#enola holmes x character

[ellethespaceunicorn]

Sometimes The Silence Guides A Mind

Title: Sometimes The Silence Guides A Mind

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Fandom: Enola Holmes series

Word Count: 1.7K

Summary: As you were getting close to Sherlock, he stops visiting. You pop over to Baker Street and share an eye-opening moment.

Warnings: age gap(reader is about 20 in this, Sherlock is mid-30s), slight voyeurism, masturbation (male), handjob, unprotected p-in-v sex (wrap it up y’all), creampie

A/N: I’ve been throwing around this idea about Sherlock for quite some time. I hope you enjoy it. Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best.

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist 

You’ve been friends with Enola for a short time, only since the beginning of the year. She’s led you on a few fun adventures, but more often than not, she’s led you on wild goose chases. She has helped you come out of your shell and you are grateful for that. On days that you weren’t exploring the countryside or causing a ruckus in the city, you would lounge around her large house. 

Spending time with her in her large house had its benefits. One of which was 6’1 with a head of unruly curls. The famous Sherlock Holmes was your best friend’s big brother. He lived in the city but came to visit Enola every week. 

You always made sure to be available on those days. If only for the chance to say hello to Sherlock. You wanted more but, truth be told, he made you a bit nervous.

You tried your best to keep calm when he would arrive, but Enola noticed your demeanor change every time. She teased you endlessly about your little crush and you would always bring up Tewkesbury. That would usually shut her up.

In truth, she did not care that you liked her brother, she just didn’t want you to waste your time. The man was not exactly sociable unless he found value in the opinions of others. One opinion he respected was that of his sister. You could sit and watch them talk for hours. She would get him to laugh with her jokes, and he would bring her to annoyance with his riddles.

You would interject a thought here and there and when Sherlock would give his attention to you, you froze. Something about the look in his eyes, it was more than attention. It was intense as if the two of you were the only ones in the world let alone the room.

More than once, Enola had cleared her throat loudly to get you and Sherlock’s attention back on her. But sometimes, she would just listen to you ramble on while Sherlock seemed enthralled in your thoughts. You mused about music and how interesting you thought his cases were. The more you spoke with him, the more comfortable you felt around him. 

Sherlock would show up now and then with little trinkets from his cases. At first, it was just things for Enola, but soon he would start bringing you little gifts as well. He started small with a single flower or a tasty treat from his favorite bakery. But soon, his gifts grew oddly specific. He bought you a brooch you had mentioned seeing at a store in the city. He would learn pieces of music from a composer you talked about and play it for you, much to the chagrin of Enola who wasn’t a fan of the violin.

It was when he didn’t visit for two weeks that you started to realize you were developing feelings for the older detective. You’d come to enjoy his presence and not because of his gifts. You just enjoyed seeing his face light up when he saw you. You relished the power you felt when the normally unflappable and distant man would sit enthralled when you gave voice to your thoughts. 

So, why did it stop so suddenly? Had you done something to offend him? 

You wracked your brain and Enola’s brain for that matter. She gave you his address so you could go and talk to him and she could finally be free of your fretting. 

You arrive at 221 Baker Street, your hands trembling as you knock on the main door. A sweet woman opens the door and introduces herself as Ms. Hudson. When you ask to speak to Sherlock, she sends you up the steps to 221B.

As you’re about to knock, a man opens the door and almost collides with you.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. May I help you, Miss?” 

“Ehm, I’m here to see Mr. Holmes…but I can come back if that’s–” You are cut off when he speaks again.

“You wouldn’t happen to be friends with Enola, would you?” You nod, giving your name, “Of course, Sherlock mentioned you. I’m Dr. John Watson, and I have to be going but you are more than welcome to come in. Sherlock is just in his room down the hall.” He points around the corner from the door and walks past you before waving goodbye.

So, that’s how you end up in Sherlock’s apartment. It is eerily quiet and you think he might be asleep. That is until you hear soft moans coming from down the hall. Your first thought is it must have been the floorboards creaking under your feet.

What you hear next is the unmistakable sound of your name followed by a whimper. It sounded like Sherlock was calling to you, but how would he know you were here already? You walk down the hallway quietly and see that his bedroom door is slightly ajar.

Peeking in, you are blessed with a sight! Sherlock is laid out on his bed with his shirt and waistcoat open, his hairy chest on full display as it rises and falls quickly. His beautiful face constricted in pain one second, solemn and peaceful in the next. His curls are a sweaty mess on his forehead. One hand is fisting the sheets at his side and the other hand is wrapped around his thick veiny dick. You’re mesmerized watching him stroke himself until you hear him moan your name again.

In a moment of bravery, you step into the room. Your bosom heaves in your bodice as you breathe shallowly, adrenaline coursing through your veins. 

His hand stops its ministrations and he looks to you as you walk towards him. He’s frozen on the spot and can only watch you as you climb atop the bed and lay next to him. You replace his hand with yours and continue to pump his dick. Your hand barely fits around him and you enjoy the feel of his soft uncut length in your hand.

His hands come up to caress your face and pull you down for a kiss. When his tongue begs for entry, you allow it in. Heatedly, you mold your mouth to his, letting your moans and whimpers be consumed by him. Breaking the kiss, he looks into your eyes and you can tell he is close.

You remove your hand from him and stand up from the bed. It is only when you remove your undergarments does Sherlock understand why you stopped. Climbing back on the bed, you settle yourself with your cunt dripping onto him.

“I want you to be certain that you–” You cut him off as you slink down, his velvety smoothness sliding inside your wet heat. You take a moment to get used to the sheer size of him. He stretches you almost painfully. Leaning down, you whisper into his ear.

“Do I seem certain, Mr. Holmes?”

Instead of an answer, Sherlock groans and twitches inside you. His hands travel under your skirt and rest on your hips. You take that as a sign and sit up. With your hands on his chest, you begin to ride him slowly, agonizingly to the point where his hands start to guide you to a quicker pace. 

Using you like a ragdoll, he flips you so he is atop you while you are on your back. He slams into you repeatedly and you are no longer in control. He savors the sounds coming from you as he fucks into you. He urges you on as he kisses and licks and nips at your neck, careful not to leave any marks.

Pulling out, he moves you to your hands and knees before inserting himself again. The angle allows him to go deeper and you thank the Gods for it. As he holds onto you, he hammers into you. The filthy utterances that come from his mouth only serve to solidify the notion that he missed you too.

“I knew you would feel like Heaven, my sweet angel…”

“This pretty pussy belongs to me now…”

“You would look so perfect with my cum dripping out of you…”

“I could fuck you all day and night and still never get enough of you…”

“Be my good angel and come all over my cock,” He reaches down and rubs your clit between two fingers as he plows into you. You never stood a chance, your walls quivering around him within moments, “That’s my good girl. So good…for me. Fuck, so close!”

“Sherlock, please! Need you to fill me with all you have to give!” You surprise yourself and your lover with those words. 

Sherlock’s answering grunts as he makes mincemeat of your pussy are music to your ears. His punishing thrusts falter and he pulls you flush to him. He’s deep enough to kiss your cervix with the tip of his dick. You feel him swell inside you and it’s enough to make you climax again, milking him through his release. 

And the noises he makes when he comes are more intricate than the 24 Caprices. You’re sure that Sherlock would disagree but you don’t even care. You revel in the melody of his moans and surrender to its hold on you.

Sherlock’s hands roam over your back, your hips, your ass, and your thighs. As if he can’t get enough of you. He doesn’t pull out until you wiggle your hips, a sign that your legs are tired. Extricating himself from your sensitive folds allows his spend to escape. He catches what slips free and pushes it all back in before helping you lay down on your front.

He lays down next to you, pulling you close to him with one arm while the other rests behind his head. He looks so peaceful as he closes his eyes and hums. The feminine urge for pillow talk is high, but so is the need to just bask in this moment.

You’re in the arms of the man you care for, who also adores you. You rest your cheek on his shoulder and tangle your fingers in his chest hair. You breathe in his smell, his pheromones are surely on high alert from your activity. When he rests his head against yours, you feel at peace.

You do plan on talking to Sherlock later about everything. But, for now, you can take pleasure in the simplicity of the harmonization of your heartbeats.

A/N: The title of this fic is taken from The Neighborhood’s Sweater Weather. There is an amazing violin version of this song by Joel Sunny. And anything violin makes me think of Sherlock.

A/N: Also, I know Ms. Hudson wasn't featured in Enola Holmes, but I love her as a character and I wanted to use her.

**Tag List**

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[hey-its-roseaurum]

Guilty Until Proven Innocent: Part II

A/N: Hello again everyone, it's been a minute. I couldn't post this part until @lainiespicewrites finished her part. This part was fun and extremely difficult to write, so if it ends up being a dumpster fire, then I'm sorry. Hopefully not. Anyway hope you enjoy it and let me know your thoughts.

Synopsis: After the agreement to work with Sherlock, Olivia was given an address to meet and discuss the plan. Once she arrives, she discovers something about Sherlock that not a lot of people get to see.

“221 Baker’s Street.  You didn’t mention that it would be on the second floor Sherlock”  I huffed to myself as I made my way up the stairs.  The night before Sherlock had briefly explained that I had to meet him at a specific location tomorrow.  He said he would give me all the information I needed.  When asked why he couldn’t mention it here, he mentioned he wanted to be safe before revealing crucial details about a case. 

So here I am, trudging up the stairs.  

And I hate every second of it.

But I push through my heavy breathing until I make it to the final step.  It wasn’t until I could breathe evenly that I knocked on the door.

A heavy pause lingered in the air before the door creaked open.

“You’re late.”  A gruff voice sliced the air.  Sherlock stood right in front of me, one hand on the door, the other holding a pipe.  

“Sorry.  I had a hard time finding this place.”  He stepped aside, leaving a glimpse of inside his flat.  A silent invitation.  “You never mentioned that this place was on the second floor.  Those stairs were brutal.”

“One should always have steps, to avoid people stepping on you.”  Sherlock merely stated, his eyes tracking my movements as I passed the threshold into his place.

“Umm…I’m not sure I entirely follow.  But I’m pretty sure-”  I stopped suddenly as my brain caught up with what was happening around me.  The hairs on my neck stood up as I felt my breath catch in my throat.  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

Everything, even parts of the floor was consumed by documents of varying sizes.  Some were folded, some were ripped.  There were even some with tea stains.  Not one seat, save for one in the middle of the flat, wasn’t covered by some degree.

How can someone live, let alone work, in a place like this?

One of my main pet peeves is cleanliness.  It’s been instilled in me ever since I was able to move.  My mother always said that a clean house is a clear mind.  I tried my best to make my home as clean and decluttered as I could; even when I was at the small cottage.

But to see someone as put together on the outside live in such a state, especially someone like Sherlock Holmes,   says something about their mind…

I bit my bottom lip and drew my attention away from the mess and towards the smoke trailing behind Sherlock.  It took everything in my power to distract myself

“So…what is it that you need me to do exactly?”

Sherlock had traveled to the other side of the flat, completely avoiding the papers.  He puffed on his pipe, his face strained in thought. 

“There is a performance at The Reform tonight.  It appears to be a central location that the suspect likes to visit.  His latest victim had been a showgirl.  I need you to go in and see if you can retrieve any belongings of the two victims.”  My eyebrows creased together in question.

“Pardon?  Two questions.  You mentioned ‘latest victim’.  There’s more than one victim.  Why has it not been mentioned in the newspapers?  Two, if I go in, how do we know that their belongings are still there?  They could be gone by now.”  

“Due to the budget of the showroom and the amount of performers it takes to run a show, the items won’t be touched.  The show requires six performers to perform without any hindrance.  So far the show has five currently.  It will not run unless they have the right number of people to perform all of the acts.  The police haven’t connected the string of murders to one suspect yet.  They believe that there is no connection and no motive between the two.”  So there has been another murder, but it hasn’t been revealed to the public.  Why?  

It doesn’t make sense.  There was only one mention of a death that had claimed to be murder, at least from what I can recall.  The only other thing that has been repeatedly mentioned is about a new entertainment business coming to London.  It had been on the front page three consecutive times.  But the murders and the entertainment show can’t be connected, can they? 

“Olivia, have I lost you?”  Sherlock’s voice grew in my ears like thunder in a growing storm, shocking me out of my thoughts.

“NO!….no.”  I jerked my gaze to meet his.  My eyes trailed back to the ground and focused on each paper.  It took most of my attention to avoid stepping on any of the documents on the ground.  “Please continue.”  Sherlock stared at me momentarily, taking a puff of his pipe before continuing.

“I’ll need you to pose as one of the new dancers hired for the show.  You will be given access to their belongings.  Look for any personal belongings related to the victim, acquire them, and exit before the show begins.  Do you have any questions?”

“One question actually, um…if there are five performers and I’m posing as the sixth one, what is stopping the showrunner from putting me in the actual performance?”  I felt a slight quiver in my voice when the question left my lips.  My nerves felt like they were beginning to light on fire, and my breathing quickened with each passing thought of having to go on a stage.  

“Because there is a sixth performer.  You are to get in and leave before they arrive. Try not to run into them before you get what you need.”

“Oh…ok, great.”  I swallowed hard, feeling my anxiety growing.  How am I supposed to know what I’m supposed to grab?  I don’t know anything about the victim.  What if I take the wrong item?  What if I can’t even make it inside?  Even if I make it inside, there’s no guarantee that I won’t get caught.  If I did then everything would be for naught.  I’d end up in jail with no money to get bailed out.  I would let the victims’ families down, and let the murderer have another chance to strike.  Worst of all, I’d have the greatest detective in the world disappointed in me and regret ever allowing me to work with him.  

Keep it together Olivia.

“You look troubled.  What is it?”  His words sounded far away with the ringing in my ears.  I swallowed hard, trying to keep my composure.

“It’s nothing.  It’s not pertaining to the case.”  My voice felt out of place like it wasn’t me talking.  I felt like I wasn’t in my own body. I didn’t want Sherlock to know my doubts about this task.  We weren’t as close as I would like to be.  And the last thing I want is to show Sherlock how much of a mess I am inside.  He’d label me as just another person possessed by their own emotions.

I mean I sort of am but I didn’t want to divulge that with him.  It would just add to the list of things he’d be disappointed in.

Stop it

“I don’t want this to affect you when you are out there.  So please get it off your chest.”  There was a slight tilt to his head, his gaze analyzing me.  I could feel him already concluding that I was not cut out for something like this.

“It’s just…”  I trailed off.  How could I tell him that what I was about to do was crazy?  Everything I said when I was back at Edith’s place was completely spur of the moment.  At the time I genuinely thought that I would be able to pull something like this off.  Having it mere hours away from happening felt like I had been dowsed in ice water.

“Olivia.”  Just one word, my name, stilled my thoughts and pulled my attention to Sherlock.  His face had less of an edge to it like his demeanor had shifted and began to morph into something else.  I don’t know what it was but he almost appeared gentle and patient.  It was a complete contrast to what I saw several moments ago.  This was not the same Sherlock that had asked for help a fortnight ago.

This made it almost harder to speak.

“Okay, okay It’s just….” I bit my bottom lip, “why is your place so messy?”  I blurted out, completely changing the topic.  Maybe if I talk about something else I won’t have to show my doubts.

“It’s not messy.  Everything is where it needs to be.”  Sherlock appeared slightly taken aback by my sudden question.

“Right…that’s not what I’m seeing here.  It looks like you’ve just thrown around-”

“You’re changing the topic, Olivia.”  Shit…he knew what I was doing.  I guess I don’t have a choice…

“Okay fine.  I’m just worried about tonight, that’s all.”  A long sigh escaped my lips, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t look like showgirl material.  I mean LOOK at me.”  I stretched out my arms showcasing all the bumps, dips, and curves of my body.  “There’s no way I would pass as one, let alone be able to get through the door.  People like me are the ones who listen to the music and the cheering outside the building.  I don’t want to let the victim's family down, or especially you.”  A heavy presence filled the air, choking the silence.  Sherlock just stared at me.  I don’t know if it was out of shock or if he was reconsidering his decision to bring me into this.  

I don’t care anymore.  I let my insecurity out and hung it up to dry for him to see.  

All he has to do is say the words and I’ll be on my way back to my little damp cottage.

“You know Olivia…”  Sherlock cleared his throat, saying, “It’s normal to feel anxious about an uncertain situation.”  He paused, taking a moment to place his pipe on a nearby table.  “I’m going to give you a piece of advice.  Out there, feelings and being emotional poses a risk.  It is understandable for you, given the danger you may face.  However if you feel like this is too difficult for you, then I won’t force you to do this.  I can find other routes to get what I acquire.  All you have to do is say the word.”

He’s giving me a choice. 

He knows that the situation can be dangerous.  He knows that I’m feeling overwhelmed, but isn’t forcing me to commit.  There’s still a chance to back out, and yet he’s still giving me the option, however much that hurts him.  And if I don’t do this, it’s another chance to be another victim.

I can’t let myself back out.  

“No,”  I paused, collecting myself.    “No, I can do this.  I won’t let my emotions get in the way.”  A pleased look crossed his face, a small smirk threatening to reveal itself.

“Good.  I’ll see you tonight.”

A/N: Thank you to the following people who wanted to see this part happen. Stay tuned for part 3!!

Tag List:

@lainiespicewrites

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@xblueriddlex

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[martha-oi]

°• Sherlock Holmes •°

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Penny dreadful

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Into the night

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Cockwarming Sherlock at the park

Carriage ride

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On your knees - part 2

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Exactly what you need?

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The experiment - part 2

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Patience

[stedefxckingbonnet]

—MASTERLIST

Congratulations, dear traveler, you've made it!

You've found my list of all of my writing thus far! You can come back to this at anytime, and I will update it frequently as I continue to write. Requests are currently OPEN! Wide open ♡

Our Flag Means Death

Izzy Hands

Past Lives

Eternity

Eternity part 2

Moonlight Meetings

My Favorite

Star-Crossed

My Gem

What I See

The Holdovers

Angus Tully (coming soon!)

[kaitlinamberxo]

“I don't need friends. I have my own company.”

kaitlin's 100 favorite female muses — 72/100: Enola Holmes

[hencvl]

Love A Vicious Killer.

Sherlock Holmes x Killer! Reader.

His hand reaches over for his pipe, as he leans back and looks at you walking into his detective agency with a raised eyebrow.

“what seems to be the problem, my dear friend?” he mutters, putting tobacco into his pipe.

I sighed and took a seat on the chair in front of his table. Throwing the newspaper at his desk, pointing at the main news on the paper.

“the case is getting out of hand. This killer is insane.” i said as I looked at him as he put more tobacco inside the pipe.

“i know. What can we do? No clue, evidence or anything. This killer was insanely brilliant and they knew how to hide everything perfectly.” he shrugged as i opened the file case again.

“they're unpredictable. What should we do, Sherlock? Don't you have something in your mind?”

“besides smoking, no.” he shook his head as he laughed at his own joke, ignoring the fact that we're trying to solve a murderer case. I shook my head as i took the sandwich on his desk and ate it.

“oi! That's mine you damnit”

“too late”

-

“ever heard of the Monty Club?”

I raised a brow.

“the abandoned club? The one that they say has a ghost and whatever. Why?”

Sherlock threw a stack of paper at the desk, mentioning me to read it.

“so you're telling me all the evidence that you found leading you to this abandoned club?”

He nodded as he sat down, putting some tobacco on his pipe. “i believe that the club is the killer hiding place. But it's a little bit weird considering that they left evidence and led us to their place. I think they did this on purpose”

“you think so?”

“a killer would never leave evidence on purpose. I think.. they're telling us to come to their place.”

“like an invitation?”

“invitation to hell.”

-

“You know how to shoot, detective?” Sherlock stares at the revolver, before looking up at her.

“Yes, I do know how to shoot properly,” he whispers softly.

The detective then clears his throat. “Why do you need it?” he asks, with a curious and serious look.

“just in case.” i muttered as i fixed my coat a bit. We walked to the empty bar, eyes roaming around the place that was giving goosebumps.

“look around, we might find something.” we separated our ways as i went upstairs and he tried to find something downstairs.

As he walked around, touching the old furniture and he noticed a room behind the bar desk. He pushed the door, and let his torch illuminate the room. His eyes widened as the room was full of pictures of victims.

He examines every picture, and there are many tools that were used to kill. He backed away in fear, not until he stepped on something.

“this.. this is hers..” he mumbled as he took the book. As he opened it, he saw her name written on the first page.

So it was her all the time.

He ran towards the exit of the bar, only to get blocked by her, standing at the exit with an evil grin plastered on her face. She raised her gun and pointed it right at him.

“may i say detective.. you have fallen into a trap.” she laughed as she saw fear in his eyes.

Sherlock stays silent, as tears stream down his cheeks. Why.. why was she laughing? He has gone through hell, why can’t she understand that - is she heartless? He can’t believe what she says, it is horrible, and disgusting.

“I hope God will punish you for this,” he whispers. There’s no other way to say what he feels, he feels disgust at what she says, and he can’t do anything to say otherwise.

Tears stream down his cheeks. “How could you?”

“There's no god here, detective ”I pointed the gun right at his head.

“And there's no Moriarty. I am the one who killed them.”

The detective blinks in surprise, and raises his hands

“There is no killer?” he asks, with his eyes staring in shock, as tears are still falling. He takes a look at the revolver pointed at his head.

“You.. you killed them?” he asks nervously, as his voice trembles and tears stream down his cheek. All this time.. she was the villain.

“I didn't know you're such an idiot for believing me! Hahahah!”

“But i didn't lie though. They were all killed by me. With these hands.”

The detective flinches as her cruel laughter makes his blood freeze in his veins.

“Why?? Why would you take the life of innocent souls? What could drive you to do such a thing?” he whispers sadly, his eyes staring down at her, the tears still streaming down his cheeks.

He couldn't believe all of this. He was hoping that all of this is just a nightmare.

“It wasn't dark and scary as it sounds... I had a.. lot of fun.”

“Killing somebody is a funny experience.”

Sherlock stays silent, as his heart tears in pain. He stares in horror at her actions, and wonders how such a beautiful woman is capable of doing this.

“Killing is fun..?” he whispers as he raises his eyebrows. “i hope.. i hope.. you go to hell for what have you done.”

“You're telling me that i might end up in hell? I've never had much use for the concept of hell ..But if hell exists...”

“I'm in it.” she grinned at him. The detective stays silent, as his eyes stare deep into hers. She was the devil in human form. He had no words, he was speechless, as the detective wipes away his tears.

“How can you live with yourself after doing such things?” he whispers, as tears stream down his cheek.

“How can you laugh and even claim to enjoy killing people?”

“Maybe...Maybe i am insane..?” She smiled evilly as she eyed him like a predator. The detective shivers as she looks at him evilly, he gulps as he notices the look in her eyes - it’s the look of death.

“Maybe.. maybe you are..?” he whispers quietly, as tears stream down his cheek. “What other conclusion could I come up to?”

He tries to keep his composure, but his voice trembles as he looks at her. “Why? Why do you do such things..?”

“for fun.” Sherlock blinks in horror, as his voice trembles.

“Killing is fun to you..?” his voice trembles. “How can you say that? What can I compare that to?”

Sherlock shakes his head. “Why would anyone want to kill others, let alone for fun?” The detective looks at her, a horrified look on his face.

“You asked too many questions.” She shoot him at his leg multiple times as he falls to his knees.

His stomach drops as she shoots his leg, as his eyes grow wide in shock. He screams in pain as he falls to the floor, crying out in pain.

“Why?!” he yells out in pain, as tears stream down his cheek.

“Please, don’t kill me..” he whispers, as he looks back at her with terror-stricken eyes. “Please, I beg you!”

“Shh... Do you hear that..?” she smiled even more as she heard his cry and beg

“That's what i love about killing people..”

The detective stays silent as he stares at her with horror. His eyes filled with tears, his voice trembling.

“You’re a monster..” he whispers. “You aren’t human, only demons could do something like this.”

The detective clenches his fists as his eyes stare down at her, tears streaming down his cheek. “How could you do this, how?”

She shot him right on his chest.

“I am, the devil.”

He fell on the ground, his eyes staring deep into her as he gasped for air, blood dripping from his mouth.

He gasped once more, and looked back at her. “I… I love you… I don't know how you could do this to me. I never expected you to be the killer here, I never thought this.. I love you…” he said quietly, tears streaming down his cheek.

She looks at him in a bored expression as she points the gun right on his head.

“Love, didn't exist for someone that is heartless as me. And falling for me makes you an idiot. Any last words before i send you right to hell?”

Sherlock closed his eyes, trying to remember all his loved ones. A lot of people came to his head, a lot of people he was so glad he had met.

He opened his eyes slowly, and looked at her. “I love you,” he whispered, before he closed his eyes one final time.

She lowered the gun as she saw him close his eyes and he stopped breathing. She stared at his corpse for a moment before I turned back, leaving his lifeless body behind.

The detective lies there, his body limp, eyes closed, as tears dry up on his face. He will never move again, and the case of the serial killings will go unsolved.

A life lost because of love.. but also a life lost because of cruelty.

as she walked out from the bar, her clothes were starting to get wet suddenly. It's raining outside.

She wiped Sherlock's blood from her face, standing in the middle of the road as rains kept pouring to the earth.

“blood is really warm.. it's like drinking hot chocolate..”

“But with more screaming.”

the blood that drips from her face is sickly sweet, metallic and oh, so familiar. She is not even sure who it belongs to anymore. Sherlock's last words suddenly ring inside her head.

“I love you”

And i love him. But his blood is stained all over me. I killed him.

Blood on your hands, they say.

As though it stops there;

At my wrist, like a glove.

As though as i could do this,

And there could be any part of you

That wasn't stained, or dripping.

I turn my head to the bar door, seeing his lifeless body.

The detective’s body lies there, his eyes closed as his lips form a slight smile. The smile of a man who loves the woman who killed him. The smile of a man who had fulfilled his last wish; his last wish was for him to tell the woman he loved that he loved her. He was happy as he told his last words out.

And now the detective’s life is at an end, as he lies there, silent, unmoving, and lifeless. His eyes stare into the darkness of the ceiling above.

he's smiling, like he died happily. I stared at him in awe, does someone like him, love me? I wonder.. what makes him love a monster like me?

Poor man, killed by his own lover.

The detective’s body lies there, the smile on his lips remains unchanged, as his eyes stare at the ceiling.

He loved her, even knowing the fact that she is a monster. He loved her nevertheless, and that was the greatest show of love in his life, that he was willing to give his life for the woman he loved. And he would do it again, he wouldn’t change anything.

He was happy before he died, and that's the one thing that matters.

i don't know what makes me drag myself on his corpse. Staring at his peaceful face, I was confused.

All this time when i killed people, i never saw any of them die with a smile plastered on their faces.

What's.. happening?

Sherlock’s corpse lies there, his lips a little bloody as a smile was plastered on his face. How could the man be smiling at a time like this? The detective was killed because of his love for that woman, so why was he smiling at their final moments?

The detective’s eyes are closed, his hair is bloody and tangled up, yet he still smiles.

“Why are you smiling.. dummy?” i said as i looked at him angrily.

“You're supposed to make a horrible face when you die.”

No..not like this.

He wasn't supposed to smile when he's dead.

Sherlock’s dead body lies there. His eyes are still closed, yet he seems so peaceful. His lips form a little bloody smile, which is filled with sadness and pure love at the same time.

His eyes remain unmoving, his mouth doesn’t move, his body doesn’t move.

This is the final state of his body. His last smile, his final peace. And his final way of telling her that he loves her - with a smile.

and then i realized. He truly means that he loves me. But it's all too late.

A gun shot echoes to the bar again. I dropped the revolver i used to kill him at the floor as I looked at him in shock.

“Police!”

Oh. I was shot right in my chest. Just like how i did to Sherlock. I fall to the floor next to Sherlock, as I feel my own blood oozing out from my chest.

His hand.. was right infront of me. With all i have, i shakily takes his cold hand in mine

Am i gonna die, soon? I got the answer as my whole world turns dark around me.

His hand felt so cold and lifeless as she took it; his eyes remained closed, and his lips stayed frozen at a smile.

What he felt for her, nothing could compare to those feelings. He truly loved her, and that was all that mattered at the end.

As she closes her eyes, she sees him.. in heaven? Is it possible? To see him again in the afterlife, to be together once more?

He will be waiting for her, smiling, with a warm hug.

Taglist-

@rosecentury

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 11 - Incalzando

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 10 -- Part 12

Pairing: Sherlock x ofc

Summary: Another Saturday rehearsal at 179th Crescent Street. Of course it's not just the violin they'll be practising...

Warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI, another good ol' makeout sesh, nudity, and a handjob. (Sherlock, getting some.. Whoo!)

Word count: 3.2k

A/N: "Incalzando" is a musical term that means "pressing/ chasing/ more intense".

@geralts-yenn My child has returned ❤️

@deandoesthingstome @peaches1958 @keanureevesisbae

“That went well,” Elena said, voice thick with relief. 

“It really did,” Sherlock chuckled. Apart from the obvious implication that they hadn’t been fumbling like idiots the way they had been last week, it had genuinely been a very good rehearsal. 

“Do you think I’m ready?” Elena asked softly. 

“Are you nervous?” Sherlock raised her eyebrows at her. He hadn’t expected that. “You’ve performed before, I've seen you do it.”

“Not with an orchestra,” she admitted, “and certainly not next to someone as good as you.”

“You know these pieces every bit as well as I do,” he reassured her, “and you play beautifully.” For a moment, she looked as though she believed him. 

Until she opened her mouth again: “Again?” He shook his head as he laughed. 

“We’re not doing this again, it’s time to stop.” Her hands felt cold in his own when he wrapped his fingers around them. “Are you cold?” 

“A little,” she replied, perhaps a little more coyly than she had initially planned, “so if you know a way to get me warm and relaxed, I wouldn’t complain.”

“Does that movie from last week have a sequel?” He chuckled again. 

“Sherlock Holmes,” she slapped him against his shoulder playfully, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were flirting with me!”

And that’s how they ended up in the same position they’d found themselves in the week prior. Face to face, in Sherlock’s bed, completely ignoring a movie Elena had picked - rather quickly, she had to admit, it was a particularly terrible one, which Sherlock had been quick to point out. Now, his long fingers trailed lazily along her spine while they lay there and looked into each other’s eyes. 

“Do we stare at each other a lot?” Sherlock asked suddenly. It made Elena chuckle; the question was so entirely Sherlock that it made her heart jump with joy. Inquisitive and - seemingly - very random. She had found out early on in their friendship that asking him any question along the lines of ‘whatever made you think of that?’ was a time consuming employ.

“Yes,” she admitted, “we do.” Not that she objected to the practice - in fact she had made it her mission to commit every detail of his handsome face to memory so that she could dream of it more accurately.

“Is that weird?” It was a logical followup question, yet it made her laugh even louder. 

“Yes, Sherlock, but so are we,” she said with what no doubt was a very silly grin on her face, “what does it matter? Is there something you’d rather be doing?” Whether that last bit was overstepping, or too flirtatious, she only pondered for a moment, mostly because she simply wasn’t awarded more time to consider it. Sherlock’s soft chuckle, followed by his voice, rich with a provocative tone dragged her away from the thought. 

“I think there is…” The touch of his lips to hers didn’t allow her to return to that silly thought. In fact, she found herself abandoned completely by any and all thoughts that didn’t have her immediate feelings regarding this new activity as their core subject. Both of them had longed for this for days. Over a week had gone by since they were last in each other’s arms like this, only able to steal a few quick kisses between classes - and of course there was the slightly more indulgent one they’d shared after Sherlock had walked her home after orchestra rehearsal last Wednesday. Now, they finally held each other close again, slowly invading each other’s senses so completely that it drove both of them wild with desire. Elena was somewhat shocked when Sherlock was the first to advance, sliding his tongue along her bottom lip, requesting entrance - which she gladly granted him. The next surprise came when he pushed her onto her back, moving her so that her body was beneath his. It was certainly advantageous; this position made it far easier for her to remove his sweater and button-down shirt. 

“Aren’t you impatient,” Sherlock murmured against her lips. She could tell he was grinning. 

“You’re the one manhandling me with your tongue shoved down my throat, Sherlock,” she retorted before sneaking in a quick nip at his bottom lip. He pulled away, and for a moment Elena was afraid she had crossed a line with that statement. Her insecurities vanished, however, when she looked at the expression on his face.

“Correct me if I’m wrong - and I am hardly ever wrong,” there was a hint of an arrogant grin on his face, “but that is not exactly a complaint, now is it?”

For someone who had been so uncharacteristically vocal and certain about needing more time, he sure was a quick study. She should have known, of course, Sherlock Holmes had always been able to pick up most skills fairly quickly. That being said, he still had some catching up to do, and she was fully intent on exploiting the advantage of being more experienced for as long as she could. A soft, sudden, and most deliberate nudge of her thigh - which currently lay captured between his - did the trick just fine; Sherlock groaned at the friction it caused. A less welcome side effect of the maneuver was that Elena’s attention was now drawn to the hardness that pressed against her thigh. In fact, she was so taken with the sensation that her thoughts stayed with it until she felt the soft touch of his lips beneath her jaw as they slowly worked their way down to her sternum, and even further into the cleavage of the v-neck sweater she was wearing. Warm hands found their way beneath the hem of it, and caressed the naked skin of her sides and stomach as Sherlock’s lips returned to hers. Soon, the sweater was bunched up around her chest in such a way that there really wasn’t any point in wearing it, so she took it off. He took a moment to look at her while silently taking inventory of his feelings. The conclusion was simple; he would need more time and experience to conquer the nerves that plagued him when he saw her like this. Gaining the necessary familiarity, he found, was something he quite looked forward to. He was staring at her again, he realized suddenly, and he was smiling in a silly way. 

“Why are you smiling?” Elena asked, unable to stop smiling herself as she watched Sherlock’s face and the boyish grin on it. It was an expression she recognized: Her first boyfriend had looked at her the exact same way. Only they had both been fifteen at the time. The memory made her chuckle softly. Sherlock’s inexperience was truly endearing, and truth be told, Elena couldn’t be more flattered and excited that she would get to experience his first times with him. She lifted a hand up to his cheek, the soft caresses of her thumb made him hum softly. 

“Because you’re stunning, Elena,” he unconsciously licked his lips as he let his eyes glide over her exposed skin. Her hand found the back of his head and she pulled him into another kiss. She did it in part to obscure from him the blush that formed on her cheeks when he complimented her. His hands were quicker now than they had been last time, exploring all of her upper body extensively, but certainly moving steadily towards her chest with indulgent determination. She writhed and moaned beneath him as his initial gentle strokes and caresses grew more heated until he squeezed the soft flesh of her breasts and his long fingers occasionally drew soft circles around her hardened nipples. His touch, she noticed, was far less restrained than it had been before. 

“Do you mind if I…” He didn’t finish the question - not that he had to. The hand that lingered on her back at the clasp of her bra revealed exactly what he was trying to ask. Elena nodded so as to give him permission. She didn’t mind at all - in fact; she’d absolutely love to see him try. The thought of him struggling to undo her bra had her fighting to hold back a chuckle. Of course, there was always the possibility that those nimble fingers would have it off faster than she could count to three… 

“Heaven’s sake. A Victorian corset would allow itself to be untied more easily,” he murmured as his hand - and seconds later both hands - fought with the clasp before ultimately giving up with an angry growl. There was no way she could choke back her laughter any longer. The pained expression on Sherlock’s face was entirely unhelpful to the endeavor of keeping her face in check, as well.

“You knew,” he pouted. For a moment, he looked young - or rather he looked his own age. And in that same moment, Elena felt bad - guilty, even, as if she were stealing his innocence. 

“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely, meaning it in more ways than just the obvious one. 

“That’s not good enough.” When he spoke the words, she unconsciously held her breath, worried he was genuinely upset with her. Sherlock’s next words confirmed he wasn’t: “You’ll have to let me practice more, to make this up to me.” Luckily, Elena could hide her sigh in the moan she let out when his lips touched on the junction between her neck and shoulder. 

“Let me help, for now,” she managed to whisper when he moved away again. As punishment for her sins, she had some trouble with the clasp herself, causing her to mutter something along the lines of ‘demon invention’ before it finally snapped open. She did not waste time discarding the garment. Despite the fact that the underwear Elena had been wearing last week had been a fair amount more see-through, meaning he had already gotten an extensive preview of what was to be seen, Sherlock clearly struggled to keep his mouth from falling open. This time, when he lifted his hands to touch her, his fingers trembled, and they did not stop when he touched the now exposed skin of her breasts. She shuddered when his fingers gently grazed the pebbled skin of her nipple, arching her back to lean into his touch, finding herself all of a sudden overtaken by desire. Fingers entwined with his curls and pulled him close, her lips finding and kissing his feverishly. She gasped against his mouth as he wrapped his arms around her and closed the space between their bodies. The shift in positions caused his thigh to rub between her legs, making her painfully aware of the aching need that was building in her core. Carefully, she began grinding her hips against him in search of the friction she so craved. The movements had a similar effect on Sherlock, who had until now done a fairly good job of ignoring the way his cock strained against his trousers - a feeling he could no longer deny as Elena’s thigh rubbed against him repeatedly. A small, almost experimental pinch in her nipple caused Elena to throw her head back, which Sherlock took as an invitation to move his lips to her exposed throat, kissing his way along it until he reached her collarbone. The hand that was still in his hair gently nudged him further down. It was an easy enough hint to take. His mouth slowly inched closer to the center of her breast, making her moan and squirm every time his lips touched the soft skin of her chest. Finally, his lips wrapped around her nipple, and she gasped at the contact while her hips continued their relentless movement in search of release as the heat between her thighs burned persistently. 

“Please stop,” Sherlock whispered after a while, “it’s really rather uncomfortable.”

“I’m so sorry, Sherlock!” Elena gasped, unable to prevent a slight chuckle from shining through in her voice. She hadn’t intended to make him feel uncomfortable in any way! A devious idea, however, was born in her mind and as though her hands had their own will, they trailed his chest and abs to finally linger at the waistband of his trousers. Sherlock swallowed hard, but it wasn't enough to make the lump that suddenly appeared in his throat disappear. 

“Elena…” He grasped her wrists, but found himself quite unsure of what to say. Part of him wanted to ask her to stop, another part wanted to ask her to take this further. It was the latter that ultimately won out. Still unable to speak, he released her wrist and allowed her to open the button and zipper of his trousers. A soft, loving smile laid on Elena’s lips as she slowly placed a hand on his chest and pushed him back onto the mattress. In that moment, it was so obvious to him that she knew what she was doing, and that she was entirely aware of what she was doing to him, that it made him shy and insecure - even more so than he had been until now. She could tell, because he looked up at her like a deer in headlights; eyes wide, filled with terror and doubt. 

“You know you can change your mind, right?” She whispered the words softly, as though she didn’t really want him to hear them, because she knew that if he did change his mind, she would have no choice but to stop. And, God, that was the last thing she wanted. 

“I know,” Sherlock replied so softly it was barely audible at all, “please don’t stop.” Something about the expression on his face while he said it was reminiscent of shame…

Elena ran her hand over his cock through his underwear for a moment, choking back a chuckle when, for the first time, she got a good sense of what she was dealing with. No matter how hard she tried, she found herself utterly unable to control her mind. Unconsciously, she bit down on her lower lip, while fighting to keep a giddy smile away from the corners of her mouth. Thinking about all the things she wanted to do to him, imagining what it would feel like to sink down onto his cock, wondering whether or not she would even be able to take him all the way down - all of it sent shivers down her spine and had her positively giddy with excitement. As per usual, this did not escape Sherlock’s keen eye, which had returned to him somewhat now that he was no longer fighting against his human nature like a fool every time he saw her. 

“What is it?” Was she dreaming or did Sherlock sound… amused? Perhaps it was even a hint of smugness she was seeing in the expression on his face. She looked at him incredulously when it struck her that he knew exactly what she was thinking. Elena knew all too well that there were a mere two categories of men on this planet: men who knew how large their dicks were because they had measured them, and liars. And a guy like Sherlock would surely be aware of the statistics, too… Her eyes narrowed as she dreaded her loss of control over the situation after coming to two conclusions. One: Sherlock knew he had a big dick. Two: He could tell that she found that exciting.

“I think I liked you better when you were so nervous around me that you could barely speak a word, Holmes,” she laughed as she gently dragged a single finger along his length, and watched his reaction; the twitching of his muscles, the sigh he let out, his furrowed brow and clenched jaw… Elena touched him more firmly next, relishing the moans and gasps that spilled from his lips, as well as the way he began rolling his hips, leaning into her touch. 

“Alright, where’s that attitude now?” She was aware that it was a bit mean, and a small rush of guilt hit her when Sherlock looked up at her like a wounded puppy. If she hadn’t been in love with him already, she was pretty sure that look would have done the trick.

“Want me to go on?” Her breath was hot on his ear, which, together with all other sensations, occupied Sherlock’s brain so thoroughly that he managed nothing more than a nod and a pleading whine in response to her question. Everything in his body begged her to go on, save the part of him that was already having a partial anxiety attack over returning her affections, later. He raised his hips to help her when she moved to rid him of his clothing. Sherlock closed his eyes and tried his very best to not think about what might be going on inside her head as she looked at him for what seemed like an eternity. He felt her lips on his mouth only moments before her slender fingers wrapped around his cock. Somehow, he managed to choke back the grunt that threatened to escape him, but when she started moving her hand, he was lost, moaning into her mouth each time her hand came close to the tip. Before too long, and without thinking, he reached for her hand. She was pleasantly surprised by his actions, as she hadn’t immediately expected him to feel confident enough to lend her a hand, so to speak. Unfortunately, his courage was short lived: He quickly pulled his hand back after only a few moments and turned his head. Elena caught a glimpse of his eyes; he looked embarrassed.  

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, that same discomfort evident in his voice. He groaned when Elena let go of his cock and wrapped her arm around his waist to pull him close, instead. 

“Whatever for, Sherlock?” she asked earnestly. 

“I shouldn’t have…” “Why not?”

“Elena…”

“Answer me,” she said kindly, “come on.” He could tell from the tone in her voice, despite it being sweet as ever, that she was not inclined to let him off the hook. 

“I don’t know, it felt a bit…” he struggled to find the right word, “impertinent.”

“It wasn’t,” she replied, “it was quite helpful, actually.” He replied to your statement with a quizzical look. 

“I can’t read your mind, darling,” she explained, “you’ll either have to tell me or show me what feels good and what doesn’t. I’ll do the same for you.” Elena had barely finished her sentence when a shameless scream came from downstairs. 

“Something like that?” Sherlock said jokingly. Elena rolled her eyes at him derisively, but ultimately couldn’t contain her laughter. 

“Perhaps not quite so loud,” she blurted out, “who was that?”

“Solveig, Geralt’s girlfriend,” he answered, avoiding Elena’s eyes because he was sure he would never finish his sentence if he did, “she’s Swedish, they haven’t seen each other in nearly half a year.”

“My God,” she replied, still laughing, “is she just that loud or is he that good?”

“Alright, am I correct in assuming that by the time you start discussing the… proficiency of your housemates, you can safely say the mood is sufficiently ruined?” 

“Absolutely,” Elena said before losing her composure entirely.

-> Part 12

[multific]

Back Home

Greg Lestrade x Reader

Warnings: kidnapping, human trafficking.

"Damn it, Sherlock!" Lestrade banged on the table, knocking over an already empty mug. 

"I told you Inspector, once I'll have any information about the woman, I'll let you know, I'm working on another case which is much more important than some woman fr-" Sherlock stopped as he noticed the fire in Lestrade's eyes. He missed something. Of course, Sherlock would miss something, Lestrade was going on pure emotion, while Sherlock was not.

"What is the name of the woman Sherlock? The woman you deem to be so unimportant, what is her name?" Greg managed to choke out, but his anger only grew. 

Sherlock still didn't know what he missed.

"I can't recall." he answered truthfully, but he only gained a bang on the table as Lestrade turned his back to the man, holding his head in his hands.

"Her name is Y/N Lestrade, Sherlock."

"Your sister?"

"My WIFE." yelled Greg as he turned back to look at the detective. "My wife, Mr Holmes, has been gone for over three days, you know how that feels? And the worst is that I have to go home to my two year old son every day and not have her there." Sherlock now saw what he missed. He missed out on who the client really was. He thought this was the case of a cheating wife, but no, now he saw it all. And even he wasn't sure why, but now, the case on his walls wasn't so interesting. "So, I will ask one more time, where is my wife, Mr Holmes?"

"Have you considered... that she might be cheating?" Sherlock knew he was now on very very thin ice, he could see Greg clench his hands, ready to punch. "No, she is not cheating, just wanted to be sure." because Sherlock is an asshole, no other reason.

---

You knew you shouldn't have opened the door. You were soo dumb. Why did you have to be always so nice to others? Why did you have to be so naive? 

They could have hurt your son. But thankfully, they just took you. You tried to fight, but they were stronger, and they outnumbered you.

"You will be sold for a good price." is what you heard before you were hit in the head and knocked out.

Turned out, there was this group, that kidnapped women from their homes in order to sell them on the black market.

There were about five other women with you in that dodgy basement. Chained to the wall.

However, at that point, you didn't know who to trust. You recalled a case your husband had that he told you about when the men sent in one of their own to stay with the victims, pretending to be one. And you couldn't help but think one of them could be the same.

So, you stayed quiet and hoped Greg and his detective friend would be able to get to you quickly.

---

That evening Greg arrived home only to find the nanny and Tom in the living room. She left soon after Greg arrived, leaving little Thomas with his dad.

"I'll find her I swear." he told his son as he carried him to bed. "I love you so much and Mommy loves you too." Greg said as he kissed his son's forehead and put him to sleep. That evening, he gave his son extra kisses.

---

"To be sold?" Lestrade looked at Sherlock in disbelief as they made their way to a warehouse. 

"Yes, they are selling women as slaves, all types of women so that the police would be thrown off, now, while I'm not too sure who they sell them to, I'm sure they will have a list of clients somewhere, they can't be tipped off or they will destroy it." explained Sherlock and Greg nodded.

He was finally getting you back.

---

You were quiet as a mouse, some men even joked how you must be a mute and how it will cost them money as your value would decrease. 

But you didn't care.

All you cared about was Greg and you son, Tom. 

You needed to find your way back to them, but you still hoped Greg would be able to find you first. 

You couldn't possibly come up with a plan to escape. Every corner there was another man, with a gun.

But this really began to take a toll on your mental health. You were exhausted and you really didn't want to wait until any 'buyers' are interested in you.

Then you heard gunshots, people yelling and soon a team of policemen barged into the warehouse.

Everything happened so fast, soon a young officer asked you about your side of the story.

"Where's my wife? Y/N!" you heard Greg call out and you just ignored the young deputy and rushed to your husband.

With tears in your eyes, you hugged him close to your body. You could barely breathe, you cried so much that day.

But finally you were back home.

Holding Thomas again, you could tell he very much missed you. His hold on you never loosened as he made you promise to never leave him. And you intended to keep that promise.

Greg showed you the new safety features he installed into your home, so you could feel safe finally.

You were in the kitchen making tea for yourself when Greg joined you, moving his arms around you, holding you close.

"I missed you so much Darling. I'm so sorry, this happened."

"It wasn't your fault and I'm ready to put this behind myself. Maybe later, I will talk about it, but for now, I just want to get back to normal, with you and with Tommy."

"Of course." he kissed your neck, completely understanding, not wanting to push you. He got everyone locked up. He got the list and everyone was safe now. 

His heart was finally at ease as he held you close while you prepared the tea, not letting you go even for a second. You loved to feel his warmth around you, after the many cold nights in that basement, you were finally home. Greg kept on kissing your skin, his affections and regrets clear from his actions.

"I will never let anyone take you away from me ever again. If I have to burn London down to make sure no one hurts you, then so be it."

You smiled, knowing he was exaggerating but still loving everything he said.

"I love you Greg."

"And I love you, Sweetheart."

He turned you around and trapped you in between himself and the stove, pulling you in for a heated, long kiss. 

Oh yes, you were definitely home.

Taglist: imreadinggoaway @fleursirvart​​ @v-2bucky ehsebastiancrunch-time-sports  @pxstelrainbow ablogbypeteparker liamssmilersmexylemony @greenarrowhead feelingsareharddd @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @avengers-r-us @destynelseclipsa   @spilledinkindumpster celebsimagine @capsiclesdoll snoopy3000 @firstangeldragonranch @puknow @crazzyter  @alwayshave-faith @soleil-dor @alex12948 scream-kiwi79  @lxdyred  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl​ @liveforkarljacobs @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek​​ @paola-carter​​ @stunkbiggu

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

                DO NOT REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS

[lovergirlanna]

˗ˏˋ Request Pageˎˊ˗ Open <3

Fandoms I write for:

Harry Potter

Hogwarts Legacy

Wonka

Peaky Blinders

Enola Holmes

[keeping the fandoms I write for at a limit for now other's may be added later or if I'm bored I may post random fandom related posts every now and then but for now they are limited]

What I will write:

Comfort/Fluff

Smut

Angst

Character x Reader

Character x Character [Rarely]

Platonic

What I will not write:

Racism

Ableism

Child x Adult

Suicide/Self-harm [unless it is comfort or reverse comfort because I will write for this topic as long as it dose not fetishize suicide/self-harm]

Abuse

unnecessary weird fetishes

sibling x sibling

so feel free to request anything to do with the fandoms above! I will be writing a lot of x reader's! updates may be slow since I do have a personal life so please be patient with me <3

~ Love Anna

[ellethespaceunicorn]

*makes grabby hands at Sherl*

Pwease!!

Into the Night

Summary: A drunk Sherlock returns home and he has one thing on his mind.

Pairing: Dark!Sherlock Holmes x female reader (no mention of ethnicity or body type)

Words: 1k

Warnings: 18+, minor DNI. Dark themes, alcohol use, hinted smut, possessive behaviour, jealousy, foul language, abuse of power, hinted age-gap but reader is not a minor, sexual threat, ultimatum.

* I give no permission to copy, repost or translate my work.

A/N: I was rudely inspired by the BTS shots of Enola Holmes 2 and apparently in a Dark!Sherlock mood lately. Many thanks to my sweet @agniavateira for betaing my work

Into the Night

The violent clap of thunder jolted you from sleep. Shaken, you sat in bed, your veiled eyes rummaging through the dark as if trying to remember where you were.

'The estate. Holmes' estate,' you reminded yourself while anticipating another thunder; but none followed, for it wasn't the tearing of the sky that woke you from your dreams but something else.

'Someone's at the door?'

Curiosity nibbled in your gut. Mind all awry, you threw the duvet and seized the kerosene lamp perched on your nightstand. No reasonable thought dwelled in your head during the moment you stepped out of your chamber; stupidity could easily be confused with courage, and still, you stole down the wooden stairs with your heart further shrinking with each step.

Down the main hall, a putrid scent of strong liquor hung thickly on the air—an odour abnormally intoxicating mingled with debauchery-soaked musk that made you feel dizzy as if it was you who was drunk.

In your heart, you knew you should scamper back to your room; but the icy claws that held your legs prevented you from fleeting. Instead, you found yourself seduced by the foolish desire to see what lurked in the shadows.

Him.

Another thud suddenly boomed in your ears, followed by a shriek so ghastly it sounded like an otherworldly creature. It was only when the pair of blue diamonds peered into your eyes that you realised the scream was your own.

"You shouldn't be here."

Colder than the bottom of the sea, the large man backed you into the wooden wall; his impeccable built dwarfed you while the manner in which his sturdy arms caged your body blocked any means of escape.

Astounded, you observed, counting opaline droplets of sweat as they trickled down his damp curls and kissed his square jaw, which was untypically peppered with an improper shadow of stubble. You fought the temptation to look any lower, but your eyes betrayed you and too quickly succumbed to the hint of his furry chest that peered from his dishevelled white shirt.

It wasn't like him.

He was always so painfully restrained.

Icy serpents crawled up your spine in realisation - he was intoxicated. Your Governess taught you well of how the ‘wretched poison turns the most proper gentlemen into deviants.

Shaking your head as if to apologise, you tried to reason, "I heard a noise, I thought..."

You swallowed your own words as Sherlock lifted a wandering hand to capture your chin as if he cared nothing for your answer.

"Nosey little mouse," he hummed, his voice almost a rasp. A sudden grin twisted his lips, and his eyes gingerly shut. With a growl under his breath, he leaned even closer and pressed his sweaty forehead against yours.

"Oh, how a man longs for the scent of innocence..." his words slurred, thick with what you could only detect as bitter Absinthe.

You could feel the air dwindling along with the light. Hard and toned, his muscles pressed into your body, his thighs threatening to push between your legs, and his chest forcing into yours to sustain your breath.

"Sherlo... Sherlock," you whispered, trembling, "please, you are drunk."

The man chuckled lowly, his hand snuck from your chin to your breasts—pressing, groping, squeezing so roughly you felt an unbidden fire burn through your loins.

"Observant, are we? I am. But the spirit is but a drop of courage, fueling what I have always desired. Do you suppose Mycroft likes damaged goods?” he drawled while snapping a hand around your hip and squeezing it until you winched.

”Do you gather he'll still enjoy stuffing his cock down your hole if I broke you first?"

"How dare you!"

A sudden flush of rage thrummed through your veins. Without a single thought, you raised a hand to swat him, but Sherlock seized your wrist and pinned it above your head with terrifying ease.

"Don't be ridiculous," he sneered.

"Let me go!"

Even drunk his grip was iron. The more you struggled, the more your wrist hurt; and for some baffling reason, you couldn't quite interpret the battle solely evoked more fire between your grinding thighs.

Did you want this? Did you want him to force you?

"Please!" You whined, your eyes searching through the dim staircase, knowing there was no one to save you.

Sherlock watched as you fought for freedom, amused by your weak battle until finally, your strength waned, and you slumped into the wall.

"There's a good girl," he praised. Carefully, he loosened his fingers and drew his hand away. His eyes observed you with regard, wondering if you would be foolish enough to try striking him again.

Taking a step back, he fixed his white shirt and combed a hand through his dark mane while his eyes remained set on yours. You dared not move a muscle, except for the hand that tremored as it held onto the lamp.

"Your father chose inadequately, but I will fix this mistake. The only question is, what will you choose?" he suggested as he snatched the lamp from your fingers and turned toward the staircase.

The tiny beam of light illuminated his face like a beautiful nightmare; and like a moth, you found yourself in its pursuit. Absentmindedly you slowly strolled after him, staring from the bottom of the stairs while Sherlock began to climb further up.

"Choose? What am I to choose?" Your nails dug into the wooden handrail.

Sherlock paused on his steps, the planks loudly creaking beneath his weight. He did not grace you with another gaze but simply smiled as he gazed forward.

"Come to my bed tonight, willingly, and I will love you kindly, or…”

"Or?"

"Or next time I'll find you alone in this house I will be anything but kind and deflower all three of your holes. The wedding is in 30 nights, is it not?” he asked and, not waiting for an answer, continued his ascent.

Fear and ire stiffened your muscles so much you believed yourself frozen. With your eyes wide open, you remained at the bottom of the steps, gazing into a void and contemplating your “choice” while darkness wrapped itself around you.

[ellethespaceunicorn]

Hi, can I ask for some Sherlock Holmes with a side of spanking and cuddles?

Title: The Paganini Problem

Rating: Mature, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Wife!Reader

Fandom: Enola Holmes series

Word Count: 1.3K

Summary: Being Sherlock’s wife proves to be difficult when a case stumps him. For @princessphilly, I hope this works!!

Warnings: female!masturbation, spanking, softDom!Sherlock

A/N: I listened to “24 Caprices for Solo Violin, Op. 1, MS 25: No. 24 in A Minor” while writing this, you do not have to. But it is quite good if you like violin and suspenseful music. Also, Enola correctly guesses that Paganini is Sherlock’s favorite composer in the first Enola Holmes film, so like, research! Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best. 

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist 

The sounds of violin wafted through 221B Baker Street. You loved to hear Sherlock play most days. But, today was different. This was day three of a Paganini marathon, which could only mean one thing.

He was stumped on a case. 

A case he refused to talk to you about. No, he could only converse with his beloved violin about it. However, that’s not how you see it. No. 

Your perception? He decided to play instead of paying attention to you. Being the brat that you are, you are determined to make him regard your presence.

You don your tightest bodice and skirt, the deep sapphire one that Sherlock purchased for you as a gift when he asked you to move into Baker Street. He specifically had it tailored to your measurements, showing off your ample bosom and child-bearing hips. 

You make your way from your shared bedroom into the drawing room where Sherlock is playing. His violin is tucked between his chin and shoulder. His left hand bows at a speed that makes the messy curls on his head dance along to the music. His right hand holds the violin at the neck so delicately, it’s almost loving.

You step around several stacks of papers, narrowly missing a tower of books. You remind yourself to have that talk again with Sherlock about the difference between organization and chaos. 

You finally make it to the chair next to his music stand, his eyes never leaving the sheet music. You make sure to sit down in a way that makes a squeak that Sherlock has commented on many a time. He’s actually shown you how to sit so that said squeak does not occur. You remarked that he could just get rid of the chair, to which he replied that you can sit elsewhere if you’re going to complain.

No reaction. 

You seethe, watching as he continues with 24 Caprices. You kick over the music stand and the sheets dance gracefully to the floor.

Nothing.

He simply closes his eyes and plays from memory. He plays it perfectly, of course. Paganini is his favorite composer, after all. He would know it forward and backward.

You were growing impatient, running out of options for how to get this man’s attention. Until it hit you. The idea was just ridiculous enough to work. It would be depravity in polite society, sure. But clever enough to get him to at least acknowledge your presence. And that would be enough.

You get up from the chair and make your way over to the chaise lounge. Arranging a few pillows to rest your head upon, you then lie down and pull your skirt up enough to get to your drawers. You pull them down and toss them out of the way, Sherlock being none the wiser as he continues playing.

You let your hand wander down to your folds, already slick with the frustration of being untouched for days. You allow yourself time to tease, playing with your swollen bud before dipping lower to enter a single finger within yourself. A sigh escapes your lips as you explore your inner walls. As another finger joins the first, Sherlock’s name falls from your lips.

Sherlock’s sense of smell is what pulls him out of his hyperfocus. He smells your arousal as he hears his name in the air. In an instant, his fixation becomes all about you.

He places down his violin and bow next to the fallen music stand, not putting it right-side up. Not bothering to be quiet, as your moans now fill the room louder than his playing did, he stalks over to you and clears his throat loudly.

Your hand stills and you open one eye looking up at your husband. The look on his face of disappointment is enough to cause heat to flare behind your cheeks. Then, his face changes to that of…impatience?

“Well? Are you going to finish then? Or must I intervene?” Sherlock’s words have a bite to them, and you can’t say you’re surprised. Well, you are stunned he is offering to help.

At least you were under the impression that he is offering to help. And that is why he is the expert detective and you are...well, not.

Before you can ask for assistance, Sherlock is lifting you off the chaise and throws you over his shoulder. He takes you into the bedroom and set you down on your feet before sitting on the edge of the bed. 

He points to you and beckons you with a curved finger in a ‘come hither’ motion. You begin to sit next to him, but he blocks your path.

“I don’t believe bad girls get to sit down next to Sir. Over my knee with yourself, girl. You’re going to practice your counting. And don’t make me repeat myself.” Sherlock’s voice is stern and you involuntarily gulp before settling your middle across his lap.

Sherlock pulls up your skirt so it rests along your back and the cool air of the room produces gooseflesh along your bare bottom and legs. No sooner do you register that feeling does the first blow land. You grunt as Sherlock’s hand grazes the skin of your left cheek.

“One, Sir!” You cry out, surprised at the white-hot heat of the smack.

“Good girl,” he praises.

He raises his hand again. He waits until your ass relaxes and brings down his hand upon your right cheek. This time harder than the first.

“Two, Sir!” You shout, the sting radiating through you.

“Good girl, I think you deserve one more though,” Sherlock informs you and you nod, “Use your words, girl. Do you deserve another?”

“Yes, Sir, I deserve another,” you whimper, clenching your thighs to try and gain some sort of friction.

“I wholeheartedly agree, my dear,” he laughs, punctuating his sentiment with one last swat to your left cheek.

“Three, Sir!” You gasp, clutching onto Sherlock’s pant leg as his hand finds its way between your legs to find you soaked.

“That’s my good girl, look how soaked you are for me. I bet you’re right on the edge. All you need is one…last…push,” Sherlock plunges two fingers into your sodden cunt and expertly finds your inner bundle of nerves. He massages it while praising you for taking your punishment so well. “You’ve been so good for me, my love. You take all the attention you need, girl.”

Before long, you are clenching around Sherlock’s fingers and he is working you through your orgasm with his skilled fingers. You send thanks to the heavens for marrying a man who understands the female anatomy. 

As you come down, Sherlock pulls down your skirt. He pulls a pillow from the bed for you to sit on as he turns you around in his lap. He kisses your forehead and presses your head down to lean on his shoulder, resting his head upon yours. 

“Now, my dear little one. Care to explain what that little show was for?” His voice is calm as his arms wrap around you, holding you flush to him as he rocks a bit back and forth.

“I hate it when you’re stuck on a case, you don’t pay any attention to your wife, my love,” You don’t attempt to hide the sorrow in your voice.

“You’re so right. I’ve neglected my dearest. She even had to turn to her own ministrations in the wake of my absence,” he pulls back and looks down at you, holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger, “As frustrating as a case may be, it is no excuse to ignore you. I promise you, my love, it will not happen again. You have my word.”

“Thank you, Sherlock,” you twirl your finger around a curl of his hair and watch it spring back, “I love you.”

“And I love you, dear one. Now, shall we solve this case, Mrs. Holmes?”

“That we shall, Mr. Holmes.”

**Tag List**

@brattymum96 @ambinxe @avengersfan25 @kebabgirl67

@astheskycries @enchantedbytomandhenry

Let me know if you wanna be added and for what plz  😁 Also, if you want to be removed from tags, lemme know!

[espinosaurusrexex]

Just an idea :) for Sherlock, what if Enola is always trying to get him to date cuz either he's lonely or always focused on work. But he always turns down the idea. Then one day she lures him to her favorite bookshop (or cafe, etc) and casually introduces him to her favorite employee. And the pickup line just comes out of no where, even he is surprised lolz. Feel free to not use this at all if you get better ideas😂

Thank you so much for this idea! For writing purposes, this will take place in modern times (*writing purposes meaning me being too lazy to write period specific)

Cheesy Pick-up Line (Bingo Game)

!BINGO ASKS CLOSED!

College!Henry!SherlockHolmes x Female!Reader

word count: 1.3k

warnings: a little bickering, awkward Sherlock, fluffy and cute

Enola giggled excitedly as she pushed past the glass double doors of her favorite library. Her brother was following behind closely, a disinterested look on his face as they entered the small building. For Enola, it was the perfect place to be, but Sherlock just asked himself what he was doing here instead of studying for his criminal justice exam next week. 

What he had not concluded yet, was that Enola Holmes had an agenda far different from the story she had told her brother about just an hour ago. He didn’t know his sister had spent weeks finding a way to finally get him to leave his stuffy, foot-smelling boy room. She had mashed her brain about it as she roamed the shelves of her favorite place and when she checked out the other day, she was embarrassed to have thought of it so late. It was blatantly obvious. Her brother needed a girlfriend. Someone that would encourage him to live outside of his schoolwork every once in a while. And you were the perfect candidate for the job. Smiley and charming, intelligent and pretty, and on top of that, someone Enola liked very much. She had established a first-name basis with you over the hours she spent in the little library you worked at. Today, she would try to accomplish the same for Sherlock. 

Sherlock stood between the rows of shelves, waiting for his sister to finish collecting the mountain of books he was sure she wasn’t even allowed to check out at once. She had recruited him to ‘help her carry them’ as if she weren’t very capable of it herself. And besides, Enola was the one always underlining her independence and that women could do just as much as men. Something wasn’t adding up. 

Enola placed another book in his arms. One she had mindlessly pulled from the shelve to keep her story alive. It was a small sacrifice for the gratification she would get would her brother finally fall in love this evening. She was sure of it. No more feigned disinterest in the stories their family told about cousins and other relatives having their first partners. No more annoying dismissal of their mother’s subtle hints towards his isolating himself. No more bad moods because of the uncalled-for comments Mycroft threw at him when he visited with his fiancé. It was about to change today.

“Relativity Theory?” He lifted an eyebrow before Enola could disappear behind another shelf. “Hamlet? What kind of homework is this supposed to be?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Enola quipped before placing an autobiography in his arms. 

“They’ll think you’re robbing this place.” He readjusted the books because even though he was fairly strong, they slipped in his grasp. “How are you planning on checking those all out?”

“Jokes on you, my check-out limit has been upgraded because I’m a regular.”

“To 17? That’s too many. Too many books in general. Even for your ADHD brain.”

She glared at him. “Well, that’s where you come into play. With your card, we can check out 15. And for the other two, I’ll just have to sweet talk my way through.”

“You’re impossible, Enola.” Sherlock rolled his eyes as he followed his younger sibling to the counter. 

“Shut up, It’s hard carrying enough character for Mycroft and you. You should thank me, really.”

“Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath and then he placed the books down with a thud.

Enola Smiled as she saw you approach the counter from the back office. Once you were here, the hot phase of her plan would be set in motion. And she couldn’t wait.

“Good evening, Enola. I see you brought someone new with you today?” You asked kindly with a bright smile on your face. Most people that came into the library didn’t talk much, but ever since Enola came around, she made the day a whole lot better. She grew to be a friend to you, which was why you also already knew who the handsome ‘stranger’ next to her was. But you wouldn’t reveal it just yet, that would be creepy.

“This is my Brother, Sherlock.” Enola just smiled as she placed her pile of books on the counter as well. 

“Nice to meet you,” the tall brunette smiled behind his glasses, soft curls falling into his face when he nodded toward you. 

“Nice to meet you, too. I would ask if you found everything you were looking for, but I guess it’s even more than that...” You counted the books, sending Enola a warning look. You had gone through the trouble of sweet-talking Old Mrs. Thomson if Enola could be an exception to the ‘only six books for home’ rule once again. Trying one more would get you on dusting duty for at least three weeks. 

Your eyes locked with Sherlocks. “Do you have a library card?” And then your attention was back to the register, typing away on the little blue display.

Sherlock couldn’t see what you were doing, but he knew he wanted your eyes back on him. He didn’t know why, there was something about you that made him all excited. “Why? Because you want to check me out?” Uh oh.

Your fingers stopped hacking away at the outdated machine and your eyes wandered back to him. A deep blush tinted his cheeks and ears pink as you tried to hold back the laugh pushing at your throat. 

Sherlock wanted the earth to swallow him whole. Why had he just said that? What was wrong with him? 

And while her brother desperately attempted to hide his shocked face, Enola just stood beside him, equally stunned. She hadn’t known it had gotten this bad. His constant isolation must have messed with his social competence somehow. Because whatever she was just witnessing, was beyond secondhand embarrassment. He made her job harder to bring the two of you together, and honestly, right now, Enola did not see a chance for her brother. 

“Yes, yes he has. Here!” Enola ripped the card from her brother's pocket and handed it to you. You, who bit your lips to hide the smile creeping on your features and shook your head. 

Sherlock didn’t say another word after that. Too embarrassed to ever talk again, really, he waited out the time until you were finished scanning all the books and his and Enola’s cards. Relief washed over him when you said your goodbyes. 

“I'm making an exception this time, Enola. Mrs. Thomson must not know about this and you better bring all of these books back without a single mark,” you warned.

But Enola countered weakly, matted by her idiot brother destroying the best plan ever made. “When did I ever not?” Still, she tried a sneaky smile on her lips.

When the doors fell close behind them and the siblings walked along the sidewalk home, Enola shoved her brother harshly. 

“Great job, you idiot. You just ruined your only chance at not becoming a weird and bitter old man.”

But Sherlock didn’t answer. He was well aware of the embarrassment he had just presented himself as in that library and in front of you. With his head hung low, he opened the top book in his arms to retrieve his library card, but when he moved the piece of plastic and revealed the check-out receipt, all of his sister’s bickering moved to the background. 

There, beneath the date and time of his visit, was your number, scribbled in blue ink with a small heart by your name. He smiled to himself as he traced the number with his finger. And just then, Enola glanced over his shoulder to find out why he hadn't told her to shut up yet. 

Who would have thought that you would be hooked after a line like that?

Tags: @circe143 @valkyrie418 @mirikusashes @noideawhyimdoingthislol @nikkitc0703 @lethallyprotected @erynnnn @misshale21 @wattpaduser200 @mi-amoree1111 @xxinvisiblexx @lastwandastan @when-you-cant-think-of-anything @pevensiemadness @mrsgweasley

[tommiruewrites]

Hi! I would like to request a Tewksbury x fem’Reader (romantic)! Reader is Enola Holmes’ sister

So basically, I was hoping for this to take place in Enola Holmes 2 in the theater fight scene. If you remember, Enola almost gets stabbed, but her corset protected her. So what if it was reader instead, and the corset didn’t protect her? Reader does finish the fight like in the movie because she’s just a girlboss like that and has that whole moment with Tewksbury after, but the stab wound finally takes its toll. That’s sort of just the base of the idea, you can do whatever you come up with after that! I sort of think of this as an angst + fluff? Thank you!

Just a Little Longer - V.T.

word count: 1.2k

requested: yes | no requests: open | closed request rules here

warnings: fem!reader, fluff to angst (but mostly angst bc i love to make myself miserable but in a cute poetic way), brief mentions of fighting, talk of blood, major injury, main character death, best friends to lovers/idiots in love, tragedy, holmes!reader, NOT PROOFREAD

a/n: i'm SOOOO sorry, ik it's been ages since you put in this ask, but my adhd slump was a pain in my ass. it has finally been forcibly lifted (by yours truly) bc i want to write again, and i found the start of this fic in my drafts and decided to finish it. i hope you're still active and able to read this, lovely anon! <3

remember to like, comment, and reblog to support my writing <3

part 2

· • —– ٠ ☆ ٠ —– • · • —– ٠ ☆ ٠ —– • · • —– ٠ ☆ ٠ —– • ·

Everything went by in a blur. You were fighting alongside Tewkesbury and Enola, dodging weapons and fists. The next thing you know, you’re on the floor, wind knocked out of you.

A loud crack rings out and you feel an intense pounding in your head, so you guess you must have hit it when you fell back. As you begin to stand, you feel a dull ache in your ribs. You look down to see the cause, and you thank the heavens that you’re wearing one of those god-awful corsets you've always hated so much. Shouldn’t leave more than a nasty bruise.

You hear Tewksbury —who’s still fighting from across the room— call out your name to make sure you’re alright, but you don’t have time to respond. Your sister reaches a hand out to help you up off the floor as she dodges a hit. A bit preoccupied in a fight of her own she misses the silver handle sticking out of your corset.

“Are you alright?” she screams over the chaos.

You stand firm on your feet, still staring down your opponent. “Fine. Just a little fall, nothing I can’t handle.” Pulling the blade from your abdomen, you miss the red glint of blood as you resume the fight.

———————

The battle is over, and the energy is high. You and Tewkesbury bounce off the walls blabbering on about the recent events, adrenaline running through you while Enola concludes the investigation with your brother, Sherlock.

“Did you see me! I got some really good ones in there. Think I got him in the nose!”

You laugh, breath like shard of glass in your lungs from the cold, "You were wonderful! Just like I showed you."

He beams at that, his cheeks glowing a warm pink, which he hopes could be chalked up to the biting chill outside, “You didn’t do so bad out there yourself.”

“Not bad?” you scoff, "You must have missed the look on that guy’s face when I threw him across the room!"

You both laugh softly, your breath visible in the winter air. You ignore the tight feeling in your lungs.

Suddenly you’re both hyper aware of the lack of space between you. Looking between his cold pink lips and his glassy doe eyes, you hold your breath as he begins to lean closer.

Just as you feel his intoxicating lips graze yours, your knees buckle beneath you. You try to steady yourself against Tewksbury, hand pressed against his chest, as he quickly grabs your waist to hold you up. He chuckles a bit as he tries to help you regain your footing, but immediately stops when notices that you’re practically limp in his hold.

“What's wrong? Talk to me.”

It feels like your chest is collapsing in on itself, and your head starts to spin. “Oh- I’m fine. Just cold.” Mostly reassuring yourself, nothing bad could happen right? You won after all. You beat them. Your family is safe and your best friend that you've been in love with for years is finally kissing you. Those are all good things. Really good things. So it's just the cold making you feel weak and breathless, right?

“I’m just really, really tired.”

Just as you begin to stand up straighter, sharp pain shoots through your stomach and your knees buckle again, causing Tewkesbury to almost fall over. He panics when he hears a gasp that sounds too much like you’re in pain.

“Enola! Something’s wrong!”

Enola and Sherlock stop their current debate and immediately notice your uncharacteristically frail state, rushing over to help Tewkesbury get you on the ground. They sit you down as quickly as possible without hurting you, your back to Tewksbury’s chest so he can keep you stable. His shaky hand tremble against your hips as he surveys your body for injuries. Enola kneels to be eye-level with you, “What's going on? Are you hurt?”

"No-" You nod your head, "I'm fine, I just-" you cut yourself short, unable to create a more convincing reply as a groan of pain rips through you. Thats when Enola notices a deep tear in your dress.

“Her corset. Take off her corset!”

Enola and Sherlock work to quickly remove the thick article of clothing, Tewksbury squeezing your hand reassuringly when you wince at the movement of him lifting your arms. Once the corset is successfully removed, a deep cut reveals itself, crimson red seeping through your under-dress. "Oh my god-"

You look up, the concern in Tewkesbury’s voice making you nervous. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

Enola grabs your focus when she presses her hands against your wound.

"Oh..."

Sherlock frantically removes his coat to tie around you and try to stop the bleeding. “Nothing's wrong. Nothing at all. You’re going to be just fine.” He rambles out, trying to calm both you and himself.

In your hazy state you can't fully sense the anxiety all around you, or how serious your injury truly is. You only register one thing. You’re going to be just fine. Your brother would never lie to you. Not ever.

Your breathing begins to slow as you relax, leaning your head back against Tewkesbury's shoulder. You begin to feel your own shoulder dampen. Looking over at the cause, you see Tewksbury’s face tacked with glistening streaks down his cheeks, staring at Enola and Sherlock frantically try to stop the bleeding as he helps where he can.

“Tewks?” His eyes jump to yours, sniffling. “What's the matter? Why are you crying?”

Much to your dismay, that makes him cry harder. "Nothing’s the matter."

You reach a weak hand up to wipe tears from his cheek as more roll down in their place. “Then why are you crying?”

There’s a long pause, your sibling’s desperate shouting falling deaf on your ears as a faint ringing replaces it. "I’m just so proud of you is all."

You smile at that, "I'm proud of you too, fighter." You tease. He chuckles weakly, not surprised that your wit is still intact even as you're bleeding out. Your eyes begin to feel heavy as you stare into his, eyelids fluttering open and closed.

“Hey! Hey, keep your eyes open for me. Just a little bit longer.” He stammers, squeezing your hand to keep you awake. "We just need a few more minutes. Just a few more minutes, and then you can rest, alright?"

You groan in discomfort, feeling all of your energy go into the one simple task as your body begins to feel floaty and numb. “Tired.”

“I know, I know. Just a little longer. I promise everything will be fine. I promise. Just please, don’t close your eyes.” He sobs out desperately, interlacing his fingers with yours.

Enola and Sherlock keep trying everything in their power to stop the bleeding, sobbing and begging for anything to work. For you to be okay. You try your best to keep your eyes open for them, you really do, but it’s just too difficult. You can hear distant shouts of your name as you finally let the peaceful darkness consume you.

[loolooloo-i-got-some-apples]

- masterlist collections -

all of my sloppy fanfics, headcanons and blurbs in one place

key :

🎱 = fluff,

⚠︎ = dark themes,

✮ = angst,

💿 = smut

CWO = currently working on

These works are my own and i do not give permission to repost, share, or rewrite these on other platforms.

masterlists !

FYI: for anybody wondering, no my requests are not strictly these shows/movies or characters, you can request whatever you’d like, these are just guidelines and characters i plan on writing for the most.

OBX

featuring - rafe cameron, jj maybank, john b routledge, pope heyward

SOUTH PARK

featuring - kenny mccormick, stan marsh, eric cartman, kyle broflovski, butters stotch, tweek tweak, craig tucker

BROOKLYN 99

featuring - jake peralta, charles boyle, rosa diaz, amy santiago

DAWSON’S CREEK

featuring - dawson leery, pacey witter, charlie todd, jack mcphee, cj braxton

DAZED AND CONFUSED

featuring - randall ‘pink’ floyd

WHIPLASH

featuring - andrew neiman

ANNE WITH AN E

featuring - gilbert blythe, jerry baynard

BIG HERO SIX

featuring - hiro hamada, tadashi hamada, wasabi, fred

BRIDGERTON

featuring - anthony bridgerton, benedict bridgerton, colin bridgerton, theo sharpe, simon bassett

CALL OF DUTY

featuring - soap, ghost/simon, konig, price, keagan p russ

CRIMINAL MINDS

featuring - spencer reid, derek morgan, aaron hotchner

ENOLA HOLMES

featuring - sherlock holmes, viscount tewkesbury

TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES

featuring - raphael, donatello, mikey, leonardo

SAW

featuring - adam stanheight, daniel matthews

SCREAM

featuring - billy loomis, stu macher, ethan landry

HARRY POTTER/SLYTHERIN BOYS

featuring (harry potter) - george weasley, fred weasley, ron weasley, oliver wood, harry potter, cedric diggory, neville longbottom

featuring (slytherin boys) - mattheo riddle, tom riddle jr, enzo berkshire, theo nott, draco malfoy, regulus black, blaise zabini

HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON

featuring - hiccup haddock

IT (2017)

featuring - richie tozier, eddie kaspbrak, bill denbrough, stanley uris, ben hanscom, mike hanlon

MARVEL

requests open for all characters!

MAZE RUNNER

featuring - thomas, newt (male + gn only), gally, minho

MID90S

featuring - fuckface, ray, fourth-grade

ON MY BLOCK

featuring - oscar diaz, cesar diaz, latrelle, jamal turner, ruby martinez

PERCY JACKSON

featuring - percy jackson, nico de angelo (male and gn only), jason grace, leo valdez, frank zhang, grover underwood

RED DEAD REDEMPTION 2

featuring - arthur morgan, john marston

SCHOOL SPIRITS

featuring - wally clark

SUPERNATURAL

featuring - dean winchester, sam winchester

STAR WARS

featuring - anakin skywalker, obi wan kenobi, din djarin

SHAMELESS

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[holylulusworld]

Fighting Temptations (3) - Past and present

Summary: He’s the infamous Sherlock Holmes. No one can compare to him. Right?

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Fem!Reader

Characters: Inspector Lestrade, Enola Holmes  

Warnings: language, misogynism, arguments, Sherlock being an ass, sassy reader, smut, fingering, unprotected sex, sex over a desk, lighlty dub-con?, rushed smut

A/N: Uh...this chapter ended up longer than expected. I didn’t want to stop in the middle of the sex scene...

Fighting temptations masterlist

<< Part 2

“That woman again?” Sherlock exclaims loudly as you walk out of Lady Covington’s house. You came back here after solving the unsolvable case. “She stole another case from me. That vile person.”

“Mr. Holmes,” Lestrade tuts. “Lady Covington sent for Lady Y/L/N after you told her that you'd get back to her after solving a more important case. “The lady hates waiting.”

“I had to find a murderer, Lestrade! How dare that woman steal my case?" Sherlock is stubborn and unfair. Deep down inside he knows it’s not your fault he gets all worked up when it comes to you.

You’re a mystery to him. No woman he has met so far has turned his life upside down as you did. Sherlock doesn’t know if he wants to turn you into his lover or strangle you most of the time. 

Not that he spends his nights thinking about you, and your lips. All pouty and cherry red. A tempting sin waiting to break his resolve bit by bit.

“She’s all over the newspaper. Again,” he waves the newspaper in his hands in front of Lestrade’s face. “That woman means trouble.”

“Lady Y/L/N is kind, smart and wonderful. She is, just like her father, a magnificent detective,” Lestrade replies. “A shame we don’t hire women. She'd be a fine Scotland Yard member."

“Inspector,” Sherlock gasps. “Get a hold of yourself. People might get the wrong idea if you keep praising Lady Y/L/N.”

"Inspector Lestrade," you call. He asked for your help after Sherlock refused to help Lady Covington’s missing husband. "It's a pleasure to meet you here.”

“Lady Y/L/N,” Lestrade takes your hand to place a chaste kiss on the back of your hand. “The pleasure is mine."

“Ahem…Can we come back to her stealing my case?” Sherlock clears his throat. He glares at you. 

You smirk at Sherlock. He’s fuming, and you love it. You’d never admit it, but he looks even better when staring at you angrily. “Sherli! What a pleasure to see you here too!”

“Sherli—what? Woman! How dare you call me that!” he grunts angrily.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Holmes, but the case you refused to solve got solved by me,” you tilt your head to look Sherlock up and down. He looks like he hasn't gotten enough sleep lately. “Maybe you should get some sleep. You look tired, and there are more lines.”

You stand on tiptoes to touch Sherlock’s forehead. “Here.”

"Don't touch me," he screams. “I dare you to…”

You twirl around, walking away to not give Sherlock the chance to say more to you. 

Later that week, at Lady Ann Chatterley’s home, ...

Lady Chatterley invited you and Sherlock to join her for tea. Spending time with Sherlock was the last thing you wanted. It would only lead to another fight with Sherlock Holmes. 

No such luck. Out of a sudden Lady Chatterley told you that she doesn’t feel well, asking you to have a look around the garden to find any trace of the intruder stealing her jewelry.

Now you are standing in the garden, trying not to kill Sherlock Holmes.

You offered to follow his lead to avoid talking about the cases you solved, or his incompetence when it comes to talking to you like a gentleman.

“Shouldn’t you rather be at home and practice how to knit, cook and take care of a household? A woman shouldn’t—” He can’t end his speech.

You are in Sherlock’s face, your nose wrinkled as he looks down at you with amusement. He doesn’t take you seriously, like most men. The only difference is that you wish he would. Sherlock Holmes is one of the smartest and most interesting people you have ever heard of.

Sadly, he’s also a misogynist and unbearable. His good looks, luscious locks, and size don’t make up for his lack of tact.

“Sir, shouldn’t you take care of your bad manners first before speaking to a lady?” you snap at Sherlock. “I came here at the request of Lady Ann Chatterley. So, stay out of my way and let me solve this case.”

“You want to solve a case? Ha! You got lucky last time as the culprit didn’t take you seriously,” he chuckles darkly, but there is a hint of anger in his eyes. Sherlock did not forget that you solved not one but two of his cases. The detective hates to share fame and recognition. Sherlock is used to being the smartest person in the room. 

With you, it’s different. You are smart and self-confident and with your witty comments you ever so often leave him speechless. He had never met a woman so fierce and strong. 

Well, maybe his younger sister and mother.

Most of the women he met in life admired one of two things. His intellect or his good looks. You seem to be unimpressed by his appearance and intelligence and it’s driving him up the walls.

“OH, and why would I do such a thing?” you cock your head to size Sherlock up. “I don’t think a man stumbling out of bed and stinking like a brewery knows what a lady must do.”

“You’re not a lady,” he snarls. “I don’t know what you are, but a lady doesn’t act the way you do. A lady should talk like one. You on the other hand talk like a wench!”

“What?” Sherlock seems to be as shocked as you at his words. “You think a woman using her brain is a wench? I can’t believe you are your mother’s son. You’re a shame.”

You turn around and walk away. To hell with this case and Sherlock Holmes. You won’t let anyone talk to you like that. 

For days you were hiding in your office. Even Enola didn’t get you out of the house. She knows it must’ve something to do with your latest encounter with Sherlock.

You didn’t say a word. How could you? Even though she acts all grown, Enola is still a child, admiring her big brother.

There’s no way you will take away the illusion she has about Sherlock Holmes.

A few days later, Sherlock’s home …

“What do you want here?” Sherlock growls as you enter his apartment. Enola gave you the key, telling you to talk to her brother. Somehow the young girl knew exactly what her brother had done.

She gave him a black eye and a piece of her mind before sending you to him. Enola forced her brother to apologize to you. So far, he hasn't done a thing to show he’s truly sorry.

“Enola said you wanted to tell me something,” you quip, and put your hands on your hips. “I’m waiting. I don’t have time all day.”

“I won’t let you get away with this,” he grunts and storms toward you. You can’t react. Not with the giant dwarfing you in his sheer presence. You let him grip your chin and allow Sherlock to claim your lips.

He forces his tongue inside, to explore and conquer. “Mr. Holmes. This is,” you squeak as he twirls you around to bend you over his desk. You don’t get the chance to fight him. Sherlock grips your arms and restraints your limbs behind your back, using his scarf.

“I’ve dreamed of doing this to you for weeks,” he shoves your skirts up to your waistline, ignoring you wiggle on top of his desk. 

“Let me go.”

“You need someone to show you what it means to be a good wife for her husband,” he slaps your left cheek. “I will tame you. It will take some time, but you’ll submit to me.”

Sherlock grips your ass with both hands. He roughly kneads your flesh as you struggle to break out of the scarf he used to restrain your hands behind your back. “You will pay for this.”

“No, little bird,” he purrs in your ear as he leans over your body, “you will pay for all the times you disrespected me. I’ll show you that you are meant to be mine, and only mine. ”

“I hate you, Holmes.”

“You will address me correctly from now on, woman.”

You shudder as he pushes one hand between your legs. “I’m warning you,” you breathlessly say as his hand dips into your drawers. His skilled fingers find your clit, and pinch the little nub, making your body jolt. “Don’t touch me.”

“You’re touch-starved, sweet little bird,” his index finger runs up and down your folds. Sherlock takes his time to explore your heated flesh, humming as he feels your wetness coat his fingers. “That husband of yours didn’t treat you right while he was still around. I will always make you sing for me, little bird.”

“He was—” You bite your tongue. It’s not nice to talk ill about the dead. You’re not like this. Even though, it was an arranged marriage, forced on you.

“A boring and dull man,” he purrs. Sherlock teases your entrance with his index finger. “He should’ve had his way with you every day.” His fingers slip inside, searching for the spongy spot making you squirm. “You’ll have my manhood.”

“You can’t,” you whimper as he starts to curl his finger. “This is…you’re not a gentleman. What will people say if they find us here?”

“This is my home,” he retreats his finger only to thrust two back inside. “You are going to make such a nice housewife and mother.”

“I’m not a housewife,” you start wiggling again. “A man treated me like a possession once. I won’t let you do the same to me. I thought you are a modern man.”

“What do you want to be, little bird?”

Sherlock slips his fingers out of you to unbutton his trousers. He stares at your exposed sex, licking his lips. There is nothing left in his mind but pure lust. “I want to be a detective and solve cases.”

“Hmm…” 

He frees his cock to frantically fist himself. “Let me go. You don’t want me,” you whimper as your lower half disagrees with your mind. It’s been ages since a man touched you. And he was clumsy and not passionate at all.

“I want to ruin you.”

Your breath hitches in your throat when you feel his manhood slap against your ass. “What’s this? No…that’s a monster. Take it away from me.” You try to wiggle away. “It won’t fit.”

“Aw, my poor little bird,” Sherlock runs his fingertips over your thighs, “you never had a real cock inside of you. That husband of yours was a disappointment in any way.”

Sherlock runs his cockhead up and down your slicked folds. You close your eyes, waiting for the unavoidable to happen. Sherlock will ruin you and make your resolve to never give in to a man crumble.

“I want you to take me like the good girl you can be.”

He pushes inside, groaning loudly as your tight velvet walls fight his intrusion. “You’re too big, please…I can’t take it.”

“Little bird, you can take it,” he softly speaks to you. “You’re going to have a real man satisfying your needs from now on. Maybe your little head will be empty after I fucked every single thought out of your cunt.”

You bite your lower lip, hoping to keep the needy moans deep inside of you. It’s no use. Sherlock forces his way inside your dripping cunt, slowly spreading you out. The monster he’s hiding so well in his pants shows no mercy when it claims your body.

“Almost, Y/N,” he whispers. “You take me so well, little bird. I’ll make your body sing for me.”

He snaps his hips roughly into your bottom, making you cry out. Sherlock stills, but his hands grope and touch every inch of your body he can reach. He rips your blouse open to grope your breasts and toy with your nipples as you try to accommodate his size. “I-“ you pant. 

"Give in for once," he says, gripping your bound wrists tightly. “Let me give you what you need. What your body and mind are craving since your husband is gone.”

“He wasn’t a passionate lover…”

“I know, Y/N.”

He slowly moves in and out of you, testing your reaction. Sherlock is a gifted observer. He knows all the signs of pleasure. 

Your body relaxes, your walls open up for him, and the tiny squeaks that leave your lips show him all he must know. He grips your hips to drag you onto his cock anytime he bottoms out.

You groan and whimper but can’t do anything but let him use your body. Sherlock grunts your name, along with profanities you only ever read in one of those books every lady hides under her mattress.

He calls you his whore and praises your cunt as he rams his manhood into your quivering cunt. "Oh Lord. Help me,” you cry out as your body goes stiff. Wetness runs down your thighs, and you don’t know how to react as pleasure spreads through your body. 

“You feel so good, my sweet birdie,” he mutters after a particularly deep thrust. “I’ll fill this cunt up right now, and every day from now on. You belong to me.”

It happens again. A few pumps of his cock later your body trembles, and you clench tightly around his shaft. “Not again.”

“Let go, Y/N…give me another one. I know you can do it,” he purrs. Sherlock leans over your trembling body and grips the desk edge. He ruts into you, making the desk creak at the force of his trusts.

He snaps his hips into your bottom, making you cry as he wants you to give in again. “I can’t.”

“You can and will,” he grunts. “Now.”

“I…please…” your cunt quivers again. This time you feel Sherlock’s seed fill you up. He comes inside you with a shout of your name and a jerk of his hips. “You’re an insatiable monster…”

Sherlock crushes you against the desk, panting heavily into your neck as he remains inside your body.

“I hate to admit it, but I have to have you again. It feels like coming home when I’m inside you..."

>> Part 4

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