#but I hope she stays with Sherlock eventually

[otometrashqueen]

So I watched Enola Holmes on Netflix, hoping it would make me feel better after watching Sherlock and it absolutely f*cking DID!

That’s the story I love, I don’t care give me all that Mary sue-tropey-shit, with strong female characters, I eat it up 🤤

Plus I’m going to say it Henry Cavill’s Sherlock actually had a bit of emotional intelligence! And I enjoyed his small part as Sherlock way more than I have 2 seasons of Sherlock :/

I’m not taking anything away from Batch, he acted the shit out of his version, but I just don’t enjoy watching it all that much, I don’t find him relatable, regardless of how handsome he is, that’s just kind of where I am in life I guess 😬😅

Henry Cavill 10/10 😍

I’m looking forward to watching the sequel tomorrow

[megxplryxb]

Roommate Romance

Pairings: Roommate!Steve x Reader

Notes: Apologies for the long delay, I've had some personal stuff going on lately so thank you all for sticking with me! <3

Disclaimer: Not my gif

It was a little after 9pm on an uneventful Saturday evening, Steve was lying across the shoddy leather couch in the small but cosy living room in nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants he had put on after his shower. He groaned in frustration as he flicked through the channels trying to find something interesting to watch, having long given up on reading some boring ass book that Eddie had given him when he heard a key turn in the door of the apartment he shared with you and Robin.

The latter had left to stay in Vickie’s house twenty minutes ago but Steve assumed Robin had forgotten something and come back for it 'cause he wasn't expecting you home for another couple of hours at least. He flinched a little when he heard the door open and close with a louder than usual bang, hearing heels click through the hallway and towards the kitchen. He knew it was you immediately, the scent of your jasmine perfume filling his nostrils as he pushed himself up from the couch to follow you down the hallway to make sure everything was alright, noting he hadn't heard a second pair of feet follow you inside.

Earlier at the video store, Robin had told Steve about a date you were going on that evening with a guy you’d met while waitressing at Enzo’s during the week. Steve had tried his best to hide his jealousy when Robin began to describe the guy, tuning out her ramblings once she mentioned that he was a “total babe”. She knew that Steve had a crush on you, noticing his attempts to flirt with you on a regular basis but she had made him promise that he wouldn't make a move on you, because she didn't want things to get awkward with you all living under the same roof. But fuck, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted to bend the rules from time to time and sometimes, he even thought that was exactly what you wanted him to do too.

Steve leaned his shoulder against the doorway of the small, compact, kitchen, watching as you unsuccessfully reached for a wineglass on the top shelf of the cupboard over the sink. He bit on the corner of his lip as your tiny black dress lifted ever so slightly, about to reveal parts of you that he knew he shouldn't be staring at and if he didn't look away now, he didn't know how he would explain the tent growing in his pants when you eventually turned to face him.

"Need a hand?" He smirked, as you let out a small yelp, not expecting Steve to be home already and definitely not expecting to see him standing there in just his sweatpants.

"Jesus Christ, Steve! You almost gave me a heart attack!" You pant, placing a hand across your chest, trying to look away from his bare chest.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. God princess, you're in heels and you still can't reach." He teased as you shot him a glare.

"No shit Sherlock, are you going to help or just stand there staring at me?" You questioned, rolling your eyes at the boy.

"I mean honestly, it's a pretty good view." Steve flirted, while you began to feel the heat rush to your face, hoping you had enough make up on to cover your flushed cheeks.

"Will you just quit being a perv and help me already?"

"A please would be nice." He replied, still smirking at you.

"Harrington, I swear to god..."

"What? It's just one little word, it's not even that hard to say." Steve laughed, knowing he was getting under your skin and you were in no mood for his jokes.

"Forget it, I'll get it myself." You stated, turning back to the sink, one knee on the counter top as you began to pull yourself up.

"Hey, hey, what are you doing, are you trying to break your damn ankle?" Steve entered the kitchen, his hands rushing to grab your waist and pull you back down again.

"STEVE!"

"Relax sweetheart, I got it.” He whispered, setting you down, moving behind you, one hand on your shoulder, his toned chest pressing lightly against your back and you prayed he didn't feel the shiver that went all the way down your spine as he reached up for the glass. You had to remind yourself to breath with the feeling of him so close to you, his skin touching yours. You could smell his cologne, the shampoo from his still damp hair and his usual boyish scent that was nothing other than Steve.

"All yours princess, you're welcome by the way." Steve teased, finally handing you the wineglass as your lips pulled in to a smile. You secretly wondered if he knew the effect he had on you, cause you just couldn’t stay mad at him for long. Not when he looked like that, staring at you like he was challenging you to make the next move.

"Why are you home anyway, weren't you working tonight?" You asked, shaking your thoughts away, leaning against the counter, letting out an instant sigh of relief once you removed the heels you'd been wearing all evening. Steve swallowed hard hearing the little moan of pleasure fall from your mouth with the feeling of the cold tiles under your sore feet as you tossed the shoes in the corner.

"Uh, Keith let me go early, the store was pretty dead." He answered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"That doesn't sound like Keith." You replied confused, knowing Keith wasn't that nice of a boss.

"Well, it might have had something to do with the new porno movies being delivered to the store tonight. Think he wanted first dibs." He chuckled as you scrunched your nose in disgust. “Yeah, that sounds more like Keith."

"Anyways, wasn't expecting you home for a while either, Robin mentioned you had a hot date tonight." Steve teased, folding his arms as you let out a sarcastic laugh, moving by him to take a bottle of wine from the fridge.

"Yeah, I thought so too. Turns out, not so hot." You reveal, pouring yourself a drink, taking a quick sip as Steve kept his eyes on you. Selfishly, he was glad that your date turned out to be a bust, because the thought of you being out with some guy that wasn't him had been driving Steve crazy all evening.

"Wanna talk about it?" He asked, before you walked back to the fridge grabbing a beer and offering it to him. "Wanna get a little drunk first?"

"Y..yeah, sure." He nodded, trying to take the bottle from your hand but you pulled it back, smirking at your friend. "Not so fast Harrington, go put on a shirt, then you can have this."

"Why, am I distracting you, princess?" Steve winked, heading to his room, throwing on the first t-shirt he could find before following you towards the living room.

Of course he was distracting you and you cursed Robin for making you promise never to cross that line with her best friend all those months ago when you decided to live together. You liked Steve, a lot, more than Robin even realised. He was everything you'd usually look for in a boyfriend and more but since nothing could ever happen between you, you'd made it your mission to find someone else and forget about Steve Harrington. That turned out to be easier said that done when he walked around shirtless on a daily basis.

An hour had passed and you and Steve were finally starting to feel the effects of the alcohol you had been consuming. When you couldn’t decide on a movie to watch, he played some music from the pretty expensive stereo his parents had given him as a house warming gift when he moved out. Steve was slouched on one side of the little couch while you occupied the other half, lying length ways so your feet were slumped across his legs, a pillow resting on your tummy for comfort, still wearing your dress.

It was nice to have a night with just Steve, it was never just the two of you with Robin, Vickie, Eddie or the kids usually hanging out with you both too.

“So come on, tell me, what happened with your date?” Steve asked, bringing the beer bottle to his lips as you groaned.

"I don't think I'm drunk enough yet." You muttered, pouring more wine in to your glass.

"Was it really that bad?" He asked as he watched your face change. "It was worse than bad, Steve."

"Worse than Cassie Peterson throwing up on me in the movie theatre?" He questioned as you widened your eyes in shock, almost spitting out your wine. "Oh my god! You never told me that?"

"I didn't tell anybody! It was so embarrassing, the whole place was staring at us." He explained as you laughed out loud.

"Is that why you never called her again? Robin was dying to know what happened between you." You teased as he began to explain himself, running a hand through his brown locks.

"She ruined my favourite sweater! Of course I never called her again.” Steve responded, taking a swig from his bottle of beer.

"It's not like she meant to throw up on you, Steve. I bet she felt way worse about it than you did." You giggled at your friend's childish behaviour.

"Hey, I was a total gentleman. I got her some water, made sure she got home safe, all while stinking of vomit I might add! I could've just left her there, I mean she literally barfed all over me." He joked but you knew Steve would never actually do that to anyone.

"She must have been mortified!" You cringed, placing a hand over your face from second hand embarrassment.

"Oh that wasn't even the worst part, she actually leaned in for me to kiss her goodnight when I dropped her home!" Steve revealed as you tried hard not to gag.

"Oh Steve, please tell me you didn't..."

"Of course I didn't! I lied and told her I had a coldsore, then ran back to my car." He chuckled, opening another beer as you threw your head back in hysterics. "Wow, I feel sooo much better about my date now.” You sighed, sipping your wine.

"I swear to Christ if you ever tell Robin that story, I’ll never give you a ride to work again.” Steve threatened, smiling at you.

“I cross my heart Harrington, I’ll take it to the grave with me.” You say sweetly as he rolls his eyes. “Please, we both know you’re gonna tell Robin the minute she walks in that door tomorrow.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” You smile as he shakes his head.

"Anyways princess, enough about my horrible dating life, time to hear about yours.” Steve clapped, while you sat up on the couch, pulling your legs under you, taking a deep breath.

“Ok, so I met him a couple of days ago in work, he came in to pick up lunch for his Boss and he seemed totally nice, y'know? Very handsome, good dresser, nice hair..." You said as Steve began to cough, looking overly offended. "Not as nice as yours Steve, don't worry." You reassured, patting his head.

"Just making sure, princess."

"Anyway, we got talking, flirted a little and he eventually asked if he could take me to dinner. So he picked me up for our date here, gave me a bunch of flowers, opened the car door….”

"So far, he sounds like a real asshole." Steve smirked sarcastically, before pressing his lips to the bottle of beer.

"Guess where he took me for dinner?” You said as Steve tried to read your face. “I dunno, some fancy restaurant with valet parking?”

“He took me to Enzo's, Steve, the place I work five days a week, on my day off!" You whine as Steve started to chuckle at your reaction.

"Maybe he was trying to be nice y'know? Like, maybe he thought you'd feel safer going there with him because you didn't know him and....”

"He took me there because he thought they'd give us a discount." You interrupted, folding your arms. "Did they?" Steve asked as you shook your head.

"Of course not, it wasn't expensive anyway, we didn't even make it past the appetisers." You revealed, drinking the last of the wine in your glass.

"He was just that irresistible, huh?" Steve joked as you playfully nudged him with your foot.

"Totally, I just couldn't wait to rip his clothes off. All that discount talk was too much of a turn on.” You gagged, sticking your tongue out.

“It could’ve been worse…” Steve stated as you wagged your finger at him. “Oh it was, I’m not done yet.” You giggled, pouring more wine in to your glass.

“This elderly couple came in a couple of minutes after us and his whole demeanour changed when he saw them.”

“Parents? Oh Jesus, did they join you for dinner or somethin’?” Steve questioned as you placed a hand over his mouth to stop him from speaking again.

“They weren’t his parent’s. They were his parent’s neighbours and when the lady came over to say hello to him, he introduced me as a work colleague.”

“That’s weird.” Steve said, raising a brow.

“Right? So, I asked him why he said that and he said that she likes to gossip and he’s very private, I accepted that, I’m pretty private too. But then! He left the table to go to use the restroom and the lady came over again and….”

“Did she want a discount too?” The boy joked as you threw a pillow at his face. “Steve! I’m trying to finish my story!” You hiccuped as he held his hands up, holding back another laugh. “I’m sorry, go ahead princess, tell me what happened.”

“She asked me if I was really his work colleague so, I said no because obviously something weird was going on right? Then she told me that he’s already in a relationship and had only proposed to the poor girl two months ago!” You revealed, watching the shock form on Steve’s face.

“You’re fucking kidding me?” He said as you shook your head. “I’m totally serious.”

“What did you do?” Steve asked, hanging on to your every word. His blood starting boil as you continued your story, all his instincts telling him to go find the guy and kick his ass.

“I thanked her for telling me, ordered them an expensive bottle of champagne and told the guys to charge that asshole for it!” You smiled proudly. “Man, what a creep! How did he think he was going to get away with something like that in a small town like this?"

“Honestly, I have no idea. He even came after me, telling me we could finish the date somewhere else!” You shivered as Steve scoffed in disbelief.

"Why didn't you call me to come pick you up?" He asked, looking at you a little more seriously than he had been all night. “I thought you were working.” You shrugged, pulling a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You could’ve called the store, you know I would have come for you, right?” Steve says softly, placing his warm hand on your knee while you nod your head. “I know you would have, Steve." You blush, noticing that he hadn't moved his hand away, still looking at you intently.

"Anyways, cheers to no more bad dates!" You tease, raising the almost empty wine glass to clink with Steve's bottle as he lets out a small chuckle. "Honestly, I don't think I could handle going on any more bad dates.”

"We should totally make a pact, you know, like if we're both still single by the time we're thirty five, we'll just marry each other!" You jokingly suggest as Steve shakes his head.

"Thirty five huh? That's over a decade away sweetheart..." He huffs.

"So?" You laugh, shrugging your shoulders.

"So, that's a lot of sex to be missing out on having with you." The boy admits, eyes widening when he realises what he's just said.

"Oh really? And what makes you think I'd have sex with you?" You challenge, raising a brow at the boy who smirks confidently at you.

"Well theoretically speaking princess, you'd be my wife, so I'd kind of hope that if you were having sex with anybody, It'd be with me."

"You're so cocky sometimes, you know that?" You roll your eyes as he finishes the end of the bottle. "Come on princess, like you never thought about it before." Steve teases as your cheeks begin to flush.

"Thought about what?" You question trying to play dumb. You knew exactly what he meant.

"Us." He answers, eyes completely focused on your reaction.

"I can't say I have." You lie and Steve knows it , because he moves closer to your side of the couch, brushing strands of hair out of your face and he swears he hears a little whimper from you when he touches your cheek.

"So, if I said I wanted to kiss you right now would you let me? Cause I'm not sure I can wait until I'm thirty five for something to happen between us." Steve whispers as you clench your thighs, biting on your bottom lip.

"Steve we can't, I want to, I do, but I promised Robin I..."

"She made you promise too huh?" He smirks as you nodded a yes. "She said she didn't want things to get complicated." You whine while Steve presses his forehead to yours, pulling you in to his lap.

"Sweetheart, I think we're already there, don't you?"

[calaisreno]

Save John Watson

1098 words / Prompt: Chaos

“Go to Hell, Sherlock.” 

The DVD shuts off. He remains fixed, staring at the screen. 

Miss me? He’d thought it had to do with Moriarty. Definitely an attention-getter. He’d needed a diversion. But this…

Mrs Hudson sighs. “Sherlock…”

Her voice startles him, reminds him where he is and that she’s been watching too.

“What are you thinking, dear?”

“Hm?” He looks up at her, standing above him, arms crossed, a frown on her face.

“I’m thinking… how to save John.” 

How to go to Hell…

She takes John’s chair, opposite him. He remembers putting it away, then bringing it back. He never can make up his mind about John. What to do about John getting married, what to do about his own vow, now that he’s failed to protect Mary. 

You promised. You made a vow.

He never could make up his mind about Mary, either, even before he knew what she was. He’d chosen a dramatic way to let John see for himself, hear her confess what she’d done, and then hoped he was right. John was stubborn, but eventually yielded. But then she died, the thing he hadn’t foreseen. 

Days have already been wasted, trying to solve this. Even in death, she presents him with puzzles.

But what she means here is obvious. John is the person they love most. Both of them understand that it’s not in John’s character to allow himself to be saved. He will stubbornly go to hell, insisting that he’s fine. Sherlock must get there first.

Once, Sherlock saved him. He got in a cab with a murderer—and John came to life, followed the cab, and saved Sherlock. The cane was forgotten and never reappeared. 

There’s no murderous cabbie this time, no Moriarty threatening to burn his heart out. But there are other ways to go to hell. 

Another sigh, a hard look in his direction. “Sherlock, I know you think I’m just a dotty old woman, but I need to say this: going to hell is not good advice. I have no doubt that she loved John, in her own way, and considered you a friend, but she is wrong.”

“In what way?”

“You and John— well, you’re both lovely people— but you have a terribly dysfunctional relationship. Coming from me, a person who’s had her share of relationship disasters, this may not sound like good advice, but who better to recognise a disaster in the making? Mary thinks that if you get yourself in trouble again, lose your mind, risk your life, John will rescue you. That’s his role in your relationship, to save you. Yours is to be brilliant and to need saving from your recklessness. But it’s not healthy. What Mary said is wrong, Sherlock.”

“But she knows John.”

She shakes her head. “Mary was one of those people who needed things to be chaotic. How else would she have become what she was? Assassins aren’t exactly homebodies, you know. She wouldn’t have lasted as a stay-at-home mum. Chaos was her first love, and she married John because he loves danger. And because of you.”

“Me?”

“Because she saw the potential of being a chaos agent between you two, disrupting the partnership you’ve always had. Look what she did to the two of you! Making you both jealous, putting herself between the two of you all the time. Shooting you, then getting John to forgive her because of the baby. And here she is, reaching her hand up from the grave to stir that pot again. She couldn’t help herself. You two have done nothing but abuse one another since you returned.”

“I’ve never hit John. And at the restaurant, he did hit me, but he had reason to be angry. I don’t blame him for his reaction.”

“I’m talking about emotional abuse. Bruises and cuts heal, but when you let people think you’re dead for two years, that’s abuse as well. Yes, Sherlock, it is. When you make him believe things about himself, that he’s not good enough, not loved— that’s abuse that doesn’t easily heal.”

“You think I gaslighted John?”

“It doesn’t matter that your intent was to keep him safe. She encouraged it, always teasing him about you, making herself out to be the smart one. He believes you didn’t trust him, that he wasn’t good enough. He believes you don’t love him.”

“He doesn’t—”

“Yes, he does. It’s as plain as day.”

“I killed his wife.”

She huffs, crosses her arms. “You did not shoot her. It was her choice.”

“No, but I goaded Vivian Norwood into shooting me, and Mary took that bullet.”

“And why do you suppose she did that?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it constantly, and it doesn’t make sense. John loved her—”

“John loves you. She was no idiot, and she knew whose death would destroy him. Remember, she knew him when you were dead and understood what it would do to him if you took that bullet. She put herself in its path out of love for him. And he’s angry, of course. He’s lost his wife, and has a daughter to raise alone. But he loves you, and his anger is really guilt: when he saw you alive, and his wife dying, he felt relieved that it wasn’t you. That made him feel guilty.”

Sherlock is shaking his head. “Mrs Hudson, I know you’ve always seen us together romantically, but John isn’t gay. He—”

“Sometimes it doesn’t matter,” she replies, leaning forward. “We love who we love, and he loves you. Now, I’m not saying you meant to harm each other. Things have been out of kilter, and neither of you has dealt with it. He’s angry, and your feelings are hurt. Making it worse it not the answer. The only way to escape this is to step out of it.”

Sherlock stands and walks to the window. He stares into the street for a long time, thinking. 

They were broken when they met. He’d been out of rehab for a few months, and was trying to learn sobriety. A junkie is always a junkie, and substituting cases for cocaine was healthier, but not a cure. Every day, he’d struggled to distract himself, and felt himself weakening. The case of the pink lady was an excellent distraction, but John— 

He’d seen it that day in the path lab. A man with a cane for a psychosomatic limp. A doctor whose heart was still on the battlefield. 

He turns to her. “What should I do?”

--

Another chapter of "Things Somebody Should Have Said in Canon." Sherlock's question will be answered (eventually) in another story.

@keirgreeneyes @lisbeth-kk @totallysilvergirl @raina-at @friday411

[itsonlytext]

Restoring Balance · scene i

He had already made up in his mind that he was going to sink in the silence alone today and yet there John was, texting him at 5am asking if he and Rosie could visit.

(read this chapter on ao3.)

sherlock discovers that although things will never be the same, it doesn't mean that it will always be necessarily bad. there aren't any warnings today - this is post season four, so feelings are (obviously) a tentative topic but there isn't anything upsetting ≈ 1500 words. also, we get a bit of rosie fluff. i love rosie. and fluff. and rosie fluff and mainly fluff and rosie with a bit of fluff but also rosie fluff the most

The weeks following Eurus' discovery were silent.

Of course, not literally - the builders that Mycroft sent to restore 221B after the explosion were incredibly loud and invasive. (Invasive about what? Nothing sentimental even survived. They were just doing their jobs. Sherlock eventually realised that he simply didn't like their presence every day from 3-6pm.)

But after they finished, after there was nothing left to be restored or repainted, Sherlock couldn't do anything but hover around the living room in the silence.

With a quick gaze over the room, it looked exactly the same as it did before the explosion, Mycroft's men had done well to ensure that. However for Sherlock, he couldn't help but notice how off-key the new wallpaper was, how the spray painted smiley face was neater than before and how the new desk by the window was an inch taller than the old one. He lived there - of course he was bound to notice. (He was himself - of course he was bound to notice.)

The detective stumbled out of bed and into the (unfamiliar) living room with a sigh. He didn't bother changing out of his pyjamas, for he had already decided that he wasn't going to do anything (or see anyone) at all today.

Another silent day - that was his resolve.

Early morning sun streamed down through the windows and straight into his eyes. It was earlier than usual, Mrs Hudson was yet to bring up his morning tea. Besides, he didn't want it; there was a persistent pit in his stomach that wouldn't let him sleep. (He wouldn't have been able to keep the tea down anyway.)

He made a point not to look at the walls or the smiley face or the desk that was too tall as he sat down in his armchair and pulled out his phone. He had two new messages.

Can We Come Over Today? Rosie's Been Asking For You.

Hope It's Not Too Early.

It was sent two hours ago. John often used to wake up early (a habit sustained as a result of the army) but recently, after his daughter was born, had somehow managed to wake up even earlier.

Sherlock's fingers hovered over the keyboard. The silence rang in his ears (he never got used to it, not really). He had already made up in his mind that he was going to sink in the silence alone today and yet there John was, texting him at 5am asking if he and Rosie could visit.

He blew out a gentle breath.

Sure. SH

John responded immediately.

Thanks. We'll Be There In Fifteen

He was probably struggling to entertain his daughter's early morning excitement any longer, waiting for a reply back, another shoulder to lean on. Sherlock suddenly felt bad for not seeing the messages sooner. His stomach churned.

He let his phone drop down and onto the leather of his chair. He glanced around. Tried not to let his gaze linger on anything for too long. There was an awful tightness in his chest whenever he breathed, as if his lungs didn't want him to. He needed a cigarette. Probably shouldn't. Not if Rosie's on the way. (Damn it.)

For now, he'll have to settle with just tea and hope it'll stay down.

John was (unsurprisingly) right - fifteen minutes of sinking deeper into his chair trying not to look at anything and there was a knock at the door.

A nest of blonde curls toddled into the detective's arms before he could stand up. He lifted her up and ignored the way she eagerly tugged on his hair with a remarkable grip.

“Watson,” he greeted calmly.

“Yeah,” she grinned, pulling on his curls and bringing his head down with it. He winced.

“Let’s not do that,” Sherlock said as he gently pried her tiny fingers away from his hair.

"She's doing that to me, too," John began. Sherlock glanced up, suddenly aware of his voice, his presence. He was lingering by the door with heavy eyes and a large baby bag over his shoulder. He pointed to his greying hair. "I think I've got a bald spot here now."

"You've always had that."

"Oh, thanks," he replied lightly, dumping the bag by the door and walking in. "You're erm. Up early."

Sherlock didn't reply, instead he turned his gaze to the toddler. She gazed back at him with an illiterate babble. Her stare was so firm yet so playful. (So John yet so Mary.)

“Any cases?” John carried on, fluffing up a pillow with a fist before falling into his armchair with a sigh.

For a moment, as he asked about cases and fell into his armchair, it was like time hadn’t irreparably cracked and bruised their friendship. But Sherlock knew that wasn’t true. Of course it wasn’t - the bags under John’s eyes and the silver colonising his blond roots ensured that it wouldn’t be the same again.

It made the pit in Sherlock’s stomach sink even deeper and he didn’t know that was possible. (He wasn’t sure it would ever go away.)

“Haven’t checked.”

“Greg hasn’t called for anything?”

“Who?”

“Sherlock.”

The corner of his lips tugged. “No. Mycroft called yesterday though. Something about a political domestic.”

He tilted his head. “And I’m assuming you turned it down.”

Sherlock smiled. Then suddenly, he winced.

“Rosie!”

“G’na pull it…”

“No!” John huffed, reaching forward and holding out his arms. “You don’t pull on people’s hair. It hurts.”

She grunted angrily, burying herself into Sherlock’s neck so that her dad couldn’t take her. “It’s alright,” the detective replied calmly, splaying out a large hand on her back and trying to ignore the piercing headache forming at the nape of his neck. He stood up with her and faced the mantle. “Let’s do something different.”

John watched as Sherlock fed her curiosity by providing context for all the memorabilia that had accumulated over the years at 221B. She (obviously) didn’t understand anything and she (definitely) didn’t care about the context other than they were all great to shove into her mouth, but it kept her from creating pools of bald spots in anyone’s scalps and for that the men were grateful.

John knew that their spontaneous visits were good for Sherlock - that he needed Rosie’s livelihood and John’s tiredness to feel needed enough so that he wouldn’t drown in his own mind. He also knew that Sherlock wouldn't ever realise that for himself.

“Oh, and that’s a pinned vampire bat. Not sure where from. Mexico, at a guess.”

“ ‘nd dat one,” the little girl grabbed a tiny metal object with sparkling eyes.

“That’s just the gun token from Cluedo.”

So instead of saying it, John just carried on keeping the visits spontaneous. (He figured that some things were better left unsaid. Or maybe one day Mrs Hudson will say it out loud and make the detective realise.)

“I bought some breakfast on the way,” he said suddenly. “Figured you haven’t eaten yet.”

Sherlock shifted his body slightly to face him. “Didn’t have to.”

“Yeah, well.” He stood up. “Let me take her, you eat.”

“It’s alright.”

“You’re not on a case, Sherlock, you’ve no excuse not to eat.”

“Not hungry.”

“That’s a lie.”

He glanced down at Rosie as he reluctantly handed her over to John. “Your father’s a tyrant.”

“I try,” he replied with an exaggerated grin, taking his daughter into his arms.

Sherlock strode over to the paper bag and pulled out the food. Cafe pastries, a sandwich. Nothing he could stomach yet. (The Danish looked good though. He was going to save that for later.)

He glanced back. John had sat down on the carpet with Rosie in front of him, playing with the skull and the tiny gun from Cluedo.

He knew very well that John could currently be in the comfort of his own home instead; he’d have a wider variety of toys for Rosie, (proper) baby food, their beds. John only did it for Sherlock’s benefit, not his own. But Sherlock didn’t say anything because he couldn’t deny that their presence probably was, on balance, better for his lungs than a three-month-old secret stash of Marlboro reds. (Damn it.)

He glanced back at the bag and pulled out the Danish pastry anyway, hoping that it would make his stomach feel better and not worse. He took a bite.

There was a knock at the door and Mrs Hudson used her elbow to push it open. She was carrying a tray of fresh food from the cafe and his tea.

“Too late,” Sherlock muttered between a bite, lifting the Danish pastry to show her.

“Oh, John,” the old lady ignored him, setting the tray down in the kitchen. “I didn’t know you two were coming.”

“Neither did we, really,” he smiled politely, ignoring the way Rosie climbed his frame and started to reach for his hair. “Well. Not until half an hour ago.”

“If I had known, I’d have gotten those cakes for the little one, the one she likes,” she gestured lovingly with her hands.

“She’ll like anything with sugar.”

As they conversed, Sherlock glanced at his watch. She was fourteen minutes late.

Mrs Hudson was never late to float upstairs with his cup of morning tea, she lived by that strict schedule for years; wake up, dress, make breakfast, eat, tidy her kitchen, make Sherlock's tea, carry said tea upstairs, tidy 221B and then open the cafe. She was the only subtle reminder that Sherlock wasn’t completely alone in the silence when he’d wake up at 8am to find a freshly steaming cup in the living room.

But after the explosion, things had been different - her (right) hip had gotten worse, her limbs more fragile in their venture up the stairs. She was, unfortunately, getting older. As a result, Mrs Hudson had been getting to him later. It wasn’t her fault, he knew that. (But it still troubled his stomach.)

Sherlock blew out a breath and shook the sleeve of his robe down to cover his watch. Suddenly, the Danish pastry in his mouth didn’t seem as appealing anymore.

this ended up being way longer than i thought/wanted/hoped, so i’ve split it in two. next one will be coming up soon. thanks folks!

let me know if you’d like to be/no longer be tagged.

tags: @nathan-no @helloliriels @dragonnan @strawberrywinter4 @with-a-ghost-mr-holmes @7-percent @totallysilvergirl @inevitably-johnlocked @meetinginsamarra @pressurepoint221 @gaylilsherlock @catlock-holmes @gaypiningshit @johnlocky @a-victorian-girl @astudyinlaura

[padfootdaredmetoo]

Hi again! Oh yeah! I guess its request time then😂 (Also I love that gif😂) also right after I sent the first ask I had an idea for another Henry Sherlock x Peaky and I can't decide which to send so I'll send both separately and you can choose which one you like better! The original idea I had was for a Shelby sister Reader and the other is a Holmes sister Reader. But the first idea is this: 

What if another Shelby sister moves to London and ends up being Sherlock's neighbor but he ignores her at first (or pretends to) even when she becomes friends with Enola. Then one day a man looking for revenge against the Blinders breaks into her home and almost succeeds in kidnapping/killling her but suddenly Sherlock appears and saves her. Then right as he's helping patch her up like half of the Shelby Company Limited +Co show up because they got the call reader was threatened. And after that reader and Sherlock gee closer and like Ada and Enola are constantly working to set them up! And yeah that's the first idea I had if you were interested!❤️❤️

Hey Love,

This request is just - I'm not worthy. But I hope this makes you happy. I have three extra pieces that I'll try to post tonight. Thanks for sending this in, I'm having a lot of fun with it!

Warnings: Reader is assaulted, kissing, fluff,

EXTRAS: Little extra bits of the story that give more context. I figured they might make it too long but I'm still super attached to them.

Kissing - Additional Short about kissing

You looked around the sun bathed flat in amazement, a sound you could never recall rang in your ears. Silence. It was quiet and only the furniture was put in place. Aunt Pol and Ada insisted on staying with you for the first night, in your world that was a party so naturally, Esme was in toe with them when they showed up. You all listened to records and drank yourselves silly. Gin and dancing, laughing and gossiping, your heart was soaring high when you eventually fell asleep on a pile of cushions. 

However, in the morning, it was a different feeling entirely. You woke up first wondering how on earth you all could make a mess out of a practically unpacked apartment, but there it was. The anxiety from the booze started to hit you and laying still became impossible. Your stomach turned violently and your mind started to race with unwanted memories. Time to get busy, you groaned and got up for the day. 

You ran out to get some bread and eggs for breakfast. The street was brutally loud and you were grateful for the little shop as the door closed and the sound was muffled. Eggs and bread turned into a large and heavy paper bag full of all sorts of things. You managed it well enough till you got to the top of the front steps. You nestled the large paper bag in one arm and struggled to get your keys out of your coat pocket.  The door swung open suddenly and a very tall man glared down at you. The paper bag fell from your arm as the man's gaze held you. He was very tall and broad, looking down at you with a displeased face.

“So-” You stopped yourself and shook your head this was not your fault. You picked the bag up and tried to hold your head high while walking around the large man, something that would have been possible if his shoulders didn't take up the entire doorway. 

Your eyes rested on his collar bones that poked out of his nightshirt and you wondered how on earth someone could have shoulders so…. 

“221C?” His voice was deep and velvety and would have been very pleasing if he had sounded less grumpy. His crumpled hair and long sweeping robe made you wonder why he was going out at all. 

You turned your head to the side as you met his eyes again, a move you regretted instantly. 

“Normally people refer to me by my name.” You told him your name and reached out to shake his hand. He gave you a firm handshake and gave you another look over. 

“Last night was a terrible experience. My work requires a large amount of concentration and -” 

“Are you the new woman?” An overly cheery voice called out from behind the hulking man. He let out an exasperated sigh. A girl with long brown curly hair fought her way out of the doorway and bent down to grab a tin of coffee that had escaped in the fall. 

“Im Enola - Holmes! This is my brother” She looked between the two of you and registered her brother's deep glare “he’s hungover - completely ignore him.” She said with a beaming smile. She ushered you past him into the hallway and started chattering. Your head was pounding but you tried to follow along with what she was saying. 

“It sounded like a wild night, I don't think I’ve ever heard so much laughing.” She held onto your arm with the tin of coffee in the other hand and you felt weird being walked to your apartment by the girl. She must have been about 14 or so, something in her eagerness to speak with you made you feel she was lonely.

“You know I love parties, I know lots of jokes, and oh- do you run your own business. Your mail here has a company stamp with your last name. That’s really something, I’m excellent with numbers if you ever need accounting - not that you aren't good with numbers if you own your own business- ” 

“Enola” The man called from their door across the hall. 

“Sorry!” She gave you another big smile. 

“Do you want a cup of coffee or tea?” You don't know why you asked her, caffeine was the very last thing that girl needed. But her eyes were lonely and you remembered what it was like at that age. 

“No” 

“YES!” they answered at the same time. The man looked at you almost apologetically.

“She wouldn't be any trouble. My sisters are here with my aunt, ah tonight was sort of a one-off. Sorry about the noise and everything.” You fumbled and your face flushed. 

“No,” He said awkwardly. “ Not a problem I just - as long as it's not every night. I’m sure we can be just as loud.”  You gave him a nod and then opened the door to your apartment. 

“Behave Enola” He called out before stepping into his flat with his mail in hand. She made an exasperated face and rolled her eyes. 

_________________________________________________

You laughed as you came into the kitchen to see all three of them sat at the table in various positions that showed their hungover-ness. 

“Everyone this is my neighbor Enola.” Esme didn't lift her head from the wooden table but a groan of acknowledgment rang out from a mess of dark curly hair. 

Polly looked the girl over and lit a cigarette, then her eyes looked to you with a question. 

“She bumped into me in the hallway. Enola this is my Aunt Pol and my sisters Esme and Ada.” 

She gave them a wave and whispered a soft hello. Aunt Pol looked at her for a long while then gave a kind smile. 

“So you live across the hall then?” 

“Yes with my brother Sherlock Holmes - he’s a detective and I’m technically in training but I am taking clients,” Enola said proudly. 

Sherlock Holmes, you thought to yourself for a moment brain foggy as ever. The detective from the papers? You didn't know what to think of the information as you put the kettle on the stove.

“A detective eh?” Pol gave her a nod. “Do me a favor and keep an eye on this one for me?” 

“Sure thing. She can count on us.- You mentioned it’s just you living here now?” 

You nodded as you started to unpack a box of mugs. 

“I live in the neighborhood, but we are all from Birmingham,” Ada answered with a small smile. 

“Birmingham! Holy - I haven't been before but I read this article once -” And off she went quietly rattling on and on. You got some eggs, ham, toast, and coffee on the table. Pol took Enola’s mug and filled it with milk before she could grab some coffee. 

“It’s a dreadful habit dear. Have some milk.” She said knowing full well that she didn't need anything to wake her up. 

The morning passed into the afternoon and eventually, Esme raised her head and ate up her breakfast. They made Enola laugh loudly and you felt she fit in with your girl gang well enough. 

“You have a boyfriend then? How old are ya? Should call Finn over if not.” 

“No” You and Pol answered at the same time. Finn was a good 3 years older than her and the last thing you wanted was her caught up in whatever he was working on these days. 

“He’s my litter brother but he’s a hell of a troublemaker and a good few years too old for you.” You gave Esme a look and she shrugged. 

“I do as it turns out. Well - Erm - don’t mention that to my brother if you don't mind?”  You gave her a big smile. 

“Secret is safe with me.” 

“As long as we get to meet him of course,” Ada added sensibly. 

Soon enough the day passed by and you were left with a messy apartment to clean and many boxes to unpack. You said your goodbyes and enjoyed watching Enola light up as the women hugged her goodbye, with promises of saying hello the next time they came over to stay. 

You closed the door and looked at the girl who jumped slightly.

“You probably want me to leave - sorry!” She looked flustered.

“Stay or go, I’m going to do some unpacking then start on dinner. You are welcome to stay if you like” 

Enola took that invitation as a welcome to come over whenever she pleased. You thought it would start to bother you, but coming from such a big and loud family you found it comforting. 

You watched her interactions with her brother closely the few times you happened to run into him. They would fight over all sorts of things and you weren't happy about it. It was one thing to argue with family but he was an adult and she, whether her family liked it or not, was still just a girl. 

“Love, what happened to your parents?” You asked on a spring evening when you were both absorbed in books. They had been shouting at each other all morning and the question was burning a hole in your mind. 

“Ah, do I annoy you?” She asked in a voice you rarely ever heard her use. 

“No, you and Sherlock argue often I just - It’s none of my business but I -.” 

“We argue a lot because we're both too smart.” She sighed like it was a heavy burden. “We see equally important things, but different things when we assess situations and whatnot. He hates it when I get involved in his cases, hates it even more when I’m right but deep down I know he doesn't mind all that much.” 

You thought about her words and she let out another deep sigh. 

“My mum felt it was her time to be on her own again, my father died ages ago. My other brother Mycroft - he’s a real twat. Tried to put me in finishing school - but you know about that from my first case.” 

You gave a nod remembering the story. “Your mum felt you were okay to be on your own?” You looked at the girl and shuddered. London was a big city, and she was incredibly smart but she was still obviously more of a girl than a woman. 

“Yep,” She said it firmly like she was trying to be proud but there was a sadness etched into her posture that you couldn't unsee. You thought of your own mother and something sank in your stomach. 

“Well, I think you are entirely too much fun to be left alone. The world is big and lonely. Better to stick together with those who are worthy.” You said watching her face light up slightly. “Aunt Pol was calling to see if I’d met your fella by the way.” Pol had not mentioned it in her phone calls, but you said it anyway to make her feel like she was a part of things. She beamed. 

“I’ll take you and Ada to see him.” 

“Excellent. Baking cookies tomorrow, if you want to help?” she gave you a big smile. 

“Despite my extensive knowledge of chemistry, I’m awful at baking.” 

“Eh, you just need to learn.” You shrugged. “One more chapter then we best be off to bed.” A lie that was told frequently in your house. You both read until the wee hours of the morning, multiple cups of peppermint tea made and drank. 

You jumped out of your chair when a hand lightly nudged your shoulder. Out of instinct, you threw the book at the man. Sherlock was there and Enola was happily asleep on the couch open book resting on her chest. 

“Sorry!” You whispered. Sherlock only picked up the book you were reading and then gave you a long look. A thick flush covered your face as you accepted the book back from him. He always made you feel embarrassed and with both of them having all that fancy pants knowledge you really wished he would have caught you reading something of substance. 

“Erm-I” You fumbled. “What time is it?”

“Round six,” He said, still staring at you intensely. 

“Ah, sorry I told her one more chapter - “ You looked at the stack of books “Two books ago - Sorry” 

“It’s alright. I should be the one to apologize. Thanks for spending time with her. If it’s too much-” 

“She’s not a problem.” You said with a finality that showed too much emotion. “I - things are complicated with your family - I only know because I also come from a complex family. But really she’s not a burden or someone that’s better left behind.” 

Sherlock gave you a strange look and you found it impossible to look away from his deep blue eyes. 

“Complicated is a good way of describing it.” He looked around your apartment and you felt extremely uncomfortable. “She’s going to be smarter than all of us soon enough though, I guarantee you she won't be forgotten.”

“Oh, I’m sure she’ll make it into the public’s eye sooner or later. I’m referring to your mother leaving her-” 

“I won’t,” He said firmly and with his full attention turned to you. “Our mother had her own business to attend to, but I assure you Enola is safe with me.” His eyes held you in place and you hated how he made you feel like he could see everything that you were thinking and feeling. 

“You shouldn't shout at her so much.” The words toppled from your mouth as you held his stare. This made the corner of his mouth stand up slightly. He looked like he was debating whether he wanted to start an argument with you or not. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He kept looking at you and you were surprised at his response. You knew deep down Enola’s situation reminded you of yourself a great deal. Mother gone, and many fights with Thomas, but you had Pol to back you up, and the rest of them looking out for you all the time. 

“Here - she can stay the night no point in moving her.” You got up and grabbed the thick blanket you left on the edge of the sofa for her. You expected him to already be out the door. He often abruptly ended conversations that is if he didn't ignore you completely. 

“Why are you in London?” His voice made you jump. 

“Wanted some space from the family.” 

“Your sister lives here and your Aunt calls frequently? Space from your family or from your brother?” 

“What do you know about my brother?” The hair on the back of your neck shot up. 

“He gives my bother a hard time in Parliament. Really his arch rival of sorts.” Sherlock said and you wondered if he had been drinking. 

“That pleases you?” You smiled at his unusual expression. 

“Very much so. Although I know you lot had to struggle to get to where you are now.” His voice was back to its usual neat grumpy tone. “I don’t think it's a lifestyle you engage in?” He looked around your colorful apartment again.

“No. It’s not.” You said hoping he believed you. Sure you had gotten into your fair share of grim situations but the company had been legal for a long while now. 

“Good.” He cocked his head towards you and his tone was light again. Something deep inside you wanted to do just about anything to keep his attention on you. With a small smile, he made his way out of your apparent closing the door softly. 

____

Enola was gone to stay with her mother for the night. You knew that something inside you had run over the boundaries of a friend or neighbor when you lay in bed tossing and turning. You knew she was perfectly capable of protecting herself and it really wasn't your place, but something in your mind wouldn't rest. 

Ada had gone back home to stay with Pol for a while, no one was answering the phone today. Now that you thought about it that was probably the main reason you felt worried. You thought about walking across the hall to see if Sherlock wanted help with whatever he was working on. 

In the last case, Enola insisted on your help as all the clues were in Romani. This was probably a normal case that would be over your head but maybe he’d have you for tea anyway. You sighed and got out of bed grabbing your thick robe and wrapping it around yourself. 

Opening your bedroom door you looked across the small flat and could see that the front door was open. Your first instinct was to move back into the bedroom but dark eyes fell on you before you could move. 

“Just come with us quietly love, no fighting” two men made their way towards you. Your fingers wrapped around the poker for the fire and you made careful notes of their appearance before the fighting started. 

You thought about the bedroom window behind you but the drop would guarantee your death. The front door was the only option. You held the iron poker in your grip tightly then the most sensible idea floated into your mind. If fighting didn't go as planned you were sure that screaming your head off would alert someone in the building. 

The two men came towards you and you got the first one across the side of the face before jabbing him in the eye. The second man proved harder to smack no matter how determined you were. Eventually, he got the upper hand and a hard smack landed across your face. You took a deep inhale but his hand closed around your neck before you could scream. You tried to scratch and hit his face but your arms became too heavy before any substantial damage was done. 

Your vision went hazy just as the man let out a loud cry. His hand released you and you watched a hulking figure pull screams from his body. Blood was spilled before the beast made his way toward you. 

You tried to move away unsure of anything, still unable to see or hear properly. Big arms gathered you up and lifted you into the air. 

“Calm down.” His voice was rough and you wondered how your body could switch from so panicked to letting go entirely. 

He carried you across the hall and into his flat. It was the complete opposite color scheme but just as cluttered with books. He placed you down on the countertop in the bathroom. He switched the lights on and you let out a groan covering your eyes. 

You watched him look you over for damage while your voice was stuck somewhere deep inside you. His rough hands traced the bruise on your neck and you let out a soft hum. He didn't move his hand and you looked up into his piercing blue eyes. A different type of tension settled between the two of you one that caused your bones to ache. Without further thought and with no one but God to judge you, you leaned forward and pressed a small kiss to his lips. 

A part of you expected him to recoil in disgust or offense, but he pulled away placing his thumb over your lips. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, and you struggled slightly. You wanted him so badly it hurt to breathe. 

“You’re in shock.” He whispered with a softness you didn't know he possessed. 

“So?” You mumbled against his thumb. 

“So, see how you feel in the morning then try again.” He smiled slightly and you noticed how much blood had splattered up his arms. He got you settled in his bed and gave you some tea. He made some phone calls and after a long while, he came back.

Without any questions or stress, he started reading the book that he must have grabbed from your night table. 

You thought you should tell him to stop but enjoyed the way his nose crinkled and how he started to argue about the character's motives. 

“Men don’t think that way - surely you must know this?” he said looking down at you curled up in his blankets. The sun was just starting to come up and you were wishing there was a way for you to keep stuck in this moment. 

“I have no idea how men think” You whispered up at him. Right then there was a commotion in the hallway. 

“Oh, NO.” Enola’s voice had called out and you both shot up. You winced in pain as you followed him out of the room.

“Who are you lot? You need to tell me where she is right now.” Enola commanded in a voice that would have made the average person crumple. 

Thomas, the man standing across from her was not the average person. His eyes flicked from her to you standing behind Sherlock. You caught the relief flooding his features and Arthur let out a deep breath from the living room.  

“There she is. Tough girl.” Arthur came towards you and you let him pull you into a big hug. 

Sherlock and Thomas stood still staring at each other in a way that made you worry. 

“This going to be a regular occurrence?” Sherlock asked in a cold tone. John had squared up his chest when you noticed Ada seemed deeply pleased about something as she looked at you from your bedroom doorway. 

“No,” Thomas said easily. “This is for you.” He pulled out a folded piece of paper. 

Sherlock accepted the paper and sighed when Enola grabbed onto his forearm angling it so she could read it better. 

“Moriarty!” She gasped. “Oh, Sherlock this makes perfect sense! The last case was in Romani, he must have known we had her help. We never ask anyone for help so -” 

“So we put a gigantic target on her back.” He looked down at her with an icy expression and you hated the way it hit her. 

“I take partial responsibility for that,” Thomas called out taking some of the blame off of the girl's shoulders. Not something you would have expected from him. “Moriarty has been pestering me for a meeting for a long while now. I assume this was his way of grabbing our attention.”

“Can she stay with you?” Ada asked in a sweet voice. 

“Of course.” Sherlock and Enola both said at the same time in very different tones. 

“She should come home, Tom,” Arthur said tightening his arm around your shoulders. 

“She would be more help on the case here,” Enola said in a quiet voice. 

“She won't be any safer back home. Plus she’s the only one Alfie enjoys working with. Lord knows we will need his help.” Ada added. 

“If it's not any trouble” You looked at Sherlock. “I’d rather stay here and help.” You added moving your gaze to Tommy. 

“Fuck.” he sighed. “You stay here, deal with Alfie.” 

You smiled at the thought of how much it bothered your brother that Alfie would always keep his word if you asked him to. 

“If that’s settled I should be off.” Thomas gave you a quick hug then Arthur and John followed him out with glances of warning to Sherlock. 

“Alright, two of you go do your thing - with less shouting than usual. We will start on the mess in here.” You looked at Ada and she nodded. 

“No, It’s technically a crime scene or whatever?” Ada looked at Enloa. 

“Yes, she's right you should just move over to our side and leave everything as is.” Enola gave a serious nod and you couldn't help but think they were up to something. 

“We will have to review the last case to see how it relates to this. You need to rest.” Sherlock put his arm around out and gilded you towards his apartment. 

“Don't.” He said before you could start arguing. “Please just rest a bit for me.” 

“Did you just say please?” You said caught off guard by his choice of words. 

“Go to sleep.” He turned on his heel and left you to curl up in his bed. You got up for a while before falling asleep again on the couch listening to him and Enola go back and forth with different theories.

You felt him carry you back to bed and felt a moment of guilt realizing you shouldn't have made him carry you. He placed you back on the bed and you mumbled thanks. There was a moment of complete silence before you felt the bed dip under his weight. 

“My brother has guards covering the building, I don't think there’s any more evidence in my flat if you want me to -” You said realizing there really wasn't a reason for you to stay in his space. 

“I want you to stay.” He murmured into your hair and you felt his arm wrap around you. A heavy peaceful weight crept over you and you were very grateful to give him what he wanted.  

“Then I’ll stay.” You whispered and he pulled you tight against his chest. You thought about that kiss, but you felt his breath even out. With sleep washing over you, you made a note to revisit that kiss in the morning.

____

I feel really nervous about this one so let me know what you think <3

[moxiebustion]

I had an idea for the Old Guard and Sherlock Holmes a few months back, which goes like this.

John Watson is an immortal.

He doesn't remember the year he was born, but it was after Andy and just before Quynh; and in any case the calendar has changed over more than a couple of times since then.

He is, in an incredibly unlikely scenario, killed by Andy the first time, because this was way back in Andy's crusading days and there have been plenty of invaders to Albion. They kill each other and dumb chance has one of them getting washed away by a river or something and hey, look at that, no dreams, because technically they have met before. Hardly a meeting to engender the warm fuzzies in any case. Life goes on.

Andy goes back to her wandering.

Watson, after many aimless years believing himself to be cursed to be a walking ghost, watching all the people he falls in love with die, falls in with a leader of men - a truly unique mind - and it lights a spark and gives him a purpose, finally. When the king dies, he makes John swear that he will defend his lands and his people until his last breath, which, you know, might be a while. Watson vows it, and Watson is not a man who breaks promises.

Sometime in the ensuing centuries and far to the east, Andy finds Quynh (or more accurately, Quynh finds her) and oh, hey, those dreams were about an actual person, they're real, Andy is not alone. There is much rejoicing, etc, etc, and Quynh says hey, we might have to go find the other one.

And Andy is like... what the fuck?

So they head back west and lo and behold, it's the damn random soldier that wouldn't quit and got tossed into a river for his trouble. And he's amazed, astounded, enthralled. Well, he is after they've clashed swards a few times; in Watson's defense, he has no idea what the fuck is happening. He's been haunted by weird dreams of a lady getting it on with his murderer for years and, you know, this is centuries pre-Jung, he has no explanation at all for this except that he might be going ever so slightly, benignly insane.

So, anyway. Blood is spilled, then swords are disarmed, explanations are had, amazed, astounded, enthralled etc etc.

Andy says you should come with us.

John, channeling his inner Hobbit two and a half millennia before JRR Tolkien was even conceived offer her a polite thanks ever so much, but, um, no.

Andy's like, what the fuck?

And Watson is like, well, I made a promise, and you don't break promises, do you? I swore to protect these lands and by gum, I'm going to do just that, thank you.

And Quynh says, aren't you bored though?

And Watson just give her a slight smile because at this point he's had three wives and two husbands and has raised innumerable orphans and says well, no. Not really. Wherever I go I find interesting people. Truly unique minds. My king rises again, you see. And so do all my friends. They rise again and again. I see them everywhere, in every genius, every artist, every eccentric who takes a chisel to the universe and cracks it open. They're always there if you care to look. And I swore I would protect them and I'll keep my word, so I will.

Andy looks at him like he's insane, but shrugs and says, well, when you change your mind come and find us, we'll be out there doing some actual good.

And Watson just gives her a little smile and said gods go with you then, Andromache the Scythian. You'll have a hope and a sword arm with me if needed, but otherwise I'm staying right here, thank you very much.

And that's that.

Andy expects Watson to join them eventually. He never does. It drives her fucking mental, which means she respects the hell out of him for it.

Time goes on. Life goes on. Seven husbands and three wives later, Watson meets the new guys. He adores Nicky and Joe - he's known as Galvagin by this period of history, and Nicky and Joe are fascinated by this immortal who has travelled every continent in earth (and married on them), but never wanders. He has a home. He has people who know he's immortal in his home. His spouses all knew, so do most of his children. They keep the secret. He becomes a local cryptid of sorts. Oh, yes, that's just the old soldier's house, ha ha, they say he's immortal, ha ha. And no one ever examines the joke too closely. Besides, some old-fashioned jingoism helps keep the secret too. He's their immortal, isn't he? Proper British and all that. It's not as if he's some foreigner.

The Old Guard come and go through the years. Sometimes Watson will join them on a grand adventure or a fight for a few years, but he'll always head home. Sometimes they'll lodge with him and explore every nook and cranny he knows of the isles. Andy and Watson's relationship becomes strained after Quynh is lost, because look at you, why do you defend them?? But Watson gave his word and he will not break it, even for Andy. What people are without sins, he asks, without treachery and cruelty and ignorance? The Old Guard has helped plenty of pretty shady regimes in their time. They can only be made better, only helped to change. He will search every inch of the coast, he promises, he will chase every rumour and every hint that comes to him. He will sail every boat that might conceivably travel across where she might be. He will try. But he will not leave.

He does help search. But eventually the others, grieving and in despair, must leave again. Watson promises to keep his eyes peeled in the meantime, a solitary watchman.

Watson doesn't see them again - except for letters - until the advent of Booker. He connects with Booker over his grief - oh, how many children has Watson lost! Spouses too! And over an astounding number of stories of unique minds, his resurrected friends, that Watson has found over the years. Watson is himself a very interesting man, and a good storyteller and Booker shares this love of stories. He tells him if he ever needs respite, he can come to Watson's home for a while.

Booker opts to stay with the Old Guard only because he still doesn't like the English very much, and also because running into jobs and missions sometimes distracts from the wailing grief inside his head.

When they finally all meet again, Victoria is on the throne, steam trains are ascendant and Watson has shacked up with another unique mind at 221B Baker Street.

He's an interesting one, Watson, who is now Watson properly on paper. And he smiles. He has found another friend, risen again.

Why John? Andy asked.

Boring, Joe says, who is still somewhat smarting over Joseph Jones.

John shrugs and says: There's enough Johns to make it commonplace, and I'm pretty commonplace. And Watson because, what son am I, where is my father? I do not remember.

Besides, he adds ruefully, no one uses Galvagin these days. No one east of Wales can pronounce Gwalchmei correctly...

(Booker nods in fellow feeling).

And Gawain just sounds pretentious. So... John.

It is a good name, Nicky Smith smiles.

And in the corner Sherlock is losing his goddamn mind because he had a) no fucking idea what kind of mismatched pidgin they are speaking and b) every single logical deduction he tries to make about these people all make perfect sense until they open their mouths and start talking about their lives, and then it's like OUT OF CHEESE ERROR, REINSTALL UNIVERSE AND REBOOT.

The problem with John Watson is that you have to eliminate the impossible, and the marker for that keeps fucking moving.

(Mycroft, on the other hand, as this era's Copley, sweats bullets every time John gets within spitting distance of the Stone of Scone)

[terikanae]

the hound of the baskervilles with werewolves (stole the idea from ao3)

When Hugo Baskerville kidnapped a maiden, he was cursed by Satan, and since then every man from his family has been the bearer of this curse. Thought the first time turning into a hound is activated by severe stress - fear or anger, so not all of his descendants were werewolves, the majority of them has a very calm, privileged life, nothing threatens, and even not everyone believed in the legend. Sir Charles never turned into a hound in his life, but one of his relatives - yes, it was either his brother (Stapleton's father, not Sir Henry's), or his grandfather, so he believed that the legend was true, but he and the rest of the family did not spread that this was not just a hound from hell that was haunting them, but always one of the Baskervilles themselves. Stapleton turned when he fled Brazil - he then stole a large sum of money, and his life was at great risk. Having realized that the family curse was not a fiction, he decided that he could use it for his own purposes. Having already arrived in England and having met Sir Charles, he still bet on Sir Charles's sick heart, but was also ready for the fact that he could also turn, hoping that he would defeat an opponent who was no longer young. I really want to put Mycroft into this au, because I want their interaction with Sir Henry. In the beginning of the story Sherlock will consider that Sir Henry may be in danger in London (maybe not without reason) and send him at least for a day to Mycroft in Diogenes club, and Mycroft will almost go crazy with this talkative man, but then he will say that he will go with Watson to Baskerville Hall, Britain will survive without him for a week or two. However, I don’t want to do an open romantic interaction between Mycroft and Sir Henry, they will end up breaking up anyway, because Britain will actually last without Mycroft for two weeks, no longer than that, and Sir Henry needs to stay in Baskerville Hall. But if sparks fly between them, it will be great. it would also be possible to add more Stapleton, I would like at least one conversation between him and Sir Henry, when Sir Henry already knows who Stapleton is and what he was up to. And a final battle of werewolves (because the stress will eventually turn Sir Henry into the hound), but I don’t want Sir Henry to kill Stapleton, he’s already suffered enough, and it’s too much for him. So the final battle, to which Mycroft, Sherlock and Watson rush, ends with Stapleton, seeing the numerical superiority, trying to escape and drowning in the moor. Story may end with Sir Henry asking Beryl Stapleton to stay with him after all, if she doesn’t like him - he has money to take her home to Brazil, but she will say that she has had enough of this family and will sell the house, then she will have the money herself. I also drew art - the moment when Mycroft, Sherlock and Watson find Sir Henry, who has turned for the first time, is a full moon, and the werewolves are not fully conscious then. So Sir Henry tried to attack them, but Mycroft broke an oil lamp on his face - this scared the werewolf and he rushed away. Regeneration will allow Sir Henry to avoid scars all over his face pity that I will never write it

[fancyfeathers]

heyyy I wanted to know what is the general dynamic of the darlings with eachother? Like a deeper look into their opinion of eachother and their interactions?

Well for the darlings of the Moriarty brothers, they are all technically sisters in law. Albert’s and William’s are the closest as they have been there the longest, and they get especially close once Albert’s darling has the true nature of the household revealed to her which she was absolutely shielding from seeing under the guise of a happy marriage. So when William’s darling isn’t being dragged off to Durham with him when he goes to go teach for a term or so, the two are spending almost every free moment they have together, and when Albert and his darling do visit William and his darling when he is teaching at the university it is such a pleasure for the two ladies. Even though they are from completely social classes, they understand what the other has been through, both have been abused and manipulated by the others around them to be someone or something that that they don’t want to be, I would almost describe them as found family if they were not forced to be family.

Then when Louis’ darling comes into the picture everything changes because she knows things she should not know. She was the only one kidnapped in the classic sense because she snooped about, and the only reason she was not killed is because of the affection Louis had for her. so things a become a bit tighter around the house which is strange for the other two darlings. They don’t get to know her for a while because is kept under lock and key for a long time when she first comes to stay with the Moriarty family. But when they finally meet her, she is a bit more cold and distant, distrusting, but no one can blame her, honestly the other two don’t want to be in this situation either. She doesn’t talk to the other two much, often keeping to herself, but eventually she cracks under the pressure when she needs human contact besides Louis. So she joins in on their conversations, adding a bit more of a perspective to them. She is the only one out of the trio who settles the least in her situation, choosing to distance herself in hope that she can get out of this if she plans correct and perhaps she can convince the others��

But if that hope is crushed by perhaps a failed attempt then she may warn up slightly more to the others, but it doesn’t hurt to have your cards close to your chest.

Bonus

I haven’t really talked about them much, but Sherlock’s darling was hired by Mycroft’s darling to write about and bring to light the murder of her parents, who also happen to be the parents of Albert’s darling as well. The two are from very different social standings, one is an aristocrat and the other is a working class crime journalist. Over the course of Sherlock’s darling’s more casual investigation of the case the two become very close friends, platonic soulmates if you would. Their friendship is quite the shocking comparison to the current relationship between the Holmes brothers.

Louis’ darling and Von Herder’s darling are best friends. The two were college roommates and some of the first women to get such an education because of their intelligence. Before Louis’ darling went missing, they would often go out for drinks after work or visit each other at work when they had breaks at the same time or even favors of each other here and there. They were the bestest of friends and if one goes missing the other is certain to look.

[moldybonessmell]

Okay, but can we talk about this one Christmas scene in BBC Sherlock S2E2?

Let's take a look at this one dialog that occured when John needs to stay with Sherlock to comfort him after Irene's death and his girlfriend is upset:

"You're a great boyfriend!" "Okay, that's good. I mean, I always thought I was great-" "And Sherlock Holmes is a very lucky man." "Oh, Jeanette please"

John has his priorities and it's very obvious to everyone involved (even tho I do think that staying with your best friend after the death of a person who was important to him is a valid reason to miss a celebration) I suppose it just was the last straw for her

"No, I mean it. It's heartwarming. You'll do anything for him. And he can't even tell your girlfriends apart!"

The fact that John's love is so unconditional he doesn't even care if Sherlock returns it reminds me so much of this one episode of Doctor Who where River Song compared loving Doctor to loving sun: "You don't expect the sun to love you back!" or something like this, I don't remember the quote and it breaks my heart so much.

(Yes I did a wholock reference, what are you gonna do about it?)

And I also see here how much he tries to move on knowing that sun will not love him back but he just can't.

"No, I'll do anything for you, just tell me what it is, I'm not doing, tell me!" "Don't make me compete with Sherlock Holmes!"

This quote is so important because even Jeanette knows and understands the entirety of the situation John's in.

Compete with Sherlock Holmes is something nobody can do (all his enemies get defeated as we know) but not only villians are a threat, even loved ones will always be on a second place for John. The first place is forever taken by this one nerd not knowing the Earth is moving around the Sun (even tho he's the sun himself).

"I'll walk your dog for you. There, I've said it now, I'll even walk your dog." "I don't have a dog!" "No, because that was the last one- Okay."

Even John himself admits his defeat and realises what he got himself into.

(He did marry Mary eventually, and even tho I love her character, I can't help but see her being another one of "escapes" for John.)

Please don't witchhunt me for "hating on straight ships" or whatever, complain at the directors and writers who made John so unbearably closeted any other of his ships just doesn't sail (pun fully intended).

All I see here is a man desperately stuck in his one-sided feelings and fear of being out, he goes through the struggle a lot of queer people experienced in their life.

Yes, it's been done many times before, but I can't help but say that the production crew are cowards for not making John canonically queer when his writing is so authentic it makes me experience almost physical pain.

Coming back to the topic of Mary btw, I think it was fucking lame in the way her destiny turned out to be. She deserved to have a good life with loving husband and a child, but writers put her in the story just to make John not so openly queer coded (bi and pan people exist btw but it's a topic for another conversation unfortunately) and they just killed her off to "sail" the johnlock ship in the end because they are cowards to actually follow through with queerbaiting (that's what the quotes for, because they haven't actually sailed it). I hate, and I mean HATE when a woman is added to a story just for a man's character development and gets killed off and BBC's Sherlock situation is exactly like this. Why even add her to the story if you don't plan on making her stay with John? The last season makes no sense and makes me so angry I often pretend it doesn't exist "BOO TOMATOES TOMATOES-" (it's the reason I don't want any new Sherlock seasons tbh)

Okay, this post is all over the place, at this point I'm more just ranting instead of doing a proper topic analysis but I hope you liked it anyway. Share your opinion if you have any, ig the Sherlock tag is too full at this point I don't really see people taking about stuff while checking the tag (saying this as if the first season didn't come out like 13 years ago)

Have a good day :)

[tea-stained-notes]

Steve Rogers x OFC - Waiting On a Miracle, Chapter 7

After catching an infamous serial killer in the act, Julie Castillo is in line for the witness protection program. She is sent to a temporary safe house with U.S. Marshal Steve Rogers to protect her. Both of them scarred by trauma and tragedy, they find solace in each other. But how far will they dare to go?

Somehow, another two months have passed - whoops. But you're being rewarded with an extra long chapter that is mostly smut FINALLY lol Hope you enjoy!

CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2 | CHAPTER 3 | CHAPTER 4 | CHAPTER 5 | CHAPTER 6

Series warnings: violence, death, angst, trauma, smut

Chapter warnings: anxiety, smut

Chapter word count: ~3250

Song(s) referenced: -

When I entered the kitchen the following morning, Steve looked as if he had slept as much as me: not at all. We mumbled our greetings, a tension in the air that felt nothing like the one from the night before. He was washing his breakfast dishes while I prepared my tea and porridge. Our usual easy dance around each other was awkward and clumsy, apologies given and accepted with eyes cast downward. Eventually he muttered something about chopping firewood, pulled on his boots and jacket, then practically ran out the front door. I folded myself into a chair, trying to soothe the burning ache in my stomach with sips of chamomile tea. Like countless times during the night, silent tears began running down my cheeks. His rejection stung so much worse than I could have imagined. The urge to run from this place, where every detail was infused with him, was overwhelming. I was only now realizing how lonely I had been before him. How much I had longed for the kind of connection I had been denying myself after my mother’s death. How easily and quietly he had made my heart his home. For the first time in weeks I desperately wished for my phone. To call Finn, Samira, Emerson, my dad. To catch up with all the other people I had pushed away over the years. Once I was back in the city, I would do better, would learn to lean on others without the constant fear of losing them. Because even the pain of Steve’s cop-out wasn’t enough to make me regret all the beautiful moments I had spent with him.

When Steve came back inside two hours later, I was mindlessly watching a movie, rubbing my jaw that had once more started hurting from constant clenching. “What are you watching?” he asked quietly. “You’ve Got Mail.” “Missing New York?” I nodded, marveling at how well he could read me. “Wanna join me?” My voice was uneven, breathless. He hesitated for a moment, then gave me a crooked smile. “Sure. Let me wash up and I’ll be right there.”

It became easier again. Little by little we rediscovered our groove, despite the extra distance on the couch, despite his excuses to escape the cabin, despite the constant craving in my chest. Our conversations stayed light, no mention of our impending return to the city. But underneath it all lingered the almost of that one evening. And after three sleepless nights I found myself waking from a deep, satisfying slumber, engulfed in warmth and softness and — his scent. I startled, then locked eyes with Steve above me, his face entirely unreadable. An episode of Sherlock was running on the TV, but definitely not the one I remembered watching, so only God knew how long I had been asleep and how on earth I had managed to burrow into his side like that. Pushing myself up and kicking off the blanket, I stumbled to my feet. “Sorry, I’m so sorry.” Between blushing and fighting a dizzy spell, I could barely press out the words. “Goodnight.” I rushed towards the bathroom, slammed the door shut and took the first breath in a minute. My heart was pounding and still aching from having torn myself from him so rapidly. Only when I was rubbing soap and water over my face did I realize that his arm had been around me. Holding me tightly to his chest.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind still reeling. I had to talk to him. In the morning I would force him to have the conversation we had been avoiding. This game we were playing was killing me and I could no longer bear the thought of leaving him and our little world behind without at least trying one more time. Suddenly a small shift in my periphery drew my eyes to the door. The sliver of light beneath it was obstructed by two shadows. Feet. My breath caught in my throat. I hadn’t heard any noise from Steve in over an hour, he must have long gone to sleep. Sweat broke out on my forehead as my pulse began to race. Parker was here. He had found me after all. But this time I refused to let panic take over. It would do nothing to save me. Instead I focused on the adrenaline, on the way it sharpened my senses. And the first thing I realized against every instinct was that my bed was the least safe place right now. Soundlessly, I slipped out from under the covers and set my feet on the floor. I glanced around the room, desperate for some sort of weapon. God, why hadn’t I thought this through before? How could I be stupidly unprepared? Then my eyes fell on a heavy brass candlestick on the dresser. Perfect. Straining my ears for any kind of noise I tiptoed across the room. While I was glad Parker was biding his time, the horrifying plans probably running through his brain right now chilled me to the bone. Focus. My hand closed around the cool metal and I jubilated on the inside. If my luck served me well, I might just make it over to the door. And if I could lock it, that should buy me enough time to call out for Steve before Parker could try to force his way in. Silent second after second ticked by while I crept forward, praying the wooden floor boards wouldn’t betray me. Finally my fingers touched the key and with a deep breath I hastily turned it. Thank God. I almost cried from relief. But just as I opened my mouth to shout Steve’s name, a voice rang through the door.

“Julie? Please don’t lock me out, it’s dangerous. Please, I—“ My fingers acted on their own, turning the key back and ripping open the door. And there he stood. Eyes wide, hair ruffled, hands raised. “It’s you,” I choked before the tears overwhelmed me. “Of course it’s me.” Steve’s face fell. “God, did you…? I’m so sorry, did you think I was him? Oh, sweetheart.” My heart didn’t have time to leap at the pet name, too busy being flooded with pure serotonin at the sight of him. Then I sank into his arms, clinging to him through the sobs that racked my body. “It’s alright, I’m here,” he said softly, caressing my hair. “I was so scared.” “I know, I’m terribly sorry. But you did so well, arming yourself and locking the door. And I didn’t hear you during any of that. I’m really proud of you.” I relished his words and closeness for a moment longer. Then anger slammed into me. I pulled back abruptly, stumbling away from him, the candlestick landing on the floor with a harsh clang. “What the fuck were you doing anyway? Why would you just stand outside my door like that, creeping me out?” “I-I don’t— I don’t know,” he stammered. “Of course you know! What were you doing?” I roughly brushed off my tears while staring up at him in defiance. His chest rose and fell rapidly. “I was… trying to talk myself out of something.” “Out of what?” Something in his eyes sent a shiver down my spine. “This.” And then his lips were on mine, almost searing with heat and longing. A moan escaped me when he wrapped his arms around my waist and molded my body to his. Every inch of me was on fire, the adrenaline from earlier still coursing through my veins and heightening every sensation of the kiss. I sighed his name as his lips traveled down my neck and he groaned in response. He lifted me up, my legs immediately locking around his hips. A second later my back hit the wall and the dull pain only intensified the impossible need for him. “God, Julie,” he panted while trailing kisses along my collarbone. “What are you doing to me?” A string of curses left his mouth as I buried my fingers in his hair and ground my center into his. I was ravenous for him in a way I had never been for anyone. All my brain demanded was more, more, more. “Wait.” My stomach dropped. Fuck. He had come to his senses and the pain after this would be even worse than before. His eyes sank into mine. “I don't want to rush. Not this. Not with you.” Fresh tears of relief formed as I pressed my palm to his chest, connecting to the thundering heartbeat beneath his skin. My other hand caressed his neck, then drew a soft line from his brow along his jaw. I brushed another kiss against his lips, incredulous at finally being able to do this. “Me neither.”

Steve carefully let me slide back onto my feet, then took my hand and walked backwards to my bed, never breaking eye contact. The light from the hallway painted his features in a soft glow. He was perfect. A small tug on my fingers and I was cradled against his chest once more, his mouth seeking out mine. My hands found a sliver of warm, smooth skin beneath the hem of his shirt, which drew a soft moan from him. Still a slave to my greedy heart, I slowly pushed the fabric upwards and he lifted his arms for me, so I could cast the shirt aside. I only took a second to marvel at his torso before pressing my lips to the revealed skin. Overwhelmed by all these new sensations, I barely noticed his own hands carefully unbuttoning and removing my pyjama top. “Are you cold?” he whispered as he ran his fingertips over the goosebumps on my arms. I shook my head, then gently pulled him into me, both of us gasping when skin met skin. We stood like that for a long moment. Lost in each other. “Will you lie down for me, darling?” he finally murmured. I obeyed almost in trance, still scared that if we lost contact for even an instant, everything could shatter. Steve kneeled between my legs. His gaze swept over me, growing evermore mesmerized. Then he leaned forward, placed his palms beside my rib cage and kissed me again. Unhurried but deeply. I melted beneath him as his lips and tongue trailed down my neck, then across my chest and stomach. “God, Steve…” My eyes flew open when his mouth left my skin. He was looking up at me, his hands on the hem of my pants. “Yes. Please, yes.” With a soft kiss to my hipbone he disposed of my pyjama bottoms and underwear in one fluid motion. His mouth and fingers traveled up my thighs, closer and closer to my overflowing wetness. When he finally licked through it, I startled myself with a desperate groan. He briefly caught my gaze, a sparkle in his eyes. Then he pushed my legs further apart, moaning as he buried himself between them and driving me crazy with the soft reverberations. I lasted merely a couple of minutes, hands tugging at his strands, sighing mindless words of praise. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Let go.” Right on cue my insides shattered and I floated away on a cloud of pure bliss. Steve slowed his movements, then pulled away to lick his lips clean.

I pushed myself upright and brought his face to mine to kiss off the smug smile. “Happy with yourself?” “Very. But more importantly: Are you?” “I think you know the answer to that, Mr Rogers.” He let me maneuver him onto his back and I took a minute to catch my breath and lose it all over again at the sight of him under me. “You’re gorgeous.” A soft blush dusted his cheeks. “Ditto.” “Thanks, Swayze,” I chuckled. “No, I mean it. You’re incredible, Julie.” With a fluttering pulse I captured his lips once more before pressing urgent words into his neck. “I need you.” “You have me,” he sighed. I reverently ran my hands over his chest, then slowly peeled off his remaining clothes. When my fingers closed around his length, Steve made a strangled noise, his brows furrowed. “You okay?” “God, yes.” The small grin vanished off my face when he suddenly sat up and panted “Condom.” I blinked at him. “Oh, yeah, good thinking.” It felt anything but. I was not special at all. He had packed condoms, like this was a regular occurrence. Like taking a woman to a safe house would inevitably end in sex. Before I could spiral completely, Steve raised his hands to my face. “I didn’t bring them,” he said softly. “Natasha slipped me some the other day. ‘Just in case.’” A relieved laugh escaped me. “Of course she did.” “But I was crazy enough to actually put one in my pocket tonight.” His thumbs drew small circles on my cheeks. “We can still stop if you want to.” I turned my face to breathe a kiss into his palm. “Never.”

A minute later I was safely dragging my wetness across his erection while Steve caressed every bit of me he could reach. The momentary hurt was forgotten and when I brought him to my entrance, he slid into me without a trace of resistance. By the time he bottomed out we were both panting. His hands on my thighs burned into my skin. I gave us a moment to adjust before settling into a lazy rhythm. “You feel so good,” he breathed. “So perfect for me.” One of his fingers traced a line down from my throat to my navel. I leaned back at the slight pressure and moaned deeply at the sensation of the new angle. Heat was swirling around my stomach and chest as I increased the tempo. Everything was too much and yet not enough. Steve seemed to sense this, so deeply in tune with me after the intense few weeks behind us. He let his hand glide down until his thumb reached my clit and began drawing tight circles on it. I gasped, tilting my hips forward. But just when I started tightening around him, Steve placed both hands on my waist and stopped my movements. “No, please,” I whined but he just smiled with an unexpected twinkle in his eyes. “Trust me, it will be even better if you’re patient.” I hovered on the precipice for another second before the sharp edges of frenzy slowly blurred, leaving a sweet, tingling tension. Maybe he was right. I took a deep breath as I traced his cheek with my fingers and his softening gaze tugged at my very core. He pushed himself up, then pulled me into him. I winced as he slid deeper, but his embrace was warm and tight, calming me after that brush with ecstasy. My arms wound around his neck as I pressed a long kiss to his forehead. With our sweat-slicked skin fusing together and his hard length reaching unknown depths inside of me, we felt like a single entity, sustained entirely by heat and closeness. I love you. The words flashed through my mind with such force and conviction, I feared I had spoken them aloud. But my lips were still molded to Steve’s hairline. Relieved, I drew back slightly to find his mouth with mine and pour everything I did not dare confess into the kiss. My heart ached at almost feeling it in his response, the yearning, the need to hold him like this forever that rippled across my whole body. Could this be real? Could this ever exist outside these walls?

All worries paled when his tongue traced a path along my jawline to my pulse point where he began sucking softly. I took a shuddering breath as the fire inside me flared up. “Julie,” he whispered. My voice was no longer my own, so I guided his face to my chest and once more started to rock into him. Within moments I was on the brink again. Steve’s mouth was hot and eager while his hands guided the rolling of my hips, taking us both to new heights. “Fuck, Steve, don’t stop,” I rasped and his approving hum vibrated through the nipple he had latched onto. Everything about this was just right, the friction, the pressure, the angle — and suddenly I was screaming. White flashes overtook my vision and I shook so violently Steve pulled me even closer to steady me. He was panting almost as hard as me, visibly straining under the effort of holding back his own climax. Then he flipped us over to push my back into the mattress. I whimpered at the overstimulation but couldn’t help admiring the incredible sight of him above me. His golden skin glistened as his muscles worked tirelessly for every thrust. One of his hands found mine and they locked together tightly, a connection that almost felt deeper than the one stoking flames inside my belly. The pleasure curling down my spine was laced with a strange sense of belonging and I only hoped he was too lost in his own lust to notice the tears trickling down my temples. I love you so much. My heart tightened once again with the intense realization. “Come for me, darling” I said instead. “Please.” He groaned and redoubled his efforts, once more triggering my orgasm that hadn’t fully subsided. We cried out in unison as he finally let himself go. “Julie,” he croaked. His arms were shaking, barely holding him up, and I wondered how much of it was physical exhaustion and how much might be emotion similar to the one overwhelming my own heart. The shock and relief of having given into something at last. Given something unexpected a chance. Whatever it was, I didn't want him this far away anymore. The few inches between us were still too much, my skin prickling with the urge to pull him close again. So I did. And when I wrapped my arms around his shoulder blades, he melted into me with a deep sigh. As if, at least for a moment, he was too weary to fight anymore. He became perfectly pliable under my hands as they ran up and down his smooth back, his face fitted into the crook of my neck. The sensation of everything Steve crashed over me so rapidly that I had to press my lips into his temple to keep them from betraying me. I couldn't tell him. Not yet, not now. He had wanted me, yes. And he still lingered, seemingly content in losing his control and laser-focus for a little while. But that didn't mean any of this would last past our stay at the cabin. Even past that night.

I had hoped, however, that we could remain in our perfect bubble until dawn at least. Had still found unconditional affection in his eyes as I had led him into the shower. But even while his fingers gently rubbed soap into my skin, I could feel him slipping away from me, drawing further into his own little safe house with every passing second. And I had no idea how to pull him back. He stood by my bed when I settled under the blanket, his eyes once more unreadable. “Go to sleep, I'm just gonna get some water.” “Hurry back,” I yawned. He nodded once, the smallest of smiles on his lips. I sank into the sheets, letting his scent engulf me as sleep pulled me under.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

MASTERLIST

Tag List: @multifanworld @peguem-o-pombo-agora @cvanstagram @yslvtre @wandasrogers @littleredone88 @before-we-get-started @sophham @missaprilt23 @chrissusmissus @dvmb-whxre @daddydraco0 @quicksilversthings @thechoosenonecreator @rosellia-hudsons @lokirogersgirl @nekoannie-chan @readawaythereality2 @yal1d @hyperfixationhovel

[lunammoon]

I love how you implied that throughout the Entirety of Series 5, Amy thought The Doctor and Marion were in a Will they Won't they situation.

I really wanna see how that Affected her Actions.

And I kinda Hope you delve into Trial of a Timelord, where The Doctor went "If I Wanted to take down Corrupt Civilizations, I should've stayed Home!", with Marion doing a Whole Reason You Suck Speech to the Judges as a representation of the High Council.

That whole area of media 2010s-2016s ish was a period in which a lot of mainstream media hadn't caught up to the fact that gay people wanted to see themselves represented and ended up doing a lot of ha...maybe...but they say they don't like each other like that...but maybe....(<-the writers have 0 intention of making this an actual couple) Sherlock, also by Steven Moffat is an example of this and so when I was coming up with rough ideas for the various dynamics in different TARDIS teams I thought:

"hey what if a young Amelia spent her whole childhood thinking the man and woman she met were a couple and when they weren't kept trying to get them to see that they were the ones for each other even though neither was interested in anything romantic or sexual with the other"

Her flirting with the Doctor is to get Marion to react while Marion’s main reaction is "Hey? Rory deserves better than that."

So a subplot of season 5 is Amy (and Rory to a lesser extent mostly from being dragged along) is trying to get The Doctor and Marion together with the two of them being varying degrees of oblivious and apathetic.

The joke is that I'm straightbaiting or at least Amy is being straightbaited. I would hope the audience would understand what's going on.

On the topic of Marion and Gallifrey.

Have you ever had a friend, who every now and when would causally give anecdotes about their family, and you never really said anything, because their anecdotes paint a really concerning picture about their homelife, but the tone of voice in which they tell you this clearly thinks that they think what they're telling you is, like, not normal EXACTLY but not so out of the median range of familial behavior to be worth getting upset over and you don’t want to ruin their day, but when you happen to see their mom in public you don't say anything but are visualizing blowing them up with your mind? Maybe you want to tell them off but you don't want to make your friend's life hander.

This is how Marion feels about Gallifrey.

That's not to mention I'm pretty sure Tectun triggered the Flux bc the Doctor found out so Marion’s eventual blow up is less a furious stream of consciousness as she is wont to do and more of a series of very clipped very angry sentences.

[emetoniche]

Ok, well guys, I’ve reached 100 followers!! 102, actually. In celebration, I’ve decided to do a little face reveal/background for each of my OCs. Hope this is good and gives some real substance to my people.

Roan (pronounced Rowan) Callahan: Roan is a fitness trainer at a local parkour gym. She never went to college, but it was simply because she never felt the need to. She has always had a knack for athletics, and has taken parkour classes herself since she was very little, so she thought the natural career path for her was to train others. Personality-wise she can tend to be a bit aggressive, but isn’t actually mean, just blunt and a tad sarcastic. However, when it comes to Justin, her boyfriend, she is the exact opposite of her regular self. She would die for that man, and is the sweetest, most caring person towards him. She is very loyal to those she cares for, and isn’t afraid to get in a fight to defend them. Roan grew up in a middle-class neighborhood. Her dad is a chemical engineer and her mom is an elementary school teacher. She is an only child, and she is okay with that. She’s seen how some of her friends’ siblings act and has no regrets about not having a sibling of her own. Roan’s passion for animals led to her having many pets as a child, including a rosy boa named Sherlock and two rats named Fred and George. Now she has a ball python named Reaper and a border collie called Phantom. Roan met Justin through work; he was one of her clients. Originally they were simply trainer and client, but as they got to know each other, Justin eventually got up the courage to ask her out, and now they have been dating for almost two years.

Justin Caruthers: Justin is a Biology major hoping to go into med school soon. He is a senior in undergraduate college, so he is nearing the point where he can get into med school officially. Justin is something of a big teddy bear. He’s sweet, kind, always tries to stay positive, and hates confrontation. His personality is the perfect ice to Roan’s fire, and he can calm her down if she gets too heated. H be this as it may, he never tries to control her, because he knows that she is an independent woman and respects her. Justin was raised in London, England. His mother is American but his father is English, and his mother moved to England to be with his father. Raised in a British schooling system, American college is a completely new experience. He is enjoying all of the American foods as well, though he has found that he doesn’t like hot dogs very much. He has one brother named Ethan who is four years older than him and is working in a local hospital. Despite wanting to go into medicine, Justin has a naturally weak stomach and gets very easily motion sick. His anxiety also has a tendency to make his stomach turn.

Edward (Eddie) Harrows: Eddie is a Marine Biology major whose true passion is surfing. He grew up in California, along the coast, where he started surfing at the age of four. Since then he has won many competitions, including three national competitions. His natural competitiveness lends nicely to his chosen sport. He is virtually fearless, and once narrowly escaped a tiger shark along the Australian coast. Eddie I has a very goofy personality. He loves to have fun and makes fun of his friends, playing pranks and joking around, almost ceaselessly. However, through his playfulness, he can also be extremely tough, and will stand up for his friends and family without a second thought. Standing at 6’5, he’s quite intimidating when he wants to be. Eddie was raised by his dad after his mom died in childbirth. He never really missed his mom per-say, because he never knew her, but he was sad at times that he didn’t get to have the relationship he saw his friends having. He has no siblings, and his father never remarried.

Callum Ulrich: Callum is a Biology major alongside Justin, his best friend. Instead of medicine like Justin, Callum wants to go on to be an environmentalist, protecting the habitats of animals around the world. He loves planes though, and has a pilot’s license, so his main goal is to fly himself around the world helping whatever animals need him. He has his own biplane that he has named Falcon Eye, due to the paint job on the outside, which portrays a falcon in flight. Callum is Irish, raised on, of all things, a wool farm. He used to run around in the fields with the sheepdogs for hours, just weaving between sheep and warding off predators. He has seven brothers and sisters, three older and four younger. In order of age, their names are Killian, Saoirse, Lorcan, Rourke, Róisín, Faolen, and Caoimhe. Callum has a similar personality to Eddie, his boyfriend, in that he always has a joke on the tip of his tongue. However, unlike Eddie, Callum will do almost anything to avoid a fight. He hates getting in the middle of people’s arguments, and hates having arguments himself.

Darius Wolff: Darius is a hard-core rocker. Sort of. He acts all hard and cool on the outside, but he secretly loves cuddles with his girlfriend. He does know how to play guitar like a fucking pro, and he plays lead guitarist and singer for his band, Eternal Hardships. Yeah, he knows the name is beyond dramatic, he didn’t choose it. He was outvoted by the rest of the band. Darius was born and raised in Germany, so English is his second language. Mistakes happen on occasion, and he does have an accent, but he is generally fluent in both languages. His dad is an oil tycoon who cycles endlessly through wives, each wife next in line to run the company since Darius has no interest. His passion is actually canids, so he is earning his Zoology degree so that he can run a Canine sanctuary one day. He has a pet fox named Adler.

Ariadne Sangster: Ariadne grew up in an underprivileged community, often going without one or two meals in a day. She didn’t have very good resources in her school, but she still managed to score a perfect score on her ACT and made it into her college with a full ride. She is now on her senior year of pre-med, going into medical school next year with more money than she ever had growing up due to how she could save any money she earned instead of spend it on college. Ari was raised by just her mother because her father was killed in a car crash when she was five years old. She has three older brothers, one of whom died in the same crash that killed he father. The remaining two work together at their own mechanics shop, which is doing quite well. Their names are Perseus (Percy) and Orpheus (Ori). They were all named after Greek myths because their mother always found those myths inspiring, and she hoped that if her children were named after great heroes they would grow up to do great things. During Ari’s freshman year of college, her mother remarried a very nice man named Richard, who takes very good care of her mother and brought his own daughter, Sasha, into the family. Sasha is twenty five and works as a nurse practitioner. Ari loves animals just as much as her boyfriend, Darius. She owns two cats, who she named after characters in her favorite television show, Supernatural. The white on is named Dean, and the black one is named Sam.

[calaisreno]

Consequences

Prompt: Family

This is a small sequel to While You Were Dead . It might be a bit confusing if you haven't read that story, so here's a very brief summary: While Sherlock is dead, John, working a late shift at the A&E, meets a much younger Sherlock who has inadvertently time-travelled to 2012. They sort out a few things.

This story happens after Mycroft picks Sherlock up from the A&E.

...

Mycroft takes him home. 

“Little brother.” He’s given the speech many times, understands the futility. But he can’t not tell him what he needs to hear, even if he refuses to listen. “Mummy will be told. Last time I swore I would, and I always keep my promises.”

Sherlock doesn’t speak. He’s probably still coming down off whatever it was this time. He’ll read the doctor’s notes later. It’s not the what so much as how often. It’s becoming a habit that will eventually destroy his younger brother. 

He gives Sherlock a sidelong glance. No earphones, so he must have lost his device again. Mummy will buy him a new one; for some reason she always thinks that kindness is the best consequence. He accepts that it’s the lot of the older brother never to see the younger one held to the same standards. Parents are like that; the firstborn is raised by strict principles, never indulged. Not that Mycroft ever wanted indulgence. His own life is turning out well, thanks to self-discipline. Coddling doesn’t teach that.

But Sherlock is an amalgam of different traits: impetuous, withdrawn, needy, with a restless brilliance that is in some ways more impressive than Mycroft’s. He hates to think of such an extraordinary mind wasted on things like drugs. And caring. 

“You know what will happen now,” he says. 

Sherlock turns his head, focusing those pale eyes on Mycroft. He looks sleepy, almost confused. Presses his lips together, thinking. “I’d like to go to rehab.”

Mycroft maintains control of the car. “You would like to? Why?”

His eyes are closed now, his head leaning back against the headrest. “Maybe… things can be different.”

“It won’t be easy, brother mine.”

“I know. But it might be worth it.”

“You surprise me. What’s changed?”

He opens his eyes, turns to Mycroft, smiling. “Sentiment. Caring. You’re so fond of telling me those things don’t matter. But maybe they’re the things that matter most. I don’t believe I’ll ever be perfect, but I care enough to become better than I am.”

They ride in silence for some minutes. Mycroft pulls up in front of his building. “You’ll stay with me until I make arrangements.”

Sherlock nods, steps out onto the pavement. He looks tired, Mycroft thinks, but not as unhealthy as the last time he saw him. Something has changed.

Inside, he drinks the cup of tea that Mycroft makes him. Yawning, he begins pulling off his clothes, dropping them on the floor as he makes his way to the bath. 

Once he hears the water start, Mycroft opens the envelope with the discharge papers. 

Cocaine, obviously. Not an overdose; he brought himself to the A&E. Dehydration, skin pallor, nausea. No seizures, confusion or anxiety. Slight tachycardia, BP and temp normal. He was given fluids, the doctor noted, and observed for several hours. 

Doctor’s signature: John Watson, MD. Dated: 20 November 2012

He frowns at the date. A tired, overworked doctor might misdate a record, substituting a digit or turning two around. But to write a date that’s fifteen years in the future… 

He makes a note to himself. Contact Dr John Watson. Maybe it won’t be worth the time it takes to find him and question him, but Mycroft doesn’t like untidy details. 

On the other hand, Sherlock has agreed to rehab, a hopeful development. Perhaps he shouldn’t probe. Ordinary goldfish do make mistakes. 

Wearily, he rubs his eyes. Sherlock, wrapped in a blanket and nothing else, is stretching out on the sofa, preparing to sleep. He works himself into a comfortable position and gives a great sigh. “You worry too much,” he mumbles.

Mycroft stands and stretches. A long day, and tomorrow starts early. He’ll think about this later, when he’s more rested. He heads towards the bedroom, picking up Sherlock’s discarded clothing. Piling it on a chair, he studies the lump on the sofa that is his brother.

“Good night, Sherlock.”

There’s no reply, only deep breathing. 

@lisbeth-kk @meetinginsamarra @raina-at @bertytravelsfar @momma2boys @jrow @helloliriels @the-reading-lemon @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @elwinglyre @mydogwatson @thetimemoves @jobooksncoffee @lhrinchelsea @peanitbear @gregorovitchworld @7-percent

[empressawesomecoolness]

Doctor Who: The Ultimate Speedrun Marathon - Series 2 (2006)

Woah. I mean, what a Series! I didn’t know how Tennant and Piper would follow up Series 1, but they did a great job, not just in carrying over aspects from Series 1, but doing new things and carving out a new niche for the 10th Doctor. A lot of fun from all angles.

General Thoughts

I’ve always really loved David Tennant as an actor. Even before I properly started watching Doctor Who, he was my personal favorite Doctor (that might change over the course of this marathon, but that’ll come much later). Now having actually fully seen him in action as the 10th Doctor, I’m really happy that he met my expectations and more. He’s fun and snarky, same as McGann and Eccleston, but he brings this new sorta wide-eyed manic energy that one would probably expect from a 900+ year old time/space traveler. His look is also really fun and iconic, with pinstripe suits, long trench coats, and spiked-up hair. It compliments Tennant’s already tall and slim figure, giving 10 a lanky look reminiscent to a sort of alien Sherlock Holmes. The converse are a fun touch, too.

He’s definitely different from his immediate predecessor, but in a good way that makes sense given his new found attachment to Rose after Series 1 (or at least that’s my reading of it). He’s got a bit less angst, although it does peer through in good dramatic moments. Overall, Tennant’s able to juggle what made the recent previous Doctor’s special and memorable with his own acting sensibilities and personality. He really lends himself well to a character like the Doctor.

In companion news, Rose is just as strong and likable a character as ever. I knew new companions would show up eventually, so this whole Series I was just dreading the moment when it became clear that she’d be gone for good. Although I didn’t expect her departure to be THAT devastating! I mean holy fuck. Despite that ending though, Rose never stopped being an intensely compelling character, despite my assumption that her time as a companion was coming to an end.

As for the other campions, we only see Mickey return in this Series. When the Cybermen return to the show in a parallel universe, Mickey decides to stay behind there and help fight their invasion. It was another welcome surprise moment of character development from Mickey, especially when he finally realizes that he has a life and agency outside of Rose. However, when he’s able to return and help Rose and the Doctor fight the invading Cybermen and Daleks, it feels really truly earned on his end.

Also, how cool was it to see Sarah Jane Smith (played by Elisabeth Sladen) and K-9 (played by K-9) again?! That was a really cool and welcome surprise for me. It also avoids being a plot line of mere fan-service, since we get really cool insight into the life and mind of companions left behind by the Doctor decades before. However, they do eventually reconcile with the Doctor in their own bittersweet moments towards the episode’s end. Although, that reconciliation is a little bittersweet, given Rose’s fate at this Series’ end. I hope she gets something similar later in the show.

Favorite Episodes

Tooth and Claw

New Earth

School Reunion

The Girl in the Fireplace

Love and Monsters

Favorite Moments

Queen Victoria’s hemophilia being explained as a strain of alien lycanthropy was very funny and very Doctor Who. The running gag about Rose trying to get her to say the supposed “We are not amused” line was funny as hell too.

The 10th Doctor meets alien Satan.

Cassandra returning was a shock. I know she got a bit of a redemption arc in this Series’ premiere but I don’t really care. fuck her

I felt so clever picking up on the little references to Torchwood before they were properly revealed towards the end teehee. Making up for not noticing most of the Bad Wolf hints in Series 1 ig.

Madame de Pompadour getting a whole episode to herself in order to fight against evil French masquerade nightmare robots from the future was a welcome surprise.

Alright, that about wraps up everything I wanted to say about Series 2. A great Series itself and an amazingly solid start to Tennant’s iconic tenure as the 10th Doctor. Now, onto Series 3.

[tanushakyrano]

febuwhump day 24: bloody clothes

back to school hit me harder than expected so its been really hard to find any writing time unfortunately :( i’d hoped to have time and motivation this weekend since weekdays are really busy but i’ve gotten literally nothing done, schoolwork or otherwise lmao- but we’re getting there

characters: Kayo, John

additional warnings: blood

__________________

The villa was weirdly empty when John arrived.

Of course, he hadn’t exactly told anyone that he’d be coming down for a visit, so the lack of welcoming committee as he entered the den was understandable. Still, none of the family were out on rescues - he wouldn’t have come down from Five if they were - so the fact there was literally no one in sight was a little weird. Not concerning, though, just weird.

John checked the kitchen next. Also empty. The pool, too. He went back through the house, and was just about to head upstairs and check the bedrooms when a faint noise from the gym caught his attention. He poked his head around the door.

Kayo was there. Hair tied well up and out of the way, usual t-shirts and cargo trousers swapped out for a sports bra and leggings, hands wrapped. She was beating the living daylights out of one of the hanging punching bags; as he watched, Kayo let out a particularly aggressive kick, the bag swinging wildly.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side,” John remarked dryly as he walked over to her. 

Kayo huffed, throwing a few more punches. “Yeah, as if you need reminding.” Then she stilled, eyes flickering over to him. John could actually see the mental double-take showing on her face. “You’re not on Five.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” John deadpanned. He shifted his weight, tapping his fingers together awkwardly. “I, uh, thought I’d surprise everyone with a visit. But you’re the only person I’ve found so far, so…surprise, I guess.”

Kayo finally stopped attacking the punching bag, wiping the sweat from her brow. “They all went to the mainland. Alan wanted to get ice creams, I think, and then Gordon insisted they get them from an actual ice cream parlour, so Virgil and Scott got dragged into it.”

“Ah.” He paused. “And you didn’t want to go with them?”

“I thought I’d stay here, get caught up on work. You know.”

That was a barefaced lie. It was extremely obvious that Kayo had clearly been in the gym for a long time - not catching up with a backlog of paperwork, as she was claiming. Plus, she almost never let herself get behind.

John raised an eyebrow at her. “Work, huh?”

Kayo held his gaze for a good few seconds. Then her shoulders slumped slightly as she gave in. “I didn’t feel like going, all right? With the Hood and the Chaos Crew causing so much trouble right now, I just… I don’t know. Not really in the mood to do anything fun. I should be trying to stop them, put them back behind bars.”

“Kayo…”

“I know, I know. It’s not all on me. It’s up to the GDF to catch criminals, our job is search and rescue.” She exhaled slowly, sweeping the stray hairs that had fallen out of her ponytail away from her face. “Scott’s said it to me enough times.”

John opened his mouth slightly to respond, but furrowed his brow as Kayo’s movement drew his attention, the words forgotten. “Kayo, are your hands okay?”

“Hm?”

He grabbed her left hand before she could answer him properly, running his fingers over the cloth wrap. She had used white hand wraps today, which meant that the red-brown bloodstains around her knuckles showed up starkly on the fabric. She hissed at the contact.

“We need to get this cleaned up,” he said eventually. Kayo shook her head.

“I’m fine,” she said sharply, pulling her hand out of his grasp. “It’s nothing. I’ll sort it.”

“Kayo.”

She looked at him wordlessly, her face a carefully composed mask.

“Let me help.”

In a family full of some of the most stubborn people John had ever met - including himself - it was an impressive feat to be considered the most stubborn. Scott had managed to claim that title, over many years of outright refusing to listen to anyone that was probably the reason that Grandma had gone grey as young as she had - but Kayo was a close second. They stood in the gym silently, at an impasse, for at least a minute. Finally, she closed her eyes and nodded. “Fine. But only because you’ll rat me out to Scott or Virgil otherwise, and I’m not in the mood for their smothering today.”

John cracked a smile at that. “I’ll go get the first-aid kit.”

[kajaono]

@multifangirl-world

You are completely right. The second movie had nothing in common at all with the second book. And I will be forever bitter about that… even though I enjoy the second movie. But the general outline of the movie was still the same as in the second book

„the Case of the left handed lady“ is about Lady Cecily who goes missing. No on knows if she was kidnapped or eloped with a lover. Enola starts investigating the case and eventually meets the son of a big company who seems to be involved with Cecily. Enola shortly suspects him of being Cecilys lover. You see where this going, right? Those general aspects are still the same. Also the writers of the movies put a few important book details into the second movie.

At the Lyons prom against Thypus, Lady Cecily has a plate of food, to eat her food she removes her left glove. For the movie it is actually not relevant if she is left or right handed but for book fans it is, because she is the left handed lady. Also Book!Lady Cecily is interested in worker rights. Sounds familiar right? And so on…

So IF we get a third movie Jack Throne will tell a completely new story. Book three is about John Watson being kidnapped. No one has a clue who kidnapped him, where or how, until Enola shows up undercover at Mary Morstans place and sees a bouquet with weird flowers, carrying a message = the symbolism of flowers.

I think those aspects „John going missing“ + „flowers“ will stay the same. Especially because enola already said to the little lord „if I will have a case that is horticultural, I will ask you for help“, but everything else will be very different. F.e i guess we will get a really big involvement of Sherlock into the case. In the third book he is more of a Side character. I don’t think the movies will make him into a side character when Watson is kidnapped. And also the little lord was never part of book three. Neither a romantic relationship with Enola, so they will have to make up a completely new storyline there anyway. Also I am not sure Mary will be part of the book. In the book she is nice and independent and a character in her own but still most just „the wife“. I am not sure if that fits the tone of the movies so well… especially because we now have Moriarty…

So i am really curious to see what they will make out of the „Watson is kidnapped“ storyline. This is why I am hoping so bad that movie three will be confirmed soon. What do you think will happen next?