#dancing in 221b

[buckingham-ashtray]

reminder that sherlock taught john how to dance.

[snadwich-underscore]

Behind closed doors :-)

[j-eryewrites]

The Dancing Men (III)

Part 17 of the Arbitrary Lives of the Occupants of 221B Baker Street

SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTER LIST

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Word Count: 7.1k

Warnings: Sherlock is Sherlock, Sherlock and John fight (Let me know if I missed any)

Author’s Note: Finally finished this chapter! I just want to thank all of you for being so patient. Hopefully, I can get back on track to finishing this series. I’m so sad that it’s almost over but trust me you guys are in for some eventful last few chapters!

Y/N never knew she would hate an overseas travel experience so much more than her flight to London a few months prior. However, that was before she knew what travelling with Sherlock and John was like. She had the overwhelming feeling that she was babysitting the two of them, more so Sherlock than John. She tried to keep her mind occupied as the two men argued over what seat on the plane was the best. Of course, Sherlock occupied the window seat. John, who was ever the gentleman, sat in the middle seat. Lastly, Y/N took the aisle. 

Once the debacle of seat choice was decided, they moved on to deducing the other occupants in the aeroplane. First, John would give it a go. Sherlock would listen intently as John relayed the information, he thought was correct about the person, and then Sherlock would correct him. 

“She’s dating the man next to her. She keeps looking at him intently,” John nodded after careful observation. He was sure he nailed it. 

“Wrong,” Sherlock corrected. “She’s fidgeting with the silver band on her ring finger. She slips it on and then off as she is talking to the man next to her. An expert way of concealing the ring as she’s talking to this man. She’s married to another yet finds the man next to her attractive enough for her to start thinking about an affair.”

“Right. How obvious, why didn’t I see it before?” John sarcastically said. 

“Do better next time, John,” Sherlock muttered before pointing to the next object of observation. 

John was sure he observed over a dozen people by the end of the flight. The longer John tried his hand at deducing, he found that he had gotten more correct than not. Once Sherlock was satisfied with John’s average observational skills, he moved on to Y/N who intently was reading a novel. 

“Y/N,” Sherlock cleared his throat.

It took a moment for the young woman to snap from her literary daze and focus on Sherlock. The book was all too exciting. “Hmm?” 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at a man wearing a bright orange shirt in the row in front of them to their right. His eyes pointed Y/N in the man’s direction, and she turned to look at him, then back at Sherlock with a hint of confusion. 

“What?” She asked as her hands carefully placed the bookmark into the novel. 

Sherlock just scrunched his brows at her unaware that she had no clue what his obscure glances and facial expressions meant. 

John sighed. “He wants you to deduce that man.” John offered a sympathetic smile to the woman. 

Y/N processed John’s words before asking Sherlock a question. “Why?”

Sherlock looked as if he was about to roll his eyes, but then stopped himself. “It’s perfectly reasonable to train my employees on their deduction skills in case they are needed. John has…” Sherlock looked John up and down, “sufficed for the day. Now it’s your turn.”  

Y/N chuckled. “Alright, whatever you say, Holmes.” 

Y/N adjusted her seating position so she could get the clearest view of the man of the hour. As the woman observed over the man in the row up by one and on the right side, John couldn’t help how his eyes looked at Sherlock. He saw how Sherlock stared intently at Y/N from his window seat. For a moment, John thought that Sherlock was deducing her rather than her deducing the man in front of them with how carefully his eyes washed over her figure. In fact, John was sure he could see her reflection clearly within his eyes.  

“He’s awfully hunched over. Could be reading a book or watching a film, maybe even sleeping with how to calm his body is…”

Sherlock smiled. “But…”

Y/N blinked at Sherlock. “But it’s not that. His slouch gets deeper whenever a flight attendant passes. He’s insecure…?” It was her best guess. 

“Close,” Sherlock stated. He reached over John as if wasn’t there and pointed at the man. “He does slouch over more when a flight attendant passes, but only a particular one.” 

Then the man in the orange shirt looked over his shoulder as the particular flight attendant passed. His arms protectively hovered over his lap. Once she was gone, Y/N caught sight of a pencil and a sketchbook. The man was drawing the flight attendant. 

“Oh,” Y/N gasped. 

“You see now?” Sherlock asked before pointing to someone else for Y/N to deduce. “Try again.” 

It wasn’t hard for John to take notice of the soft tone Sherlock used to correct Y/N’s deductions. The consulting detective’s voice was a far cry from the reprimanding tone he had used when correcting John’s observations. John most definitely saw how Sherlock leaned ever so slightly forward in his seat towards Y/N’s aisle seat and John most definitely didn’t smirk as he sank as far as he could into the back of his seat, so Sherlock could get a nice view. Maybe these new deduction skills John was gaining were going to be of use sooner than later. 

Y/N was able to try her hand at a few deductions before the plane landed in Dublin. Eventually, they were able to exit the plane and find a rental car. John drove the car with Sherlock in the passenger seat and Y/N in the back. She didn’t mind sitting in the back of the car. It gave her an ample view of the Irish landscape as they drove. 

She had done some research about Clifden and from what she found it looked like the town came from a fairytale. Located along the coast of Ireland, sat Clifden with its picturesque buildings and homes. Alongside lots of land to explore, a castle, and a National Park. 

As she stared out at the passing images of the Irish landscapes, she took notice of everything around her. The skies were grey, as was typical in late November. Sometimes there was snow covering the grounds, and other times there were windy fields of gold and brown blowing in the wind. Despite the gloomy atmosphere, it was beautiful. There was something so cosy about a grey gloomy day to Y/N. It was almost perfect. Unlike days filled with warm sunlight where she was obligated to roam around outside or the freezing stormy evenings where she was forced to stay indoors, Y/N had a choice when it came to grey days. The weather was pleasant enough that she could be outside, but it was also cosy enough to stay bundled up inside. She liked having a choice. It also helped that the grey days usually meant that rain would follow and she loved the rain. 

Y/N felt her head grow heavy as her mind was lulled softly by the scenes. For some reason, the hum of the car was all too bewitching. It rumbled in a vivid low tone as the tires of the car drove over the pavement of the roads. The sights began to blur with the sounds echoing in her mind. The perfect combination for slumber and that is exactly what Y/N did. 

_____

“Y/N.” A voice called out to her. 

She made an incoherent mumbling noise in response. John chuckled at Sherlock’s distaste for the whole scenario.

“Don’t look at me,” John said washing his hands of the whole thing. “ I woke her up last time.” Without another word, John unbuckled his seat and removed himself from the car. His legs were practically begging to be used after such a long travel time.

Sherlock sighed and reached out a hand to shake Y/N awake. Instead of placing his hand on her shoulder, Sherlock’s fingers wove around her hair and found a resting spot on her cheek. His thumb mindlessly brushed up and down her cheek and a small smile crept up on Sherlock’s face. 

“Hurry up in there,” John said. 

Sherlock’s eyes widened and pulled back his hand from her face. He quickly glanced outside to make sure that John hadn’t seen him. Once Sherlock was satisfied that John hadn’t, he continued his quest to wake up Y/N. 

This time his hand found her shoulder. With as much care as he could muster, Sherlock gently shook the woman awake.

“Y/N. We’re here,” Sherlock whispered. 

Y/N stirred, and her body sank deeper into the back seat of the car. Her eyes still shut tight refusing to awaken. Sherlock groaned he wasn’t sure that he had it in him to forcefully wake her up. The crunching of gravel behind Sherlock altered him that John was ever present, Hilton was waiting, a case was brewing, and Sherlock needed to wake Y/N up. 

Sherlock cleared his throat. “Y/N,” and with a gentle shake of her shoulders, the girl awoke. 

Her voice was hoarse as it tried to recalibrate being awake and used. Y/N’s eyes flashed open before narrowing as the light evening light filtered in. She groaned as her body stretched from underneath Sherlock. For a moment, Sherlock forgot their proximity as he took in the sight of her awakening. 

“Sherlock?” Y/N croaked. 

His mind snapped from its thoughts as he shook his head. “Hmm?”

“Do you mind getting off me now?” Y/N asked. 

Sherlock wasn’t on her, so to say, but his hand was still glued to her shoulder and their bodies sat impossibly close. Sherlock tilted his head perturbed by her question, before he remembered that people had something called personal space. A concept that he cherishes most definitely within himself, but always forgot that others had it. 

“Sorry,” Sherlock cleared his throat and crawled out of the car straightening his jacket. “We’re here.”

Y/N nodded her head and soon followed him out of the car where she bent and stretched her limbs. Her neck felt a bit funny from the position she fell asleep in on the ride over to Clifden. 

“God, remind me to not fall asleep in the car again…,” Y/N grumbled. 

Sherlock glanced at Y/N before making a mental note for future reference. 

Before any of them could say another word, a joyous voice interrupted. It was Hilton Cubitt in all his glory. He welcomed the trio with a smile and quickly ushered them into his home. 

It was a quaint old house made of a grey study brick. While small in stature it was the perfect size for Hilton and his family of three. It was a house that followed the same structure as many others in the neighbourhood: Black pointed roofs, red doors, and window casing to match its crimson hue. Alongside the home was a small garden, which Y/N assumed would be in full bloom if it weren’t for the current seasonal climate. 

Hilton graciously led the trio into his living room where they each found a seat on the black leather couch across from where Hilton sat. 

“I’m so glad you are here!” Hilton smiled. “Would any of you like tea? Water?” 

Although John and Y/N would have loved to have a nice cup of tea, the way Sherlock was eyeing the two of them told John and Y/N that any distractions from the case at hand, including getting some tea, were unacceptable. 

“Mr. Cubitt if you could explain to us where you found the latest code.” 

Hilton nodded and cleared his throat. “On the windowsill like the last one. Mr Holmes,” Hilton’s voice grew grave. “There’s another. It was out in the garden where I found the paper on the sundial.” Hilton reached into his pocket to pull out another sheet of paper. 

Sherlock eagerly took the slip of paper. “What did you do after finding the code?” Sherlock inquired as John and Y/N sat attentively listening. 

“I showed it to my wife and she feinted from the shock–fear, I’m not quite sure. That’s when I knew that I should send a photo of it to you Mr. Holmes. If this message got my wife feeling this much fear then…” Hilton shivered. “Then it must be bad.”

Sherlock rose his hand to his chin taking note of everything Cubitt had so far said when John spoke up. 

“Could all this trouble be saved if you just talked to your wife?” John asked. He was a bit annoyed with this singular aspect of the case. Clearly, Elise Cubitt knows what the code says and possibly who it is from. One word from her and the case could be solved, the culprit dealt with, and then everyone is happy. 

At John’s words, Hilton’s gaze fell and he crossed his arms over his torso, shaking his head. “I promised her and a promise is a promise. If Elise wanted to tell me, she would. If not, it is not my place to force her.” Hilton paused for a moment gauging the reactions of the three in front of him. Something in one of their faces urged him to continue. “You can’t ask her either. She does not need to be put under any more stress and fear.” 

Just then a woman and a young child entered the room. They were giggling and chatting as they carried groceries in their arms. The young girl gasped and smiled at the strange new faces in her home before running over to her father. The girl’s mother, on the other hand, had a vastly different reaction. She made quick work of readjusting her hold on the grocery bags removing her hands from sight. Y/N noticed how the woman’s face paled to a bluish tone which made her golden hair grow a sickening yellow. Her voice began to quaver as she strolled over to her husband. 

“Hilton, what’s this?” Elise asked. 

Hilton picked up his little girl and placed her in his lap. “These people are here to help us,” He said in a soft voice that one would only use when speaking to a child. Except his words were not directed to his daughter, but to his concerned wife. 

She did not speak another word as she dropped the groceries off in the nearby kitchen before removing her and her daughter from the room to allow them privacy. 

Once his wife vacated the room, Hilton sighed with his whole body and his chest heaved as if he was about to cry. “Sorry,” Hilton muttered as he collected himself. 

Y/N looked at John and Sherlock before leaning forward and asking a question of her own. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, but has Elise said anything?”

Hilton shook his head and glanced out a nearby window. “She hasn’t…but there have been sometimes where I think she might say something. I was clear that she wanted to, but something was stopping her.”

“Have you found anything out yourself these past few weeks, Mr Cubitt?” Sherlock asked now chiming back into the conversation. 

Hilton’s gaze was removed from the window. “Yes. A friend of mine who lives in town found another code this morning. I thought that we could go look at it together when you arrived.” 

Sherlock’s raised his brow with intrigue before immediately standing up out of his seat. 

No one else had risen from their seat. Each of them still felt that there was more to be discussed, yet Sherlock was a spontaneous man. When a case called or something caught his captious eye that was something he must do the soonest moment possible. 

Sherlock’s eye twitched at the stillness in his companion’s figures before clearing his throat. It was his signal that they were to leave and Hilton would lead them to the latest part of the code. 

“Right,” Hilton said. He slapped his lap as he stood up. The moment Hilton stood up, John and Y/N were quick to follow. 

Hilton quickly retrieved his things before calling out to his wife and daughter and telling them that he was going to be out for a bit. Elise only nodded as her shaking eyes glanced over Sherlock and his friends. 

“It’ll only take a moment to arrive there,” Hilton explained as he led the group to his car. 

As Y/N opened the backseat of the car, she felt a chill brush on the back of her neck. Y/N rose a hand to brush away the cold when she felt something staring at her. She turned to look back at Hilton’s house and in the window was Elise. The woman gasped upon noticing Y/N’s stare and in an instant, she was gone. The only remnant of her presence was the ripple of the curtain as it fell back into place. 

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Strange,” she whispered to herself before sneaking into the back seat of the car next to John. 

________

Buildings built closely together: a pub, the grocery store, a hair salon, an apartment building. Each piece of architecture was more colourful than the next. Y/N was sure she’d never seen such a colourful street in her life. While there was some colour in London, there was next to none in Wisconsin. 

As the bright colours in front of her swirled into a gorgeous kaleidoscope, she remembered her childhood home– Menomonee Falls. Her hometown in the United States was nothing short of stark contrast. Nature was ever-present in Menomonee Falls from the breathtaking trees as they turned from jade green to a burning gold in the autumn weather and the flowing rivers to the three-step staircase that is called a waterfall. 

Even though Menomonee Falls lacked in colour like Clifden, Y/N thought that the community of people was more than enough to make up for it. The people of Menomonee Falls were like their own rainbow of personality. She recalled the tales that she’d heard from those she passed on the street. With a cheerful smile and hello, mere strangers would embark on relaying their whole life story to you. 

Y/N chuckled as she thought of her old home, the fondest of memories from Halloween where she’d go to haunted houses in people’s garages and maybe partake in a barbeque or two. The parents’ sore feet and even smaller patience to deal with their children were relieved by the passing out of beer as the children received their treats. Menomonee Falls was home. Y/N shook her head with a smile. No, it was no longer home. Her thoughts cleared as her gaze fell on John and Sherlock as they walked alongside Hilton Cubitt. This was her home–with Sherlock, John, Mrs Hudson, and Bjørn. 221B Baker Street was where she was supposed to be. Y/N was sure of it. She’d call it destiny if she believed in that kind of stuff. 

“It’s down this alleyway here,” Hilton said. He pointed his finger to the right and the group collectively turned in the direction. Y/N was surprised at how well-kept the alleyway was. I made sense though, as she had previously seen numerous people before her use them as walkways. Y/N was so caught up in her thought that she almost crashed right into Sherlock’s tall frame. 

“Sorry,” she quickly muttered not knowing if Sherlock even heard her. 

For Sherlock hearing was something completely different from listening. While he did hear Y/N’s quick apologies for ‘not’ bumping into him, he was not listening. All his attention was on the black spray-painted stick figures on the wall. 

It was a shame that the light-yellow shade of the building was tainted by the dripping black paint of the code. As Sherlock observed every detail and position of the figures, his mind was aware noting it all down and connecting the dots. It was just like all the other ones before. Located in a place that Elise Cubitt frequented. However, all the other ones were at the Cubitt home, this one was out of the way. This meant that the culprit must have known Elise’s schedule: Where she liked to frequent, how often she left her home, and what routes she takes to arrive at her destinations. 

“...hasn’t seen it. She refuses to leave the house for anything other than the necessities.” Hilton explained to John and Y/N. The two of them listened carefully knowing that all of Sherlock’s attention was on the wall. 

Sherlock’s brow raised in intrigue before turning away from the wall to face Hilton. Y/N could see there was a fire in his eyes. Something Hilton had said must have broken the man from his ‘detective’ mode, as Y/N called it. 

“Say that again,” Sherlock commanded. 

Hilton was startled. He cleared his throat and then asked Sherlock to repeat himself. 

“Say that,” Sherlock motioned with his hands in a sort of reverse movement, ”again.” 

“She refuses to leave the house…?” Hilton sheepishly said unsure of what exactly Sherlock was asking of him. 

Sherlock pinched his brow and groaned. “No. Before that.”

Hilton’s eye lit up finally understanding Sherlock’s request. “Oh, erm, Elise hasn’t seen this one yet. At least I do not think she has.”

There was a drop in Sherlock’s expression. One that only John and Y/N could catch. “Y/N take a photo.” She nodded and quickly did as Sherlock had asked. “Mr. Cubitt. I believe it was a mistake coming here. We need to return back to your home.”

Hilton’s face paled at Sherlock’s words. “What are you saying, Mr. Holmes?” 

“I am saying that this was a distraction. You are no longer at the house. Your wife is alone. The perfect opportunity for the culprit to arrive.”

_______

Hilton drove with carelessness. His heart pounded in his chest as Sherlock’s words echoed in his mind. He kept trying to tell himself that he’d be safe, yet love is a powerful fuel for worry. Like gasoline to the flame, Hilton’s anguish grew as the minutes ticked by. 

The worry they all felt was only fulfilled when they returned back to the Cubitt household. The sun had set and the only lights around were the street lamps and the lights from the home. The yellow glow was just enough to illuminate a large black figure scaling down the wall. He had climbed down from the window on the top floor. His legs bent when they hit the ground. 

The car still had the keys in the ignition when Hilton swiftly removed himself from the car. His long strides transitioned into a dash as he charged the figure with Sherlock and the others not far behind. He called out in fury at the man triggering him to run away. 

“Get back here!” Hilton cried as he charged after him. 

“Hilton!” Elise screamed at her husband as he chased the intruder.

The woman was flailing out the front door. Her hands waved around frantically. At first, Y/N assumed that she was running to her husband in fear hoping to run into the safe arms of her husband, but that notion was soon destroyed when Elise’s voice yelled at her husband. 

“Hilton! Stop! Don’t!” 

His love was calling for him and there was no bone in Hilton’s body that could not refuse. While Hilton’s step faltered as he stared at his wife with utter shock, Sherlock and John continued the chase. It seemed too often they found themselves running after or away from something. 

Suddenly Elise’s body came crashing into her husband's as she enveloped him in a hug. She muttered something into his skin causing Hilton to grow even more aghast. Elise then looked up and saw that Sherlock and John were still running after the man. The two men were barking orders at each other trying to determine the best possible way to catch the fiend. 

Back at the house, the wails of a small child filled the air as Hilton and Elise’s daughter emerged from the house. The look of pure terror in her eyes was enough to make anyone’s heartbreak. The young girl wasn’t the only one who was startled.  Y/N could see Elise’s lips quiver and her eyes worriedly follow John and Sherlock as they chased the man. Once night overcame those in the chase, Elise’s nervous eyes locked with Y/N’s. 

Y/N saw Elise as she hugged her husband tighter before burrowing her head in the crook of Hilton’s shoulder to hide from Y/N. Everything about Elise screamed guilt as the training Sherlock made Y/N endure on the flight over to Ireland kicked into action. The biggest piece of evidence that caught Y/N’s eye was the woman’s hands. They were black. The paint seemed to glow against her pale white skin. All evidence Y/N had gathered pointed to one thing: Elise was in on it. 

______ 

The air grew tense as John and Sherlock darted across the yard. Sherlock cursed the night. If it weren’t so dark it wouldn’t have been so hard to find the man. Numerous times Sherlock found himself tripping over stones or tree roots. 

John was faring no better. Chasing a man in all black in the pitch black of night on a cold November night. It was pure torment. The cold seeped into his bones while his muscles were on fire. It was a horrific contrast that made his breath only heavier. 

“Sherlock!” John gasped. 

The detective continued in his pursuit. 

John sighed as he placed his hands on his thighs and leaned over taking the largest breaths in his life. Sherlock also happened to wear black. While chasing the intruder through the night was somewhat acceptable, running after Sherlock was not. John had spent too much of his life running after the man. Sherlock’s legs were much too long and moved at a faster speed than John’s shorter legs and slower pace could keep up with. 

By the time John’s breath finally returned to a reasonable rate, Sherlock had returned. All sorts of frustration were apparent on the consulting detective’s face. 

“Gone,” Sherlock heaved. 

“Right,” John nodded his head. “Cause how likely would it have been to catch a man in black in the dead of night when he had quite the head start on us.” 

Sherlock whipped his head around to John and sent him a glare. 

“Where’s Y/N?” Sherlock’s asked. He hadn’t realized he had said it aloud until John replied to him. 

“Back at the house. She was smart enough to know not to run,” John muttered. 

Sherlock hummed before taking a step towards the house. “Let’s go then. I’d like to have a word with Mrs. Cubitt. 

______

“I was scared for –” Elise explained. 

“Oh, that’s it then?” Hilton barked. 

“Yes, Hilton! I didn’t want you to get hurt.” 

“I can take care of myself, Elise,” Hilton hissed. “It’s you and He wasn’t believing his wife’s words of concern. He could have caught the man. He could have stopped all this madness if it weren’t for his wife’s pleas. He could help but think that maybe Elise knew who the man was. It seemed to Hilton that his wife was more concerned about the man in black coming to harm than him. 

Elise opened her mouth to reply when John and Sherlock entered the house. Elise quickly folded her arms concealing her hands from view and excused herself upstairs where her daughter was waiting to be consoled and tucked back into bed. 

Sherlock’s eye was guided along as he followed Elise’s ascent up the stairs. His mind crawled back to what John had said earlier. This case could be solved with a word from Elise Cubitt. She knew. Sherlock felt like it was safe to say that not only did she know the code, but she knew the man behind the drawings as well. 

“Hilton–” Sherlock began. 

“He left another message,” Hilton seethed as he clutched his forehead. It began to throb under his touch. For a moment he considered going against his promise. After all, Hilton’s loved his wife and daughter with his whole heart. He’d do anything to keep them safe. Even if it meant opening a wound he promised not to touch. 

“Where?” Sherlock commanded. 

Y/N stepped forward. The code could wait. The case could wait. The Cubitt family had been through enough this night. Y/N reached for Sherlock’s shoulder and nudged him away from Hilton. 

“Sherlock…the code can wait.” She looked to John for help. “It’s getting late. We should be going.” 

Sherlock shook his head and was about to scold Y/N for even suggesting a thing when his gaze met hers. Her eyes glossed over as she pleaded with him. 

“Sherlock–” Y/N whispered. 

“Send me the code Hilton,’ Sherlock said. Then he turned to his friends. “John. Y/N.” 

The mention of their names was enough for them to understand it was time to leave. They bid their goodbyes and headed out of Hilton’s house. There wasn’t a word spoken as they returned to the car. 

Each sat in the seats with their minds afire; thoughts abuzz about the case and Elise. Y/N couldn’t stop thinking about Elise: her black hands, the fear in her eyes, the concern for the man, and the obvious lies that her husband refused to bring to light. The key of this case lied in Elise. 

______

Y/N felt like she could practically collapse against the door of her hotel room and pass out in the hallway from exhaustion. The crick in her neck was feeling any better, in fact, Y/N was sure it was feeling worse. 

There was a beep and the door to her hotel room swung open. She sighed in relief as she lugged her small bag of luggage into the room. All she wanted to do at the moment was fling herself onto the bed and sleep. That would be an issue, so long as she knew which bed to sleep in. 

She rubbed her eyes awake. That wasn’t supposed to be the case. She was supposed to have a room with one bed. John and Sherlock were to have the one with two. With a puzzled look on her face, Y/N pulled out her phone. John or Sherlock hadn’t said anything to her leading Y/N to think that maybe the hotel made a mistake and that both rooms had two beds. 

______

The hotel had made a mistake. That’s all John could think of as he and Sherlock stood in the doorway to their hotel room. Both men stood with perplexed expressions on their faces. Neither of them wanted to address the elephant in the room, yet something had to be said sooner or later. 

“I’m too tired for this,” John grumbled under his breath. John stepped into the room and dropped his bag on a chair near the bed. “Right, I’ll take th–” 

“I’ll take the bed,” Sherlock stated as he threw his own bag onto the bed claiming. 

John’s mouth was thrown wide open. He was going to offer up the bed in the first place, being a good friend in all, but after Sherlock’s explicit claim on the bed, all thoughts of John’s niceties flew out the window. 

With a huff, John picked up his bag and dropped it onto the bag. “Sherlock.”

“John.”

“The bed is big enough for the both of us,” John noted. His brown eyes glared right at Sherlock’s. 

“Wrong. The bed is fit for only one.” Sherlock removed his eyes from John and looked at the bed. The dimensions would never allow two grown men to share it. Sherlock needed all the room he could get with his lengthy limbs. 

John sighed. “I’m the veteran.” He was going to pull all the cards he could to beat Sherlock. 

“Yes, good for you. The bed is mine,” Sherlock dictated. 

John chuckled. “Oh no it’s not.”

Sherlock raised a brow questioningly at his friend. “You sure about that?”

______

The phone was ringing that familiar ringtone that belonged to only one person: Jim. Y/N groaned and rolled off the bed that she claimed was her own. He was only checking up on her like they had promised. It was sweet of him to call her and put the effort in. She could almost say it was perfect if everything else hadn’t also been perfect. 

She tried to move past her concerns and continue to see Jim. Yet after her late-night conservation with Sherlock, the more she thought about wanting more. It wasn’t fair to Jim. He was perfect in every way, yet here she was thinking about a curly-headed detective who drive her insane every hour of the day. She almost hated that she wanted Sherlock to kiss her that night. Almost. It was wrong. She was with Jim. She liked Jim. Jim made her happy. Sherlock was her boss. The man whose brother paid her to watch over him. Sherlock was her friend. One of her best friends if she could admit it. Not to mention he was her neighbour and surrogate son to her great Aunt. 

Y/N would have continued to think of Sherlock if it were for the incessant ringing of her phone. Against her better judgment, she picked up the phone and answered the call. Her voice faked a smile and she found herself easily able to put the tone of excitement in her voice. 

“Hey, babe,” Y/N said. She could hear Jim chuckle over the phone. 

“You sound tired,” He noted with his Irish accent. 

“You could say that…” Y/N answered. ”How’s work going?” She scolded herself for asking such an ordinary question. She could do better. After all, Jim was her perfect boyfriend, but the conversation seemed so forced with Jim. Unlike how easy it was to converse with Sherlock. 

“Well, it’s finally starting to return to normal. Had to clean up a few loose ends after the last consultation,” Jim explained. 

“You’re not working too hard are you?” Y/N said. She couldn’t help but be concerned for Jim. She did like him and cared for him. 

“No, nothing I can’t handle. Right, well, I won’t keep you long,” Jim smiled. “Just wanted to check in with you and tell you about a t–” 

Bang! Something had hit the other side of the wall by her head. The sound jolted Y/N to a sitting position. 

“What was that?” Jim asked concerned. 

“...I’m not sure.” Y/N eyed the wall carefully before returning to her conversation with Jim. “What were you saying?”

“A trip.”

Y/N could practically hear the excitement from Jim’s side of the phone. “A trip?”

“I’ll some time off of work after my next big project. Thought that maybe you and I could travel a bit,” Jim proposed. 

“I–” 

There was that banging again. “Jim, I have to go…”

THUD. 

“Goodnight love,” Jim said. 

“Goodnig–” BANG! “Heaven’s sake.” 

The phone went silent as the commotion next door continued. Y/N’s mouth pursed in thought as she tried to think of who could be next door to her when the sudden realization hit her. Her eyes widened in shock. She had booked the two rooms to be right next to each other. The banging was coming from John and Sherlock’s room. 

______

What started as an assertion of dominance with the presence of their travel bags on the bed was now a full-on physical wrestle between the two men. All notions of exhaustion and common sense flew out the window when the fight for the bed began. 

John was underneath Sherlock at the moment, which was a good place to be. If only he had just enough leverage or a falter in Sherlock’s resistance, then John would surely be able to claim the bed for the night. In turn, dooming Sherlock to sleep on the floor of their shared hotel room. 

“Just give up Sherlock!” John scowled as he lodged an arm across Sherlock’s torso.

Sherlock grunted trying to get out of John’s grasp. Despite his smaller figure, he was surprised at how long John had been fairing in this fight.  “Never,” Sherlock replied. “You’ll b–”

There was a knock on the door. It rang loud and clear. All movement between the two men halted as they tilted their heads in the direction of the door. Whoever was behind the door knocking tried again when their original attempt was given no answer. Again, John and Sherlock made no motion to move from their positions on the bed. 

Then a muffled voice came from behind the door. “Sherlock. John. It’s me,” Y/N said. 

If it was quiet before, the two men were now silent. The silence that came after Y/N’s voice gave way to Sherlock's hesitation. John could clearly see Sherlock’s shoulders slightly relax and his grip on John and the bed loosened. It was the perfect opportunity. The moment John had been waiting for, and he took his chance. No longer was Sherlock's body above John’s on the bed, but it was now seat flat on the floor by the side of the bed. 

“Is everything alright in there?” Y/N asked the moment she heard yet another thump.

“Go answer her,” John whispered to Sherlock. In response, Sherlock glared at John from the ground. He wasn’t about to let John bark orders around, especially since he lost the bed to John. 

“Sherlock? John?” 

John briefly looked at the door before hissing at Sherlock to get up and open the door for Y/N. 

Clenching his jaw, Sherlock brushed himself off and walked over to the door before opening it.

“I heard some banging noises and I–” Y/N said as she walked into the room. Then she caught sight of the condition of the sheets and the dishevelled state of, both, John and Sherlock. “Oh…umm, never mind.” 

John’s face grew a bright red. “Not what you think. Just fighting over who got the bed, that’s all.” 

Y/N couldn’t help the fit of giggles that came from her mouth. “Right,” She sarcastically said. “Anyways, I was coming to say the room that I’m in has two beds. I think we mixed up the key cards.” 

Sherlock and John shared a brief look of embarrassment with each other as they both realized this entire scenario could have been solved with a quick word with Y/N. They’d both happily be in bed if it weren’t for their desire to win. 

“I’ve already got this bed,” John blurted. “Sherlock can take the other bed. If that’s alright with you, Y/N.” 

Y/N was caught off guard by John’s proposal and she became a stuttering mess. “Um, yeah–totally. I’m totally fine with it. With–yeah.” 

The mere thought of what John had proposed sent a brilliant blush to Sherlock and Y/N’s cheeks; an expression that only John got to bear witness of. John smiled smugly at Sherlock as he motioned for him to take his bag and follow Y/N back to her room. 

______

Sherlock had settled quite well into the extra bed in the hotel room that he was sharing with Y/N. He both cursed and thanked John for providing him with this opportunity to be near her. Something was triggered in Sherlock the night that Y/N confessed her discontent with her current relationship and boyfriend. It gave him hope, and hope was a dangerous thing. A hope that burned bright enough for John to catch on. It was a phenomenon that irked Sherlock. He wasn’t one to be easily read. He prided himself on keeping his thoughts and emotions on a tight lip. Yet here was John Watson acting as Sherlock Holmes himself with his ability to deduce his friend. Sherlock was regretting giving John training in observational skills. 

Y/N sat on her bed and sheepishly played with the sleeve of her nighties. Her eyes were cast down to the carpet covering the floor. “I’m going to head to bed,” Y/N stated. 

Sherlock gulped and nodded. Why was he feeling nervous? “Alright,” was Sherlock’s only reply. 

“Are you not going to bed?” Y/N found herself asking. 

Sherlock’s breath hitched at Y/N’s words. He couldn’t think about her. He wouldn’t allow himself to recall how peaceful she was when she slept. He refused to think about how warm her body was as he carried her into his bed during the case of the Blind Banker. His breath quickened as he sought something else to distract his mind with. “...I–the code. I’ll be working on the code.”

“No,” Y/N uttered. Her eyes widened at her abruptness. “I mean–It’s late Sherlock. We had an eventful day. You need to rest if you are going to solve this case and help the Cubitt family.”

Sherlock watched as Y/N began to fiddle with her hands. Her gaze avoided Sherlock’s. He had to admit that she was speaking with reason. Every word of hers was justified, yet Sherlock fear his sleep. He dread the thoughts that his mind would produce as he lay there waiting for sleep to take over. He scorned himself for knowing the dreams the sandman would give him that night in the proximity of her. Sherlock had to keep his mind busy and distracted; never giving it the chance to think of her. However, she had told him that it was best to sleep. She had spoken to him while his mind was not yet distracted by the code. She had broken through his defences and Sherlock now must admit defeat. So Sherlock nodded his head and pulled back the covers of his bed. He settled between the sheets and reached an arm to switch off the light beside his bed. 

“Goodnight,” he whispered to Y/N as she did the same as him. 

He could hear her breathing come to a calming pace. In and out. In and out it went. With each breath into Y/N’s lungs, Sherlock’s mind grew restless. He couldn’t think or dream of her even if it was all he seemed to do these days. So Sherlock would wait. He would wait until Y/N fell asleep. He would wait until he knew he would disturb her sleep and arise from the bed. He’d open his computer and work on the code. After all, the code was the key to the case. Sherlock would be one step closer to solving the case if he broke the code. 

______

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Tag list: @bartokthealbinobat​ @biggerthancalli13​ @themartiansdaughter​ @sunsumonner @silversword7000​ @starlightaurorab​ @melody7​ @astudyinlaura​ @sherlockstrangewolf @neroarrow83​ @khaleesihavilliard

Also, I linked cyphers for the Dancing Men code if anyone would like to try their hand at solving the code alongside Sherlock.

Dancing Men Cipher - Sherlock Holmes Code - Online Decoder, Translator (dcode.fr)

Dancing Men Cipher - decoder, translator | Boxentriq

_____

[lawyeryuri]

[WIP] im actually soooo happy with this like its literally my guys

[ID: a pencil sketch of herlock sholmes and yujin mikotoba. sholmes' hands are visible, and he digs through the persian slipper on the mantel. the mirror on the mantel reflects holmes in his dressing gown looking at mikotoba with a soft expression on his face. mikotoba adjusts his cufflinks, looking tired. the room behind them is also fully rendered. /End ID.]

[tcbefearless]

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[lisbeth-kk]

My god, this is gorgeous 🫠

DANCING IN 221B

Hey lovely people! I have completed my drawing of John and Sherlock softly dancing in 221b. As in my other drawings, I used tan paper, with red pencil, black pencil and white gouache. These designs really have therapeutic power for my soul!

Right under here you can see a pair of photos of the work in progress.

Shameful Tagging and spamming, I want my fluffy stuff to be seen!

@anotherwellkeptsecret @crobabies @inevitably-johnlocked @ineffableuser @incurablylazydevil @onesmallfamily @love-in-mind-palace @finalproblem @just-sort-of-happened @victorianpining @free-martinis @fluffbyday-smutbynight @nitaelwyart @simplyclockwork @conversationswithjohnlock @totallysilvergirl @therealsaintscully @kotoinari @khorazir @calaisreno @podfixx @7-percent @88thparallel

[anmaje]

I have so many Thoughts about S&co Sherlock Holmes, so have my headcanons:

- He was raised, at least partially, by his grandparents. Maybe by the french, maternal grandmother(NAVA). His oldtimey poshness is wonderful, but I can only explain it with some oldmoney, eccentric pensionist giving him a weirdly free, yet emotionally constipated upbringing.

- The houseplants of 221b and a are in pristine health because of him.

- He doesn't have any actual diagnoses. This is basically canon, but I'm putting it on here anyways. He doesn't, but Mycroft does. It's the classic instance of the more "severe case" or "more affected" sibling getting the help they need. And the symptoms of the other "less affected" sibling are overlooked. He also self medicates, which makes sense if he doesn't have access to prescription meds.

- He only wears clothes that fit. Oversized or skinny styles are the inventions of Satan himself. They're straight from sensory hell, and Sherlock agrees with me. He's very picky with fabrics too, preferring natural to synthetic. He detests wool against his skin though, so he wears tights, or long underwear beneath wool trousers in winter. He also gets a lot of clothes adjusted or made by a tailor(Who also did his grandparent's tailoring).

- He shaves his legs and armpits aswell as his face every day.

- If you ask him about his sexuality/gender identity you'll get a "that's none of your business". If John asked him, he'd get a "labels limit the vast expanse of the human experience". In truth he doesn't fucking know, it's weird and muddy, like the rest of his identity. He's read every book on the subject, watched so much porn, had a lot of one night stands, but ultimately comes up with: sex and relationships get in the way of my work, so I'll ignore that. Gender is a social construct, so I get to decide what a man is. And I'm queer, I guess.

- Dogperson

- He plays Mendelsohn for John, like in the canon. Not because John has asked him to(John doesn't know who Mendelsohn is), but because he's made a careful study to garner John's reaction to different composers. He's been doing the same with Mariana, and is slowly but surely honing in on Mozart. Both of these composers bore him, but he doesn't care when it's for his friends <3

- Despite not liking to dance (solitary cyclist part 2), he's very good! He was forced to do ballet and ballroom dancing as a kid. He's mustering up the courage to ask Mariana to dance salsa with him on their next pub escapade, but he always puts it off.

-FRECKLES. A LOT OF 'EM.

[joanquill]

Sherlock with Moriarty's Younger Sister II

What it's like being the younger sister of the Moriartys and meeting Sherlock Holmes. Continuation of "Sherlock with Moriarty's Younger Sister".

A/N: Sorry this took so long :') Tag/s: Fem!Reader, Familial Relationship, and maybe romance? maybe

During your afternoon stroll with Moneypenny, Sherlock was quick to catch you with Watson by his side.

Moneypenny, however, was quick to shut the whole operation, excusing you both by saying you are needed back home.

Sherlock attempted to walk you home, but Watson quickly pulled him back, apologizing for Sherlock's assertive behavior and bid you goodbye.

While walking back home, you couldn't help but laugh while Moneypenny was sighing, advising you not to meet with the great detective so often.

Being alone with a man was dangerous enough, especially with your position as a noblewoman with high society's eyes on you.

You reassured her, saying it will not hinder William's plans and you can take care of yourself and your image.

Unfortunately, it seems this reached the ears of your brothers before you even stepped inside the manor.

You sighed as you braced yourself for your brothers' lectures.

Even police interrogations don't feel as heavy or last as long as this.

Once you confirmed that Sherlock talked to you, Louis made you bathe, saying it was to decontaminate you.

If air fresheners were invented, Louis definitely sprayed your whole body with it, removing every trace of Sherlock on you.

They made sure that you didn't have any cuts or injuries, even though you were just taking a walk with Moneypenny.

You just said he tried talking to you since you were a Moriarty but assured them that you didn't do or say anything suspicious.

Luckily, Moneypenny helped you and took your side.

After that, your brothers let it go but still told you to avoid the man.

Unfortunately, your brothers took it upon themselves to be your bodyguard.

Whether you're walking in the gardens, reading in the library, or even just drinking tea in your room, at least one of your brothers is by your side.

Even the letters or gifts you receive get checked by them, mostly by Louis.

Marriage proposals get burned, shredded, ripped, or straight to the trash. Most of them never even got into your hands, let alone to your knowledge.

Whenever you make a public appearance, Albert is always there and dances with you, leaving no room for other men to ask you to the dance floor.

Some of the noble ladies even coo at how protective Albert was of you, saying how sweet of an older brother he was.

You can only give them an empty smile and stop your tongue from lashing out.

You even tried to deliver lunch to William to get on his good side and hopefully light up the security around you, but it just got the opposite effect.

Now, even his students send you letters and flowers in the mail.

You can only apologize in your head as you watch William prepare their examinations with dark fire surrounding him.

Louis is the one who stays by your side the most, assigning you to the same chores he has.

Whenever he needs to buy something from the market, either Sebastian or Fred goes with you two.

Whenever you feel it's too much, you usually spend time with Fred in the gardens, go for a drink with Sebastian, or have tea with Bonde, Moneypenny, and Master Jack.

They have tried to help you, defending your case, but your brothers are relentless.

Seeing as there is little to no hope of changing their minds, you put on your disguise and decide to run away.

You DID leave a note, though.

But you can only smile when you see Sherlock's shocked expression when you end up on the doorstep of 221B Baker Street.

As much as you hate people using power and money for selfish gains, you can only do so much with your brothers watching your every movement.

You paid Miss Hudson in full for renting a room for three days, which she happily accepted and welcomed you with open arms.

When you got inside, you didn't expect to be staying in the room right next to Sherlock and Dr. Watson's, but it's better than staying in the manor for now.

You jumped onto the bed and sighed, physically and emotionally tired from the day.

Before you could even unpack, you heard someone knocking on the window.

There, you saw a frantic Fred outside, trying to get your attention.

You opened the window and listened to him, but you were determined to stay there until your brothers let you have your freedom--despite how childish it is to run away at your age.

Seeing you were resolved to stay, Fred left to let your brothers know you were safe.

Seeing as you were their new neighbor, Dr. Watson tried to greet you as politely as possible while Sherlock glared at you from behind, earning a smack on the head from Miss Hudson.

You greeted them back with a courteous smile, reassuring them that you would only be staying for a short time.

You did your best not to bump into the two men, keeping to yourself in your room and only leaving to cook, eat, and go to the market.

Sherlock has tried to visit and talk to you, seeing as this is a rare chance to meet the elusive sister of the Moriartys.

But Miss Hudson made sure no one would bother her new tenant while Dr. Watson made sure his book's titular character would not cause a scandal.

Seeing as how your presence was causing trouble (because of Sherlock), you decided to invite them for tea.

As usual, you kept your answers short and precise, not giving Sherlock the answers he wanted while also asking questions yourself.

"For a noble lady, you sure have little to no suitors, huh?"

"Why? Would you like to be one?"

"I have no interest in women,"

"I believe Miss Irene Adler stayed at your place?"

"...And where did you hear that?"

"Gossip seems to travel faster than papers,"

Before you could finish your cup, Miss Hudon walked inside with Paterson behind her.

Your brothers apparently filed a missing person report.

Dr. Watson swore he saw the air around you grow heavy and dark for a split second.

Seeing as they have now gotten the police involved, you said your farewells and went home with Paterson.

Knowing your brothers, they would have sent the MI6 next...

[darlingdekarios]

dance in the winter.

rating: explicit. 18+ only. length: 2,937 content: Sherlock Holmes x f!reader, porn with plot, smut [fingering - receiving, oral - receiving, unprotected p in v], kink(s) [praise, hair pulling], fluff

though he tried to restrain himself, it was useless – when he avoided you, circumstance always brought you crashing back into him. as he climbed the stairs to 221B Baker Street, he supposed this was one of those times as well.

Eight days, seven hours, and thirty-four minutes ago Sherlock Holmes had been persuaded by way of your fluttering eyelashes to take on one final case before Christmas, though against his better judgment he hardly needed convincing when it came to you. He’d met you months ago now through his sister and, despite himself, he’d found plenty of excuses to intersect his path with yours. The way you had burrowed into his mind was often infuriating, the way he had permeated your mind dizzying.

It was impossible to ignore the growing affection between the two of you – even Enola had remarked on it to you weeks ago and though you were a convincing liar, she was better at reading you. Sherlock’s behavior spoke for itself, Enola thought – the sheer fact he could be seen with you enough times to constitute a pattern meant he enjoyed your company, and for Sherlock that was enough of a compliment and revelation.

Though no one had pushed for an answer, everyone who knew both of you knew the energy that came with the both of you, and the assumption that you two had acted on those feelings would not be unfounded. Several times now, in fleeting and molten moments, Sherlock had kissed you breathless and reverent. Though he tried to restrain himself, it was useless – when he avoided you, circumstance always brought you crashing back into him. As he climbed the stairs to 221B Baker Street, he supposed this was one of those times as well.

“Eight days, seven hours, and thirty-eight minutes spent on your case,” he proclaimed as he closed his watch, tucking it away before fixing his gaze on you. “Only to follow clues to my own home, and to find you waiting for me.”

You waited for him with a smile on your face, sprawled against the worn fabric of his chaise in a dress you knew distracted him, the depth of its color bringing out the best in yours. He closed the door behind himself, dropping his cane beside the door and removing his jacket as he regarded you with analytic eyes.

“I’m afraid I deduced the crime before you, Mister Holmes,” you taunted, eyes sparkling in the crackling firelight coming from the fireplace near you. He closed some of the distance toward you as you spoke, causing you to raise to be seated before him in politeness, though you wished to cherish the way he hungrily eyed you as you lay before him. “I have been waiting here for the thief to return.”

“I assume you’ve decided it’s me,” he assessed, clasping his hands behind his back to resist the urge to reach out and push a stray hair from your face. 

“Yes, Sherlock, I’m afraid you are the thief, and you’ve stolen something very dear to me,” you mused, raising your hand to push the hair from your face instead, almost as if you were further taunting him. “I should hope you return it at once.”

“And what is it I’m accused of stealing?”

“My mind, dear detective,” you sighed, raising to your feet and standing close enough to him that he could make out the details of your face. “All of my sense. I demand you return it at once, I simply cannot pass another day in this state.”

A lazy smile passed his features, one that he gifted to you in privacy, entrusted you with in secret. You etched this one to memory just as the others.

“So, all this week while I have been uncovering clues and following trails,” he began, finally reaching forward to grasp one of your hands. Almost delicately he lifted it, pressing a kiss to your fingers before continuing. “They were all left by you.”

You nodded, fire engulfing your cheeks under his investigative eyes now burning into yours with something genuine and fierce.

“Hmm,” he mused, lowering your hand to rest against his chest as his own fingers traced along your jaw. “Who helped you?”

“I’m offended you think I would need help, Sherlock Holmes,” you quipped, noticing the twitch at the corners of his mouth in amusement. It crossed your mind he likely asked the question purely to antagonize you, though your pride insisted you assert your efforts. “It was me alone.”

“Of course it was,” he nodded, grasping your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Though if you wanted my attention so badly, you hardly needed a game.”

“But you love a good game, or so I’ve heard,” you remarked, eyes light and playful. He had to appreciate that you could hold this back-and-forth with him without losing your footing, the mental dance you’d been in for months now fulfilling a deep need in his mind. “I enjoyed dancing with you.” 

His lips crashed to yours with bruising weight, the time since your last kiss finally settling into Sherlock and building the desire he felt for you. His hands found way to your lower back to hold you closer, covering himself in the warmth of you and swallowing the quiet sigh that passed your lips. The grasp he held on your dress revealed his satisfaction at having you so near again.

Eagerness would never spoil gentle intent. He carefully worked the laces of your gown free, pushing the heavy fabric to the floor when it had loosened adequately and immediately grasping your waist again. He released your mouth from his kiss to run his eyes over your body, his pink tongue swiping against his bottom lip in appreciation and to savor the taste of your lips.

“Lay down,” he instructed while motioning back to the chaise with one hand, releasing his hold on you to admire as you stepped back and listened with a meek nod. Eventually he’d tell you how amusing it was when you became bashful for him, but the comment could wait. Once you were comfortable again, he sank to his knees before you, reaching to pull the undergarments that covered you still with an appreciative hum before discarding them in the pile with your dress.

“Such a clever girl,” he complimented, leaning forward to press his lips to the side of your knee to encourage your legs apart. You listened without him needing to ask aloud, releasing a shaky breath as the cold air of the room passed over your heated core. “This is what you wanted, hmm?”

You could only nod as his fingers ran through your folds, teasing your soaked entrance lightly before running the digits back toward your clit, rubbing a well-intended circle around the already swollen nub. “You like when I praise you,” he remarked, like he was announcing his findings for notetaking. You supposed a man like him likely did keep mental notes. “Let’s find out what else you like.”

His head disappeared between your thighs then, his tongue replacing his fingers to eagerly taste what your arousal had to offer. A low sound rumbled in his chest in appreciation as his hands grasped your thighs, spreading your legs more so he could bury his face in your core, his tongue slipping into your cunt to massage your velvet walls. He was gifted with an unimaginable symphony of sounds from your lips as you fought to hold some composure and he fought to melt it away, connecting his thumb to your clit soon after. 

He felt the flutter to your walls and swapped his movements, reaching to take your swollen nub into his lips with a firm suck as he slipped a finger into you, curling it to massage the sensitive patch behind your clit. Your hips began to move to meet his face and hand desperately as your walls clenched, white hot euphoria washing over you as your fingers flung to his hair, pulling the wind-blown mess of curled locks in overwhelmed passion. 

Though you were in the throes of pleasure you heard the hefty groan that left his chest as he drank your orgasm from you, currently uncaring for tidiness and finding enjoyment in the mess you made of his lower face. When he was certain he’d carried you through it he removed himself from you, standing and displaying the obvious tent in his pants as he offered a hand to you. You took his hand without question, rising to meet him and lean against his wide torso for support. Finding your voice, however, was a task all in itself.

“Where are we going?” 

“My bedroom,” he replied, slipping an arm around your waist to lead you down the hall to the named room. While you knew the room existed, you had always assumed it remained empty…you had certainly never seen him use it before.

“Since when do you use your bedroom?”

“Since Enola made me find a flat mate,” he replied, sending a glance your way as he opened the door and gestured for you to enter. He followed behind immediately, pulling you back against him to press a kiss beneath your ear. “It’s not important right now.”

He turned you gently to claim your lips again, reaching behind his back to close the bedroom door before working himself free of his own clothes. You released a content sigh against his lips, pressing your bare skin to his to soak in his warmth and enjoy the feeling of him against you. When all that remained was his undergarments, he was offering you a taste of yourself with his tongue in your mouth, kissing you in ways that could be written of. 

To his amusement when he released you from his kiss a whimper slipped from your lips at the loss, and he satiated your disappointment with another gentle kiss before bumping his nose against yours. 

“You should have asked if this is what you wanted,” he remarked, offering a light smile when your eyes met his. If you wanted a game to play, Sherlock was the master of such matters, a painful reminder that fueled his mind. “Practice for me.”

“W-what?”

“Practice asking,” he instructed, trailing his kisses to brush along your jaw and to your neck. Infuriatingly, and perhaps admirably, he remembered the exact spots he needed to make you gasp, the perfect pressure to leave you breathless. He asked too much and knew it to be true, though he still insisted. “Perfect it.”

“Sherlock, please,” you whined as he backed you toward his bed, helping you lower down carefully to the cold sheets. Thankfully the cold was chased away by his warmth as he joined you, crawling between your legs and kissing up your chest slowly. “Don’t torment me, I want you so badly. Please.”

“I should make you wait,” he sounded too pleased with himself, too entertained by the desperate hitch in your breath and subtle shake to your legs as you wrapped them around his waist, eager to bring him closer. 

“Please…”

“Patience,” he reminded, sliding his hand down your body as he pressed an infuriatingly chaste kiss to your lips as he slipped two fingers into you. “Are you always this wet?”

“Often…when I’m near you,” you replied hurriedly, hips raising to meet his hand, desperate for anything he would offer you. He raised his head to drink in your expression, mentally noting the different hue to your cheeks and weight to your eyes. Seeing your body respond to him was science, learning the different ways to push you toward bliss a newfound task in his mind.

“Hmm,” he mused carefully, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes, Sherlock, please,” you whimpered as he curled his fingers again slowly, taking in your pleading expression as you continued. “No more games, please.”

He removed his fingers from you to grasp his throbbing cock, rubbing your slickness over himself before sliding the velvety head through your folds. With one last look for confirmation to your face met with a nod and whimper from you he slowly pressed into you inch by inch, holding you closer and claiming your lips again in a focused kiss. When he bottomed out and grasped your hips to hold you closer what were normally calculated kisses faltered slightly as your walls fluttered around him, the stretch to accommodate him making you feel almost too full but pulling a delicious moan from your chest.

When he moved it was as though he had been choreographing the movements in his mind nonstop for weeks…and perhaps he had with the way he seemed to massage every inch of you perfectly with each thrust. Your legs remained tight around his waist, holding him to you so he couldn’t withdraw further than you’d allow him – which he was more than happy to oblige. Focused on bringing you to the edge again the only noises that left Sherlock now were quiet groans in appreciation when you clenched around him, a low gasp falling from his lips when you pulled his hair again slightly. 

It was then when the lava returned to your core, bubbling under his mercury eyes and leaving your lips as a cry of his name. Your walls clenched around him tightly as you reached another orgasm, eyes squeezing tight as you bit into your kiss swollen bottom lip. It was then he found the words for you again.

“You look extraordinary like this…in my bed,” he complimented, his thrusts beginning to falter. You squeezed him tighter with your legs to encourage him to stay, a request he was more than happy to accommodate with a sloppy few final thrusts before his hot seed emptied into you. As he rode out the remainder of his spend, he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, sliding one of his hands into yours and lacing your fingers together. 

You wondered if he would always find ways to take you by surprise. 

He was conscious not to linger, removing himself from you and pressing another kiss to your forehead before retreating to his living room, returning with your undergarments in hand. His hair was tousled from your desperation to grasp something and clung to the thin layer of sweat on his forehead, cheeks red. As you admired him you reached your arms toward him as he replaced your undergarments after running a clean cloth through your folds, discarding it to the floor to handle later.

He found his place beside you then, resting on his back and pulling you close to hold you for a moment, willing to relax now that you were cared for. His hands ran carefully along your stomach as he held you, pressing gentle kisses to the top of your head repeatedly to silently thank you for what had transpired. His gentle movements brought you to relaxation soon, raising your head to press a gentle kiss to his jaw. 

“Merry Christmas, Sherlock,” you cooed, repeating the kiss and causing a brief shudder to ripple up his back. 

“Mm,” came a low rumbled reply in his chest before he lowered his head to claim your lips again, aware that he needed to lighten it slightly to accommodate for the swollen bruise to your lips already. 

He held you that way for some time, allowing you to rest and enjoy the serenity of closeness to Sherlock in the afterglow of connecting with one another so deeply. Sherlock took advantage of the peaceful, quiet hours of the night to match it with little conversation as well, instead focusing his efforts on soothing your body and showing his appreciation and adoration. When you began to match his affections with soft kisses and nuzzles with your nose he opted to continue, pressing a kiss to your forehead before standing from the bed.

He reached beside the bed slowly to retrieve a robe, wrapping you in the fabric you recognized as one he wore frequently before replacing some of his clothes – whatever was necessary to move about the apartment with some decency. When you’d tied the robe he offered his hand to you, helping you rise from the bed and supporting you against him just as he had before. Even Sherlock had to admit the fulfilled swell to his chest at seeing you glowing because of him while dressed in his clothes.

“Come where it’s warm by the fire, dearest,” he offered in a tender tone, leading you back to the living room and helping you lower back into the chaise. 

While any ordinary time with any ordinary person you may have simply gone to bed, what was unfolding with Sherlock was anything but ordinary. Instead, you found yourself wrapped in his robe, draped across his chaise, and bathed in the golden morning glow as Sherlock took his place with violin in hand, playing you soothing and delicate songs. It was not long for you to be lulled into a heavy sleep by his music and for Sherlock’s flat mate to follow the sound of a violin so early in the morning. 

“Morning, Sherlock,” John greeted, adjusting his own robe carefully as he entered the room. “I see you found our guest.”

“Did you let her in, John?”

“I did. Did you tell her you figured it out days ago?”

Fondness pooled in Sherlock’s eyes at the question, and the lightest traces of a smile twitched his lips upward at the thought. He glanced away from your face just long enough to properly regard John, shaking his head astutely before returning his gaze to you. John knew the answer before Sherlock confirmed it.

“No.”

Rather than press the topic of the Christmas miracle unfolding before him, John elected to fix morning tea.

masterlist.

[lisbeth-kk]

Learning to bend 🫠

Fluffbruary - "Ballet"

@fluffbruary Day 23

When they first met, John thought that ballet was only for the upper class to which he definitively did not belong; a snobby, pretentious form of art. Sherlock thought that tap was a clunky, primitive parody of dance, the equivalent of cavemen and clubs.

Strange circumstances brought them together, forced them into the same room for hours at a time. At first all they could do was sneer and insult, both of them somehow managing to look down their noses at each other. Slowly, each of them began to see the art in the other’s dance: John saw the grace, strength, and flexibility needed for ballet, and Sherlock saw the precision, power, and imagination required for tap.

The first time they danced together, it was electric.

In time, they found ways to borrow from each other’s skill set – improvisation and planning, languorous  and accurate, joy and pain.

They began to work together. At first, they simply danced side by side; but in time they tried borrowing steps from the other’s training and background, creating a fluid new thing that was both tap and ballet and neither; something that was entirely, uniquely, John and Sherlock’s.

No one who attends the premiere new, jointly-choreographed production tonight will understand the magnitude of what they will see: a celebration of two men, learning to bend.

Read the rest here!

Let me know if you want to be tagged.

Fluffbruary 2023 tags

@totallysilvergirl

@thegildedbee

@weneedtotalkaboutfic

@hubblegleeflower

@shirleycarlton

@amindamazed

@pippn-frodo

@addictedstilltheaddict

@daringlydomestic

@pipmer

@otter-von-bismarck

@onwallsjcfwrites

@peanitbear

@missdeliadili

@topsyturvy-turtely

@debzwez

@dw91165

@safedistancefrombeingsmart

@lisbeth-kk

@ratherbethedragon

@thegirlfromthesouth

@mxster-jocale

@ohnoesnotagain

@whodwantmeasaflatmate

@copperplatebeech

@macgyvershe

@rudithewarrior

@helloliriels

[stoatallybored]

When nothing interesting is going on at 221B, Herlock Sholmes entertains everybody with a Dance of Deduction!

Another drawing for Ace Attorney Aspec Week - Day 3: Investigation! Using this opportunity to spread my AroRuno propaganda @aspec-ace-attorney

(...Sure hope this doesn't spark some sort of identity crisis that I end up posting an entire fanfiction about)

Bonus!

[buckingham-ashtray]

The Invisible Clubber........................ SMILING. CAN'T STOP SMILING. LIFE SO HAPPY. LOVE. LOVE LIFE. BEAT GETTING FASTER. CAN'T STOP SMILING. NOW JUST HARMONY. NO BEAT. MELODY. STOP MOVING. SMILE TO THE SKY. ALL STANDING STILL. BEAUTIFUL. NEVER BEEN SUCH HARMONY IN ALL HISTORY. WANT TO KISS EVERYONE. THEY WANT TO KISS ME. BREATHE IN. BREATHE OUT.................

Sebastian's Story.......... Sometimes I wonder what it'll be like to die. I'll find myself drifting off, staring at something, anything and I'll stop blinking. I feel my whole body slowing down... My heartbeat... And I wonder how long it'll be broken

*Sorry that I couldn't find the source where I got this from and have no idea when this was released. If anyone has the link I will be very glad to insert it!

[helloliriels]

One More Time (With Feeling)

"Are you sure?" Sherlock eyed the familiar street with wonder.

"Completely sure." The man behind him in the big blue box smiled. He was leaning over Sherlock's shoulder, trying to get a peek ... "This the moment?" he asked, grinning wider.

"This was ... this was it," Sherlock stammered. His feet betrayed him, already eagerly stepping out of the box and onto the cobblestone pavement.

He made it two steps towards Angelo's before the thought struck him. "What if he doesnt-?"

"-Want you?!" The man mocked incredulity, shaking his head, "trust me ... you're irresistible." Then he shut the doors of the Tardis, and Sherlock had to move or risk being seen.

He took a deep breath, then heard the whir of the machine disappearing behind him.

This was it.

.

Sherlock straightened his suit jacket, running his fingers through his messy curls and ... decided to take the jacket off and make himself appear as much like his younger self as possible.

Next ... he shot a text to himself. Waiting until that Sherlock was out of the way in the loos, he stole into the same seat beside John.

"So ... you have a girlfriend?" John was just asking.

Perfect timing.

. ... God, how much he had missed this John!

. eager, and open, and .... waiting ... ?

.

"Not really my area." he answered, swallowing his fears.

He feigned interest out the window, keeping his minds-eye firmly fixed on John. Trying to capture and record every minute detail of this precious moment.

"Oh," John took a bite, and then looked up again quickly, "Oh? You ... have a boyfriend, then?"

Sherlock's eyes flitted towards John's despite his best efforts.

"Which is fine, of course!" John hurried to add.

"Of course it's fine," Sherlock answered, suddenly needing water. He took a deep drink and caught his eyes drifting back to meet John's.

"So you have a boyfriend?" John asked.

Hurried pulse. Short breaths.

John had even licked at his lips when he spoke, like he was nervous ... afraid to ask? ... how had he not noticed before ... ?

"Nope," Sherlock replied, deepening his voice to a purr. The effect was not lost on John ...

Dilated eyes.

. Cheeks turning rosy.

. Slight shift in his seat ...

"Not unless ... you are applying for the job?" Sherlock asked unconcerned, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt.

John was watching his neck ... his pulse. Licking his lips again. His breathing hitched. Heavy.

This was hardly a fair game.

.

"Maybe we should go?" he asked, extending his hand.

Suddenly John rose with him.

Then hesitated.

"Did we need to-" John looked out the window, "... your murderer?" he asked, genuinely concerned they would let a criminal roam free if they left? It was adorable.

"Oh ... just passing the time," Sherlock reassured him with a dismissing wave of his hand, "it was a long-shot he would appear." Then ... as much as he wanted to stay and enjoy what followed ...

. Decided ...

He'd better go tell his younger, idiotic self .... the chances he was throwing away if he did not continue.

He would be understanding.

"Let me settle the bill," he lied, excusing himself to see John eagerly already out the door pacing back and forth with a smile on his face.

(psst! ... more is beneath cut!) - Liri

"You made it home, love?" John was smiling at him in a knowingly ... achingly ... more-than familiar way ... ?

"Did you ... miss me?" Sherlock asked cautiously, entering 221B. He closed the door behind him and stood with his back pressed against it.

Present Day.

Safely returned from his time-travel adventures.

He hoped.

"Did I miss you ...?!" John laughed. He was already taking Sherlock's hands in his, and sweeping him into the room.

Deftly, he danced them both around to the fireplace ... like this was just something they did, and had done ... a million times before?

Sherlock lost himself in the movement. Closing his eyes and enjoying the sensation that was John Watson, held in his arms.

He had only once before been able to steal that pleasure; Beneath the pretense of 'teaching John to dance'.

When at last, dazed, and more than pleasantly bewildered, they stopped swaying ... Sherlock dared to open his eyes.

A happy sigh escaped John's lips. Making him look even more ... irresistible?

"I take it you missed me too?" John teased. Pulling Sherlock down for a soft, delicious kiss. Sherlock melted into his arms. Giving John everything he had pent up inside of him, since leaving his younger self to carry on with the night before them ...

John's eyes opened wide as Sherlock finally released him.

"Where did that come from?" he asked, awed.

His fingers were on Sherlock's lips ... memorizing his face ... and then ... wiping a tear from where it traced down Sherlock's pale cheek.

"You have no idea ... how much I've missed," Sherlock replied at long last. His breath hitching against the words he struggled to free.

John kissed him again. More languid ... more painstaking possessive this time ... and Sherlock felt his knees weaken.

"Take me to bed, John?" he asked.

Genuinely wanting to know ... and to feel ...

. What their first time was like ... for himself ... ?

"Oh God, yes," John whispered.

. Leading the way.

..........................................................................................

For @totallysilvergirl request for the Angelo scene and @calaisreno prompt: Do-Over. Plus tossing in one more Doctor: (couldn't resist, mate)

@johnlocky @chinike @rhasima @raina-at @lisbeth-kk @jrow @khorazir @fluffbyday-smutbynight @topsyturvy-turtely @gaylilsherlock @a-victorian-girl @solarmama-plantsareneat @impalaparkedat221b @chriscalledmesweetie @friday411 @ghostofnuggetspast @sgam76 @janetm74 @peanitbear @masterofhounds @missdeliadili @loki-lock @meetinginsamarra @bs2sjh @gomielka @thetimemoves @thegildedbee @iwlyanmw @jobooksncoffee @amyreadsandstresses @kittenmadnessandtea @naefelldaurk @dragonnan @jolieblack @notjustamumj @jawnn-watson @dinner--starving @safedistancefrombeingsmart @weeesi @gregorovitch-adler @inevitably-johnlocked @dapetty @bewitched-bullet @theofficialinternetloner @keirgreeneyes @dontfuckmylifewtf @strawberrywinter4 @thalialunacy

[j-eryewrites]

Arbitrary Lives Spoilers

Sherlock + John + Cluedo + Y/N out of sight = utter chaos, John glued to the floor, Sherlock holding the murder weapon, and a confused client. 

Client: What are you doing? 

Sherlock/John: 

[yujinmikotoba]

Mikotoba headcanons?

oooo okay this is fun!

a couple of these are a little angsty but most of them are fluff, I’m kinda going in chronological order with his canon history here

he and ayame met at yumei university while he was studying to become a doctor and she was studying to become a nurse

they got married quite young (around 19 or 20) though they initially hold off on having children because they’re both focused on going through school

when ayame did get pregnant it wasn’t exactly planned but they were at a stage in their life where they were ready and generally mikotoba was over the moon

however ayame ends up dying in childbirth and mikotoba blames himself for this. he has this idea that because he’s a doctor he should have been able to save her.

this leads him to being passively (and at times actively) suicidal which is the impetus for jigoku forcing him to go on the study tour with him

at the beginning of the study tour mikotoba already knows jigoku well but hasn’t really met genshin before (I have this idea that genshin is slightly older than the both of them) but they become fast friends

genshin is one of the very few people he feels comfortable to talk about the trauma of ayame’s death with

there’s very little time between them arriving in britain and mikotoba moving in with sholmes, only about a month

living with and solving cases with sholmes is the first time he feels truly happy after ayame’s death

I have this idea that mikotoba doesn’t realise how young sholmes is when they first meet, he assumes sholmes is around 22 or 23 then sholmes’ birthday comes around and he casually mentions he’s turning 19 and mikotoba does a comedy style spit take

mikotoba does most of the cooking in the 221b household, he wasn’t much of a cook before this but sholmes’ cooking tends to be… creatively oriented so he quickly learned for both their sakes

because of this, a lot of the dishes he’s most familiar with making are actually western style but when he can/when he’s homesick he tries to make japanese meals too like miso and onigiri but though it’s not always easy to get the necessary ingredients in london

whenever is able to make japanese meals he always gets sholmes to try them and if sholmes likes them (which he often does) mikotoba is literally consumed with happiness for like 3 days straight

he also does most of the housework bc sholmes can never be bothered to clean up after himself he’s really male-wifing mikotoba up

sholmes was mikotoba’s bisexual awakening. I know some people like the idea of him having experience with men before sholmes but I personally think he literally had no clue he could be attracted to men before sholmes

they get together around the third year of living together. it’s all very soft and tender. they’re both a little tipsy and dancing to sholmes’ gramophone and they’re both already in love even though they don’t know that yet and their faces are so close at one point that one of them just leans in and the rest is history

(both swear up and down it was the other who kissed first)

in the early stages of their relationship mikotoba is extremely cautious and apprehensive about their relationship due to various reasons 1) he’s worried about the stigma both social and legal about homosexual relationships especially in england and 2) he feels guilty about falling in love with someone after ayame

but he loves sholmes enough to stay with him and to allow their relationship to blossom into more

he does send letters back to his mother and susato while he’s in england, though not nearly as many as he could have (he’s often paralysed with guilt if he thinks of susato for too long)

though it’s brief the month he spends with iris gives him the confidence that he can actually be a good parent, something he desperately needed when he went back to japan and reintroduced himself to susato

the first year back is really rough, susato basically sees him as a stranger and isn’t very trusting of him

despite this he almost immediately falls in love with her and she very quickly becomes the most important thing in his life

he continues to cook when he’s back in japan and now he has the ability to really hone his skills on japanese style dishes and it becomes quite the hobby of his

he’s very supportive of susato’s interest in becoming kazuma’s legal assistant and buys her her first legal book at 9 and helps her study it

because of his time with sholmes as well as helping susato closely with her study mikotoba knows much more about law than the average citizen and could pretty easily become an attorney himself but ultimately his passion lies with medicine and forensics

[tcbefearless]

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