#Watson Plush

[e--q]

The Game is Afoot - Sherlock Holmes & Dr Watson

~ Happy Birthday Sherlock Holmes ~

(Handmade Soft Toys inspired by Miffy the rabbit in the form of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s famous detective Sherlock Holmes and his companion Dr Watson)

[nuclearmime]

I don't know a single thing about Vtubers but I love this one's design 🔎

[abigailbozarthart]

Nessie and Watson from Apex Legends. Charity comission.

[methpring]

New items in my Yuumori collection! And oh my, those huge acrylic stands were a pain to fit on the same shelf! #yuukokunomoriarty #yuumori #acrylicstand #plushie #plush #moriartythepatriot #patrioottimoriarty #moriartythepatriotcollection #collection https://www.instagram.com/p/Cp5YZ54oAHp/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[baker-street-dolls]

« Come on... Who'd want /me/ for a flatmate? »

« Well, you're the second person to say that to me today. »

« Who's the first? »

I found myself in Russel Square (almost) mistakenly... I couldn't deprive myself for a photo with my mini John, could I?

( ko-fi | etsy | instagram | twitter | how to order? )

| !Please do not repost without permissions!

[wasabi0910]

I want a stuffed animal like this 🧸𓈒 𓏸

bbc、GR(ガイリチ)、FGO(oc Watson×2)

[liquidkonata]

ame, same

and konata

[hotdiggitydollie]

8 years ago today!!

Martin Freeman with my boys

I thought it was worth a bit of my time to head up to the Whiskey Tango Foxtrot premiere tonight in NYC. Was hoping for a glimpse of MF, but I brought along John and Sherlock in case of a miracle and guess what?

A miracle happened! Martin came over to greet us and sign for everyone. He graciously posed with mini John and Sherlock. MF was so sweet - while I auditioned for the role of Crazy Doll Lady number 1.

I think he really liked them though and was nearly as pleased to meet them as I was him.

Shoutout to @ericswifetara who sent me a wardrobe full of beautifully sewn and crafted clothes for the boys - the white shirt of which Sherlock is sporting here!

Also so much love to the Hellions for all their love, cheerleading and awesomeness! @heimishtheidealhusband @hopelesslybenaddicted @iamjohnlocked4life @may-shepard @monikakrasnorada @queenmab3 @roseinmyhand

[willyoubemycherryy]

➯imagine being Thomas Webb’s pretty shameless neighbor❣︎#𝟙 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕤

❥𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐝, 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐟 𝐧𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐬, 𝐟𝐞𝐦 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐮𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 ⚠︎︎MDNI⚠︎︎

ALSO: this is an x reader but I used my name Dollette Watson ie. Doll/D.W for short (my mom was born in the 60’s can u tell?) just because I think the constant y/n is annoying if u want me to change it lmk and I will♥︎

“𝐻𝑒 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑒 ℎ𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑐𝑜𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑒. 𝐻𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑢𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑛’ 𝐸𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑜 𝑃𝑢𝑐𝑐𝑖．．“

When you first moved in, you actually hadn’t seen him at all for almost 3 weeks.

Between settling in, moving your stuff together, job hunting, and being somewhat social, it wasn't until things slowed down a bit that you finally did see him and damn, did you see him.

You had just walked through your buildings door. Tired from work and the tight ass “uniform”, which was nothing more than a button up top with a tiny pinstripe skirt. Huffing in irritation you ready yourself for the trek up the stairs in goddamn heels, when you notice feet and the man attached to them blocking your way.

Raising an eyebrow, you wait a beat for him to move until you realize that he was wearing headphones.

You walk closer until the tips of your shoes are nearly kissing and watch the exact moment he snaps back to planet earth. Startling as he looks up at you.

You were suddenly grateful he had headphones on when you gasped because nothing could have prepared you for someone so attractive.

He was undeniably the finest man you have ever seen in your life, period.

Pretty cut brown hair, thoughtful baby blues behind smart framed glasses that brought attention to his high ruddy cheekbones, and god his nose. You have to blink away the graphic image of how good said nose would feel grinding against your clit before the present dull throb in your core turns into full blown pulsating.

Your efforts don’t matter because it’s game over for you once you drop your eyes to his lips. They were just so…full. Deep pink n plush, that line down the middle of his bottom lip was doing something to you.

You don’t even care if he notices you checking him out. In fact, you want him to. Because you were going to have him one way or another and have a real fun time with it too.

So, you watch his eyes flit to the hem of your shamelessly short skirt before trailing them down your legs, all the way to your heels. Enjoying the heat that his gaze alone lights in you.

Unfortunately, you are tired so playtime will have to wait.

Clearing your throat, you give him a cheeky smile, “Going up? Or are you waiting down here forever?” Tone teasing as you walk up the first two stairs to stand beside him. He watches your every move almost devotedly.

“No, I’m going up. I mean- I live here so that’s…yeah. I was just lost in thought.” His voice is deeper than you thought it’d be as he stumbles a bit through his answer and the raspiness in it makes you want to whine.

But wait.

“You live here too? Because I moved in a few weeks ago actually.” You tell him and he nods.

“Yeah? weird I’ve never seen you around the building though.” you laugh as you definitely would have remembered seeing him.

“That’s probably because you’re obviously a busy guy. Lost in thought in the middle of the stairs. Does this thought have a name?” Smiling, you prod him juuust a little, to gauge if he’s single. He smiles with you and it’s cute. Lightly shaking his head before he suddenly stands.

Fuck you upside down in a full Nelson he’s tall.

“Busy is the last thing I am. The name was Mimi. I’m just the friend that never made it to boyfriend, but I’ll get out of your way…?” He pauses as he waits for your name.

“DW. Dollette Watson. But for what it’s worth,” you hesitate before deciding to just go for it,

“I’m positive you’re the type to talk someone through it so it’s her loss entirely. Try not to sulk too much...?” You know you’re being bold. Innuendo all in your voice but he’s so hot you truly can’t help it. Thanks to his height and close proximity, you have to look up to make eye contact which is hard because of the way you’re trying not to stare at his full lips. And he smelled so good.

“Thomas, Webb. But thank you.” His voice is lower as he looks down at you with hooded eyes and the urge to devour his mouth hits you hard. But, you just walk up the steps until you can look down at him and turn to face him.

“Well, it’s been a pleasure meeting you but…if you ever want to get busy, come to 5b. I’m sure we could find something interesting to do”. You aren’t teasing this time. You mean business. Leaning in to whisper so close to his face that you can smell his chapstick. His eyes widen before they drop and you actually do whine as he bites his lip and comes closer.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Until next time though. Bye Thomas.” You can’t resist and lean forward to nip his bottom lip. His light throaty groan sends warmth all over your body as it tapers into a soft “fuck”.

“Bye Doll”, Thomas mutters after you pull away, briefly noticing how his ears and neck have reddened, before you start walking up to your place.

Oh, he’s going to be fun. You think, feeling his eyes on you while you walk up until you’re out of sight.

Smirking, you hope he saw your panties…and how soaked they were.

[nyeddleblog]

Unrequited. [Part 3]

Pairing: Andrew! Peter Parker x Fem!Reader; Mary Jane Watson x Fem!Reader. Warnings: Mary Jane Watson, reader has a situationship with MJ and gives her an oral, oral sex (f receiving), reader is a flirt. Summary: You go to MJ's and once you come back home, Peter already has someone over. A/N: Oof, I'm not sure any of you will like this chapter, I'm sorry...

PREVIOUS PART.

Chapter 3: Boundaries.

Mary Jane Watson. Fuck, she was beautiful, a sight for sore eyes, a mess of freckles sprayed over rosy skin, a cascade of copper locks framing a gorgeous face, and she looked so good on the receiving end, too. Her taste, her smell, her voice. It was all too intoxicating.

"Fuck, baby" she'd mumble, chest heaving as she took a hold of your hair, pulling softly, "Right there."

You groaned, making the vibrations travel through her body. MJ squirmed then, and you took firm hold of her hips, pressing your mouth against her pussy, eating her out fervently.

"Oh, god," she whimpered, "I'm so close, honey."

You smirked in response, knowing better than stopping the good work. Your hands traveled from her hips to the rest her body, one stopping right on her lower stomach as you pressed gently, and the other gathering her slickness through her pretty folds, letting her grind herself against your face. You were in heaven.

You pressed two fingers against her entrance, waiting for permission. Mary Jane pulled your hair a bit tighter and that was all you needed. You left a soft kiss on her clit before coming back to licking her exactly how she needed you to, pumping your fingers into her with a steady pace.

"Cum for me, princess" you demanded gently, right when her hips jerked upwards, and she let out a sweet moan that made you smile, "That's it, baby."

Mary gasped, falling backwards against the mattress. You let your fingers slip out of her and softly caress the plush skin of her inner thighs. You left a few chaste kisses on her knee, as you pushed her panties back on their place. 

"That was amazing..." the ginger giggled, not quite used to it. 

"Well, I was just returning the favor" you said in response, resting your cheek on her lower stomach. MJ ran a hand through your hair gently, "Want me to stay the night? I could order something and maybe we could do something else..."

But Mary Jane was getting up, leaving you on the bed like a lost puppy. She made her way to the  bathroom, letting the shower run as she took off the baby tee you hadn't been able to get a hold of. 

"I have rehearsal at nine" she explained mindlessly, checking the water temperature, "So I can't really allow myself a sleepover."

"Nine?" you inquired, starting to walk towards her. Mary Jane received your arms snaking around her waist with a smile, "It's kinda late, don't you think?"

"Well, most actors work during the day..."

"Right."

"So, I just gotta adjust my schedule to theirs..." she finished explaining apologetically. You pouted in response but left a kiss on her cheek nonetheless, "I can offer you a hot shower and, maybe, round four...?"

"God, aren't you a romantic?"

Mary Jane Watson was adorable, even if her name was a mouthful. She was just a tad more talkative than you, had the cutest laugh and you were growing dangerously accustomed to the way her fingernails grazed your skin. Three more sessions of this and, fuck, you were going to risk it all.

So you drove home with a smile after showering, specially grateful of the fact that Peter hadn't texted you about any flings. Maybe he had finally gone to the girl's place, for once. Either way, as you got out of your car and walked towards the elevator, you texted him that you were arriving.

And little did you know you were in for a surprise.

"Felicia!" you exclaimed when you got into your apartment. At least she was fully clothed, and judging for the disheveled appearance of her hair, they had already finished, "How the fuck did he convince you to come back?"

Instead of appearing annoyed or angry like the night before, she just smiled and rolled her eyes. You raised your eyebrows at that, to be honest you didn't think that Parker had it in him.

"Damn, okay."

And Peter came out of the bathroom, wearing only his boxers. You pressed your lips together, turning towards the kitchen as you uncomfortably watched the way Felicia stood on her tippy toes to leave sloppy kisses on his jaw and collarbone.

"Damn, okay!" you repeated, so they'd acknowledge your presence.

Peter smiled your way, "I didn't think you'd come back."

Yeah, that was the smile of a person who just got fucked their brains out.

"Yet I did," you said dryly, but smiled his way to show there were no hard feelings though he hadn't warned you, "Is your apology take out offer still up?"

He held Felicia by the waist and walked towards you, getting three glasses out of their cabinet, "Of course. Water?"

"It's Friday night" you stated like it was an answer, "I'm getting myself a glass of whiskey."

You heard the small hum coming out of Felicia's mouth and you weren't an idiot, the girl was gorgeous, so you turned towards her and seductively let out, "Want some?"

"Oh, I don't drink wh..." Peter begun to say, but you saw the blonde nod and you were replacing two of the glasses with a whiskey tumbler. 

"Not asking you, dickwad." And Peter let go of Felicia's waist, "You staying over for dinner, cutie?"

"I have time."

You gave your roommate a small, knowing look. He gave you another in response. An annoyed, deadpan stare that almost made you burst out laughing.

"She has time, Peter" you said, "So you're buying us both dinner."

NEXT PART.

TAGLIST: @marcspectorondeeznuts @slutfortheblog let me know if you want in or out of the taglist<3

[angryducktimemachine]

If you can't find a human Watson, Rat Watson is fine.

[ID: three photos of a person wearing a Sherlock Holmes cosplay consisting of a dark grey suit and a light grey deerstalker hat. On his shoulder sits a plush rat dressed as Watson is a grey jacket and a blue flat cap. /End ID]

[consult-sherlockholmes]

Who knows, maybe it is a pengling wearing a mask and a little hat. I think she would be in favour of this stuffed little creature. And it would be a good opportunity to teach her about deadly pandemics of the past, pathogens and the wonders of antibiotics.

I do not know what you are talking about.

If your doctor isn't available to look after you, do you want to have mine? He can't cure you but he is great company.

Doctor? Are you sure that this distinct gentleman has a medical degree? Maybe he has a doctorate in another field? History, perhaps? The dramatic arts? And I do not suffer from the plague, Yersinia pestis, so you are correct that he cannot cure me. But maybe his presence would be beneficial.

[gooolabatooo]

This is art for the story "With Charity For All” by EC Boss (@emilycare) for the When the Rose Speaks its Name Sherlock Holmes Anthology!

You can check out their blog @whentherosespeaks . This is a non-profit project, Returns from sales will be donated to AKT, a UK charity benefiting LGBTQIA+ youth.

Image Description: The setting of this image is in a nursery. From left to right of the background is a wardrobe, a door, a nappy changing station, and a mirror with a wash stand. Watson is holding his baby daughter, Charity in his arms while Holmes looks excitedly at her. Charity is holding a plush bee. In her crib, there is a plush bear and duck.

Website | Tumblr | Instagram

[pigeon-tracks]

Noooo, don't turn me into a marketable plush.....

I'll be updating my Etsy soon for Plush!John Watson and Sherlock HolmesHere's the secret fun project I put into production so long ago!! Hopefully it did not disappoint

[momma2boys]

Many thanks to @calaisreno for the prompt that got me writing the story that's been rattling around in my head for a few weeks.

John Watson has been invalided home from Vietnam and is desperately trying to keep Watson's Tri-State Trucking, the family business, solvent. As he travels across New York, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey, he notices a slender stranger. Late one night, they meet.

Prompt for May 1: Open

Everything ached. Everything from his shoulder to his big toe. The ache in his shoulder was dull and heavy. John tried stretching his neck from side to side to loosen it; experience told him it would be useless to try rotating the joint itself. The ache traveled down his arm in buzzy pulses that pierced his elbow and froze his ring and middle fingers. Lifting his hand from the steering wheel, he shook it violently before rhythmically squeezing it into a fist and releasing it.

Harder to bear was the burning pain from buttock to toe. No matter how many times he shifted his weight from one cheek to the other, the pain was constant. Ten miles outside of Binghamton his thigh began to throb. Just a little farther, he thought. Get to a truck stop or rest area, someplace populated and he’d catch forty winks. The lost time would be better than driving his rig off a bridge in desperation.

On the far side of Binghamton he pulled into a truck stop, parking well away from the other semis. After a quick trot to the head, he swallowed two aspirins with a swig from his flask and settled down in his bunk. The aptly named coffin sleeper provided just enough room to pull off his boots and shimmy out of his jeans before pulling the blanket over himself, but he didn’t care. His rig was paid for—much as he admired the newer Peterbilts with their fancy cabs that were as well-appointed as a Newark studio apartment, the 1962 Mack belonged to Watson’s Tri-State Trucking one hundred percent and only needed the occasional bit of doctoring and prayer.

Two days on the road with minimal breaks—the client in Buffalo paid a bonus for early delivery—meant John was exhausted. Despite the pain, he was asleep in minutes. His dreams were painless, pleasant, in fact. He was two-stepping ‘round the dance floor at the Bluebonnet, feet sliding on the smooth wooden floor, slow-slow, quick-quick. He swayed in sync with the music and his hips moved easily. Slow-slow, quick-quick. His partner was vague, as happens in dreams, but he didn’t care. His body felt loose, moving to the music—some cover band playing classic hits--and his partner was gracefully leading him around the floor. The hips beneath his hands were slender and their gentle motion filled him with a tingling that was the opposite of pain. Together they moved in perfect harmony like a set of well-matched horses at the county fair. Slow-slow, quick-quick. A welcome warmth surged below his waist and he pulled his partner closer. John threaded fingers through his partner’s belt loops to tug their bodies closer, allowing him to feel a bulge there, matching and meeting his own. Slow-slow, quick-quick. As he dug his hips against theirs, his partner came into focus; not a woman, but the man from the truck stop. Dark curls, sharp cheekbones, pale skin, cupid bow lips. A little closer and he could kiss that plush mouth.

Suddenly, the twangy music was overpowered by the screeching whine of artillery.

“Incoming!” John yelled as he pulled the stranger off the dance floor.

Cover, they needed cover. John scanned the bar for a table, an alcove, anywhere that might provide shelter. This was a complete clusterfuck—his head ached from the constant whine of missiles and the acrid stink of explosives. The dance floor was littered with spent shells and disembodied limbs. John pulled on the stranger’s arm, sending them both skating through the slick of blood covering the smooth wooden boards. His eyes were watering now, his nose dripping from the smoke and the smell of burning flesh. This is it—this is how he’ll go home, another body bag, another nameless number on the evening news— He is shaking, huddled on the floor with a stranger in his arms because there is no escape, unless….Unless this were a dream, if he were dreaming, he could wake up. Wake up, he willed himself, wake up, dammit…wake the fuck up, asshole!

He shut his eyes and covered his head with his arms—he owed it to Harry, to Dad, to at least try to survive—

“You’re all right,” soothed a resonant voice.

“It’s not all right,” John heard himself say, “it will never be all right…”

Cold. He was cold despite being soaked in sweat.

“Yes, I know,” the voice answered, “but you are all right.”

There was a hand on his back, firm and steadying. Whoever was with him was close enough that he could smell the coffee and peanuts on his breath. John found himself matching his own breaths to those of this nameless, faceless companion. He didn’t realise how disordered his breathing had been until it slowed into an ordered rhythm. In, two, three, out, two, three. Slow, slow, slow.

“That’s it. Breathe. Good.” The strong hand traced circles on his back in time to their respirations.

John squeezed his eyes tightly shut before opening them. The world around him came into focus. It was night—he was in his truck—the 1962 Mack that his father had paid off before he died—tangled in his blanket. Kneeling on the driver’s seat was the stranger he’d seen in Gouldsboro and Norristown and Buffalo.

“What…how’d,” John croaked, he swallowed hard and tried again, “what are you, how did you get into my truck?”

“Hanger,” the man said, “left your window rolled down enough to work it through, which makes sense given the temperature and humidity this evening, but you might want to consider a different sleeping arrangement if you are opposed to uninvited guests. An inch and half of space is an open invitation, although I wouldn’t have taken you up on it if you hadn’t been screaming your head off. I rather thought you were being attacked, but now I reckon it was just a nightmare.”

[lisbeth-kk]

December moments

Prompts used in this chapter: in front of the fire - pine-scented - frost - storm

When John realises that Sherlock doesn’t love him, he panics. Have these months just been a bittersweet dream?

December 13

John can hear the storm building outside the windows. The noise is eerie in the December darkness. There’s a frost in the air inside the flat he can’t explain. It reminds him of his childhood when he watched Scrooge on the telly and the ghosts visited the grumpy old man at night. 

A figure seems to emerge from the wall in front of him. It’s Sherlock. He’s dressed in black, which highlights his pale face. Even the plush lips are almost colourless. 

“You have to move out, John,” Sherlock says in a grave voice. “Your presence here is no longer welcome.”

“Sherlock? What do you mean?” John asks with a voice that’s about to break. 

“You heard me,” Sherlock scolds. 

His tone is cold, harsh and without emotions. 

A proper sociopath. 

John refuses to believe what he hears. Sherlock loves him! He’d said so just the other night before he fell asleep. John pinches his thigh to assure himself that he’s not sleeping. It hurts, ergo he’s awake!

“No, no, no! Please, Sherlock. Say it’s not true. I can’t live without you!” John begs, but Sherlock’s unwavering. 

“That’s no longer any concern of mine,” he says in a haughty voice. The one he only uses on idiots, Sally and Anderson in particular. 

John wants to straighten his body, be captain Watson and tell Sherlock he’ll be fine without him, but he can’t muster the strength. He falls to his knees and feels his heart break. 

***

The next thing John registers are warm arms encircling him and a scent of pine from the candles Mrs. Hudson brought up the other day. 

“John. What’s the matter? Did you have a nightmare?”

He knows that voice!

“Sherlock?” he whispers, his throat hoarse from crying.

“Yes, John. Why are you out here?” Sherlock asks. 

John opens his swollen eyes and realises he’s on his knees in the sitting room in his pyjamas and t-shirt. The flat is pitch black so it must still be early. He gazes at Sherlock who looks worried at him. The coldness in his voice is gone and his hands stroke John’s back soothingly. John dares to lean into the familiar body and exhales shakily. 

“I dreamt apparently. And you…you wanted…”

John’s not able to continue. The coldness is back in his bones and Sherlock’s previous demand shakes him up further. 

“Shhh. I’ve got you,” Sherlock murmurs and rocks him in his arms, holding him tight to his chest. 

Sometime later, when John’s able to tell Sherlock the rest of his horrible dream, Sherlock does his best to reassure John that what imaginary Sherlock said, was utter bollocks. 

“I love you, John, and I would never want you to move out. For me, this is forever. I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you. Your presence is essential to me. Never question that, John. My only love. My John.”

The kisses they share after this declaration, start tender and sweet, but evolve and become frantic and desperate, and they end up making love right there in front of the fire, which still glows from the evening before.

Read it on AO3

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