#had to put sherlock in a sheet

[helloliriels]

The Elephant in the Room 🐘

🎄A very merry 12 DAYS OF JOHNLOCK to you! 🎁 Let the Christmas CrAcK commence! (How else would we celebrate the end of 2022?! 😏😉)

@johnlocky @fluffbyday-smutbynight @chinike @rhasima @ohlooktheresabee @missdeliadili @kabubsmagga @whatnext2020 @kettykika78 @icatee @tinchensblog @totallysilvergirl @arwamachine @solarmama @meetinginsamarra @discordantwords @chriscalledmesweetie @glows-n-the-dark @safedistancefrombeingsmart @7-percent @sarahthecoat @shelleysprometheus @calaisreno @myriath @justanobsessedpan @topsyturvy-turtely @gaylilsherlock @loki-lock @peageetibbs @peanitbear @khorazir @raina-at @gregorovitchworld @john-smiths-jawline @teamkidman @i-call-me-clarence @geekinator @mslovet @purplevatican @impalaparkedat221b @keirgreeneyes @train-mossman @janetm74 @a-different-equation @colourfulwatson @hasenkind687 @wssh13 @marta-bee @masterofhounds @pocketwatchofmycroft

[cherryclxud]

Catch me if you can, Lord Holmes pt1

(ENOLA HOLMES)!Sherlock x BRIDGERTON!reader

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Description: a writer by the name of Marcus Bradford has been writing a weekly updated crime story that appears in the newspaper and it is the talk of the ton. sherlock is then pulled in to uncover the mystery of the story of the abominable bride. will he be able to find the writer of this story who yet remains hidden from seemingly all of society?

word count: 3.8k

Warnings: none

read below for credits

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MARCUS BRADFORD WAS AN EXTRAORDINARY WRITER. He wrote books of fantasy, romance, and tragedies. But anyone who has read Bradford’s works will tell you his prized works were that of the thrilling crimes series that would be posted on the weekly newspapers on page 4. Yes, no one could deny that this was the reason he was the talk of the ton. Appearing out of seemingly nowhere, Marcus Bradford’s words made it into every household in London, whispers about the crimes written were on the tongue of the fanatics every passing day, 

“Did you read what this man has written?”

“Did you see where he left this week's edition off?”

“How can the bride return when she so clearly shot her brains out in front of a whole street?”

“She returned and killed her husband then was found back at the morgue?”

It was a story where no one could see a true way to solve it, and so it kept everyone on the edge of their seat, that is…everyone but one.

Sherlock Holmes hated Marcus Bradford, and he hated his work. He was never a fan of fiction since fiction wasn't real and wasn't deducible, therefore he was never actually interested in anything this man was writing, but when all the clients asking for help seemingly came to him complaining that they wanted him to solve a fictional case written in a newspaper, that's when he would pick up the story to read and wasn't able to put it down till he had finished the latest edition of it. Two thoughts running through Sherlock Holmes’ head after putting the paper down, he hated fiction, and he hated Marcus Bradford.

The story was impossible to deduce anything out of, how could someone dead return? The bride quite clearly can't be who murdered her husband however the story clearly states that the husband had recognised her before his death. But she was in the mourge, how could the bride be in 2 places at once? How could she then continue to kill countless men after her funeral? Sherlock felt there were too many open ends and loose threads. Threads that only one person knew the ends of. Marcus Bradford.

But no one knew who Bradford was, no one had seen him before, in fact, he had never attended any soirees nor had any presence in the ton that anyone knew of. This opened a new case for Sherlock. Who is Marcus Bradford?

No one in the ton knew that Marcus Bradford was always under their noses.

In the prestigious house of the Bridgertons, y/n Bridgerton picked at the strings of her violin with a sigh. Mrs Wilson walked into the drawing room with the weekly news and a copy of today's Lady Whstledown, y/n watched as her younger sister Eloise snatched this week's paper out of the head maid's hands and quickly skipped to page 4, with an eye roll, y/n took the gossip sheet from Mrs Wilsons hand thanking her before pretending to skim over the paper. In truth y/n wasn't interested in the words of Lady Whistledown, she only ever tried to look out to see if ‘Marcus’ was ever mentioned. He was not. She dropped the sheet on the table before standing at the window and looking out.

“Can you believe it, another one?” Eloise spoke up not tearing her eyes from the sheet. Looking back at Eloise, y/n feigned confusion “Hmm, sorry what was that?

Eloise dropped the paper on her lap and looked blankly at the ceiling “Another man was murdered, all because the yard can't solve the case”

y/n picked the paper from Eloise and pretended to skim over it while hiding her smile, “Oh Eloise don't tell me you are going on about this stupid little story again, why not go read something more useful? Or try looking into who Lady Whisteldown is again, you loved that remember? This story doesn't seem to be doing anyone any good, and the writer seems to have hit a wall don't you think?”

Instantly Eloise turned her head to y/n  and stood up walking to her, “no you don't get it, sister,” she snatched the paper from the elder girls hands and pointed to a line “See here it's different ‘The man’s face paled as he looked at the contents of the envelope, turning it over, four orange pips dropped unto the table’ see sister it’s strange, this man got a warning the others didn't. Something big must be coming y/n, something different.” she quickly took the paper and ran up to her room leaving y/n looking behind her.

In truth y/n was out of inspiration. Writing under the pen name Marcus Bradford, she had made quite the name for him, but she thought, perhaps she had gone too strong with the opening and now she was crashing, the seeds in the envelope was her quite literally reaching for straws at this point, trying to buy herself time hoping that some grand idea will hit her. 

She was happy with all the attention her writing was gaining even if it was under a false name. She knew her stories would have gotten nowhere otherwise. She also knew that she couldnt keep writing forever, no matter how much she loved it. Her mother was on her back about missing many balls since her debut last year and that since Eloise’s debut this year, it’s harder taking care of two girls at once, especially two girls who cared more about books than looking to the men right in front of them. 

It wasn't like y/n was not interested in romance at all, rather, she was actually quite the romantic, but she found no interest in the advances of the men of the ton, in fact she always compared the whole process to a birds mating ritual, all the dancing, and the reciting of poetry and the hundreds of flower bouquets and colours. no, she much preferred the romance on the paper she read, and quite often found herself daydreaming about the books she had read, maybe one day a pirate would take her to go treasure hunting together. Or maybe a past childhood friend she doesn't remember will profess his undying love to her and how he never forgot her all these years.

y/n scoffed at the thoughts she was having, “Maybe all I need is a change of perspective and scenery…I assume a ball will have to do then” She rolled her eyes before standing and going to look for her mother's whereabouts. 

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IF YOU WERE LOOKING TO FIND SHERLOCK HOLMES, polite society would usually be the last place you would look. To Sherlok it is mundane and boring, and really there is no point in trying to connect with people whose knowledge and understanding end where yours begin. With this knowledge in mind, you can imagine how shocking it would be to the people of the ton when that very Wednesday Lord Sherlock Holmes was in the promenade with his younger sister in hand, they walked straight ahead ignoring all the stares they received. Enola could quite clearly see many desperate mamas pointing to Sherlock and whispering to their daughters. “You must remind me again Sherlock, why are we here?”

Sherlock stopped walking and unhooked his arm out of Enolas’ before looking around the park and then turning to her “I’m hunting”

“Hunting? In the promenade? Brother that's hardly quite safe” she spoke with a smirk before raising an eyebrow at her brother “Don't tell me you’re-... you're not hunting for a wife are you?”

This question made Sherlock momentarily stop looking around and then sigh “Really Enola think before you speak, honestly a wife out of any of the women here? Marrying a mannequin would be more  productive, at least then it wouldn't throw stupid questions at me” he eyed a few women but quickly looked away uninterested “besides I doubt any of them can hold up any meaningful conversation with substance”

Enola rolled her eyes before swatting her brother's arms lightly with her fan “Don't be so easy to underestimate them all Sherlock you never know” She then walked ahead leaving him behind.

“Of course I know, I'm Sherlock Holmes”

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y/n sat on the chair under the umbrella with a fan in her left hand and a book in her right, skillfully managing to hold the book and turn the pages all with one hand, her mother sat by her chatting her ear off about some lord or other that had passed by, and all y/n could do was hum in absent agreement to please her mother when in truth she held no care for whatever lord she spoke of.

“y/n dear look theres lord manyard,” y/n looked just above her book at the lord her mother spoke of, truth be told he was appealing to the eyes but y/n knew better, she knew that he had been sweet talking almost every debutant in the ton, her eyebrow twitched into a semi frown when he caught her eyes. A wink and smirk were sent her way causing her to use every muscle in her body to not shiver with disgust, she could not however stop the massive eyeroll she did “i hear that he owns land and estates in the country and that he is even buying out oil factori-”

y/n lightly slammed her book in her lap and gave violet bridgerton a tightlipped smile, she knew her mother meant well and that she only wanted what is best for her, but it was getting hard to see her mothers disappointment at every rejection she made, “Mama, where perchance did eloise go? I did have something quite important i needed to discuss with her”

Violet sighed but pushed no further “well yes I suppose sitting here will do you no good, last i saw her she was on the promenade trail with Penelope, will you be alright on your own or should I send Anthony with you?” 

y/n had already gotten up and adjusted her dress “No it's quite alright I think I’ll be fine on my own” and with that, she made her way in the direction her mother pointed to only to be stopped by a bunch of little kids running past her throwing confetti at each other, unfortunately, some got caught on her dress so while she walked she busied herself with clearing the tiny squares of paper off of her. As such in cliche stories and books, she wasn't looking in front of her causing her to bump into someone who equally wasn't looking where they were going.

Both parties' priorities regaining their balance before looking to the person in front of them, and looking up y/n noticed a girl about her age looking back at her “Please accept my apologies I wasn't focused on where I was going”

The girl quickly shook her hands in front of her “No no please you must apologise i also wasn't aware of my surroundings as I walked so if anything I'm equally at fault here”

Y/n smiled at the girl in front of her and gave her a small nod, then suddenly thought…what now, the girl was looking at her almost expectantly, y/n wasn't sure if she should say something or just walk away, but she had already stood there for too long in silence to suddenly walk away, but on the other hand what does she say?

“Enola”

Y/n raised her eyebrows “Sorry?”

“Enola Holmes… that's my name if you wanted to know” y/n raised her eyebrow at the familiar-sounding name. Enola extended her hand to y/n to shake.

“OH… oh I see yes, very nice to meet you Enola, I'm y/n Bridgerton” She then grabbed Enola's hand and shook it too as they smiled to each other.

“I must say Enola I haven't seen you in the promenade before…or at any soirees or some such thing” y/n spoke as she looked around.

Enola nodded as she brought her head up to her forehead “Yes well, I don't usually come out, I'm usually around my brother and he really doesn't care for the affairs of the ton so we rarely actually leave Baker Street”

Y/n tilted her head “I see, then what seems to have prompted today's outing?”

Enola linked her arms in y/n as they started to walk “Well-” stopping midsentence the Holmes girl furrowed her eyebrows and lifted her chin as she tried to think “In all truthfulness, I haven't the faintest idea when I asked my brother he simply stated that he was hunting”

Y/n stopped midstep and looked to Enola in confusion, “Hunting? In the promenade? I doubt he'd be lucky getting any deer or game here” She laughed at the absurdity  then a thought popped into her head “he's not..hunting for women is he?”

“Those were my exact words when I confronted him, however, if I know anyone it's my brother, he isn't interested in trivialities, ‘Enola, I’d rather marry a mannequin than a woman’ were his exact words to me” she spoke as she walked on with y/n and even deepened her voice as she quoted her brother, making y/n giggle at the absurdity.

“Quite the idealist he sounds like, lucky he is a man and gets to choose and not get judged upon it” y/n voiced her thoughts making Enola look at her “You quite right y/n, and it helps him that he is also the second son so no responsibility on his shoulder he is free to do as his heart desires”

Y/n and Enola both laugh before the latter girl notices her brother standing with a couple of gentlemen smoking cigars. She pointed at her brother and sighed “Had I known he had planned to throw me aside for his playmates I would have benefited more from staying at home” 

Y/n looked in the direction she was pointing at and suddenly it was like it all clicked once she saw him, of course, how could she miss such an obvious thing “Your brother is Lord Sherlock Holmes?! Of course, how could I not realise it sooner.” She slapped her hand lightly on her forehead as she looked to Enola who nodded in response.

“Trust me y/n, not as fun as it sounds, my eldest brother gave my wardship to Sherlock since he is already busy as it is with family and estate affairs and ever since then Sherlock has been as busy as ever” she stuck her tongue out at sherlock who looked away from the group of men at his sister. His eyes quickly flickered to y/n but didn't linger as his attention returned to Enola before he too stuck his tongue out to her.

Y/n smiled at the sight of the two of them, they made her think of her own family “You complain yet you both seem inseparable, it's sweet, mine are over there” She pointed to where Anthony and Colin were standing with Hyacinth and Gregory playing with a hoop. Hyacinth threw it up and Anthony managed to hook his arm in it then bowed to the trio in front of him. 

Enola giggled at the sight “My that is a lot of siblings how do you get a moment of peace to yourself?” causing the other girl to roll her eyes with a smile “I don't, and believe it or not there are 4 more” Enola’s jaw dropped before noticing that Anthony had apparently started approaching them, “it seems your brother wants you back I assume?”

“Not at all I'm just checking on my sister” he smiled at the two girls before directing his attention solely to his sister “sister I'm glad you are finally adjusting and meeting people that aren't on paper” y/n rolled her eyes before pushing Anthony's shoulder lightly “oh nothing makes you happy does it Anthony, I sit reclusively, I’ll become a spinster, I mingle with other people I'm suddenly to adventurous” they both laughed before the sister turned to Enola “Enola this is Anthony my brother, Anthony…this is Enola Holmes”

Anthony's eyebrows rose “Holmes? As in Sher-”

“Good day to you Bridgerton” 

There is a saying, ‘Speak of the devil and he shall appear’, and it seems quite fitting to use right here seeing as the man who approached the group and spoke up at that moment was Sherlock Holmes himself.

Anthony stood straight and nodded with a straight face to Sherlock  “Holmes.”

Both men looked at each other, like in a staring contest, both Enola and y/n raised their eyebrows in confusion, looked at each other then back at their brothers. Suddenly like it was synchronised both the men shook hands and pulled each other into a friendly hug. 

“I'm sorry Anthony but it feels like there's some missing context here, you both looked like you were about to murder each other and yet now you are acting like old friends, which is it friend or foe?” Y/n crossed her arms as she looked at the two men

Anthony looked to Sherlock with a smirk “Definitely foe dear sister seeing as since  his graduation Lord Holmes here didn't see it fit to send any correspondence any longer”  

The younger Bridgertons eyes widened as she looked to the older Holmes “You knew Anthony during his study?”

Sherlock nodded “We studied at Oxford at the same time, I studied chemistry and your brother focused on history and literature or some such thing”

Anthony coughed looking away quickly “Lord Holmes here was 1 year my senior and was booked in a flat with Hastings and I, of course, he valued his complete privacy so while he got the single bigger room in the flat me and Bassett had to share” he spoke with an eye roll.

It was Sherlock's turn to clear his throat and look away “Yes…how is Bassett… well I assume I must respectively call him the duke now”

Y/n who had felt that she and Enola had been quite forgotten now spoke up before Anthony could “Yes he is quite well, dukedom fits him rather well” 

Sherlock turned to the younger Bridgerton “Is that so? I see you have become acquainted with the duke” making the girl smirk “But of course hard not to when my sister is quite literally married to him”

“I see…”

“So Holmes” Anthony spoke up clapping his hands together to divert the conversation “you never promenade what has changed? Finally thinking of settling down?” 

“He's hunting” Enola spoke up.

Sherlock looked to his sister with a sigh before meeting the confused face of the Bridgertons and before they could speak up with any accusations he decided to clear his name.

“Not hunting persay, more scouting. I'm looking for the Bradfords”

It seemed as though time stopped around them, the two Bridgerton siblings and Enola’s eyes widened and y/n’s fan stopped mid-swing, the silence was heavy but was burst when Anthony quickly started laughing. 

“Holmes, surely you jest, don't tell me you too have been ensnared by a small column of fiction like the rest of the ton” he spoke and was quickly followed by Enola who expressed that he constantly refused to read it and that he could possibly just be joking.

Y/n looked at each person and stepped back to watch how this would play out.

“I assure you I do not jest or joke, I have received many clients coming to me with this case and it can only be solved if I find this Marcus Bradford himself” Sherlock frustratedly spoke while looking to his sister and old friend.

Enola raised an eyebrow before addressing her brother once more “And…what case might that be Sherlock?”

Suddenly as Sherlock looked to the three stood before him, his eyes flickered between them as he embarrassingly spoke. “The case of the abominable bride.”

Y/n tried so hard but couldn't hold in the laughter causing it to come out as a snort more like. Most unladylike and in fact unhelpful seeing as Sherlock's embarrassment now turned to frustration and annoyance.

The girl quickly realised her mistake and apologised with a smile, “It's just you'd think you of all people wouldn't waste your time with a storybook” 

Anthony was quick to scold his sister lightly then turned to Sherlock “I am not sure why you are doing this Holmes but…if it helps there is no Marcus Bradford in the ton, trust me people have looked.” 

Sherlock nodded solemnly while looking around the ton slowly “I see… well then we had best be on our way then, it was nice seeing you and meeting your sister Anthony”

Anthony nodded and bid the Holmes' farewell as Enola promised she would write to y/n. As the two families split away and started walking away, y/n suddenly stopped and stood back and waited for Anthony to keep walking and not notice before quickly walking back to the Holmes siblings.

“Lord Holmes!” she called out to him, Sherlock and Enola turned to y/n as she stopped in front of them and took a moment to regain composure. “You know Lord Holmes… I have a pet cat named Minnie” 

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as to why he was being told this, then the Bridgerton spoke up once more “She has this terrible terrible habit of loving the house a lot, and it drives me crazy looking for her but I think I have a technique down on how to catch her.” Sherlock still had no idea where this was going yet…something in him told him to humour the girl and give her his complete attention. 

“I used to go to every maid and ask her if she had seen Minnie until I realised, really if I track down the most important places I'd be saving time and energy, so now… when Minnie runs off, I just go to the kitchens and wait… she will have to eat sometime and the kitchen staff know not to let her out after that.”

And with that y/n turned around and walked back to her family who were sitting under the umbrella. 

“What was that about?” Enola spoke up when she noticed Sherlock was still looking at where y/n stood with a far-off look.

“A cat called Minnie…apparently”

y/n smirked as she watched Sherlock and Enola leave the promenade. If Sherlock Holmes wanted a wild goose chase, then who was she to deny him of it?

“Catch me if you can Lord Holmes” she spoke with a smirk

The game was truly afoot.

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I do not own Bridgerton

I do not own Sherlock or Enola Holmes

and I most certainly do not own the abominable bride story

they belong to their rightful owners.

I only own the fic idea.

@frost-queen

[https-kreideprinz]

I said, "Baby boy, you know I'm on my period, " yeah !

Clarisse la Rue x GN! Reader, Lester Papadopoulos/Apollo x GN! Reader, Percy Jackson x GN! Reader

. . . Now playing: Moon Cycle by Melanie Martinez! . .

Notes: I'm on my shark week and so my pookies will comfort me.

Written for @fictionalwhor3

CW: Mentions of Periods. Reader discretion is advised.

ׂׂૢ Clarisse la Rue

Clarisse pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. "You'll be alright " she whispered, running her hand through your hair.

You whimpered, tears pricking in the corners of your eyes. You felt like shit, looked like shit and probably smelled like shit too.

"You say that every month." You mumbled, wiping your eyes and Clarisse sighed. "That's also ‘cause I'm right every month. Come here." She smiled, pulling you into her arms, rubbing your back.

"How long have these been happening?" She whispered and looked up at her, slightly annoyed at her for asking such a ridiculous question. "Ok stupid question. Got it." She mumbled, rolling her eyes.

Clarisse rolled her eyes. "But still. All these years and you're not dead. I'm just saying." She shrugged. "But if you are going to die. Best you do it in my arms, so you die happy." She smiled, kissing your cheek.

Ok maybe it wasn't that bad.

ׂׂૢ Lester Papadopoulos/Apollo

Apollo pressed a kiss to the back of your ear. "Need anything else?" He whispered, holding onto your hand. You shook your head, pressing the heating pad against your stomach, moaning in pain.

You looked down at the things Apollo had brought and let him fret over you. "No... I don't need anything... How did you know what I needed?" You mumbled, looking up at your boyfriend.

Apollo scoffed and rolled his eyes "I have a sister you know. And believe me if Artemis didn't get what she wanted - when she wanted it - it was an arrow right to the chest."

He sighed, flopping into bed beside you. "Sorry sunshine, but any sort of tantrum you throw will be multiverses away from how Artemis acts. I can still hear her voice now..." He sighed. "Apollo, I need a heat pad- Apollo where's my ice cream- Apollo I need a fluffy blanket right now and if you don't give me one, I will literally throw you into the River Styx." He said in an overly girlish voice.

He grinned when you chuckled softly. "So, yea... I know a few things. And in any case-" he leaned in to press his forehead against yours. "I'd be willing to learn… for you." He whispered.

ׂׂૢ Percy Jackson

"I'm sorry." You mumbled for the thousandth time, looking up at Percy who slowly filled up the bathtub with hot water. Your boyfriend gave you a soft smile and shook his head. "And how many times must I tell you. It's ok." He persisted.

You whined, grumbling annoyingly when he chuckled and flicked your forehead. " But our sheets-" you began again, and he shushed you softly. "It's just some blood. It's ok " he rolled his eyes.

Sally taught him how to properly care for someone when this time of the month struck.

"I'll be back ok. Just relax. I'm not mad at you for waking me up, I could never be mad at you for something like this, ok?" He smiled, kissing your forehead. "Just relax. I'll be done before you know it. We'll have fresh sheets and then you and I can head back to bed and put this behind us. Ok?" He smiled.

You nodded and gave him a weak smile. "Okay..." You whispered, sliding into the tub to soak up some of the warmth.

Taglist: @thementallyunwellapollochild, @apollos-coolest-child, @too-queer-for-school, @chaotic-child-of-apollo, @vintage-wanderers

@solicitedfreakiness, @bows-and-olivia-rodrigo, @iam-sherlocked, @zahrawr-likes-red, @crystal-rayn

@thatonedemigodfromseoul

© Written By https-Kreideprinz. Do not copy, steal or translate without permission.

[starks-hero]

brother dearest

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Summary: Mycroft had never considered himself to be overprotective. However, he isn't overly pleased with how smitten his little brother is with you...

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: John is the only one with any emotional intelligence and Mycroft is faced with the horrifying ordeal of realising his younger sibling is dating, so they're all idiots really

Mycroft Holmes could practically feel his blood pressure rising. Confidential documents had been stolen from the very hands of the British government, putting the democratic well-being of an entire nation in jeopardy. And his little brother wouldn't answer the phone.

The moment word of the breach had gotten to Mycroft his first plan of action was to call Sherlock. Of course, he could have hypothetically dealt with the issue himself had it not required leg work. But to his dismay, contacting the youngest Holmes seemed to be as unlikely as winning the lottery.

Tossing dignity to the wind in the name of restoring balance to the western world, Mycroft stooped to the, in his opinion, ever embarrassing low of visiting Baker Street himself. He ascended the stairs, his displeasure evident in the weight of his steps, and refused to practice the common courtesy of knocking before entering the flat. Sherlock had lost that privilege when he refused to pick up the bloody phone.

Mycroft tutted with annoyance when he found both the living room and kitchen empty. Sherlock's coat, with whom he refused to go anywhere without, still hung idle on the clothes rack. He was in the flat and Mycroft was going to find him if he had to tear away every brick.

With all the begrudgement of a man who'd had his morning routine seriously uprooted, Mycroft marched towards Sherlock's bedroom and swung open the door.

He almost immediately wished he hadn't.

Sherlock lay sprawled out on the bed, white sheets twisting over alabaster skin. His eyes were shut, his hair a tangled mess of curls and you lay by his side.

Mycroft's jaw fell so quickly he expected it to unhinge and clatter against the floor with all the comedic effect of a nineties cartoon.

Sherlock's head rested against your shoulder whilst the lower half of your face was largely hidden by his curls. Your lips brushed his forehead in a prolonged kiss and Sherlock's arm was thrown over you almost possessively. Your own hand curled softly around the nape of his neck.

Disbelief, embarrassment and anger chased each other across Mycroft's expression before he settled with complete mortification. He couldn't explain it, not really, but seeing his little brother in bed with someone made him feel ridiculously nauseous.

Sherlock shifted, stretching out his limbs like a content cat before nuzzling closer to you.

Having no idea what else to do, the eldest Holmes shut the door. After a quick and failed attempt to purge the last few moments from his memory, he made his way back towards the living room.

He was met by John.

The doctor quickly did away with his fresh bag of groceries in order to make small talk, much to Mycroft's disdain. When John got around to the reason for his visit, and therefore Sherlock's current whereabouts, Mycroft shifted awkwardly.

“He seems to be occupied.”

A look of confusion clouded John's expression. He glanced down the hallway, jutting his thumb in the direction of Sherlock's room.

“I'm fairly certain he's just–” John's words were dissolved by the bitter look that was thrown his way by the eldest Holmes. “–oh, he didn't tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Mycroft asked with a painfully fake smile.

John swallowed thickly, suddenly very unhappy with the fact that he was the one that had to break the news to possibly the most powerful man in Britain that his little brother was seeing someone.

“He uh– he didn't tell you about himself and Y/N?”

Mycroft blinked. “It would appear he left out that minor detail.”

The silence that followed was awkward at best and utterly painful at worst. John, who wanted nothing more for the interaction to end but had no idea how to make that happen, nodded. Mycroft cleared his throat and readjusted his hold on his umbrella.

He glanced back towards his brother's room and John didn't miss the subtle glare he was trying to hide. Ah, so that's what this was about. John may not have shared Sherlock's observational skills but he did have a sister. He knew what overprotectiveness looked like.

“Mycroft, you do realise that Sherlock is an adult.”

“If that's what you would like to call him.”

“Right,” John dismissed quickly. “But he and Y/N are together. They have feelings–”

What was very much beginning to sound like a new rendition of ‘the birds and the bees’ was shortened by a scoff on Mycroft's behalf.

"My brother is barely capable of understanding his own feelings, you think he can handle someone else's?"

“You'd be surprised.”

Surprised was certainly one word for it. Mycroft simply couldn't imagine his brother being emotionally involved with anyone, regardless of how much imagination he tried to employ. He failed to imagine Sherlock in any situation that involved intimacy or vulnerability, let alone with you.

As if the very thought of you had doubled as a summoning spell, you entered the kitchen, steps lazy and eyes tired. If you were surprised to see the eldest Holmes you hid it well.

“Mycroft,” you greeted with a tight-lipped smile.

“Y/N.”

Your eyes moved between him and John, trying to piece together what exactly you'd walked into. John cleared his throat. You fought the urge to just go back to bed.

“Can I get you anything?” You motioned to the kitchen.

“My brother, if it's no trouble.”

“Showering,” you yawned. You decided not to add the bit where Sherlock had mentioned needing to ‘cool off before facing the devil so early in the morning’ upon realising his brother was in the living room. “He won't be long.”

“I see. I hate to show up unannounced. But I tried to call this morning and it seemed he was unavailable.”

You smirked despite yourself. Mycroft's grasp on his umbrella tightened.

After a few agonising moments that consisted of you cluelessly making yourself a morning cup of tea, Mycroft glaring holes into your back and John all but hiding behind his newspaper, Sherlock joined you.

His hair was damp, curls frizzed up due to the warm water. Mycroft hadn't seen it in such a state since Sherlock was a child. The unruly nature of his hair, as well as its tendency to make him look far less intimidating and far more endearing, often led to embarrassment. Which is why Mycroft was so surprised to see him so at ease.

Sherlock didn't so much as acknowledge his brother's existence as he made a beeline towards you, accepting the tea you offered and leaving a lazy kiss against the side of your head. He was smiling fondly all the while.

Said smile immediately fell when he spotted Mycroft. Sherlock muttered something about god under his breath and took a long, almost purposefully so, sip from his mug before speaking.

“Terrorist attack or security breach?”

Mycroft raised an unamused brow.

“It's ten o'clock on a Sunday morning, from my understanding you should be having tea with the prime minister or something–” Sherlock waved his free hand around dismissively. “You wouldn't be here if it wasn't of national importance. So which is it? Suspected terrorist attack or a security breach?”

“That, brother mine, is something you would have already been clued in on if you'd learned how to answer my calls.” Mycroft intended for his words to be somewhat scolding but judging by how Sherlock reclined in his chair and crossed his legs he figured his attempt at exerting some sort of authority over his younger brother had failed. “Now, it's not as threatening as initially believed but still relevant enough to warrant some sort of investigation. Which is why I need you to–”

His words fizzled out at the sight of you moving to stand behind Sherlock's chair. Your stance was relaxed, comfortable, as if you felt you belonged where you stood, as some sort of watchful protector. Mycroft glowered.

You seemed unfazed and Mycroft couldn't tell which he hated more, your hand now on Sherlock's shoulder or the fact that his brother was smirking because of it.

By some miracle, he managed to make it through the rest of the briefing without giving away just how much he wanted the floorboards to open up and swallow him.

He didn't know why the sight of you both together irritated him so much but by god was it getting under his skin. The glances you shared that Mycroft knew had hidden meanings behind them. How his brother, who needed a week's recovery in his room after any social interaction, preened under your touch. The youthful look in his eyes, the boyish smile. It was somehow painful to look at.

Mycroft could still recall when he was the only one that could placate his brother. When they were children, spending hours in their garden estate, finding insects and frogs and recalling their Latin names. Anything to keep their brilliant young minds entertained. He remembered how Sherlock would light up with each new nugget of information Mycroft gave him. Even into their teenage years, he was the one Sherlock trusted, the one he looked to for help and guidance. It had always been him.

But now, now there was you.

He had you to confide in. To talk to. To irritate with a tirade of useless facts that anyone else would think irrelevant. He had you to look out for him and comfort him and Mycroft couldn't understand why this was angering him so–

Oh.

The notion that his little brother had, in fact, grown up and didn't need him anymore came as a very unwelcome realisation. Mycroft had the sudden desire to leave the flat as promptly as he could.

“Well,” he cleared his throat. “I should be getting on. I trust you'll fill me in on your findings?”

Sherlock groaned, in agreement or dismissal it was hard to tell.

Mycroft, who now wanted nothing more than to leave, turned to make his way to the door. “Good day, doctor Watson.”

John nodded, not failing to notice the change in Mycroft's stance.

‘He's copped on then.’

Partially because of your closeness to the door and partially in an attempt to rectify whatever you'd done to wrong Mycroft, you moved to show him out.

He passed you silently but as you stepped back to close the door, he stopped you.

He seemed uneasy, an emotion that looked unnatural and foreign on him. His nerves were infectious and you quickly found yourself growing anxious, expecting him to gift you with some horrific piece of information to pass on to Sherlock to save him from dealing with the mess of telling his brother himself.

His actual request was something much softer.

“Take care of him, will you?”

It took a few moments for you to blink away your surprise. As confused as you were, you nodded all the same.

“Of course.”

Mycroft responded with a nod of his own, offered a surprisingly genuine smile and then turned to leave. He'd descended the stairs entirely by the time you finally closed the flat door.

“What was that about?” Sherlock asked nonchalantly.

You shook your head. “Absolutely no idea.”

John took a sudden interest in his newspaper in an attempt to ignore just how hard he was biting his tongue.

thank you for reading!

Sherlock tag list: @miraclesoflove @ilovefanfictions @mylovelysnowflake @quentawewe @bakerstreethound @andreasworlsboring101 @doozywoozy @xxinvisiblexx @the-worst-critic @the-queer-dungeoneer @jellyfishbeansontoast @starrykitn @starryeddie @ladymercury8 @themorningsunshine @evelynrosestuff @mywellspringoflife @simp-for-scammanders @Xhz17x @allieberries @kealohilani-tepise

[ranposbabe]

Forbidden Lovers

pairings: sherlock holmes x fem!reader

summary: your “affair” with sherlock comes to blow and he can no longer hold back

warnings: slight mention of suggestive content, little bit of hurt w/comfort, sherly wanting you <3, implied!noble!reader

Meeting at the bridge was a regular occurrence for you and the detective.

It was no secret that you were involved with the detective in fact many either knew or pretended not to a knowledge it.

Your own family were among those that avoiding the issue. Until now.

Sherlock warned you before to not upset yourself over it.

“What’s wrong ?” He was a detective but it always amazes you how quickly he could catch on to any issue just by a quick glance at your frowning lips.

“They’ve arranged me to be engaged.” You state, not even believing it yourself. Denial evident in your tone.

Your eyes stare on straight past him to stare out at the view. The sky was a mesmerising navy colour similar to the detective own hair. It was getting late. You kept reassuring yourself to hurry home but a part of you wanted to keep still. To stay by him.

The cigarette in his hand becomes abandoned as he takes one last strong puff before dropping it just to crush it under his heel. “Look at me.” He whispers it in such a way it makes you slightly overwhelmed. He didn’t ever attempt to hide his affection towards you whether you were in public or not but by the way he currently stared down at you it suddenly made you feel very aware to your current circumstances.

Your now teary eyes still refused to meet his until he stepped far too close for your family’s liking and lifted your chin using his finger. His skull ring made your hot skin somewhat cool. He effortlessly calmed you down.

“You need to tell me right now what exactly you want because this can’t continue.” He shook his head as he spoke as he knew what is was that you wanted. Both of you. He knew your family was trouble from the start or perhaps he shouldn’t have involved himself with someone like you but once Sherlock had his hands on something he wanted he was no fool meaning he wasn’t going to let go.

“y/n.” He couldn’t stand the sight of you so upset. If he could drag you away from them he would. He will. “I’ll go mad if you don’t say something but let me tell you something first.” He assures you. For your current sake he keeps his voice rather low let if he could he would shout it for all to hear.

“If you actually think your family can put an end to us than you must be madder than me.” A slight smirk was evident on his face. “I want you !” You almost burst into tears as your voice shakes. You don’t hesitate to practically fall into his arms too exhausted to do anything. He doesn’t hesitate to hold you.

“That’s all I needed to know.”

As you later laid tangled within his sheets with your chest rising fast due to your hastily breath you wondered in awe. As you look up at Sherlock whose arms wrapped around you rather protectively it was then you realised you should’ve never doubted your love for each other. Knowing him, your family’s plans for your “engagement” will be put to rest very soon. You couldn’t wait.

[lisbeth-kk]

May Prompts (14) Eavesdropping

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter 14)

Summary: When Rosie wakes, the pain tells her that this day will be horrible to endure. She's forgotten that she has a caregiver waiting for her downstairs to ease that pain.

Fourteen Years Old

Two months before my fifteenth birthday, I woke and just knew this would be a shitty day. My period had turned up during the night without any pre-warning. Like a tiger sneaking up on its prey. The pain was like sharp claws digging into my abdomen. I curled around myself before I realised that the evidence probably was visible on my pyjama bottoms and the sheets.

“Fuck!” I exclaimed and slammed the door on my way downstairs to wash myself in the bathroom and soak my clothes and sheets to avoid permanent stains.

My parents had learned to leave me alone on mornings like these, but I could always rely on breakfast being ready for me when I emerged from the bathroom. 

Dad probably had to eavesdrop to the sounds I made to time it correctly. Papa, on the other hand, seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to me and Dad and how long it took us to shower, walk from the tube station, do the grocery shopping, or returning from a visit at Nana’s.

If Dad was home, there would be grilled cheese sandwiches and tea. This Monday, Dad had an early shift, so it was Papa who treated me with French toast and my favourite smoothie. He’d also procured a glass of water and paracetamol.

“That bad?” Papa inquired and scanned my face.

It almost brought me to tears this care and thoughtfulness. His low and soft voice did the rest. I didn’t hesitate for a second when he opened his arms but went willingly and clung to him while he stroked my back. We stood in silence before I went to blow my nose.

“Thank you,” I murmured and seated myself at the table.

“Of course, Bee,” Papa said. “Do you need a note for gymnastics?”

“No, it’s fine. We’re going to the gym today. Lifting weights and such. We’re free to do whichever exercises we want, so I’ll just choose those that aren’t too straining and painful,” I told him with a grimace.

For a moment he looked kind of fragile and lost. He didn’t cope very well when one of his Watsons was in pain or ill.

“I’ll be fine, Papa,” I assured him after I’d eaten and swallowed the painkiller.

“I don’t like seeing you like this, my heart,” he whispered.

“I know, Papa. It’s a natural thing though, and I’m lucky to have you and Dad to care for me,” I retorted and gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

After I’d put on my yellow Converses, I reminded Papa that I wouldn’t be home until late.

“Babysitting at Pinkerton’s,” I elaborated when he looked puzzled.

“Is that a good idea today, Bee?” Papa asked, his voice concerned.

“Well, these babies have to be paid, you know,” I said and pointed at my shoes.

“Bee! I told you, there’s no rush to pay us back. In fact, let’s say they’re fully paid as of…”

“Sherlock Holmes! A Watson never cheats,” I tutted.

“Watson-Holmes,” he muttered under his breath.

“I heard that,” I laughed, gave him another hug before I ascended the stairs to the front door. The pain from an hour earlier was just a fading memory. For now.

Also available on AO3

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @helloliriels @raina-at

More tags in the replies

[jawnscoffee]

hiiii

after AGES, i‘ve finally gotten back into writing *yayyy*

this is a sequel to the oneshot Serenity After the Turmoil by @lisbeth-kk (go read it!!! It‘s such a lovely idea) aaaand yeah :) it would mean the world to me if you checked it out!! (also, hope you like it 🙉)

Serenity After the Turmoil (part 2)

Even though the living room light was dimmed, John had to squint his eyes as he walked towards the door, which revealed what lay behind it with a small gap. Luckily, he'd oiled the door pins a few weeks ago, because it would have been really unfortunate if its loud squeak had interrupted the gentle melody Sherlock was playing.

John carefully opened the door a little further and then stopped. Sherlock was standing in his usual place when he played the violin, with his back turned to him. John had often wondered why he always played in front of the window - if people saw him showing off his double chin, he wouldn't be able to concentrate on any notes. Not that he could read sheet music - he was about as musically gifted as a whining dog. And double chins weren't a bad thing - actually, most people had them. Except Sherlock. He didn't have a double chin, as John knew, even though he couldn't see his face right now. And his musical talents more than surpassed his own. His blue dressing gown swayed gently with the soft movements he made as he played, seemingly absorbed in the music. Until he suddenly stopped moving, put the bow between his teeth (or at least that's what it looked like from behind) and pulled a pencil out of his pocket with his free hand and scribbled something on the sheet of paper on the music stand.

"You don't have to stand so stiffly in the doorway, John."

Of course Sherlock had noticed that John had come. What else.

John cleared his throat, ignoring the warmth slowly rising up the back of his neck.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you," he said, taking a few awkward steps into the living room.

Sherlock just shrugged and mumbled something unintelligible before slipping the pen back into his coat pocket and turning round. His dark curls looked a little more messy than normal, indicating that he had been in bed, but his eyes were wide awake.

"Did I wake you?" John asked, guilt creeping up inside him. Maybe he should just get some sleeping pills. Or wait, he was a doctor himself. Maybe he should just prescribe-

"No, I couldn't sleep either," Sherlock replied, shaking his head. "And then I heard you...", he seemed to search for the right word for a moment, "...making noises from your room that didn't sound like you were having a good dream."

John lowered his eyes, unable to stop the heat from rising in his cheeks, but Sherlock didn't seem to mind the obvious reference to sex dreams.

"Since it calmed you down the last time I played the violin, I figured I might as well use a sleepless night to do it again," he continued unaffected, shrugging again.

John had now raised his gaze again and didn't know what to say for a moment. So Sherlock had actually heard him and played the violin for him. To calm him down. Wow.

"I, um..." John put a hand on the back of his neck and cleared his throat again. "Thank you," he then said. "What you played was really nice. Did you write that?"

Suddenly it was Sherlock who seemed a little uncomfortable in his own skin, because he lowered his eyes and placed his violin and bow beneath his armchair.

"Yes. In a way," he then said. "It's inspired by…someone."

"Someone?" John asked in surprise, raising his eyebrows. "Are you going out with someone?"

[wilderness-of-thoughts]

Before:

You stood in front of the mirror almost ready to go. Gojo dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and shorts. He really had a lot to choose from, you got so many doll clothes that you envied his choice. The only problem turned out to be the shoes, so he walked barefoot all the time.

"Now... Where should I hide you?" You said looking at your reflection, Satoru was sitting on your shoulder looking at his reflection in the mirror, fixing his hair.

"Where are we going?"

"The library." Gojo looked at you like you killed his puppy. "What?"

"I don't know, I thought you were seriously trying to bring me back to normal height!" He shouted, whipping his tail.

"I'm trying! I'm gathering information! Now I want to go to the school library to see if there's any mention in the archives of what happened to you!" You shouted back.

"oh... Okay..." As if nothing had happened he went back to improving his beauty. "What?" He said looking at your reflection in the mirror.

"I want to flush you down the toilet."

"Just try it and I'll come back and roll in your sheets."

"You won't do it"

"Want to bet?" He looked at you expectantly. You didn't want to. You sighed heavily, your thoughts returning to the problem of where to hide Gojo.

The fact is that when he sits on your shoulder, both of you are comfortable and Satoru can see everything. But you can't just go like that to school. You might run into Yaga or Gojo's students. You know Nanami is teaching them now and you might run into him too.

"Maybe like in Ratatouille?" Satoru first teleported to the top of your head, then asked. You could already feel his hands tightening around the knuckles of your hair. It's worth a try. You pulled an old summer hat out of the closet and carefully covered your head with it.

"How are you doing there?"

"...It smells like an old wardrobe."

"No shit Sherlock...."

"Walk around the room for a bit." Step, step, step.

"Would you please not pull out my hair?" You growled.

"Can you not move your head when you walk?"

.... What?

"maybe I should stop moving too?"

"That would be helpful"

....

The next idea was to put him in your purse. And at first it seemed like a good place but...

"You're rocking me too much! And I can't see a thing! ... Oh, do you have tampons in your purse? You know, I've always wanted to stick a little firecracker in one and..."

...

Plan number three was to put him in pants pocket. But for obvious reasons you didn't even try. Why are women's pockets so small and tight?

...

"I have an idea!" He finally shouted. Curious, you didn't move and waited to see what he would do. Gojo climbed up your shirt and in the blink of an eye he was between your breasts as his arms and head hung from cleavage. Big smile appeared on his face. "I'm a genius." He mumbled to himself. It was warm, soft, he could feel your breasts on his skin. The bra secured his legs so he wouldn't fall any deeper.

"GET OUT OF THERE" You squealed, red in the face.

"No." Quick reply. "I'm in heaven"

"I'll give you hell if you don't come out in five seconds.." you growled through clenched teeth. Gojo looked at your reflection in the mirror, and as if nothing had happened, he raised his head and smiled sincerely and cunningly.

"You know that when you get mad you get a runway on your forehead?"

"...What?" You blinked.

"Well, look in the mirror, you're frowning and there are wrinkles like a runway forming on your forehead."

"I really want to rip your head off more and more."

∆∆∆

The best place to hide Gojo turned out to be quite unconventional. You came across it by accident when you were trying to pull Gojo out of your bra.

You were already on the grounds of the jujutsu school and hoped you wouldn't run into anyone. Gojo at this time was under your shirt (of course), standing with his bare feet resting on the back of your bra. He was standing straight, could see everything over your shoulder. And if anything, he could always hide in your hair. Perfect solution.

You was actually worried that he would be too hot, but he just waved his hand nonchalantly. Well, okay.

"Y/n!" Fuck. "Y/n!" Yaga approached you, walking a bit faster.

"Hi uncle!" You smiled, trying to look natural. "What's up?"

"as usual." He replied with a smile, accompanying you to the library. "Tell me how you are, is Satoru feeling better?"

"Meh, dramatic and hysterical. His Adonis body is less divine." You laughed quietly. Yaga smiled.

"He'll get better, most of us have been there." He spoke clearly recalling some place in the past in his head. You nodded. "Why are you going to the library anyway?"

"Um... Gojo... He asked me." Fuck, you couldn't come up with a credible excuse and that was the first thing that came to your mind.

"Just to be clear, we're talking about Satoru Gojo. Right?"

"Yeeees..." Yaga raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. Quick, come up with something better! "You see, he's very upset about having chickenpox and is looking for a way to get rid of it faster. That's why he... Wants to use some jujutsu technique!"

"Sounds like him."

Phew.

∆∆∆

Satoru was surprisingly calm. But it was just the calm before the storm.

"You done?" He groaned in your ear as you searched the archives for books that could help.

"We've been here for five minutes..."

"I'm so bored!" He pulled on your earlobe. Annoying little devil.

...

...

...

You know those memes where cats sit on a book while their owner reads? Well, you have the same thing, but instead of a cute fluffy kitty, you have Gojo with his hands behind his head.

"Hey, I'm bored."

"It's an antique... an old scroll with..." Riiiiip..... It was an antique.

...

...

...

"Y/n pay attention to me!" Satoru glared at you.

"should I look for a solution to your tiny problem or pay attention to you?"

"can't you do both?"

...

......

...

And this is not the storm I was talking about. This storm started innocently.

Nanami showed up in the library. Yaga probably told him you came. It's not like you were special friends with him, you just knew him. Nanami, after a few pleasantries, started talking to you about books. You asked him if he knew of an encyclopedia of jujutsu techniques or something similar. You wanted to find someone who might have had similar power at one point. It turned out that Nanami was very committed to helping.

"Miss Y/n, I found something. It's quite a large volume... But there's a more or less complete list of tech-"

"Iiiiiik!" You squealed, grinning in pain.

∆∆∆ A few moments earlier ∆∆∆

Gojo was furious. He peered over your shoulder, safely tucked into your hair, and watched as Kento took off his jacket, pushed up his sleeves, and loosened his tie. He was hitting on you! It's not like he wants to feel comfortable poring over books. NO! Gojo was absolutely convinced you were being hit on. And when that blond dick was leaning over you...Why the fuck did Nanami offer to help you anyway?

Gojo always had you on a tight leash, especially around Nanami. His friend was a walking green flag, and Gojo could see it. Yes, he shared his lover with him several times. But he will never share you!

But you weren't without blame either, oh nooo....

So Satoru, being himself, did what came to his mind. You asked for it. He took a deep breath through his nose, burrowed deeper into the back of your neck, and... started biting you. No, that's an understatement. He braced his feet against your skin and dug his teeth mercilessly into your flesh over and over again.

"Iiiiiik!"

"Miss Y/n?"

"Ow, ow, ow!"

"Are you alright?" Nanami seemed genuinely concerned, which made Gojo bite even harder.

"Y-yes! I think I just got a needle in my... Ow!!!"

Simply...

Bite.

...pay...

Bite.

...attention...

Bite.

...to...

Bite.

...HIM!

Next:

[jessicaloons]

Chapter 27:

But the story of us might be ending soon…

Masterlist - Previous - Next

I was lying wide awake in bed, Charles next to me. I stared at the ceiling, head throbbing, mind reeling. I never felt more guilty in my entire life. But it was my own fault. I created this mess.

"Lizzie?" Charles whispered and I flinched, the sheets rustling when he was turning to look at me "Why are you awake?"

"I just woke up." I lied, again.

"Hmm. Are you okay?" he rubbed my arm a little and I sighed.

"Yeah. It was just a lot. You know? I wanted it to be the perfect birthday for you. But in the end I screwed it all up."

"That’s not true, mon amour. It was amazing!" he scooted even closer, cupping my cheek "I was the one who ran away instead of talking to you like an adult! I’m 25 now but acted like a 15 year old."

"You were just overwhelmed… shocked… it’s okay." I mumbled.

"Still… I’m sorry." he kissed my cheek and pulled me into him "It was an amazing evening with all the people I love."

"Almost all the people."

"Almost, yeah but I’ll see them all as soon as we’re not in between races, that’s fine." he whispered and I smiled.

"Yep." he had no idea.

"You know that it would’ve been fine if we just ordered something to eat?" Charles said as we walked up to my flat.

"It’s your birthday and we go out for dinner! Just let me change into something a little more nice than what I’m wearing and we can go." I unlocked the door.

"You look amazing, I don’t know why you want to change… are we eating with the royal family or what?" he sighed and closed the door behind him, slipping out of his shoes.

"No, but with our family." I said and he turned around.

"Surprise!" we all yelled and Charles flinched a little.

"What the…?"

"Happy Birthday, Charlie!" Liam screeched, jumping straight into his arms.

"Thanks Bubba." he was overwhelmed, I could tell "What are you guys doing here?" he walked into the living room, hugging first our Mums, then Dad, his brothers and Sissy.

"Isn’t it obvious? We’re surprising you for your birthday." Arthur rolled his eyes and I had to chuckle.

"Yeah but, I mean… I had no idea."

"No shit Sherlock?" I patted his back "That’s why it’s called a surprise, you know."

"I know." Charles laughed and Liam poked his cheek "What’s up Bubba?"

"We have presents for you!" Liam said excitedly and wiggled in Charles hold, who sat him down "Here!" he handed Charles a present and Charles sat down on the sofa "Open it!"

Charles ripped the paper off and then opened the box, looking inside, he took a book out of the box and as soon as he opened it I saw the tears in his eyes. He flipped through some pages and Liam next to him waiting for his reaction. Charles put the book down and pulled Liam in his lap, hugging him tight.

"That’s the best gift I’ve ever received, Liam. Thank you so much!" Charles whispered with teary eyes.

"You like it?" Liam asked and he nodded.

"I love it!" Charles kissed Liams cheek and Pascale leaned over to have a closer look on the book, gasping a little when she realised what it was.

"Lizzie helped me with it. We kept all the receipts or tickets or postcards from whatever we did together. And then I picked my favourite pictures of us." Liam explained and Charles smiled at me.

"It’s amazing, really. I absolutely love it!"

Liam blushed a little, happily giggling. I walked over into the kitchen and helped preparing the food.

"Thank you guys so much for coming!" Charles raised his glass as we all sat down "And thank you, Lizzie, for organising not just yesterday in the club, but this dinner!" he leaned over and kissed my cheek.

We sat together for a while, eating and talking away, when Liam began to yawn and Sissy left the table with him, making him bed ready.

"Say good night to everyone." she said when they returned and Liam made his way around the table, as soon as he stopped at Charles he climbed up in his lap and snuggled into his chest.

"Can you read me a bed time story? You and Lizzie together?" he whispered and Charles nodded slightly, stroking his back.

"Of course, Bubba." he whispered back and got up, I followed them shortly. When we passed Sissy Liam leaned over and she kissed his cheek, saying good night and then Charles carried him into my bedroom, putting him down in my bed. I grabbed the book with the bedtime stories.

"Okay, what page?" I asked Liam and he turned on his side, snuggling into the sheets, clutching his plushie tight to his chest.

"16." he whispered and Charles smiled down on him, gently ruffling his hair. I opened up the book on page 16 and read the story, watching how Liam fought with all his power to keep his eyes open. But as the story ended, he had lost the battle, softly snoring away. We kissed his cheek and carefully got up, but before we left I opened up a drawer and took out a little present.

"Here, one last gift from me." I handed it Charles and he sighed a little.

"Lizzie, this whole weekend was more than enough! And then the secret trip! Now this! Stop spoiling me like this!" he said quietly, while opening the box, looking inside "Oh cara mia." his voice barely above a whisper as he took out the key, holding it up "Thank you. So much." he pulled me into him, kissing me softly "Feels almost like the key to your heart." he chuckled and I swatted at his arm.

"You’re so cheesy!" I rolled my eyes.

"You love it!" he pulled me in again, looking deep into my eyes.

"That I do."

"What do you mean?" I asked as we boarded the plane, Charles holding my bag for me "Wait, I’m boarding the plane." I put my phone down, showing the flight attendant my ticket.

"Welcome on board, Miss Doetterer. Would you and Mr. Leclerc please follow me." she smiled at us and lead us to our seats "If you need anything, let me know."

"Thank you." we both said and Charles ushered me into the window seat.

"Okay, now." I took my phone out and heard Julie rustling through some paper.

"Netflix. They want to film the Bosch Racing event in Austin." she said and I sighed.

"Just that event? Or more?" I asked.

"Just that event. There will be young kart drivers, a lot of girls, that’s why they want to film it."

"Okay. It’s on Wednesday, right?"

"Yes. I’ll tell you all the details as soon as I see you."

"Alright. See you in Austin. Bye." I hung up, groaning.

"What’s with the event on Wednesday?" Charles asked as he sat down next to me, handing me his hoodie.

"Netflix wants to film it, because it’s an event with a lot of karting drivers, a lot of young girls apparently, so they thought it’s a good idea if that’s being filmed." I sighed while pulling over Charles hoodie, snuggling into my seat.

"I agree. You wanted to use the documentary for exactly that!" he sat down and I nodded.

"I know. You’re right! Doesn’t mean I have to like it."

"Nope. But you’ll get used to it. Faster than you think." he kissed my cheek and I looked outside the window, hoping he was right.

Hoping I really would get used to a film crew filming my every move, that’s why I was nervous when I arrived at the sponsoring event. But seeing all the young kids, boys and girls equally, being so passionate about racing, loving the sport so much, my nervousness faded away in an instant. I did some laps around the track, gave some advice here and there. Told my story, how I made it from karting into F1. When the event slowly got to its end I wanted nothing more than to spend another hour or two with the kids.

"You were amazing! The kids loved you! The sponsors loved you!" Julie said.

"The camera loves you!" Elijah, the unit director, added and I blushed a little "If there are more events like this planned, count as in!"

"We will!" Julie smiled and waved the crew goodbye when I got into our car "Okay, be honest. How was it for you with the film crew? You were a little uncomfortable every now and then?"

"I wouldn’t say uncomfortable, more… kinda nervous how I would look on camera when doing whatever I was doing at that moment…"

"Oh Lizzie! You were amazing! Really! Just be you. Be natural. Don’t try to play a role…" she patted my arm and I nodded, thinking about her words when I opened up the door.

"Charles?" I asked when I walked inside our room, bed empty.

"In here."

I slipped off my shoes and plopped down on the sofa, as the bathroom door opened up and Charles walked out.

"Hey pretty girl." he kissed my head then walked over to the minibar, grabbing a sparkling water, handing it to me before he sat down "How was it?"

"Amazing. I swear these kids were all so talented! It was so much fun!" I said excitedly "There was this one girl, Myra, she was amazing. She wanted to know everything, I swear! She asked so many questions, was so inquisitive! She’ll be an amazing driver one day! Oh and Chloe! She was intuitive! She got in the kart and just went with it."

"Seems like you had a lot of fun, then?" Charles asked and I nodded "How was it to be filmed outside of the track?"

"I was a little worried about how I look on camera doing normal stuff like drinking or putting on a helmet? I was a little too much in my head. But I get used to it, like you said and it will get better from now on. I’m just being myself, not caring about the cameras."

"Very good! Exactly what you need to do!" Charles squeezed my thigh "Did you eat something?"

"Not really, no, you?" I answered and he shook his head.

"You wanna go out? There’s a street food festival just 2 streets from here." he said and I nodded.

"Yes! God yes! Give me a couple of minutes in the bathroom, just to freshen up a little."

"Take your time."

"Lizzie, can you tell us a little what happened back in Japan?" the reporter from CBS Sports asked.

"Umm, what happened in Suzuka can’t happen again. It was irresponsible. Mistakes like this can cost a life, as we all unfortunately know, and the FIA has to react and find out what went where wrong that a recovery vehicle was on track while we were still racing." I answered, although I was 100% sure that this wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

"There was also some drama off the track, with Charles attacking a reporter?" he continued.

"I think attacking is a little exaggerated? No? I mean to be honest it all happened so fast, I couldn’t fully process what was going on. So yeah. Don’t know what to say." I answered honestly.

"What the reporter asked left room for interpretation, did you understood it as an imply to something inappropriate?"

"I don’t know. It’s already 2 weeks ago, I don’t even know anymore what was said." I lied, I didn’t know at all what was said, Charles said I shouldn’t watch it or read articles about it, so I thought it must’ve been something bad. I did what he asked me to. Although I was curious.

"You were asked if you expect your results to be better again after your move to Monaco, where you would be closer to your fellow drivers to spent time outside of the track with them."

"To play paddle and go out to dinner together? Don’t know if that helps, but sure, why not." Fucking Salva Diaz.

"I think it implied a little more than just that?"

"I don’t know. I don’t care. Like I said, it’s two weeks ago, I focus on this weekend. Thank you." I smiled and when I left the media pen I bumped into Charles.

"A lot of questions about Suzuka, no?" he sighed a little and I nodded.

"Yeah but not just the race…"

"What else?"

"You! Punching Diaz! For nothing!" I looked at him and he stopped abruptly.

"What do you mean ‘for nothing’?"

"Charles, he asked way worse stuff before! And then you didn’t snap! Why now?"

"Why now? Why now?" he grabbed my hands and pulled me aside, into a hallway "Maybe because I saw the way you were tense the whole press conference, maybe because I saw how you were trying your best not to faint any moment, maybe because I saw you having a panic attack the moment he looked at you, ready to just spit out another disgusting question to hurt you! And maybe because in my mind he shouldn’t even be there! So yes! When he said you moved to Monaco to be closer to us other drivers to spent some time together, looking like that? Practically sneering? No. I lost it. And I don’t regret it one bit, he had it coming." Charles was furious and I cupped his cheeks.

"I love you, you know that, right?"

"Wh-what?" he was perplexed and I smiled, kissing his cheek.

"Thank you. Really." I hugged him and he sighed.

"I love you too."

I walked out of the bathroom, drying my hair when I saw Charles smiling at me like the Cheshire Cat.

"What have you done?" I asked

"Why do you think that I’ve done something?" he chuckled and I cocked an eyebrow.

"Because you sit there, smile like that and I’m 100% sure that I heard someone knocking at the door."

"Hmm. Interesting." he got up, walking over and grabbed me by the waist, still a big grin on his face.

"What have you done?" I repeated and he leaned in, brushing his lips against mine.

"Happy release day." he whispered, his hot breath fanning over my lips.

"Release day?" I was confused.

"Check the bed." he pulled away and I walked to our bed. Tears threatening to fall immediately.

"Are you serious? All four?" I turned to look at him and he shrugged his shoulders.

"I heard you talk about them over and over again, saying you couldn’t even decide which one to buy and then they were already sold out… well I ordered all of them in advance." I almost jumped into him "Do you like them?"

"I love them. Not as much as I love you, but yeah close second right now." I kissed him, putting all my love and happiness into it "Every girl out there wants a boyfriend like you! But only I get to have you!" I kissed his cheek and he laughed, walking us over to the bed again, where all four editions of Taylor Swifts new album were waiting for me "You are perfect." I whispered and looked at him.

"Perfect boy for a perfect girl then." he hugged me close "So, which one do you like the most?"

"All of them? I honestly can’t decide. They all look amazing… but if I had to decide? I think the Jade Green Edition… it reminds me of your eyes…"

"Funny… I would’ve chosen the Moonstone Blue Edition, for the same reason, it reminds me of your eyes…"

"I don’t know, the rear was still a little stiff, don’t you think? I mean it was way better than in practice one." I said to Pete as we looked over the data and he nodded.

"Maybe we need to change the set up a little more, but I’m not sure we can do much more, to be honest." he scratched his chin.

"Yeah, we’ll see." I grabbed my water bottle and walked out of the garage when someone tapped my shoulder.

"Oh, hi Paul." I said as and smiled.

"Lizzie. How do you like Austin so far?" he asked and walked with me outside.

"Not my first rodeo here. I tested once for Ferrari here." I said and he shook his head.

"I’m not talking about the track! I mean the city! I could show you around! Show you some really good restaurants!" he smiled at me and I tilted my head "I’m from here, you know."

"What? You’re from Austin? I had no idea!"

"Yep, born and raised, then I left for Europe to travel and stayed in Germany and started working there." he explained "But I’m still up to date with what’s going on here."

"Cool! Yeah maybe if I need some recommendations, I’ll ask you first!" I said and he nodded.

"I could take you on a little sightseeing tour?" he asked and as I wanted to say something Charles walked up to us.

"Hey, I was waiting for you." he said, ignoring Paul completely.

"Yeah, sorry, I was talking to Paul." I said and he turned a little, nodding at Paul, then turning back to me.

"Ready to leave?" he asked me then and I nodded.

"Yup. I see you tomorrow." I smiled at Paul and left.

"What?" I asked as Charles walked next to me, not saying anything, just looking grumpy.

"‘I could take you on a little sightseeing tour‘?" he imitated Paul and I rolled my eyes "Oh come on! If you tell me now that he’s just nice then you’re lying to yourself!"

"Charles…" I sighed.

"Cara mia, he asked you on a date! He is flirting!"

"He didn’t ask me for a date! He just wanted to show me around his hometown!"

"Yeah and just you… no one else from your team would get that special tour."

"Whatever."

"Okay, this is your last chance." Pete radioed.

"Copy."

One last lap. One last time fully focus. I crossed the finish line with a good feeling.

"Currently P3. Good job. We’re waiting for Charles, Max, Hamilton and Sainz."

"Valtteri?"

"P7 for now."

"Max P4. Hamilton P5. Your P3 is safe. Well done!"

"Awesome! Woohooo!"

I steered onto the pit lane, parked in the P3 spot and got out of the car, taking my helmet off after I hugged my team. After my weighing I put it down on the table when Charles drove up to me and when Carlos parked into the P1 spot my face fell for a second, but I recovered quickly, hoping no one and especially no camera captured it. I nodded to him when he passed me and he did the same. That was enough. Charles walked behind him to his team, shoulders tense. There was some trouble going on.

"Lizzie?" one of the F1 officials looked at me and gave me a microphone, pushing me towards my interview with Danica Patrick.

As soon as I was done I watched Charles interview and waited for him before we walked back to our garages.

"Did something happen with your teammate?" I asked him quietly in French and he shook his head.

"No, my last lap wasn’t good enough. And with the penalty I’ll start from P12. That sucks."

"Oh fuck! I forgot about the penalty! I’m so sorry! But hey, now I have the chance to overtake him at the start."

"Do that, but please, be careful… you and him. I don’t want a Ferrari or an Audi out of the race in lap 1." he cocked an eyebrow and I chuckled a little, when I noticed that Charles rolled his eyes, looking behind me. Paul. Waiting half way down the pit lane. Looking at me. Maybe Charles was right and he was flirting after all. I tried to pretend like I didn’t notice him and looked at Charles.

"I’ll try my best to avoid that. I promise!" I laughed and he squeezed my arm gently before he walked inside his garage and I made my way down the pit lane to my garage.

"P2 tomorrow! Good job!" Paul said when I passed him and I nodded.

"Yup. Sad for Charles tho." I said tight lipped.

"Well he’s a good enough driver to make up his positions during the race, right?" his tone a little mocking.

"He will, don’t worry." I walked a little faster and was glad when Felix approached me.

"That was a good last lap! Well done!" he hugged me and I smiled.

"Tried my best."

"P2, is a good position." he threw his arm around my shoulder and we walked inside, leaving Paul behind. I had to talk to him. But that had to wait. For now I would behave like always around him. Focus on the race ahead.

Charles POV:

I talked to Pierre, feeling the champagne seep through my fireproofs and race suit when I saw how Paul approached Lizzie. She didn’t seem to be as relaxed as she usually was around him and I wondered what had changed. Lizzie laughed about something he said, it wasn’t her usual laugh. It was more reserved, but that didn’t stop him from putting his hand on her back, like he wanted to stabilise her, as if she needed it. The way he looked at her, practically undressing her with his eyes made my blood boil. Over the last weeks he was getting way too close to her and I knew the look on his face all too well. Despite what Lizzie said, that he only was friendly and definitely not flirting, she was too naive to see it. And she definitely was too nice to tell him to fuck off. But I was getting more and more agitated by him.

"Mate, what are you staring at?" Pierre boxed my arm and I blinked, rubbing my arm glaring at him "What?"

"I hate that guy! Look at him! Look! He’s almost jumping her right there in front of everyone! He’s always all over her!" I gritted out between clenched teeth.

Pierre looked at where my eyes were still being glued to and chuckled.

"Are you jealous?" he said and I groaned.

"Are you for real? Look at him!" I said.

"I mean yeah, Lizzie is a stunning girl, of course he tries to shoot his shot… and you’re not official a couple so…" Pierre said as Lizzie and Paul disappeared into the hallway.

"About time that he finds out and learns to keep his hands away from my girl!" I spat out and stormed after them. I opened the door and entered the building, I could see Lizzie and Paul in front of me and walked faster.

"…and yeah about that, I mean, my offer still stands, I can give you a little sights-…" Paul began but I interrupted him.

"Here you are, baby. I was looking everywhere for you!" I said loudly, Lizzie and Paul flinching slightly, turning around. Three long strides and I stood next to them, grabbing Lizzie by the waist and pulling her in. Crashing my lips onto hers, kissing her fiercely, one hand still on her waist, pulling her body flush against mine, while the other hand grabbed the back of her neck, pushing her face even closer. As I let go of her she let out a ragged breath and I nipped at her bottom lip, pulling her tight to my side as I turned to Paul.

"Oh, hi! Sorry, I hope I didn’t interrupt anything?" I asked innocently, then I extended my hand, pretending to shake his "Hi, I’m Charles, I think we haven’t met yet?" I said as if I was really thinking about if I knew him or not.

"Yeah, I know who you are, we met before…" Paul stated, staring at my extended hand.

"Oh! Right! Patrick, right? Good to see you!" I said while Lizzie next to me still looked up, confused, but also slightly amused.

"Paul." he almost gritted it out and I slapped my forehead.

"Of course, Paul! Sorry mate! There are just so many of you mechanic guys! It gets quite confusing! I just wanted to say hi to my girl, and tell her that we’ll go out tonight, I reserved us a table at that barbecue restaurant. You know the one you sent me a link to! That’s perfect to celebrate my podium, no?" I kissed Lizzie again and when I pulled away I slapped her butt cheek, which made her squeak, her cheeks were turning pink "Alright, I leave you guys now to it. Baby girl, I’ll pick you up later on. Pat- no, Paul! See you around!" I clapped his shoulder and turned around, walking away, before I stopped again, turning around "Oh yeah, and before I forget it, would be cool if you could keep this to yourself, only a handful of people know about us. Thanks mate!" I grinned and walked out. Pierre waiting for me.

"Oh, I know that look… what did you do?" he asked and I shrugged my shoulders.

"Showed him who she belongs to…" I said and then I grimaced a little "Yeah okay, that sounds wrong af… cringe."

"Sounds like someone is a possessive, little shit." Pierre laughed, clapping my back.

"When it comes to her? Always!" I said and he shook his head.

"Figured that out a long time ago." he wiggled his eyebrows and walked away.

"What do you mean?" I asked him but he just waved me off "Come on, Gasly! What do you mean?"

Lizzie waited at my car, scrolling through her phone when she looked up.

"Oh baby, it’s you." she said mockingly and I grinned, opening the door for her, but she didn’t move "What? No kiss for me? Baby? Or a little slap on the butt? Are you into spanking, baby? I mean we can try if you wan-…"

"Okay, okay, okay! I got it! I was a little possessive and a little jerk… I know, okay? But I just couldn’t stand anymore how he was always looking at you! Touching you! Trying to make you laugh! I had to show him that he can take his flirt attempts and stick them far up his ass." I said and she laughed, biting her lip.

"I have to say…" she began, pushing herself off the car, leaning in, our lips almost touching, her eyes settling on my lips "It was kinda hot, how possessive you were… and that little spank?" she almost whispered, her hot breath fanning over my lips as she chuckled "Can’t say I didn’t like it…" she pulled back and got into the car, my face red and hot.. I closed her door and took a deep breath before I got in the car myself.

"You okay? You seem a little flustered?" she asked me, biting her lip and I groaned.

"You’re the worst, you know that?" I started the engine and she laughed, resting her hand on my thigh.

"Maybe… maybe not." she rubbed her palm over my jeans and the friction she created made it hard to concentrate "Seems like you’re having a little issue."

"No idea what you’re talking about…" I let out, catching my breath when her hand wandered upwards "Lizzie…"

"Charlie…" she said innocently.

"You better stop now. I would like for us to arrive at the hotel in one piece." I said through gritted teeth and she laughed again.

"Hmm… I’m perfectly fine, looks like an you problem to me."

"It turns into a you problem as soon as the door of our room is closed." I grabbed her hand before it made the deadly contact and kissed her knuckles.

"Oh? Is that a threat?" she challenged and I squeezed her hand.

"It’s a promise… baby."

Mexico was a whirlwind. I was constantly feeling like someone was following me. And it was true. The Netflix crew was following me. They filmed my arrival. Dinner with Joris, Dad, JK, Andrea and Charles. Media day. Friday and Saturday. How I FaceTimed with Mum and Liam before the race. My warm up session with JK. Everything. It felt like the only time I had for myself was when I put on my race suit or when I had to pee. Or when I specially asked them to give me some space.

"You look exhausted?" Charles asked, worry evident in his voice, when he stood next to me.

"I’m okay. I just didn’t thought it would be so much, with them following me literally everywhere. It’s a little weird." I sighed.

"It was kinda weird when I opened them the door this morning, that’s for sure." he said and I nodded.

"But I have some Netflix free moments now, so let’s enjoy it." I laughed a little and Charles smiled.

"Yeah. A whole minute of the anthem." he chuckled.

"I take every second I can get, thank you!" I whispered as the anthem began to play. I closed my eyes. Shutting everything out, only focusing on my breathing. A couple of moments just for myself.

"Alright, ready?" Dad asked when I came back from the anthem procedure.

"Yep." I nodded, taking a sip out of my bottle.

"Good luck out there, Lizzie." he side hugged me and gave me a kiss on the head.

"Thanks Pops." I smiled at him and together with JK and the Netflix crew I went to the grid, getting ready for the race. When I was strapped in and checked everything I signalled the all clear to Matt and he nodded. Formation lap and then I took one last deep breath.

Lights out and I pushed the throttle as fast and hard as I could. I steered around George in front of me, making one position up. As we turned into the first corner I braked later then Lando and overtook him as well. I saw the battle between Max and Charles in front, Carlos almost next to me. He fought me off as good as he could and our battle gave George the opportunity to overtake us both. I felt a slight bump and my car was swerving to the left.

"We touched." I radioed.

"No damage."

"Good."

The first 9 laps were a constant battle between George, Carlos and I. Always in each others DRS range, switching positions over and over. The battle ahead of us between Charles and Max looked the same. I managed to stay ahead of Carlos and George for the next lap, getting over a second between us.

"1.1 to George. Keep pushing."

"How far ahead is Max?"

"2.3. Charles 2.4."

"Alright."

I pushed as hard as possible, breaking later than ever before to close the gap to Max, right as I drove out of turn 6 I saw Charles and Max going wheel to wheel with Charles having the upper hand, I inwardly cheered a little, when out of the blue Charles car was spinning out of control, from that moment on everything seemed to go in slow motion, his car going hard over a kerb and the rear got lifted high up in the air, flipping the whole car in the process, as fast as the car was up in the air, it already was down, flipping over and over, thrashing over the grovel until it came, upside down, to an abrupt halt in the wall. That was when my heart skipped a beat. Everything going at a normal pace again. Charles car a red mess in the wall, debris flying around, a dust cloud around the accident site, where I breezed past. Looking over at Charles. I couldn’t see him, too much dust, the car being upside down, hanging partly in the wall. I saw the yellow flags being waved. And wondered why just yellow.

I drove straight to our garage, unbuckled my seatbelt, took out the steering wheel and leapt out of the car, on the screens all over the garage I saw replays of the crash, how Charles car flipped over and came to a halt in the wall.

"Did he say something now?" I asked Matt who only shook his head.

"I’m sorry Lizzie, but no. His engineer and Fred tried to reach him, but no response." he answered and I felt my heart clench. I took my helmet off and threw it on a table, then I grabbed the headset Matt handed me and watched the drama unfold in front of my eyes.

The crane turning the red car over carefully, setting it down, the marshals and medic team jumping in and working on Charles, who didn’t seem to move. I felt a hand on my shoulder and flinched.

"Lizzie, hey. It’s just me." Dad said and pulled me in his arms.

"Why isn’t he moving? And why didn’t he respond?" I whispered and he gently stroked my back.

"Let’s wait until he’s out of the car, okay?" he said and I nodded looking back on the screen, watching as an ambulance drove next to the the crash site. The marshals putting up a barrier out of sheets and I gulped. It was never a good sign when they won’t show what’s going on. I felt tears stinging my eyes. My breathing got shallow. I couldn’t lose him. Not after we finally found our way together. Not after the last months. No, I couldn’t lose him. Dad talked to me but I only heard it ringing in my ears.

"Can’t breathe." I choked out and Dad immediately jumped into action, pushing me down on a chair, JK next to me rubbing circles on my back, trying to soothe me. Julie standing on my other side with a bottle of water, waiting for Dad to come back with my inhalator. As he kneeled down in front of me, shaking it and shoving it into my mouth I tried to inhale but nothing happened. It was empty. I forgot to exchange it this morning.

"Fuck! Lizzie were is the spare one? Lizzie?! Come on! Where is it?" Dad asked and I tried to talk but couldn’t.

My lungs deflating, panic took over. The ringing in my ears got louder, my sight grew dim. Out of nowhere Andrea jumped next to Dad, handing him the inhalator Charles always kept in his backpack, and he shoved it right into my mouth and pushed the button down. I took a deep breath and felt how my lungs unfolded again. I closed my eyes for a second, but before Dad could push the button a second time I jumped up and walked over to the next screen, Charles on a stretcher, lifeless, one medic saying something to the other who checked Charles’ pulse. Then he shook his head. And my whole world began to crumble. Darkness surrounded me. Charles was gone. Dead. And right as I collapsed, the camera panned onto me, broadcasting my break down for the whole world to see.

Little Note:

Chapter 27 - as a little New Years gift the new chapter a little earlier! Well… that just happened 🙈 but, what happens next?

Please leave a comment/ like/ reblog/ message and tell me how you liked it! I'm dying to hear your thoughts!

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Last but not least, English is not my first language and although I tried my best: please excuse any mistakes I made!

Taglist:

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[strawberrywinter4]

i saw your post about prompts for a johnlock fanfic, and i thought it would be fun if they went on a picnic date (+ it could be in the evening so there would be stars) :)

Thank you, thank you for this prompt! I wrote away, haha, so I hope you enjoy <3

The Greats

Fandom: Sherlock(TV)

Tags: Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Established Relationship, beginning relationship, countryside, Picnics, picnic date, Hand Kisses, John kind of speaks poetry, Star Gazing, Theories of Stars, Romance, Fluff

Read here on ao3.

*•*•*•*

It was, initially, for a case.

A series of murders summoned them to the countryside, and Sherlock had a delightful time, claiming that it was a “fun one.”

Now, after the chaos has ended and the case has been solved, Sherlock’s excitement instantly deflates. He complained about the fact that they were still in this god-forsaken village and that they should return home immediately so that he’s able to get proper rest in case of another murder coming about, and he’ll need his ability of deductions, clear and skillful.

Sherlock and John are packing for their departure, folding clothes and gathering toiletries. The inn which they’ve stayed in is a local lodge that’s run by a widowed woman, Agnes, who’s practically like the Mrs. Hudson away from home. Sherlock catches himself longing for his Mrs. Hudson’s biscuits.

John curses under his breath as he peers down at his phone, the screen illuminating his face through the dimly lit room. Sherlock quirks a brow in question.

“Our train has been… delayed,” John explains. “Delayed until tomorrow morning.”

Sherlock groans in complaint, flopping down on the bed which contains sheets opposite to his liking. “This is troublesome,” he scowls, burying his face into the pillow.

John sighs, seeming slightly irritated as well. “Yes, well… nothing we can do now.”

“I have no desire to sleep anywhere besides our own bed for another night, John. This is already proving difficult,” Sherlock says, his voice muffled due to the pillow.

“I thought you didn’t sleep,” John quips back, taking a seat next to Sherlock’s sulking body.

“You’ve changed my sleep schedule considerably. Now I actually need to rest my eyes properly,” Sherlock complains in dismay.

A strong hand runs up Sherlock’s spine, then squeezes the back of his neck. “We should be thankful we have somewhere to sleep,” John reminds him.

“Oh, please. Don’t try to make me feel sorry for voicing valid concerns.”

“Concerns about yourself,” John corrects him. “Anyway, I’m going to head to the front desk, set up another night for us.”

Sherlock makes a noncommittal noise.

John scoffs and stands, and Sherlock can hear the door shut on his way out.

An hour passes, and finally, then, Sherlock turns on his back, furrowing his brows. The late sunset peeks through the window, making its way through the curtains.

John has been gone quite some time. It shouldn’t take that long to register another night, should it? Sherlock wouldn’t know. He doesn’t concern himself with such useless information.

Just then, the door opens and John walks in, a wooden basket in hand. He grins once he sees Sherlock.

“Come on, you big baby. Stop sulking and let’s go enjoy ourselves, yeah?” John suggests, taking a quick look at himself in the mirror, fixing the collar of his jumper.

Sherlock rolls his eyes and stands from the bed, going to stand in front of John. He shoos John’s hands away and fixes the collar himself, which John seems grateful for.

“And what on earth are you talking about?” Sherlock asks absentmindedly.

“You’ll see once you stop fiddling with my clothes that look just fine,” John says.

“Mm. You wear horrid jumpers, John. I have to make do with what I have.”

John rolls his eyes and grabs Sherlock’s hand. “Go put your shoes on. We’re going out and there’s no arguing about it.”

Sherlock reluctantly does as he’s told.

___

It isn’t a long walk, but Sherlock has to bite back several grumbles about his feet hurting.

They finally arrive at a field of open grass, it being one of many near the village. Sherlock blinks in confusion, looking down at John who sets the basket down. Sherlock observes the field, there being nothing but occasional trees and distant mountains in sight. It’s close to nightfall, the sun now ducking under the hills.

“A potential suspect?” Sherlock asks, a tinge of excitement coming back to his chest.

“Nope,” John responds, searching through the basket.

“Oh. A stakeout, then?”

“No,” John responds again, setting down a plaid blanket.

“So… nothing of entertainment,” Sherlock concludes. The excitement dissipates.

“Sherlock.”

Sherlock looks down, seeing John light a lantern. He sets it carefully beside the blanket, then begins setting out various mini deserts on the blanket, as if they’re magically appearing out of the basket.

After John is done preparing the setup, he extends his hand. Hesitantly, Sherlock takes it, and carefully, John pulls him down next to him. Sherlock sits next to the blogger, and John keeps him close, his body warmth making the slight chill of the night seem like only a breeze.

John’s deep, always sincere eyes find Sherlock, searching the detective. “You need to rest that beautiful brain of yours and just be here with me,” John says.

Sherlock’s eyes flutter as they wander the scene. “What is this?” he asks skeptically.

John’s grin is wide as he obviously tries to hold a chuckle. “This, Sherlock, is called a picnic,” John explains, enunciating his words.

Sherlock glares. “I’m aware. I just mean… why?”

“Why not?”

“This isn’t something we… do,” Sherlock tries to clarify.

“I didn’t know we had an itinerary for our relationship,” John teases.

Sherlock huffs. “You know what I mean.”

“Sherlock, we’re on a date,” John says, taking the detective’s hand in his. “I’m taking you out on a date.”

Sherlock’s heart stutters at John’s words. Yes. Of course. This is what couples do. They date.

“I know going out just because isn’t our usual dynamic, but… this is my way of showing you that I appreciate you,” John says, his voice low as if anyone else could disturb their peace.

“Oh…” Sherlock says, eyes wandering the setup once again.

John’s eyes turn to concern. “Do you not like it?”

“No!” Sherlock quickly reassures, if not too eagerly. “I mean- yes. I like it. Um…”

John stares at him, showing he’s attentive.

“I just mean that… I’m not sure how to- I don’t know how you’d like me to-”

John releases a short laugh, squeezing Sherlock’s hand. “Darling, I’m not asking you to do anything. Be yourself. It’s just us.”

It’s just us.

John says it so easily, as if that’s the way it’s always been.

It is how it’s always been.

It’s always just been them.

John brings Sherlock’s hand up to his lips, kissing it quickly before bringing the sweets over to where they’re sitting. Sherlock can’t stop his cheeks from heating.

“I know how you like your scones,” John starts, setting the plate between them, “so don’t let me stop you.”

Sherlock allows himself to smile, grabbing one of the scones from the plate. “Is this why you took such an awfully long time to register us another night?”

John looks up, squinting an eye in confusion. Then, his lips turn into an “oh” as he nods. “Yes. That.”

Sherlock sighs, realization coming to him. “Our train ride wasn’t delayed,” he concludes. The detective shakes his head in bewilderment. “You… fooled me.”

“This is a perfect place for a picnic,” John says in defense. “No way am I going to take you somewhere in London when you can get authenticity out here.”

“There’s Regent’s Park,” Sherlock offers.

“There is,” John agrees. “But London doesn’t have a view like this.”

They both look up and are met with the sight of a thousand glittering stars. Sherlock feels himself go a bit hazy as he lays back fully against the blanket, staring up at the heavenly body. John lays next to him, their shoulders touching. Sherlock presses into the touch.

“What’s your belief, then?” John asks, voice quiet.

“Hm?”

“Everyone has a belief in stars.”

“John, they consist of hydrogen, helium, and-”

“No,” John interrupts softly. “I mean… a belief that’s not based on the strict laws of science.”

Sherlock only stares. ���I don’t believe I’ve formed one.”

John hums.

“How about you?” Sherlock asks, his curiosity peaked.

“Well… when Harry and I were little, we had loads of theories. One was-” John stops for a laugh. “One was that each star is a symbol of one of the greats. That someone who’s made an impact in history makes their way to the top, becomes one of the many shining fragments that people look up to for hope. And they watch us live our pathetic little lives as they thrive in the sky.”

Sherlock grins. “That sounds promising.”

“Doesn’t it?” John releases a contented sigh. “I can’t wait for us to become stars.”

Sherlock turns his head to settle his eyes on John. “So you’re claiming that we’ll be one of the greats?”

John turns his head as well, eyes landing on Sherlock with adoration.

“We already are.”

*•*•*•

Tags: @a-victorian-girl @whatnext2020 @totallysilvergirl @ninasnakie @thegildedbee @whodwantmeasaflatmate @with-a-ghost-mr-holmes @sherlocknjohn221b @jawnn-watson @blogstandbygo @lisbeth-kk @holmesianlove @itsonlytext @7-percent @chinike @peanitbear @bakerstreetbe @mary-johnlocked @curlyjohnlock @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes

(Please let me know if you don’t wish to be tagged! And thank you so much for the reblogs, my loves <3)

[fancyfeathers]

The Games We Play of Dust and Ash (Yandere Moriarty the Patriot Masterlist)

Sherlock meets his darling when going to investigate a scene, she is a reporter or a reporter who is trying to break out of the reviews of plays and flower shows she has to write. She is trying to talk to one of the police telling him that her boss told her that she should have clearance to enter the sight to report on it but they won’t let her in.

“Don’t worry, she’s with me.”

Like a knight in shining armor he comes in to save the day and her job most likely. So with the detective stepping in they have no choice but to let her in along with him. The two look at the scene together, while he is looking for clues she is writing down literally everything she sees on her notepad, even asking the police questions about when was the suspected time of death and when was the body found, actual important details. Before they part ways he asks for the piece of paper under the one she was writing on, it’s a strange request but she agrees and says farewell to the detective.

He returns to Baker Street with the sheet of paper and takes of piece of graphite to rub against the paper to reveal the imprint of what she wrote, hells she was able to notice a few things he wasn’t but of course there was a number of things she missed as well, but not bad.

“Oh you smart little thing.”

They meet again when she had just turned her finished article into the editor, she had waited until Holmes solves the case so she would get the whole story. She is leaving the news bureau when her shoulder collided with the detective by complete accident. They both stop to thank each other, her for letting her investigate the scene for her work, and him for her helping him solve the case with her observations. She tells him if he even needs her help again that he knows where to find her and she runs off and he still forgot to ask her for her name and it isn’t until the morning paper is published and her name is under the headline story that he learns it.

The two fall into a habit, he would come and find her at the news bureau when he gets a new case, they would investigate the initial scene together and she would give him a copy of her notes and he would give her the other evidence he finds as he looks more and more into the case, thing he finds when it starts to get dangerous. She is quick, not as quick as him, but quick none the less, the back and forths they have are almost addictive, her intelligence trying to rival his own.

One of these times when he comes to find her he can tell that she is distressed about something and sees that there is a piece torn out from her brand new note pad that she just said she hadn’t used. So he pulled that same trick he did when they first met and asks for a piece of paper and she gives it to him without a second thought. After they investigate the scene and they both go off to their own homes, he talks the graphite to the paper and immediately figures out what is distressing her…

She is investigating a death of a noble couple that someone thinks is a murder. There is a doctor who preformed an autopsy who found out they were poisoned, a librarian who was involved who went missing, and the name of a young lady who commissioned the reporter who Sherlock recognizes as a name of a woman his brother fancies but that is beside the point.

This is a dangerous case, he knows that and she throwing herself in the pit of vipers just to get the story. He can’t sleep that night, worrying for the first time about her, she is actively putting herself in danger.

In the next few days he meets her once he solved the current case the two of them are currently working on together. He also confronts her about her other project and she tells him not to worry about it which sets the detective off…

“I don’t want you getting hurt or killed because you mean the world to me, love! Don’t you understand that?!”

She excuses herself after the detective’s outburst, going to write her articles. When it comes out the next morning, the detective is left alone to think of ways to get her out of this situation, he doesn’t want her getting hurt but what if he was there to protect her…

The next time he comes to the news bureau to speak with her he tells her that he wants her to come along with him for the full case, and eagerly she accepts, not knowing what danger she is putting herself into until she is being treated at the hospital for the bullet in her arm. She is laying there with the detective at her side wondering if he was right, after all today she almost died is it wasn’t for Sherlock pulling her out of the way, she was lucky the bullet didn’t hit anything vital.

When he goes to visit her at her apartment while she is recovering and writing her article to help take care of her and glancing in the trash bin by her desk he sees the crumbled up pieces of paper revolving around her side project, but he pockets them himself, it could be an interesting case just not for her.

[holylulusworld]

Fighting Temptations (4) - To new horizons

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, sassy reader, light smut, mentions of blow job, mentions of former marriage, there is fluff

Fighting temptations masterlist

<< Part 3

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

“Fuck, you feel too good,” he purrs in your ear.

True to his promises earlier, Sherlock had you again. Or did you have him? You’re unsure as you are close to another mind-blowing orgasm.

Sex with your deceased husband felt more like a chore. But sex with Sherlock is pure pleasure and unadulterated lust. You cling to his body like you’ll shatter if you don’t hang on. “You—” you gasp for air, “already said that.”

“Can you not stop talking for a moment,” Sherlock silences your protests with his lips, eagerly tasting you again. His tongue swipes over yours.

He moves a little faster, hips stuttering as you smirk against his lips. Your nails bite deep into his flesh as you tighten around him once again.

“Woman, you are like a drug,” he moans against your kiss-swollen pillows. “I’m addicted to your nectar now, I’m afraid.”

“Woman, lie on top of me. You should rest. I wore you out,” Sherlock grumbles as you refuse to lie on his sweaty and hairy chest.

“No. You’re sweaty…and so hairy,” you quip. “I rather stay over her.” You move toward the edge of his bed.

Sherlock chuckles at your words. Not moments ago, you were clawing at his chest.

“If you don’t want to sleep,” he grins now, “we could try a new position.” You shudder at the thought. Sherlock is like an insatiable beast, ready to devour you again.

“Forget it,” you point a finger at Sherlock. “I’m…sore. You can’t put that monster inside of me again.” You scrunch up your nose as Sherlock lies stark naked on top of the covers. He points toward his half-erected cock, unashamedly.

“Your sweet womanhood isn’t the only way to take my cock. We can put your mouth to better use this time,” he purrs.

You huff. “You’re an insatiable cretin and, you didn’t earn such a thing. I won’t put my mouth on that thing until you earned it. You didn’t apologize so far.”

“My lady,” Sherlock knits his brows together. “I gave you not one, or two orgasms. I gave you six.” He grins. “Isn’t that apology enough?”

“No,” you turn around and refuse to even look at him. “You are a misogynist and what you said…”

“I don’t apologize. Never…I,” he sighs deeply. “You made me so…” Sherlock tries to find the right words. He’s usually better at this. Just not with you. “I shouldn’t have said those things. You didn’t steal my case.”

“It’s not about the case,” you angrily sit up to glare at him. “It’s what you said the other day! I tried to be nice, and you called me a...wench!”

“Oh that,” he nervously runs his fingers through his luscious locks. “Y/N,” he softly whispers your name. “I’m sorry. You are right. This wasn’t gentleman like and I’m truly sorry. But you made me so mad I lost the ability to act like a decent person.”

“You are not forgiven,” you grunt, and turn back around to sleep. “I hate you and your stupid cock.”

“You loved it not minutes ago,” he lies on his side and moves closer to you until he can wrap his arms around you. “I know you liked it very much.”

“It wasn’t too bad.”

“Hmm…” he nuzzles his face in your neck. “I liked it very much. Usually, the ladies I spend my time with are not so feisty and wild. You make my blood boil, and I like that you challenge me.”

“Enola can never know what happened tonight.”

“Of course not,” he whispers in your ear. “How shall I tell my sister that her mentor scratched my back like some animal? You are not a lady in the sheets, little bird.”

You smirk. He’s not wrong. Sherlock woke something in you. “I smell you on me. If you leave me alone now, I could bath."

“We will have a bath,” he whispers. “Give me a moment to get everything done.”

“How do you feel now that you have washed me off your body?” you look up at him, grumbling his name as Sherlock wakes you once again. “Little bird?”

“Fine,” you yawn and snuggle back into his chest. He runs his fingertips over your back, tickling your skin with skilled fingers. “It’s late. Can we rest now?”

He’s silent for a moment. Sherlock looks at you in his arms, wondering if you are more than one night filled with pleasure and passion.

He hums as you run your fingertips over his chest to play with his curls.

For the first time in years, he feels content. Having you in his arms feels right. It felt like coming home. No woman kept his attention for longer than a few days…maybe weeks.

But you have been always on his mind since the day he met you.

Sherlock inhales sharply as you tug at his chest hair to get his attention. “You’re a hairy bear, Sherlock.”

“You’ve got a sharp tongue, my little bird.”

“Hmm…maybe. If you get underestimated all your life, you get a little…”

“Feisty?”

“Angry.”

“Did you ever consider marrying again?” he suddenly asks, taking you off guard. You didn’t expect Sherlock to ask personal questions. “Y/N?” You sleepily lift your head to look him in the eyes. “Did you?”

“No. My husband was…” You shake your head. “It was an arranged marriage. He was older than me. James wasn’t a bad man, but he was an awful husband.” You huff. “My husband was a selfish man. He wanted me to polish his ego. Love was a word he didn’t understand."

Sherlock nods and holds you a little tighter. “How old was he? Old enough to be your grandpa?”

“Did you ever think about it?” you ask to avoid talking about your former husband. “Sherlock?”

His eyes turn to you in his arms as he says, "No, my dream was to remain a loner all my life and solve cases. But I changed my mind recently. Maybe having a sweet wife, a feisty one wouldn’t be so bad.”

“How’s that?”

“I think Mr. and Mrs. Holmes investigations is a great name for a detective agency,” he says. “What do you think?”

“I think Mrs. and Mr. Holmes sounds much better, Sir,” you coo while running your hand over his chest. “I’m an independent woman after all.”

“We will see. First, you need to accept my apology of course,” he tuts. “So…what do you say?”

You move your hand toward his crotch, squeezing him through the pants he is wearing. “I think you have a lot to make up to me before I consider forgiving you.”

“I’m willing to try…”

The End

Tags in reblog.

[cherryclxud]

trial post ...

this is trial fic really, the story by Marcus Bradford is quite literally 'the abominable bride' episode from the BBC sherlock so its not mine.

this is a sherlock holmes (enola holmes) x bridgerton!reader.

MARCUS BRADFORD WAS AN EXTRAORDINARY WRITER. He wrote books of fantasy, romance, and tragedies. But anyone who has read Bradford’s works will tell you his prized works were that of the thrilling crimes series that would be posted on the weekly newspapers on page 4. Yes, no one could deny that this was the reason he was the talk of the ton. Appearing out of seemingly nowhere, Marcus Bradford’s words made it into every household in London, whispers about the crimes written were on the tongue of the fanatics every passing day, 

“Did you read what this man has written?”

“Did you see where he left this week's edition off?”

“How can the bride return when she so clearly shot her brains out in front of a whole street?”

“She returned and killed her husband then was found back at the morgue?”

It was a story where no one could see a true way to solve it, and so it kept everyone on the edge of their seat, that is…everyone but one.

Sherlock Holmes hated Marcus Bradford, and he hated his work. He was never a fan of fiction since fiction wasn't real and wasn't deducible, therefore he was never actually interested in anything this man was writing, but when all the clients asking for help seemingly came to him complaining that they wanted him to solve a fictional case written in a newspaper, that's when he would pick up the story to read and wasn't able to put it down till he had finished the latest edition of it. Two thoughts running through Sherlock Holmes’ head after putting the paper down, he hated fiction, and he hated Marcus Bradford.

The story was impossible to deduce anything out of, how could someone dead return? The bride quite clearly can't be who murdered her husband however the story clearly states that the husband had recognised her before his death. But she was in the mourge, how could the bride be in 2 places at once? How could she then continue to kill countless men after her funeral? Sherlock felt there were too many open ends and loose threads. Threads that only one person knew the ends of. Marcus Bradford.

But no one knew who Bradford was, no one had seen him before, in fact, he had never attended any soirees nor had any presence in the ton that anyone knew of. This opened a new case for Sherlock. Who is Marcus Bradford?

No one in the ton knew that Marcus Bradford was always under their noses.

In the prestigious house of the Bridgertons, y/n Bridgerton picked at the strings of her violin with a sigh. Mrs Wilson walked into the drawing room with the weekly news and a copy of today's Lady Whstledown, y/n watched as her younger sister Eloise snatched this week's paper out of the head maid's hands and quickly skipped to page 4, with an eye roll, y/n took the gossip sheet from Mrs Wilsons hand thanking her before pretending to skim over the paper. In truth y/n wasn't interested in the words of Lady Whistledown, she only ever tried to look out to see if ‘Marcus’ was ever mentioned. He was not. She dropped the sheet on the table before standing at the window and looking out.

“Can you believe it, another one?” Eloise spoke up not tearing her eyes from the sheet. Looking back at Eloise, y/n feigned confusion “Hmm, sorry what was that?

Eloise dropped the paper on her lap and looked blankly at the ceiling “Another man was murdered, all because the yard can't solve the case”

y/n picked the paper from Eloise and pretended to skim over it while hiding her smile, “Oh Eloise don't tell me you are going on about this stupid little story again, why not go read something more useful? Or try looking into who Lady Whisteldown is again, you loved that remember? This story doesn't seem to be doing anyone any good, and the writer seems to have hit a wall don't you think?”

Instantly Eloise turned her head to y/n  and stood up walking to her, “no you don't get it, sister,” she snatched the paper from the elder girls hands and pointed to a line “See here it's different ‘The man’s face paled as he looked at the contents of the envelope, turning it over, four orange pips dropped unto the table’ see sister it’s strange, this man got a warning the others didn't. Something big must be coming y/n, something different.” she quickly took the paper and ran up to her room leaving y/n looking behind her.

In truth y/n was out of inspiration. Writing under the pen name Marcus Bradford, she had made quite the name for him, but she thought, perhaps she had gone too strong with the opening and now she was crashing, the seeds in the envelope was her quite literally reaching for straws at this point, trying to buy herself time hoping that some grand idea will hit her. 

She was happy with all the attention her writing was gaining even if it was under a false name. She knew her stories would have gotten nowhere otherwise. She also knew that she couldnt keep writing forever, no matter how much she loved it. Her mother was on her back about missing many balls since her debut last year and that since Eloise’s debut this year, it’s harder taking care of two girls at once, especially two girls who cared more about books than looking to the men right in front of them. 

It wasn't like y/n was not interested in romance at all, rather, she was actually quite the romantic, but she found no interest in the advances of the men of the ton, in fact she always compared the whole process to a birds mating ritual, all the dancing, and the reciting of poetry and the hundreds of flower bouquets and colours. no, she much preferred the romance on the paper she read, and quite often found herself daydreaming about the books she had read, maybe one day a pirate would take her to go treasure hunting together. Or maybe a past childhood friend she doesn't remember will profess his undying love to her and how he never forgot her all these years.

y/n scoffed at the thoughts she was having, “Maybe all I need is a change of perspective and scenery…I assume a ball will have to do then” She rolled her eyes before standing and going to look for her mother's whereabouts. 

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Back again with another Sherlock fic! The hyperfixation is going strong 🤷‍♀️

My Sister's Keeper

Sherlock × teen sister reader

Mycroft x teen sister reader

John x teen reader (platonic [duh])

Synopsis: Y/N has gotten into some trouble lately, but it's gone beyond basic 'teen antics". When John finds out why, he confronts Mycroft about it.

TW: it is NOT self harm, but could be described as self-endangerment.

Perhaps you had gone too far this time.

You looked around at the beeping monitors and the IV pumping soothing medicine into your veins.

You had definitely gone too far this time.

You hadn't meant to get Sherlock's weird chemical all over your hands, it just sort of happened.

Ok, well maybe you weren't completely innocent in the matter. He had told you not to touch any of the chemicals, he had said they were dangerous.

But you were just looking at it!

That is, until John walked into the room and shouted something along the lines of "what do you think your doing?!"

That had startled you into dropping the chemical all over your hands.

Sherlock had run in after hearing your scream, and you had never seen his face so paper-white.

Apparently he hadn't been joking about how dangerous the chemical was.

You'd arrived at the hospital at a speed that must've broken some kind of record (and more than a few laws), and before you knew it there were bandages all over your hands and medicine injected into your veins to kill the toxins you had unintentionally put there.

You were told you would have to stay overnight so that the doctors could monitor your reaction to the medicine, and so they could be sure it killed all of the toxins. It sucked. It hurt. It scared Sherlock and John half to death.

And yet..

Fifteen minutes. That's how long you sat in the hospital bed before he showed up, looking angry, flustered, and…scared.

Growing up, you had never seen Mycroft scared.

Now it was about the only emotion you ever saw in him. Maybe because almost every time he visited, you were hurt or in trouble in some way.

Mycroft’s keen eyes landed on you almost instantly, but instead of rushing to his baby sister, he practically pounced on some poor, unsuspecting nurse and began interrogating her about your treatment.

“Mycroft!” You called, and he hesitantly turned to you. “Sherlock and John have already hounded every nurse and doctor on this floor about my treatment, I’m fine!”

“You’re fine? You’re sure?” He asked dubiously.

At your nod, he sighed and ran a hand over his face. “Well in that case, what were you thinking?”

You winced. You knew the lecture would come, but you had hoped he might baby you a bit first, considering you were in the hospital.

“I guess I wasn’t.”

“Well that much is obvious.” At the sight of Sherlock entering the room with a cup of coffee in hand, Mycroft turned his rage from you to his little brother. “And you! I’ve told you a thousand times to keep your chemicals away from-“

“Mycroft don’t,” you pleaded. “It wasn’t Sherlock’s fault, he told me not to touch his chemicals.”

Mycroft turned back to his sister, “then why on earth did you?”

You couldn’t look him in the eyes, so you looked down to study the scratchy sheets that your hands had started to fiddle with. “I…I don’t know.”

Mycroft huffed. “You don’t know.”

You winced. The anger in his voice had given way to disappointment.

You preferred the anger.

“I have to go make a phone call. Try not to touch anything toxic while I’m gone,” Mycroft stormed off, Sherlock following a few feet behind, probably to try to calm his brother down.

The only ones left in your dreary hospital room where you and John, who had been rather silently engaged in your argument with the eldest Holmes.

“Why did you do it?”

You groan “Not you too, John.”

John’s quick temper had rarely extended to you, so you flinched in surprise when he barked, “Yes, me too! I may not be your brother, Y/N Holmes, but I care about you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how much more reckless you’ve become lately, and I want to know why!”

Guilt pricked at your mind and heart, but it was not enough to combat the sudden strong wave of exhaustion that settled on you. The medication had a sleep drug added to it, to knock you out for the more painful part of removing the toxins from your bloodstream.

You thought about fighting it, but knew it was futile. Besides, you’d do just about anything to escape John’s laser beam gaze.

“Why do you do it?”

Maybe it was the desperation in his voice, but more likely it was the drugs addling your mind, because you actually breathed out an answer.

“He visits more when he’s worried.”

…

John froze. Your voice had been quiet, groggy, and muffled, but there was no mistaking your words.

“He visits more when he’s worried.”

He. Mycroft.

John checked to make sure you were asleep before rushing down the halls in search of your big brother. He found him not very far away, apparently trying hard to end a meeting call.

“No I will not be back coming back in today. No, probably not tomorrow either, maybe very late. Your just going to have to deal with-“ upon seeing John, Mycroft immediately hung up the phone, assuming (correctly) that John wouldn’t have gone looking for him unless it was about you.

“Is she ok?”

“Sleeping.”

Mycroft sighed in relief, “Then what is it?”

“You need to talk to her. When she wakes up. You need to ask her why this happened, and don’t let her give you some crap response. Don’t stop asking until she tells you.”

Mycroft blinked once. Twice. “Doctor Watson, what is-“

“No, don’t ask. I won’t tell you, it’s something that needs to come from her.”

Mycroft took a deep breathe, hesitating before ultimately deciding that any attempt to argue with John would be futile.

“Alright then.”

…

The moment Y/N stirred, Mycroft looked over at John, who nodded and—with much protest on Sherlock’s part—cleared the room of all but just Mycroft and his little sister.

“Y/N?”

You rubbed your hands over your eyes and opened them to see Mycroft staring at you. You smiled sleepily. “Hey Mikey.”

Mycroft grimaced at the nickname, but for once decided not to chide you for it. He knew it only encouraged you anyway.

“Y/N, we need to talk.”

You groaned and sat up in bed. “Another lecture? Look, Mycroft, I’m sorry, I just-“

“Why did you do it? Tell me. And don’t say you don’t know, Doctor Watson has, however vaguely, already stated that you do in fact know the reason for your recent behavior.”

You froze. John?

The memory of the last thing you said to him suddenly bubbled to the surface of your foggy mind.

“He visits more when he’s worried.”

Crap. You’d actually said that out loud! And of course John had gone and blabbed to Mycroft about it. Jerk.

“I…I can’t.” You whispered, not daring to look Mycroft in the eye. You heard him sigh, and suddenly there he was, leaning forward to be inside your lowered field of vision.

“I won’t take that as an answer.”

“Mycroft I can’t!”

“No!” You visibly flinched at the sudden raise in Mycroft’s voice, but he didn’t notice. “No more of this! You can’t just mess with Sherlock’s chemicals, and sneak onto his crime scenes, and go out without telling anyone, and get in careless accidents on your bike, and then not tell me what’s going on!” Mycroft was yelling now, at you, he never yelled at you, and what made it all worse was knowing how right he was. You’d stopped being careful, stopped looking after yourself properly.

But you couldn’t tell him why.

You hadn’t even realized you started crying until the tears dripped onto your hand. Mycroft took one look at his baby sister’s tear streaked face and quivering lip, and immediately softened. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do whenever you got emotional, but when he sat down on your hospital bed and you immediately crawled into his lap and leaned against him, he figured he’d done something right. He wrapped his arms around you, and felt your hands grab onto his shirt, clinging to him like a life preserver.

“Alright, alright. If you won’t tell me why…at least tell me when this started.”

You hesitated. That seemed like a question you felt safe to answer.

“Christmas.”

Mycroft frowned. Last Christmas was one of the few times the whole family had gotten together for the holidays. He couldn’t see why…

Wait.

He hadn’t planned on coming last Christmas, but you, Sherlock and John had been visiting your parents, and you’d fallen out of a large oak tree on their property. You’d broken your arm, and Mycroft had been there as quickly as a helicopter could take him. He’d spent the holiday completely away from work, doting on your every need.

“No,” Mycroft’s voice came out as a soft groan, and you looked up in surprise. “Y/N, please, please tell me you haven’t done this to get my attention. Please.”

Silence greeted his plea.

“Y/N?”

“That was the first Christmas in eight years that you spent at home.” You whimpered, your voice thick with tears. Mycroft’s heart sank.

“Why didn’t you just tell me? Why have you done…all this?”

He felt you press even harder into him, and he had to strain to hear your response.

“I know how important your job is. I didn’t want to sound like such a baby. I haven’t asked you to take time off work for me since I was eight.

Mycroft remembered that. He hadn’t been home in nearly a month, trying to avoid some sort of international incident. He had spent the whole month in meetings and doing paperwork. One day, he got a call from his mother’s phone number. He had urged her to call only if there was an emergency, and he feared that you or Sherlock had been hurt.

He hadn’t expected to answer and hear his wailing baby sister on the other end. You had begged him to come home, and you were crying so hard.

Then the prime minister of some country or another had walked in, and he’d hung up on you.

Mycroft winced at the memory before tuning back to the task at hand.

“But to hurt yourself like this-“

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” You quickly reassured, though you were still unable to look him in the eye. “I just…I thought if-“ you stopped, the lump in your throat making it hard to form words. You took a deep breath and tried again, reassured by the soft squeeze of your big brother’s arms. “I thought it I got a little more…rebellious, I guess…then Sherlock would tell you and you would come visit more to keep an eye on me.” You looked down at your bandaged hands. “I guess I’m not very good at rebellion.”

“Oh, sweetheart…” Mycroft whispered, tightening his grip on you and squeezing his eyes shut.

“I know it’s stupid,” you choked out. “I just…m-missed you.”

The strangled sob that escaped your throat broke Mycroft’s heart, and he knew that he had never held you so tightly in his life.

“I’m so sorry…” he whispered against your hair, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “So sorry.”

“I know you-you’re busy, I shouldn’t-“

“No.” Mycroft’s voice left no room for discussion. “No, don’t you blame yourself. I don’t ever want this to happen again, I don’t ever want it to take more than a phone call to get me to visit you, do you understand?”

You looked up at him. “You’re not…not mad?”

“Mad? Of course I am! But not at—ok, mostly not at you—I’m mad at me. And I’m never going to let this happen again.” Mycroft finally pulled away enough to look his sister in the eyes. “From now on, you come over for at least one dinner a week, and every other weekend you’re packing a bag and coming to stay with me.”

Your eyes widened. “But you always have so much work-“

“No, I’m not too busy for you, ok? Never again.”

You nodded hesitantly. “Every other weekend?”

Mycroft flashed you one of his rare smiles and pulled you in for another hug. “Absolutely. Sherlock’s been taking up all of your attention since you moved to Baker street. It’s time you see who the really great big brother is.”

[gregorovitch-adler]

Plant

John drew out his armchair outside of the cottage in the afternoon sun.

Sherlock was in the cottage, typing something up for his website, Science of Deduction.

They had retired from the casework and had been enjoying their retirement life since almost a year.

John was admiring the plants they had grown, alongside Sherlock's apiary. Bathing in the sun, he smiled and closed his eyes.

John heard a pair of footsteps coming out of the cottage after some time. Two large and familiar hands grabbed at his shoulders and started to massage them.

John smiled and leaned back in his chair.

"Did you post anything on your blog?" he asked with his eyes closed.

"No, I was just making an excel sheet. I'm done now."

"About?"

"The various types of smiles of John Watson. Right now, it's Type two hundred and twenty-one."

John shook his head and chuckled. "What does that mean?"

"Meaning you're comfortable with yourself at the moment."

John nodded in agreement.

"And in love."

John opened his eyes and turned in his chair to look up at Sherlock, who was gazing at him with his lips compressed.

"Not just at the moment. I'm always in love," he said and pulled Sherlock close by his dressing gown.

Sherlock bent over and put an arm around John as they began to kiss. John was running his hand through Sherlock's hair.

John never wanted this moment to end, or his life to change in any way, shape, or form.

***

Sherlock September Challenge.

Prompt: Plant by @onesmallfamily

Tags: @helloliriels @topsyturvy-turtely @gaylilsherlock @lisbeth-kk @keirgreeneyes @a-victorian-girl @peanitbear @curlyjohnlock @calaisreno @lookingforlifeoutthere @missdeliadili @kettykika78 .

[anonymousewrites]

A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 4) Chapter Four

Father Figure! Sherlock Holmes x Teen! Reader

Chapter Four: Threatening Pips

Summary: Lady Carmichael brings a case to the Holmses, and it is quite the unusual one. (Y/N) begins to put together the pieces of the puzzle.

            “Mr. Holmes, I have come to you and your associates for advice,” said Lady Carmichael. True to Mycroft’s suppositions, she had indeed come with a case for them.

            “That is easily got,” said Sherlock.

            “And help,” added Lady Carmichael.

            “Not always so easy,” said Sherlock.

            “Something has happened, Mr. Holmes. Something…” Lady Carmichael paused. “Unusual. And terrifying.”

            “Then you are in luck,” said Sherlock.

            “ ‘Luck,’ ” repeated Lady Carmichael, offended.

            “Those are our specialties,” said Sherlock.

            “And our favorite,” said (Y/N).

            “(Y/N),” said John in a low tone, warning them.

            “What is the problem?” asked (Y/N), ignoring John.

            “I…I thought long and hard as to what to do, but then it occurred to me that my husband was an acquaintance of your brother and that perhaps through him…” She trailed off and shook her head. “The fact is I’m not sure this comes within your purview, Mr. Holmes.”

            “No?” Sherlock raised a brow.

            “Lord help me. I think it may be a matter for a priest,” admitted Lady Carmichael. “My husband has always been…jolly. Teasing me at all moments of the day. I rarely see him serious, let alone somber. Yet he received a strange letter recently, and the moment he opened it…he was left pale as a ghost. He was frightened. Of course, I went to see what the letter said, but there was nothing. The only contents of the envelope were orange pips. He claimed they meant ‘death’ and refused to say more, but his distress has remained clear and constant.”

            “Did you keep the envelope?” asked Sherlock.

            “My husband destroyed it,” said Lady Carmichael. “But it was blank. No name or address of any kind.”

            “Tell me, has Sir Eustace spent time in America?” said Sherlock.

            Lady Carmichael frowned. “No.”

            “Even before your marriage?” said (Y/N).

            “Well, not to my knowledge,” said Lady Carmichael.

            Sherlock hummed. “Pray, continue with your fascinating narrative.”

            “Well, that incident took place last Monday morning,” said Lady Carmichael. “It was two days later on the Wednesday that my husband first saw her.”

            “Who?” said John, confused.

            “I wasn’t sure at first. On Wednesday, I found him staring at the grounds, white as a sheet. When I tried to discover what was wrong, he just sobbed and claimed that his sins had returned to punish him,” said Lady Carmichael. “He said it was a bride.”

            “And you saw nothing?” said (Y/N).

            “Nothing,” confirmed Lady Carmichael.

            “Did your husband describe—”

            Lady Carmichael cut Sherlock off. “Nothing. Until this morning. This morning, I awoke early to find him missing from bed. I spotted him in the maze on our grounds, and, of course, I followed him. But instead of finding him alone, I found with a woman. She was a bride wearing a veil.” She shook her head. “Eustace…My dear Eustace was just staring in fear.” She swallowed. “The bride just stared back, and when I tried to shake some sense into my husband who was in a trance, he could only say one thing: ‘she is Emelia Ricoletti.’ ”

            (Y/N) cocked their head.

            “And then she did speak,” said Lady Carmichael. “She said, ‘On this night, Eustace Carmichael, you will die.’ ”

            Sherlock and (Y/N) were left in silence as they contemplated all that they’d been told.

            “Holmes? (Y/N)?” prompted John.

            “Hush, Watson,” said Sherlock.

            “But Emelia Ricoletti, the bride,” he hissed.

            “Well, you know the name?” said Lady Carmichael.

            “You must forgive Watson,” said Sherlock. “He has an enthusiasm for stating the obvious which borders on mania. May I ask, how is your husband this morning?”

            “He refuses to speak about the matter,” said Lady Carmichael.

            That would be men, thought (Y/N).

            “Obviously, I have urged him to leave the house,” said Lady Carmichael.

            “No, no, he must stay exactly where he is,” said Sherlock.

            “Well, you don’t think he’s in danger?” said Lady Carmichael, frowning.

            “No, someone’s trying to kill him,” said (Y/N). “And that’s good.”

            “That’s good?” repeated Lady Carmichael, aghast.

            “We need bait,” said (Y/N).

            “(Y/N),” hissed John.

            “My husband is not bait,” said Lady Carmichael.

            “He could be if we play our cards right,” said Sherlock, completely on (Y/N)’s side. “You must go home immediately. Dr. Watson, (Y/N), and I will follow on the next train. There’s not a moment to lose. See, Eustace is to die tonight.”

            “Holmes!” said John.

            “And we should probably avoid that,” amended Sherlock.

            “Definitely,” snapped John.

            “Definitely avoid that,” said Sherlock.

            Lady Carmichael just stared at Sherlock and (Y/N) like they were crazy (which was not far off from the truth, at times).

l

            “I don’t suppose—”

            “No, we don’t, and neither should you,” said Sherlock before John tried to talk about the bride again.

            “You don’t know what I was going to say,” said John.

            “You were about to suggest there may be some supernatural agency involved in this matter, and I was about to laugh in your face,” said Sherlock.

            “But the bride,” said John. “Emelia Ricoletti, again, a dead woman walking the Earth.”

            Sherlock sighed. “You amaze me, Watson.”

            “I do?” said John.

            “Since when have you had any kind of imagination?” said Sherlock.

            “I thought that was required of writing stories,” said (Y/N).

            “Not for murder, apparently,” said Sherlock.

            “Perhaps since I convinced the reading public that an unprincipled drug addict was some kind of gentleman hero,” said Watson pointedly.

            “Former drug addict,” said Sherlock. He didn’t do that now that (Y/N) was around.

            (Y/N) tilted their head. “Did you change my character?”

            “I make you actually show emotion,” said Watson.

            “That’s rather boring,” said (Y/N).

            “But now that you mention it, that level of persuasion is quite impressive,” said Sherlock. “You may rest assured, however, there are no ghosts in this world.” He looked down. “Save for those we make for ourselves.”

            (Y/N) cocked their head. “What?”

            Sherlock just stared out the window. Still, he felt their heavy gaze on him.

l

            “Somnambulism.” Lord Carmichael glared at Sherlock, John, and (Y/N) coldly.

            They had finally arrived at the Carmichael estate and had been met with a defensive Lord of the house.

            “I beg your pardon?” said John.

            “I sleepwalk, that’s all,” said Lord Carmichael. “It’s a common enough condition. I thought you were a doctor. The whole thing was a…bad dream.”

            “Including the contents of the envelope you received?” said John.

            Lord Carmichael scoffed. “Well, that’s a grotesque joke.”

            “Well, that’s not the impression you gave your wife, sir,” said John.

            “She’s a hysteric, prone to fantasies,” said Lord Carmichael coldly.

            “No,” said Sherlock shortly.

            “I’m sorry, what did you say?” said Lord Carmichael, incredulous at someone speaking up to him.

            “I said, no, she’s not a hysteric,” said Sherlock. “She’s a highly intelligent woman of rare perception.”

            “My wife sees terror in an orange pip,” said Lord Carmichael derisively.

            “Your wife sees what is truly of value in this world,” said (Y/N). “She has observation where most have none.”

            “Does she really? And how does a child deduce that?” sneered Lord Carmichael.

            Instantly, Sherlock stepped up behind (Y/N). No one got away with speaking down to them like that, and Sherlock would tell Lord Carmichael off promptly.

            But (Y/N) spoke first. With a smirk that spelt danger, they said, “She married you. Apparently, she was capable of finding a reason to.” They tilted their head. “I admit I can’t find one.”

            Lord Carmichael’s face turned red, and he made the fatal mistake of taking a step towards them. Sherlock intervened and glared coldly at Lord Carmichael. Should he make the mistake of trying to hurt them again, Sherlock would have no mercy.

            “I’ll do my best to save your life tonight,” said Sherlock coldly, though his resolution was waning by the moment. “But first, it would help if you would explain your connection to the Ricoletti case.”

            “Ricoletti?” Lord Carmichael feigned ignorance to the name.

            “Yes. In detail, please,” said Sherlock.

            “Never heard of her,” said Lord Carmichael.

            (Y/N) nearly smirked again. They had him in a lie because how could he know it was a “her” unless he knew the case of the bride.

            “Interesting. I didn’t mention she was a woman,” said Sherlock. “We’ll show ourselves out. I hope to see you again in the morning.”

            “You will not!” declared Lord Carmichael, not realizing how stupid the statement sounded.

            “Then we will be solving your murder,” said (Y/N). “Good day.”

            John sighed as they walked towards the exit of the house. “Well, you tried.”

            Sherlock paused and handed a letter to a butler. “Would you see that Lady Carmichael receives that? Thank you, good afternoon.”

            “What was that?” asked John.

            “Lady Carmichael will sleep alone tonight upon the pretense of a violent headache. All the doors and windows of the house will be locked,” said Sherlock.

            “You think the specter—”

            (Y/N) raised a brow, and John coughed.

            “—Uh, bride, will attempt to lure Sir Eustace outside again?” said John.

            “Certainly,” said (Y/N). “What else would the threat portend?”

            “ ‘This night you will die,’ ” murmured John. “But he won’t follow her, surely?”

            “It’s difficult to say quite what he’ll do,” said Sherlock.

            “Because he’s obviously more of an idiot than most people,” said (Y/N).

            Sherlock couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, and guilt is eating away at his soul.”

            “Guilt? About what?” said John.

            “Something in his past,” said Sherlock. “The orange pips were a reminder.”

            “Not a joke?” said John.

            “Not at all,” said (Y/N). “Orange pips are a warning of avenging death originating in America.”

            “Sir Eustace knows this only too well, just as he knows why he is to be punished,” said Sherlock.

            “Something to do with Emelia Ricoletti?” said John.

            “We presume,” said (Y/N).

            “We all have a past, Watson. Ghosts,” said Sherlock. “They are the shadows that define our sunny days. Sir Eustace knows that he’s a marked man. There’s something more than murder he fears. He believes he is to be dragged to hell by the risen corpse of the late Mrs. Ricoletti.”

            “That’s a lot of nonsense, isn’t it?” said John.

            “Oh, God, yes,” said Sherlock.

            “Did you bring your revolver?” asked (Y/N).

            “What good would that be against a ghost?” said John.

            “None,” said (Y/N). “Did you bring it?”

            “Yeah, of course,” said John.

            “Then, come, Watson, come,” said Sherlock. “The game is afoot.”

l

            Night had long since descended on the Carmichael Mansion. The moon barely shone through the fog hovering over the grounds. While Sherlock, (Y/N), and John waited for the last lights of the household to go out, they crouched in a small greenhouse where they could see everything going on. (Y/N) was lying back on a bench, Sherlock was sitting stone-faced, and John was pacing.

            “Get down, for Heaven’s sake,” said Sherlock.

            “Sorry,” said John, taking a seat. “Is the lamp still burning?”

            “Yes,” said Sherlock. As he spoke, a light was extinguished. “There goes Sir Eustace.” Another went out. “And Lady Carmichael. The house sleeps.”

            John groaned. “Mm, good God, this is the longest night of my life.”

            “Have patience, Watson,” said Sherlock.

            “I should have brought a booklet of those stupid little riddles and games,” said (Y/N). “That would have given me at least half an hour of entertainment.”

            “You should have patience, too,” said Sherlock. “If you’re truly that bothered, get some rest.”

            “I don’t like to sleep on a case,” said (Y/N).

            “When did you last sleep more than two hours at a time?” said Sherlock.

            (Y/N) didn’t reply.

            “Precisely. Rest as long as you can here, and once this case is done, I’m timing you until you reach six hours of sleep,” said Sherlock.

            “No need to make this scientific,” murmured (Y/N) as they closed their eyes.

            Sherlock smiled slightly and fondly pushed (Y/N)’s hair out of their face as they rested. John watched him with a soft smile of his own. Out of the entire population of the world, Sherlock had a soft spot for only one—his child. John had to admit, it was endearing, even if Sherlock was loathe to admit it at times.

            John managed to remain silent for nearly another hour and let Sherlock just sit silently with his kid, but once it reached midnight, he couldn’t remain silent any longer. He needed some conversation to keep going.

            “You know, it’s rare for us to sit together like this,” said John.

            “I should hope so. It’s murder on the knees,” said Sherlock. That’s why he’d made sure (Y/N) lay down. No need for his kid to be uncomfortable.

            “Two old friends just talking, chewing the fat, man to man,” rambled John. Sherlock didn’t respond. John cleared his throat. “She is a remarkable woman.”

            Sherlock frowned. “Who?”

            “Lady Carmichael,” said John.

            “The fair sex is your department, Watson,” said Sherlock. “I’ll take your word for it.”

            “Well, you liked her, a woman of rare perception,” said John.

            “And admirably high arches. I noticed them as soon as she stepped into the room,” said Sherlock. He noticed all things about people, so it blurred together.

            “She’s far too good for him,” said John.

            “You think so,” said Sherlock.

            “No, you think so, I could tell,” said John.

            “On the contrary, I have no view of the matter,” said Sherlock.

            “Yes, you have,” said John.

            “Marriage is not a subject upon which I dwell,” said Sherlock.

            “Why not?” said John.

            “What’s the matter with you this evening?” said Sherlock, frowning.

            “You already have a child. Why do you insist on pretending you have no heart?” said John.

            “It gets in the way,” said Sherlock.

            John sighed. “Holmes, you took in (Y/N) and made them part of your family. So why do you still fight and try to keep yourself distanced?”

            “I cannot put them in harm’s way,” said Sherlock quietly. John looked at him. “I am…soft with (Y/N). I am kinder with them than I am any other.” He gazed out the window. “Someone will use that against me. And if I am compromised by emotions when that time comes, how will I help them? How can I help them when I couldn’t help…?” The world buzzed, and Sherlock blinked. The soft whine of a dog echoed through the night, and he furrowed his brow.

            “Good god!” exclaimed John.

            Sherlock was broken from his trance, and (Y/N) was awoken by the cry. They sat up, and the three peered out the windows. Floating near the mansion was the bride. She seemed to shiver as if not there, yet the outfit was exactly what Emelia Ricoletti had worn.

            “What are we to do?” breathed John.

            “Why don’t we have a chat?” said (Y/N), no fear whatsoever. They were merely curious and eager to understand their theories and how this fit into their suppositions. They moved to the door and flung it open.

            Sherlock grinned at (Y/N)’s bravery, and for a moment, all his fears for what his enemies could do to them flew from his head. That was his kid right there, through and through. He followed them into the night.

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