little bed , her hands covering the ears as not to listen his beloved parents . Was her the reason they fought every night ? And as the family withered , Andy prepared to hit with sweet and sour vengeance .

“Please ...” the woman begged , the tears blocking her already blurry vision . Fatigue in her system degenerating, she tried to refrain this , but Dolan’s wrath could not be avoided . “Please what , hm ? You had a fucking debt ! Look after that damned child . And I swear to god Mariah ^ if something had happened to my daughter!” he scolded . “Oh come on ! Stop acting like you care ! You never did ... you never cared about your family .” His intimidating methods would usually work , and if not he would try for the vicious skin-to-skin contact . Slapping her and looking her terribly weak silhouette, squirming and crying under him . She remained frigid , not wanting to get that answer , Mariah ran to the basement , advancing around the marble halls like a lost puppy . Andy rubbed his stressed temple , waiting for his own kind of wonder to come and take him from this type of hell . The paradise where demons are hidden .

Andy never wanted to become one of them. That vicious, hungry, creatures . Demons . The olds said that if somebody approached the North river he would see a little red creature . A graceful , gorgeous demon . That was bullshit , demons didn't exist , his friend Michael had told him , that poor man - he had taken the subject of claiming to be the Antichrist of the end times too thick . He ended up at an asylum - good man , sick brain . “What are you thinking ?” . God , or whoever , heard him sent him his guardian angel . The nifty woman was everything he wished for . A real living angel . And that chaste, naive flirt shifted into this; whatever that was.

“Nothing to be honest . But let’s not talk about me , hmmm ?” the girl nodded heartily . Y/N had found her person , the one she could trust and never receive betrayal , the one she could cry at and talk about her insurmountable problems . Their meeting was casual - one , two drinks exchanged , some additional winks and the saccharine act of sex to help Y/N realize her feelings. When she was with him , the blithe and sybarite feeling would bloom inside her , becoming as beautiful as a sanguine rose . She chuckled at his works , could describe him as selfless ? No . But to her ... yes . Her despondent self hid his abusive and possessive persona . For her eyes and only , Andy Dolan was a god , innocent and perfect . “I wanted to ask about ... the divorce ? When are you two signing it ?” he had to be astute and answer handily . But they answer was always the same “Oh sweetheart, don’t worry . Mariah is a bit pertinacious but I’ll persuade her , okay ?” and she would fall at the trap , again .

“You’re always answering the same !” maybe today she would revolt and fortunately leave the poisonous love of Andy’s . His eyes shone dangerously, he didn’t want to do this . “Y/N’s not like Mariah” he would remind himself , but the poor girl was sticking her nose almost everywhere . “Aren’t you pleased , hm ? I took you from that fucking clinic , I helped you withdraw and this is your thank you ? I’m disappointed in you , Y/N .” his esoteric character on sight again . His cogent and invidious words caused the sentient girl spill the salty water . The male disdaining to help or comfort . “You deserve this anyway .” she stumbled back , her apprehension increasing whilst seeing him standing up from the bed . That absurdity had to stop , but he had saved her and it was her time now .

As Andy returned home , and the futile try to persuade his wife about the divorce exhausted him , he found himself at his daughter’s room . Observing her sincere and innocent moves . “Daddy ?” “Yes , Baby ?” his far-fetched sweet talk made the two smile in sync . The blonde’s smile making daddy crack . “Can I tell you something?” Andy nodded , hoping the child wouldn’t have read any of his recreational messages . “Mommy told me the reason she doesn’t want you two to break up !” his eyes lit up at her appendix . Perhaps it was the money or the child but anyway - Andy had to know . “What’s that ?” patting his lap for the girl to sit , Hera made herself comfortable at the warmth of his legs . “She said that she won’t let you fool around with every individual who has two holess.” “She said what ?!?!” “Yes , yes but what did she mean when she said “every individual with two holes .” ?” “Not now , Hera .” he quickly placed the kid down , as she sulked at her daddy’s extraordinary behavior.

By the time Andy stated the predicament , Mariah had ruminated on her terms . She should have said this , fuck she really shouldn’t . Her dull and attention-seeking words pushed her husband’s last buttons . “Are you fucking braindead ? What was that you said to my daughter ?!” she knew where that debate would end up . Condescendingly , she wrapped her arms around his neck . Her touch-starved grating amusing his carnal urges . Not wanting to dwell on the situation , Andy let it happen . Her amorous posture , the well-med hair , how didn’t he feel it coming ? Her hands traveling at his shirt’s buttons while Andy’s fingers went for her top . Discarded clothing were soon decorating the floor of their kitchen . His greed for more would eat him up one day . And he waited - patiently and calmly for that day . Her tenuous dominance caused waking up his boredom. But his prurient mind , thought otherwise.

She licked his upper lip , Andy letting her tongue slip into his mouth . The sloppy kiss turning into something more passionate, more loving . “I’ve missed this .” she mumbled in between breaths , making a smirk plaster on Dolan’s face . “I’ve missed you .” he hushed her by kissing her , the loving , lingering kiss making butterflies fly in her stomach . “Andy ?” he groaned at the call , not wanting to eye roll , he approved the question and motivated to go on . “Do you love me ?” “Yes. Only you . And no one else . I know things are hard right now but I’ll make it up to you.”

Bare bodies tangled . Two bodies in one . His hips snapped viciously at hers , hand grabbing a harmful fist of hair . Abruptly pulling it back , making Mariah hiss at the sudden contact of pain . The persona she would only see , not even Y/N , the sadistic one . Her head touching his sweaty torso , the tears in her eyes strengthening his stamina . The coil in her stomach tightened and as the loved noticed it - his hands traveled between her puffy lips , toying with her little bud . “I’m .... im-” her muffled cries interrupting her . “I know baby . Cum , cum with me .” and the coil in her belly broke synchronized with his . The addicting feeling of euphoria engulfing them both . “You did so well .” his sugary words causing her pride to rise , awaking her love for him . Just like the old times . “I love you , Mariah .” she perched at his tight embrace , inhaling his intoxicating scent . “Mhm me too .” she had to savor the moment . Mariah didn’t know what could possibly find her tomorrow .

////////////////

And as Andy distanced himself from Y/N, he kept his promise and made up the tangle. At least everything that could be fixed . The insuperable bond they created was ineffable. The somnolent love , almost dead , rose back from the dead . His pernicious and arcane self opened at his therapist . The Dolans couldn’t be happier . Apathy no longer lived between them . No invidious implication wafting around the tensed atmosphere. Just some more scarce , anticipated details and Dolan would finally fall into blithely.

Andy planted the usual good morning kiss on his wife . Excusing himself for his aimless absence on lunch and venturing to the car . The fraction of 2 to months without seeing Y/N, made him tacit. Where was the power Dolan’s hold ? He couldn’t falter, not now. He would withhold and keep things conservative. His conscience screamed no , but he shut it off , not wanting to trust his instincts . Choosing the obliviousness.

Approaching her modern like house , the cars of topical police confused his comprehension. Incompetent to walk inside , albeit he promised not to care - a part which was got circumvented - some of his worry remained to Y/N . “Officer , is she okay ?” the concern in his eyes made the blue - dressed man doubt his accusation . “Sir , are you Mr.Dolan ?” the man let his white scribbling block down , paying full attention to the brunette . “In the flesh .” two more patrols approaching, no feeling of timidity in their eyes . His envision had to be mendacious . A prosaic one , more realistic. “Andy Dolan you are arrested for the murder of Y/N Y/L/N” his conception blurred, everything changing into automatic. His eyes caught the figure of his wife talking to another police man - she wouldn’t? Would she ?

Everything happened so quickly, the metal handcuffs were clutched onto his hand, the ignominious state making him sentient. He would go to prison and there was no denial in that . At least he would leave Eden .

/////////////// Now \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

He had learnt the news . Mariah was in all this . She had been informed about Andy’s illegal affair , not only with women but with drugs , too . On the one side, she had managed to plan her husband’s perfect suicide but the contradiction she received made her tentative. Therefore she visited the professionals . Sherlock’s beneficial - for both Mariah and him- and handily trap got Dolan arrested . They had planned everything, even the littlest detail . The plan was easy , yet complicated.

He would wake up at 7:15 a.m. as always . Head to the kitchen to make his morning coffee , catch up with Mariah who would accidentally leave the house . His phone would remind him about his last meeting with Y/N , where she would end up thing with him . Or what Mariah had decided to do for her . Y/N had left the island months ago when Mrs.Dolan appeared in her house and threatened to kill her and her soon-to-be-born child. As Andy would drive his way , Sherlock would leave his fingerprint everywhere , placing them carefully at the edges of the gun . Next step would be Y/N’s doppelgänger, nice and murdered next to the white rug .

-

The unbearable route of the dull prison . The thousand of men behind the metal bars , hungry for every kind of fight and sexual intercourse nettled his every atom . Compelling himself not to communicate with anyone , Andy , who had received a life imprisonment lost and the last bit of faith . There was no salvation for him , it never existed . “You have a letter .” the word taking him out of his dwelling thoughts. His family never sent him letters , not that they were coming . Drugs were forbidden, or that was the law applied . “Sender ?” “Unknown .” Andy wasn’t in the mood for playing games . This almost one years in prison erased all of his lenient future. Additionally, alleviating his last mendacious fantasies about life .

Taking the rigid piece of paper , the handwriting of a woman caught his attention . Refraining himself from toring it apart and throwing it to the trash can , he want for abstinence. Cutting the edges with a small knife which used to hide right down his pillow , the form a photo fall on the floor . Inhaling a piece of pure reluctance , Andy took the shiny piece of paper between his hands . The silhouettes of two girls laughing at each other quirked his eye brow . But her ineffable and disheveled beauty stopped his breath . A baby adjoining her side , made him caught the implication . The transparent eligibility to join this family causing him to incandescent. That was his child and his Y/N .

Last thing , eyes traveling at the bottom of the photo

- SHOT WITH NIKON 456 | 6/4/2021 | 7:56 p.m.

And they were alive .

////////////////////////////////////////

Tag list ; @ferndolan @brooklinn13 @lavenderahs @mllxngdonswife @kitty4860

If anyone wants to be removed or added just say it lol

[y0itsbri]

gallavich week 2021 - day 7 - meet ugly

thank you to @ianandmickeygallavich for the inspo // @gallavichthings

Prompt: Ian and Mickey are neighbors in an apartment complex. They haven’t ever interacted, but one day they get stuck the elevator. One of them doesn’t like confined spaces but doesn’t share this so the other one assumes he is freaking out for no reason.

Words: 3.5k

--

"I'm going out tonight, dickbreath!" Mandy announced, popping her head out of the bathroom. She was wearing a short sequined dress, fitted tightly to her body and only halfway zipped up so it slipped part way down her shoulders.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't!" Mickey called from his recliner in the living room with an Old Style in hand. Work has been absolutely kicking his ass this week and he wanted nothing more than a chill night in.

"Oh, c'mon, now that's no fun. You don't do anything," she accused.

"That's not true!" Mickey grumbled, remote in hand and flicking past some news channels onto some good shit -- finally. Rerun of Jurassic Park.

"What're your plans for the evening then, hot shot?" Mandy teased as she applied yet another layer of mascara on her already blackened eyelashes, "Dinosaur movies all night?"

"Might go to the corner store for some smokes."

"Please get something to eat while you're at it. We have like nothing in here." She waltzed to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door and grimaced. He could admit that a grocery run was, in fact, long overdue.

"Yeah, yeah."

"Serious, Mick." Mandy gave him the look. The Look being the same Look that his mother used to give him when he was being a little shit.

Fine. "Got it. I'll eat something." She smiled at that.

"Thank youuu," Mandy dragged the word out as she leaned over to kiss his forehead.

"Gross."

"Ditto. Zip me up?"

--

Mandy had headed out awhile ago -- long enough ago that Mickey was now halfway through his second 'dinosaur movie.' He should really visit his dinosaur guy again soon, he's probably got some cool new shit. Mickey sighed and got up, idling over to the kitchen.

He downed a full glass of water and opened the fridge. Yeah, unless he wanted to eat a pickle with ketchup and beer, he needed to go out. He debated ordering in, but he needed to go to the corner store anyways. Two birds one stone kind of situation.

Mickey threw on his favorite pair of sweatpants and his Davie Bowie tee shirt with the sleeves cut off. It was a good shirt. Mickey thought Bowie was hot -- fuckin' alien-looking, but hot, nonetheless.

Mickey shoved his wallet and phone in his pockets and locked up his apartment. Maybe Ernie would have the good roast beef sandwiches today.

His thoughts about dinner plans subsided as he noticed the guy waiting for the elevator.

Mickey had seen the ginger around. He was hard to miss -- fuckin' tall, always going out for runs early in the morning in short shorts and coming back all sweaty, always had a million fucking people coming and going from his apartment. They lived on opposite ends of the hall, but Mickey had never actually spoken to him before.

Mandy had given her brother lots of shit for acting so goddamn unapproachable and that's why he has no friends. Mickey didn't want to be friends with everyone, but he wouldn't mind spending some time with the hot red-head down the hall... eventually.

But he was waiting for the elevator with him right now. He couldn't bring himself to make eye contact in fear that it would lead to small talk which would then lead Mickey to inevitably embarrass himself. He couldn't blow his shot. Mandy did the small talk, not him. He took out his phone and scrolled through Instagram even though none of the photos were loading.

He hardly looked up when the elevator arrived and he stepped into it, leaving plenty of space between the two of them. Maybe it was an unreasonable amount of space, but it still wasn't enough for Mickey. He could still smell the guy's cologne. And it was infuriatingly attractive.

"Ground floor?" The man's voice practically sent heat down Mickey's spine. This was going to be a long ride.

"Uh, yeah." Nice, Mick. Not embarrassing at all.

"Great." It hung in the air, a tinge of awkwardness to it.

Out of the corner of his eye Mickey could see the the man leaning against the elevator wall, crossing his ankles as he not-so-subtly stared Mickey's direction.

Mickey was running out of things to check on the his phone and he was about to give in and finally make eye contact when he felt a shift. Then an ungodly clanging of metal. And a stop.

Fuck.

He glanced up at the dial. Sure enough they were stopped between floors, and not at all near the ground.

"The fuck?"

"What?" The red-head locked confused eyes with Mickey's.

"We're stopped. Why the fuck are we stopped?"

"Hm," The guy poked around at the open doors button and nothing happened. "I don't know."

All hopes of positive small talk was out the window as Mickey went into full panic mode. He did not like small, confined spaces -- which happened to be exactly what his current predicament entailed.

"You open the doors!" Mickey practically shrieked.

"Why me!?" The attractive guy spit back.

"You work out and shit -- do I look like I could pry those fuckers apart?"

"Well..." The red-head took a moment to size up Mickey's smaller form. "Yes, you do actually- but these doors are heavy as fuck. We don't have like super strength."

"Fuck you."

"Uh, fuck me!?"

"Yeah, fuck you. Not even tryin' and now we're both going to fuckin' die in here. Any last words, Red?"

He rolled his eyes. "We're not going to die. Don't you think you're being a little dramatic?"

"Don't you think you're being a little too calm considering we're stuck?"

"Oh. You're freaking out."

"No shit I'm freaking out, Sherlock." Mickey ran his hands down his face. This was not fucking happening to him right now.

"Hey, take deep breaths."

"Can't. Gonna die." Mickey gasped.

"Well, if you can't breathe, you're definitely going to pass out."

Mickey shot him panicked eyes.

"Hey, hey it's okay. Just look at me."

Mickey could do that.

"Copy me. In-" He inhaled, chest expanding.

"Out-" Mickey felt his breath on his face. In any circumstance, a stranger breathing on him would warrant a punch in the gut, but now it was more grounding than anything else. They repeated that motion a few times.

"Good. See, you can breath."

"What are you? A fuckin' doctor?" Mickey huffed a laugh in disbelief.

"Been to enough," he chuckled.

"Huh?"

"Never mind. But, uh- look, see, I'll hit the emergency button and someone will come get us soon. It'll be okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm positive. Got stuck in one of these with my sister when I was little, kinda scary at first but we were out in practically no time. She sang to me to pass the time, but I take it you don't want me to sing to you?"

That earned a full-bellied laugh from Mickey, "Not yet."

The man grinned goofily like a golden retriever.

They were silent for a moment.

"So, uh, what's your name?" The red-head asked, gazing curiously at Mickey.

Mickey just stared back at him.

"Your name?" He repeated gently.

"Mickey."

"Mickey," He said it so soft like a prayer. "I like it. I'm Ian."

He had no idea what he expected, but it wasn't Ian. Ian was fitting, though. Ian was good.

--

Ian had hit the emergency button a few times for good measure while Mickey had tried to call Mandy to no success. They settled onto the floor, leaning against opposite walls, feet nearly colliding in the center. Neither made a move to completely avoid that.

After Mickey had calmed down a bit, they fell into bouts of comfortable conversation and comfortable silence.

"I thought you just hated me." Ian mumbled after a bit.

"What I hate is being trapped here." Mickey stared at the walls threatening to enclose around them. He closed his eyes so he didn't start to panic again.

"Even before this."

"Oh?" That was news to Mickey. That was never his intent.

"Yeah, I always see you around, but you never seem to see me." Ian looked to the ground when he said it.

"I've seen ya plenty. You're the dork with the short ass shorts."

Ian smirked, "I guess I am."

"Hard to miss, man."

"You too. I've wanted to say hi for like months, but you always looked like you were ready to snap me in half or something. I kinda like my limbs in tact."

Mickey swiped his thumb against his nose and sniffed, embarrassed, "Sister says I scare everyone away. Used to be a good thing."

"Sister... wait, wait, wait, hold up. You're Mandy's brother, aren't you?"

"You know Mandy? Oh god, you're not banging her, are you?" That would throw a wrench in his plans.

"Oh god, no!" Ian threw his hands up in a mock surrender like that was the most repulsive thing he's ever heard.

"Something wrong with my sister?" Mickey grew defensive. She may be a lot to handle at times, but she was still his sister.

"No, no, she's great! 'm just not into... well, uh- I'm- let's just say that if you had a brother, maybe I'd be banging him." He grimaced.

Watching Ian stumble over his words after being so confident about everything else was a bit amusing.

"Oh -- cool." Mickey wasn't used to such obvious disclosures about sexuality with strangers.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Mickey avoided all eye contact.

"So?"

Ian paused until Mickey was able to look at him again.

"So, what?"

"Do you have any brothers?" A playful flicker in Ian's eyes made it obvious that he was just being a little shit now.

"You're an idiot."

"Maybe so, but that doesn't answer my question still."

"Yeah, I have brothers, but they'd uh- let's just say definitely not be into that."

"And you're... not not into that?"

Mickey rolled his eyes. His lack of denial was basically a confession and they both knew it.

Ian smirked and knocked the toes of their shoes together.

--

Help announced itself to be coming soon over the tiny intercom embedded in the elevator. Sometime shortly after that, Ian had made his way over to the wall next to Mickey's, rather than across.

"Where were you going tonight?" Ian asked, turning to fully face Mickey.

"Nowhere." Nowhere interesting at least.

"Really? So you just take an elevator down to nowhere?"

"Alright, smart ass, I needed to get dinner. Gonna be a late dinner now that's for sure, fuckin' starving."

"Shit."

"What about you? Got a hot date or something?" Mickey eyed him up and down. Ian's outfit wasn't fancy by any means, but he still looked damn good in it.

"Oh, I wish," he winked, "Just going on a walk to clear my head. But this is working just as well."

"Good for you, man. My head is fuller than ever."

"What're you thinking about?" Ian's heavy breath practically bounced off his face. His gaze flickered to Ian's pouting lips. This was ridiculous.

Kissing you. Kissing you. Kissing you. "Nothing."

"Riiiight." Ian's eyes mimicked the same trail that Mickey's had just followed.

"Yup."

Ian scooted closer to Mickey and he swore his heart was beating so loud that even Ian could hear it. If he could, he made no indication. Instead, he eyed Mickey's hand resting on the floor. Gently, careful not to spook him, he caressed Mickey's fingers, nearing his tattooed knuckles.

Mickey fought the urge to yank his hand away. No one ever touched him so delicately, so sweetly. He figured that Ian would have guessed that, seeing his crude tattoos, but he wasn't acting like this was strange. So Mickey let him.

"Fuckin' hate them." Mickey murmured, watching Ian's fingertips tracing over the back of his hand.

Ian frowned.

"The tattoos."

"They're you. I'm sure they have a story."

"Wish I could forget it."

"If it makes you feel any better, I have a pair of tits on my shoulder."

"Ex-fucking-cuse me?!" Mickey pictured literal tits growing out of the man's back.

"Here, look," Ian turned, pulling his shirt up, revealing an insanely toned and insanely freckled back. Surely he was not about to be flashed in an elevator. But sure enough, tattooed on his shoulder was a pair of double-D's.

"Shit! Dude, what the fuck is up with that?" Mickey laughed.

Yeah, this made him feel better. At least he didn't have fucking titties tattooed on his knuckles, though he was sure someone in his family must have something like that. They're fucking idiots like that. Like Ian, apparently. But Ian was good.

"It was supposed to be my mom." Ian winced, pulling his shirt back down to cover it again.

"Mom must've been a banger." Mickey joked, still hardly containing his laughter.

"Ugh," Ian groaned dramatically. "Never gonna live that one down."

He threw his hands back on the ground, near Mickey's but not touching this time.

Experimentally and slowly, so slowly, Mickey hooked his fingers with Ian's and rubbed his thumb against Ian's hand. It was calloused, but so soft. It was a movement so gentle he hardly recognized himself, completely contradictory to the message literally written across his hands.

He was practically holding hands with a man in an elevator. Oh, if dear dad could see him now.

Moving out of his hell house with Mandy had been a good step, but it had taken Mickey years to unlearn his self-hate, allow himself to be. He still wasn't perfect, and he still felt years behind. But with Ian, it felt normal. It felt right and warm.

Right then, he felt the elevator shift again. He tightened his grip on Ian's hand. Ian returned the hold. If he was going to die, at least he wasn't going to die alone.

Mickey realized that they weren't falling down, but rather moving upwards.

They released their hands and leapt up to their feet as the door dinged open, revealing a small staff of maintenance personnel, not looking at all concerned that two men had just been trapped inside for an unspecified amount of time.

"Fuckin' finally!" Mickey ran out. He resisted the urge to drop to the floor and kiss the ground. He was dramatic, but he wasn't that dramatic.

Ian thanked the maintenance people then hurried along beside Mickey. They weren't on their floor, but they sure as hell weren't about to take the elevator again after all that.

"Hey, Mickey, wanna come back to my place? I think I still have some leftover lasagna if you're still hungry."

Mickey checked the time. Yeah, Ernie's place was definitely closed by now. Plus he really did just want to go back to Ian's. He glanced up to see Ian in almost full puppy-dog eyes. The dork was needlessly persuasive, he'd give him that.

"Yeah, sure. I could eat." He grinned like an idiot.

Ian nodded his head towards the stairwell, holding the door open for Mickey, who obediently followed up the steps.

--

Ian's apartment wasn't too different than Mickey and Mandy's, mirrored and maybe smaller, but it looked oddly inviting and definitely way more lived in -- almost too much décor and family photos hung up around the space.

"Uh, make yourself comfortable," Ian called as he rummaged through the cabinets, grabbing a couple plates to reheat some food for Mickey and himself.

Mickey was no stranger to feigning confidence in unfamiliar locations, but this felt different, more genuine. He actually respected Ian, the man having been kind and patient with him in a less than ideal situation.

He sat himself on the barstool at Ian's countertop and watched him. The gorgeous man who he had been eyeing in secret for months, who had helped him through a small panic attack, who had held his hand and traced his tattoos like they were art. Like Mickey was art.

"So, Bowie, huh?" Ian leaned against the counter, waiting out the timer on the microwave.

"What?"

"Your shirt," he pointed, and Mickey looked down.

"Oh, yeah. He's cool as fuck. Dope music."

"Got great hair, too."

"You would think so."

"Self-love, baby."

"Good for you." But there was no edge in his voice.

Ian smiled. The microwave beeped and they settled in, eating together with nothing but the awkward clanging of silverware and chewing. Mickey was too fucking starving and too fucking tired to care about formalities to give a shit at this point.

"Bet you didn't think you'd spend your night eating lasagna with a David Bowie look-alike, huh?" Ian teased over a mouthful of pasta.

"You wish, man."

"Hey, it's at least a little true."

"Yeah, you're both fuckin' aliens."

"Maybe so, but at least we're hot."

They both smiled around their forks, glancing over at each other a little too frequently with nothing but fondness.

--

Ian collected their plates when they were done, taking them over to the sink to wash them later. Mickey got up and followed him into the center of the kitchen, still sipping on his beer before setting it on the counter to his right.

In a move that shocked Ian, and even himself, Mickey moved into Ian's space and pressed his chest against Ian's back. He wrapped his arms around Ian's waist, feeling up the plains and softness of his stomach, feeling his breath hitch and his heart beat faster. Mickey's warm breath bounced off of Ian's neck and back onto his own face.

Ian sighed and placed his hands over Mickey's again. He leaned his head back onto Mickey's shoulder for a moment before wiggling free from Mickey's grip enough to turn around and face him, carding one of his hands through Mickey's dark hair.

"Mickey." He said it so soft. With so much admiration. Mickey couldn't take it anymore. He leaned up and pulled Ian's head down so they were the same height.

"Fuck, c'mere," he murmured, lips practically touching Ian's with the words.

Ian pressed their lips together. For all his gentle touches throughout the night, his kiss was anything but. Like he needed him to breathe.

Ian pushed him backwards towards the living room, stumbling over each others' feet in the process. Mickey greedily pulled down on Ian's neck, desperate not to let him go. Ian smiled into it and dropped backwards onto the couch cushions, pulling Mickey on top of him, making out like dumb teenagers.

--

Eventually, they settled and Mickey rested his head on Ian's chest while Ian rubbed his back and head comfortingly. Truthfully, he was beginning to panic a bit. He hadn't liked anyone in awhile, and Ian was very hard to not like.

"Are you good?"

Fuckin' mind reader.

"I don't know." Smooth, Mick.

"You don't know what?" Ian probed gently.

Mickey sighed, "How to do this," he answered honestly. There was no point in lying to Ian.

Ian kissed Mickey's forehead, "We can do this any way you want, alright? No rush, no pressure."

"Yeah?"

"Absolutely," Ian scratched Mickey's head for a moment, "I've been waiting for you for awhile, Mick, I'll wait for however long you want."

Mickey leaned into his touch and then kissed his shoulder, "I want you, this."

"Me too." They smiled into each other. Safe together.

--

Neither made a move to push things further for the night. Ian had flicked on the tv to the same channel Mickey had on earlier, the Jurassic Park marathon still playing. After whatever movie was on now, Mickey decided he should head home. He was utterly exhausted after the day, and as much as he liked Ian, he didn't want to pass out in the guy's apartment -- though he was sure Ian wouldn't mind at this point, kind bastard.

After Ian had pulled Mickey into one last embrace, Mickey wretched open Ian's door, only to come face to face with his sister, makeup smudged and heels in hand after her night out.

She gasped way louder than fucking necessary, "You slut!"

"Shut the fuck up," he grumbled pushing past her to head back to his own apartment.

"See ya later, Mick!" Ian called down the hall. Mickey didn't respond, but Ian took no offense. To be fair, he had just been caught red-handed by his very dramatic bitch of a sister.

Mandy grinned and looked between Mickey's retreating form and Ian's blushing face. "Oh my god, Ian! I knew it!"

"Hi, Mands." He ducked his head, scratching the back of his neck.

She gave a cheeky, knowing wave goodbye and took off barefoot after Mickey, "You fucker! I want all the details!"

"You ain't gettin' 'em, bitch!" He stormed inside, but left the door open for her behind him.

Mandy threw her shoes on the floor and met up with him in the kitchen, punching his arm lazily so he spilled his newly-opened beer down his hand. "The fuck?!"

"I'm so proud of you!" She made grabby hands at Mickey in attempts to smush his cheeks, but he weaseled out of there quick enough to avoid her gross hands. She may be fuckin' drunk, but she was still quick.

"Yeah, will well ya stop screaming it from the rooftops. Ian's gonna think I'm a fuckin' loser."

"Awww," She chased after him as he headed down the hall, "You are a loser, but that's besides the point! I've been waiting for this for weeks!"

"Night!" Mickey shut his bedroom door in Mandy's face. She'd get over it in a minute. Hell she was probably well on her way to passing out already. Maybe she'd get some details out of him tomorrow.

But tonight -- he reveled in the fact that he spent the night making out with his very kind, very dorky, very hot red-headed neighbor.

--

And when Mandy eventually moved out from their apartment and in with her girlfriend, Mickey had absolutely no problem finding a new red-headed roommate.

[teawaffles]

It Happened One Night: Chapter 1

T/N: Takes place after the Scandal in the British Empire arc (Chapters 17-23 of the manga).

Baker Street was full of people as usual. But in contrast to the hubbub, the entire street was enveloped in a vaguely unnatural, lonely atmosphere.

It looked like it was going to rain. That was what John H Watson thought as he walked down the street, gazing up at the heavily clouded sky.

“We should get back quickly, Sherlock.”

Saying that, he looked at the man beside him — Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock squinted and sniffed the air, as if trying to detect the smell of rain, and agreed with him.

“Right. And I also have some things here I don’t want to get drenched.”

Then Sherlock looked down at the items he was carrying. They each bore a large paper bag, stuffed to the brim with food and other sundry goods.

John furrowed his brows.

“Sherlock, haven’t you bought too many personal items? We’re even more broke than usual, you know,” he reminded.

But Sherlock wasn’t perturbed.

“They might be useless to you, John, but to me these are necessities of life. Please overlook this just once.”

“It’s no use, huh……”

It was better to avoid cigarettes at times like this, but John knew it was pointless to say that — hence instead of going on at length, he just gave a small sigh. Somehow, it felt like the bag in his arms had grown heavier.

As the two men walked on like this, they eventually drew near the flat where they lived. 221B Baker Street. This was the very place from which the great detective Sherlock Holmes, and his assistant, John H Watson, unravelled Britain’s mysteries.

However, they walked past their lodgings, not once slowing down. As they passed by, John glanced toward their flat.

There, remained the scars of appalling destruction. The building itself had retained its original structure, but the flat in which they’d lived had its windows all blown out; from what he could see through them, the walls and ceilings had been scorched to a miserable crisp.

They’d been unexpectedly drawn into the “Scandal of the British Empire” case, in which Sherlock had devised a bold strategy — blowing up their own apartment — in order to save Irene Adler.

They had achieved their goal, but at the cost of losing their home for the time being. As such, Sherlock and John, together with their landlady Miss Hudson, were staying in cheap accommodation a little ways from here until the apartment repairs were complete.

As they headed to their temporary lodgings, John’s shoulders drooped.

“Although all of us had agreed on it, in the end, it’s still tough to see the place you’ve gotten used to living in become like that.”

“Sorry about that. I had no other option back then.”

Sherlock kept his eyes forward as he apologised with sincerity. To that, John smiled gently.

“I don’t really mind — In any case, I’ve been put through many reckless situations like this before……. Oh—”

Right then, a drop of water splashed on his palm. Just as he registered that icy sensation, more raindrops came pouring down.

Sherlock looked at him.

“It arrived earlier than I thought.”

“Yeah, let’s run for it.”

Then, carrying their bags with both arms, the two men half-ran to their hotel.

When they arrived, they shook their heads slightly to rid the water from their hair, then walked past the front desk to their room.

After putting down their bags and opening the door, they found Miss Hudson standing in the doorway.

John tilted his head in confusion.

“Miss Hudson, what brings you here?”

As it would be improper for them to share a room with a lady, the two men chose to rent out a separate room despite the steep cost. Hence, John thought she would be in her own room now — why was she in theirs?

She smiled back awkwardly.

“Mr Mycroft’s here.”

“What?”

Instantly, Sherlock’s face morphed into one of displeasure. Without asking the details, he took up his shopping and walked into the room. Seated on a chair near the wall was his older brother Mycroft, looking out the window.

“……Damn you, Mycroft. Coming all the way to this hotel — what you do want?”

Distinctly uncomfortable dealing with his own elder brother, Sherlock spoke up first, his tone sour. But Mycroft simply turned to look at him, and responded without haste.

“That attitude again as always, Sherly. How about subverting my expectations sometimes and acting like a gentleman for once? Or rather, is it that you’re so frustrated by a case you forgot your manners?”

“Ugh……”

Mycroft looked around the cramped interior as he spoke, and the corners of Sherlock’s mouth twitched as he let out a groan. He didn’t regret blowing up their apartment itself, but hearing Mycroft’s calm, pointed comments forced him to remember his own helplessness back then.

“……Did you come all the way here just to make a fool of me?” he retorted, trying to defend himself. But Mycroft simply shrugged his shoulders in resignation, and got straight to the point.

“If you’re having trouble with accommodation, there’s a country house in the Cotswolds I can introduce you to.”

“……What’s this, all of a sudden?”

Country houses were often built by nobles and wealthy landowners as status symbols on their own land: it was ridiculous to suggest that someone would simply lend theirs out. Sherlock raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

“Isn’t it natural for an older brother to want to help his younger sibling in his time of need? Furthermore, although I’m sure they’d agreed to your plan, it pains me to think how Dr Watson and Miss Hudson have been caught up in it.”

“We don’t need your concern. We’ll do what we want, so just get the hell out of here.” Sherlock made a shooing motion with his hand, in a bid to chase Mycroft out, but was soon admonished by John, who’d entered the room afterward. John then calmly turned to Mycroft, seeming eager to listen.

“Do you mean that, you would be willing to lend us an apartment? Thank you very much for your offer — could you tell us more?”

Mycroft was smiling as he nodded.

“Actually, an acquaintance of mine — a noble — intends to stay in London for a week. They’re looking for someone to look after their mansion in the meantime, hence I thought it would align perfectly with your situation, Doctor.”

John nodded in understanding.

“I see. However, if that’s the case, why not ask their employees to stay behind?”

“From what I’d heard, they felt it would be a good opportunity to give their hardworking employees a vacation as well. Although if you aren’t able to accept, Doctor, they did say they would ask some of them to remain in the house……”

“In other words, if we were to take up the offer, then their employees would be able to take a break. Moreover, the three of us would be in charge of the mansion’s upkeep during our stay.”

“Not exactly,” Mycroft clarified, “They said you won’t have to concern yourselves with the maintenance and such. As long as it stays reasonably tidy, you are free to enjoy yourselves while keeping an eye on the house.”

It was a very generous offer, so generous it invited suspicion of an ulterior motive; however, since it came from Mycroft, perhaps it could be trusted. John wanted very much to accept — he couldn’t say he was entirely pleased with their current arrangement — but he knew his partner didn’t view it that simply.

As expected, Sherlock tutted in disapproval.

“This place suits us just fine: I don’t want to live in some boring mansion in the middle of nowhere. Anyway, I wouldn’t be able to take on clients when I’m away.”

Sherlock himself did harbour some guilt at making the two of them endure their present lifestyle, but following his brother’s opinion was simply anathema to him. As such, he couldn’t help but bite back in reply.

John understood that, but admonished him regardless.

“Sherlock, you shouldn’t talk to your own brother like that. Mr Mycroft was just looking out for us when he made that suggestion.”

“Pay no mind, Doctor. He’s been like this for a long time.”

Mycroft gave them a wide smile. Then, he directed a question to Miss Hudson, who had been keeping an eye on them from behind.

“We’ve heard what my little brother thinks, but how about you, Miss Hudson?”

“Eh? A-Ah~……”

Having suddenly been addressed, she responded in a faltering tone.

“Well, um…… To me, I think, it would certainly be helpful.”

In an effort to consider Sherlock’s feelings on the matter, she ended up replying in a roundabout way — but it was clear that she was in favour as well.

Mycroft turned to John.

“How about you, Doctor?”

For a moment, John was at a loss for words, but when he heard the floorboards creaking underneath his feet, he made up his mind. He looked at Sherlock as he nodded slowly.

“I think, that the country house might be more pleasant, compared to our current circumstances. Moreover, we could always receive clients via post.”

“…………”

Both of them had answered in the affirmative. Now, only Sherlock remained.

Despite the apparent obstacles being cleared, he still had his reservations. But eventually, Sherlock looked at the ceiling in resignation.

“Ah, bollocks. It would just be selfish of me to refuse at this point, now wouldn’t it? Alright. Please let us stay at that country house until the apartment is fixed.”

At that reply, Mycroft smiled in satisfaction, and Sherlock turned away to hide his frustration from those eyes.

The three of them drew up some agreements on their new living arrangements, and with that, until the flat at Baker Street was fixed, they would proceed to stay at a noble’s mansion out in the country.

Footnotes:

[1] The Cotswolds is a large hilly area to the northwest of London, further than Oxford and dotted with villages. (Wikipedia)

T/N: After the angst from the last story, I just remembered how much I love the Baker Street gang 😉

[pur-pled-aw-thor]

The Truth

Sherlock x Reader

Summary: Y/n has been keeping up the truth everyone, but one day the truth will afloat.

Word count: 4.9k (whaaat the-)

Warnings: none

GIF not mine

THIRD POV

Saturdays are meant for having fun or just staying inside your room and rest. But of course Y/n's life isn't like that. Especially she's working with Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson.

"You know we can just leave this case with Lestrade right?" Y/n asked the tall man in front of her.

"If you would just look up the security footage, then sure we can turn those over and continue this." Sherlock said not even looking at Y/n. John is busy with searching more about it, or trying to update his blog.

After a few, ten, tries Y/n got in the security and downloaded all of the footage from last night and prior the incident.

"It's already downloading, just wait for a few minutes." She stated standing up and went to the kitchen for some tea. But then she heard her phone's notification is blowing up. Sighing in annoyance, she placed down the kettle and got her phone.

-Mr. Blabbermouth

• Why on Earth is my brother on a case again

• Don't tell me you've downloaded something again

• Meet me in British Public Library, 20 minutes.

• Do bring your I.D, we'll be staying for a while.

Y/n read the texts and tried to choose, get rid of him and continue drinking tea, or get rid of him and continue drinking tea.

'Either way my life will still be a mess.' She thought and sighed. Getting her coat and tying her hair up, John looked up from his screen.

"Where are you going?" He asked, causing Sherlock to look also at the y/h/c girl.

"I need to go to my mum's house, she needs help with my sister." She lied, like what she's been doing for a long time.

"Well what about the footage?" Watson asked pointing at the laptop on the couch. "It'll be done in 15 minutes, after that it'll automatically leave the site." She said adjusting the timer and entering her code.

"Okay just take care." Watson said smiling at her. Nodding, she immediately went downstairs and passed by Mrs. Hudson.

"Where are you going?" "To my mum's, Mrs. Hudson!" She exclaimed leaving faster.

Walking down the streets of London, the cold breeze of the morning is never new to Y/n. It made her feel happy that she chose to change her life.

Upon reaching the Library, a car parked by the curb. The person got out and Y/n followed.

She knew this whole place like it was just the alphabet, but more on security and alarms.

She walked through shelves and shelves of books until she reached a corner, her corner. The person is already sitting down flipping the pages of a book.

"I know you did something just to help my brother again, and I would like to know what." He stated, well demanding.

"It would've been better if you were the one to ask him, Mycroft." Y/n said confidently, not feeling any intimidation from the man.

"It's better if he knows about the truth." He said proudly. "Do sit, Y/n. It is your ridiculous corner after all." She removed her coat and hung it on the chair.

"Tell him the truth and I'll visit him." "I would rather let you get hit by a train before the truth leaves my mouth." Y/n said rolling her eyes and crossing her arms.

"Any truth will be accepted." "I don't have that much of a choice." "The past or the present. You decide." "Neither, Mycroft. You're basically the British Government, so how can you not know anything about what's happening in 221-B Baker Street?!" Y/n almost shouted at the man in front of her. The man snapped the book close, Y/n didn't even flinched.

"Just tell me and we can wrap this up." He said and Y/n sighed. "It's about those random killings that don't make sense." She said rolling her eyes. "It does make sense to Sherlock Holmes." Mycroft stood up from the chair and got his umbrella.

"It's easy for you to tell me the truth but never to Sherlock." He said turning towards the aisle. "One day the truth will afloat, Y/n. Good day." He said walking away from the corner.

Y/n stared at the chair in front of her and tried not to let Mycroft inside her head.

"I made a promise to be careful with my choices and whom to trust. I can't break that." Y/n said to herself, trying to remember what happened 3 years ago.

3 years ago

'I can live by myself and made the right decision, yeah?' Y/n asked herself while the man pulled up on the curb.

'I hope so.' she got out of the cab and the man helped her carry her stuff inside the building. She paid generously and took up the boxes herself.

When she was about to get the last box, she ran into the landlady carrying a tray of tea.

"Oh hello dear! You're already here, you have your keys right? Anything you need?" Y/n smiled at the landlady's kindness.

"No Mrs. Hudson, I was just about to get the last box from downstairs." She said politely and got curious about whose tea is she bringing.

"I'll see you for a while dear, I need to bring this up." Mrs. Hudson said and continued to ascend the stairs.

"You should stop hoarding books, it's gathering up dust." She heard Mrs. Hudson scold at the other flat beside hers.

"Well if you would clean up then they won't, Mrs. Hudson." A man with a deep but smooth voice said.

"I'm your landlady, Sherlock. Not your housekeeper." Mrs. Hudson exclaimed storming out of the flat and passing by Y/n.

'I'm still wondering how Mrs. Hudson never noticed.' Y/n asked herself while placing the box down and tried to search for the key to her flat.

"It's the silver key with a round head and a line engraved horizontally." She looked around and saw him.

'Sherlock Holmes'

She got the key and it fits in the keyhole. She silently chuckled to herself for being smarted up by him.

But then she realized what Sherlock Holmes would have done for the past 2 minutes she was just standing there.

She immediately went inside and closed the door. She heard about Sherlock Holmes and his talents in being a detective. Most of the policemen don't take him seriously because of his assumptions and ideas that he gives immediately.

But they are left befuddled because he is right all along.

"Great, the plan on living a new life is starting to crumble with him knowing who I am." She said face palming herself.

"As long as I'm not suspicious, he won't notice it." She said standing up and opened up the blinds.

A week

'Oh god no. Please no.' She said trying to feel every pocket and slot she has in her coat, pants and purse.

'I did forget my keys in.' she said kicking the door in frustration. She sat down by the steps and tried to call a locksmith.

A few calls later they all said they can't go to their street because it was filled with snow. They can help her tomorrow morning.

"Why did Mrs. Hudson need to leave today?" She said hugging her coat more to gather up warmth. Next week is already December and snow got here early.

She tried to pull her bonnet down more to cover her ears with her hair, but the draft coming from the upstairs and moving behind her got colder.

"At least my laptop isn't going to freeze overnight, lucky bastard." Y/n said rolling her eyes and huffing.

She heard shuffling from Sherlock Holmes' flat and saw him placing paper on the table. Sherlock saw Y/n and looked at the door to her flat.

He went closer and Y/n smiled in embarrassment, "I forgot my keys inside." She said paying attention to her gloves now.

Sherlock went back inside and started removing books and papers from the couch and placing them on the table or floor.

"You can stay here for a while. Who knows when Mrs. Hudson might return." He said leaning on the door frame.

Y/n stood up and passed by him, trying not to look like she's taking it up for granted. She sat down on the couch and Sherlock prepared tea.

Sherlock can't comprehend why he welcomed her into his flat even though he's only seen her every afternoon to get food and comeback with it.

And what disturbs him, is that he can't read her like everyone else. She's like, an unexplainable being.

Sitting down on his chair, Sherlock tried to think a way to get to know her.

"I'm Sherlock Holmes, the only consulting detective, because I invented the job. I have an older brother named Mycroft." He said as a starter and she smiled.

"I'm Y/n, I don't have a job right now but I will find one, hopefully. I actually don't have a sibling, just me and my parents." She said chuckling and Sherlock smiled. He heard the tea was ready and he asked her about what she likes.

Handing her a cuppa, she accepted it and Sherlock let her remove her coat so she can get comfortable. Y/n removed her coat, gloves and bonnet and placed them beside her.

They continued chatting, leaving unfinished experiments and paperworks in the kitchen and not noticing Mrs. Hudson got home because the road was already cleared out.

A year ago

"How did you do that?" Sherlock asked Y/n and she almost fell from her seat. "Did what?" "Getting into the security cameras of Baker Street." He said pointing at the screen.

"You won't tell?" She asked and Sherlock nodded. "Obviously I can hack into them, besides cameras are very easy to hack." She said rolling her eyes and Sherlock celebrated about learning what Y/n can do.

"This is amazing! You can help me in cases and everyone can know!" He exclaimed proudly but Y/n said otherwise.

"No one can know! You promised!" She exclaimed and slapping Sherlock's arm jokingly.

"Besides I can only be accessible within 20 meters away from you." She said showing the map to Sherlock, "Well then come with me every day but of course just stand by. Wait till I tell Lestrade!" He said and reassured Y/n that he was an inspector that she can trust.

'I know Lestrade alright.' She thought smirking on her screen while Sherlock tried to find his phone.

A month after that

"Hello Sherlock." Y/n heard a woman entering the lab and she stopped on her tracks when she saw her. "Hello Y/n." She said sadly.

It's been a month since Y/n was silently working with Sherlock. She met Molly in the process, well she was always around wherever Sherlock is.

Especially if he's in the lab.

Y/n's phone got a notification and she looked at the message.

-Lestrade

Someone was on the phone for you.

Y/n

Who was it?

-Lestrade

Private matters they said.

'Private matters they said'

-Mr. Holmes

The car is waiting at the corner.

'Not this again.' She thought reading the message. Either she goes now or let them wait and risk getting fetched by them.

-Y/n

I'll be leaving for a while. Please look out for Sherlock, Lestrade.

-Lestrade

I will.

"Sherlock I'll be going out for a while." She said getting her coat and wearing it. "Can you get me coffee?" "I can get you one." Molly intervened and both of them looked at her.

"The usual Y/n, if it's not a burden." Sherlock said looking again at the microscope.

"Oh umm, I think I'll be gone for an hour, so Molly might help you with that." She said looking at the messages.

-Mr. Holmes

The longer you take, the longer this talk will be.

"It's fine with me, what's your usual?" Molly asked Sherlock and both of them replied.

"Black 2 sugars." They said in unison and Y/n left immediately while trying to run through everything or everyone.

She saw the car and immediately got inside.

"Stop haunting me, Mycroft Holmes." She said keeping her phone away and looking outside the windows.

Today

"It's almost 4 years now since I moved and 2 years since I started working with him." Y/n said laughing at the page she had a note on.

'Before the December morning came, a chance and a person changed the game.'

She closed the book and walked back towards Baker Street. It was almost noon and she knows Sherlock and John is waiting for her to come back.

Entering the flat, she already heard footsteps coming down the stairs and saw Mycroft with John and Sherlock behind him.

"What did you do again Sherlock?" She asked trying not to look like she knows Mycroft.

"I can reassure you miss, he didn't do anything wrong. Good day brother, Dr. Watson." He said leaving.

"Lunch?" She asked the two and they nodded.

They went to a Café and started to eat lunch. Went back to Baker Street and John took a rest for a while. Leaving Y/n and Sherlock continuing to solve the crime.

"It doesn't make sense! He's just killing random people!" Sherlock exclaimed looking at the wall. John is still asleep on his chair, covered with papers.

"Maybe you just need to look at the minor factors they have. Maybe they all have something very important that the killer would want." Y/n said getting through the files about the case. Sherlock stared at the girl in front of him.

'How can you be so smart at the same time be bossy?' he thought returning his gaze at the wall.

They continued their work and John woke up an hour ago. Until it was night time and Mrs. Hudson brought them tea.

"Sherlock, why is there a big toe on your sink?" She asked rather disturbed. Y/n laughed at Sherlock's constant behavior of experimenting with things.

Sherlock's phone rang and it was Mycroft. He sighed and answered the phone.

"What is it Mycroft?" He said dropping the papers he was holding on the table.

"What?! An emergency? Where?" He exclaimed causing the three to look at him. "What's the matter, Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson asked walking nearer.

"We'll be right there." He said dropping the call and got his coat. "What the hell is going on?!" John exclaimed trying to get Sherlock's attention.

"A family is now on ransom and Mycroft thinks it's the killer." Sherlock said wrapping up his scarf and the two wore theirs.

"I don't get it? A family? How are they connecte-" "The father is an official in the government, a close person to the royal family." He said climbing down the stairs with John following.

Y/n got stuck on the doorway and processed what Sherlock just said. She got worried and immediately went down the stairs.

They got a cab and they reached a building. Police and a few government employees were there to plan out.

"Sherlock! In here." They saw Mycroft went inside a vehicle a few feet away the commotion. It was filled with monitors connected to the cameras inside.

"An empty building perfect for a murder isn't it?" Sherlock said rather excited and John nudged him not to be happy.

"Any news from the inside?" "No, the killer won't let anyone in. He's controlling the entrances, except for the cameras which is odd." One of the men said showing the doors.

They stayed there for almost 10 minutes without any movement from the killer. They found him sitting on an antique chair looking at his phone and wearing a ridiculous mask.

The television beside him lit up and the camera couldn't clear out what the television is flashing.

"This is the Y/l/n Family, if you still want to see them alive. You know who you are, give me what's so precious to your family." The killer said laughing under his mask.

"That is the live stream, we can see them here on camera 16, inside a room tied up. The same as the television is showing." The men said but they noticed something blinking at the middle of the chairs the family is sitting.

"And there's now a bomb planted. Call the bomb disposal team!" They tried to contact people from the outside to find a way inside faster.

Because there's a bomb on the middle of the room, and it wasn't making the job easy.

"I just need to talk to youuu~" The guy sang and laughed like a psychopath. He stood up and started dancing.

"Sherlock, anything?" John asked the man scanning around the monitors and starts to get frustrated. "Are you sure all of the exits are closed?!" He exclaimed and they nodded showing every camera angle of the exits.

Y/n opened up her laptop and plugged in a USB. Mycroft noticed and he looked at her telling no. But her eyes said it was the only way.

After transferring files from the USB, she took out her phone and connected it to the laptop. Before finishing up and shutting her laptop, she typed something on the notes.

'Might be the best time to say it then.'

She closed her laptop, stood up next to Mycroft and handed him her phone. He was confused on why she gave him her phone.

"He'll think I might call the police if I brought my phone with me." "Well you're already with the police." They whispered at each other. Y/n started to leave the vehicle and Sherlock noticed.

"Where are you going Y/n?" "Outside, I need to speak with them. I'll be back." She said hopping out of the vehicle and closing it.

Grabbing the chain that she got from the inside and locking it, she made sure they'll be safe. In case the killer notices her trap.

Sherlock's POV

Y/n left a few minutes ago and she still hasn't returned. The Y/l/n family is still inside and the killer kept repeating the phrase.

"I just want to talk to youuuu"

"Why can't anyone enter!" I said frustrated and ruffled my hair. Trying to think a way inside. "Vents?" "What's that, Sherlock?" "The vents! Is there any vents?!" The men showed me and there weren't any vents big enough for a human to fit in.

"Great." I said and they returned the monitors back to the cameras we were monitoring.

"Aha! I knew you'd come my dear!" We heard the man say and he pressed a button on his phone causing the doors to open.

Third POV

The doors opened on the main entrance, Sherlock and the others were glued to the screens.

Y/n entered with no hesitation and the doors closed once she was in. "Y/n?!" Sherlock exclaimed and went towards the door. It wouldn't budge and John started helping him.

"Did she locked this after she left?" John asked Sherlock and he nodded. They went back to the monitors and she was standing at a safe distance from the killer.

"Isn't this nice, Y/n? You and me seeing together again and talking." He said followed by a laughter that echoed through the whole hall.

"It's nicer if you didn't do any of those killings." She said standing there feeling the gaze of the camera towards them.

"I thought I would get your attention." He stood up immediately that surprised Y/n and made her back away. "And it did!" He said laughing like a maniac now.

"See this red button on my phone?" He asked and Y/n nodded. "Well, It's connected to the bomb. Just give me what I want and I can forget about pressing this." He said placing the phone on the table and handing out his hand.

Y/n looked at him seeing any tricks with this. Her eyes lingers on the screen and she saw her family, tied up inside the room and starting to panic.

The killer saw this and laughed, knowing this is going to be fun. "Need inspiration? I'll give you one." He said getting his phone and pressing a button that made her family look behind the camera.

"Say 'hi', they've missed you so much." He circled around her and she started to take the risk.

"No, Y/n don't do it!" Mycroft yelled at the monitors that made Sherlock look at his brother. "Getting attached?" John asked and Sherlock shook his head in disapproval.

"He knew Y/n all along. Don't you brother?" Sherlock asked and Mycroft nodded. "Before she lived in Baker Street." He said earning a laugh from Sherlock.

"So is there anything I should know about more?" He asked Mycroft and he nodded. "A lot." He stated not removing his eyes on the screen.

They continued watching the scene and Y/n is starting to take something out her pocket.

"If you have tricks on your sleeves, you know what will happen." He stated reclining and looking at her.

She raised up her chin and took out a phone. But it was a different phone, different from her day to day phone. She looked at it and handed it over to him.

"Why does she have another phone?" John asked the two Holmes, Mycroft looked at Dr. Watson and pointed at Y/n's laptop.

"How do you think she has access with every security and anything the government controls?" "That's a government phone controlling the security, data, archives and information about the whole United Kingdom." Sherlock intervened looking at his phone trying to call Lestrade to get them out of the van.

"Thank you for giving this Y/n." He said looking at the phone checking any tricks. He gave back the phone and showed her the lock screen. "Open it." Y/n swiped up the phone and unlocked it with the pattern.

Mycroft seeing the lock, he got confused. Sherlock noticed it and asked him. "Government phones don't unlock with patterns and pins. They rely on fingerprint and facial unlock." He said getting the phone Y/n gave him.

He turned it on and swiped up the lock screen. "Just like that?" Watson asked and Mycroft nodded. "She switched the phones." He said in disbelief and laughed. He grabbed the radio and started giving commands to get ready at the entrances.

"Thank you for unlocking it." He said standing up and circling her again. "You know your parents are very disappointed but relieved that they won't get blown up." He said laughing maniacally going through files.

"But I must say, they, especially Sherlock Holmes, still don't know the last thing you're hiding." He said pointing at the camera and opening his arms.

Y/n turned around and looked at the camera. "I don't know what he's talking about." "OH! That's a good one. Tell me more jokes!" He exclaimed laughing, Y/n is on the verge of punching him.

"You're a psycho." She said making the guy stop in front of her and smiled. "Well I thought you loved psychos, hence liking one of us." He said leaning towards Y/n and raising his eyebrows.

Y/n noticed the camera moving and pointing at the door and back at her. She sighed and bowed her head.

"I'm right, am I? You looove psychopaths!" He said and Y/n shook her head.

"Sherlock Holmes isn't a psychopath, he is a high functioning sociopath." She raised her head smirking at him, "And the only consulting detective with that title." She punched him through his mask that caused him so much pain and police started to enter the room.

They started to surround the guy and picked him up. They handcuffed him and gave back Y/n's phone.

"Before you take and lock him away-" she said getting near the guy, "I never knew you'd take it this far, Kevin." Taking of the mask, 3 men entered the room and going behind Y/n to back her up.

"B-but how did they entered the room! I have the controls over the entrances!" Kevin said and Y/n smirked. She waved her hand and the police took him away, yelling about how she did it.

The 3 men behind her looked at her proudly. She looked behind them and saw her family getting untied and the bomb was inside a case now.

Her family looked behind the camera and smiled. Mycroft handed her the phone back and took off the case to place it back on her phone. The television turned off and they heard people assisting her family.

"I know you two have a lot of questions, but I can summarize everything." Y/n said looking at them and sitting down on the chair.

"I made a deal with my family to live a normal life in exchange to continue hiding who I am.

Growing up behind doors was never easy because you can't make friends or learn social skills. Only few close family friends and the Royal Family knows who I am.

My brother and two sisters can live a normal life because they attended private schools which only rich people can attend. But I can't have that because I'm the first ever child of them and it would be a great plan to kidnap me right? In exchange for files.

But when I attended college, It was a private school and people don't care who you are anymore, and that's where I met Kevin.

He was nice and sweet just like how I thought all of the world's population is. But I was wrong.

Then that's when we broke up. A few years just living inside the house again not going out.

Then almost 4 years ago, me and my family agreed for me to leave and live somewhere and make sure that I'm safe.

And I am safe, especially having Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson as my neighbors and friends.

Having meetings with Mr. Blabbermouth, a.k.a Mycroft Holmes.

And having this phone with me that helps my family to know where I am."

She finished up but the three men are still confused. She understood why and she chuckled. Looking at the camera, the men followed her gaze and she stopped at the sign beside the chair.

"He was sitting near this sign and the phone's reflection is seen on the camera. I tried to make out his layout of the controls with the doors and placed all of it in folders."

She explained and opened the phone, "With every click of a folder, a door opens." She clicked one and they heard a door opening upstairs.

"I forgot to mention, I also studied with hackers and security when I was in college and living with my parents. That's how I learned it."

She said keeping the phone in her pocket. John smiled at her and looked at the two men. "And what was about the whole Sherlock Holmes thing?" He asked and Y/n sighed. "That was nothing." She said standing up and walking pass by them.

They exited the building and stood near Lestrade's car. He was assisting the family and talking with them.

"My name on your contacts is 'Mr. Blabbermouth'?" Mycroft asked and Y/n laughed.

"Don't worry, Mr. Sociopath and Mr. Oblivious aren't left out." She said walking away and nearing her family.

"Mom, Dad." She said hugging them almost crushing them. "I'll leave you lot to talk for a while." Lestrade said smiling at the scene before him.

"I knew you had a way, but I never thought you can pull that off!" Y/n's father exclaimed patted her back.

"She's a Y/l/n, she can do anything." She heard her brother and she ruffled his hair. "But of course, don't forget to introduce us your boyfriend." One of her sister said and she rolled her eyes.

"You can go back to them, we'll be okay." Her mother said but Y/n shook her head.

"I don't think I can leave you guys again." "As long as you can be safe and keep that safe, we'll be safe too." Her father said and her sibling nodded.

"Just remember to visit us on Christmas Day, okay?" Her younger sister said and she nodded. Tears brimming her eyes and she sniffles while trying not to burst out.

"I will always visit you lot." She said hugging them all, causing her to be surrounded by blankets that covered up her family.

Standing up, she waved good bye and walked back towards the car.

"Shall we leave?" Lestrade asked getting his keys. "Yes, let's go." Sherlock said opening the door for Y/n and she entered.

Their ride was quiet until they reached the apartment. "See you three tomorrow? Well if we have a new case for you three." Lestrade said and Sherlock nodded, getting inside first and leaving the door open.

"Yeah, see you Lestrade." Y/n said waving and entering the building.

John got to sleep immediately when he entered the flat, leaving Y/n and Sherlock.

"Well, erm, I guess I should be go-" she was cut off by Sherlock's mumbling. "I'm sorry, what was that?" "That's why I couldn't analyze you. You are unreadable and amazing at it." He said still staring at the fireplace.

"Yes, because of being able to hide from people, I'm never showy with anything." She said standing up and nearing the door.

"Good night Sherlock." She said turning towards her flat. "And yes, I like you. For almost 3 years now." She said never turning to look at him, and entered her flat.

She should've turned, because she never saw the smile Sherlock had hearing it from her. He leaned on his knees ruffling his hair. He continued smiling and sighed.

"Likewise, Y/n. Likewise." He said leaning back on his seat and stared at the ceiling.