#and the master blinking rapidly at his denial still going this strong

[rowanthestrange]

I think it would be fitting with The Themes if when Missy referred to “her daughter” that one time, the daughter in question is indeed the Doctor’s, and because of all the emotional turmoil surrounding that he just dissociated that fact straight out of his mind.

[crowleyellestair]

may i request a jaskier x reader smut? one where the reader is being playful and trying to distract him whilst he's working on his songs, so they end up blowing him lol? ok but cranky yet horny!jaskier just makes me go feral for some reason

AN//// I wrote this as a fem! Reader just because it was easier to write (I haven’t written full on smut stuff like this for a long time) But if you would like me to change pronouns, please drop me an ask, specifying. I hope this is good!

Mature content

Song: Lovestruck by Alex Ernst

It had been a while since the trio had stopped at an inn, and Y/n was living. Jaskier had made money through song, Geralt through hunting, but she was a magical healer. Though it didn’t make much as there was most likely a healer already living at any given town, Y/n was also a persuasive pick pocket. Most would frown upon something as that, but she had only ever snuck things from the rich. Of course, she would make exceptions for kindhearted souls that just so happen to make their way to the top of the food chain, even more so justifying her skill.

So, when Geralt had decided he wanted to rest for longer than one night as usual, she had decided to gorge on the high life for the weekend from the mass coin she acquired. Little pouts would come across her every so often however, as Jaskier was preparing. They had stopped in Novigrad, the melting pot of art and people. This would be a great opportunity for Jaskier, the night prior bringing in a lot of coin from the first performance.

But that didn’t sit fully well with Y/n.

They had stopped so they could take a break from work and travel for a weekend. And though listening to Jaskier was one of her favorite things to do, she had other things in mind.

Ever since he had decided to bathe that morning, she’s had him on her mind. She woke to the sight of him getting out, the sun complementing his barely sun kissed skin. The light weaving into his brown locks, giving him a holy glow. He had always been a touch envious of Geralt’s stature, but he was perfect to her. Perfectly broadened shoulders that stood high as he confidently walked through a crowd. Strong forearms from playing his lute, with strong hands to accompany them.

If she were to close her eyes, she could easily feel the callouses on the pads of his fingers as they teased her inner thighs. Jaskier was one for keeping up with skin care, so he would have lotions to try and sooth the roughness of his fingertips- though it would never work, and the soft hands would then mix with the pads deliciously.

But instead of her suggestions, Jaskier sat at the desk in the room, writing things down frantically. Y/n sat there, watching him write, seeing him up. He had sat in only a shirt, and his position giving her a glance at his perfectly round backside. Jaskier hadn’t sat like most at the desk. No, to find a comfortable spot, he was positioned slightly away from the desk, inner foot resting on the bottom drawer he pulled out to rest it on. His knee peaking higher than the other leg that covered him from her prying eyes, but showing her a peak of his inner thigh. His paper rested on the top of the perched leg, Jaskier scribbling furiously.

“Jaskier-.”

“Y/n, my love, I can’t stress this enough. No. We don’t know who could be there tonight, and I want to make sure I’m putting my best out there. And as much as I love- love the feeling of you, I can’t.” She put a familiar pout on, but he didn’t spare her a glance, going back to furiously writing. Her spot on the bed had shifted a while back, her chin resting on her forearms so she could have a comfortable spot to look at him shamelessly.

“But you could find inspiration from a… new adventure.” He looked up with raised brows, skepticism evident. “The adventure being me.” She finished her sentence of with a wink, and she smiled, seeing some resolve break. It dropped quickly as he realized what was happening, him shaking his head and looking down again. “J-.”

“Are you trying to rile me up more than ever before?” He looked up, pointing the end of his quill a her. “Because even if you did, you’d still have to wait. Maybe you’re taking pleasure from this- this game of yours.” She huffed, standing.

“No, I’d be taking pleasure from you touching me. Yet you’re over there, and I’m over here.”

“That’s how it should stay until your calm enough for me to be over there. Don’t think I didn’t see you devouring me the moment you woke up. As much as I find that tempting and downright filthy-.” He stopped when she smirked. “You’re not getting what you want today.” His eyes wracked her body after she stood, shifting in his seat as the look of her got to him. She walked over to him, his blue orbs following her until she situated herself on the floor in front of him. Y/n’s eyes being level with his quickly hardening member.

Her hand slid behind his calf, gently dragging it upwards to settle behind his knee. The leg began to slowly move outwards by her pushing. His legs were spread, open for her to do what she wanted. Jaskier could never really resist her, and he knew his earlier denial would eventually cave if she pushed.

Her fingers gently rubbed circles on his inner thighs, but staying down by his knees. Y/n’s eyes were blown black and the sight went straight to his cock. She didn’t need to break eye contact to know he was twitching in anticipation. Jaskier went to move his propped leg, but her hand held the limb against the desk, the action spreading a blush over him. What she said next solidified the flush.

“Tell me about what you’ve been writing. I know reading it aloud helps you concentrate.” Though he’s given in, he still tries- in vain, to continue his writing.

“I would be able to concentrate better if you would just let me write.” She rolled her eyes, her lip getting caught between her teeth for a moment.

“I’m allowing you to write. I’m doing my own thing- you aren’t touching me, so where’s the harm?” Jaskier was going to protest, but he was cut short at two figures firmly grasping the base of his cock. His breath was caught, head slightly lolling back. He caught himself when she didn’t move her fingers, their gazes meeting again. “Go on bard, tell me what you’ve been writing.” He looked baffled, but her impatient look told him she wasn’t joking. He placed his quill on the table and picked up his many pieces of parchment.

“I don’t want to lose this feeling. My love has to have a mean-meaning.” He stuttered as he felt her tongue swipe over his aching head. He threw a glance at her, noticing she was already looking at his expectantly. Jaskier let out a shaky breath and continued. “You are everything I’d ever n-need. You’re a dream!” This last word morphed into a loud groan as his member disappeared behind her lips, the heat of her mouth traveling through his whole body. Y/n’s tongue swirled around his tip quickly, and unrelentingly. Her grip on the base of his cock never moving, strongly staying put. Her other hand was still occupied by keeping his legs open, feeling the slight shake of his pleasure through her grip on his thigh.

She noticed his head was thrown back as he let out mewls, never being one to cover his sound. She released his cock, going to lick a stripe on the underside from her fingers to the head, then backing away to get his attention. His head snapped to look at her, brows drawn in pleasure and confusion.

“I thought you were trying to concentrate.” He let out a shaky laugh, while shaking his head.

“You’re a minx.”

“And you’re stalling from your work, master bard. You wanted to work so badly, then work. I’ll stop anytime you do, so might as well continue the serenade.” Jaskier let out a huff, trying to bring the parchment back up to focus on the words, and not the hot cavern that went back to sheltering him. His free hand went to her hair, tangling his fingers in the locks. He slowly started to rut as he said his lyrics.

“Y-you give me something to hold…hold onto.” He swallowed hard, blinking fast and trying to concentrate. Y/n started to take more of him as he spoke, his stutters coming in more as her lips met her fingers at his base. “It’s truly you that I belong to-.”

She released him again, leaving him to gently thrust into the air.

“I like that line.” She spoke, then went back to her task. It took Jaskier a moment to find where he was again as Y/n head started moving up and down over his shaft.

“Lovestruck and maybe it’s alright with me, you’re a- you’re a… you’readream.” He forced the words out quickly, having it be followed by a long, low moan. Her fingers finally moved from their spot, moving in tandem with her other movements. Y/n could take all of Jaskier, not needing her fingers, but she moved them opposite of her mouth, adding a different feeling. “Gods, you’re a dream.” His parchment fell from his hand, and it found purchase in her hair like the other. “You feel so damn- fuck.” His gentle thrusts had grown harsher as he could feel his climax rapidly approaching. “So perfect.”

Y/n dropped her fingers, taking the rest of him, and gently swallowing. The pressure mixed with her hand now cupping his balls had sent him over the edge. His whole body tensed, while rapidly arching towards her, head flying back. Y/n swallowed what she could, letting his cock fall from her and she stood, swaying back to the bed. He just looked at her with shinning eyes.

She laid down, looking to him.

“Am I going to have to do this myself too?” Jaskier rushed to her on shaky legs.

He would find inspiration in their little adventure, and it had her blushing as he played the outcome that night. She sunk into her chair as Geralt stared at her with brows raised in bewilderment at the bards newest- lewdest song.

[deliasbabe]

Forget about me, Darling - Cordelia x Reader

Description: Cordelia and reader deal with Cordelia fading during apocalypse. The ending to “You Deserve the World”.

Warnings: MAJOR ANGST AND DENIAL, this shit hurt

Word count:  3,748

“Y/N, It’s almost 3am. You need to get some rest, love.” Cordelia said softly, catching you sitting on the couch in the library, your head in your hands and a spell book cracked open on your lap. It had been three days since Madison had returned from that house in Los Angeles, three days since you learned that the boy who was supposed to be the next supreme wasn’t a supreme at all, he wasn’t even a warlock. He was the Anti-Christ, and he had picked your loving girlfriend as his next target.

You had tried to bury your feelings. You had tried to be strong and supportive for Cordelia. Always there when she needed you, the shoulder to cry on, the smile when she needed it the most, because it wasn’t about you, was it? It was about her, about protecting the girls from danger, and she didn’t need to have to pick up your broken pieces too. It just wasn’t about you.

But that night, after you heard about one of Cordelia’s fainting spells, you cracked, tucking yourself away in the library with one of the books from Cordelia’s office, one of the books she wouldn’t dare let the girls touch. It was a last resort, a desperate cling onto the life you were supposed to have. None of the other books had a spell strong enough, and you were more than willing to risk your life if it meant Cordelia could live. You were certain that Cordelia’s ailments were the result of Michael’s dark forces, that he was the one doing this to her, and you couldn’t live with yourself if you just sat by and idly watched. You hadn’t been at the academy very long, definitely not long enough to be at the level needed to master what you were trying to do, but you knew you had to power to, you had to, there wasn’t another option.

You shook your head, not even bothering to look up at your girlfriend. “I need to get this.” You muttered, fighting off exhaustion with every fiber of your being. You were surprised she even found you, knowing she went to bed hours earlier, too exhausted to even stay up to make sure the girls were in bed like she always did. You thought you were safe, but then again, your girlfriend knew you better than you knew yourself, and it wasn’t entirely uncommon for her to have to drag you to bed.

Cordelia shook her head at your stubbornness, moving to perch next to you on the loveseat and tucking a stray hair behind your ear. Even in her deteriorated state, she still was trying to take care of you, and you cursed yourself for even forcing her to get out of bed. “You can work on it tomorrow.” Cordelia said softly as you shook your head once again, “You need sleep. You’re wearing yourself too thin.”

“I’ll only work for a little while longer then I’ll come join you.” You said quietly, hoping the sweetness of your tone might make her concede. You didn’t dare look to meet your supreme’s gaze, knowing once she saw your red rimmed eyes it was game over, if it wasn’t already. You knew if she looked in your eyes she would see the sheer desperation, and you didn’t want that, didn’t want to burden her with your own pain. Tomorrow, you could shove everything back down and plaster on a smile, you just needed tonight, needed to let the demons run wild for even just a few hours. You just needed to get this right.

But Cordelia could see past your sweet words, could see the way your brows were crinkled together, the way your usually graceful movements were sharp and frazzled, could hear the frustration behind your tone. She knew your dedication was a force to be reckoned with, but she was the voice of reason that had permanently etched itself into the back of your brain. Always calm, always gentle, usually right. She ran her hand up and down your back, noticing how you tensed at her touch and recoiled slightly. She tried to sooth you into bed, but that just made it all worse. You buried your fingers in your hair, digging your nails into your scalp and tugging on the roots, needing some sort of release for all this frustration, all this pain. “I have to get it.” You spit out between gritted teeth, Cordelia’s eyes widening at the shift in tone.

“You will, baby.” She tried to soothe, not understanding how a spell could get you this worked up, “But you need to give it time. Your powers are still growing.”

“We don’t have time.” You practically growled as you lost any last bit of self-control you possessed. It wasn’t her fault, you knew she didn’t deserve it, but every second she tried to soothe you was one less second you had to get this right, and your time was limited. You had dealt with loss before. It was the one constant, but in finding Cordelia you were able to move past it, and now all that progress, all that love, was slipping out of your grasp like sand. It was a race against the clock, and you were losing. “I need to be able to do this.” You said quietly, tears welling behind your eyelids, making your voice waver ever so slightly. She deserved an apology, you knew she did, but it was all you could do to not burst into tears on the spot, and she knew that.

“Do what?” Cordelia asked, her tone quickly shifting to one of concern. You were never like this, hadn’t so much as raised your voice to her. The only time you ever got angry was at yourself, you always were too hard on yourself. “What are you working on?” She asked, now ready to help in whatever way she could as she reached for the book.

You quickly tugged the book out of her grasp, making her gasp in shock, “Give it back. I need to focus.” It was the first time you had bothered to meet her gaze, and she could see the animalistic look in your eye. It scared her, but what scared her more was the way you pressed the book to your chest, gripping it so tightly your knuckles turned white.

“Y/N, just let me look so I know how to help you.” She said, feeling her anxiety pick up in her chest as you shook your head and got teary eyed, “Baby what is it?” You didn’t respond, and she let herself glance down at the book in your arms, recognizing the title immediately as dread filled her stomach. She knew what was in that book, and yes, it was mostly advanced spells, but it also contained dark magic, and by the way you were acting, you had something to hide. She blinked rapidly, not knowing how to handle the situation. You were always responsible, always careful. You were the one she never had to worry about.

The color drained from your face, sniffling a little as you carefully set the book down. You knew what she was thinking, and as much as you didn’t want to admit it to her, you had to tell the truth. “Y/N…” Cordelia began carefully, “You know I don’t want any of the girls practicing dark magic.”

“It’s not dark magic.” You stated, watching her hesitate to believe you, “It’s a protection spell.” Cordelia looked confused and utterly dazed, and you couldn’t help but hide your face, knowing in only a matter of moments all your pain would be out on display, tears streaming down your cheeks. You knew she would never let you complete it, wouldn’t let you master it, because protection spells always came with a catch. Energy could not be created nor destroyed, even in magic. For the tamer protection spells it simply made you weaker, temporarily, in order to account for the energy transferred to its target. But with one this strong, especially if your powers weren’t at their full potential, there was a higher risk. It could kill you, and she wouldn’t have that, wouldn’t let you even take that chance.

It must have been the late hour, because your usually sharp supreme clearly wasn’t getting what you were trying to say. “For who?” She asked after prying your hands away from your face and lifting your chin, her heart breaking once she saw the tears. There was nothing more she hated than to see you cry, to know you were in pain and not be able to help.

“For you.” You whispered, grasping onto the ends of the book tightly as you looked away from the pure devastation on her face. “I just have to try a few more times. I know I can do it.” You say forcefully once Cordelia tried to pry the book from your grasp. If she took it, then it would all be over, and you just couldn’t give this up.

She didn’t say anything for a few moments, didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t been truthful with you about what was going on, wanted to save you from the pain of her dying and knowing there was nothing you could do about it. You had seen her faint, had carried her to bed more times than she could count, but you never asked questions, you always were just there, and she couldn’t believe she had missed all the signs. Couldn’t believe she hadn’t bothered to check on you. You always were there for everyone else, but she was the one person who was there for you, and she wasn’t when you needed her the most.

Truthfully, as displeased as she was about waking up in the middle of the night and not finding you there beside her, she was glad she had forced herself out of bed to check on you. Glad she was there to stop yourself from giving up everything, all for nothing. knowing your determination, you would have eventually gotten the spell to work, would have drained yourself of the very life force Cordelia loved desperately. Even if you hadn’t, if you had given up and gone to bed, Cordelia knew if she hadn’t gotten up that she would never know, never know how broken you truly were. You would push it all away and plaster on a smile, and Cordelia would be blind once again.

“Baby, put it down.” Cordelia finally said gently. Snot was dripping down your face and mingling with your tears, running into your mouth, but you refused to lift one of your hands to wipe at it, knowing the second you did the book would be gone and you would have to succumb to failure. You shook your head as the tears fell faster, and this wasn’t how you expected this night to go. She wasn’t supposed to find out, she was never supposed to find out, and you felt your chest get tight as another sob was lodged in your throat. Just another way you failed her. Pieces of you were falling everywhere, and all you could do was let it happen.

But there Cordelia was again, lifting your chin and forcing you to look at her, her own tears flowing now as she stroked your wet cheek. “Love,” She said, her voice soft and wavering, “Put it down so I can hold you.”

Before you knew it the book was thrown to the floor. You weren’t sure if Delia tugged you towards her or if you dived forward, but soon she was on her back with you fully on top of her, pressing your head to her chest as you cried hysterically. It must have been impossible for her to breathe, but she didn’t dare shift you, so you took it upon yourself to shift your body between the back of the couch and her, squeezing into the tiny space. She gave a breathy laugh, marveling at how even in your darkest moments you still were trying to make it easy for her, like you were trying to make your pain as convenient as possible.

“I don’t need protecting.” Cordelia said softly, carding her hands through your hair, dreading having to face the conversation head on, “There’s nothing you can do.”

“Yes I can.” You said, your voice muffled from your face being buried, “It’s because of him. I can stop it; I know I can.”

“My sweet girl…” Cordelia mused, trying her hardest to not kiss you. If she kissed you, she wouldn’t be able to do it. If she kissed you, it would make her forget about the inevitable. You always helped her forget, but you weren’t forgetting, and she couldn’t bear to string you along, not after this. “It’s not because of him, baby. He’s not hurting me. I’m… I’m fading.”

She felt you still at this, like if you didn’t move maybe you could disappear and the truth would go and find someone else to haunt. But when it didn’t dissipate you shook your head, muttering, “No, no, no. No way, it can’t be.” You had dealt with the idea of her fading before, when Michael was crowned supreme, but you pushed it away when you learned the truth. If Cordelia was fading, then there was a new supreme rising, but it couldn’t possibly be, you couldn’t imagine a world where there wasn’t Cordelia.

Fresh tears fell from your supreme as she rested her lips against your forehead and nodded, “It’s true. I can feel it, and there’s nothing we can do about it. Nothing you can do about it.”

“No, no, no.” You repeated, curling into her even further, like she could banish the grief that threatened to consume you. Your mind was revolting against you with no semblance of clear thought. Even learning the world would end was easier than this, because if the world was gone than so were you. But you built a life with Cordelia, you made plans, concrete plans, with marriage and kids and a dog named Skipper. You had the ring hidden in your sock drawer, had planned to propose before things had gotten so messy. You had a plan, and Cordelia dying was not part of that plan. “It could be something else.” You said, pushing away the tears that threatened to fall and launching yourself into a sitting position, “It could be a vision, like the rotting.” You said, continuing to list off every possible thing it could be, anything that would help your utter rejection that the most important person in your life would suddenly not be there anymore.

Cordelia sat and listened to your rambling patiently, never cutting in to dispute, despite her knowing that her words were true. She didn’t want to push, she never pushed, and she knew you had to work through this in your own way, despite her heart shattering into smaller and smaller pieces every time you came up with something else. But as much as she tried to pretend she was listening intently, as you rambled on her eyes filled with tears, wishing she could do anything to take this pain away. She knew about the ring, had known since the day you bought it. Coco was never very good with secrets, and she had let it slip that very night after too much tequila. She knew you had held off, wanting your engagement to be blissful and uneventful, that you had planned an evening full of dinner and romance and a trip to all the favorite places you shared. Worst of all, she knew that day would never come, that as hard as she tried to give you the world, the one you two built was crashing down, never to be repaired.

In a way, dying was the easier part of the deal. Her world just stopped, a finite end, but you, you had to live. Had to spend the rest of your days coping with yet another death you had no say in. Had to wonder what might have been. The supreme didn’t know when exactly the world would end, didn’t know if she would live to see it, but something in her told her you would survive, because your story wasn’t finished. It couldn’t be finished, Cordelia was merely a part of it, a chapter in a never ending book, and she was grateful for the time she had, the time she would have.

Eventually, your rambles stopped, out of options, and you had to face the truth. You didn’t want to say it, couldn’t bear to mutter the words, so you sat silently, praying if this was a nightmare that you would wake up soon. You knew Cordelia wanted to hold you, wanted to banish the darkness from every corner of your mind, but you wouldn’t allow yourself the reprieve. Avoidance had always been your specialty, but you couldn’t avoid this, you had to say it.

“You’re dying.” You finally whispered as the sun began to peek up, Cordelia staring at you with heartbroken eyes, like she was hearing it for the first time. There was a finality when you spoke it, a second wave of grief she didn’t know existed, and she quickly wiped her tears and nodded.

“Yea, baby. I am.” Cordelia said softly, tugging you back toward her and circling her arms around you like a small child. Finally, you allowed yourself that reprieve, burying your head into the crook of her neck, knowing that no matter what happened, she would keep you safe.

In the blink of an eye she had transmutated you both to the bedroom, spell book in hand. She quickly threw it on her nightstand then turned back to you, your eyes swollen and red. Normally you would hold her, would let her rest her head on your chest and whisper soothing things in her ear. But tonight wasn’t about her, tomorrow and every day after would be about her, you would make sure of that. Tonight was about you, so with one swift motion she pulled you close, pressing her lips to your forehead and humming softly as she trailed her fingertips down your spine, giving you no choice but to sleep.

A few weeks later hellfire rained down on the academy, Michael fulfilling his promise and killing most of the witches. Cordelia was beside herself, and you did your best to comfort her. The identity spell had left her weak, and you laid with her on Misty’s bed, gently running your hands through her hair in an effort to calm her restless mind. You asked what you could do, how you could help, but your supreme brushed you off, telling you she had a plan for you, but refusing to elaborate on what that plan was.

You two had managed to fall asleep in exactly that position, and Cordelia woke before you the next morning, ready to put her plan into action. It was harder than she thought it would be, especially when you woke up the second she moved off the bed. “Shh, love. I’m right here, go back to sleep.” She soothed, hoping you didn’t open your eyes and see the tears that were streaked down her face. She had this plan for months, she just didn’t know if she could go through with it.

“Love you.” You sleepily muttered out, and through her tears she grinned. Even now, when the world was practically in shambles, you still where there showering her with love and affection.

“I love you too, so much. You have no idea, but you need to sleep now. Forget about me, darling.” She whispered back, stroking your hair as you pushed your cheek into her palm, making her laugh.

“Never.” You muttered, and in an instant you were fast asleep, her touch being the only thing you needed to calm you. You trusted Cordelia whole heartedly, wherever she led you would follow, you knew she would keep you safe, and that was exactly what she intended to do.

For you, the identity spell was a little different. You still were yourself, just as stubborn and caring as ever, but all your memories, everything about the coven, about Cordelia, was wiped away without a trace. Cordelia didn’t just want you alive, she wanted you happy, and as much as she didn’t want you to forget about her, as much as she would never forget about you, she knew you had to. It was easier with the girls, she knew she would see them again, break them out of their haze. But this was the last time she would see you, and she tried to memorize the lines on your face, the way you frowned when she finally removed her hand and reached for the white powder. Even if Mallory succeeded, things would never be the same, and as she went to leave, she pressed one more lingering kiss to your head, and stared at your sleeping form for just a moment longer.

When you woke she was gone, and as you glanced around the unfamiliar space, your eyes landed on a piece of paper tucked under the pillow she once resided on. You lifted it to see a one-way ticket to small island off the coast of New Zealand. It was a place you had always dreamed of going, and unbeknownst to you, an island Michael had accidentally left off of his plans. Along with it were your passport, car keys, and a brand new debit card. Cordelia had made sure of it that you would never have to worry about money again, and had transferred everything she had to you. She wanted to make sure you were taken care of no matter what.

You didn’t know where it came from, didn’t even know how you had gotten there, but you weren’t one to ask questions. Your bag was packed, and there really wasn’t anything left for you to do but go, and you wandered out the door and down the path to the main road, spotting a car parked there. You didn’t look behind you, you had no reason to, but if you did, you might have spotted a woman dressed in all black staring back at you, and you might have stopped, but you didn’t. You just kept on walking.

[anchored-in-high-tide]

Evermore

Rating: General Audience

Fandom/Pairing: Sherlock (TV)/Johnlock

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 2068

Tags: Fluff, Post-Canon, Sherlock x Disney, Beauty and the Beast (2017), Oblivious John, Pining Sherlock, Parentlock, Rosie wants to be a princess, Sherlock sings, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers

Inspired by the song: Evermore from Beauty and the Beast (2017)

He will tell him today, John decides as he carries the groceries back to their flat. Rosie will start school in a couple of weeks. It’s high time she gets her own room, to invite friends, to do homework, to have a place she doesn’t have to share with her father. Sherlock will surely understand that, won’t he? Yes, John will tell him today that he and Rosie will move out.

Maybe Sherlock already figured it out by himself. He has been a little quieter lately, has even declined some of Lestrade’s—according to Sherlock, absolutely boring—cases to spend more time with Rosie. Maybe he already knows and is just waiting for my final verdict.

That this arrangement had even worked for the past five years was a miracle, after all; Working on murder cases with a toddler on one’s arm was—a challenge, to say the least. In all those years following John and Rosie’s rather rash return to 221B Baker Street, neither John nor Sherlock have dared to talk about its implications for the future. They have simply enjoyed each other’s company, watched Rosie grow into a brilliant, funny girl, lived in the moment—because both know that those bits of happiness vanish faster than you can blink. You need to hold on to them as long as you can. The future will arrive soon enough and spoil all your plans.

And things have been fine, great really. Sherlock adores Rosie and the little girl, in return, is obsessed with her “Sher” that lets her ride on his shoulders and teaches her about bees and stars and disembowelment (if John doesn’t watch him very carefully).

John’s lips hurt a little as he smiles melancholically. Yes, they have had five good years. But even good things have to end sooner or later. Probably, Sherlock will even be glad to finally have his flat back, to experiment in the kitchen again and play the violin at all times of the night.

John just has to get it over with. It won’t be that bad. It’s not like they won’t spend time together anymore. He’ll make sure to find a place as close by as possible so that Sherlock can see Rosie whenever he pleases. He can’t separate them, not after everything Sherlock has done for them.

It has taken John longer than he cares to admit adjusting to his life as a widower, to cope with all the traumas and terror he has lived through. He couldn’t have done it without Sherlock—his help with Rosie, his friendship, his companionship. By now, he is factually Rosie’s second parent. John doesn’t want to break their bond. It would devastate all three of them.

But they can’t keep on living in denial about the lack of space for a rapidly growing child. They have to find a new place, to move on. They can make that work. They always have.

As he unlocks the front door and steps into the familiar hall, John can already hear the music floating down the staircase from their flat. He tries to remember the last time it has been quiet when he came home. Will there still be music in their new flat? Will the songs still sound the same without Sherlock?

John shakes his head determinedly, hoping that his painful thoughts would just fall off. He isn’t prone to sentimentality but having to leave Sherlock for a second time is bound to be an emotional train wreck, at least for him. Who knows what’s going on in that funny head of Sherlock’s? He wouldn't care, now, would he?

Following the soaring melody, John climbs up the stairs, trying to identify the tune. It’s either something from Frozen or Beauty and the Beast, probably.

Rosie is in the middle of her princess phase, ever since she has seen her first Disney movie. For the past weeks and months, she has barely talked about anything else than her favourites—Belle, Elsa, Moana, Cinderella, … She insists on watching the same films over and over again whenever John and Sherlock allow her some telly-time. The rest of her days, she spends reenacting her favourite scenes, soundtrack included. John can (more or less proudly) claim to know the lyrics to Let It Go even in his sleep by now.

At first, John was utterly horrified when his daughter for the first time expressed interest for something as far removed from science as possible, especially fearing that Sherlock might make some snarky comments about romantized and outdated gender roles, but, to John’s surprise and amusement, he has supported Rosie in her royal extravaganza with as much enthusiasm and diligence as he usually displays on a crime scene. He even convinced Mycroft to buy her a yellow gown—“Just like Belle’s! Thank you, Uncle Myc”—for her birthday. John has never seen anything funnier than Mycroft Holmes, the personification of the British Government, bowing to her majesty Rosie the First and graciously accepting her invitation to tea.

As he is half-way up the stairs, the music ebbs away and he hears Rosie’s high, demanding voice: “Now sing your song, Sher!” Her talent for bossing people around would do a real princess honour.

“As you wish, your majesty,” responds Sherlock’s silky baritone. He has never been one for strict parenting, John thinks as another melody begins. He would spoil Rosie rotten if John didn’t interfere, his heart being simply unable to deny her anything.

The lump in his throat grows with every step, the grocery bag weighing him down as if it were filled with lead instead of apples, toast, and beans. He will miss all of this. But what other choice is there really?

In the sitting room, only a few meters away now, Sherlock’s voice begins to sing a song John recognizes from Beauty and the Beast, the live-action version which Rosie has been only allowed to watch a couple of nights ago. She was a little scared of the howling wolves but the Beast won a special place in her heart right away. John must admit that he, too, enjoyed that particular film. Well, they can still have movie nights at their new place.

He mounts the last few steps, stopping on the landing to listen to Sherlock, the words now easily distinguishable:

“I was the one who had it all, I was the master of my fate. I never needed anybody in my life. I learned the truth too late.”

The fervency he lays into the lyrics makes John’s insides tingle. He has heard Sherlock sing to Rosie before but nothing has come close to this level of… honesty? The words drip from his tongue as fresh and true as spring water and make John hold his breath almost devoutly, a clandestine listener to a secret symphony.

With utmost caution as to not disturb them, John opens the door to the sitting room and peaks inside. The scene before his eyes is one to thaw even the coldest of hearts: Rosie, a head full of golden locks and mischief, is standing on the couch, her light blue dress playing around her bare feet as she bounces up and down in excitement. Sherlock’s slender figure is towering over her, the blanket the three of them cuddle under on cold nights draped around his shoulders as a makeshift cape. With melodramatic gestures and skillful vibrato in his honey-like voice, he entertains the little girl:

“I'll never shake away the pain. I close my eyes but he's still there. I let him steal into my melancholy heart; It's more than I can bear.”

John stops short in the doorway. He? Him? That can’t be right. As far as he remembers, the Beast sings this song about Belle. Why would he use male pronouns? Or has he misheard?

He eyes Sherlock carefully but the singing detective doesn’t show any signs of flustering, nor does Rosie correct him. Surely, John has misheard then. When it comes to reciting Disney songs, Rosie is more than unforgiving when someone makes a mistake. Unfortunately, she has picked up Sherlock’s habit to correct everyone on everything, although not with the same air of smugness as her godfather.

“Now I know he'll never leave me. Even as he runs away. He will still torment me, Calm me, hurt me, Move me, come what may.”

There it is again. He! John is sure he has heard it right this time. The syllable rings in his ears, echoes in his chest, lets every sinew in his body vibrate with alarming anticipation. He can’t move. Glued to the spot, he just keeps watching the two most important people in his life, both completely immersed in their little show. Rosie giggles satisfied as Sherlock kneels down in front of the sofa in an overly dramatic fashion, clutching his heart with one hand.

“Wasting in my lonely tower, Waiting by an open door, I'll fool myself, he'll walk right in And be with me for evermore.”

The deep note makes goosebumps spread all over John’s body. Deep inside his bones, something is shifting, falling into place, but he can’t quite put his finger on it. Why does this performance move him so much? It is heartwarming to watch, sure, but there’s something more, something significant going on. His breathing speeds up a notch without him being able to do anything about it. His whole body has become oddly rigid, no longer accepting orders from his mind. The bag full of groceries slips from his hand and lands on the floor with a thunk that makes Sherlock, at last, aware of his existence.

For a split second, their eyes meet and the hint of a coy smile tugs at Sherlock’s mouth but it vanishes so quickly that John is not quite sure if he has seen it at all. Rosie wins back his attention at once. Sherlock rises and swoops her off the sofa in one smooth movement, whirling her around in a pirouette that makes her squeal with laughter.

“I rage against the trials of love. I curse the fading of the light. Though he's already flown so far beyond my reach he's never out of sight.”

Rosie wraps her legs and arms around his body like a little spider monkey, Sherlock securing her with strong arms as he keeps spinning them around. He lets his head fall back and sings at full volume as they twirl on the worn-out carpet, his voice saturating the air with its enchanting timbre. Every single word hits John like a wrecking ball.

“Now I know he'll never leave me, Even as he fades from view. He will still inspire me, Be a part of everything I do. Wasting in my lonely tower Waiting by an open door—”

Sherlock’s eager eyes fix on John and a hint of sadness and something apologetic flit across his face as he halts in the middle of the sitting room, the few steps between them, the safe distance they had kept all these years, this unsurmountable abyss finally being bridged by a delicate construct of wavering words.

John burns up under his gaze and is yet unable to divert his own eyes from the face of the man he shares his life with. Why would he ever give this up? Why would he ever let anything as mundane as a missing bedroom rip Sherlock from his side again? He can’t leave him, he doesn’t want to, he has never wanted to, since the first day they met. The realization crushes him like an avalanche, breaking bones and convictions like brittle twigs.

“I'll fool myself, he'll walk right in. And as the long, long nights begin, I'll think of all that might have been—”

Sherlock knows. How could he not? Sherlock knows how John feels about him. And if the pleading look he gives John and the confession he has woven into the song are any indicators, he feels the same. It couldn’t be clearer. John lets out a disbelieving puff of air—half laughter, half sigh. Why has it taken him so long to see it?

“Waiting here for evermore.”

The last note of the song hangs unfinished under the ceiling of their home as John crosses the sitting room with three swift steps, takes Sherlock’s face in his hands, and shuts him up with a long overdue kiss.

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