#maybe next I can watch Sherlock Holmes

[gavindna]

Well now that people are reviving superwholock and what have you and I also need to absolutely cram to cross stitch this project I’ve been procrastinating for like a month that I need for my roller derby team, what better time to see what all the hubbub is about and finally watch supernatural?

[clairecrive]

"Gorgeous and Untouchable" Eddie Munson x reader

A/n: thank you so much for requesting this lovely <3 this is definitely on the longer side but tbh I don't think it's that good. hope you enjoy!

Word count: 2.2+K

TW: tiny bit of angst, longing, unrequited love, fluffy end.

MY MASTERLIST

"You've ruined my life-"

Now this was new.

Eddie Munson, reigning freak of Hawkins High, was used to being avoided by most. On account of some stupid reason such as him being a devil worshipper and the likes.

Never had he thought to have enough influence or social presence to actually ruin someone's life. Unless they were trying to put their bad luck on him which... shouldn't surprise him at all.

Oh, to have such power...

He scoffed immediately losing himself to a daydream reality in which he actually had magic powers. Now that was a thought!

As he went to slam his locker door close, another piece of paper caught his eye.

What now?

"by not being mine." Read this one.

What?

Putting the two pieces of paper together he saw that it had been torn apart but it was actually the same piece of paper originally. So the complete message was "You've ruined my life by not being mine."

Rolling his eyes he closed his locker, now sure that it was just someone taking the piss out of him. Chuckling he threw the two pieces of paper in the trash without sparing them a second thought.

Little did he know, someone was watching him in that moment who, alas, didn't mean it as a joke at all.

"Oh well," they thought without losing spirit, "tomorrow we'll try again."

And try again they did. Every day, they would leave two little messages in Eddie's locker. One was to be found when he arrived at school and the other at the end of the day.

After the first two, which Eddie blatantly dismissed, he actually kept the rest of them. So, one day, after almost a week had gone by in this weird fashion, Eddie sat down in his room and put all the pieces together.

Tongue peeking out in concentration, Eddie rearranged them in chronological order. This proved more difficult than he thought because the messages weren't dated, of course, and they got all mixed up in the box where he had stored them.

After a while of playing Sherlock Holmes, he thought he got it. It added up to something like this:

You're so gorgeous I can't say anything to your face 'Cause look at your face And I'm so furious At you for making me feel this way But what can I say? You're gorgeous

He thought for a moment that he had made a mistake. He must have. Maybe they didn't have to be put in chronological order to be deciphered. Maybe there was another code he needed to figure out.

And so he tried to find one. For hours.

At one point he had to give up. Eddie plopped down on his bed. A frustrated scoff left him when he thought how much time he had wasted on this stupid thing.

Someone was messing with him. They must be.

The idea that those pieces of paper held a confession for him, never crossed his mind. It was unfathomable for Eddie to think that someone at school might actually think he was gorgeous. All he could think about was who the hell hated him so much to pull a prank this elaborate.

The next time Eddie went to school, he was hesitant to open his locker. Last time it was only some pieces of paper, but what if, with time, his pranker had grown bolder? Who knows what he was going to find this time.

When he finally did, though, he'd found that he needn't be scary. Eddie sighed in relief as yet another piece of paper fell to the ground by his feet.

This time, the paper had a distinct flowery scent to it. Eddie knew nothing of perfumes, let alone women's ones. But it was nice, he thought as he sniffed it again. He liked it. The other thing that was different this time, was the colour of the message. It was lilac and it read:

I'm caught up in you Untouchable, burning brighter than the sun and when you're close I feel like coming undone

Turns out that his secret admirer had become bolder indeed. Just not in the way Eddie expected. "Untouchable"? Him? People tended to stay away from him either because they believed the devil-worshipper rumours or not to taint their social standing. So he was having a hard time imagining someone coming undone in his presence.

Still not fully convinced this was genuine, Eddie shoved the piece of paper in his jeans as the bell rang.

Yet again, you watched as he walked away none the wiser of your presence. You knew that it was going to be hard to get Eddie to notice you. Even this way. However, you couldn't help but feel frustrated and helpless. You thought the perfume had been too much but a part of you hoped it'd be enough for Eddie to connect the dots.

"Not yet, I guess", you thought as you made your way to your class as well. I need to get even bolder.

You usually weren't this insistent. In fact, it wasn't really in your nature. Maybe that was why Eddie was having such a hard time connecting the dots and linking the pieces of paper back to you.

You had known him for a while now. Since the first year of high school. Well, your first year. Eddie had been in his first senior year. You had seen him in the cafeteria one day at lunch, doing one of his usual spectacles. Before that day you had only heard his name being whispered like a bad word amongst the other students.

Being new to the area, you didn't really understand what that was all about. Who was this Eddie? And why was he so famous that everyone knew him but at the same time, no one had actually talked to him?

Then you began to understand little by little. As the days passed you seemed to gather a lot of information about the guy, albeit against your will. It's just that everyone seemed to talk about him.

He honestly didn't seem that bad to you. You thought he was cute and quite endearing. He seemed to have strong opinions and a defined personality, which you admired. Maybe that was why people at school were so reticent about him. He stood out wherever he was and not for the reason people evilly whispered between them.

You were already halfway there but when you saw him interact with the younger kids one day, you were definitely gone. The crush turned more into an adoration with time.

And even though you had talked to him a few times, you had never tried to shoot your shot. Not until now, at least. You were tired of always dreaming about him and what it'd be like to be with him. For the first time in your life, you were adamant about turning your dreams into reality. You only needed to get the guy.

And in the middle of the night when I'm in this dream It's like a million little stars spelling out your name In the middle of the night waking from this dream I want to feel you by my side, standing next to me

This time, you had really put yourself out there. You didn't think you could be more obvious than this. Not only did you write the message with your favourite lilac pen, and spray a little bit of your perfume on the piece of paper, you also left a kiss on it. A glossy pink imprint of your mouth.

It was your favourite lipgloss. You wore it every day.

You only hoped that Eddie would notice. Otherwise, you had to take an even more drastic approach. One you dreaded. You had to go and talk to him. Ugh! Only thinking about it made you nauseous.

Little did you know, you didn't need to worry. It was going to end sooner than you thought.

You were at school bright and early as usual that day. The official excuse was that you needed to sort out something for the school paper. But really, you needed to slip the piece of paper into Eddie's locker without anyone seeing you.

That morning, however, you weren't the only one at school at that hour. Usually, Eddie was one of the last to show up. Often, at the last bell or late. However, the principal had called him to tell him that if he kept showing up late he wouldn't have permission to host Hellfire. Hence why he was one of the first ones to show up that day.

Whistling some random tune, Eddie was carelessly rolling through the hallways and about to turn to his locker when he spotted you. His whistling immediately stopped and he spoke without thinking.

"Y/n?"

His voice startled you so much that you flinched and almost slipped your foot retreating from the locker.

"Oh, h-hi Eddie!" you squeaked as you turned to face him.

"What..." he trailed as he took you in.

"Oh, uhm," you stumbled over your words trying to come up with something to say.

He was still looking at you with a questioning gaze. Standing so close to his locker and visibly nervous... Still, he didn't think anything of it. He was just curious to know why you were here.

That was until a piece of paper floated on the ground in between you and him. Both of your eyes were immediately drawn to it.

"Fuck", you silently swore to yourself. The piece of paper you trying to push inside his locker must have gotten stuck and then got loose exposing you to him at last.

You swallowed nervously and stepped back, almost as if you were trying to make a run for it. But this was the moment you had been waiting for! Stop being a coward and talk to him! you chided yourself as you forced your feet to stay put.

In the meantime, Eddie was still putting the pieces together. His eyes were looking between you and the piece of paper on the ground. Then his locker.

The paper. You. His locker. Then you again.

"God," you thought, "how slow can this boy be?!"

"It's me," you blurted out after a while, unable to bear this uncomfortable situation any longer. "I'm your secret admirer," you whispered when his eyes shot up to you.

"You?" he said, voice filled with disbelief.

You winced at the tone of his voice, assuming the worst.

"Surprise," you exclaimed weekly trying to laugh it off. Emphasis on trying.

But Eddie was yet to say anything and was only staring at you dumbfounded. So, you started to blabber nervously to fill the silence.

"I'm sorry if I wasn't who you were expecting. I-"

"Are you kidding me?"

"No, I-"

"I didn't think you'd be this cruel."

"What?"

"I always thought you were cool but to pull a prank like this...," hell Eddie thought you were more than cool actually. "It's not funny, you know."

A prank?

"Wha- Hold on," you called after him when you saw he was about to leave. "Wait. What do you mean a prank? This is not a prank."

"Yeah, sure," he scoffed, "and you really think I'm- what was it- gorgeous and all that shit?"

"Well, yeah," you admitted shyly. "I've had a crush on you for a while, Eddie." You toyed with your feet, too embarrassed to look at him.

"Then why haven't you said anything before?" he asked still sceptical.

"It's not easy to go to the person you like and tell them, you know," you scoffed as if what he was insinuating was preposterous. Even though it actually wasn't...

"So you left these in my locker instead," he said pointing to the piece of paper that was still on the ground.

You scrolled your shoulders at that, not sure what to say. Hearing it out loud made you feel foolish.

"You know what?" you spoke suddenly, "Never mind. It was a stupid idea, anyway." You were about to turn around and leave without waiting for his reply.

"Wait, no"- he called after you making you stop. "It's not stupid. It's very romantic actually."

"You think so?" You said tentatively as you turned around to face him.

"Yeah," he gave you a boyish grin. "You liked me for a while, huh?"

"Now who's being cruel?" you quipped blushing furiously.

"Nah, it's just that- I'm kicking myself for not asking you on out a date before," he admitted, scratching his head nervously.

"You like me too?" you smiled at him, hope blooming in your chest.

"I'm not blind sweetheart. I've had a soft spot for you for a while now. I thought you knew."

Hearts beating a thousand miles per hour, you could only give him a lovesick smile. You couldn't believe it.

Finally, your dream was coming true.

"So what do you say, sweetheart," he took a step closer to you, " will you bless my Friday and let me take you for a date?"

Giggling like a fool, you could only nod at him. Which earned you the biggest smile you had ever seen on Eddie's face.

"You have no idea how long I've been dying to hear those words."

"Trust me, lovely, I think I do."

Turns out you were both two lovesick idiots.

[anmaje]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- Dogperson

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

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

-FRECKLES. A LOT OF 'EM.

[the-and-sign-anon]

Coincidental Matchup

Dazai

Despite everything Dazai’s been through, he can be a very a silly guy and will take full advantage of any opportunity to enjoy that

So when the ADA is promised to attend a huge Halloween bash in Yokohama and Kunikida is on everyone’s case about dressing up and behaving professionally, Dazai takes it to heart

On the night of the party, everyone is in costume

Ranpo is dressed as Sherlock Holmes, a little uninspired, but acceptable

Atsushi and Kyouka dressed as toned down slashers from a cheesy horror film they enjoyed

Even Yosano had agreed to come, dressed as a corpse bride

Dazai decided to indulge in one of his favorite movies, Howl’s Moving Castle

Dressed as the titular wizard, he mingled and played it up to the fullest

It wasn’t long before he started getting comments about ‘his partner’ having created an equally impressive costume and people thinking it was so cute that they’d dressed up together

Naturally, he slipped away to get a better view of the party and figure out what people were talking about

That’s when he spotted you, a meticulously managed white-gray wig on your head, lingering by the buffet

He took full advantage of the opportunity and sidled up to you with a fittingly flattering compliment on your costume

You responded with a kind smile and an understanding look when you took in his costume

For the sake of ease (or so he says) Dazai suggests sticking together, especially once you mention your colleagues have all disappeared into the unfamiliar crowd

You agree to do so, enjoying yourself far more than you expected now that you had someone to talk to

And Dazai is more than happy to listen, watching with focused eyes as you chat about your job, your costume, and anything else that comes to mind

As a joke, you both just pretend to be together whenever someone compliments either of you for the remainder of the night

You have to admit, you’re a little surprised when you try a cafe on a whim a few weeks later to see him sprawled out dramatically in a booth while a young man with an unfortunate haircut listens to him moan about his big missed opportunity

Without saying a word to alert him, you pass by and smile at the waitress there, ignoring the exaggerated gasp he lets out when his eyes land on you again

Maybe he’d make a good costume partner next year too

Chuuya

For Chuuya, I don’t really see him dropping the mafioso business for a costume party unless his partner asked him too, so we’ll go with an au

Chuuya is a sophomore in college, and his roommates decide to throw a Halloween party that he can’t really get out of

Rather than pouting about it, he decides to just go with the flow and come up with a simple costume that won’t draw much attention

He digs a black t-shirt out of his closet that has flecks of bleach on it, which conveniently makes it look sort of like ground pepper

Paired with some black jeans and a little slip of paper labeled ‘pepper’ safety pinned to his front, he has a low effort costume that will keep his roommates off his back

The party is a little more popular than Chuuya expected for how little he sees his roommates bring friends over

He primarily keeps to himself, listening to the music, staying close to the walls, and manning the front door when handfuls of trick-or-treaters come by

Right as he goes to close the door after a pack of teenage princesses leave, a voice calls for him to wait

You come strolling up the front steps with a friend of yours just behind you, each of you carrying two six-packs of drinks

Chuuya holds the door open and ducks back to make for your full arms, nodding as you offer a quick thanks

He doesn’t really take notice of your outfit, since he has no reason to do so, but it doesn’t escape him that it’s pretty simple

All he sees as you and your friend walk by is a flash of white

You meet with one of his roommates in the kitchen, setting down the drinks and trying not to watch him greet your friend with an enthusiastic kiss

Once he steps back to say hello to you, he takes in your costume and gets this stupid grin on his face you’ve learned to dread

All he’ll say is that you have a missing piece out in the party, and encourages you to find it

You try to brush the comment off and wave to your friend who has already drifted into a conversation with someone else

The only reason you’d agreed to come was because your friend insisted they wanted to introduce you to their boyfriend’s roommates

Of the other five young men who lived in the rented house, three were in college, same as you

Two of them were single and your friend never let you forget that you were too, but could easily change that

So you conceded to their begging and slapped a name tag labeled ‘salt’ onto your white shirt and let them drag you off to the party

Now that you were here, you wished you could have turned them down

The music was too loud, and everyone was too close

So you shuffled along the edges of the main room and darted over to sit halfway up the staircase leading to the second floor

You had about two minutes of peace before a heavily inebriated guy stumbled up past you headed for the bathroom and made a comment about having seen ‘your boyfriend’ by the front door earlier

You didn’t have a clue what he was talking about, but you received similar remarks for another half an hour while Chuuya heard the same

He was the first to break and went looking for his supposed ‘partner’

You were still on the stairs when he found you, scrolling on your phone and tapping your feet to the beat from the living room

“Hey there, Salt.”

Your eyes flickered up to meet his, drifted down to his shirt, then back up.

���Ah. Pepper. Now I get it.”

“You’ve been getting comments all night too, huh?”

“Yep. I was starting to think there really was a boyfriend I didn’t know about.”

Chuuya chuckled and came up to sit a few steps below you, both of you curling in on yourselves to take up less room.

“My name’s Chuuya, by the way.”

“Y/N.”

It didn’t take long for Chuuya to realize it was too loud in the house for both of you, so he lead the way back out to the porch, where you spent the remainder of the night handing out or eating from the bowl of candy and chatting

Your friend finally came to check on you when they realized you hadn’t responded to a check in text, and found you fast asleep on the porch, side by side with Chuuya in matching camp chairs

[hanafubukki]

Hello Hana, I hope you're doing well 😊 so recently I've been reading Sherlock Holmes and read some good scenes that fueled something in my brain.

You and Lilia have been pretty good at covering up the series of crime you two committed. Unfortunately, due to some technical errors, the police was already on the way here before you two could. You swear that he did it on purpose, when you saw him smiled, as the police car's siren becomes closer and closer.

"It took them quite a long to catch us in the act, but I'm not one to undermine someone's effort."

You almost smacked him in the head, when he walked to a nearby window, giving his location the police below. You grabbed his shoulders and pulled the curtains to cover yourselves. "Lilia! What were you doing?!" you hissed.

He just laughs, "You worry too much sweetcheeks. We'll be fine."

You shake him in hopes to fix his loose screws in the head. "What do you mean fine?! We're surrounded!" you stopped shaking him and looked at the stairs when you heard footsteps, hastily going up the stairs.

"Seems like you've given them an aid while you were scolding me," he chuckles.

"It's completely your fault why I screamed! I've already had plans to escape, but were foiled when they were able to pinpoint that were still here!" you scolded him as both of you ran up the stairs.

He almost escaped, if only he didn't help you when you trip on the carpet on the floor. The police men eagerly handcuffed both of your hands together, guiding you two out of the building. Reporters were outside, sharing to the world that both of you were finally caught and that the citizens don't have to worry anymore.

As you two reach the car, and they were about to shove both of you inside, Lilia squatted down, bringing you along as you two were chained together. He then uses his legs to kick the policemen behind, and grabbed the gun using his free hand. You almost would have kissed the floor, if it weren't for your reflexes with how fast he moves. He stands up, bringing you along, and hugged you closer to his chest (re-using that scene from my general lilia ask 😆 lmao when will I experience this in real life). You heard several gun shots, and you crumpled his vest under your free hand from worry.

Both of you opened the police car and went inside. He sat on the driver's seat with you beside him, locking the door with your free right hand. He uses his right hand to pull the-stick-thing (I forgot what its called 😭), and you glared at him with how harshly he did so as your left hand was tied to his left. As you guys left the scene with the police car, you broke the silence between you two.

"Lilia what the hell was that? We could've gotten shot or died! We can just escape the cell with their help, considering we were just aired on live TV."

"Here I thought you'd finally praise me. I save you, you know?" he rolled the steering with only one hand and smirked at your annoyed face.

"You mean using me as a shield, so you don't get shot?" You rolled your eyes.

Lilia sighs as his advances were once again thwarted by you. He will soon definitely soften that rock hard heart.

---

Dayum almost 500+ words in under 10 minutes? Sheesh, my mind and fingers works fast when that old man is involve- I used the endearment sweetcheeks because I'm sure that his cheeks are tasty and sweet, once you bite into it 😋

Hello Aqua 🌸💚🌷

I’m good thank you 🫶💞 Sherlock you say 👀 are you going to watch any of the live action adaptions? I recommend reading the moriarty the patriot manga/anime. It’s really good 💞💞

Bat dad just has a way of inspiring us 😌🥰

“His cheeks are tasty and sweet” reminded me of this meme I have saved 🤣

…Lilia, that is not the way to get to someone’s heart 🤣😅

In fact, it’s perfect way for you to get kicked in the shin and then maybe a kiss…if we are nice about it.

Next thing we know, you’re going to try to fake your death for a kiss or confession or something 😆😅

This scenario kind of reminded me of this song, have you heard of it? But the song was more of a…bad ending. Lilia and us got lucky compared to the couple in the song.

[alexendria-rose]

Bluey~

Dad Sherlock X Reader.

Warnings- Pure fluff

A/n- I’ve thought about this at work. It’s just a real short one 🤎

Sherlock crinkles his eyebrows as he hears a sort of sound in the front room. He was just waking up for the day, well he was not intending to wake up for a little while longer but whatever that annoying sound was woke him up. He looked to his side to see that his wife wasn’t there, maybe that was also another reason he woke up. He groans stretching before sitting on the edge of the bed and standing up. He walks over to the door grabbing his blue robe that hung up on the door, putting it on and exiting the bedroom. He saw little William sitting on his mother’s lap on the floor as he stared up at the TV. Y/n giggled softly as William clapped his hands.

“Mom! Dad! Bingo! Bluey!” William shouted in his cute little voice and giggled. Y/n looked over towards the kitchen to see a very tired Sherlock Holmes.

“Oh hello my love! I’ve made some tea for you it’s on the counter.” She says with a very bright smile on her lips that made Sherlock in a much better mood than he was previously in.

“Thank you.” He smiles softly grabbing the cup of tea walking over to his chair sitting on it before taking a small sit. William looks up at his father his big blue eyes peering into his father’s own blue bright eyes.

“Daddy!” He exclaims standing up from his mother’s lap running over to Sherlock crawling on his lap. Sherlock laughs lightly placing his tea down on the table next to him before holding onto his son tightly.

“Hello son. What is mother torturing you with today?” Sherlock grins, Y/n glares daggers at Sherlock mouthing a quick ‘fuck you’ before William turns his head towards his mom.

“Momma not torturing me daddy.” William says with bright eyes. “It’s bluey!” Sherlock knits his eyebrows.

“Bluey? That doesn’t sound very educational.” Sherlock mutters but keeping a smile on his face. Sherlock definitely knew his son got his mother’s creative mind but he definitely was Sherlock’s mini him.

“Daddy! It’s good!” William exclaims a slight pout on his little lips. Sherlock rolls his eyes playfully ruffling his son’s dark curls.

“But wouldn’t you rather watch some murder mysteries.” Sherlock whispered so his wife wouldn’t hear. But oh she did. Y/n whips her head towards Sherlock standing up from the ground.

“I swear on everything Sherlock Holmes if you let our son watch that. You’ll become one of those murder mysteries.” She threatens, Sherlock smirks at her threat giving her a lovey smile.

“I love when you threaten me like that my dear.” He teases. Y/n rolls her eyes pulling out her phone seeing a text from Mary asking y/n to tag along with her for morning tea at the bakery. Sherlock looks at his wife seeing a small smile on her face.

“My love do you think I can go out for an hour, I haven’t seen dear Mary in a while.” Y/n asks a huge grin on her face excited to see her best friend.

“My love I hate that you have to ask, obviously you can go. William and I will do something fun-“

“We’re going to watch bluey all day momma!” William says interrupting his father. Y/n laughed at her son knowing she was a copy and paste of his father. Sherlock’s eyes widen at that comment shaking his head towards his wife as a save me sort of look. Y/n laughs grabbing her coat and slipping it on.

“I think that’s a fantastic idea my love! Now I’ll see you boys later.” Y/n says blowing a kiss towards her two favorite boys, William blowing a kiss back and Sherlock glaring at his wife knowing she was dashing out the door to torture Sherlock with this nonsense show. William laid his head on his father’s shoulder as his eyes continue to watch the show. Sherlock sighed leaning his head on top of William’s as they watch the show together.

Later when Y/n got back an hour later she walked through the flat door seeing a very puzzled and intrigued Sherlock and a very sleepy William. Y/n smiled softly as Sherlock’s eyes were glued on the TV.

“Y/n she can’t have kids! This isn’t for children, this show is too intelligent.” Sherlock’s whispers sadly not noticing his son has fallen asleep. “Right William?” Sherlock looks down seeing William dead asleep. Y/n chuckles walking towards the boy’s.

“I thought this was dumb?” Y/n snickers taking off her coat throwing it to the side. Sherlock’s face falls and a slight embarrassed look crawls up to his face.

“It is.” He mumbles his eyes never leaving the television. Y/n just hums grabbing small William from Sherlock’s embrace waking William up slightly.

“Mommy, daddy loves bluey now.” Williams smiles tiredly before going back to sleep. Y/n just smiles at her sleepy son taking him to his room and setting him down on his bed so he could take his afternoon nap. She kisses the top of his head gently just enjoying the second of watching her son fast asleep not noticing a happy Sherlock watching the interaction.

“Did I ever tell you that you’re an amazing mother.” Sherlock whispers quietly. “Kind of like the mom in bluey, no wonder why he loves it.” Y/n looks towards her husband a small blush on her cheeks watching as Sherlock makes his way towards her sitting next to her on the floor beside their son’s bed.

“Sometimes I wonder if I’ll mess up at this mom thing.” She sighs sadly placing her chin on the palm of her hand as she continued to look at Williams sleepy figure. Sherlock shakes his head playing with the end of her hair.

“You’re doing a good job.” Sherlock smiles softly. Y/n looks at him tilting her head a grin plastered on her face.

“Did you just quote bluey to me?” She asks watching him start to laugh quietly.

“Yes and that show definitely got that right.” He says grabbing his wife and holding her close to his chest. “You take care of us everyday and you’re doing a damn good job at this mom and wife thing.” Y/n sighs happily a grin on her face. Maybe Sherlock should watch bluey more often…

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

Hi maggots... I have to go out for an entrance exam in a half hour but here I am, stealing a while to talk to you all. I don't know, why are we always making time for the things that are important and using time for the things we have to do but always stealing time for what we want to do? What is wasting time, anyway? I don't know. I don't know much at all.

I made the mistake of playing a new song while typing this first bit. It's Birch, by Big Red Machine and Taylor Swift. Do new songs ever make you feel a bit nervous but excited, like you're experiencing some emotion for the first time and reading a book or watching a movie and you don't quite know how it will end and where it will take you on the way? It's not the kind of thing you do lightly. Well, I mean, it's not the kind of thing I can do lightly. I'll have to listen to it again, while I'm not here writing.

This counts, doesn't it, as writing? Why do I have to be writing my book or a poem or a song for it to be real writing? I'm putting words together and I'm putting them together for us, for you and me. God we make ourselves feel guilty with so many arbitrary definitions.

A familiar song is playing now, The Alcott by The National and Taylor Swift. I think their voices meld together beautiful, gritty and smooth. I think Swift is a skilled singer-songwriter, as well as a performer. I think a lot of things.

Why am I writing an entrance exam? Well, writing is an exaggeration, it'll involve sketching and maybe an interview. It's for an art school. The design school I got into, which I told you all about and was thinking of not doing, well, that got messy. They were... not very polite about a scholarship that they'd said they'd give. And I can't risk going to a situation like my last college. I don't wanna sully this post with it (how do I use words like wanna and sully next to each other, I really cannot pick a way to use this language) but well. It wasn't fun. I don't want to be an unfriendly/unsafe environment if I can help it.

Am I excited or nervous for the exam? Not really. Too many things have happened to leave any room for that. It's mainly resignation, a sort of oh, is this what's happening now? ok. That's sad. But I still care about things, I promise. Not the things I used to, like academics or grades or some abstract future. I care about you. I care about you so much. I think about you all the time. I care about my mum and my dog. About stickers and Good Omens and Sherlock Holmes and music and books.

It's a different kind of caring.

I have ten minutes left. I need to shower and pack my things in that time. I'm cutting it fine. Like a slice of whale. Some of you are confused by that. A lot of you are thinking Asmi, no, no, no. That makes me smirk. A fine slice of whalegina, loves.

I'll tell you all about it one day (hush, those of you still desperately thinking Asmi, no with a mixture of horror and fascination).

It's the sixth of May here. 2024, for those of you who've lost track of years. A Monday. Tomorrow is my twentieth birthday. So many things are happening in my life, not all of them good, but what's always good is you. It's us.

We're good. We're always good. I love you. So much.

I promise, maggots. We're more than friends, we're family. And to whoever it is reading this, maggot, even if we've never spoken, I care about you. Because you took the time to read this. You took the time to care. I care, too. I care about you.

I'll go shower now, in a bit of a rush, but smiling. Because of you. Because of all of you.

Love, Asmi

[raina-at]

Pride

I owe you two ficlets, to make the 31 complete. Here's the first, to mark the beginning of Pride Month.

John realises he’s bisexual around the time Harry comes out to her parents. But their reaction scares him so much he crawls back into the closet and nails the door shut.

It’s fine. He’s bi, after all. He’s fine with girls. Girls are wonderful. No reason to ever open that door again, no need to make a fuss.

He’s fine for years. He dates a few lovely women at Uni and in medical school, he has flings and relationships and everything in between. He doesn’t think about the door at all, mostly. If there’s a chap who catches his eye occasionally, he shrugs it off. No harm in a bit of a look. 

He falls in love with a man in Afghanistan. But Sholto is as unattainable as he is magnetic. The difference in rank alone would be enough to make any relationship between them impossible. But if John’s sexuality is a door he nailed shut, Sholto’s is a titanium safe buried at the bottom of the Mariana Trench. They kiss once, when they’re both very, very, very drunk, and they never speak of it again. 

It’s fine. Well, to be honest, it hurts like fuck, but it’s fine. It can’t be, for many reasons, and in a way, John is almost relieved. He doesn’t have to make a decision. He doesn’t have to open that door. It hurts, but it's safe.

Then he meets Sherlock Holmes and he’s completely, totally fucked. The door is in shambles, and there’s his heart, bursting out of his chest and into Sherlock’s hands before the ink is dry on the lease agreement. 

The thing about Sherlock is, he isn’t safe. At all. Not even a little bit. Sherlock wouldn’t be safe if John was completely comfortable with his sexuality (which he obviously isn’t). Sherlock is explosive, and unpredictable, and magnetic, and gorgeous, and John loves him, loves him, loves him. 

But there’s two problems. One is that John is never, ever sure of Sherlock. Ever. And that’s part of the charm, of course, but if the person holding your heart in his hands can’t be relied on not to quash it into mush, it makes going any further very difficult. The second is that John isn’t sure of himself. He’s not sure he has the courage to be out of that comfortable closet he built for himself. There would be questions. And he’s not sure he’s ready for that. 

But they have time. He can learn to trust Sherlock with his heart, and he can learn to trust himself.

Then Sherlock jumps, and John wants to die, too.

If John is honest, the next few years are a bit of a blur, and he feels like he spends them in a half-trance of unreality. He suddenly snaps back to reality when he’s standing at an altar and marrying a woman he barely knows with Sherlock watching with an expression in his eyes that hurts.

Things go to absolute shit afterwards, which is truly impressive, given how bad things were before. The next two years are an absolute horrorshow, and John would like to erase that whole awful time from his harddrive.

He comes out of the ashes his life has turned to with two things still standing: His daughter, who is delightful, and Sherlock, who proved once and for all that for better or worse is a promise he can make and keep. And he feels the strong urge to be a better man, for both of them. 

So when he finally feels like the ground under his feet has stopped constantly shifting, he goes back to that closet door. He removes the boards he used to nail it shut, and he opens it. He has a good, hard look at what he wants and who he is, and finds that actually, he’s good enough. Maybe he even deserves to be loved. 

He finds his heart at the bottom of that closet. It’s battered and beaten, but still strong. He dusts it off and hands it back to Sherlock Holmes, who takes it with gentle hands and smiles. 

And that’s when John realises that he had Sherlock’s heart in the palm of his hand the whole time. It’s as battered and beaten as John’s, but as strong. A lot of its wounds are self-inflicted, like John’s, and a lot of the blows they dealt to each other. This stops now, John thinks. I’ll guard your heart and you’ll guard mine. And that fucking door stays open. 

He’s 43 when he gets married to a man, their proud daughter at their side.

There are questions. And looks. And people with opinions.

But John knows now that people’s hate can’t hurt him if he doesn’t hate himself, and that anybody who doesn’t want him to be happy isn’t worth his time. And he knows he has to show this to his daughter every day, so she won’t end up feeling like she has to nail shut a part of herself to fit in. 

So he paints the door in rainbow colours and leaves it wide open, and he lives his life. 

And he’s happy. 

Happy Pride, everyone.

Tags under the cut as usual.

@calaisreno @iamjustreading @discordantwords @hotshoeagain @totallysilvergirl @helloliriels @topsyturvy-turtely @keirgreeneyes @thetimemoves @the-reading-lemon @7-percent @catlock-holmes @macgyvershe @jrow @shiplocks-of-love @mydogwatson @fluffbyday-smutbynight @khorazir

[starglitterz]

serendipity. (vii)

─── chapter 7 ! ~ my bff thinks she’s sherlock holmes (…what?)

summary; when you, a waitress at the local coffee shop, are paired up with the new recruit scaramouche, you’re pretty sure both of you are going to get fired within a week. he’s just quit being a social media influencer and after being forced to work here to make ends meet, he’s ready to let everyone there know how much he hates it. the worst part? you can’t shake the feeling that you know him from somewhere. but as he slowly warms up to you, scaramouche realises that having a fresh start isn’t that bad after all, and perhaps the two of you meeting like this was pure serendipity.

a/n; hiii it's me again ! i'm so back >:) hope you missed serendipity bc i definitely did hehehe,,, also for further context on some details mentioned in this chapter, you should totally read cynosure 👀 (shameless self-promo LOL) anyways i hope u enjoy this chapter !!

warning(s); a lot of swearing, scuffed pics 😔

previous.┃masterlist.┃next.

please reblog w comments ! it helps a lot :)

private messages #1 !

phone call !

incoming call from kokomi at 1.30 p.m.

kokomi: hi, y/n! it's your lunch break now, right?

y/n: yep! i'm surprised you remember.

kokomi: hey! i just visited you the other day, my memory isn't that bad!!

y/n: yeah, yeah, whatever you say. anyways, what did you want to tell me? it sounded important.

kokomi: well… you know how we met childe and signora the other day, right?

y/n: yeah, i could barely believe they knew scara. i mean, this is the same guy who complains about the stray cats making a mess outside the cafe but still leaves leftovers for them. i wouldn't have expected him to have such famous friends.

kokomi: me too. and i actually wanted to talk to you about that.

y/n: why, what is it?

kokomi: i was curious about how scaramouche knew them, so i asked gorou to do a little digging.

y/n: what? kokomi, why would you do that?

kokomi: this guy shows up out of nowhere and ayaka hires him, and it turns out he has friends in such high places? it's suspicious!

y/n: what the fuck, kokomi? what's gotten into you? this is my colleague we're talking about. he's literally just some random guy ayaka hired, why do his friends matter? it's not like they're bad people!

kokomi: they might not be, but he is.

y/n: and what's that supposed to mean?

kokomi: check the link i just sent you.

y/n: fuck off, kokomi. i'm not dealing with this today. what's wrong with you?

kokomi: y/n, please just click it. i really think you need to see this.

you click on the link kokomi sent you - it's a youtube video titled 'the rise & fall of scaramouche'. you watch it in silence with kokomi still on the phone.

kokomi: you see? he was a drama youtuber and he got clout off of ruining other people's lives - he even got fired from genshin impact! when genshin threatened a lawsuit, he agreed to settle privately by deleting all his accounts. genshin must have paid to scrub all the traces of him they could from the internet too. i knew there was something fishy about him!

y/n: honestly, fuck you, kokomi.

kokomi: what?! why me?!

y/n: because who cares what his past was like? yeah, maybe he used to be a shitty person, and yeah he's still a pain in my ass, but he's changing. scara hasn't done anything bad since he started working here, i don't know why you're so against him.

kokomi: i just don't want you to get hurt, y/n. we all know you're still looking for that mystery guy from when you were younger, and this is the first time you've liked someone without mentioning that. i'm worried he's taking advantage of you.

y/n: get a grip, kokomi. i'm a grown adult, and you're not my mother. i can make my own choices and deal with the consequences.

kokomi: well forgive me for being worried about my FRIEND.

y/n: just… leave me alone. goodbye, kokomi.

call cut from y/n's end at 2.17 p.m.

private messages #2 !

twitter !

i'm curious, what do u guys think abt what kokomi did? are you on her side or y/n's side? i've personally experienced a lot of friends getting defensive whenever you point out anything wrong with their rs/bf so i guess this is partially inspired by that LOL

© starglitterz 2024. do not repost or modify in any way.

[the-red-thread-that-strangles]

Continuing where we left off with Akai.

.

Shuichi must've regained conciousness quickly, because when he comes to, strands of soft hair brush against his face. Rei has tipped his head back, holding him steady and leaning in close to check whether he's still breathing. Shuichi actually doing so with sputtering gasps seems to be the wrong move, though. As soon as Shuichi shows signs of life, Rei's heat is gone as the agent hurries to get some distance between them.

The ensuing tirade as Akai's dragged up the stairs to the guest bedroom Okiya Subaru is occupying is decidedly not helping the developing headache and nausea. Everything is pain. But that's par for the course. He needs to eat something, maybe take a painkiller or two, and then he really needs to get back to his watch over Shiho. He's already wasted too much time.

As usual, Rei has other plans. He shoves Shuichi into bed, throws a blanket over him and orders him to stay. put. Shuichi wants to assure Rei that it's fine, he's fine, and he really has better things to do, but the other agent runs off, quietly talking to someone on the phone. Warmth is seeping into Shuichi's bones under the blanket, and the lack of sleep from the last couple of days is rapidly catching up, now that he's bundled up in bed. See, that's why he would usually avoid it. And should really get out, right about now. But he's a little too worn to get up. Maybe he can entrust matters to Rei, just for a little while.

To his surprise, Rei returns a couple of minutes later, stirring Shuichi out of a light doze. He's carrying a glass of water and plate. It smells of summer.

"I thought I made myself clear last time", he mutters to himself, putting the items on the bedside table.

('I won't pamper you, if you collapse again.' Amidst the drowsiness, a half-buried memory threatens to resurface. He might have been sick, before?)

"Not the same", Shuichi drawls in protest, because he can't let Bourbon get away with everything.

('Nobody's forcing you to be here', his memory says. As if anyone could make Bourbon do something he truly objects to.)

Grimacing at the lack of seating opportunities, Rei sits down on the bed next to him.

"Alright, even an old man like you should be able to eat this." Rei nudges a piece of melon against his lips. Shuichi finds himself dutifully taking a couple of bites, and then a sip of water. Eventually Rei relents, gets up. With a click, the room goes dark. Shuichi thinks he might leave for good, now, but then the matress dips as Rei returns to his side. In the unlit room, Shuichi is keenly aware he's only inches away.

('Rest. I'll take the first watch', the echo of a bygone era says.)

Rei stays by his side until the front door rattles downstairs, and the chatter of the Kudos drifts up. Then he flees into the night.

The sweater he came for lies forgotten in its bag in the basement gym.

Shuichi can't remember the last time he slept this well.

III.

"You wouldn't happen to know why Amuro wanted me to fetch him, and I quote, whichever Sherlock Holmes book has The Empty House case? He could just look it up online."

Shinichi is perched precariously on the ladder in the Kudo library, fishing for the book in question. Shuichi's watching it sway, coiled and ready in case he needs to get up and catch the boy. It's probably fine, but he has thought enough about death these past couple of days. He'd really rather not have another avoidable one on his conscience.

"Not particularly", he says, sipping his coffee. For the most part, The Return of Sherlock Holmes is probably of little importance to Furuya. He likely just wanted Shinichi, or rather, Conan (because he's not sure Furuya has cracked that one yet, and it's not his secret to share) out of his hair for the day.

"It's hard to tell with him, but it seemed like it was important." Conan climbs down the ladder. Another potential disaster averted.

Shuichi shrugs. "I don't know of any important missions he has coming up." None that would benefit from reading Holmes, in any case.

At that, Conan raises an eyebrow. "And the two of you have been getting along rather well recently, right?"

There's no reason to lie to the boy. "He's been around. We're working on it." He has been nagging and yelling and an all-around whirlwind, but Shuichi appreciates the company.

"It's about Scotch, right? Why he's mad at you?" Curiosity clear on his face, Conan settles sideways in the comfortable library armchair, legs dangling over the armrest. Watches Shuichi carefully, who can't help but smile. "Now, wherever did you learn that name?" Conan just shrugs, smirks. "I'd rather not reveal my sources. Although this one would surprise you, I think."

There's a limited number of people it could be, considering Furuya himself would never tell, but Shuichi doesn't push it. "Alright. What do you know about him?"

"He was a NOC. A friend of Bourbon. And yours as well?"

"Is", Shuichi corrects, automatically, because that's the important part. "He's still alive."

He finishes his coffee, sets it down. And because he's wanted to talk about this for a while, he tells Shinichi about Scotch.

.

Scotch was a divine blessing. That's neither sugar-coating nor exaggeration, simply fact.

Looking back, Shuichi is pretty sure the rotten company was a major part of why that first year in the organisation was almost unbearable. Everyone, from the executives down, was bad news, but he was most often exposed to his fellow snipers. Korn was fine, mostly calm and keeping to himself. Calvados was annoying in his continuous idolisation of Vermouth, but mostly harmless. Chianti, well, Chianti was the worst.

Shuichi's still not sure how a sniper gets away with being that obnoxious without raising attention to their position ahead of time, screwing over every single operation they're part of. Somehow, she manages - that somehow usually involves killing any unlucky witnesses. That wasn't all, though.

Shuichi is keenly familiar with the thrill of the hunt. He understands the excitement and the pride, even if Chianti is, at best, a middling sniper. But he's always followed a set of principles, and the way Chianti liked to play with her targets, relishing in the pain she caused before finally killing her prey in an absolute disregard of the value of life left him violated at his core. If he wasn't really careful, this could be his future.

And because that wasn't bad enough, Chianti would bring up her accomplishments for the rest of the day, dragging the other snipers into a pissing contest about who had caused the most damage. Shuichi was glad Rye's persona was cold and detached and rarely talked. He wasn't sure he could've kept his cover, otherwise.

So he did what he did best: establish himself as a lone operator. He was clearly superior in skill, didn't even need a spotter. Told whoever was assigned on a mission with him to go take an extended break while he dealt with things. The less time he spent with those lunatics, the better.

Enter stage right: Scotch.

"Scotch made his codename as a sniper. Because he was new in the organisation as well, they assigned him to be my partner."

Shuichi had figured he would hate him, and then he didn't.

Scotch was a breath of fresh air. Cool and composed, very capable. No-nonsense, and most important for Rye's sanity: he wasn't going out of his way to be cruel. Working with Scotch was almost like working a normal job. Sure, they made their business killing people, but finally, here Scotch was, treating it with the appropriate gravitas. What started as smalltalk during stakeouts turned into shared smoke breaks, and, after a while, Scotch insisted they unwind together after missions. They'd grab drinks and junk food, and talk about literally anything but their job. Music, often. Sometimes sports. Life and love, rarely. Off-mission, Scotch was personable when he wanted, even cracking jokes sometimes. Rye couldn't laugh, but Shuichi always felt a little less dead inside.

His risk assessment told him Scotch was dangerous. His was the kind of discipline one could only get from good training. The kind that taught him to take the job seriously, but socialize after a mission, in order to avoid letting the job consume his mind. Shuichi had heard it during academy training, and, seeing the difference in action, thought that just maybe he should've tried sooner. Not that there had been anyone he would've liked to share a drink with, before Scotch. He'd liked to stay in and hide, with Akemi.

That very professionalism really was the downside of working so closely with Scotch. He was the kind of guy who didn't make mistakes. If Rye slipped up Scotch would, indubitably, follow orders and put a bullet through his brain stem without asking further questions. Though maybe, there was a small window of opportunity to sway him, if things came down to it. Scotch, after all, claimed he was mostly in it for the money. (Akai rather hoped the FBI would be willing to reimburse a large sum of money in exchange for an agent's life). With that partnership stable, things were looking up for Rye, for once.

Enter stage left: Bourbon.

Bourbon had made his way to the top in the shadows, appearing almost as if out of thin air. A shark-like investigator, Vermouth's shiny new boytoy, or so the gossips said, and Shuichi quickly realized the less they saw each other, the better.

The word count Rye had uttered in company of BO operatives tripled in a single meeting between them. Because from day zero, Bourbon seemed to hate him, and was pretty vocal about it too. Rye, of course, had a reputation to maintain, and Shuichi's never liked to back down from a challenge, so they ended up arguing more often than not.

On the bright side, most operatives left them to their fights, unwilling to be dragged into a territorial dispute between two predators.

With two notable exceptions: Scotch, calm and sociable, supposedly trying to maintain a work environment where his colleagues didn't shoot each other in the back. At the time, Rye had appreciated the back-up from his partner, but in hindsight, he was probably trying to keep Bourbon out of trouble instead.

The other exception was Gin, wo seemed to delight in watching them try to tear each other apart. Which made it significantly less fun, and resulted in a strange sort of understanding between Bourbon and Rye. They turned their considerable vitriol against Gin, instead. Only Scotch's timely interventions got them out of stupid competitions of who could piss Gin off faster without new holes in their bodies.

With time, the continued involvement of Scotch was the thing that kept attracting Shuichi's attention. The pair of them and Bourbon didn't have joint missions often, usually their respective specialities were needed elsewhere, but every once in a blue moon they did come up. When Bourbon needed security, or he lured out a target for them to take care of; when he had to make the final call of whether it was necessary to permanently deal with a security risk, or if they could be persuaded to keep their stupid mouth shut.

A subtle, but interesting change happened when Bourbon and Scotch were in a room together. Or even just on coms. Granted, Shuichi was a trained intelligence agent and had been partnered with Scotch for a while, but the chinks in their armor became glaringly obvious to him in due time. Both Bourbon and Scotch were capable independantly, but if one paid attention when they were working together, one could see the shift of tension outward, the way they effortlessly trusted each other in a way that was dangerous for two BO operatives. How they got even more efficient about solving problems when combined.

They must have been lovers. Dangerous for them, but they kept it low-profile and ultimately it was very much not his business. He only kept it in mind for blackmail purposes.

Then Masumi found them, returning from several weeks of hell in Osaka.

Each of them saw something they weren't supposed to, that day. Masumi, the three of them. Scotch and Bourbon, how much she meant to him. And Shuichi, well, Shuichi saw how gentle Scotch was with this kid that was prime blackmail material. How he didn't press her for information, but instead taught her some chords with a genuine smile. How Bourbon stepped in to try and remind him who he was supposed to be, before Rye came back. But he saw. And that changed things.

Whether because of the chance meeting or their misadventures in Osaka, Bourbon started joining them for drinks. The two of them still didn't like each other, but Scotch proved himself quite capable of stoking the uneasy cameraderie born from their mutual hatred of Gin into something resembling a tentative alliance. They'd look out for each other, just a little, just as long as there was plausible deniability. It showed in small things; giving someone a lift after a mission; fetching antibiotics when one of them was sick; grabbing an extra blanket for winter stakeouts because someone always insisted he was fine, and then froze his ass off.

They were in the organisation together for a year, after that encounter, and neither Bourbon nor Scotch ever uttered a word about Masumi. Hell, even when Scotch's cover was blown and Shuichi rushed to save his partner, Scotch didn't try to bargain with the dirt on the little girl he'd seen that day. Instead he stole Rye's revolver, and tried to kill himself to erase the evidence of his existance. What a beautiful idiot.

"His cover was blown, but I managed to get to him in time. We faked his death, and put him into witness protection."

It was a damn near thing. Over their struggle, they almost missed the lone car approaching the derelict building, the screeching brakes their warning as it came to a stop downstairs. Shuichi had implored Scotch to stop this nonsense. It wasn't his time to die, not yet, not if Akai could help it. He asked for Scotch's trust, and promised that in exchange they'd both walk out alive.

Someone needed to keep a cool head, and seeing as it wasn't gonna be Scotch, it fell to Akai. A good agent always has a back-up plan, so Shuichi had ushered Scotch onto the railing and then up the emergency staircase's roof. There they waited and watched as Bourbon came and went. In an ironic display of his disposition, Bourbon checked all the ways down, but never once bothered looking up.

With the benefit of hindsight, they could've handled it better, if they had just talked. But at the time, with all the adrenaline and no guarantee Bourbon was like them, Shuichi didn't reach out. Scotch kept his mouth shut, too - understandable, Rye could've been lying through his teeth in an attempt to out both him and Bourbon. Theirs was a fragile trust, forged out of hunches and faith, and it was barely enough to get all of them out alive.

After Bourbon left, they smashed Scotch's phone, just to be safe, and faked his death by blowing up a surrogate corpse in a decommissioned building. For lack of time, they used what was supposed to be Shuichi's own exit strategy. Thus, the corpse found charred in the wreckage was slightly off in build and stature. But back then, Gin wasn't as paranoid yet, and it was good enough.

Not for Bourbon though, who hounded Rye with a vengeance. Shuichi avoided him like the plague for two months, at which point he didn't need to worry about him anymore, because his cover was blown sky high and he had other problems.

"It was sloppy work, and Bourbon never quite got over Scotch's supposed death. Before he could confront me, though, my cover was blown, and I left for the US." Shuichi had turned tail and ran, relishing the opportunity to get out and breathe freely again. There's no way he can tell that to the boy. And knowing what it cost, he wouldn't do it again.

.

Shinichi waits for further elaboration, which doesn't come. After some minutes of silence, he pipes back up. "Let me guess. You left him in the dark, even after you came back to Japan."

Shuichi nods. Smart kid, gets it in one. "Even if I had a safe way to contact him - which I didn't - Scotch never told me Furuya was PSB before he went into witness protection. Suspicions alone could've been my death sentence." He's forced to smile. "Well. An earlier one, I suppose."

"He can be pretty intense, can't say that I blame you." The boy shivers, eyes distant. "Coming clean must have been scary, huh?"

Coming clean had mostly been a relief, really. Furuya was too persistant, it was simply taking up too many resources to keep at arm's length someone who, for all intents and purposes, should have been an ally. Fear in general is a rather foreign emotion to Akai, and has never really crossed Shuichi's mind where Furuya is concerned. Not even when they'd pointed their guns at each other that fateful night in this same mansion's entrance hall. There had been anticipation, the electric thrill of meeting an equal, and the tacit hope that their little game of cat and mouse, intruiging as it was, might finally come to an end so they could focus on what really mattered.

"Not really." He shrugs. "It was necessary for us to lay our cards on the table. There were too many misunderstandings and lies between us. You can't build a partnership on a foundation like that."

Conan nods, seemingly lost in his own head. "How did he take it?" he finally asks, quietly.

"Oh, he was absolutely livid." The bruises had still been fun colours several weeks later.

Conan goes a little pale.

"To be clear, while unproductive, his anger is understandable. Thankfully, Scotch and I share the blame, 50/50, so it's really not that bad. Furuya's coming around." And between all that anger, when they'd put Scotch on speaker, and Furuya's eyes had gone wide with surprise and tentative hope at that first 'Hi, Zero', Shuichi had known going through the semi-official channels to try and dig up where Scotch was hiding had been worth it.

Shinichi is lost in thought, for a while. Finally, he seems to have reached a conclusion. With a tired smile that belies his actual age, he asks, just a little hopefully: "It will be alright, then?"

Shuichi's eyes are drawn to the now-empty take-away cup of black coffee that Conan brought with him from Poirot, dedicated to 'that idiot' in Amuro's neat handwriting. He smiles, and ruffles Conan's hair.

"...yeah. Yeah, I think it will."

.

Sweater weather AU masterpost

[holylulusworld]

Fighting Temptations (1) - First meeting

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

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Fem!Reader

Characters: Inspector Lestrade, Lady Marigold (ofc), Enola Holmes (no dialogue with her yet)

Warnings: language, misogynism, arguments, Sherlock being an ass, sassy reader

A/N: This will be a mini-series of short drabbles

Fighting temptations masterlist

He waltzes toward the mansion, almost as if he owns the world. He did it again. Sherlock Holmes, the unsung hero of another unsolvable case.

"Inspector Lestrade," Sherlock says as he almost bumps into the inspector. “What are you doing here? Did Lady Marigold call for you too?”

Inspector Lestrade eagerly shakes Sherlock’s hand. He admires the eloquent and smart detective and hopes to be as good as Sherlock at solving cases one day.  

“It is always a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holmes. What brought you here today?”

Sherlock is irritated by the Inspector's question. He came here to announce he had solved the case.

“I’m here to solve the case. I found the thief—” Sherlock gasps as the Inspector points at two of his officers guiding a man out of the house. A man Sherlock already knows. The thief he indentified.

“Mr. Holmes, I’m sorry to tell you but Lady Y/N Y/L/N already solved the case a few hours ago,” Lestrade clears his throat. “I mean she solved it three days ago, but Superintendent Grail didn’t want to listen to her. Lady Marigold intervened. She’s a very powerful woman.”

“Who is she? I never heard of a female detective in London,” Sherlock huffs. “Well, maybe my sister. But she’s still learning.”

“Mr. Holmes, do you want me to introduce you to Lady Y/N Y/L/N? She’s very kind. It’s a pleasure to talk to her,” Lestrade swoons.

“Why would I want to talk to her? She stole my case! Lady Marigold asked me to solve the case. How dare that woman steal it!” Sherlock raises his voice. 

Bystanders and police officers watch the famous detective lose his composure in public. Never before did someone steal his case.

He’s furious. No. It’s more than that. Whoever this mysterious woman is, she stole his case, and Sherlock can’t stand it.

Especially as he had difficulties solving the case.

“Ah, there she is,” Lestrade points at you. “Let me introduce you to her, Mr. Holmes. You will see, she’s very friendly too.”

Sherlock huffs, but doesn't want to draw more attention to himself today. He clicks his tongue and glares at the bystanders watching him. “Fine. Please introduce me to the lady…”

The detective follows Lestrade. He strides toward you, masking his anger. 

“Lady Y/N Y/L/N,” Lestrade smiles widely as you turn your attention toward him. “May I introduce you to Mr. Sherlock Holmes?”

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holmes,” you politely say, holding out your hand. “Your sister told me so much about you.”

“My sister?” Sherlock grits his teeth. He ignores your offered hand as you point at Enola standing next to Lady Marigold. “What do you have to do with my sister?”

“I’m her mentor. Enola asked me to introduce her to the world of investigations,” you smile sweetly. “I thought you were aware of our arrangement. Enola told me you don’t want her to follow your example. She's stubborn, smart, and strong-headed. All a woman needs to become an infamous detective.”

“You’re not allowed to spend more time with my sister.”

“What? Why?” You put your hands on your hips and glare at Sherlock. Up close, he’s so much taller than in all the pictures you saw of him, but you won’t show you’re a little intriguided by his appearance.. “Sir, explain yourself.”

“You shouldn’t encourage her. My sister should become a lady and learn some manners. My mother ruined any chance Enola had of getting a husband.”

As you purse your lips, you reply, "Lord Tewksbury would disagree. Your sister is a fine young woman. Her mother raised Enola right. There is nothing wrong with her. Unlike her misogynist brother, she has perfect manners.”

“You should get a hold of yourself, Lady,” Sherlock grunts. “I won’t let you near my sister.”

“You only want me to stay away from your sister because I solved your case within two days,” you snap at Sherlock. If life taught you one thing, it’s to never back down in front of men. “Your ego can’t take it.”

Sherlock huffs as you take Lestrade’s offered arm. You glare at Sherlock as you pass him by. 

“I hope to see you for tea and biscuits at my mansion, Mr. Holmes. Enola would like to discuss a few things before moving into my house. Tomorrow. 2 pm. Don’t be late.”

“Move…what?” Sherlock stammers as he watches you walk toward a horse carriage. Enola follows you toward the carriage, ignoring her fuming brother as Sherlock calls her name.

“Mr. Holmes, I suggest you tame your temper,” Lady Marigold tuts. “Lady Y/N Y/L/N is under my protection.” She coos. “Believe me, you don’t want her or me to become your enemy…”

>> Part 2

All works tags

@yolobloggers​​​

@shikshinkwon​​

@miraclesoflove​​

@mogaruke​​

@shatteredabby​​

@soryuwifeyxx​​

@letsdisneythings​​

@i-love-superheroees-blog​​

@thevelvetseries​​

@anaelsbrunette​​

@sabascio​​

@goodgodimaweirdperson​​

@that-place-called-middle-earth​

@wally-darling-hyperfixation​​

@zxph-yr​​

@belovedcherry​​

@matsumama​​

@emoryhemsworth​​

@buckybarnesplumwhore​​

@coldmuffinbanditshoe​​

@princesssterek​​

@xoxabs88xox​​

@wandering-spiritash​​

@riathearora​

@the-loml-got-nailed​

@greeneyedblondie44​​

@gh0stgurl​

@charmed-asylum​ 

@fallen-wolf22​

@thegirlnextdoorssister​

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187​

@black-rose-29​

@caplanbuckybarnes​

@wykkedwitch​

@sexicherri3​

@loki-laufeyson-1054​

@xoxabs88xox​

@liloxclu

@km-ffluv​

[ramayantika]

𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬: 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

(Apna apna sab choose karlo 👀)

Bharatanatyam

The girl in red and gold. Never steps out of the house without a bindi, loves the sun a little too much and gets the perfect golden hour photos. Will drag you out in the sun to prove that her hair is brown. Looks no less than a goddess in traditionals, rocks desi wear as well as western, always the best dressed in the room and sometimes the overdressed one. A walking saree encyclopedia, dreams to have a large wardrobe just for her sarees. Will also lend you some of her sarees and drapes them so well. If you are wearing a saree for a date, ask her for help. Reads a lot of detective books maybe, ranging from Sherlock Holmes to Feluda. Has learnt martial arts too, armed with wit, got the best comebacks and will fight for her friends. Highly intimidating when you meet her first until you get to witness the soft sunshine version of her. Photogenic, loves the camera, could also be a model. Her walk radiates power and confidence. Ambitious and full of ideas, commands attention easily with a snap of ger fingers. Heads turn at her when she enters the room, an eloquent speaker because she is well read. Tries to spread happiness in her own ways, knows everyone in her neighbourhood, is friends with everyone, right from the little kids to the oldies in the park, the Mother hen of her group. Loves puppies and will cry while watching cute puppy videos. Cooks delicious dishes and watch her lash out if she finds out that you skipped breakfast. A pure soul, too kind and generous for the world and does her best in spreading happiness around her.

'It's honestly a choice which we have to make. We can choose to see everything as cold and heartless around us or start seeing at the brighter side of things. Trust me, the latter is a better choice. Why would someone want to live such a miserable life laced with bitterness and resent. I know I cannot singlehandedly make everything right in the world, but I can surely make a difference in at least a single person's life? Why focus on things at the greater scale when we can make changes that should starts from us?"

Odissi

The shy girl next door, writes poetry in her rough notebook, hopeless romantic and a daydreamer. For her, outing means a visit to the temple. Ardent admirer of all types of art, stares at temple sculptures and statues, and is also a history lover. Pink lip gloss, jasmine flowers and a doe-eyed beauty. Makes flower jewellery and will gift you many of her own works if you are her friend. Wears light coloured clothes and minimal accessories, light feminine, crushes over book characters and will make you see the best traits in yourself but forgets to look at the good in herself. Recites romantic poetry in front of the mirror and pretends to be someone's muse, replaces herself with the characters in period dramas Has gorgeous hair but will always keep them in a messy bun, but god when she lets her hair down, she looks like an angel. Her social life includes playing with children and narrating them stories and fairytales.

'His lips gently follow the trail of the small dots of sandalwood paste on her back. It forms a serpentine path on her skin and ends on the curve of her waist where his lips gently caress her soft skin, delighted at the treasure gifted by the perfumed trail.'

"You haven't even held hands with a boy and yet you can come up with this? How?"

"Oh, it's nothing. You have to see my writing journal and you will definitely believe that I am well versed in the arts of love."

"Arts of love? Who uses that?"

"Me. Now come, let's watch Jodha Akbar."

"Again?!"

Kathak

Kurtis and Anarkalis. Has long hair that is half of the time braided. Might also wear a parandi at events. Shayari aur ghazalein, listens to old Bollywood songs late at night under the moon on the terrace. Star gazing, late night deep conversations, vintage clothing, would write you hand written love letters. Knows hindustani music, sings late at night and sometimes in the early hours of dawn. Aankhon mein gehra kajal jise dekh na jane kitne uske aashiq bann gaye, deep eyes that will stare into your soul, loves to wear red lipstick and will wear silver jewellery with every outfit. To win her heart? Take her jhumke shopping. She is the desi pinterest aesthetic. Bases her personality on Sahibjaan from Pakeezah, Anarkali from Mughal-E-Azam, Umrao Jaan and Chandramukhi from Devdas. Has desi aesthetic moodboards on Pinterest and lives like it too minus the havelis and lots of expensive jewellery. If you are a poet, she will end up proposing you.

'जो मेरा नाम अपनी शायरी में अमर कर दे

मरूंगी तो केवल उस शायर के नाम'

"Umrao jaan 2.0 apni pariksha ki taiyari kare aapke non existent premi kavi ya shayar marks nahi dilayenge"

"Tauba tauba sara mood kharab kar diya"

Kuchipudi

Was made to learn dance and music as a child, knows how to play the veena or the sitar well, cannot sing but will play the instrument for you if you ask. Gold jewellery? No. Silver jewellery? No. Pearls? Absolutely! An all rounder, academically brilliant as well as in extra-curriculars, perfectionist and will breakdown at the slightest inconvenience. Loves to go on long walks, sunset photography, has a collection of journals and hauls stationary items. Collects fallen flowers and keeps them inside her books. soft smiles, long artistic fingers that always have ink spots, a small but a close friend group, wishes on flowers, so quiet that you might not her speak at times, notices the minute things about her friends and the people she meets. Looks too long into the mirror and loses herself, has too many questions but will never ask. Has pretty crazy dreams that could become book plots.

"Do you ever stare at your eyes in the mirror for a very long time? Do you feel your reflection change? Those eyes that look back at you... they have so much to say, they carry so many secrets inside them even though at a superficial level, it might seem that your reflection and you are the same, but it's not. When I look at myself in the mirror, I feel it's not me. I am not her nor am I anyone else. I feel I am a part of the galaxies, of stars and planets and of souls -- that I have existed here a long time ago and I have been reborn again for unknown reasons, reasons that somewhere my would would know. Do you not feel the same?"

Kathakali

Athletic, into sports, highly dramatic, can and will recite film dialogues at every situation, has a larger than life attitude, grand gestures and celebrations for her favourite people as well as for herself, always brimming with energy even at 3am, colourful flashy clothes that make her stand distinct from everyone, make-up game on point, a HUGE foodie, takes you to the best eateries and restaurants, indulges in pranks and all sorts of harmless mischief that makes her endearing, expresses everything just with her eyes. You can't say no to her because she will conjure such a facial expression that it would be difficult to say no which is why she gets away with mischief. Will debate about literature and philosophy, has a lot of knowledge about historical texts and scriptures, can easily make you laugh by imitating characters from stories and tales. Will also spam you with her thoughts and opinions on text and if you are in her close friend circle, keep your phone on because she will immerse herself about the latest book she read. Races with kids from her colony and lets them win, gully cricket vali didi, street smart, procrastinates assignments until the deadline is knocking at the door. Knows the secret spots in the city as well as their stories, has the best horror stories to narrate at a campfire.

"I know it's 2am, but is it okay if-"

"Even if I say no, you will tell me, but I am interested. Speak."

"What if all the characters in our epics were us, I mean like us normal human beings who achieved greatness and such divine status because of their work and somehow maybe that was the truth, but with time, we began thinking that we are not capable of becoming like them so we decided that we would take the credit of their hard work and replace it with magical powers and worship them, but not try and become like them? And somehow so many ideal kings, queen, warriors and artists when then look at us from heaven want us to achieve the same level of greatness like them? But they are sad that we think so less of ourselves? I am not denying God's presence though, don't get me wrong on that. I am talking about all the great people from stories that have been passed down to us. I do appreciate the creativity and imagination of the writers and poets involved, but what if we are actually failing to look more deeper into it. What if they want us to go beyond the veil of imagination in those stories and find ourselves in them?"

Manipuri

One word: Ethereal. Doesn't look like she belongs to this world. You saw her first at a waterfall, dressed in white and red shades, mostly prefers pastel shades, makes beautiful flower bouquets, has got a very melodious voice and when she sings by the waterfall with the swans sitting beside her, she appears like a water nymph. Playful eyes, whispers words, will wink and smile at you before disappearing into a run. She walks as if she is floating, got the lightest feet, soft dewy skin, nature's daughter. Sings before the Gods in temples, always has a peacock feather with her, makes one wonder if she is a human or someone divine, wants to live in a cottage overlooking lush green hills.

"Ironic isn't it that beauty, riches, pride, nothing shall exist in the end because we shall go back to mother nature, Prakriti? I shall be ash, a small heap of ash in the future and my stories, my experiences, the beauty which people love to talk about, nothing will exist. Even when humans leave a piece of land, they think it shall be dead and decayed, but they have forgotten Prakriti's nature. She is nourishing and a healer. She shall be the only one remaining."

Mohiniyattam

Loves to sit by a riverbank, serenity, looks at you as if she knows everything about you even about the words you shall speak next, mysterious vibe, doesn't trust anyone easily, lotuses are her favourite. Who is the girl standing waist deep in the river looking at the moon? Loves to wear alta on her hands and feet, wears anklets, longing side glances, perfectly arched eyebrows, dances in the rain, photographs everything, a natural charmer, goes to museums and coffee. Date ideas? Boat rides for evenings. A very private person, doesn't reveal much about herself, contemplates about Life and the Universe, space geek, stars are her friends.

When I look at you, at your great depths, I marvel at the power you have subdued while flowing through the land of Man. Born from the great peaks of mountain ranges, like a young girl who is pulsating with energy, you flow down your father's abode. Were you aware of your strength then? You cut through rocks, found your way through dense forests, and finally emerged into our land. We took you granted, knowing you shall forever exist for us, that you shall always nurture our bodies, our minds and our souls, until we witnessed your dance of death.

I wondered how Lasya, the feminine style of dance, also known as Goddess Parvati's style of dancing could be destructive? You swirled to great heights. With each turn, your colour darkened, absorbing the green from trees, the white from clouds, yellow from the sun, blue from the dawn and purple from sunsets. In the end your colour changed to brown and grey as you engulfed everything we held dear. You ultimately showed your hidden strength that you possesses in the days of girlhood until you heard us wail and weep. Motherhood came back to you, and with time, you began nursing us once again. The city repaired itself, we began learning about the secrets of life and death on your banks and children played with your gentle waters. And then you longed for love, so you advanced towards the sea, merging with its grand form. Once, I used to see it as a way of losing your entire identity, but now I see it as being one. You nourish man in the city and then with your dear love, the mighty sea, you nourish the life that resides inside water. I would like to be something like that.

"Is that why you spend so much time at the river?"

"Yes."

Sattriya

Plays the flute, the most non violent human, will never get angry, calm voice that might lead you to deep sleep. Nobody has seen her even glare at someone. Gold jewellery, squints at the sun, sings devotional songs for Krishna, cannot eat spicy food, lives in the hills, will definitely win if you race against her in the hills, knows quiet spots to appreciate the valleys. Has a great deal of knowledge about herbal medicines, one touch and you will feel that the pain is gone. Has Diy skin care methods ready, gives the best oil massage, cold hands in winter, looks adorable when covered in a shawl, red cheeks that appear like natural blush, makes the best tea.

"Close your eyes, open your ears and your mind too. You might begin to understand the language of the hills. They will send you messages of rain clouds, soft kisses of wintery breeze, fragrance of spring and gently warmth of the sun. Sometimes, if you look closely enough, you might get to know who you are in this world in front of them."

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙ ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　 ‧͙⁺ ˚*･༓☾　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙◌

I DID IT :D

Even though it's based on dance, but everyone isn't into dance, so i did try my best to make it inclusive and ofc i had to write these paragraphs because I felt more creative lol (just to sum up the vibes maybe that's why) It was a bit tricky to make for Sattriya and Manipuri. I looked up some articles and then some Assam and Manipur tourism videos and also some of theri dance videos too for this. Now I mentioned some of rhe traits and stuff based on the dancing history and the repertoire plus also from the place where it belongs too

Tell me your favorite one and which one you relate to the most.

Shoutout to @remen-nyoodless for the hindi lines

Tagging: @yehsahihai @swayamev @sanskari-kanya @navaratna @daddojanam @pulihora @inexhaustible-sources-of-magic @aapki-pyaari-sakhi @kuhuchan @arachneofthoughts @vedajananixx @pothosinpots @eugenephosgene @reallythoughtfulwizard @ma-douce-souffrance

[anonymousewrites]

A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 3) Chapter Nine

Father Figure! Sherlock Holmes x Teen! Reader

Chapter Nine: Plastered Party

Summary: (Y/N) sees the before and after of Sherlock and John's Stag Night.

Present…

            “Private Bainbridge had just come off guard duty. He’d stood there for hours, plenty of people watching, nothing apparently wrong. He came off duty and within minutes was nearly dead from a wound in his stomach, but there was no weapon,” recapped Sherlock for the wedding guests.

            Many looked queasy since they hadn’t expected murder discussions at such a celebration, but Mary, John, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson weren’t surprised at all. (Y/N) looked deep in thought as they considered the case again.

            They traced the spot where the wound had been on Bainbridge over their belt and pants. Odd spot, but without a weapon, it was hard to place why it was there or how it was made. Besides, they still hadn’t caught the attempted-murderer, and most would say that was more important. (That being said, (Y/N) wanted to understand all of the aspects).

            “Where did it go?” continued Sherlock. “Guests, I invite you to consider this: a murderer who can walk through walls, a weapon that can vanish. But in all of this, there is only one element which can be said to be truly remarkable. Would anyone like to make a guess?”

            The guests all shifted uncomfortably, and those who knew Sherlock didn’t speak up since they’d obviously be wrong. (Y/N) didn’t say anything because they were more interested in the entirety of the case already.

            “Come on, come on, there is actually an element of Q and A to all of this,” said Sherlock. His eyes landed on Lestrade. “Scotland Yard. Have you got a theory?” Lestrade stared at him blankly. “Yeah, you. You’re a detective—broadly speaking. Got a theory?”

            Lestrade cleared his throat. “Er, um, if the, uh, if-if the blade was, uh, propelled through the grating in the air vent…” He trailed off. “Maybe a ballista or a-a, uh, a catapult. Um, someone tiny could crawl in there. So yeah, we’re looking, uh, for a small person,” he stammered.

            “Brilliant,” said Sherlock.

            “Really?” said Lestrade, surprised.

            “No,” said Sherlock. “Next!” His eyes landed on Tom whispering to Molly.

            Here we go, thought (Y/N), knowing that Sherlock was about to humiliate Tom.

            “Hello, who was that?” he said. “Tom, got a theory?”

            Tom stood up (which was unnecessary, but oh well). “Um, an attempted suicide, uh, with a blade made of compacted blood and bone. Broke after piercing his abdomen. Like a meat…dagger,” he said hesitantly.

            Mary stared at him in disbelief, and several suppressed laughs went up from the wedding guests.

            “A meat dagger,” repeated Sherlock.

            “Yes,” said Tom awkwardly.

            “Sit. Down,” hissed Mary, mortified. Tom sat down, and Sherlock almost smirked in amusement.

            “No,” said Sherlock, and he looked out over everyone again. “There was one feature, and only one feature, of interest in the whole of this baffling case, and quite frankly, it was the usual. John Watson, who, while (Y/N) and I were trying to solve a murder, instead saved a life. There are mysteries worth solving and stories worth telling. The best and bravest man I know—and on top of that he actually knows how to do stuff…except wedding planning and serviettes—he’s terrible at those.”

            The guests all laughed, and John smiled.

            “True,” he said, chuckling.

            “The case itself remains the most ingenious and brilliantly planned murder—or attempted murder—I’ve ever had the pleasure to encounter: the most perfect locked-room mystery of which I am aware. However, I’m not just here to praise John,” continued Sherlock.

            (Y/N) sat up in interest. They wanted to know where this was going. John looked slightly less excited.

            “I’m also here to embarrass him,” said Sherlock. “So let’s move on to some—”

            “No, no, wait, so how was it-how was it done, the stabbing?” asked Lestrade.

            Sherlock looked down awkwardly, and (Y/N) looked at him supportively. “I’m afraid we don’t know. We didn’t solve that one.”

            I will eventually, thought (Y/N), obstinate as ever.

            “It’s very…very disappointing,” said Sherlock. He cleared his throat. “Embarrassment leads me on to the stag night. Of course, there’s hours of material here, but I’ve cut it down to the really good bits.”

A few days ago…

            “Don’t forget Connie Prince,” said (Y/N), putting the pin in the map.

            “Right,” said Sherlock, writing down the location.

            “Are you sure this is the best idea or is it just an experiment?” asked (Y/N).

            “This is John’s Stag Party. I wouldn’t make it an experiment,” said Sherlock.

            “So getting a drink on every street the three of us have found a body is a brilliant idea?” said (Y/N). “I haven’t tried it, but won’t you get…absolutely pissed?”

            Sherlock flipped a page over in his notebook. “Isn’t that the point of Stag Parties?”

            “No idea,” said (Y/N). “Just don’t get alcohol poisoning.”

            “I’ve calculated how much we can have,” said Sherlock proudly. “We’ll be fine.”

l

            (Y/N) looked up from their book as Sherlock and John opened the door of 221B. They stumbled inside, each leaning on the other.

            “I thought you’d be out much longer,” they said.

            “(Y/N)!” exclaimed Sherlock, stumbling towards them. The pair were piss drunk. “Look, John, it’s my kid!”

            “Hullo, (Y/N),” said John, waving slowly before stumbling towards the bathroom.

            “Looks like your calculations were off,” said (Y/N) as Sherlock leaned against the wall.

            “Mm-nonsense…Just more variablesss,” said Sherlock. He grabbed (Y/N) and smiled. “I’m glad to be back home with you. My kid.” He chuckled. “Holmes kid.”

            “I’m glad you’re back, too, Dad,” said (Y/N), hugging him back for a moment. They were unused to so much affection from Sherlock, but it was nice. “I’ll let you and John enjoy the Stag Night.”

            “Oh, right, right…” said Sherlock, remembering what he was doing. “Where’re you-where’re you goin’?”

            “I’ll be at Mrs. Hudson’s,” said (Y/N).

            John stumbled back out of the bathroom.

            (Y/N) grabbed their bowl of lollipops and book and headed to the door. “Have fun!”

            Sherlock sighed. “My kid’s the best…”

            (Y/N) walked downstairs to Mrs. Hudson.

            “Oh, hello, dear, everything alright?” she asked.

            “Sherlock and John moved their Stag Night back to 221B. They’re hammered,” said (Y/N).

            Mrs. Hudson tutted. “Those boys.” However, she was smiling. “Would you like some tea?”

            “Sure,” said (Y/N), sitting down.

            “So, what are you reading right now?” said Mrs. Hudson.

            “The Agatha Christie you lent me,” said (Y/N).

            “What do you think?”

            “Well, Poirot’s investigations are very different than Sherlock’s and mine, but I like them because…”

            And while the two men upstairs got to enjoy their party, (Y/N) got some well-deserved peace while downstairs with Mrs. Hudson. The old woman was just thankful that (Y/N) was back to acting like themself. Without Sherlock, they’d been so bland. Now they were alive again. Mrs. Hudson was incredibly thankful.

            The door to the 221 Baker Street slammed shut. (Y/N) peeked into the corridor and saw Sherlock and John walking away with a young woman.

            Client, identified (Y/N). They smiled. That would be an interesting case and investigation. They pulled out their phone and opened a message to Lestrade.

Sherlock and John are on a case. They’re drunk. Let me know if they end up in your care. -(Y/Initials)

l

            (Y/N)’s phone buzzed, and they set down the tea Mrs. Hudson had made before she went to bed.

Found them. They were looking over someone’s flat to “investigate,” and the landlord got tired of their shit, and your dad vomited on the rug. I’m bringing them to 221B. -GL

            Well, that’s one for an investigation to close, thought (Y/N), heading to the door and waiting for Sherlock to get dropped off.

            “Hello, (Y/N),” sighed Lestrade as he opened the door. “Sorry about this.” Sherlock and John stood beside him, slightly leaning on each other.

            “I was still awake,” said (Y/N), shrugging.

            “You should be…sleeping,” said Sherlock as sternly as he could manage while still sobering.

            “I wasn’t tired,” said (Y/N), opening the door wider so the two men could walk in. “Thanks, Lestrade.”

            “No problem. Need any more help?” he asked.

            “They’re going to crash in their chairs upstairs,” said (Y/N), knowing exactly what would happen as usual. “They’ll be fine.” Behind them, Sherlock and John were slowly making their way upstairs.

            Lestrade laughed as he watched. “Alright, then. Can’t wait to hear about this at the wedding.”

            “Night,” said (Y/N), waving. Lestrade nodded, waved, and headed back to his car. (Y/N) closed the door, locked it, and headed up to 221B.

            “What’re you doing?” they asked as they saw John lying in his chair while Sherlock balanced his computer on his knee.

            “Tessa…dated a ghost,” he muttered. “Annoying. Called John…Hamish…Rude…But most interesting case in months. Not missing the opportunity…” He trailed off tiredly, and (Y/N) caught the computer before it fell to the floor.

            “If you rest for an hour and sober up, I’ll help you with the case, alright?” said (Y/N).

            “I’m…supposed to tell you to rest,” said Sherlock.

            “You did,” said (Y/N) supportively.

            “You’re still awake,” muttered Sherlock. “I’m…bad dad.”

            “You’re a great dad,” said (Y/N) softly, smiling.

            “Then why’re you not sleeping?” Sherlock’s head lolled to the side, and he fell asleep.

            (Y/N)’s heart warmed. Their dad really did care about them.

            They glanced at their book on the coffee table. That being said, staying up a little longer to read wouldn’t hurt. ((Y/N) wasn’t exactly known for following directions).

l

            A little over an hour later (as (Y/N) predicted), Sherlock awoke. He was somehow refreshed from that brief rest, and he got up. He swayed for a moment, but he righted himself and headed to his map of London. Sherlock pulled out the Stag Party pins and started rearranging them.

            “So, are these the ghost sightings?” said (Y/N), sitting up and immediately going into investigation mode.

            “You should be sleeping,” said Sherlock.

            “So should you,” said (Y/N).

            The two stared at each other for a moment before Sherlock relented and went back to the case. However, he made a mental note to send (Y/N) to bed in half an hour at the most. He couldn’t let his kid go on without sleeping.

            “There are going to be others,” he said.

            “More women dating a ghost?” said (Y/N).

            Sherlock nodded and promptly decided not to move his head like that again. “Most ghosts tend to haunt a single house. This ghost, however, is willing to commute. Look.” He gestured to the wide spaces between pins around the Thames. He opened the computer, logging into a chatroom to get to each of the women contact by a “ghost date.”

            “Mind Palace?” said (Y/N).

            “Mind Palace,” confirmed Sherlock, sitting down next to (Y/N) on the couch.

            This way, both of them would be able to see the answers the women gave. Both would be in their own heads, but they’d be able to see the discussion going on between all of them and hear one another if needed. That way they could both arrive at the correct conclusion.

            “Let us begin,” said Sherlock, and he opened the chatroom.

Taglist:

@stilesstilinskiforlife-blog

@im-making-an-effort

@ilse235

@schrodingers-intelligence

@awsedrftgyhujikol

@lxserthxngzzz

@forever1313

@mentallyunstablemanlover

[shiinata-library]

Not on the first date

Relationships: John Watson x Fem!Reader

Content: fluff, a little assault but John is here for you

Summary: “Imagine John Watson protecting you because you are the next target on a case they are working on, but then he falls in love with you” from here @thefandomimagine + fake dating

On AO3

Note: What am I doing in this fandom…? Sorry if I write inconsistencies. It's been a long time since I watched the series and maybe John will look a bit like Bilbo.

One rainy afternoon, you went to drink tea at 221b baker street with Mrs Hudson, a long friend of your mother. Apparently, she had forgotten her shawl the last time she came to your mother’s house, and you had to bring it back.

Expect that after the tea, Mrs Hudson asked you to follow her outside her home. Despite your curiosity, you preferred to remain quiet. She led you to the top of the stairs in the same building. 

At her first knock on the door, nobody replied. The second time, they heard someone moving, and when she was about to knock a third time, the door opened suddenly.

 “Good afternoon, Mrs Hudson,” said a tall man that you recognise as Sherlock Holmes according to Mrs Hudson’s descriptions she already said about him. “Now is not a good time.”

 “I’m sure you have a little time for me,” she said with a lot of hope in her voice.

The old woman seemed to know how Sherlock was working since he let her enter. She beckoned you to follow her into what looked like a living room despite the clutter. While you were observing the place, the man didn't hesitate to look at you from head to toe before turning back to Mrs Hudson.

 “Sherlock, my dear, this young lady received a lot of menacing letters for months and nobody helped her. I have known her since she was a baby and I don’t want her to be hurt, or worse. Can you do something about it?”

 “Not interested,” he said honestly, shrugging. “It’s the police's job. Surely her ex-boyfriend.”

At the end of Sherlock’s sentence, another man walked in the living room from a corridor at the back of the room. He smiled at the sight of the old woman.

 “Good afternoon, Mrs Hudson,” he said with a smile before noticing you and nodding. “Good afternoon.”

You replied in the same cold tone he used for you while he sounded warmly with Mrs Hudson. Then, the blonde man resumed as he walked next to Sherlock.

 “Do you want some tea?” he asked with a smile.

 “No, thank you John,” Mrs Hudson replied politely. “We are not here for tea. I came with a case for Sherlock.”

At her answer, John looked attentively at you. His eyes weren’t as piercing as Sherlock, but they troubled you even so; strangely more than Sherlock. When the old woman resumed, his attention left you.

 “Please Sherlock, the police won’t help her and you know it,” she said, starting to lose her patience.

 “She doesn’t want help.”

Sherlock’s voice was exaggeratedly tired. He quickly earned a frown look by John, making him understand he was rude. But Sherlock didn’t care about it. Then, maybe it was because of Mrs Hudson’s look or maybe it was the idea of making her upset, be that as it may, he went back on his answer.

 “Very well, please sit down on that chair and explain everything quickly to us.”

Sherlock elegantly sat on an armchair and showed you a chair. John also sat down, noticing that you stayed where you were, as he looked at the chair, then to Sherlock. A long sigh escaped your lips before you talk.

 “He is right. I don’t need help.”

Your voice was cold, more tired than upset. You knew Mrs Hudson was doing this for you, but you didn’t need it. The letters would end at some point or another. 

 “Did you wait for me to accept just to refuse? No. Forget it, I already know the answer,” Sherlock took offence. “Just sit down and talk.”

 “I’m sorry,” you said as you couldn’t help but smile before his attitude. “No need to waste your time with me. It’s just some death threat letter. I’m sure I’m not the only one to receive some of them. My mother panicked and told Mrs Hudson.”

 ”My dear,” the old woman started as she walked close to you, stroking your upper arm. “I have never received any. This is not normal. Let’s talk to them about it.”

The discussion was going nowhere. Sherlock was clearly seeing you didn’t want to be here, but now he accepted it for Mrs Hudson, he didn’t want to give up. As for the old woman, she wouldn’t let you leave without you talking to them.

 “What about some tea?” John said while nobody listened to him as he stood up and walked to the kitchen.

You followed him with your eyes, a light smile on your lips. This man seemed to be used to this kind of thing. When he came back with two cups of tea, he gave one to the now upset woman and Sherlock who were augmenting together. They took it as if it was absolutely normal and continued to speak, like you were here.

Then, John came back from the kitchen once again with two cups of tea, one for you and one for him. A smile lit up his face as you accepted the cup with a shy thank you. You would be lying if you said that this man didn't leave you indifferent, but you hadn't come for that, right? You had only come to return a shawl by the way…

 “So, menacing letters?” John tried with a timid smile, unable to hide that he wanted you to know more about them.

 “Yeah, nothing serious. I think,” you replied as you sipped your tea. “M. Holmes must be right. It's surely my ex.”

 ”Why don't you believe that?” Sherlock asked as he walked to you and John while Mrs Hudsbon only looked at you.

 ”Well, my ex is not a bad person. I know he wouldn’t do that.”

 ”Another ex?” John asked, raising an eyebrow.

 ”Come on, John. She only had one long relationship that ended a few months ago. So, what is written in the letters?”

John frowned but said nothing, leaving you to answer him. While you were looking at your tea, Mrs Hudson joined you and stroked your upper arm again to encourage you.

 ”Well, it’s just letters with simple sentences like ‘You shouldn’t talk to him with such a cute smile’, or ‘The friend you saw you yesterday doesn’t deserve you’, or hm, ‘Stop wearing that dress or I would have no choice but to make it disappear with you’.”

Then, the silence made your eyes raise to them. Sherlock seemed to think, abandoning you to walk in a circle in the middle of the living room. Mrs Hudson smiled at you, stroking your back. John was looking at you with a serious glare. It was almost scary. When he noticed you started to be troubled, he looked at Sherlock as if he was talking to him by telepathy.

 ”Do you keep smiling outside or at work?” Sherlock asked, not stopping his circle.

 ”Yes,” you chucked despite the situation, your eyes turning to Sherlock, then coming back to John as if something about him calmed you.

 ”Do you continue to see your friend mentioned in the letter?”

 ”Yes, sometimes. He was talking about a colleague with whom I just go for a drink when we need to relax after work.”

 ”Do you still wear that dress?” he asked, turning toward you as if he already knew the answer.

A few seconds of silence raised the tension in the room. Even Mrs Hudson stopped stroking your back. You nervously looked at him. He was too serious for this kind of case, right?

 ”No,” you eventually answered. “I didn't want to provoke him…”

 ”Oh, dear,” the old woman sighed in a compassionate voice. “You should tell me sooner.”

 ”It’ll pass,” you smiled, shrugging. “It’s just a dress.”

John was about to say something as he put his tea on the table but Sherlock spoke first.

 ”It won’t. Wear that dress, go on a date, and the harasser will show up in no time.”

 ”Absolutely not, Sherlock!” John said in such a hard tone that you jumped. “He sent her death threat letters. He could be anyone. It’s too dangerous and you know it! ”

 ”It’s the fastest way,” Sherlock affirmed.

 ”What if he tried to kill me?” you asked, surprising John with your nonchalant behaviour. “Can’t we just let him or her, I don’t even know, forget me?”

 ”Did he forget you after all those months? No,” Sherlock confirmed it as if he was the harasser himself. “So, wear that dress and go on a date with John, he will protect you if you need it.”

 ”Wait, what?” John could only say at first, freezing his eyes on Sherlock. 

 ”Take her out for dinner and wait for her harasser to appear. A Saturday night would be good. Are you free next Saturday?”

 ”I’m not–” John started before Sherlock cut him off.

 ”Not you.”

Sherlock was waiting for your answer while you were still trying to understand everything he had said. This man talked too fast! They all looked at you impatiently.

 ”Yes, I’m free but–”

 ”Perfect! John, take her wherever you want, then take her home. That's it. You don’t need me anymore. I need to go now.”

In a few seconds, he took his coat and left the flat, leaving John with a face of incomprehension until you laughed.

 ”Sorry, dear. He is always like that,” Mrs Hudson tried to comfort you. 

 ”It’s alright. He’s fun,” you continued to laugh before calming and turning to John. “Don’t worry about it. I will manage it on my own. Enjoy your Saturday night like you planned it.”

Despite your reassuring tone, John didn’t smile. He looked at you seriously, then took his phone from his trousers.

 ”No, we’ll do as Sherlock said, even if it’s dangerous. Can I have your phone number… And your name? Oh god, we didn’t even introduce each other. I’m Dr John Watson,” he said with an embarrassed cute smile, holding out his hand.

 ”Oh, hm, I’m just Y/n Y/l/n,” you said, unable to hide your surprise knowing he was a doctor, as you checked his hand. “Are you sure about Saturday, because I can–”

 ”I’m sure,” he confirmed, still smiling until he realised he hadn't let go of your hand yet. “I’m, hm. If Sherlock told us to do that, we should do it.”

 ”You seem to have a lot of trust in him,” you smiled. “Well, alright. Let's plan a fake date during the week. I hope I won’t bore you too much.”

Hearing him laughing at your joke reassured you. The first impression of him was cold, but he seemed more kind than you thought. After exchanging your numbers, you went back home, trying to convince yourself it will just be a fake date to find your harasser. But no one has forbidden you to enjoy it, right?

.

During the week, John sent you several messages. At first, it was just to choose a restaurant together, then you both planned a whole afternoon together with a temporary exhibition in a museum and maybe going to watch a film if you have time. 

 ”John? Are you listening to us?” Sherlock sighed as they were in a murder scene while Inspector Lestrade was explaining what he knew. 

 ”Yes. Hm, no. I’m listening now,” John said as he put his phone away with a smile.

 ”I called you for ten minutes.”

 ”Oh, sorry. I was, hm, busy.”

 ”You’ll see her in two days. I’m sure she can wait half an hour before you answer her.”

John didn’t need to tell him, it was so easy for Sherlock to understand who he was texting. John avoided his glaze still smiling as he tried to focus now on the case even though he was still thinking of you. 

..

You missed not wearing that dress. It was one of your favourites and it was very comfortable. With comfortable shoes since you will go to an exhibition, you left your flat to join John who was waiting for you outside. 

Before opening the front door of your building, you checked your letterbox and found a new threatening letter as you used to receive: “I don’t know who you’re texting every day but you should stop it. Don't even think about dating it.” 

When you left the building, you looked around. John joined you with a smile, but he quickly noticed something was wrong. It was too bad because his smile was the best thing to forget what you just read. After explaining the new letter, you tried to smile, hoping that fake date won’t be too dangerous for you or for John.

 ”It’s a lovely dress indeed,” he gently said, making you blush and laugh with his exaggerated tone. “When we’ll find who is behind all those letters, you can wear it more often.”

 ”I hope so,” you shyly started, tucking a strand behind your ear. “Ready for our fake date?”

 ”Absolutely!” he confirmed it with a nod, reminding himself it wasn’t a real date.

Dating Dr John Watson was fun and interesting. Between his anecdotes with Sherlock, his remarks during the exhibition and his casual conversations, you didn't have time to be bored. The afternoon passed more quickly than you realised, as the dinner in a simple and cosy restaurant.

Despite trying to convince yourself it was a fake date, you had a good time with him and when he walked you to your place, you couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Of course, you didn’t show it, continuing to smile and laugh until you arrived in front of your building. Forgetting everything about the letters, John brought you out of your waking dream.

 ”Finally, nobody showed up,” he said, trying to look discreetly around. “Maybe it’s not a stalker. Just someone who sends letters. In truth, I’m glad nothing happened.”

I don’t want to see you hurt, almost escaped from his lips as his eyes came back to you with a smile. Now, you were both thinking the same thing: What should we do now?

Sherlock didn’t tell you what to do after that, or what if the letters’ writer didn’t show. 

 ”I hope he won’t try to kill me tomorrow morning,” you said in a laugh, trying to lighten the mood despite John remaining serious.

 ”Maybe we could try…”

John avoided your gaze as if he was to say something horrible. You give him time to speak again but he seems lost in thought.

 ”Do you want to provoke the harasser?” you said after understanding what he thought. “A kiss?”

His eyes immediately came back to yours, making you blush by their intensity. If only he was kissing you for another reason…

As he looked up and down several times from your lips to your eyes, you decided to do it yourself. As you slipped your hand on his cold cheek, you stepped toward him and kissed him softly, savouring his lips when you could. They were cold but so soft.

It was impossible to hide your embarrassment after that, so you avoided his eyes with a chuckle as you stepped away.

 ”Usually, I don’t kiss on the first date,” you joked, making John laugh too.

 ”Too bad, because it was sweet.”

John’s thoughts went out on their own and his cheeks turned very red when your eyes widened toward him. If you both didn’t hear the steps next to you, he could have said something, but it was too late. A tall man stopped next to you, looking at you with a furious expression. 

 ”Alex?” you asked, recognising the man who was working at the same place as you. “What are you doing here?”

You barely ended your question that John stepped quickly between you and the man. Nevertheless, he didn't react quickly enough. 

The knife Alex was holding had already hit John before he could stop it. Then, in a few moves too quick for you, he made him drop the knife and tackle him to the ground. Once he was holding him firmly and sure he wasn’t trying anything, he asked you to call the police.

.

After the police’s intervention which you had to go to the police station and back, John wanted to walk you home again. It was now late, but he left you no choice. So once you were in front of your building again, you didn’t smile anymore.

 ”I’m so sorry for what happened,” you sighed as you were rummaging in your bag for your keys. “I was stupidly hoping this won’t happen but…”

 ”It’s absolutely not your fault,” John said with a smile, trying to comfort you even though he didn’t know how to do it.

 ”At least, we’re not injured. It could be worse,” you finally laughed as you looked at him.

Your eyes eventually arrived on his jacket, at his upper arm. There was an opening, and your hand moved faster than your mind. As you touched his jacket now opened with a big opening, you gasped.

 ”Oh no, I'm sorry. I didn't see that his knife had cut your jacket. I'll pay you back.”

 ”It’s nothing. My job was to protect you, so I prefer it was that rather than you.”

Why was he so nice? Alright, how could you stay in contact with this man? 

When you were trying to find a reason to see him again, you realised his jacket that you were still touching was strange. You looked better at it and John winced a little.

 ”Don’t tell me he also cut your arm with his knife?” you exclaimed, your voice echoing in the empty night street. “You should tell me! Oh, I can let you leave like that. Follow me home, we'll disinfect it.”

Maybe John should remind you he was a doctor, but the opportunity to spend more time with you was impossible to refuse. He followed you inside your small but cosy home and in a quick time, you were both sitting on your couch. After he removed his jacket, he also removed a side of his shirt, showing a not so deep cut. 

You silently cleaned his wound and took care of it while John was looking at you. If you weren’t as much focused on his arm as you were, you could notice how his eyes were already full of love for you while you both knew each other for just a week. It was unthinkable, but his heart was beating on his own every time you were doing something for him; smiling at him, looking at him, speaking to him, even sending a message to him. 

Then, his hand raised up as he tried to swallow his saliva with difficulty. As you finished your bandage on his arm, you felt his fingers slipping on your cheek, stroking it gently. As you raised your head, a smile eventually appeared on your lips, warming John’s heart even more.

 ”Do you want to kiss me for real this time?” you asked, hoping you correctly understood him.

 ”Yes, please!” he hurried to say as if you could come back to your proposal.

Leaning to you, his lips easily found yours. This time you had the time to taste them. They were so delicious, warm, and soft. You could stay like this for hours.

When John put his other hand on your waist and he felt your warmth, he wanted to deepen the kiss but his phone rang for a short time. Too curious to know who was texting him at this hour, he stopped the kiss, looked at you with an apologetic, cute smile and took his phone. After reading the message, he put his hand under his chin and read it again.

 ”Is there a problem?” you asked, worried.

 ”No, it’s, hm. It’s Sherlock,” he laughed, finally looking at you. “He told me to stop kissing you and go home because he has solved our current case.”

Now, John wasn’t the only one to laugh. You had quickly understood his friend was special but you also found him fun, especially when you saw all the faces John did when he talked about him.

 ”Now that I think about it, I was surprised that he proposed this fake date…” Jon sighed, still smiling, understanding only now Sherlock did it on purpose.

 ”How about doing the opposite of what he asks for a short while?” you asked with a mischievous smile. “And then, join him, of course.”

John didn’t hesitate to drop his phone and kissed again, pulling you against him. Something in him wanted to stay like this with you, but at the same time he knew Sherlock was waiting for him. Reluctantly, he slowly detached his lips from yours and pressed his forehead against yours with a smile.

 ”No kiss on the first date, hm?”

 ”It seems I can make an exception for you.”

John chucked before kissing you once again. Then, in a hurry, he got dressed back. He walked to your door while he promised you a new date when his case will be done. A real date, this time.

[lilacmilkshakesx]

i’m bored so thoughts on episode 5 of pjo !

spoilers possibly (?)

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

omg the hug was actually insane like and the way percy relaxed when annabeth hugged him omgsjgdhd

was screaming for him to hug her back, like why r u js standing there 😣

grover has to be tired of them like genuinely

”it doesn’t have to be a thing, you know. that you hugged me.” it’s embarrassing how i cackled at that

their heads peeking up behind the barrier on the side of the road, they’re so cute

ares twitter beef is realest ever

annabeth saying she never watched a movie (did chuckle, icl) and percy basically offering for them to go to see one, oh em gee

”why would hephaestus make an amusement park?” “maybe he finds them amusing?” annabeth, the comedian u are 🫶🏻

annabeth getting distracted by the gears, i luv her

i must be stupid bc i will be so serious, i was lowk lost w the grover and ares interrogation stuff 😭 like its not that i didn’t like it bc aryan is such a good actor and edge is a good fit for ares, but the dots were not connecting in my head to how we got from point a to b

props to grover tho, he was sherlock holmes fr

[“What is Love” starts playing] i screamed.

the ride had me scared w them 😭

the entire scene before the golden throne, i sobbed. annabeth calling him ‘seaweed brain’ for the first time, them fighting back and forth

”you’re better at this than me. you just are. and you know it.” sick.

annabeth promising to save his mother and him asking for her to come back for him and HER SAYING HE DIDNT EVEN NEED TO ASK IM SO ILL I CANT ANYMORE OH MY GOSH

leah and walker r such good actors omg

”it’s okay. it’s okay.” percy reassuring himself and annabeth, the amount of emotion put into it, u would think its final season and he’s at his last breath and tbh, wouldn’t have it any other way ! anyways percabeth soulmatism and best at making me sob !

lowk had me fooled bc i thought in the silence, it would pan back to percy js like not being affected for some reason but then it pans back and he’s fully gold, i was bamboozled

annabeth’s speech omg

even the gods know athena was sick for allowing echidna and the chimera to go after annabeth

”he isn’t that way. he’s better than that.” oh so i’m in a ball on the floor

lowk thought she was abt to solve that thing, mechanic annabeth realness

after that whole tunnel of love thing, i can say these writers r sick and i was ripping my hair out whilst sobbing ☺️

oh em gee does grover know who stole the bolt ?!?! 😧

cannot wait for next week omgg, this show has not disappointed me yet and every new episode becomes my fav

also.. if this is what tlt season is like.. tlo is gonna leave me in shambles

side note: what is it w this show and flights of stairs metaphors or whatever ?? #foreshadowing..?? /j

[221beloved]

Can't go home

“It has to be here, it has to! Somewhere... somewhere... just- it has to be here!” Greg looked at the man pacing through the living room of the suspect, simultaneously the crime scene. He looked at the man, muttering to himself and pulling his hair vigorously. He had grown old. He had always looked younger than he actually was, but now... Now he looked as if he had taken some years in advance, or some from the people surrounding him. His face was pale, even more than usual, his eyes had dark shadows and his face looked hollow. He seemed exhausted, so very, very tired. He had looked tired when he came back, after his two years away, and since then, he never really looked like before. Sure, his eyes were still bright and sharp, burning with intelligence, his mind working, the gears turning and turning, never standing still. But he was different, quieter. He seemed... tired. In a way. Maybe because John wasn't there any more to send him to bed, to bully him to sleep. Maybe it was all because of John... Greg looked at Sherlock again, still pacing, still pulling his hair, probably hurting himself to get the answer, to make the final deduction. The man needed a break. He sighed and stepped directly in front of Sherlock, stopped his pacing. “Sherlock, you should go home,” he said, as gentle as he dared to. Sherlock gave him a look. “Yeah, of course. Don't you have something better?” His tone was sharp and mocking. “No, actually,” Greg answered calmly. “Sherlock, look, we won't find anything here today. Go home, rest a bit, sleep, and tomorrow we can look again, refreshed. Got it?” Sherlock looked at him as if he'd just lost his mind. “Go home Sherlock, please?” Greg insisted, and he could see Sherlocks gaze going into the distance. He frowned, blinked a few times at Greg, then turned and left in a slow pace. Greg watched him leave. Maybe it really was all because of John... But then he cleared his mind and turned to the crime scene again, he had a case to solve after all. When Greg exited the building about two hours later, he lit a cigarette and took a deep breath. Maybe he was getting older, too. No, he definitely was getting older. But maybe he was getting too old for this. He sighed and turned to walk to the main street. But before he could move, his gaze fell on a figure he knew only too well. Right there, sitting on a bench in a minimalistic green space, was Sherlock Holmes, staring in the distance, unmoving. Greg frowned and turned to go to him. Sherlock didn't even look up when Greg arrived, so he simply sat down next to him. They just sat there for a moment, until Sherlock broke the silence. “I can't,” he whispered. Greg turned his face to look at him in confusion. “I can't go home... I don't know where it is.” He sounded utterly desperate, but simultaneously tired and resigned. Greg frowned. “Sherlock,” he asked in a careful voice, but Sherlock continued without acknowledging his concern. “I used to know where it was, I used to live in it. Bakerstreet, with John. But now...” he paused, looked up, frowned, then lowered his gaze again. “But now, John isn't there any more. And I don't know-” he swallowed. “I can go to Bakerstreet, but I can't go home...” Greg was speechless. He looked at the man next to him, tired, broken, desperate, because he didn't consider his flat as his home, because John was not there. It was all about John. Greg opened his mouth to say something, to comfort Sherlock, just a little, but he couldn't think of anything to say. Eventually he said: “Go to Bakerstreet, Sherlock. Maybe you'll find a home. Maybe you will find one, one day...” Sherlock rose and looked at him, his gaze still distant. “Probably not.” Then he was gone. Greg remained sitting there for a while, staring at his feet in disbelief. Then he lit another cigarette and rose to go home. Nobody was waiting for him in his flat, but it was his home, after all.

Text me your tag - preferences

@angstober

@holmesianlove @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @topsyturvy-turtely @safedistancefrombeingsmart @blogstandbygo @7-percent @a-victorian-girl @lisbeth-kk @nathan-no @macgyvershe @whatsgoodmentalhealth