#dances of deduction would very much still come off as romantic to me if it wasn't consistently two men participating in the main “dance”

[jinxedshapeshifter]

One of the things that makes the dances of deduction come off as homoerotic to me is that they play out like actual dances, and the type depends on who Sholmes is doing them with (the dances of deduction he does with Ryunosuke have both of them making almost waltz-like movements, while Yujin utilizes tapdancing in the dance of deduction he's involved in).

Obviously, this could be purely visual and not what's actually going on, but I actually think that's incredibly unlikely (when you win a case in London fireworks are set off in the courtroom, let me have this lol). Susato mentions Ryunosuke having fun dancing around the room, and Ryunosuke compares Sholmes being knocked out to being left alone on the ballroom floor. Whether Susato's comment is meant to be literal or not, Ryunosuke's isn't but still evokes what is, traditionally, thought of as a romantic form of social dance.

Ryunosuke and Sholmes's style of the dance of deduction feels like what is traditionally a couple's dance.

Obviously this might be a stretch and me taking the term "dance of deduction" too literally (although "dance of deduction" in the context of both your "dance" partners being men is gay as hell) but the dances of deduction very much come off as an actual dance, the type of which depends on who Sholmes is doing it with, just for the fun of literally dancing around a room while working out what happened.

[serenasoutherlyns]

Not a Summer Crush Part Four

a/n: this is a long one! enjoy. this chapter features coffee, colds, cuteness, serena southerlyn, schemes, saturdays. all feedback makes me LOVE you, so please please reblog, reply, like, anything! you can always find this on ao3 as well. happy evening, and part five coming at you soon!

Part Four

"Haley," Anderson stopped you in the kitchen the next day. He was reaching into the fridge to get one of the terrible salads he always ate and you were rinsing out your French press (you figured, there were plenty of coffee shops nearby but a) you didn't need to be spending your money like that and b) the way the grounds fell as you pushed them slowly to the bottom had more than once brought you moments of enlightenment). You didn't stop to listen initially but he continued. "Haley," he said, "how do you do," he paused, gestured to your whole body, "that."

You looked at him, blinked, expecting him to clarify, but he did not. You laughed at him, gently, appropriately. "I don't know, Anderson, I was born 27 years ago," he winced, "I did some things, I'll do some more things, in fact, I spend most of my time doing," you gestured to yourself, "this."

He opened his mouth a few times, trying to think of what he meant, but said, "I mean, you work sex crimes, and you're so,"

"Exuberant?" You said.

"I was going to say bubbly."

"Hm."

"Forget I said anything."

"No," you said, taking pity on the guy. "It's ok," you patted his shoulder, "You learn to deal with it, right? I mean, I think I am."

“How do you keep it from getting to you?” His question made you laugh, then your face fell, something serious behind your eyes.

“It gets to me. I’m so sad all the time. But if I always acted how I felt, I don’t think I could do it.”

"Right," he said, not quite convinced. "Look I've been with homicide for five months and I still don't think I'm there yet."

"Give up or give it more time then," you said to him with a raise of your newly cleaned French press and a shrug. As you walked back to your office (you had banned him from having meals in there in your first week on the job) he watched the way you occasionally raised yourself up on your toes, in awe at your apparent ability to stay sunny.

Someone else noticed your little rise and lower. Alex Cabot had, today, decided to leave the blinds to her office door open. It was so she could catch moments just like this one, you bopping along in the hallway with your coffee maker, somewhere between walking and dancing.

Fuck, she thought, not even bothering to stop the grin, that's so cute.

Alex had talked to Casey. Well, Casey brought it up, actually, but Alex would have.

---

"So, I talked to Rita," Casey'd said almost before she shut the door behind her.

"Good evening to you, too, baby," Alex said, greeting her in the entranceway, kissing her sweetly. Casey smiled into it. Casey broke the kiss and walked towards their living room, her body aching for a comfortable seat. Alex walked behind her, pinching her (lovely perfect gorgeous) ass, causing her wife to yelp in the silly way she reserved for Alex alone. Casey always flopped onto the couch, which had originally annoyed Alex. She'd once insisted Alex try it, and while she did not move to change her habits, she admitted to seeing the appeal.

Alex, having followed Casey to the couch, bypassed the ample seating and chose the same side as her wife, who was sitting against the arm rather than the back, providing a perfect avenue for Alex to make her way up her body, continuing what she'd started. When Casey moaned, Alex got up and walked to the kitchen, ignoring Casey's whines. Alex picked up the plates where she'd put dinner (ok, it was carryout, but still, plates!) and joined Casey, another habit that was Casey's first, this one she was happy to go along with.

Casey and Alex sat on the floor, playing quiet music and making their usual conversation, routine and comforting.

"So, you talked to Rita?"

"Mm, mmhmm," Casey said, Alex having caught her mid-asparagus-bite. They laughed. "Yeah, I talked to Rita. She almost broke my door down to ask if I was sleeping with Caroline.”

Alex paled, “I was just talking to Serena about the same thing.”A panicked look flashed across Casey’s eyes. “Oh god, no, I don’t think you’re cheating on me. I mean, I went to Serena’s to be all emotional about Caroline.”

“I nearly cried.”

“In front of Rita Calhoun? And she didn’t melt?”

Casey scoffed, “She’s made me cry so many times.”

“I try to forget that fact,” Alex said.

“Fair enough. Anyway, apparently, her prowess in deductive reasoning led her to believe that I was having an affair.”

“A one-sided affair, that’s new.”

“Two-sided, unless both of us are only one side.”

“Two-sided implies there’s something there.”

“Isn’t there?”

“Isn’t that it.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

They both picked at their salads, wondering why Alex had bought salad. Casey looked up at the ceiling, Alex looked down, fiddled with the rug. Alex skipped a couple songs on her phone.

“Casey, what are we going to do about this. I don’t, I mean, I think, um.”

“I don’t know. I guess, our options are, pursue what we want or don’t and get over it.”

“If you put it that way,” Alex said, pausing, “I think we need to know what we want.”

“What do you want?”

“I want you. I want us both to be really happy, and I want her.”

Casey took a sip of her wine, agreeing with her fingertips, taking Alex’s hand. “You said what I was thinking.”

“What do you want, though? Serena said this thing about me being upset over a threesome we haven’t had and I kind of thought like, I don’t think I just want sex, um. I don’t know if that’s how you feel.”

“I do feel that way, actually, Lex.”

Casey held their hands up to her cheek, kissed Alex’s.

“So we’re pursuing that?”

“So we’re pursuing that.”

“What if,” Alex started. Casey responded with a shrug, and Alex thoughtfully nodded.

---

So, they were pursuing it. What that was going to mean was unclear as of the moment Alex saw you being very cute in the hallway, but they’d agreed that they wanted some kind of relationship, romantic, sexual. They wouldn’t want it if you only wanted one of them, they wouldn’t want just sex. It all would work out, Alex hoped. Casey was more confident than she was, but Alex had more of a cautious spirit when it came to relationships. They were well balanced. Alex hoped (and hoped and hoped) that you would want them. She gave herself a few more moments to smile, then turned back to her work.

Despite Anderson’s impressions and what Alex saw, you were not, in fact, feeling good. It was the middle of summer, but you couldn’t get warm. It’s just a cold, you thought, as you held your hands against the warmth of the coffee. Your cases were getting overwhelming, and you couldn’t afford to take any time off right now, not even to be sick in bed. Getting sick in the summer was exactly your luck.

A knock on your door startled you. You quickly collected your composure, turned on your peppy demeanor (you told the truth to Anderson: you learned how to seem OK a long time ago).

“Hey,” Casey said. “Are you in court at all today?”

You shook your head. “No, just paperwork, research. Why?”

Casey shrugged. “Thought you might want to have lunch or something.”

“I ate already,” you lied. You just didn’t want to request a place that served chicken soup. Your appetite had disappeared. “Sorry,” you said with an apologetic smile. “You want some coffee?” you asked, gesturing to the full pot.

“Sure, actually. The setup is a smart idea.”

“Isn’t it?” you said, getting up to pour two cups. “My apologies for the lack of sugar and cream.”

“Ah, it’s ok.” Casey said, accepting the cup and sitting down across from you in the extra chair. “No honey?”

“Alex told you,” You said, smiling, and Casey nodded. “It’s more of a special occasion thing.”

You watched her blow on the drink, her lips pursed over the top of it. They were a lovely shade of pink, you decided. She stuck her tongue out a bit when she took a sip, like a butterfly and its proboscis, you thought. You promptly scolded yourself for thinking that sort of thing at work. You had been considering Ramin’s advice, to “use your feminine wiles” on Casey and Alex, make them want you so bad that they believed it was their idea. It was sneaky and exciting. You’d resolved to start doing tiny, almost unnoticeable things around them (however convincing they could be when congested). Before you sat, you brushed your hand along your hip; as you held your mug, you ran your fingers along the handle.

“How’s your day going?” you asked her, knowing she’d had lots of tough cases recently. SVU had brought you on as a junior ADA because with the rising awareness of sexually-based crimes (a good inconvenience), the caseloads had risen to an all-time height, even after they brought Gillian back in to cover some cases. They were both very relieved that the gamble the office had taken in hiring a young person, whose experience had mostly been in property crimes, had worked out. It stood to reason, Casey had pushed for a younger lawyer, knowing first hand how much of a strength that could be; and when Alex had seen two Stanford degrees on your C.V., she felt sure too. You’d been a good choice. Still, you were all four overextended.

“Eh, it’s been fine, all things considered,” Casey replied. She watched as you fiddled with the tips of your hair. You’d begun wearing it curly more often, which had proven to be somewhat distracting for her. “How good can any day be in this line of work.”

You agreed with a nod. “I was just talking to Anderson about that.”

“What did he have to say?” Casey asked, knowing the attorney’s propensity for putting his foot in his mouth.

“I feel for the guy. I think he’s having trouble in homicide. He called me bubbly.”

“You are bubbly.”

“I’m energetic.”

“He should transfer to white collar. He’s got the attitude for it.”

You squinted your eyes scoldingly. “You would know.”

“I would.” The two of you broke into much-needed laughter. You were about halfway through your cup, but wished you were at the beginning again. “Was it hard?” you asked, “moving from white collar to sex crimes? I mean, just the level of emotional complication required, it must be so different from all that, detail.”

“It’s the hardest thing I think I’ll ever do in my professional life, yes.” Casey always looked you right in the eye, it was intense, the way she never averted her gaze. You tended to shift your gaze around rooms, taking in details, never resting on anything for too long. People sometimes wondered if you were paying attention, and explaining that looking them in the eye made it harder to listen didn’t work. Casey never cared, or at the very least never brought it up, just let you be the way you were. She set her coffee cup down. “I cried in my office my first day, in front of Olivia. I practically begged Arthur Branch to reassign me. I had wanted homicide, major cases. You know, all the glory less of the gore.”

“Have you ever regretted it since?”

“Never long enough to think about leaving. Voluntarily, that is,” she stated with a smile, referencing her suspension. You didn’t know all that much about what had happened, and you let her talk with a warm and open demeanor. “In all honesty, I needed that suspension to rewire my brain, I was drowning. And it didn’t last as long as I thought it would. That’s actually when I got together with Alex,” she said, smiling again, wider this time. “In a stupid hipster bar. She had brown hair at the time, I almost didn’t recognize her.”

“Please tell me you have pictures of brunette Alex Cabot.”

“Oh, I do, but they’re all buried deep in different camera rolls…” she trailed off in memories, “I’ll find them for you when I need to embarrass her. I, for one, liked the brown, but she can be very self-conscious.”

“You wouldn’t guess that when you meet her.”

“No, you really wouldn’t. But, Caroline,” Casey said, and hearing your name out of her mouth never failed to give you butterflies, “truly, I don’t think ‘like’ is an appropriate word for what I, what we do, but I feel called to it.”

“I think I do too.”

“Retention rates in this field are low. You’ve already outlasted them. I think that’s proof enough.”

You finished your coffee and brought your mug to the little table where you kept it. How you had such a messy desk but such a tidy coffee space evaded Casey, and probably told her more about you than you’d like. Alex walked by your office coming back from a meeting, pleased to see you and Casey conversing in the junior office. Casey finished her coffee shortly after you did. She met Alex in the hallway.

---

“Counselor, do you need a tissue?” Judge Catano said to you in an irritated tone in chambers the next day, apparently after one sniffle too many.

“Or a nap,” John Buchanan added under his breath as you pulled a nearly empty packet out of your suit pocket and wiped your nose.

“Thank you for your concern, I assure you both that I am quite alright.”

---

“Go home, get some sleep. Your cases will be there in the morning.” Alex said the evening after that, passing by the open door to your office on her way out.

“I won’t stay long,” you replied, knowing full-well that you would.

---

The day after that, Anderson got in your way at the wrong time and found himself unfortunately sneezed on.

---

You made it to Friday, and despite what you were telling yourself, you kept getting sicker. Every day was like time couldn’t decide between speeding and slowing down. Sometimes, you’d look up from what felt like ten minutes of work and an hour had passed, sometimes a meeting that felt like an hour was only ten minutes. And you still had work to do. Casey tapped on the door, unsurprised, again, to find you were the only one there. Anderson had left about a half hour ago, the other juniors often left right at 5:00.

“Hey,” she called from the doorway.

“Yeah?” You replied, looking at her over the top of your laptop.

“Come work in my office?” She asked. You’d taken to working with her or Alex or both of them in the evenings, with the general idea that many heads make light work. Or something. Really, for you, it was just a good excuse to spend time together.

“Sure,” you replied, “meet you there.” She walked off as you packed up your things. You were a bit woozy as you stood up from your desk. Oh well, that was how it went. You made yourself comfortable in Casey’s office (Alex, she explained, was off picking up some documents at the precinct).

You shivered in your seat on the couch, you blew your nose Casey eyed you, having noticed how you’d been sniffling all week. “Allergies? I have some Zyrtec somewhere in this desk,” she said, opening her drawer up to look.

“Oh, no, I’m not allergic to anything, I just didn’t,” sniff, “sleep well last night.”

This was an attitude Casey knew well.

---

Alex always liked summer evenings in the city. Yes, the smell required some getting used to, it could get noisy and crowded, but something about the way the orange light (that lasted longer than any other time of year) played off the tall buildings, the metal vendors on the sidewalk-- it just got to her, made her enjoy the walks she took from place to place. She checked her notifications on the way back from the precinct.

Casey: Caroline is sitting in my office sniffling and looking pale.

Alex: “Allergies?”

Casey: She denies them.

Alex: So the cold she’s had all week caught up to her?

Casey: Can you pick up some meds and we can make her go home?

Alex: I mean, good luck to us…

Casey: Alex.

Alex sighed and crossed the street, ducking into a Duane Reed for the requisite illness package. convincing you to take advantage of it was going to be a wholly different task.

When she arrived back at the office, she discovered a different scene than she expected. As she reached Casey’s office door with the supplies, her wife caught her eye through the window, motioning at her to be quiet when she came in. Alex was, and saw you, on Casey’s couch, deeply asleep with your fingers still on your laptop keyboard, typing endless spaces in a Word document.

“Well,” Alex whispered, coming to Casey’s side, leaning against her desk. “That’s certainly adorable.”

“I couldn’t bring myself to wake her up,” Casey said, “poor thing.” Alex looked at you, your curls flipped up over your forehead, your pink cheeks, your pile of work beside you. A warm sense of nostalgia lit up inside her.

“Remember, when we first came back to the DA’s office,” Alex said, seeing Casey smile playfully, the same feelings building in her chest.

“And there was a horrible bug going around the office,” Casey continued, telling the story for her wife.

“And I refused to admit I’d gotten it,”

“And I found you asleep, with your head on a legal pad,” Casey squeezed Alex’s hand.

“Because I was late to a meeting,” Alex tucked a strand of hair behind Casey’s ear.

“And when you lifted your head up, your forehead was covered in ink,” Casey finished the story with a grin, teasing her wife. “Yeah, I remember that. And I remember trying and failing to get you home, and I remember you getting me sick.”

“Only because you couldn’t keep yourself from kissing me,” Alex said. Casey just shrugged, acknowledging that her wife was correct. They had no need to say what they both were thinking, and, in fact, no time.

You stirred, stretching out, very sleepily. They snapped out of their reverie. “Hey, you two,” you said, your voice nasal. “You guys are so cute,” you continued, still not quite awake, you said what was on your mind. You felt a bit voyeuristic, but you didn’t mind. “Sorry for eavesdropping,” you said, waking up more fully, “sorry I fell asleep, Casey,” you said. You started to pull the notes you were looking at back up to your lap, but as you picked them up, you noticed someone else was holding the other end. Alex had a grip on them, and you were too weak to resist as she picked up all your papers and put them back in your bag.

“Laptop,” she said, holding out her hand. You gave it to her, looking to the side, embarrassed. She held out a packet containing two pills. “Take these,” she said, giving you a bottle of water as well. You wanted to protest, tell her that you were perfectly capable of getting what you had left done, but as you looked at her, then across the room to Casey, you realized that not only would any attempt be futile, you wanted nothing more than to fall asleep in your bed and stay there until you didn’t feel like this anymore. You nodded.

Casey’s voice came from behind Alex, gentle. Still raspy, but more than quiet, sympathetic, understanding-- gentle, a tone meant to be heard from close by and listened to in earnest. “Please take care of yourself.”

Who could refuse that?

---

Alex accompanied you on the cab ride home. Casey genuinely had work she had to finish, and neither of them was about to let you ride your bike or take the subway in your state. You lived in Brooklyn, but close enough to the courthouse that you didn’t feel too guilty about accepting her help when she offered. You tried to make conversation, but you were simply too tired to talk much, and as the sun finished setting, you arrived at the townhouse. Ashley and Ramin lived in the three bedroom unit on the first floor while you lived in the one bedroom unit on the second. It was really a glorified studio, the bedroom was just big enough for a queen-sized bed, the living room barely fit a couch, and the kitchen was mostly good for making tea; but that was why you had a key to your best friends’ apartment. You hesitated on the steps in the still warm air, considering if it would be a bad idea to ask Alex to come up the rest of the way with you, but she had clearly already made up her mind to do so (she had not bought all those supplies for nothing).

Your apartment was cozy, Alex thought as she placed the medicines and magazines and bottles of Gatorade in convenient spots in your tiny kitchen. You went straight for the bathroom, using what energy you had to change into pajamas, brush your teeth, and wash your face. Not much food in the fridge, lots of coffee and tea. A little table covered in papers and books; some law journals, some fantasy novels, some picture books. There were stuffed animals in a bin beside the couch, a couple clearly old enough to be yours. You had one of the fluffiest rugs she’d ever seen and enough throw pillows to drown in, and candles all over the place. Your walls were covered in art; some clearly original abstract pieces signed R.R, some prints from the MoMA, old post cards and family photos (only a couple of your siblings, but countless of Ashley and his family, dancers too), and kids’ drawings, all displayed together, given equal weight. It made no sense aesthetically, technically, but everything about the place screamed Caroline, so she found herself enamored with it.

You emerged from the bathroom with your hair tied on top of your head, wearing an oversized tee and fuzzy pants. It wasn’t your usual choice, but being sick had you feeling like everything around you needed to be soft and cuddly. Alex showed you where she placed everything she’d bought for you, but as she talked, your (maybe feverish) focus could only follow her beautiful blue eyes as they followed your own. You felt warmth, gratitude; you watched her seem concerned and adoring all at once. This whole scenario; Alex in your apartment while the stars were out, taking care of you, seeing you in your pajamas, sniffling and blushing, it made no sense when you thought about it. Yet, it seemed perfectly natural to you, having her in your place. Part of you wanted to kiss her then and there, pull her into your bed and try to get her to cuddle, but, of course, those were not thoughts you shared out loud. Instead, you expressed your gratitude as emphatically as your could manage.

“Get some sleep, Caroline.”

“I will. Alex, thank you.”

---

Alex made you take the following Monday and Tuesday off. Since she didn’t technically have that ability, you responded to her texts by telling her as much. Then, she got Jack McCoy to email you the same sentiments, and that, you couldn’t fight. You arrived at work on Wednesday refreshed, well-rested, and decidedly not sniffly, and she was only a little bit smug. She all but said “I told you so” when you said hello that morning-- but you very quickly shut her up by giving her a smile and an eye roll, taking pride and pleasure in the tiny bite of her lip you saw flash by as you returned to your desk.

That afternoon, you were happy to run into Serena Southerlyn on the courthouse steps, her leaving as you and Alex were returning (there was a case you were working together, you as second chair). She greeted Alex with a professional hug, you with a warm handshake. She had a glint in her eyes, something mischievous about her when she asked, after the usual workplace pleasantries, “you’ll both be there tomorrow, right? For drinks? Gillian said she had something to celebrate, I bet she got accepted to one of those PhD programs.”

“Casey and I will be,” Alex said, looking to you. You tucked a curl behind your ear, another habit of yours she’d noticed, when you were worried.

“I’ll certainly try,” you said, happy that you were now getting regular invitations to drinks, “I promised I’d help Ophélie’s mock trial team prepare for this weekend, she gets pretty nervous about them.”

“They have mock trial that young?” Serena asked.

“Yeah, it’s pretty cute too. A bunch of 12-year-olds in suits using legal language.” As you spoke, Alex understood a little better, Casey’s perspective on children. She chuckled lightly.

“Is she the prosecution or the defense?” asked Alex. You groaned in response.

“Don’t remind me. She chose defense specifically to spite me, and now I go to her school twice a month to teach her how to do it.”

“I think I like this kid,” Serena said. “But I really hope you can make it tomorrow.”

“I’ll do what I can,” you said, knowing you would likely be able to go, but not wanting to promise anything.

“Good,” Serena said as she started walking down the steps again. She turned around when she was struck with an idea. Alex had told her about her and Casey’s ideas, but, frankly, she felt like they were not moving fast enough, and having known them both for years, knew how they needed a push sometimes to go for what they wanted. You and Alex had only gone a few steps, so you didn’t miss the swoosh of blonde hair coming back towards you.

“I remembered,” Serena said, “ I was going to ask you, Caroline, are you going to any salsa nights again soon?” You looked taken aback as she clarified, “I’ve wanted to pick it back up for a little while. I was going to ask last time but the conversation moved too fast.”

“You dance salsa?” Alex asked, blindsided. Serena nodded, an implied obviously in her expression. “When did you learn?” She asked again, knowing that Serena’s upbringing had been astonishingly similar to hers as far as old money and conservative attitudes went.

“Study abroad.”

You let it be quiet for a short moment, seeing Alex and Serena communicate with looks, something panicked in Alex’s and something scheming in Serena’s. You filed the moment away to think about later.

“Yes, actually, I think I’m going to one on Saturday, in Brooklyn as usual,” you said, testing the waters of their reactions. “Ashley’s still on tour so I was going to see if one of my old teammates would want to go with me,” you said. Alex squinted her eyes slightly, Serena knit her fingers together as you spoke. “But if you would like to, Serena,” you decided to just go for the invite, “we should go together.”

You thought you saw a flicker of jealousy from Alex when Serena enthusiastically accepted your invitation. You couldn’t be quite sure, but it was enough hope to leave another little piece of you burning.

---

@addictedtodinosaurs @nocreditinthestraightworld @sweetprentiss

remindr to sign up for my tagłist if you vvant to be tagged in these! (some of my keys are broken)

[shera-dnd]

Cupid’s Kiss

Took me way longer than expected curse the whims of my mental health but the winner of this month’s 3k fic poll is finally here!

In which Carmen and Julia have a lovely totally not date in Paris while in search for two thieves who are certainly also not having a date

if you’d like a chance to get your fic ideas written by me, or just want to support me, you can feel free to donate to my ko-fi (rules over here)

and here is the ao3 link if you’d rather read it over there

also this fic was brought to you thanks to the help of @cantdrawshaw

NOW ON WITH THE FIC

Carmen Sandiego was the best at her job. She had bested trained assassins and killer robots, evaded the world’s most advanced detective agency, and destroyed the largest criminal organization. All in her early twenties.

Yet there was one task she was not prepared to face. One that escaped her skills, both martial and technical. One that she had failed to plan around. One that existed entirely beyond the range of her skills. A foe that she could not beat.

“Come on, Carm,” Zack called, “it can’t be that hard. If even Ivy could score with the girls, you can do it too.”

“Even Ivy?!” His sister replied, furious, “I’ve been with more girls than you, jackass.”

“Guys, guys!” Carmen interrupted, “you’re not helping.”

Mentioning her interest in spending more time with Julia Argent had been the biggest mistake she had made in weeks. This was supposed to be a peaceful day at their old home base, but now here she was.

Her friends were trying so hard to help her and she couldn’t even be mad at how poorly they were doing, because she knew she wouldn’t fare much better were the roles reversed.

“Sorry,” the siblings replied in unison.

“I appreciate the support,” she assured them, “but I’m not trying to ‘score’ with anyone. I just wanna get to know Jules a little better.”

“So this is not a date?” Ivy asked.

“No!” She replied, a little too quickly, “me and Jules aren’t like that. She’s more of a… professional acquaintance. A coworker.”

“Carm,” Zack replied, “we’re coworkers and you’ve never had a bouquet of roses delivered to my door.”

“It was just a thank you for handling all those precious artifacts for me,” she explained, “she’s a hard worker, she deserved it.”

“Sure,” Ivy nodded, unconvinced, “is that why you take time to chat over coffee with her every other caper?”

“Not every moment of our lives has to be a chase, you know?” she countered.

“Or why you keep finding excuses to dance with her?”

“It’s the easiest way to speak privately at those parties without garnering unwanted attention,” she recited as if from a textbook.

“Or why-”

“Cease this!” Shadowsan’s stern voice commanded and the siblings fell silent, “VILE has trained her to never cave under interrogation. You’ll have a better chance extracting information from a rock.”

Carmen smirked at them, proud to have her skills of deflection recognized.

“Do not be so full of yourself,” he added, making Carmen flinch just a bit, “I have taught those lessons for years and I know how to see through them.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she deflected, looking away.

He walked up to her and placed a hand on her shoulder with uncharacteristic gentleness.

“I have seen the happiness Miss Argent brings you,” he said, “and I wish you the best of luck should you wish to pursue it.”

That meant a lot to Carmen. More than she could really express in words. But after she had been so thoroughly embarrassed by her friends, all she could really say was,

“Not you too.”

She looked up at the smirking siblings and braced herself...

“Hey, Red,” Player’s voice called, just in the nick of time.

“Player!” She jumped to attention and grabbed the laptop from their desk.

“Woah!” he exclaimed, “everything okay, Red?”

Zack and Ivy snickered as they sat by each side of her, so they could see Player.

“I think Carm would rather you sent her on a crazy chase instead of sitting here talking about her crush on Jules,” Ivy teased.

“Well it looks like you might get to do both,” Player replied, to Carmen’s dismay, “look who our cameras just found walking around Paris.”

The screen cut to a video feed of one of ACME’s hidden cameras over the streets of Paris. None of the people on camera seemed particularly conspicuous… until a particular pair walked on screen. Even without their costumes Carmen could always recognize them.

“Tigress and Paper Star,” she noted, “those two can’t be up to any good.”

“Looks like we’ll be going to Paris, eh Carm?” Ivy commented as she playfully nudged her side.

“City of love,” Zack added as he joined the nudging.

Carmen groaned. This was gonna be a rough mission.

Chase had grown a lot over the past few months. His deductive reasoning had vastly improved, his mood was far more amenable, and he actually stopped to listen to Julia nowadays. What hadn’t really improved with time was his overall clumsiness. 

“Miss Argent, I’ll be fine,” his insistence was interrupted by a powerful sneeze, “This is nothing.”

“Agent Devineaux, please,” she pleaded, “you’re in no state to continue this investigation.”

Devineaux had landed himself into his fair share of rivers over the months he had worked for ACME, and it seemed that so many cold baths had finally caught up to his health. Not that he would ever admit to that.

“Nonsense,” he claimed, “I’ll be back in perfect shape by the time we land in Paris.”

The sneeze that followed said otherwise.

“Chase, please,” she asked again, “rest. I can handle this.”

“I refuse to send my partner on a mission by herself.”

“As sweet as your concern is,” she countered, “I doubt I’ll be by myself for long.”

“Ah yes, I’m sure La Femme Rouge will make for good company,” he agreed and she was glad he did, but it sounded like there was more to his words. “Were you anyone else I’d worry this was all a ploy to have some private time with Miss Sandiego.”

She shot him an unamused glare.

“Apologies,” he said almost immediately.

“Accepted,” she sighed, “but I do not appreciate any insinuations as to the nature of me and Miss Sandiego’s relationship. We’re good friends, nothing more.”

“Of course,” he nodded, but Julia could tell he had more to say.

Truly his detective skills have improved considerably as of late. It had become harder and harder for Julia to pass her excitement for those missions as simple passion for her work. Not when she had abandoned that work as soon as it conflicted with her passion for… something else.

Chase was her friend and she knew he’d understand her feelings for Carmen. She was also sure he’d do his best to keep it a secret until she was confident enough to bring these things to light. She trusted him and she didn’t fear anything of the sorts.

What she did fear was Chase trying to wingman for her. Just the thought was enough to fill her with dread. Enough dread to keep her mouth shut about her feelings in the vicinity of Agent Devineaux. Even if it felt bad to hide this from her friend.

Thankfully the Chief chose that exact moment to call her to give her updated information on their targets. 

Now she could just shut off all these awkward feelings and focus on her work.

The Louvre had been an obvious target. The world’s most famous museum, home to thousands of priceless works of art, including the Mona Lisa itself. It was so obvious in fact that VILE had never bothered to consider it.

But VILE was gone now and its escaped students no longer had any faculty to dissuade them from this target.

That’s why Carmen now walked its halls, diligently searching for any security flaws that could be exploited and any sign of the two master thieves on the loose.

She still took time to appreciate the art of course. This was the most famous museum in the world for a reason and she wasn’t gonna let this unique opportunity escape her, even with the evil duo to watch for.

Carmen had her attention split in every possible direction, her mind juggling its many tasks as she wandered hall after hall. Until, that is, she found something that pulled her focus into one singular point.

A shorter woman in a nice fitted suit, standing before one of the statues.

“Jules,” she greeted as she walked up behind her.

“Miss Sandiego,” Julia smiled as she greeted her, utterly unsurprised. She must have been expecting her, “it’s nice to see you here.”

“It’s nice seeing you too,” she replied, “and we went over this before, Carmen is just fine.”

“Carmen,” she said, in a way that warmed Carmen’s heart, “I take it you’ve been enjoying your time in Paris.”

“Hard to go sightseeing while I’ve got work to do, but I’m making do,” she shrugged, “how about you? What caught your attention today?”

Julia turned back to the statue she had been appreciating until then, “Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss.”

Carmen smirked, it was her time to shine.

“Sculpted by Antonio Canova, commissioned by welsh art-collector John Campbell in 1787,” she recited from memory, “its prime version was acquired by the Louvre in 1824 after the death of its previous owner, Joachim Murat.”

“Very impressive,” Julia praised, “I wish my students put half as much time as you do into their research.”

“I’m just good at memorizing trivia,” Carmen shrugged, trying to hide her pride at earning that praise, “I’m sure you know so much more than me on the subject.”

Boy was Carmen right about that. That seemed to have been the cue to send Julia into a long lecture about the neoclassical and romantic periods, as well as an analysis of the sculpture’s mythological origins and the many interpretations of the myth.

Many people would probably find this amount of information unspeakably tedious. But for Carmen, who was always hungry to learn about the world around her (and could never get tired of Jules speaking so enthusiastically,) it was exciting and endearing.

Carmen had realized then that she wanted nothing more than to spend her every waking hour listening to Julia talk on and on about anything she wanted, as long as it was passionate like this. Maybe someday soon.

Right now they had the whole rest of the Louvre to scout.

“Alright, alright, victory is yours,” Carmen playfully interrupted, “I guess you really are the biggest history nerd here.”

“Oh I’m sorry, it seems I got a bit carried away,” Julia cringed in shame. Damn it Sandiego! “I didn’t mean to bore you.”

“You couldn’t bore me if you tried,” Carmen assured her as she placed a hand on her arm, “I mean it. It’s nice hearing you talk.”

“Unfortunately I no longer teach,” she replied, “otherwise I would have given you an open invitation to any of my classes.”

“Well, how about you show me around the place?” she suggested, “we can call this a private lesson.”

At that Julia smiled again, “then I hope your memory is as good as you say it is, Carmen Sandiego, because I’ll be quizzing you at the end of the tour.”

They both laughed as Julia led them along to the next art piece in what was clearly a meticulously planned tour of the museum. Jules kept her teacher face on for all of her little lectures, but as they walked from room to room it felt so simple and casual.

For once Carmen felt like there was no rush and that she could just enjoy her time with someone she cared about. Maybe that was the moment. Her chance to make something out of this and let Julia know how she felt.

“Hey, Jules,” she called, walking a little closer to her.

“Yes?” Julia turned to look at her, she seemed surprised by the sudden closeness, but did not move away from her.

Carmen decided to take that as a good sign.

“This has been really nice, you know?” she tried, her usual confidence failing her, “just spending time with you like this.”

“I guess it was,” she replied with- Wait, was that a blush? No, that had to be wishful thinking.

“Yeah,” she agreed, awkwardly scratching the back of her neck, “and I just feel like-”

It was then that she was rudely reminded of what she was here to do.

“-you have got to be kidding me!”

“What?” Julia jumped a little in surprise.

“5 o’clock, behind you,” Carmen instructed.

She turned to look and there they were. Tall, blonde and scheming, and short, monochromatic and homicidal. The two thieves they were here to catch. Two thieves that had also noticed them.

They both smirked at them for a moment, before Paper Star whispered something into Tigress’s ear and they both bolted in separate directions.

“I go for Tigress, you go for Paper Star,” Carmen ordered as she bolted after her target.

Tigress was the fastest of the two, and the one most likely to pull dirty tricks on them. Unfortunately for her, Carmen was well-versed in all of those tricks, and of course had all her equipment on her. It’s amazing how much she could hide in just a red hoodie.

Soon Tigress had led the both of them out of the main building, ready to make a run for it and disappear into the city. Her mistake though, was going somewhere Carmen could use her grappling hook without worrying about damaging priceless works of art.

She swung after her, quickly closing the distance and knocking her down with a kick to the stomach. Tigress groaned as she forced herself back up, but instead of running again or getting ready to fight Carmen, she simply shouted.

“Come on!”

“Done running around?” Carmen taunted.

“Yeah yeah whatever,” she replied. Well that was unusual, “did you girlfriend catch Paper Star already?”

“What!?” She nearly jumped in surprise, “She’s not- we’re not- that doesn’t matter! You’re going to jail, for good this time.”

“For what?” she replied.

“Trying to steal from the Louvre!”

“Ah yes, because that’s the only reason we’d be enjoying some time together in the city of love,” she mocked and rolled her eyes.

Was she implying what she thought she was implying?

“Aww, babe,” a voice above them called. Paper Star leaned out of a nearby window and openly teased her partner in crime.

Babe?

“She caught you already?” she continued

Tigress groaned again, “not my fault you got easy mode.”

Paper Star jumped down and casually hooked her arms around Tigress’s neck.

“Well I’ve won,” she declared, “now where’s my prize?”

The last thing Carmen expected was for the two of them to kiss right there in front of her, and yet that was exactly what they did.

“I did not need to see that!” She complained.

“You were the one who interrupted our date!” Tigress complained back.

“Do you seriously want me to believe that you two were just spending the evening together in the Louvre as a date?”

“Was that not what you and your little agent were doing too?” Paper Star teased.

Carmen’s reflex was to say no, but… was that what they were doing? They had been walking around, sightseeing, talking and laughing and enjoying each other’s company and- oh god Carmen almost confessed to her back there. 

This was her chance to have a proper date with Jules and it got ruined right at the finish line because of a mission that didn’t even exist in the first place!

She would have time to figure all of this out later, right now she had a job to do and two smug assholes to put in their place. Thankfully she already knew just how to do that.

“You’re right, it was very rude of me to interrupt your romantic evening,” Carmen raised her hands in surrender and backed away, “how about you two get back to what you were doing and I can arrest you both tomorrow?”

“What?” Tigress challenged, “no romantic chase over the rooftops of Paris?”

“I’m sure your girlfriend would love that,” Paper Star added.

“Actually I think Julia would rather just have you behind bars,” she shrugged.

Right on cue the ACME’s blue sleep gas finally reached the both of them, making them both drop on the spot. It was kinda cute how they were put to sleep still holding each other. Carmen almost felt bad for arresting them. Almost.

She pulled her grappling hook again and launched herself through the open window above, landing right next to a very proud Julia Argent.

“Two for one,” Carmen praised, “at this rate, pretty soon you won’t be needing my help anymore.”

“I appreciate the compliment, but I had my partner down there to keep them in place,” Julia replied playfully. Carmen’s heart skipped a beat at the word ‘partner’, even though she knew she meant it as coworkers.

“Always happy to play distraction for you, Jules,” she played along.

Taking another step forward, Carmen felt her sense of balance completely leave her as she accidentally inhaled some sleep gas fumes. 

She tumbled forward, but before she hit the ground she felt Julia’s arms holding her up. It took her a second to shake away the effects of the gas, and another second to process the position they were in. How Julia was holding her like she had just dipped her in a dance.

For a moment they froze, staring into each other’s eyes as they held onto each other, until finally Julia helped her up again.

“I’m so sorry about that,” Julia apologized as she tried to fix up Carmen’s scuffed clothes.

“It’s fine,” Carmen assured her, “I should’ve been more careful around the sleep gas.”

Still Julia fussed over her, readjusting Carmen’s hoodie as she muttered a few more apologies. It took her a moment to notice just how close they were both standing now. The realization made her jump back a bit on reflex, but still she remained considerably close to Carmen.

She took a moment to collect herself before finally asking, “so uh- you had something you wanted to tell me?”

Carmen sighed in relief. Good to know those two hadn’t completely destroyed her chances.

“I just wanted to say that I really enjoyed our time together today,” she admitted, “before we got interrupted that is.”

Julia gave her a genuine smile that made her heart stop, “I enjoyed our time too. It’s nice to be able to talk about these things outside of work.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, feeling her confidence return bit by bit, “wanna do that again sometime? Maybe over some coffee.”

Jules seemed surprised at first as she caught on to what Carmen meant, but that expression was quickly replaced by a playful smile.

“Carmen Sandiego,” she called, “are you asking me out on a date?”

“Nothing escapes ACME’s best detective,” she joked, “I guess I am.”

“Then I’ll have to ask you to wait a little for my answer,” she asked.

Carmen opened her mouth to say that she was more than fine with waiting however long she needed, but she was frozen mid motion when Julia’s lips met her own. A quick, sweet little peck. 

“I want to finish our first before we plan the second.”

[asteriismos]

as the rush comes - bill denbrough

warning(s) : smut, bill is like 30 something and the reader is like 24 so age gap, inappropriate relationship, bill and his wife are separated, oral sex ( fem receiving ), 

words : 4.7k

request(s):

imma just request bill cheating on his wife with the reader😳💅🏼

“. . . and can you call to move the meeting on thursday to five o’clock instead of four o’clock?”

“yes, sir.”

“y/n, you’ve been working for me for almost three months now, you can call me bill.”

you looked up from your laptop at him, fingers stalling on the keys as you were typing the changes to bill’s schedule. you gave him a small smile, showing some teeth, then nodding. 

about three months ago when you were asking your english professor if there was anything you could be doing to further your image in the writing world, she offered to talk to a friend of hers about possibly offering you some kind of internship. that way you could get some connections come time for someone to read your writing, and a brief look of what being a writer was like on the daily. eager and ambitious as you were, you were quick to accept her offer, earning you an interview to work for bill denbrough.

the first time that you stepped into his house, you were greeted by his wife audra. she had a big smile on her face and told you that you’d possibly be able to help bill de-stress a little bit by helping with his scheduling. but when you stepped into bill's office, you were a little blown away. 

you had expected for bill to be older, especially with the way that he wrote his books. you’d read a few, deducting that bill must’ve had to be older to create such beautifully crafted stories as he did. the way that his words were stringed so eloquently was enough to make you so eager for him to be a possible mentor for him that you didn’t even believe that he would be as young as he was. or as hot as he was. 

stumbling over your words while sitting in the chair opposite of his across his desk, you somehow got the internship. 

bill was kind enough to give you a little office room just beside his own, saying that the room was empty anyways and it would be nice for you to have your own little space in his house. 

and that’s where you sat now, at your desk trying your best to work on his growing schedule. bill had another book in the works that he was planning to release early december, and since it was august now, his publisher wanted to meet to start the promotions. 

“is there anything else i should know of sir- i mean bill,” you said, shaking your head and feeling your cheeks heat up with your mistake. bill only flashed a smile, shaking his head and running his hand through his hair. that one strand of grey hair that peeked out every once in a while. sometimes when he wasn’t looking, you found yourself scanning over his face, fawning much like a schoolgirl with a crush over him. it was wrong, especially considering he was ten years older than you. and because he had a wife, however absent she’s been for the past month or so. he was still married. 

it didn’t take a detective to see that there was something going awry in their marriage. audra wasn’t there to greet you in the mornings anymore when you came over to work on the weekends or even when you stopped by to hand some legal documents late at night. you felt like it wasn’t really your place to question it, no matter how obvious it was that they were having trouble. 

“no, nothing for now. why are you here so late on a saturday night? college student like yourself I would assume you’d be out with friends,” he asked you. it was getting late, since the time you were supposed to leave to go home was almost two hours ago. you just shrugged, knowing the real reason that you were here was not the one he wanted to hear. a little, foolish part of you thought that if you spent more time with him that something would happen. it was shameful, you knew it was so wrong to think these things, and yet you still did. 

you closed your laptop just a little bit to get a better look at him. he was walking towards you now, leaning over the desk with his hands pushing against it. you saw his knuckles whiten a little bit at the pressure being put on them and you clenched your thighs together, thinking about what those fingers could possibly do to you. “I guess I just like to work for you a lot,” you said, a sheepish smile coming to your face as you gingerly sat back in your seat so you could get a better look at him. “you’re a really good boss.” 

he hummed, “yeah, well you’re a good intern.”

feeling your cheeks heat up, you checked the time on your phone, clearing your throat and starting to gather your things. in a pile on your desk, you saw that there were some forms that audra told you to take care of a few days ago. you finished them and was waiting for her to come back, but you still haven't seen her. taking your chance to finally ask bill about his wife, you looked at him and asked, “where’s audra?” you shook your head, realizing that seemed a little straightforward. “I mean, I have these forms for her and I haven’t seen her in a few days. is everything okay?”

bill looked down at the forms and took them from your hands, your hands brushing against each others for just a moment. he gave you a slight grin and shrugged his shoulders. “she’s been out for a couple days. staying at her moms I think.”

“why’s that?” the minute it left your mouth you wanted to smack yourself on the side of the head. you felt as if you were prying for information about stuff that wasn’t yours to know. 

“we’re separated at the moment. she wanted to leave for two weeks or so to think.”

suddenly you felt that pit in your stomach widen, wondering why the hell anyone would want to leave bill. he was kind, considerate, intelligent, and a damn good writer if you’ve ever seen one. you couldn’t help but think that if you were mrs y/n denbrough, you wouldn’t waste a single second with the man in front of you. that if you got to wake up to him every morning, you’d roll over on top of him and give him the best morning sex he’s ever had in his life. or if he was having a bad day, you would be there to wrap your arms around him and tell him everything would be okay. it wasn’t just a sexual longing between you two, it was a romantic one too. you wanted to give bill the world and more. 

you frowned. “I'm sorry, bill.”

“it’s okay, y/n. I'm sorry for unloading that on you. but I do really appreciate you being here. I think you’ll be my rock for the next couple of weeks, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all.”

-

the next day you arrived at the denbrough house around seven at night, having taken the morning to get some work done around your dorm and go shopping for the week. you just needed to give the revised schedule for bill’s next week and then you could head back home. when you got there, you let yourself in with the key that was given to you, pushing open the dark brown door of the large house. 

the smell of coffee loomed over the whole household, bringing a smile to your face. you weren’t even sure that bill was here, since most lights were off, but the smell of coffee assured you that he was indeed here. if there was one thing you learned about bill over these past couple of months, is that he loved his coffee. every day, in the mornings and at night. he didn’t discriminate. 

you walked up the staircase and towards the end of the hallway where his big office was. when you got to the door, you knocked on it, opening the rest of the already cracked door. bill was sat at his desk looming over his computer screen, keyboards clacking with every hand movement of his. his gaze shifted to you, green eyes peering through his glasses that he only really used for writing. you gave him a smile, saying, “sorry to bother you, I just had the revised  schedule to give you.” you walked and reached in your bag to grab the papers. 

bill nodded. “you know you could’ve just emailed me them, y/n. you didn’t have to come all this way.” you only shrugged your shoulders, biting your bottom lip. your fingers danced along the sheets of paper stuffed in your bag, pulling them out and setting them at the edge of the deck. “thank you,” he said. 

your eyes stayed on the papers, ignoring the chills you felt from his gaze on you. you knew that he was looking at you, what you didn’t know was that he was looking at you with the same longing and lust that you looked at him with when he wasn’t looking. right as you were about to turn on your heel and say goodbye, his hand reached and grabbed your wrist, keeping you from walking away and making you look up at him. 

he was leaning against the desk, mouth agape staring at you. you gave him a knowing look, feeling fireworks erupt in your stomach at the contact. the only time that bill ever touched you was when he would accidentally bump into you or on the rare occasion that your hands would brush up against each other. those left you with sparks, not the full on fireworks show that his whole hand attached to your wrist gave you. this touch wasn't an accident, it had a meaning behind it. what that meaning was, you didn’t know at first. although it didn’t take you that long to figure out what he was trying to do when each of you subconscious leaned towards each other. 

when recalling the moment later, neither of you would know who closed the space between your two faces first. all both of you knew was that you were kissing from across the desk, his hand on your wrist not leaving while you grabbed at his face with your left hand. it was a slow kiss at first, tentatively testing the waters. but that didn’t last very long. because to bill you tasted like that cherry chapstick that you were always putting on and freedom. you tasted like something he never knew he needed in his life. and to you, bill tasted like coffee and relief. relief that you finally were getting what you had secretly longed for.

no, the kiss didn’t stay slow the second it registered in your minds what you were actually doing. bill pulled away from you only a moment, enough time to walk to the end of the desk where you were so he could be closer to you as he pressed his lips onto yours again. your hands reattached themselves to his face, lightly cupping it and relishing in the feeling of his body flush against yours. your back dug lightly into the edge of the desk and you instinctively pushed yourself to sit on top of it, legs wrapping around his waist to pull him as close as he possibly could be. 

one of his hands stayed at the back of your neck while the other ran down your side, thumb pressing against your hipbone sending your mind into overdrive. papers and pencils flew to the ground the farther you moved onto the desk, though neither of you cared what was going on around you, all you cared about was getting what you needed : each other. 

his lips trailed down from your own to your jawline, teeth pressing against the soft skin that connected your jaw to your neck. you sighed out, hands moving down to his torso and surrendering into his touch as if saying do anything to me, anything you’d like.

and he did, because the second he heard that sigh come from your pretty pink lips he was determined to explore every part that he could of your body. he payed extra attention to your neck, sucking just under your chin, earning a soft moan on your part at the feeling. your hips pressed against his and each of you breathed out, liking that feeling more than anything in the world. 

soon enough he was back to kissing you again, hand trailing up your shirt and stopping at your bra. his fingers danced along the band and reached up until he was cupping you through your bra, giving a little squeeze which you keeled into. your own hand pushed up his light sweater he was wearing, so close to pushing it up and off, until a small ounce of guilt found its way into the back of your head.

bill was married, this was wrong, right? no matter how much you wanted him or he wanted you, there was still a band around his left ring finger. 

you pulled away from him, slightly panting from the air being restored back into your lungs. bill gave you a quizzical look and you sighed, hands going back to your sides to fiddle with the ends of your shirt. “we shouldn’t be doing this,” you said to him, nodding forward and jumping off the desk. “you’re married and im just- im just me.”

“that’s why I like you, y/n. because you are you. you read my stories and don’t think that they’re terrifying and you always know the right things to say. I want you. you’re not like any other woman I've met in my life,” bill said to you. 

you only shook your head, grabbing your bag that had fallen to the floor and muttering a small goodbye to him. from there you made your way outside of the house, closing the front door. for just a moment you leaned against the outside of the door and closed your eyes, not knowing what your next move was. 

if there was even a move to make. 

- 

you called in sick the day after your little makeout session with bill, deciding that you needed a little bit longer than just twelve hours to think of what the logical response was. not only was bill an older married man that may or may not be divorcing his wife, he was also your boss. what if something went wrong and he fired you? you didn't know if you would ever get an opportunity like this again. 

the devil on your shoulder, however, was telling you to go as far as you could with him. after all, bill was obviously reciprocating the same feelings that you were for him. you had basically been lusting for him for over a month now, what was the harm in sleeping with him once? maybe you two just needed to let off some steam and let the sexual tension go and just give into your desires. 

because after all, he said that he wanted you. 

you came a little earlier to the house than you were supposed to, deciding that if things were to be awkward, you could clock in early and leave early too. you stepped into your office and turned on the light, keeping the door open as you usually did and getting all your stuff set up. you heard a throat clear from behind you and you turned to see bill standing there, his hair disheveled and staring at you with his usual tired eyes. “I missed you yesterday,” he said in a soft voice, giving you a smile. 

you smiled back. “me too. I'm sorry about leaving so quickly that day.”

“did you think about what I said before you left?” you grinned, taking a leap of faith. “I did.” 

bill walked closer to you, his face inches away from yours. you could feel his breath fan against your face and your legs felt like jelly. he was so close to you that you thought you were going to melt into a puddle of mush just at the mere thought of him touching you again like he had two days ago. or doing more to you. “and what did you think about?”

taking a leap of faith and pushing all coherent thoughts out of your mind, you said, “I want you too.”

and that’s all it took for bill to grab you by the wrist, leading you out of your tiny office and into another room that you haven’t ever been to before. his room. there was a dresser next to the closet and two bookshelves filled with thick books. then there was his bed, which was made rather messily but it added a little charm to the room that made you smile to yourself. 

you dropped down on the bed face up, pulling him down on top of you with a giggle. he kissed you again, already realizing how much missed those lips of yours. you’d never get tired of this. not in a million years if this ever happened again which you thoroughly hoped it did. 

bill kisses like he’s taking his last dying breaths and you feel yourself drowning in the feeling of his body against yours, taking that chance that you didn’t take two days ago by pushing up his shirt over his head. the second it was off and thrown onto the floor of the room, your hands were gripping and appreciating every taut muscle of his sun kissed skin, he was so much bigger than any guy you’ve ever been with. no one had ever made you feel this way, the sense of longing and desperation, the way that bill did by just kissing you. you knew that you were in for something when you felt his growing hard on press against your inner thigh. 

his lips attach to your neck, taking his time to appreciate the soft moans and gasps that left your mouth when he sucked and licked. he pulls away for only a moment to take your shirt off, hands cupping and groping your breasts with such needy force you didn’t know was ever possible. as his left hand gripped your left breast, you didn't feel the cold hard metal of a ring on his finger. he had taken it off. you arched your back up the second his kisses trailed down to the valley of your breasts. 

your eyes were screwed shut, leaving you to just your other four senses. you could sense his eyes on your face, watching your facial expressions with every little thing he did. 

bill pulled his lips away from your skin just a few centimeters, keeping his eyes on you. “have you done this before?”

you nodded your head, thinking back to the few times that you’ve had sex with another person. it was never really all that fulfilling. sometimes you even wondered if there was something wrong with you because guys would cum and you wouldn’t. they just weren't satisfying enough. “only a few times. but it’s never felt this good before.”

“have you even orgasmed from someone else before?” 

heat rose to your cheeks. “no, never,” you replied, suddenly feeling really embarrassed that you were admitting this to him. he probably thought that you were just some stupid girl now. 

but he didn’t. if anything, it posed as a challenge for bill. he wanted to give you what all those stupid younger boys couldn’t. the look in his eyes was sinful as he gave you one last look, then resorted to kissing all the way down to your navel, stopping to take a little extra time with the skin right above your pants line. your hands moved up to his hair, feeling the strands interlace with your fingers. 

his hands pushed your pants down along with your panties, leaving you completely bare in front of him. you felt insecure, instinctually closing your legs away from him. bill tutted, shaking his head and taking both of his hands to spread your legs open in front of him. he sat there looking at the curve of your hips and the apex of your thighs, eyes landing on your wet center. you looked down at him while he did nothing, only staring at you. you were completely vulnerable, insides screaming for him to just touch you. 

in one swift movement, he was kissing the top of your thigh, moving south until his breath was fanning against your center. you thought if you had to wait any longer that you might just die. bill knew this though, winking up at you and burying his face into your heat. the moan that you let out the second he made his first stripe all the way from your entrance to your clit probably could be heard from the neighbors house. no guy had ever gone down on you before, and you couldn’t believe that you were missing this amazing thing in your life. 

his hands gripped your thighs to steady himself and also so you couldn’t squirm away from him too much. your heels dug into the top of his back, keeping him close. 

his tongue had you reeling for more, heart beating practically out of your chest when he moved to suck on your clit. you pulled on his hair, soft sounds spewing from your lips like it was the only thing that you could really do. all the while he kept his eyes on you, knowing that the would be playing this over and over in his mind for days to come. the way that your eyes were sewn shut, chest arching and heaving. it was almost pornographic. 

that pit in your stomach that had been steadily building was growing in size, muscles spasming while you grew towards a peak you’ve never felt with another human before. and you thought about how if he was this good with his tongue, bill must even be better than this with his dick. he knew just the right things to do to you to make you gasping for more, more, more. 

“fuck, bill, im so close,” you moaned out, legs clenching together. his tongue guided you towards that peak, it felt like white hot heat the second you hit your high, hips rolling against his face. he helped you come down, giving you a few more licks and rubbing his hands up and down your thighs. 

your breathing began to steady and he came up from in between your legs, pecking you on the lips. “you were so good, can you give me one more?” he asked you. you nodded, wanting all that you could get of bill denbrough. your hands came to help his own with the belt on his jeans, pushing them down his hips and off of his legs for good. bill moved away from you and off the bed, going to grab a package and standing at the edge of the bed. you watched as he dexterously opened the package with his teeth and slipped the condom on him, getting back on top of you and positioning himself in your hips. 

when you looked down, you tried to keep yourself from your eyes widening at the sight of him. he looked like he could split you in half. you must’ve hadn’t done a good job at concealing your surprise because you heard a chuckle come from him. “I'll be gentle, don’t worry,” he said to you, trying to calm your nerves. 

you looked into his eyes and pulled him by his shoulders so he was fully on top of you. his tip teased your entrance, coming to rub against your slit. “what if I don’t want you to be gentle?” you asked him, a smirk coming to your face. bill laughed, pushing into you and watching your smirk leave your face and pleasure take over. “we’ll see about that princess,” he said. 

he wasn’t even fully in yet and you felt your walls want to clench around him, but you breathed in and out and concentrated on that once he was all the way in. you grabbed him by the back of the neck as he stalled in you and kissed him. “I can handle it, bill,” you muttered into his mouth, your hips rolling against his. 

bill didn’t respond, deciding to give you what you wanted. he pulled all the way out of you and pushed back in, feeling you around him made bill groan. you were so tight and wet and he was in heaven. he was filling you up in a way you never have felt before and you couldn't get enough of him, you couldn’t get enough of the feeling. 

his thrusts were slow and sensual at first, but when he felt your hips moving against his, he knew that you wanted more. bill then upped the pace, grabbing one of your legs and pushing it up to get a better angle. that made you basically putty in his hands. your hands were clenched onto his back and knew that you were making marks that would stay there for days to come. 

the base of his cock pressed against your already sensitive clit and you breathed out, arching your back to try and make him go even deeper than he already was. bill thrusted in with such a force that he hit that one spot in you that had you a moaning mess, hitting it repeatedly and holding your leg up higher. 

“you feel so good,” he muttered out, hand coming to grip your breast and pinch your nipple lightly. 

“bill,” you moaned out, holding him as close as you could.

his name sounded so pornographic coming from you that he tried his best to remember how it sounded. it was unlike anything he had ever felt in his life. you looked so fucking good taking him like this. he felt as if he had everything he ever wanted in the palm of his hands. and he was making you feel good, better than anyone ever had before. 

this drove his pride, thrusting animal like into you to take you to that peak again. he wanted to make you cum again. and you did, after about three thrusts from him, each one pulling out all the way and pushing in with force. his hand slipped down to rub your clit in figure eights and you came with a yell of his name. 

not even two thrusts after he was cumming, a low groan eliciting from his lips while his body stalled on top of you. each of your skins were drenched with sweat that you two almost stuck to each other. he pulled your face to meet his own and gave you a quick peck, and continued this all the way down your neck then stopping to bury his face into the crook of your neck. 

minutes later bill pulled out of you, helping you into your clothes again and throwing the condom away in the trash in the bathroom connected to his room. 

what does this mean?

suddenly you realized what you had done, and you didn’t know what to make of it. 

“what does this mean, bill?” you asked him, sitting at the edge of the bed. 

bill pulled his sweater back over his body and shrugged his shoulders. to be honest, he didn’t really know. he knew that he liked you, you weren’t just some kind of conquest. at the same time he thought about audra, and how there was no way he could go back to her now. not after he had confessed that he had feelings for you. bill walked over to you and pulled you up, wrapping his big arms around you. 

you reciprocated, enjoying the smell of him as it enveloped you. bill didn’t even say words, and yet you felt comforted. “I don’t want to lose you,” you whispered, pulling away so you were looking at his face. “but I don’t want to just be the other woman.” 

“you’re not, y/n. we’ll figure it out. I promise we will.”

[spinbitchzu]

citrus kisses

Darling, you don’t need to say what you mean, ‘cause your kisses taste like tangerines. Aka: cole’s love language is tart and sweet and reminds Kai of things he thought he’d lost. 

hey uhhh so. I don’t write ninjago fic often but apparently when i do, it’s about the inherent romanticism of peeling an orange and also action-oriented love languages. anyway you know the drill. lavashipping, a bit over 2k words. unbeta’d bc we die like men. 

The oranges that grew in Ignacia grew in huge groves.

It’s one of Kai’s only memories with his whole family: walking between his parents in the long aisles stretching between the lines of trees, Nya’s tiny, chubby hand clasped carefully in his own as she toddled along beside him. The smell of oranges was everywhere, and that day they picked enough to last them for weeks and weeks. 

He can still recall his dad’s hands braced around his ribs as he hoisted Kai up to pick a Valencia orange bigger than his head from a high branch, eyes squinting against the bright sun on his face. He’d felt such pride that day, as he carried his treasure around for all to see.

He remembers summers of frothy fresh-squeezed orange juice in the morning, afternoons of fragrant orange cake, and evenings of carefully-partitioned segments that exploded juice on his tongue. His mom used to make ambrosia for Saturday morning breakfast, the orange slices piled high with coconut shavings and thick, fluffy whipped cream. She’d scold him when he peeled the oranges himself; his forceful little thumbs always dug too far into the flesh and sent the juice squirting everywhere. Instead, she clucked her tongue and peeled it for him with easy, deft movements while he sucked the stickiness off his fingers.

Those days—patchworks of hot nights and sunshine through the kitchen windows and the smell of citrus on his mother as she leaned in to kiss him goodnight—they’re days Kai can hardly remember the older he gets. 

After his parents disappeared, no one took Kai and Nya to the Valencia groves; no one whipped the cream for ambrosia; no one lifted him to the highest branches for the best oranges. He simply had to wait until he was tall enough to reach them himself.

He doesn’t think about those memories very often, and Nya was so young, he doubts she remembers it at all. It’s not like he ever gets a summer off to return home either, so instead he lets the memory fade until it’s almost entirely forgotten. He locks it in the part of his brain that he’s sectioned off because it’s too painful to keep clinging to when things were that good. It’s okay. 

The past tastes like oranges and coconut cream, and Kai has left it behind.

...

Kai forgets why they’re making a stop over Ignacia, but it just so happens that the nearest rural area place for them to moor is over the Valencia groves he had nearly forgotten about. 

He stands at the front of the ship, leaning over the railing with his chin propped up on his pillowed arms to study the trees extending in every direction, the dark leaves bejewelled with not-quite-ripe January oranges. The sun overhead is more of a pale, cold disk, and Nya is somewhere below-deck, but it makes him melancholy anyway.

Footsteps approach from behind him—heavy but soft: Cole. He leans over the railing beside Kai, bracing his forearms against the wood as he surveys the landscape. “Hey. Whatcha doin’ out here, stranger?”

“Just lookin’,” he murmurs back. He hums to himself. “Did you know I used to come to this grove with my family as a kid?”

“I didn’t even know you liked oranges,” Cole replies, giving him a sideways glance. He smiles when Kai glances back, dark eyes crinkling. “Do you want to go down now? I’m sure we could grab a few and no one would miss ‘em.”

“Nah, that’s alright,” Kai says with half a grin. “They’re not ripe. And I don’t like oranges that much anyway. Too hard to peel. They just made me think about—things I hadn’t let myself think about for a while.”

“What kind of things?” Cole asks, nudging him with an elbow.

The touch grounds him and he’s grateful for it. He shrugs in a way that’s neither here nor there. “Just things. Home, I guess. My life? Before all the...ninja stuff.”

“Is that a good thing?” Cole tilts his head. In this light, his eyes turn from obsidian to sunlight through whiskey as he waits for an answer.

Kai makes a contemplative noise. “I don’t know. Hurts less than I expected, after everything. It’s bittersweet.” He sighs then, shoulders falling with the motion. “It really is making me miss oranges, though. I don’t know why I lied before—I really do like them.”

He looks back at the groves below and misses the look Cole gives him—measured and curious.

“What about you, do you like oranges?”

“Some. The sweet ones.”

“You’d like these ones, then,” Kai tells him, cheeks rising as he smiles. “The oranges from Ignacia are the biggest, sweetest ones around. They’re good just by themselves, but my mom made a mean ambrosia with them.”

“I bet Zane could replicate the recipe if you told him what it was,” Cole replies.

Kai just shrugs. “Maybe so. He’s sharp like that.”

They fall silent. Kai can physically feel Cole worrying about him and his rare bout of melancholy, so he squares his shoulders and musters up a grin. “Hey, Cole, you—,”

“You don’t have to,” is what Cole interrupts him with, paired with a weighted look that settles around him like a blanket. “I don’t mind the quiet. You’re allowed to, Kai.”

All the feigned bravado drains out of him. Kai stares at him for a second and wonders when Cole got so good at gauging his moods. There’s so many words unspoken inbetween what he says and that earnest, draping look in his eyes and Kai kind of aches with it.

“Okay,” he says instead, shoulders slowly falling. His chin dips to rest on his crossed forearms again and he leans into it when Cole slips as arm around him. “Okay.”

The nippy January wind dances around them, stirring their hair and whipping at their gis, but Kai tips his head against Cole’s shoulder and feels warm down to his toes.

...

“Holy crap, what the hell did you do?” Kai can’t help asking a week later, as Lloyd and Zane walk into the kitchen carrying groceries.

“There was a sale on tangerines at the grocery store,” Zane answers primly, setting his paper bag on the counter. “I thought it prudent to take advantage of it.”

“We have like a hundred pounds of these things,” Lloyd adds, setting his own bag down. “We’re going to be eating tangerines until we get old and grey.”

“Zane, man, you know I love a sale as much as the next guy, but this is a little overboard,” Cole says as he comes in, two more bags of tangerines hoisted on his shoulders. Kai does not stare, thank you very much, as much as he’s been finding it kind of hard to avoid when it comes to Cole and lifting things recently.

“Proper intake of vitamin C is important in preventing scurvy,” Zane replies, though he’s blinking the way he does when he’s getting embarrassed. “It’s a common illness in sailors.”

“Does that still apply  if the ship can fly?” Lloyd wonders.

“Or if we’re in the twenty-first century?” Kai adds wryly, eyebrows high.

“I’m sure we’ll find some way to finish them all,” Cole pipes up. “Don’t worry about it, Zane.”

“I was not.” Zane turns away to put away the rest of the groceries while Kai and Cole exchange an amused look. As he bustles back and forth, Kai grabs a tangerine from the bag behind him and turns it over in his hands, studying the way the light catches on the dimpled rind.

“Hey,” Kai says quietly, leaning across the kitchen counter. “Did you do this?”

Cole just shrugs with a crooked grin. “I didn’t do anything. You know Zane and sales. Can’t resist ‘em.”

“You did,” Kai deduces, eyeing his teammate’s reddening ears. He feels his expression soften. “You didn’t have to.”

“Maybe I wanted to,” Cole says in response. He reaches over Kai, coming very, very close, until their noses are close enough to brush. His eyes are very dark and very close and Kai would very much like to kiss him right now.

“Um, uh,” Kai says, very eloquently.

“Not in the kitchen, please,” Zane calls from the pantry, because he hasn’t a romantic bone in his body (or any bones, to be fair to him).

Cole just grins and pulls back, displaying the tangerine he’d grabbed from behind Kai with a flourish. “I’m heading to the training deck. See you around, Hot Stuff.”

“R-right,” he mumbles (like an idiot), fighting the heat settled in his cheeks. He watches Cole go and feels distinctly like an opportunity has sailed over his head.

...

Cole smells like oranges these days.

Kai only notices because that isn’t his normal smell, which is much more organic soaps and something earthy and fresh. It’s a smell that clings to the hoodies Kai keeps pilfering from his closet—comforting in its familiarity. 

The abrupt invasion of tangy citrus makes him do a double take the first time he smells it. And then he reaches into the pocket of the hoodie and finds a tangerine. It’s store bought, with a little sticker on the side, and it’s not exactly a strange sight for any reason, but it sort of confounds him.

“Hey,” he says, walking into the kitchen, the object of confusion held gingerly in his hand. “Is this a tangerine?”

Cole looks up from where he’s making a sandwich and raises an eyebrow. “Is that my hoodie?”

“I asked first,” Kai replies quickly, before he has time to pink up.

“I mean, yeah, five points for powers of deduction,” Cole says cheekily. “Congratulations, it’s a tangerine. We gotta finish them somehow, don’t we?”

“I—yeah,” Kai says absently. Cole holds out a hand for it and he tosses it over wordlessly, before he even thinks too much about it.

“You said they’re hard to peel, right?” Cole asks, digging his nails into the rind. He peels it in the shape of a flower and then splits the orange in half with his thumbs to hold out to Kai. “Here.”

Kai looks down at the segment being offered to him in an open palm and then back at Cole with his earnest, crinkly-eyed smile, and feels something stutter fatally in his chest.

“Thanks,” he manages to say, as his heart cracks open to let sunshine stream all in, filling his ribcage with warmth.

He bites into the fruit and feels his mouth fill with juice and thinks about how his mother used to peel oranges when he was too clumsy to and then about how Cole leaves tangerines in the pockets of the hoodies he knows Kai will steal and peels them for him in the shape of a flower, even though it turns his nails all yellow. He thinks of it so hard he forgets to make a face that doesn’t show about seven years of adoration on it and when he looks back at Cole, he’s already looking back with realization blazing across his expression.

“Kai?” he asks, voice wavering as his throat bobs with his nervous gulp.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and then grabs Cole by the collar of his shirt and kisses him, soft and open-mouthed, across the kitchen island. He’s so filled up with sweet oranges and sunlight and the heat of Cole’s skin that he forgets to even be afraid of this, as much as it’s frightened him in his fantasies. He stops being afraid of it altogether when Cole sighs into his mouth and cards a hand through his hair.

When they finally draw back, Cole’s pupils are blown huge and dark and he’s looking distinctly Kissed with a capital K. Kai would very much like to continue that endeavor.

“You taste like oranges,” Cole chuckles as he tugs Kai around the island to pull him closer.

You taste like home, he wants to say, but then Cole leans over him to cup his jaw and kiss him breathless, and Kai decides to let it go unspoken. There are more important things to attend to.

…

In the early summer, Cole and Kai negotiate with the others for a three-day vacation in early June. They drive in a rented car to the Valencia grove outside Ignacia and pick enough oranges to last the ship for weeks. Cole boosts him on his shoulders to help him reach the huge oranges at the tree tops and they laugh the whole time, chasing each other through the orchard and trading citrus kisses. Kai wonders if it’s possible to burst with happiness.

“I’m sick of eating oranges,” Lloyd complains when they come home bearing the (literal) fruits of their labor, newly sun-tanned and smiling.  

“Really?” Kai tilts his head, considering. “Seems to me like I can never get enough of ‘em.”

“Was that some sort of romantic metaphor?” Lloyd asks with a wrinkled nose. “Gross.”

Cole laughs from where he’s watching and sidles up from behind to rest his big hands on Kai’s hips. 

“Yeah,” Kai says affectionately. “Gross.”

“Not in the kitchen,” Zane calls from the next room, but Kai just leans back against Cole and closes his eyes to drink in the moment.

It’s worth it, he decides. All the fighting. All the losing. All the danger. It’s worth it to eat oranges in the kitchen with people he loves.

“What are you thinking about?” Cole teases, his voice rumbling low in his chest against Kai’s back.

“Nothing,” he says with a smile, opening his eyes. “I just love oranges.”

[sunkisseddaffodils]

Johnlock Office workers AU where they work at the same same wedding planner business and Mike and Lestrade are trying to set them up by making them work on the same wedding but to make sure everything runs smoothly, Mike and Lestrade make them “act out” the wedding ceremony

Pairing: sherlock x john

Genre: fluff

Note: You can submit a request for a Sherlock fic by clicking on my profile <3

‘Matchmakers: Office Workers AU’

-

It was a quiet morning in the office of ‘Mycroft’s and Co. Wedding Organiser’s’, just before the workday had begun. Mycroft and Lestrade, who were very happily married, arrived ten minutes before 9:00 and set up their things in the main office. Lestrade looked at Mycroft, growing concerned as he could see that his husband was deep in thought as he was setting up for the day. Five minutes later and the workers came pouring in, clearly already wanting to head back home. Mycroft was checking through the list of the day’s clients when Greg tapped on his antique wooden desk.

‘Hiya sweetie, I know when you’re up to something and your face is plastered with guilt. So for christ’s sake, what are you up too?’

Mycroft was about to let him in on the plan when his brother, Sherlock and his flatmate, John, came barging in the office quarrelling loudly with each other. They continued to bicker as they slammed their stuff down on their desks, causing everyone to look over at them.

‘This is your fault, Sherlock!’

Sherlock looked appalled at John’s remark

‘What do you mean it’s my fault?’

‘You know full well, why’, John spat out.

Then he sighed in exasperation.

‘We wouldn’t have been this late to work if you didn’t spend five hundred hours in the bathroom’

Sherlock instantly had a rebuttal

‘We wouldn’t have been late if perhaps you could be bothered to wake up at the right time, ’

They proceeded to row like this for a further few minutes.

Meanwhile, back in the main office, Lestrade was ready to go sort them out when Mycroft pulled him back:

‘Greg, darling, I’ve got a plan to set up Sherlock and John, ’

Lestrade was uncertain about whether his husband was thinking straight.

‘Um honey, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, they’re arguing like an old married couple right now, ’

Mycroft looked pleased with himself as he responded:

‘Exactly! They’re pretty much a married couple already. They go everywhere together, they work together and they live together. All we need to do is to get them to realise their feelings for each other’

Lestrade realised there was not much he could do when Mycroft was scheming, but he made one last attempt to get him to see the issue in his plan.

‘Firstly, what do you mean ‘we’? Secondly, how the bloody hell are we gonna do that?’

Mycroft gestured for Lestrade to follow him and led him to Sherlock’s and John’s workspace. They had finally stopped squabbling to read their schedule for the day. Mycroft coughed to announce his arrival. The two looked up and immediately gulped when they realised they were about to get scolded for their late arrival.

‘Morning, boys. First, I’m just gonna ignore the fact that you two were late because we have a really big client today that we need to plan the perfect wedding for’

They both nodded in reply.

‘The mayor and his fiancé have called to enquire about us planning their wedding so we need to get this right. This could mean a big boost in our clientele’

Lestrade watched in confusion, really not knowing what the hell his husband was planning. Sherlock jumped in asking:

‘So you want me to clear my schedule and plan it then?

John rolled his eyes.

‘Excuse me, I think what your brother is saying is that I’m actually the one best for this job so I should clear my schedule for the day.’

Sherlock sneered at his flatmate as Mycroft began to reply

‘Not quite. I need both of you to work on it.’

Both of them jumped up in refusal.

‘Boys, calm down. This is a really big client so we need twice the manpower. I’ve sent you guys the email for the case, so get on with it’

Mycroft and Lestrade ran back to their office before they could get any more excuses.

The pair slumped back in their chairs, accepting their fate. Sherlock was slightly suspicious of his brother, he could sense he was acting strange. Since when did he get two people to work on cases? However, he brushed that aside and then both of them checked and scanned the email of the client’s names, email address and phone number. Instantly, they knew what they had to do. They hated to admit it, but they worked well together as a pair. Sherlock shouted over to John

‘I’ll call the mayor and see what he wants’

Before he could finish John cut in

‘And I’ll call the fiancé’.

Both of them spent the next half hour on the phone, collating information on the perfect wedding for the couple. After they finished, Sherlock got a whiteboard from the storage cupboard, rolling it into their work area to write down important details.

At the same time, they said

‘They want a traditional wedding’

Sherlock looked surprised.

‘Very good deductions, John.’

He continued to speak and started to write on the board.

‘I think we should look for stately homes, preferably within London as they don’t want to travel for too long’

John responded in agreement adding:

‘Definitely, we should also search for an old church in the same vicinity and the manor needs to be able to fit 100 guests.’

Sherlock also added:

‘I think they should have a classic, three-course, sit down meal’

‘Yes! And a pink and white floral arrangement on the tables’

They continued on like this, discussing their ideas, scribbling on the board everything they needed to complete. Sherlock googled stately home’s while John rang several catering companies. Sherlock discovered the prettiest stately home and signalled for John to come see. He rolled over on his desk chair to his colleague. The venue was a 17th-century Georgian mansion with an accompanying rose garden called Fenton House. The latter’s eyes widened in awe.

‘Bloody hell, it’s gorgeous. I wouldn’t mind getting married there myself’

Sherlock looked at John sadly at that comment.

John carried on.

‘And they can have the reception in the mansion and then have the photography session in the gardens.’

Sherlock and John worked late into the night, wholly engrossed in what they were doing. The time had just gone eight o’clock when Mycroft and Lestrade were packing up, ready to head home. As they were taking off, they noticed that Sherlock and John were still in the office. Lestrade noted to Mycroft:

‘Even though they both get on each other nerves, you can’t ignore the fact they both passionate about what they do. Maybe you’re right, Mikey, they’re perfect for each other’.

Mycroft kissed Greg on the cheek and they went home. The next few weeks were spent finalising details, and they had eventually completed the full schedule for the mayor’s wedding. First, the bride was to be taken to a charming old chapel in the west of London by horse and carriage where they would have their ceremony. A violinist would perform an elegant, romantic melody, written by Sherlock, as the bride walks up the aisle. After the couple is wed, they both travel to the Georgian estate by horse and carriage. When they arrive, they will have the photography session in the botanical rose garden. Then they would head into the manor where, in the ballroom, it would be spread with round tables with pink roses atop of them as the centrepieces. There would be the main table for the bride, groom, and their family. The other half of the ballroom would be left clear with only a white grand piano where the pianist accompanied with more violinists would play as the couple would have their first dance.

Sherlock sent the full details to the couple by email. Not too long afterwards Sherlock and John received a call confirming that they were delighted with Sherlock and John’s plan. A few months flew by and it was the day of the rehearsal for the wedding. Accordingly, the pair of them had to go look over and make sure all was in place for the wedding next week. Sherlock and John left their flat and headed to the church by cab. During the cab ride, John jokingly mentioned to Sherlock:

‘I kinda wish that I was having their wedding. It’s perfect’

Sherlock laughed.

‘Well, of course, it is, we were the one’s who planned it’.

John turned serious for a moment asking:

‘Sherlock, do you ever wanna get married?’

Sherlock was taken aback slightly as he never really had these conversations with John.

‘I don’t know, John. Maybe if it was with the right person’

‘Have you met that person yet?’, John boldly asked.

Before Sherlock could answer, they had reached the church. Sherlock was massively relieved. Lestrade for some reason was already there and ran up to them. Sherlock was puzzled as to why he was there but had no chance to think about it when he asked:

‘Sorry to do have to do this but the clients have requested that you rehearse the wedding ceremony for them’

Sherlock and John’s jaws dropped in shock.

‘Why on earth would they want us to do that?’, Sherlock proclaimed.

‘Umm, shouldn’t they be the ones to rehearse their wedding seeing as it is their wedding?’, John added.

Lestrade was sweating nervously but stated:

‘Look, mate, if that’s what the client wants, that’s what they’re getting. Maybe they just want to see their ceremony from an outsider’s perspective.’

Lestrade walked away to let them get ready for the rehearsal, ringing up his husband his mobile.

‘Good news, babes, they bought it, they’re gonna rehearse the wedding’.

Back at the church, Sherlock and John were getting ready for the rehearsal when the mayor and his fiancé came to greet them. The bride to be held up two black-tie suits and said:

‘Thanks so much for doing this. You don’t know how much this means. We got two suits prepared so we can really immerse ourselves in the wedding’.

Sherlock took the suits, smiling.

‘No problem, we want this to be perfect for you.’

They got dressed in separate rooms and John headed outside the church while Sherlock was the one was going to wait at the altar. Two minutes before the rehearsal was starting and suddenly John was feeling particularly anxious. Why was he feeling this way? It wasn’t like he was literally getting married to Sherlock. The same concerns were running through Sherlock’s head. The violinist commenced playing the exquisite melody and John began walking up the aisle. Sherlock’s heart skipped a beat when he saw his best friend on his way up to the altar. He looked so dapper in that tuxedo, and his blue eyes complimented the flower on his suit jacket so well. John glanced to Sherlock at the altar and he blushed. He had to concede it that his looks were impeccable and how he had always secretly wished to ruffle his curly hair. John reached the altar where he took Sherlock's hands. It seemed like the right thing to do at that moment. The mayor and his bride to be were in the front row of pews to observe the rehearsal. The priest then began the service:

‘Dearly beloved and honoured guests. We are gathered here today to join Thomas and Julie in the union of marriage.’

The priest continued:

‘This contract is not to be entered into lightly, but thoughtfully and seriously, and with a deep realization of its obligations and responsibilities’.

‘The bride and groom have each prepared vows which they will read now’.

There was a pause when Sherlock and John didn’t know whether they should do that part or not. Everyone was looking at them expectantly, clearly wanting them too.

John wiped his brow as he came up with his vows.

‘I have known you Sher- I mean Julie, for a long time and I mean it when I say this. Even though you may get on my nerves, I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d rather spend the rest of my days with.’

Sherlock’s heart was beating like crazy.

‘Thomas, you make me laugh, you make me think differently and you make me a better person. I wanna grow old with you.’

The priest saw that they were finished and continued:

‘Thomas, do you take Julie to be your wife? Do you promise to love, honour, cherish, and protect her, forsaking all others, and holding only unto her forevermore?’

Sherlock confirmed ‘I do’.

The priest now turned to John

‘Julie, do you take Thomas to be your husband?’

John also confirmed ‘I do’.

When they had finished, the mayor, Thomas, and his fiancé, Julie, walked up to them thanking them for the rehearsal, commenting on how magical it looked. After the church rehearsal, they rode to the stately home in a stunned silence. Both kept thinking if there was any truth in the words they said to each other. Could it really be they were both in love each this whole time? They feared finding out the answer. At the manor, they taste tested the dinner and the cake, and then they had finished the rehearsal. Thomas and Julie thanked them for their help and left to go home. The pianist and violinists were still practising the songs, so Sherlock pulled John onto the empty dance floor and said jokingly.

‘Well we have practised everything else, so might as well do the slow dance’

John giggled saying ‘why the hell not’

Sherlock gently placed his hands on John’s slim waist. John rested his head on Sherlock’s shoulder. Slowly, they began to twirl around. As they were spinning, Sherlock whispered into John’s ear.

‘Did you really mean what you said back in the church?’

John responded quietly.

‘Yes’

Sherlock stopped in his tracks.

‘I meant what I said too. So are you saying we should give this a shot?’

John replied.

‘I really think we should’.

Sherlock embraced John, giving him a gentle peck on the lips. The next week, the pair of them came into work and they couldn’t help but giving each little kisses and hugs throughout the day. Lestrade noticed, his mouth agape and he shouted to Mycroft.

‘Oh my god, your plan really worked!’

Mycroft chuckled

‘Of course, it did, I’m a genius’.

[captains-log-reviews]

Disney’s Peter Pan (1953)

Summary/Overview:

I’ve been considering a Hook-themed review blog for some time now, and what better way to start off than with the classic 1953 Disney film? Originally slated to be Disney’s second animated film after Snow White, the idea for a production of Peter Pan was in Walt’s mind long before it hit the big screen. Walt himself had played Peter in a school play as a boy and had retained a fondness for the story ever since. The first major film version to feature a boy (Bobby Driscoll) in the titular role, Disney’s Peter Pan has since become perhaps even more widely known than Barrie’s original. That being said, I think it’s probably unnecessary to give much in the way of a summary, but for the sake of developing a consistent format for my reviews, here’s the super quick version:

Wendy Darling, a young girl with an active imagination and a love for storytelling, is distraught when her practical father decides that it is time for her to grow up and move out of the nursery with her brothers. Later that night, after her parents have gone out, Peter Pan—the flying boy hero of Wendy’s stories—shows up at her window and offers to take her and her brothers to Neverland, a magical island with mermaids, “Indians,” and pirates where they will never grow up. Unfortunately the kids get caught up in the plans of Captain Hook, who wants revenge on Peter for cutting off his hand and feeding it to a crocodile. Ultimately, Hook captures the children and nearly kills Peter with a bomb in the guise of a present from Wendy, but Tinkerbell, Peter’s loyal fairy friend, saves him just in the nick of time, allowing Peter to free the children from Hook’s crew and fight the captain in a final duel that results in Hook being chased off into the sunset by the crocodile. Wendy and her brothers return home safely, and Wendy realizes that she isn’t so afraid of growing up anymore...only to have her father admit that maybe holding onto her childhood a little bit longer wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all.

What I Liked:

Those of you who followed me over here from my other Hook blog, not-wholly-unheroic, already know that I am more than slightly biased when it comes to Disney’s Hook. I distinctly remember the first time I saw him on screen when I was twelve. The sequel had just come out on video, and ABC was doing its usual Sunday Disney movie (and advertising) by showing the original Peter Pan one weekend, followed by the sequel the next. I was bored and had never watched the film before, so I decided to give it a shot...and I was instantly struck by how different Hook was from any Disney villain I’d previously encountered. While most of the classic villains are motivated by greed, vanity, or the desire for power, Hook’s feud with Pan is at least somewhat justified considering he not only lost a hand but also faces the constant threat of the crocodile as a result of our supposed hero’s actions. Additionally, prior to Peter Pan, Disney’s major villains (Queen Grimhilde/The Evil Queen, Lady Tremaine, the Queen of Hearts) were typically rather flat and lacking in personality. We see only their wicked side (or in the case of “Man” in Bambi, we don’t see them at all!). Hook is a major departure from this trend in that while he is clearly made out to be the bad guy, we also see him in moments of fear, weakness, and self-doubt. We see him sick and in pain and ready to give up at times. Suddenly, he isn’t just a villain anymore... He’s a person we can empathize with. Walt himself recognized that the audience would “get to liking Hook” would not want him to die as he does in Barrie’s canon, opting instead to have him “going like hell” to get away from the crocodile but ultimately still very much alive at the end of the film.

Aside from Hook himself, I love the dynamic he has with Mr. Smee. While Hook admittedly doesn’t treat Smee well, there is clearly a bond of trust between them. Early on in the film, for instance, Smee prepares to shave Hook with a straight razor. It’s a moment that is ultimately used for comedic effect, but when one considers that Hook has a crew full of literal cutthroats, it says a lot about Smee that Hook feels totally at ease with this man putting a blade to his neck. Smee repeatedly attempts to intervene to save Hook when he doesn’t have to, and Hook unfailingly looks to Smee when he’s afraid for his life or when he needs to send someone out to complete an important mission for him. It’s a villain/sidekick dynamic that borders on friendship, and I think it adds a lot to the film and to Hook’s complexity as a character.

As far as artistic choices go, it is a rather minor thing, but I love that they kept the stage tradition of using the same actor for both Mr. Darling and Captain Hook, giving the film a rather dreamlike feel and subtly reinforcing the enmity Wendy feels toward her father in real life as she faces off against Hook in the Neverland. Speaking of the actor, Hans Conried isn’t just voice for Hook, as many would assume... He IS Hook as much as any live-action actor could be. I love the old hand-drawn animation style and how they used to use the actors as live-action reference models. (You can see some shots of Hans as the reference model vs the final images of Hook in the film here.) If you’ve ever seen a recording of Hans in one of his other roles, you’ll notice he doesn’t just SOUND like Hook...he makes the same facial expressions (particularly in how he speaks with his eyebrows) and hand/arm motions. It’s small details like this that make Hook (and all the characters) more human and show just how much time, effort, and love the animators put into their work.

What I Didn’t Like:

RACISM. With a capital “R.” There’s no sugar-coating it. Unfortunately, Disney’s film falls victim one of the many problematic tropes of the time when it was made and portrays the island’s native characters as highly caricatured, ignorant, and—in the case of Tiger Lily—romantically exotic people. Their signature song, “What Made the Red Man Red” is lyrically painful to modern listeners with any sense of decency, and the villagers’ character design—from their bright red skin to their large noses and often extreme body shapes (very fat or pencil thin)—along with their badly broken English is highly uncomfortable, to say the least. On the other hand, Tiger Lily, the most realistically drawn native character, is shown dancing flirtatiously for Peter and subsequently rubbing noses with him in what is meant to be a sort of native kiss (based on the concept of the “Eskimo kiss” which in and of itself is not a politically correct term).

Aside from the glaringly obvious issue of racism, my only real complaint with the Disney film is the music. While the songs are pretty standard for films of the day, I personally don’t find most of the music particularly memorable or catchy. “You Can Fly” is alright, I suppose, but the next few songs have their issues. “Following the Leader” and “What Made the Red Man Red” both have racist undertones, and Wendy’s lullaby, “Your Mother and Mine” puts the kids to sleep for a reason... It’s sweet but rather boring and drags on for far too long to keep the audience’s attention. Less time on the lullaby and more pirate sea shanties, please!

On the flip side, Hook is arguably the first Disney villain to get his own theme song, which is pretty cool. The original pirate song (which you can find here) is a bit more sedate than “The Elegant Captain Hook” we end up with and focuses more on the joys of pirating in general than why Hook, specifically, is someone the kids should want to work for. Personally, I’m glad they chose the song that they did, though I do wish they’d given Hook more lines as originally planned. (You can find the lyrics to the full version here.)

Would I recommend it?

Despite its flaws, Disney’s Peter Pan has had a major impact on the legacy of Peter Pan and how we view the characters as well as Neverland itself. It has long been a personal favorite of mine and acted as a gateway into the fandom for me. It introduced me to Hook as a likable, sympathetic, and complex villain and I’ll always be grateful for that. I definitely recommend it to anyone entering the fandom, those with a fondness for the nostalgia of classic Disney films, and kids at heart of all ages.

Overall Rating:

As much as I love the film and want to give it a perfect score, I’d be remiss if I didn’t deduct at least a few points for the depiction of the “Indians.” Otherwise a lovely version of the story so... 4/5 stars

[dashielldeveron]

hi! what are some of your favorite fanfics?

HELLO. I adore how vague this is, so I’m going to give you more than you asked for. Also, I don’t know which fandom you’re on my blog for, so I’ll give you a mix of things.

Also, I feel called out for how much of this became a “let’s list what i’m attracted to” compilation. 

RLM: Everything @redlettermistress does, but especially In His Kiss and Milwaukee: A Place Both Wonderful and Strange. Though, if you’re not Deep In the Lore of these wonderful men, the fics may not make a whole lot of sense. If you’re not into RLM, I highly suggest reading them simply for the stellar dialogue, loving relationships, and fucking astonishing smut. She has a parking pass to the haunted house in my heart.

Also, Snow Globe, because it’s possibly the most romantic fic in fucking existence. I don’t even ship Mike/Jay due to personal reasons of wanting to marry Mike, but this is a perfect work.

Marvel: Sheena Stalwart’s Spider-Man Soulmate series.

@astronomyparkers‘s Silence (vigilante!Tom Holland AU), because it hits different, you know? It’s nice plot and character work.

Back when Liars and Legends was an unnamed Loki fic on deviantart, it changed my fucking life. This is the fic that started everything for me. It started my writing fic and was early in my introduction to readerfic (about 2012). It’s very “The Avengers was just released in theatres, and the Avengers all live in Stark Tower together,” but this fic consumed my brain for all of high school and affects to this day how I write and approach storytelling in general. Anything tiatodd does is ingenuitive, intriguing, and well-told, even though some of her kinks I do not share. I’ll devour anything she fucking posts. Be sure to check out both her pseuds.

Hades, God of Death is part of a series, but this one is my favourite and hurts my heart. It’s an AU in which Benedict Cumberbatch is Hades, and you’re his side chick when Persephone’s in the overworld. Read it if you want to feel depressed for a few hours.

Embarrassing Undertale Section: A Puzzle Just for Me, an ongoing, super in-depth character study/mystery/smutfest mob au Sans/Reader. Fucking incredible. I’ve never seen character work quite like this. It’s really something. It swops between your POV and Sans’s, both with deep psychological problems and deductions. Not to mention her worldbuilding. Would that I could write like this. 

i thought you were weird but turns out you're just caught in a time loop. Sans/reader. Combines the lore of Undertale and Deltarune, and it feeds my timeline-loving, slow burn, motherfucking soul. 

Broken Promises and Timelines. Sans/reader. Time for consequences of your own actions. It’s fab and sad, and even though there’s a fair amount of smut, I’m already there for the plot alone. It jumps through all of the fucking AUs for Undertale, of which there are too fucking many. 

Winter in Your Bones. Sans/reader. Takes place in Alaska. You can read this without knowing Undertale, so long as you know that Sans is a skeleton. 

Even Worse: A Pokemon Section: I know. I know. But it’s where I am in life, yeah?

Anyway, Roommates is a Spark/Reader (Spark is the Team Instinct leader in Pokemon Go) that is Super Healthy and Developed in their relationship (to the best of my recollection. It’s been a while, and it’s a long-ass fic). 

Shut Up and Dance is my current favourite continuing fic. It’s a Guzma/Reader (Guzma’s a villain in Sun/Moon, which I have not played) and a Dirty Dancing AU. It’s nice, okay? It’s really comforting and well done. It makes me feel a lot.

Not Readerfic: This is the best Harry Potter fic I’ve come across in years. It’s a time-travel mishap done right. Post-series Harry gets sent back in time to his first year at Hogwarts. He’s still mentally in his twenties, but his body is eleven again. This time around, Harry has all of the information and is going to be a little shit about it. Like, when it was described to me, I was sold purely on the fact that Harry convinces everyone he’s not the heir of Slytherin because he hasn’t tried to make a profit off of it. Golden.

Finally, There’s a Place is the fic hidden in my heart. It’s McLennon, which is Paul McCartney/John Lennon. Trust me, they were in love IRL. Message me if you want to know EVERYTHING. This fic is the culmination of their love, I think. There’s a certain line that a friend just has to quote to me, and I get all upset, because it’s so fucking romantic. I want to believe it’s real so badly.

So, these are the fics that linger in my head because of how new and wonderful their ideas are. I’ve honestly been thinking about these fics for a long time. Good writing affects your standards for love and living, you know?

Thank you very much for your ask! I hope your day is excellent! xx.

[weasleywinchester]

Unexpected Meetings and Risks Taken

Chapter 1 The Meeting at Baker Street

Chapter 2 The First Case

Chapter 3 His Name is Greg *swoon*

Series Summary:

Jamie Luna is an American in London. She’s managed to get herself stuck within Mycroft’s web and is sent to watch Sherlock’s every move. What She’s not prepared for is the love and friendships of a life time.

Chapter Summary:

Jamie Luna has just had to most romantic date that even had a little sizzle... and now she gets to go to work. Sherlock said to be a 221B asap, he’s on a case and needs someone else’s presence besides John. But how long before Jamie gets to see Greg again? It may be just around the corner...

Couches are not as comfortable as one expects. Well, Sherlock’s couch isn’t anyways. I roll onto my side, watching Sherlock pace back and forth across the flat, talking about his latest case. He seems to be having a mental breakdown. 

“He’s not.” John states from his chair as he skims today’s (well, yesterday’s) newspaper. I stare at him, hoping to burn a hole in the side of his head.

“What do you mean he’s not? Of course he is! LOOK AT THE EVIDENCE JOHN!” Sherlock shouts. John glares up at Sherlock and tries so damn hard not to roll his eyes. 

“I was talking to Jamie. About you. That you’re not having a mental breakdown. ” John cracks the newspaper and continues reading. 

“Why do I need to be here Sherlock? John says you’re fine. I think you’re raving mad because it’s THREE IN THE FUCKING MORNING!” I yell as I throw the blanket over my face. 

“You didn’t seem to mind being awake when you floated in here earlier” I poke my head out to see Sherlock cocking his eyebrow at me. I roll my eyes over to John, who has both his brows raised in questioning. 

“You came in with your makeup done to perfection, that’s not out of the ordinary but it was a little more heavy than normal. You have on a tight, short leather skirt suggesting you want male attention especially since you thought to forgo any tights. Your red- um no- orange top suggests a somewhat professional gathering, perhaps old colleagues, but the buttons could be undone further if you happened across someone that met your checklist. Your lips are stained dark pink suggesting that you had lipstick on but didn’t bother to reapply or, more likely, someone else removed it for you.” Sherlock spins on his heel to stare down at me on the couch.

“It’s called a lipstain Sherlock, it’s meant to fade over the course of the night.” I drag the blanket back over my head. Sherlock frowns and turns to John who shrugs his shoulders.

“Have you told Mycroft I’m mad?”

“I’ve told him that your brain is reeling on a case, but the only drugs you’ve taken are three nicotine patches.”

“Two” John corrects.

“Three. He put one on his other arm when you were making tea.” I mumble through the blanket. 

“Well, be thankful he hasn’t gotten a hold of any weapons yet.” 

I poke my head out and open my mouth to respond but I would rather not press for details, my job was to report on Sherlock’s current well being, not to unravel his past. Sherlock continues his pacing and problem solving and I must have nodded off at some point because John is gently shaking my shoulder.

“Jamie, Sherlock is out for a walk. Said he’d be back later.” John whispers. I crack my eyes open, glaring at John for not waking me when Sherlock left. 

“Here’s a strong tea, extra sugar; now hurry home and do what you need to do before he calls. Don’t you grumble at me missy! Off you go, hurry before he has a break though in this case.” John peels me off the couch and practically pushes me out onto the landing. 

I steadily make my way back to my own flat, walking instead of taking a cab. It’s about midday, the sun is out but it brings no warmth. I quickly undress as I walk into the flat and jump right into the shower. I try to recall the details of the current case as I scrub my body clean but I can’t remember anything after the exhaustion set in last night. Before that… I can still feel his hands on my body. The way his mouth moved against mine, how he smelled musky but not too strong, how I wanted him to explore every bit of my body... OH MY GOD! Did he call? I didn’t even check my phone when I left baker street! I rush out of the shower quickly throwing my hair in a towel and running to my phone. Of course it’s fucking dead! I jam the charger in and finish drying my body as I mentally beg my phone to resurrect faster. The logo flashes on the screen and then my phone buzzes three times. 

Messages from last night:

Mycroft: Good. Make sure he stays that way. Don’t let him out of your sight. 

Sherlock: Went out. - SH

Messages from this morning:

John: Sherlock’s back. Laying on the couch, hasn’t said anything in 20 minutes. Be ready to meet us somewhere soon :)

I sigh as I crash onto my bed. Nothing from Greg! I guess he does work for Scotland Yard so I can cut him a little slack. Maybe he wasn’t interested. I push the thought out of my head and get ready. The cute little coat I wore out last night was not cutting it earlier; so I grabbed my oversize tartan wool coat out of the closet. I think I’ll take my time doing my makeup today, never know who you’ll bump into when you’re running after Sherlock; or working for Mycroft for that matter.  I just finish filling in my eyebrows when my phone lets out a few dings.

SH: This address. Hurry - SH

JW: This address. See you there!

(?): Hi Jamie, had an amazing time last night. Maybe we could do dinner tonight? - Greg

HA! He texted! I happy dance and nearly trip over my two feet when another ding sounds.

Greg: New case just came up. Rain check for breakfast tomorrow?

Awww man. I have to wait until tomorrow??? That’s just not fair! I reply as I make my way out the door:

To Greg: I had an amazing time too <3 Sounds perfect! Let me know where :D

To John: See you there! Maybe I’ll get to cross the tape this time!

To Sherlock: Hurrying!

I quickly shoot Mycroft a message with the address of the crime scene and reread Greg’s message so I can over analyze it (as one does). I look at mine again as well. Oh… no… I put a heart?? Will he think that’s weird? We kinda  went on one date… and I’m sending hearts. I gotta remember hearts, the cry laugh emoji and the phrase “lol” do not need to be in every message! 

I arrive rather quickly at the crime scene, they’re just now taping off the area, although it is much later in the evening than I expected. I take my post at the edge of the tape near an ambulance that has pulled up. It’s the perfect spot to hear their conversations as well as anything coming through their radios. I give Donovan a little wave, but she purses her lips together and goes back to talking to one of the officers. I make small conversation with some of the medical workers, very friendly people. 

After about 20 minutes I can hear Sherlock yelling throughout the apartment building. I blink and see a black blur come flying out the door and into a cab. I walk towards it but it’s already pulling away, leaving me standing in the middle of the road. He left? He left! What the fuck am I supposed to say to-

“Left us here, did he?” John says behind me. I turn to him and shake my head.

“How do we follow him John?

“We don’t for now. He’ll be back at the flat in no time.” John gives my shoulder a squeeze. 

“Jamie? Jamie Luna?” Someone behind us shouts. John and I both turn and my jaw hits the pavement. It’s Greg! We meet him at the edge of the tape, he lifts it for John and I to cross under.

“Jamie, Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. Although I assume you already know that.” John says, the Cheshire grin on his face growing wider by the second. “Greg, Jamie Luna.”

“Yes, we’ve met. Good to see you Detective Inspector.” I can’t help but smile like an idiot. The title suits him, as does the suite...

“We have indeed. Where’s Sherlock gone?” Greg asks, his question directed at John but his eyes never leaving me.

“Off to think we presume.”

“We?” He glances between John and I.

“Remember when I said I was basically a nanny?” Greg’s mouth falls open astonished. “Ya I get to follow Sherlock everyday, text his big brother where he is and get paid loads of money.” I squish my lips together and brace myself, not sure if Greg will think I’m crazy or not.

“Bloody brilliant! Didn’t think anyone could one over Mycroft.” The three of us share a laugh, the silence no longer awkward. 

“Well I best be off, have a date in a little bit. Greg, mind walking Jamie home? Her flat isn't too far.” John says, his voice a normal tone but his eyes are full of mischief. I give him a little glare before turning to Greg.

“It’s alright if you can’t, you’re obviously working.” I point my words at John.

“Of course I’ll take you home, just give me a few minutes to wrap up here.” He gives me a lopsided grin. I shake my head in agreement because I do not trust any words that will tumble out of my mouth. He shakes John’s hand goodbye and goes back to talk with Donovan.

“Do you actually have a date this bloody early?” I glare at John.

“I might.” He grins at me, gives a slight bow and catches the next taxi.

I waited around for half an hour; but since Greg let me into the taped off area I decided to poke my nose around. I saw the paramedics take a body out of the building, but it was in a bag so I couldn’t see anything. I got to talking with the CSI photographer and a few other detectives about possible events leading to this accident. 

“Ready Ms. Luna?” Greg whispers into my ear as he puts his hand lightly on the small of my back. I nod and quickly tell the people I was talking to goodbye. “I hope you don’t mind if I just drive you?” 

“Oh how horrible! You’re going to make me sit for the short car journey instead of making me walk all over London like my boss?” I laugh. He flashes a brilliant smile and I have to remember not to melt into a puddle. We chat about the case, well about Sherlock’s deductions. He may sound raving mad but Greg tells me he’s more brilliant than half of Scotland Yard. He pulls the car up to the curb, both of us sitting in silence for a few moments.

“Would you like to come in for dinner?” I squeak. I glance at him, his mouth is slightly ajar. Moving too fast? Assuming too much… No. He drove me home of his own free will, and he keeps smiling at me like that... it can’t just be in my head right? “There’s a homemade deep dish pizza calling our names...” I sing-song. 

“Pizza with a beautiful woman? How could I say no?” He reaches over to push my hair off my shoulders, his thumb light grazing my neck.

“Well, ok then” I breathe out. He gives me a little smile, his thumb moving back and forth along the side of my neck. Wait… he said yes! I jump out of the car and race to my door. I quickly unlock it and begin picking up the clothes I peeled off earlier and throw them into the dryer. I race back to the front door and try to conceal the fact that the tiny sprint I just did has left me short of breath. 

“Well this is posh...” Greg mentions as he looks around. I haven’t been living in my flat very long so a lot still needs to be decorated. 

“Yes, Mycroft said it would be better if I was in the general vicinity of Sherlock. He also assured me that if I moved to 221B I would most likely never get a good night's sleep.” Greg chuckles at that, I imagine working with Sherlock as much as he does gives the same effect. I quickly heat up the pizza and set the table. Last night I made a mental note on what beer Greg was drinking but the food delivery was set for tomorrow. 

“I don’t have any beer, but will wine do?” I shout from the kitchen, trying my hardest to reach the darn wine glasses. I feel his hand rest on my hip, his body lightly pressing against my back.

“Yes love.” He answers right next to my ear as he stretches to grab the two glasses. He sets them on the counter in front of me. His arm snakes around my waist and he nuzzles his nose into my hair.

“Miss me Detective Inspector?” My voice comes out more even than I though possible.

He hums in agreement, brushing my hair off my shoulder and laying a gentle kiss on the base of my neck. I take a deep breath and twirl around so now our noses gently brush each other. He presses his lips gently to mine, my heart threatening to leap out of my chest.

*DING DING DING*

“That would be the pizza” I mumble against his lips, my eyes still closed. 

“Guess we will have to finish this later.” he gives me a quick peck and grabs the pizza out of the microwave. 

We settle at the table, and raise our glasses.

“To unexpected meetings.” I say, tilting my glass towards Greg.

“And risks taken” he adds as we clink glasses..

Martin GIF from @sannapersikka Hope you don’t mind! You have the perfect collection of Martin gifs

Pic from: https://pin.it/7hkAX6X

______________________

I HAVE A TAG LIST?!?! Here it be:

@fangirl-iz

[translightyagami]

au where light ends up at wammy’s after his parents get killed in a break in. he and sayu were in the wind for a bit before roger finds light and offers him a place at the school/orphanage or whatever. light sweet talks roger into taking sayu as well and they r swept off to the little genius academy.

everyone keeps talking abt this mysterious L guy and how they’re all supposed to be him but light isn’t so interested in that. why become someone else when you can become the best in your own right? sayu struggles a bit but light helps her and they both become quite popular. then one week, around when light’s abt ten or so, there’s a huge uproar in the school bc, supposedly, the great and mighty L is visiting. the fanfare dies down after a day once the kids realize L isn’t going to come and see them so things go back to normal.

on that wednesday, light can’t sleep so he goes out to wander and ends up in the kitchen where he bumps into this gangly and ill-kept teenager hauling a piece of cake bigger than light’s head. he’s definitely not anyone at the school bc light would hv recognized him and he’s probably not a new student either since the wammy house isn’t super interested in teens. so there’s rlly only one person this teen could be.

“shouldn’t you be in bed?” L asks and light just sort of laughs and is like

“shouldn’t you be hiding somewhere else?”

he ends up p much blackmailing L into letting him see the case he’s working on by threatening to tell everyone that L frequents the kitchen at night. L agrees, sort of annoyed but also sort of intrigued by how wily this kid is. L has always had respect for kids who are willing to be a little awful to get what they want. he and light stay up for most of the night and well into morning going over the case and light makes several deductions that L had missed in his slight boredom with the case. eventually light has to go catch at least an hour of sleep but not before L stops him and shakes his hand.

“thank you,” L says. “you are a very intelligent person.”

“i know.” light responds but his insides lift a little and he understands for a moment what all the fuss is abt L.

and it keeps happening. L comes back every once in a while, sometimes with months going by inbetween and sometimes a year, and light sneaks to the kitchen to find him and wiggle into doing cases. he’s sharp and likes how these cases are actually a challenge unlike his schoolwork. L is glad for the company. he’s used to dealing with older ppl who are always shocked at how young he is and knows that, despite his clout as the world’s greatest detective, many of them still don’t quite believe he’s quite capable. there’s no such judgement when working with light. they are both just smart ppl solving mysteries.

there’s nothing romantic between them but there is a bit of friendship. light gets older and roger and his other teachers start to ask him abt college, abt his future plans. they hint at him being next in line for the L title but that’s nvr been what light wants. he’s started to hv a little idea in his head that’s been growing bigger and when he turns eighteen he decides now is the time to tell L. he finds L’s number by pickpocketing rogers phone and calls him.

at first, L is cagey abt someone calling him on a number he knows only two ppl in the world hv but then its light and he relaxes. but only a little, bc light is still a very demanding and stressful person to talk to you once he’s actually honest abt himself around you.

“i have an idea,” light says.

“is this an idea or is this a demand?”

“don’t be weird,” light says. “i think you should let me help you on your cases.”

“you already do that,” L says. he’s being purposefully obtuse bc its more fun to make Light say what he wants instead of dancing around it. there’s a big ass sigh and he knows light is annoyed bc he stole roger’s phone and has a limited amount of time.

“let me rephrase,” light says. “i think you should let me be on ALL your cases. all the time.”

its quiet and light’s sweating bc he can hear footsteps toward his room and his stomach is full of feathers that brush and tickle and this is everything, right now. this is what he wants. he doesn’t want to be L. he wants to be Light. he wants to be a great detective in his own right and he wants to take on big cases and he wants to do it with L. “okay,” L says finally.

and they travel the world solving cases and eventually fall in love and L gives Light the Deneuve name to use as his own, independent detective identity so they work separately but stand together. they don’t visit the wammy house anymore but they do go see sayu and her wife for christmas.

[rainbow--letters]

Compromise

Link to the story on AO3 can be found here

“Molly, how much longer is this going to go on for?” Sherlock announced rather loudly.

“Will you be quiet.” She hushed at him through gritted teeth and a serious glare. “Just go to your mind palace, or something.” She sighed.

His hand moved to the inner pocket of his suit jacket to locate his phone.

“Except that.” She hissed.

“Fine. But I’ve already been inside my head for the past however many years this has been going on for.” He slouched further down the wooden bench, creaking noisily as he slid.

“SHHHH.” An old lady in a ridiculous hat poked her head between Molly and himself, although her anger was directed towards Sherlock.

Molly sighed and turned her attention back to the couple at the altar. His eyes roved around the church, observing the ridiculous stained-glass windows and their ridiculous attempt to portray the fictional story of one of the many non-existent Gods this world was full of.

What to do. What to do. What to...

His eyes flittered around trying to find something to distract his idle mind when they settled on Molly. Molly dressed in her deep red, floral kimono maxi dress and her hair pinned into a soft loose bun, the front few strands falling in waves down her face. The lipstick staining her lips, a pantone or two from matching identically with her dress.

He had noted all this before, obviously. She had stepped out of her bedroom as he waited by her breakfast bar earlier that morning. He was finishing the fastening of his cufflinks onto the crisp white shirt, which contrasted against the darkness of the navy, three piece suit he wore. The image of her as she floated by him to put on her heels she had left by the door, caused him to double take. She was gesturing to something behind him, he realised after staring at her like a gormless idiot for a few moments she was asking him to pass her phone over. Instead he told her she looked beautiful. She truly did. She smiled at him sheepishly, unsure. He kissed her softly to reaffirm his point. She was very efficient when it came to distracting him.

Much like he was now.

He blinked rapidly, coming back to the present. His eyes still fixed on the woman beside him. Her hands restless in her lap as she twisted and pulled at her fingers. She was nervous, she had been for the past few days before the event. Apparently, their first official outing as a couple was a 'big deal', especially when the paparazzi caught knowledge of it to Molly's horror. An 'unknown' source had confirmed they were attending a close friend's wedding. Sherlock figured it out in all of twenty seconds. The maid of honour of course. She was one of the only ones armed with the intel of their attendance, besides the bride and groom, as she was responsible for the seating plan. Tweets and Facebook posts fantasizing about surgically enhanced breasts identified the motive for that tip off to the press.

Molly had expressed her fears to him as they lay in bed the previous evening. How she didn't want to ruin Meena's big day, with photographers desperate for a shot of them both together, everybody talking about the two of them. To have her photo printed in paper and online for thousands to see and judge. He told her bluntly that people who read or were associated with any of the media who posted those photos were not worth a millisecond of her thoughts. He didn't choose to be with her because Dave, who lives in Dagenham with his wife and three children, thought her tits looked good. He clearly said the right thing because she proceeded to give him some rather good oral sex.

She was still wringing her hands when his thoughts focused back to the present again. He thought about repeating the Dave from Dagenham comment to her again, especially with her reaction to it last night but he didn't think Molly would appreciate it at this moment... Instead he reached his own hand into her lap and took her hand in his own.

She glanced up at him, her expression was still anxious and distant. Even her obvious annoyance at his earlier behaviour didn’t affect the beauty she radiated. She squeezed his hand tightly, before lifting his hand out of her lap. Her arms remained folded for the rest of the ceremony.

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

The tables were now deserted of all dinner ware, replaced by bottles and glasses full of alcohol. The DJ was in full swing, although by the looks of the empty dance floor and full tables it would be around ten minutes before the liquid courage kicked in.

“I knew it would be lamb.” Sherlock attempted his own version of small talk. Molly had barely spoken a word to him since they had left the church.

“Hmm?” Molly shook herself from her day dream, where she was watching the two young flower girls dance wildly to some 'shake it' song on the vacant dance floor.

“The main course. Meena’s father is from a certain part of India that sees lamb as a delicacy. Hence the lamb shanks and what a beautiful touch served in a cardamom and aromatic herb sauce.” His voice elevated over the deafening sound of the disco.

“Or you could have seen it on the invite requesting our meal choices.” She wasn't impressed by his efforts, he could tell.

“Feels more satisfying knowing I deduced it.” He replied smugly, his arm stretched to rest on the back of her chair but she was on her feet before he could touch her skin.

“Right, well now that I know you’ve stalked my friend's family history and who knows what else, I’m going to go and get us a drink. Same again?” She was being short with him, but then his patience hadn’t particularly been enduring throughout the day either. He never was a fan of weddings.

“Not stalking, deducing. And yes.” She walked off without barely a glance towards him, although he watched her all the way to the bar, a frustrated expression crossed his face.

“So, Sherlock.” His blue orbs glanced away from the bar to the red, blotchy face of Mike.

“I hope you’re treating our Molly well.” He winked and Sherlock blinked in confusion.

“As opposed to treating her badly? I accidentally bruised her left hip during one of our sexual explorations the other week. You’re not suggesting I’m abusive are you.” Mike’s face grew redder and his wife shuffled awkwardly beside him, both averted their gaze.

“No, Sherlock. That was what I most definitely was not saying. I just meant, well she seems a lot happier other these past few months. Very happy. I hope you both are.” He laughed for some strange reason and Sherlock furrowed his brow at Mike’s words.

He looked towards Molly at the bar. She was stood side on speaking to another work colleague, her expression light and her face seemed full with the smile she wore. A smile he realised he had been longing for her to give him all day.

“Yes.” He replied simply, he held the ‘s’ slightly longer than intended his mind focused on her frame.

“Good. Because I’d quite like to be invited to yours when the time comes.” Sherlock spun his head back to Mike.

“My what?” Why did this man always speak in riddles.

“Your wedding of course.” He laughed but Sherlock failed to understand the joke.

“But we aren’t engaged.” Sherlock states blankly.

“Surely, you intend to propose to her at some point?” Mike questioned, and Sherlock dreaded what was to come next. He’d already had this conversation with his mother, which ended in a blazing row.

“Hardly.” He announced, his head turned up to the ceiling.

“Oh.” Both the Stamford’s replied in unison.

“Wedding’s are a waste of time, money and paper. Nobody needs to be married in the 21st century. Anybody can open a shared bank account these days without a marriage certificate.” He sounded scripted, as if he had spoken those lines many times over.

“They are also the biggest type of romantic commitment you can make to one another.” Mike's wife argued back.

“Weddings are essentially no different to business contracts. Molly and I, do not intend to exchange such contracts. ” He yawned purposefully, indicating he was bored of the subject.

“Are you sure Molly agrees with you on this?” Mike’s wife questioned him further, her eyes sad and pitying.

“I don’t assume, I deduct.” He narrowed his eyes at her.

“Molly clearly loves you. I think rather than using your superhero powers Mike has told me all about, you should probably ask her.” Sherlock felt the lump in his throat form instantly.

“Well, we all have different perceptions of love I suppose. Wouldn’t do us all to be the same now would it!” Mike thankfully concluded, drawing the heated debate to a close. “But you know if it does happen then save us two seats.”

“If what happens?” A familiar voice called from behind them. Molly stood positively radiant behind him. Her hands full with a flute of prosecco and a glass of scotch. Her smile was nowhere to be seen, instead her features were plastered with an annoyed expression.

“Oh, Nothing-“

“Our wedding.”

Mike and Sherlock replied at the same time.

“Oh. I see.” The glasses were immediately deposited on the table. She almost collapsed into the chair, her hands clasped tightly.

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up Mike.” She joked, but her face didn’t seem to match the light heartedness of her comment.

“I already explained the pointlessness of the conversation.” Sherlock spoke proudly.

“Brilliant. I love it when you tell people how great it is that Molly Hooper will never be the bride.” She rolled her eyes and took a sizeable swig from her flute. Sherlock seemed to get a niggling feeling that something was not quite right. The Stamford’s looked away awkwardly, registering the annoyance of Molly’s mood. Then the music changed and Mrs Stamford was on her feet very quickly and dragging Molly to the dance floor.

Sherlock watched from the safety of the table as Molly attempted to dance rather badly to the beat. He recognised the song from one Molly had on her Spotify playlist. Beyanca was it? The information was irrelevant. She looked happy for the first time properly that night. A part of him longing for her to show him the same happiness she shared with her friends.

---------

Sherlock wasn’t the greatest when it came to understanding human behaviour. But he knew when he was being avoided. And Molly was most definitely avoiding him. Since she had been whisked away to the dance floor she had failed to return to the table. That was forty-seven minutes ago. He’d took to responding to a couple of emails during her absence when he looked up to try and find her.

It was much darker now. The room illuminated by disorientating coloured disco lights. Despite this obstacle, Sherlock knew she wasn’t on the dance floor. A quick glance behind him. Or at the bar.

If he could track down some of the countries most infamous criminals he should have no issue locating a tipsy Molly Hooper. He excused himself from the embarrassingly drunk Stamford’s who were all over each other like a pair of teenagers. He instantly appreciated the quietness of the large corridor as he exited the main hall of festivities and stood to consider his next move.

“Ah shit.”

A familiar voice echoed from the left of him. He rounded the corner to find her sat alone on the third step of the grand staircase. She appeared to be trying to unstrap her shoes but was failing miserably. He walked over to her and bent down onto his knees in front of her. His hands covered her own at her feet, gently pushing them aside. She accepted his assistance slouching back onto her elbows, he could feel her watching him.

“I told you to wear your flats. But I’ve seen a basket of flip flops by the entrance to the hall aptly named ‘the real dancing shoes’ so at least there’s a back up plan.” He smiled up at her to be met by a pair of sad brown eyes and a matching frown. “You’re upset with me.” He spoke as he looped the strap from around the back of her slender ankles.

“You here on your knees, taking off my shoes, is the closest I’m ever going to get to a marriage proposal isn’t it.” He paused briefly at her words, his fingers poised against the skin on her lower calf. He quickly proceeded on with his task, his head lowered staring intently at her feet.

“Molly, I-“ His voice quivered slightly.

“Last night when I told you why I was nervous, I didn't tell you everything." They looked at each other then, and for the first time in their relationship, Sherlock felt apprehensive for the words about to leave her mouth. "I was nervous, yes, but I am also jealous of Meena. I know it isn’t fair because when I accepted this relationship I knew marriage was going to be the compromise. I thought I could get over that. I genuinely thought that having you was enough.” The shoe slid off of her foot and to the floor with a thud. Sherlock continued on with the other shoe. “And then today happened and when I watched Meena marrying and committing herself to her best friend, I just felt so frustrated and confused that it would never be me.” She was upset. Sherlock detected it in her voice and it made him feel guilty that all along he had unknowingly been the source of her distress.

“I’m not angry at you Sherlock. I knew what I was giving up to be with you. You’ve come along way from the man you used to be and I’m so proud of you. Proud that you opened yourself up to me.” She exhaled in long breaths. The tears now threatening to fall from her eyes.

“But you’re not happy. And now we are in a situation where you want me to give you the one thing you have always wanted.” He spoke in a sombre tone. The mood turned tense once more. He watched as Molly sat there looking so sad and so deeply beautiful.

“Sherlock, it’s fine. I'm just drunk. Just forget it, forget I said anything.” She moved to stand but Sherlock’s hands pushed her thighs firmly, she dropped unsteadily back to the carpeted stairs.

“When we first committed to each other. We had a conversation about compromise. Well more of a you taught me how to try to be good at it.” She smiled and Sherlock’s heart increased by at least another ten beats per minute. “We agreed if someone cooked dinner, or bought in my instance, then the other had to tidy up. Whoever used the last of the milk had to replace it. If I wanted access to some body parts then it would cost me, well a demonstration of my sexual prowess.” She rolled her tear filled eyes and swatted his chest. “We had all these conversations about the little things, but we never spoke about the big ones. You made the assumption coming into this relationship I will never propose to you. I will admit my thoughts on matrimony are not conventional and I most definitely don’t agree with the pompousness of it. But Molly Hooper...” His finger delicately lifted her chin to his eye level. She closed her eyes and gulped hard. “I lied too. Well, to Mike and his wife. They asked if I knew you were okay with the idea of us never eloping. I told them I deduced it from you, because in reality I didn’t want to accept what I always knew. That this…” His eyes rolled in an upward arch at the surroundings. “A wedding. Is what you have always wanted.” The hands on her thighs tightened their grip. “And Molly, if it takes tens of thousands of pounds, a room full of insufferable family members and a ring to make you happy, well then I suppose I can compromise on this one thing for you.” She met his eyes, her own wide and bright with a hope he had not seen before. Then her lips crashed against his own for a hungry kiss.

“You do know it’s rude to propose at someone else’s wedding.” She whispered against his lips.

“I’ve just asked for your hand in marriage and now you’re critiquing me?” He pulled his head back slightly and raised his right brow high.

“I’ll give you a six for the proposal. The romantic gesture was perfect. Major criticisms were most definitely timing and the lack of a ring.” She held his gaze, her right forefinger absentmindedly rubbed the length of her ring finger on her left hand.

He glanced to the side, a used party popper cast aside on the floor. He picked it up and snapped the gold ribbon from the head. He delicately wrapped it into a tight knot onto her ring finger.

“I can’t do much about the timing aspect, but does this improve the score?” She stayed quiet as he affixed the band, her eyes watched in astonishment.

“Most definitely.” She kissed him hard. Her fingers curled possessively around the back of his neck, her other hand slid into his shirt between the space of his second and third button, her nails roamed over his chest. Sherlock recognised these signs instantly and dragged her up to him. His lips were upon hers in moments again.

“The room key-“ She spoke breathlessly between kisses as his left handed fisted into her hair.

“is still on the-“ the right roamed down and lifted her dress up past her hips on one side, squeezing her left bum cheek.

“tableahhhh.” Before venturing to the inner part of her thigh just where it was softest and a favourite trigger point of his Molly’s.

“I’m not going to be able to make it back to our room.” His voice rumbled and his eyes glowed devilishly as he dragged her further away from the festivities. His sentence was a statement and Molly followed him willingly.

“But where-“ he cut her sentence short with a chaste kiss.

“Do you know me at all?” He grinned at her wickedly. “I already checked the floorpan of the building before we got here in case of this exact predicament. Or the best exit points in case of emergencies.” She giggled so deliciously it intoxicated him into a further frenzy as took her by the hand.

He stopped at the second door on the left and removed a key he most definitely should not have access to from his pocket. Molly rolled her eyes, her hands still weaving their way around his torso. The knob turned as he pushed her into the dark cupboard. He quickly followed her in, slamming the door behind him. He lifted her onto an empty shelf, their touches feverish. He heard soft thuds as Molly’s hands reached out to grab onto something for support, crisp white linens falling to the floor around them.

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

The dance floor was positively heaving when they returned ten minutes later. Seemingly their lack of presence gone unnoticed. Molly made a beeline straight for Meena who was dancing with a small group of girls. He headed to the bar for much needed refreshments.

“Now, we’ve ‘ad a boogie. Let’s ‘av some romantic ballads for all the couple’s out there. This is a wedding after all!” The DJ’s voice came muffled and northern over the microphone.

The upbeat, pop song faded out as Sherlock's drinks were served. Sherlock recognised the song as the intro started. Can’t take my eyes off you, by Andy Williams. Surprisingly, a song he knew well going back to his university days when the rugby boys would sing their own crude version to any beautiful girl who walked by them on their weekly social outing.

Sherlock watched on as Molly hugged Meena, before the newly betrothed woman was whisked off her feet by her new husband. Molly moved to the side of the dance floor and clapped the happy couple. Sherlock paid the bar man, took a deep gulp and placed the drinks back onto their table, but he had no intention of taking a seat. He walked straight up and behind Molly, wrapping his arms around her waist. She turned in his arms, her eyes wide with shock.

“Are you lost, Sir?” She mocked him. Her arms looped around his neck as they started to sway.

“On the contrary. I think I’ve found exactly where I need to be.” Her deep brown eyes softened in the disco lights, he pulled her closer his mouth by her ear. “Although, there will most definitely not be a DJ from Leeds, with a DUI, living in a two bed terrace with four husky’s at our wedding.” He felt her stiffen slightly and he pulled back to study her face. “I was thinking more of a string quartet?” He continued, but her face still remained glazed.

“You really are serious? About us, and a wedding?” She eyed him hesitantly he felt a little unnerved.

“I thought my intention was clear?” He removed her left hand from his neck, holding it up in the space between them. The cheap gold ribbon still remained fastened to her finger. He kissed her finger softly, their eye contact never faltered. “Though I do plan on getting you something a little more…” he pinched her ring finger between his thumb and forefinger “permanent.” He was rewarded with a smile as they both closed the space between them. The side of their heads pressed together as he inhaled her scent, traces of his own smell mingled with her own from their lustful encounter and he suddenly felt quite possessive of the woman in his arms.

They danced in circles to the rhythm, when Sherlock’s attention was briefly diverted. He looked up to see Mike waving furiously at him from a few metres away, his head peering over the shoulder of his wife. Once Mike knew he had Sherlock’s attention he pointed to Molly’s hand atop of Sherlock’s shoulder, clearly signalling to the gimmicky band around her finger. He nodded once at him with a reassured smile, and Mike beamed back at him clenching his hand into a tight fist as a gesture of triumph.I’ll watch out for our invitation in the post. He mouthed out before turning his attention back to his wife. Speaking of wives… Sherlock looked back down at the woman in his arms, her head tucked into his neck.

“Oh and about your part of the compromise.” He whispered loudly above the music, lifting her from her daze.

“Yes?” She mouthed up at him.

“I get to take you up to our room right now, without saying goodbye to anyone in this hall.” Her eyes gleamed wickedly at his offer.

“Round one wasn't enough for you was it?" She smiled up at him impishly. "Fine. Fetch my bag and a bottle of champagne. I’ll meet you up there in five minutes.” She kissed him deliciously, before she slid out of his arms and out into the hall.

For the first time in his life, Sherlock acknowledged he was a very lucky man indeed.

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

“So, I never did ask what changed your mind?” The voice of Mike Stamford called from behind him.

“Let’s just say I still had a lot to learn about how relationships worked.” Sherlock stood tall from his slouching position on the stone balcony.

“Well I’m glad you did." They both turned at the same time, looking back through the veranda windows to the sight of Molly Hooper being held tightly by Mike's wife. Her fitted ivory lace dress gifted to her from her mother's side of the family. Simple, yet elegant. It complimented its wearer beautifully.

“Guaranteed peace for my time.” Sherlock smirked as he took the glass tumbler from Mike's hands.

“Peace? Surely the great Sherlock Holmes isn’t that deluded? You do know how that worked out for Chamberlain back when he said those words?” Mike laughed and clapped Sherlock on the shoulder. “Wait until you’re deciding on the name for your first born. Then you can let me know how the peace thing works out.”

Sherlock almost choked on his scotch.

[brilliantorinsane]

The Speckled Band on Stage:      Yep, Still Gay

Note: I tagged those who reblogged the first part of this series. Please let me know if you would prefer not to be tagged in future posts.

This is the second installment in my series on obscure Sherlock Holmes film adaptations and their depiction of Holmes and Watson both individually and in relation to each other. (For a discussion of the 1921-23 silent films starring Eille Norwood, which appears to have been Doyle’s favorite adaptation, see here.)

I really didn’t mean to write a post about this one, seeing as it doesn’t strictly fit the theme of this series. It is a play, not a film, and it is only sort of an adaptation—although a retelling of The Speckled Band, it is written by Doyle himself. But while researching a very gay and very terrible 1931 film, I discovered that it was loosely adapted from this play. Naturally I read it as part of my research, telling myself that I wouldn’t get sidetracked writing a post about it. The failure of my self-control now lays before you.

In my defense, this play really is … well it really is Something. All sorts of wonderful and all sorts of tragic. If you’d prefer to read it for yourself before encountering the spoilers in this post, hop on over here and scroll to the second half of the webpage. And if you’ve got your subtext glasses so much as perched lightly on the end of your nose, be ready to be sent reeling by what you find.

(Spoilers below the cut)

Production and Reception                                  

Doyle’s decision to adapt The Speckled Band for the stage was rather spur-of-the-moment. He had leased a theater for six months in order to showcase The House of Temperley, an adaptation of his novel Rodney Stone, but the play was largely unsuccessful (x, x). Threatened with considerable financial loss, Doyle set to work and within a week had written The Speckled Band. Despite its rushed composition the play was decidedly successful, and Doyle seems to have been quite pleased with it (x).

The play alters the original short story considerably. Some changes are so inconsequential as to be puzzling—the villain’s name is changed from Roylott to Rylott, the names of the stepdaughters are switched, etc—but other alterations are structural and make a significant difference. In particular, instead of following Watson’s pov, the audience’s perspective revolves primarily around the Rylott house. The scenes introducing Holmes and Watson are also considerably altered and expanded for potentially unfamiliar audiences, and a good deal more shouting and action is introduced throughout. 

Oh, and Watson is engaged to Mary Morstan. Yeah. More on that later.

I have two complaints: First there is an uncomfortable dash of orientalism (i.e., western depictions of the east which cast it as mysterious, dangerous, and Other, and which played a largely unintentional but nonetheless significant role in justifying British imperialism), which is present in the original story but rather more prevalent in the stage play. Second, the female protagonist, although commendably brave, loses what little agency she had in the original story. But aside from these elements, I loved this play. The pacing is good and kept me engaged even when neither Sherlock or Watson are present, Dr. Rylott is genuinely frightening and I was really rather tense at times despite knowing the ending, and the occasional humor is on point—I actually laughed aloud once or twice. Further, ACD’s allegiance with the oppressed is out in full force, and there’s some genuinely touching commentary on the debilitating effects of abuse. And then, of course, there is Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson …

Sherlock Holmes on Stage                                      

Guys. This is, pure and undiluted, Sherlock Holmes at his best. If you ever start to fear that Sherlock really might be the cold and detached reasoning machine some folk have fixated on, just read the way Arthur Conan Doyle writes him in this play. You will never doubt again that he is anything besides a snarky ahead-of-his-time genius with a heart of literal gay gold. We’ll get to the ‘gay’ part in later section, so we’ll set aside his interactions with Watson for the moment. There is plenty else to discuss.

You see, this Holmes does spout a variation of that much abused line from A Scandal in Belgravia, saying: “[love] would disturb my reason, unbalance my faculties. Love is like a flaw in the crystal, sand in the clockwork, iron near the magnet.” I understand that the statement, here and in Scandle, refers specifically to romantic love. Yet I cannot think it’s an accident that nearly the very next moment Holmes is flatly refusing to find the wife of a clearly abusive husband, asking only enough questions to ensure that she has found a safe refuge, even though the law is on the husband’s side and the man offers a whopping fee of 500 pounds. As if Doyle wants to drive home that Holmes accepts cases purely on the basis of empathy for the downtrodden and not finances, Holmes then remarks: “I’m afraid I shall never be a rich man, Watson.” Added to this, the manner in which he listens to, comforts, and puts himself in danger for Roylott’s step-daughter Enid is genuinely touching. As many of us have asserted for years, Sherlock Holmes is the champion of justice, ally of the oppressed, and altogether a beautiful smol man. ‘Love is a flaw in the crystal,’ indeed.

There is also a pleasing dash of Holmes the psychologist. It appears most obviously in an early analysis of Dr. Roylott, but most touchingly toward Rylott’s mercilessly abused servant Rodgers. The man is essentially good-hearted but entirely incapacitated by fear of his master, and this leads to his betraying Enid’s attempts to contact Sherlock. It was obviously a shitty move, but Holmes, who earlier expressed understanding of the thoroughgoing damage caused by the man’s long, forced dependence on a maniac for his basic needs, responds compassionately: “He is not to be blamed. His master controls him.”

Added to this we have Holmes in disguises, bamf!Holmes, Holmes calling people idiots and taking far too much delight in dancing circles around them, and of course utterly brilliant Holmes (though that’s a given), so it seems almost an embarrassment of riches that we also get peak sassy Holmes. He makes a number of delightful appearances, although my favorite is the following, which occurs after he has agreed to protect Enid from Rylott:

RYLOTT: What I ask you to do — what I order you to do is to leave my affairs alone. Alone, sir — do you hear me? HOLMES: You are perfectly audible.

As utterly delightful as all of this is, Holmes’s darker side is not entirely absent, at least in his personal habits—the cocaine does make its appearance. But more on that later.

John Watson on Stage                                             

To be honest, I found myself rather anxious about how Doyle would depict Watson. We fans have been in the habit of discovering Watson between the lines of the cannon stories—as the man is far more interested in talking about Holmes than himself, it takes a bit of digging to discover Watson’s outstanding qualities. But what if the Watson we love so dearly is our own invention, and Doyle himself was simply uninterested in the man except as a conduit to portraying Holmes?

I really shouldn’t have worried.

It is true that Watson rather disappears into the background once Holmes is working. But that is not to say he becomes at all useless. In fact, the Watson in this play is quite simply our Watson—kind, steady, intelligent, dangerous, and with something of a temper hidden beneath the steady veneer.

In the play, Watson is the doctor who examines the body of the first murdered sister (who is here called Violet) two years before Holmes becomes involved in protecting the remaining sister, Enid. Watson, bright fellow that he is, clearly suspects that something is off. Ultimately there is nothing he can do at the time, but his involvement allows for one my favorite moments: Watson employing Holmes’s deductive skills. True, it is for a single,  relatively inconsequential matter; but he does it and he’s right and he impresses the whole room and guys! Watson! is! an! intelligent! man! I mean, we’ve all known that for forever, but its rather nice to get such a clear nod of agreement from Dyole.

In addition to his intelligence, Watson exhibits a empathy and compassion that in this story will be matched (not surpassed) only by that of Holmes. As an old friend of Rylott’s now-dead wife, Watson acts as comforter to the surviving girl. We are told that he came immediately and probably well in opposition to his own convenience when first he heard of the tragedy, and his treatment of Enid is gentle without being patronizing. Unsettled by the Rylott household and clearly wishing he could do more, he also repeatedly urges Enid to contact him if she has any suspicion of danger. All of this prompts Enid to declare: “Your kindness has been the one gleam of light in these dark days.” It is a lovely description of the man who has been a light in the dark for at least one other—the sort of testament we would have been unlikely to hear of if this story were reported through Watson’s own narration.

Again, I’ll leave the majority of his interactions with Holmes for the next section, but it is worth mentioning that there is no objection from him when Holmes turns down an easy 500 pounds. Watson is intelligent and he is good—he saw the signs of abuse and he would not have his friend benefit on those terms. These scenes also provide a wonderful dose of protective Watson. And while Holmes is of course at the head of the investigation, he and Watson are wonderfully in sync, and Watson proves his worth.

When it comes down to it, the Holmes and Watson in this play are transparently the two deeply compatible men we seek to dig out of cannon: mutually sharp and compassionate, courageous and quick to protect, with Holmes giving Watson stimulation and purpose and the means to aid others, and Watson providing Holmes with a firm right hand and a ready ear and a steadiness that counteracts the extremities that drive Holmes to cocaine. Watson and Holmes as Doyle portrayed them—as no other adaptation would portray them for far too many years—are just kinda perfect for each other.

But Watson is engaged.

So … What About Johnlock?                                  

*buries head in hands* *giggles* *sobs* … Yeah. Yeah, it’s here. Yeah.

I really wasn’t sure what to expect from this play. I thought that perhaps the stage would strike Doyle as too exposed and vulnerable, or that perhaps he wouldn’t trust the actors, or that he would feel unsafe without the veneer of Watson’s narration—that, one way or another, he’d be persuaded to leave the gay subtext out of this one. But, um, Doyle? Buddy? Don’t get me wrong, I’m absolutely chuffed that you managed to avoid allegations a la Oscar Wilde. But also … how?

Honestly, I’ve always wondered whether Doyle was aware that he was writing a love story or whether that’s what wound up on paper regardless of his intent. This play just might be my answer.

a.) Sherlock Holmes: The Work as a disguise

The most blaring subtext is concentrated in Act II Scene II, where Holmes first enters the stage and his primary interactions with Watson occur. This play takes place during one of the dark times when Watson isn’t living at Baker Street, and when he visits Holmes to present him with Enid’s case, Holmes comes out disguised as a workman. (Before this Watson comments with dismay on the evidence of Holmes’s continued cocaine habits—this will be significant later). The disguised Holmes pokes fun at Watson, who doesn’t recognize him, accusing him of being responsible for Holmes’s untidy habits. There may be a rather tragic subtextual undertone to the whole conversation, but there’s too much else to discuss. So I’ll leave that aside and instead highlight the exchange that occurs when Holmes drops his disguise:

WATSON: Good Heavens Holmes! I should never have recognized you. HOLMES: My dear Watson, when you begin to recognize me it will indeed be the beginning of the end. When your eagle eye penetrates my disguise I shall retire to an eligible poultry farm.

Now, this could be innocent enough—just a fun way to introduce the clever detective. But if one is at all alert to the mere possibility of subtext, alarum bells should be ringing full force at the fact that the first on-stage interaction between these two characters consists of Holme demonstrating his ability to hide his true identity from Watson, and then saying that if he was unable to deceive Watson it would literally be the end of his life as he knows it. And it’s worth taking note of his phrasing: not “when you begin to recognize my disguises,” but rather “when you begin to recognize me.” Is this just a matter of professional pride, or is there something deeper that Holmes is afraid of having discovered?

But you know, maybe I’m just reading into this. This is a story about preventing Enid’s murder, its got nothing to do with romance or love, that would be thematically inconsistent and out of place—

HOLMES: Well, Watson, what is your news? WATSON: Well, Holmes, I came here to tell you what I’m sure will please you. HOLMES: Engaged, Watson, engaged! … The successful suitor shines from you all over.

Oh. Okay then.

Now, it is important to understand that Watson’s marriage has literally nothing to do with the Rylott plot. The engagement in no way affects Watson’s movements, and Mary never appears on stage. No; the first half of this scene is devoted entirely to introducing us to Holmes—the few clients he sees in this section are clearly selected to give us a sense of his character, methods, and values. That means that for some reason Doyle thought that a proper understanding of Holmes requires a discussion of love and marriage—specifically, Watson’s marriage.

Watson, being an imbecile as well as an intelligent man, thinks Holmes will be pleased with his news. Holmes rises to the occasion as best he can, calling the news “better and better” when he discovers Mary Morstan is the woman Watson has chosen, but not before he lets slip the sentence: “What I had heard of you, or perhaps what I had not heard of you, had already excited my worst suspicions.” Worst suspicions, Holmes? I thought this was supposed to be giving you pleasure? Well, perhaps he’s merely being facetious.

But next moment he slips again, saying, “You lucky fellow! I envy you.” When Watson suggests that Holmes might find a woman of his own one day, Holmes cryptically replies: “No marriage without love, Watson.” This might have been the first line that really floored me—the bare fact of Holmes’s conviction that he will never love a woman (‘woman,’ of course, being implied in the concept of marriage at the time). But when Watson asks why, Holmes falls back on the “[love] would disturb my reason” nonsense.

Now to be clear, I understand that Holmes is specifically discussing romantic love here, and that there is no connection between a lack of romantic attachment and a lack of sentiment and care for others generally. But here’s the thing: Holmes’s self descriptor doesn’t depict him as aromantic—i.e., ‘I just don’t feel romantic stuff.’ It depicts him as a reasoning machine—‘strong emotions disrupt my process.’ And in context of literally every friggin thing he does in this entire play, that’s nonsense. It is abundantly clear that reason is his tool, but compassion and sentiment are his motives.

One might argue that this is slightly sloppy writing (it was composed in a hurry, after all), or that Holmes simply doesn’t have the words to describe his aromanticism. Yet just moments before he said he envied Watson’s relationship, and moments before that revealed himself to be a consummate actor whose very existence as he knows it depends on disguise …

The already unwieldy length of this analysis requires that I speed a bit through the goldmine that follows: through Holmes punting aside requests from a royal family and the actual Pope because Watson has a case in which he has a personal interest—and I can’t resist pointing out that Holmes says he will of course take the case if Watson has “any personal interest in it.” It’s not ‘I’ll make time in my busy schedule if this is really very important to you,’ it’s ‘oh, you have a thing that you at least kinda sorta care about? The Pope can wait.’ I must gloss over Holmes transparently wanting to get as much of Watson’s company as he can, declaring that he has always seen Watson as his partner, and wishing for a plaque with his and Watson’s names on it, despite heavy implications that Watson has been almost entirely absent from Holmes’s work for some time. I’ll just mention in passing the truly remarkable number of “my dear fellows” and “my dear Watsons" Holmes manages to drop in a brief space of time, his clear desire to protect Watson from the dangers of the case despite later informing Enid that he is “a useful companion on such an occasion,” and his cry of “No, Watson, no!” when his friend leaps up to protect him from the poker Rylott is threatening him with.

I will not, however, pass over what occurs when Watson leaves Holmes, intending to meet him at the train station later that day. Watson’s final words on his way out are: “Good bye—I’ll see you at the station,” to which Holmes replies, “Perhaps you will,” adding to himself: “Perhaps you will! Perhaps you won’t!” Ah, what’s that? On about disguising yourself from your best friend again, eh Holmes? But then, within the play this refers to the fact that Holmes intends to actually disguise himself at the train station, so it has a literal meaning and not a metaphorical one, it has nothing to do with a deeper hiddeness, certainly nothing to do with love—

HOLMES: Ever been in love Billy? BILLY: Not of late years, sir. HOLMES: Too busy, eh? BILLY: Yes, Mr. Holmes. HOLMES: Same here. Got my bag there, Billy? BILLY: Yes, sir. HOLMES: Put in that revolver. BILLY: Yes, sir. HOLMES: And the pipe and pouch. BILLY: Yes, sir. HOLMES: The lens and the tape? BILLY: Yes, sir. HOLMES: Plaster of Paris, for prints? BILLY: Yes, sir. HOLMES: Oh, and the cocaine.

Oh … oh. Shit.

Please understand that this exchange—consisting of Holmes again raising the topic of love immediately after returning to the subject of his disguise, both of which he addresses as soon as Watson has left, as if he could not discuss them in front of his friend—comes apropos of nothing except Watson’s announcement of his engagement far back at the beginning of the scene. And I don’t see how the way he raises the subject and dismisses it can be seen as anything but the covering of some deep emotion—there is longing in the way he immediately brings it up, showing that it has stuck in his mind the whole while, and something tragic in the way he next-moment dismisses the clear preoccupation with the claim of being ‘too busy,’ clearly echoing the ‘I envy you … love is not for me’ progression of his earlier exchange with Watson.

And I get that in theory this longing for but dismissal of love could be read in a number of ways besides a socially forbidden love for his recently engaged partner. One might argue, for example, that he is aromantic but lonely and longing for the consistency of attachment others find in romantic love, or that he’s bursting with all sorts of hetero affections that he has chosen to sacrifice for the sake of The Work.

I would simply ask any inclined towards those arguments to consider the framing of this scene. I would ask them to question why ACD chose to introduce and conclude the scene which functions as an introduction to Holmes with the detective’s ability and need to disguise himself from Watson specifically, immediately juxtaposed with discussions of romantic love and Holmes’s desire for it which is clearly present but immediately veiled—disguised?—by his commitment to the work, with the cocaine hovering ominously behind. Then consider that between these mirrored book-ends we watch Holmes allow the man from whom he must disguise himself to disrupt the flow of the work which he claimed was supreme, making clear his wish that Watson be drawn into that work—a desire counteracted only by the transparent fact that he would prefer to risk his own bodily injury rather than put his friend in harm’s way. Add to all of this that Doyle works in a mention of the Milverton case and thus allows Holmes to comment on how his ruse to undermine Milverton involves courting and being courted by a woman and how distasteful he finds the experience and—well, you much reach your own conclusions. I have reached mine.

b.) Watson: Substitutionary desire

I began by speaking of Holmes because the subtext is monumentally more apparent on his part, and unlike Holmes it would be easy and even (though I cringe to say it) reasonable to read Watson as a comfortable heterosexual in this play. Does this mean that Doyle wrote one of those dreadful adaptations in which Holmes is pining away with an unrequited love for a Watson who is incapable of returning his romantic affections?

Not necessarily. As far as I can tell, without the clear implication of Sherlock’s affections one would be on shaky ground arguing that Watson was intended as anything besides a Hetero Bro. However, the clear coding of Holmes as in love with Watson causes one to wonder whether the affection might not be returned, and the results of investigation are inconclusive but intriguing.

Although he doesn’t make an appearance until the second act, Holme is mentioned by Watson in the first scene. Assuring Enid that she can turn to him if she is in any need, he admits that there is little he can do on his own. But he then adds: “I have a singular friend—a man with strange powers and a very masterful personality. We used to live together, and I came to know him well. Holmes is his name—Mr. Sherlock Holmes. It is to him I should turn if things looked black for you. If any man in England could help it is he.”

To be fair, it is not unusual in stories for someone to describe the hero in grandiose terms before he is seen directly by the reader/audience. Still, that’s quite a way to describe one’s friend. I find myself particularly fixating on “strange powers and a very masterful personality.” You do realize that you could have just said he’s smart, right Watson? I mean, maybe things were different back then, but if I described my friend as having a ‘masterful personality’ and then tried to claim they were my platonic bestie, I’m pretty sure I’d get my fair share of dubious glances.

Watson mentions his friend once more when his application of Holmes’s methods to clear up a detail of the investigation prompts an impressed exclamation from the coroner, to which Watson responds: “I have a friend, sir, who trained me in such matters.”

So at the very least, we have a Watson who idolizes, respects, relies on, and emulates his friend—all of which makes the fact that he is no longer living with Holmes something of a puzzle.

You see, the play never gives us a reason for Watson having moved out. The comment to Enid in which he mentions that they “used to live together” occurs two years before Sherlock becomes involved with the case and Watson becomes engaged to Mary, so it clearly has nothing to do with her. Yet not only has he moved out, his involvement in the cases is implied to have dwindled significantly or even stopped altogether—in one of the saddest lines of the play, Holmes comments that of course Watson wouldn’t remember Milverton because: “it was after your time.”

But why these degrees of separation? At no point are there signs of any ill-will between the friends. The danger certainly wasn’t an issue for Watson: when Rylott threatens Holmes Watson literally “jumps” to protect him, and he insists on sharing the danger of the Rylott house. Nor does it seem viable to speculate that Baker Street’s location became inconvenient for Watson—the speed with which Rylott makes his way to Watson’s home and from there to Baker Street demonstrates that they still live quite close. One might more plausibly theorize that Watson was becoming more invested in his medical practice and involvement in Holmes’s work was interfering, but why would ACD make an alteration so irrelevant to the story and then not even explain it? After all, the friends were still living together in the short story from which this is adapted. What could be the point of such a change?

Well, the fact is, while their bond is undeniable and remarkably strong, there are hints of something … off between the friends. Despite claiming to see Watson as his equal partner, Holmes fails to communicate with him about how they will be involved in the Rylott case, telling Watson to come on the 11:15pm train but neglecting to mention that he will be going to the house in disguise some hours earlier. The motive behind this omission is unclear—he previously tried to dissuade Watson from joining the case on account of the danger, so perhaps Holmes intends for Watson to give up and stay away when Holmes does’t appear. (Watson, of course, comes anyhow). Or perhaps Holmes wished to be apart from Watson for a time in the wake of hearing of his engagement (Holmes calling for the cocaine comes unsettlingly to mind here) but knew Watson wouldn’t allow him to go to Rylott’s alone. But whatever Holmes’s motive, Watson knows only that he has been excluded and cut out. Similarly, if in the past he has sensed that Holmes was on some level disguising himself from him would he would not have been likely to imagine a flattering cause. One cannot help but wonder whether it is these exclusions that cause Watson, despite inserting himself determinately when Holmes’s safety is at stake, to feel that he must offer to remove himself from the room when Holmes calls in clients. Certainly Watson has no inkling that Holmes might be in love with him—no kind friend who suspected as much would introduce his engagement by saying: “I came here to tell you what I am sure will please you.”

This then, is what we have: two men who deeply admire each other, long for one another’s company, and would clearly die for one another, and yet one of them is hiding and the other running first from the house and then into marriage. We have good reason to believe the one is hiding because he fears revealing his love; is it unreasonable to suppose the other is running for the same reason? Is it strange to think that Watson, feeling unable to trust to his powers of disguise in the way Holmes can, feeling the continual sting of Holmes hiding from him and cutting him off and unable to interpret those actions as anything besides distrust or indifference, would have sought safety in distance and ultimately comfort in binding himself to another?

A final note: we know nothing about Mary in this play. Despite having come in part to announce his engagement, Watson has no rhapsodies to offer on behalf of his fiancee—he seems far more interested in Holmes’s propensity for love, and, failing that, in Holmes’s work. Although Holmes’s (admittedly not impartial) deductions imply that Watson is genuinely pleased with his engagement, we learn precisely two details about Mary, both from Holmes: first that she has red hair, and second that Watson chose a woman who Holmes “met and admired.” Despite their seemingly limited contact over the past two years, Watson still seems unable to be married without at least some reference to Sherlock Holmes.

c.) Sorry … have some petty ACD as recompense

I feel I owe you an apology. I am aware that if you had the patience to read my ridiculously long ramble and are convinced by my interpretation of the Holmes and Watson’s relationship in the play, your ‘reward’ is having a dark but ultimately triumphant detective story transformed into a fucking tragedy that ends with two broken hearts. All I can offer is the comfort of knowing that for 130 years neither marriage nor death nor the near erasure of Watson from the first forty years of stage and film adaptations have been able to keep these two apart. They will find their way back to one another.

Oh, and you also might enjoy hearing that this play is totally ACD’s revenge on heteronormativity.

Okay, I can’t prove that. But it really looks like it. You may be aware of the 1988 play Sherlock Holmes, written by Doyle and William Gillette. If you’re like me a week ago, you may not know that Doyle wrote the original script himself, and Gillette became involved only when Doyle’s script was rejected and the producer urged him to bring Gillette on to rewrite it. I like to imagine that the rejection letter went something like: “Look, buddy, you can’t have Holmes staring forlornly after Watson while instigating a wistful conversation about love with Billy. You just can’t,” but realistically we don’t know why the first draft was rejected. But we do know that Doyle specifically requested that Gillette not give Holmes a (female) love interest, and that Gillette sent Holmes off into the sunset with a woman anyway (x).

Then, eleven years later with a failing theater on his hands, Doyle locks himself away in a room and says, “Fuck it. Imma write a Holmes play, and when I introduce him the first thing everyone is going to know is that he’ll never marry a woman, and the last thing the introduction will tell them is that he’ll never marry a woman and—you know what, I’ll take that Milverton story where Holmes groans about needing to date a woman and throw that in the middle.” And that’s true of the play even if you don’t buy the queer reading. But also, its super gay.

And frankly I just love that not only did Doyle refuse to give in to society’s attempt to fit his story into their heteronormative mold, it actually worked and Doyle made up all the money he was poised to lose and more by shoving a gay love story into his audience’s face.

Well done, ACD, well done.

Conclusion: Should You Read It?                            

I mean, I think my answer is fairly obvious by now. If you’re interested and have the time, it is 100% worth it. And I hope it doesn’t feel like I’ve spoiled all the good parts. There are reams of gems I didn’t even allude to—and that’s not counting everything I doubtless missed.

I just have one request: if you do read the play and end up posting about it on tumblr, would you tag me in your comments? Hearing someone else’s thoughts on this hidden treasure would be a delight. 

@thespiritualmultinerd @a-candle-for-sherlock @missallainyus @steadymentalityengineer @iant0jones @devoursjohnlock @disregardedletters

[marta-bee]

Marta Rewatches: The Blind Banker

It's the weekend, which means I get to rewatch another Sherlock episode. This week: The Blind Banker. Before we get started: I know a lot of people aren't big fans of this episode because of the racial elements. And I can see where they're coming from here, the treatment of Soo-lin leaves a lot to be desired. I suspect a bit of that was trying to translate "The Dancing Men" (we can all agree that's the canon inspiration here, yeah?) which relies on a focus on honor and secrecy I don't think translates all that well into modern Western culture. Maybe they felt a need to make that seem "exotic"? (Which is still problematic.) Also there's the ending, where Sherlock lets the pretty white receptionist keep a very valuable, historically noteworthy piece of Chinese jewellery. It's played up as a sweet moment, but I wonder how people would react if we were talking about the Elgin marbles or some such. Which we are, it's just not recognized as such. So, yes. I get why some folks would be more than a bit turned off by all that. I'm choosing to focus on other things, just because I don't feel all that qualified to talk about those other problems. I did want to at least highlight them, though. Last week I talked about how in ASIP, John and Sherlock are actually very comfortable in their skins but a bit blind to how they might improve. This episode, the focus is much more on how incomplete they are. How they need to move forward.

Let's start with John. Last week I mentioned how beautiful he was, how self-assured and natural and at ease with himself, with a gun in his hands. Or running across rooftops: you know, in action. But he's been booted out of the army, and he's not perceived as capable of that kind of life anymore. (By anyone other than Sherlock, anyway, and I'll get to that.) The solder side of his identity, the man of action in a warzone, isn't enough to pay the bills. He's proud. Having his inadequacies laid bare by the cold machine (the automated teller in this instance, though the analogy holds) is hard. Asking for help is harder. So he takes a job that bores him to tears because he needs the money, and winds up quite bad at it. It's a bit depressing, actually - for the audience and certainly for I actually think this is a lot of the motivation behind asking Sarah out. He's trying to readjust to civilian life, and failing at it. Enter masculinity, and another major area where he can succeed as a man, by making it with Sarah. All of which makes it a bit funny how thoroughly unprepared he was to have guests back at the flat, and how he brought her back anyway. I suspect he genuinely does have a connection to Sarah (she's actually quite lovely, and has enough adventure in her to be a good match for John), but that his own life is so impermanent at the moment, he really doesn't have the stability a serious relationship requires. Now, to Sherlock. Over and over again in this episode, there's such a neediness about him, isn't there? Not romantically, so much, but definitely in terms of emotional connection, and validation. It hurts him, when Sebastian Wilkes makes fun of him in front of John - and equally when John corrects him about the nature of their relationship. Same too when Dimmock turns up and he's so hard to work with. There's a world-off-kilter wrongness when the people he's used to aren't there. I'm not sure I'd call it natural relationships, but certainly there's this fondness, this familiarity for the people he's used to. But at the same time... He repeatedly separates himself from John (staying beside when John goes shopping, breaking in to two separate flats). He shams Molly and takes advantage of her fondness for him, and to resolve a fairly minor point. He excoriates Dimmock more than once, and we know he knows how to manipulate people's emotions. But he's also pulled toward John again and again. Rescuing him and Sarah makes sense, practically, but beyond that the show focuses on John and Sherlock together in the aftermath: talking to Dimmock, working out the case. I don't mean there's a romantic connection there, and I'm not even sure they've reached the level of friendship. But there's something, a drawing together and pushing away at the same time. It's like Sherlock's a bit at war with himself over just how close he wants to be, how involved he wants John in this whole thing. (And the deductions. It's really revealing to me who Sherlock will make his deductions to. He'll do it for John, I think because he feeds off of John's awe, and also because he genuinely likes dazzling him. And he'll be provoked to bring them out, almost like a weapon, to prove he's right. But sometimes he holds back, too. In front of Sebastian, for instance. It's not something he whips out as a party trick. This makes me genuinely sad for Sherlock in his uni days: wanting to fit in so badly, not sure how to do it other than deducing for his dormmates. It's just.... ugh.) d Beyond that, I loved how practical John was. Not feeling the need to poke around in soiled clothes for a case. Taking a photo rather than trying to remember the graffiti, etc. Sherlock and John need to complement each other, but it's not meant to be the great brain and the great heart here, I don't think: because this John's heart isn't so great (he's not morally perfect by a longshot), and this Sherlock was never a mind separated off. He's a bit uncomfortable around his own emotions, he tends to undervalue them, but they are there. What we get instead is a Sherlock who's a bit "in his head" (overexcited at crime scenes, at the thrill of the chase) and a John who as the common sense to see where Sherlock's making things a bit harder than they are. Up to a point, at least. It's actually a pretty interesting dialectic this can set up. But at the end of the day, what most stays with me about this episode is how Sherlock and John seem so complementary. They're drawn together, and each seems to scratch a very particular itch for the other one. There's a problem there, though, because that sort of codependency has a tendency to get carried away. John has a need for the spectacular, and it's not really healthy for Sherlock to bespectacular, in the way John needs and on a permanent basis. And Sherlock needs an emotional connection with someone else, but John has so many trust issues, and such a deep-seated need to have his own worth (which isn't bad on its own), there are problems getting to bound up with another person before he's really sure of his ability to stand on his own two feet. He seems just the sort who will get overinvested, and equally be wary of whether tat overinvestment is safe, okay, a sign of his personally being incomplete. Enter TGG, but that's going to have to wait until next week.

[holidaysat221b]

List of Sherlolly Prompts as of 3/1/2017

Here is a link to the very informal Sherlolly Prompt Fest FAQ

Below is the list of prompts submitted to @holidaysat221b.  Where possible, we have tagged the submitter so that credit can be given if a prompt inspires someone to write a fic or create a piece of art.

Some submissions were specifically labeled as Art prompts, and they have been separated into their own category.  However, if you are a fic writer and one of the art prompts calls to you, go for it.  Likewise, if one of the other prompts makes you want to draw, have fun with it!

We only ask three things:

1) If you use one of the prompts on this list, please remember to credit the prompt and prompter somewhere in your fic summary/art description or in your notes.  It’s the polite thing to do.

2)  Please submit an ask or message @holidaysat221b with a link to your work, the prompt you used, the prompter, and how you want to be identified (in cases where your Tumblr and fic/artist name are different).  This will allow us to share your work with our followers and tag the prompter (if possible).

3)  We have set up a Sherlolly Prompt Fest Collection on Ao3.  If you are planning to post your fic or art on Ao3 and would like to add it to the collection, please do.  As of this moment, the collection is open and unmoderated.  Please remember to credit the prompt and prompter in your fic/art notes.

On to the Prompts as of March 1, 2017

Art

Art prompt:  (I’ve wanted this like burning for five years, I’ll never give up asking)  Sherlock and Molly, the cake scene from “Sixteen Candles”.  Only in the morgue and Molly’s wearing the lab coat.  -  @sunken-standard

Art prompt:  Potter!lock. ��Don’t care if it’s student Sherlock and Molly in their house robes, teachers, wizarding professionals, a recreation of the Order of the Phoenix group photo with Sherlock characters instead.  Whatever.  Just as long as it’s Potter!lock.  -  @darnedchild

Art prompt:  Molly and Sherlock’s first real date gets interrupted by a case.  Are they dressed up for a fancy evening, or wearing something more suited to fish and chips and a walk around the park?  -  Anonymous

Crossovers/Works set in or inspired by another specific fictional universe (ie Potter!lock)

I’d really like to see a Daemon (from the His Dark Materials books by Philip Pullman) version of Series 3/TAB/Series 4 (any or all of those), especially when it comes to the ILY scene.  -  Kay

iZombie!Sherlock – Think of this, if Sherlock gets infected we have: 1) Sherlock with white hair 2) Sherlock getting brains from Molly “for experiments” 3) Sherlock getting different attitudes (hippie brain = hippie!Sherlock) 4) Paler than normal pale Sherlock 5) Sherlock with red bloodshot eyes.  Also:  If Molly Hooper gets infected, it’s like she’s the Liv Moore of Barts.  Lestrade as Clive (and relieved to be not only depending on Sherlock to solve crimes).  Sherlock deduces Molly’s hair color and tan (because Molly can’t show up to work with white hair, even whiter skin color, and very slow pulse rate).  Major asshole Boss being the one shipping tainted Utopium to Britain.  -  The Silent Fangirl

Superwholock!Sherlolly  -  The Silent Fangirl

Doctor Who!Sherlock - Molly Hooper as a companion  -  The Silent Fangirl

Me Before You!Sherlock  -  The Silent Fangirl

Molly Hooper as “Mary Reilly”.  -  @darnedchild

Dracula!lock, but maybe mix it up just a little.  Sherlock as the object of Dracula’s affections (Mina) and/or Molly as the vampire expert (Van Helsing)?  -  @darnedchild

Song fic/Inspired by lyrics

Song Fic:  Adele’s “Water Under the Bridge”  -  @darnedchild  

Song Fic:  … I would love something based on “Samson” by Regina Spektor please.  -  @chelle812

Song Fic:  Katy Perry’s “Unconditionally”  -  @darnedchild

Song Fic:  Texas’ “I’ll See It Through”  -  @darnedchild

OT3/Sherlock, Molly, and ?

A case involving wine and stolen spatulas leads to Mycroft Holmes being attracted to Molly Hooper.  Too bad Molly’s had enough of the Holmeses, and Sherlock mooning over her really isn’t helping.  (Molly Hooper/Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes)  -  The Silent Fangirl

Molly wants to meet The Woman.  Irene and Sherlock are still friends, and Molly is curious.  Much to everyone’s surprise, Molly and Irene hit it off fairly quickly.  (Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper/Irene Adler)  -  Anonymous

When Sherlock is injured and stuck in a cast up to his thigh, Mary and Molly find out JUST how grumpy he can get.  They end up putting him by a window with binoculars, his pain medication, snacks, juice and his mobile.  What happens next?  (Molly Hooper/Sherlock Holmes/Mary (Morstan)Watson)  -  @penaltywaltz

Everything Else

Sherlock is undercover.  He’s renting a small place and he’s trying to fit in with the extremely old fashioned community that is probably hiding a deadly smuggling ring or something equally bad.  He ends up calling on Molly to come help.  Since he’s already established as an unmarried man, his ‘sister’ (or other family member) arrives for a visit.  Cue living in the same house while hot for each other type shenanigans while pretending to be siblings under the watchful eye of some suspicious townspeople.  -  Anonymous

Molly’s school reunion – Sherlock assumes he’ll be needed to help Molly show everyone up.  The catch:  Molly’s been a beloved peer, so it’s him who gets the obligatory “you hurt her, we’ll end you”.  :)  - @mychakk

Sherlock sees a woman on the street.  Instantly intrigued (you can choose as to why) he follows her.  -  @mel-loves-all

Molly loves wearing Sherlock’s house robes.  -  @mel-loves-all

Molly has a piece of body piercing jewelry or a tattoo located somewhere that surprises and titillates Sherlock.  -  @mel-loves-all

Whenever Molly is close, Sherlock unconsciously always seems to need to touch her in some way after they start dating.  He doesn’t notice it, but Molly does.  -  @mel-loves-all

A midnight dance.  -  @mel-loves-all

John tries to set up Sherlock with a girl.  Unsurprisingly, there are a lot of contenders.  And what does Molly have to say about that?  -  The Silent Fangirl

Through unexpected circumstances, Sherlock and Molly get engaged.  It doesn’t end well.  Crack!fic  -  The Silent Fangirl

Eurus Holmes ships the Sherlolly.  So does John and Mycroft.  Soon, everyone gets dragged into the Sherlolly craze.  Crack!fic  -  The Silent Fangirl

Molly lives in the flat across from 221B.  You know, the one that exploded?  Yeah.  But before that, there was a) looking at the hot naked guy in the window b) said hot naked guy crashing into her flat because he just wants to c) her traitorous cat crossing the street to hot naked guy’s flat.  -  The Silent Fangirl

Sherlock:  A TV series featuring a hot guy with awesome deductive skills, his best friend the doctor, the exasperated detective inspector, the sweet landlady, and the pathologist.  And no, the pathologist isn’t in love with the hot guy.  -  The Silent Fangirl

Molly stops being Sherlock’s pathologist, and starts being THE Pathologist.  BAMF!Molly  -  The Silent Fangirl

This, Sherlock thinks through the haze of cocaine, truly is the worst form of torture.  Mycroft and Molly’s wedding through Sherlock’s drug-addled POV.  -  The Silent Fangirl

Molly commits suicide, but only Sherlock thinks she didn’t.  He may not be wrong.  -  The Silent Fangirl

When John Watson dies, Rosie is given into the care of her godparents.  Problem is, they aren’t exactly on speaking terms.  Bonus for Harry Watson appearance!  -  The Silent Fangirl

Molly nearly gets hit by a speeding car … until Sherlock pushes her out of the way and gets hit himself.  H/C  -  The Silent Fangirl

Molly in labor.  After watching Mary in labor in TST, I kinda wanna see a funny take on Molly giving birth to her and Sherlock’s child.  Maybe something like Molly being in pain, she wishes out loud she’d never had sex with Sherlock, while Sherlock logically points out how well they emotionally and biologically fit together.  -  Anonymous

Fluff.  Molly has been hospitalized for whatever reason.  She decides that she is feeling better and just wants to go home.  However, the hospital does not want to release her yet.  So Molly decides to leave AMA (against medical advice).  She feels she can recover at home just as well and also she is eager to get back to work.  Besides, who is going to know?  This is something someone might expect from Sherlock, but not Molly.  How long before he finds out?  What is his reaction?  -  @shadowyqueenbeard

Angst.  Molly discovers she is pregnant and is not happy about it.  Although she would love to have a baby at some point, right now is not the time.  She and Sherlock do not have a commitment and her career is going well.  She plans to terminate the pregnancy.  Sherlock finds out and tries to stop her.  He please with her to change her mind, marry him and be a family.  Is this just a control tactic or does he really love her?  -  @shadowyqueenbeard

Molly discovers there is Sherlock Holmes RPF (Real Person Fiction) on the internet.  She’s shocked to find that someone called Sherlolly4vr74 has been writing fic about her and Sherlock, and they seem to have a dedicated fan base.  Some of the stories are very sweet and romantic, some of them are hot enough to give her NSFW ideas.  Who is Sherlolly4vr74 (Is it Anderson?  Mrs Hudson?  Mary?  John?  I bet it’s John.) and is Sherlock aware of the stories?  -  @darnedchild

Eurus has been known to put on a persona and disguise to get close to people for information – she was Faith for Sherlock, E and the psychiatrist for John.  What if she had also spent some time around Molly prior to the events at Sherrinford?  What information would she have gleaned about her brother and his pathologist?  -  @darnedchild

Can they be R rated. Because I feel Sherlock would not muck about, with telling Molly what he would like to do to her, he would not use cute little names, for all her female parts and would go into great detail, like all his cases. She would be his very serious case. Yes he would most defiantly do a lot of research on pleasing her. Write it however you are most comfortable with.  -  @oliverfel4

Sherlock and Molly are getting married!  It’s time to work on the guest list for the wedding, and suddenly they are faced with the question—Do they let Euros come, or not?  -  @celticmoonbeam

Shipwrecked Sherlolly—Sherlock saves Molly from drowning.  -  Anonymous

Euros leads Sherlock to believe that he failed, and Molly was killed after the ILY scene.  Much angst ensues as he blames himself for her loss … but then we get to see the happy reunion scene when he learns she’s alive.  -  Anonymous

Moriarty trying to up Sherlock by sleeping with Molly, but the joke is on him, as Sherlock and Molly knew each other from secondary school/uni and were each other’s firsts.  They can be regular (exclusive) lovers too.  -  @mychakk

Mary as matchmaker.  At John and Mary’s wedding, Mary feels a little sad when they leave him alone to go dance (“What about you?”).  She decides to make it her mission to help Sherlock find a girl so he’s not alone anymore.  And this former agent has no trouble figuring out the potential between Sherlock and a certain Molly Hooper … (Up to you whether or not you want to throw in a Janine segue before she decides to set him up with Molly.  And feel free to cover Sherlock being shot!)  -  @celticmoonbeam

Molly discovers she’s pregnant with Sherlock’s child at the worst possible time:  while she’s with his parents, being hidden away, and the two are pretending to be just friends.  Bonus if they figure it out before they’re told!  -  @penaltywaltz

After the events of TFP, Molly and Sherlock get closer.  Suddenly, though, he pulls away and starts flirting with a coworker of hers, sometimes blatantly in front of her.  It isn’t until an event at Barts that the truth comes out that it was all for a case.  -  @penaltywaltz

Molly finds out that as a child Sherlock liked the book “The Westing Game” and for one of his birthdays she arranges a vacation mimicking the plot of the book, even if none of them really fit the particular characters.  - @penaltywaltz 

Sherlock wants to make a gourmet meal for Molly for a special occasion, but he doesn’t seem to get it quite right.  Fortunately, a friend/relative is willing to help.  -  @penaltywaltz

Sherlock moves in with Molly and begins perusing her book collection, picking up random books that have interesting looking covers, and the next thing Molly knows he’s turned into a fantasy buff.  -  @penaltywaltz

Non-established Sherlolly.  Sherlock gets a hold of Molly’s phone one afternoon and can’t resist snooping.  He’s surprised to see a folder in her photo gallery marked “Special” and it’s all photos of him.  -  @penaltywaltz

[fanfic-phoenix]

Have you been wicked Mr Holmes?  Part 3

Hello!  This is the cutesiest one so far, but still has a smut warning so... what can I say?  I have lost all my moral high ground over my beta (the ever awesome @ebdaydreamer who, of course, fixed my grammar for this part too) for this story!  Enjoy!

Sherlock grimaced dramatically as decorations began to encompass his living room.  The tree, the tinsel (why must they pick the one that shed all over the place?), the general air was sickening.  The urge to divulge sentimental thoughts seemed to overwhelm the entire populace at this time, and even the criminal population seemed to succumb to the spirit of goodwill.  He turned to Watson, sighing as he saw the latest mistake.

“Yet again you fail to connect actions to their consequences, Watson.  You must understand that to me the world is an open book, and if you - as your mind is still undeveloped - wish to do well you should listen to what I say.  Now, for the last time,”  He picked up the plush Santa and handed it back to Rosamund Mary Watson,  “If you wish to keep the toy, do not throw the toy.”  He ended the sentence with a fond smile, a fond smile that dropped as the plush Santa connected with his face.  He sighed and placed it beside her.

Rosie was, despite his protestations to the contrary, the only good thing in Baker Street at the moment.  With John and Mary insisting on decorating (Oh God, was that… mistletoe?) and Irene away (goodness knew where, it was business, apparently.  And no, he was not in the least jealous, thank you very much, John), he was relying on the bright eyes and smiling face of the new Watson to raise his spirits.  She was immensely curious already, very keen on experimenting on how far she could pull Sherlock’s curls before he was unable to hold the forced smile, and equally fond of drooling over herself and requiring changing.  Whenever John and Mary fell asleep on the couch (basically half an hour into any visit) the duty fell to him and he, as the doting godfather, was obliged.  

The moan of Irene Adler sounded tinnily from the phone on the side table.  He jumped up, ignored the glare of the new parents (“That is not a noise for children, Sherlock!”), and grabbed the phone in record time.

Hang in there, Mr Holmes.  I’ll be home soon.  We can have dinner.

-IA

He smiled, perhaps Christmas wouldn’t be a complete waste.

I look forward to it, Miss Adler.  Baker Street isn’t as lively with your absence.

-SH

Sherlock picked up Rosie, hoping to stop her wails waking her parents.  It had been an hour at last since Irene’s text.  With a sigh, he looked quizzically at her.

“What is the problem, Watson?”

He was thankful as ever for the power of deduction.  She wasn’t hungry, nor was she tired, nor was her nappy full.  Which meant…

“You just want attention, don’t you?”

He shook his head, holding her carefully and rocking her slightly.

“Would you like a story, Watson?”

She made no reply, as babies were known to do, but he took the end of the cries as a positive.

“Once upon a time lived a pirate, the most fearsome pirate on the whole seven seas.  His name was Captain William, and he travelled with a retired knight who was his First Mate Hamish.  First Mate Hamish was never without the beautiful Princess Mary and the even prettier fairy Rosie.”

John and Mary woke at the sound of their baby's cries through the crackling monitor.  But they also heard them stop, and the deep voice of the detective beginning his story.  They smiled blissfully at each other, eyes still blurry with sleep, and settled down for Sherlock’s story time.

“First Mate Hamish and Princess Mary were very much in love, so much that poor old Captain William had to watch them kissing all the time!  Blech!”  Sherlock smiled at Rosie, watching her relax and giggle at his newly animated face.  “But one day, Princess Mary went missing, and the pirates knew she was in danger.  Well, they weren't about to let Princess Mary get hurt, not when the Fairy Rosie needed her (as did they, not that they'd ever admit it) so they went to the Apple Tower to save her.”

Mary and John looked at each other.  This was Sherlock telling Rosie about Appledore.  Surely they shouldn't let it happen.  And yet, there was something in his voice, something soft, and they knew it'd be fine.

“The Apple Tower was a thousand feet high and guarded by a fearsome dragon with a nasty habit of licking people and taking them prisoner.  And there, in his power, was Princess Mary.”  Sherlock paused, tickling Rosie softly on her stomach and letting his deep laugh mingle with her giggle.  “Captain William didn't know what to do, which, mind you, was a very rare thing.  He and First Mate Hamish were stuck, but the Fairy Rosie hovering by encouraged them.  Still, the dragon was winning, and they didn't know how to slay him.”  

John and Mary listened to the silence for a moment.  Clearly, Sherlock hadn't figured out how to baby proof this part quite yet.  They entered the room silently, John chuckling as Sherlock jumped at Mary's voice.

“Of course,” she said, “Princess Mary was more resourceful than anyone thought.  She too was a retired knight, and when the silly pirates got captured, she slayed the evil dragon herself with Captain William's cutlas.  Then she picked the lock and she, William, Hamish and Rosie all lived happily ever after, especially when, not long after, William got his own princess, a woman called Irene.”

Sherlock handed the sleepy John his baby.

“How much did you hear?”  He asked.

“All of your story.”  John smirked, “First Mate Hamish?”

“John isn't a very pirate-y name,” came the haughty reply.  It didn't take long for all to laugh.

Rosie was placed in her cot, newly exhausted by the action, and the adults adjourned to the living room.

“You're better with kids than I'd have thought,”  John admitted.  He had assumed Sherlock would think babies boring, or perhaps show them crime scenes as he has Archie.  And yet he was fine, telling fairy stories and rocking her to sleep, and he has definitely caught him blowing a raspberry on her stomach when she was fussing, letting her get away with tugging his hair and biting his hands.

“I've always been fond of children.”

Perhaps that was a slight lie.  He'd hated them when he was one.  He was different to them and it was clearly visible, so they avoided him.  But now, children were fascinating.  They were curious and unspoilt, not having quite learned to stop asking questions.  He adored that; the curious people always learnt most.  And even babies who couldn't talk to ask were agreeable.  They weren't particularly noisy if you kept them happy, and they were perfectly good company in silence or if one required a monologue.

Mary and John left at six, promising to be back at eleven in Christmas day, ready for the blasted party Mrs Hudson insisted upon.  Sherlock prayed Irene would be back for it, he wasn't sure how he'd survive the festivities without her.

He smiled to himself, thinking of Mary's contribution.  Princess Irene.  She was certainly regal enough, and definitely able to dance as one would at court.  He stretched out on the couch as he remembered dancing with her the last day before her trip, the feeling of flying and total contentment he'd never known before.  He remembered it, the way he'd decided to do the traditional thing, just this once.

Sherlock tugged awkwardly at his tie.  He'd always loathed them, but he'd YouTubed how one should dress for a date and it specifically mentioned the tie, so he was stuck.  He checked his watch.  The reservation was hours away, so they had time for the other things he'd planned, thank God.  He'd been irrationally nervous when asking Irene to go on a… date… with him, considering their already intimate relationship, but she had laughed and agreed.  She'd dress up for him, like a real date, and then he'd escort her wherever.

The dress was… completely her.  Tight fit, short hemline and dipping neck, the black and white material showed off her best parts, the belt emphasising her thin waist.  He tugged slightly at his jacket and offered her his arm, leading her to the car had hired.  He didn't want to waste time hailing a cab, not on their last night together till who knew when.  They chatted gaily the whole journey, but he never let on where they were going.

“Oh!  Sherlock…”

Irene had been lost for words when she saw where they were.  She kissed him square on the lips, a short chaste kiss of gratitude and excitement, before looking again with shining eyes.  She'd told him months ago about this, about how she'd wanted to come, and he’d actually remembered.  He handed her the tickets.  First rate seats for Gypsy at Savoy Theatre.

The show was lovely.  Both of them enjoyed it, the music flowing over them and enchanting them.  They left the building with reluctance, even before they saw the rain that was falling.  Sherlock had cursed quietly, before taking off his jacket to hold over Irene.

“Such the gentleman, Mr Holmes,” she'd said as they reached the car.

“But of course, Miss Adler,” he'd replied.  

They were right on time for the reservation at Angelo's, walking in to be greeted by the man himself.

“A candle for you and your date, Mr Holmes?  More romantic,” had come the joke.

“If you'd be so kind,” he'd replied, deadly serious.  

The man seemed disappointed it wasn't John.

He pulled out the chair for her and tucked her in, handing her the menu.  He even consented to order something more substantial than a starter, though he didn't eat more than a quarter.  Spaghetti for both, and ice cream for the Woman's afters.  Payment was waved off, as usual.  He received a twenty pound tip without noticing, as usual.

Back at Baker Street, sat together on the couch.  They were close, each with a glass of wine (the Woman's insistence) and the bottle between them.  They'd had more than a glass, he knew that, as they were both laughing more freely and louder than often.  The radio played random songs on a random station - they'd turned it on when they came in, not bothering to change channel.  A slow song came on, Sherlock didn't know the name, and without noticing his own actions he had offered Irene his hand.

“May I have this dance, Miss Adler?”

They swayed together, spun round the room together, her hands behind his neck and his one her waist.  They didn't notice when Mrs Hudson popped her head in just in time to see them rest their foreheads together and smile at each other, neither needing to say the words that hung in the air around them.  She pressed a kiss to his lips, both of them smiling in it.

“Thank you, Sherlock.”  She'd whispered.

“You're welcome, Irene.”

She'd taken the lead then, placing his hand on her zip and telling him to pull it down whilst she'd tugged him into a deep kiss by that ridiculous tie of his.  She'd taken it off him, mercifully (he really hated the damned thing), and it was terrific aim in her part that had it hook on the horn of the headphone wearing skull.  Both hastily defrocked they'd tumbled into bed together, equals in the game.

They gave each other as good as they got, both marking each other as their own, returning every move with their own.  They extracted moans and begs from each other and held them like prizes.  They relished in making the other writhe in pleasure and gasp at their next attack.  Their hot skin pressed together and limbs tangled as they worked at each other, finding each other's weak spots and exploiting them mercilessly.  They fought for the handcuffs, sucking on each other's neck to try and deter them, trying to reach behind the other as they straddled them.  Sherlock finally took them, having found that entering her was an extremely good distraction.

When she surrendered he connected her to the bed, not quite sure what to do but knowing instinct would kick in as he experimented, stroking here and pressing kisses there, finding out how to make her to weak.  She still fought back, taking advantage of any lapse in concentration to strike.  She recorded the moan he gave out as her trophy, set it as her text tone one handed, but didn't let him notice.  He recorded her, too even though the last one was still quite new.  The sweet sounds she made were too good to waste, especially when he got her in just the right place and she clawed at his back with her free hand, begging him to carry on, to give her everything and more.

He was a gentleman, he always gave the lady what she wanted.

Eleven in the morning on Christmas Day came quicker than expected, and soon enough Baker Street was packed full of excitable visitors.  Molly was there, chatting to Mrs Hudson in the kitchen.  Gavin?  Gary?  Greg!  Greg was by the tree talking to someone he couldn't see.  John and Mary spoke to the neighbours, Mrs Turner's married ones, and their pained look suggested they were full as dishwater.  Sherlock sat in his chair, watching Rosie play with her new blocks, forced to wear his new ear hat.  He'd sent his present to Irene with her, in case she hasn't got back in time for Christmas.  A necklace, a thin golden chain with a bright ruby rose hanging from it.  She'd not made any reference to anything, so he waited to see if it would be given when she returned or by text.

The party fell silent at the orgasmic sigh of Miss Adler (different to the one they'd heard last time) coming from Sherlock's phone.  They'd watched him snatch the phone in an instant before composing himself, realising he’d been perhaps slightly too eager.  He cleared his throat slightly, made a show of reading his emails before the text, even though everyone could see he was counting the moments before he could look and keep his reputation (a little bit) intact.

Chimney.  It's too big for the mantlepiece.

-IA

He moved in silence to the fireplace, aware of the eyes following him, reaching an arm inside.  His hand soon brushed against the wrapping.  Taking it out, he looked at the paper.  The same colour as her lipstick, just like the phone’s wrapping had been.  Perfectly neat and near impossible to deduce, blast her.  He opened it, the room still silent and watching.

He looked at the gift, turning it in his hand, chuckling slightly at the anti-climax.  An envelope.  Trust her to double wrap.  It smelt of her perfume, the one she wore on their date.  He opened that and took out the paper.

He froze, staring at it.  He had dropped the envelope, clutching the picture with two shaking hands, slightly pale but clearly happy.  John could only remember one similar incident - when asked to be best man.

“Sherlock, mate, are you alright?”

Still silence.  John sighed, telling the room to give him a minute, he was just buffering.

“Well well,”  came a silky voice, “I expected more of a welcome home, Sherlock.”

Irene Adler stood in the doorway, her face breaking into a smile at Sherlock’s shocked face.  Ah, how she’d treasure that look, the fact that she’d shocked Sherlock Holmes.  It wasn’t an easy thing to do.  He reached her in three strides at a speed no one else could ever hope to match, lifting her off her feet to twirl her round and kiss her.  

“That good enough?”  His voice was ringed with amusement, but he still held the look of disbelief.  His hand trembled slightly as he reached forward, placing it hesitantly on her stomach, where he knew their child was growing.

At this, the room finally caught up and exploded into a cacophony of congratulations and other sentimental things, Mrs Hudson smiling tearfully and Mrs Turner consoling her.  John clapped him on the back and Mary embraced Irene, promising all the good tips.  The father-to-be cursed as he thought of the phone calls he would have to endure with Mycroft and Mummy, earning a tap on the arm from the expectant.  They looked blissfully happy, happier than they had ever looked.  They didn't mention that their baby wasn't exactly planned, they didn't care.

Happy Christmas indeed.

Boxing day.  The day where their guests were no doubt regretting their alcohol consumption from the night before and the day Sherlock had decided to tell his family of the newest Holmes.  Mother and Father would be too exhausted to talk for long, and Mycroft too busy to lecture him on sentiment and it's dangers.  Still, he wouldn't do it quite yet.  He'd prefer to stay wrapped up with Irene, one arm draped protectively round her shoulders and one resting atop the hand she lay on her stomach, smiling slightly as she slept, waiting for her to wake.

Midday had come and gone before he decided to call Mycroft.

“Is this a social call, Brother Mine?”

“That would depend on what you considered social, Mycroft.”

Sherlock knew that his brother would detect the slight nerves and excitement in his voice and go through the options in his head.  He estimated twenty seconds for the realisation.

“Sherlock!  What have you done now?”

Twenty eight.  He was getting slow.

“I believe I have provided Mother with that grandchild she wanted so.  A congratulations would suffice, Brother Mine, but I really can't chat.  I haven't told mother yet, and-”

“She dragged me to Scotland, Sherlock.  I put you on speaker as soon as I realised the truth.”  He could almost see Mycroft’s smug smile.  “Happy Christmas, Sherlock, and congratulations.”

He debated hanging up before Mummy took the phone.  He looked to Irene for advice and only saw her laughing at his sullen face.  It was too late to hang up by the time he'd quit pouting.

“Hello, Mummy.”

He held the phone away from his ear as she alternated between joyous exclamations and annoyance that he'd called Mycroft before her.  Still, the happiness won out and he endured five minutes of her rambling before his father took pity and took the phone.  Nothing overly emotional there, a quick congratulations and chat and they were done.  He was free, finally.

He joined Irene on the couch.

“So…”

He couldn't find the words.

“Agreed.”

“I didn't say anything.”

“You didn't need to.  I can read you like a book, Mr Holmes.  You don't need to speak for me to know you're both excited and terrified of this.”

He nodded slightly.

“Mostly excited.”  He pointed out.  She nodded.  He grinned.

“Any ideas for a name?”