#sherlock fic prompts

[whispersfrom221b]

Rosie: Daddy, I brought Maya with me. Is that okay? She's new in my class and I told her you wouldn't mind.

John: *chuckles* You're lucky Mrs H made enough food to feed an army, Honey. Hello Maya, nice to me you.

Maya: Nice to meet you, Mr Watson. Rosie told me a lot about you.

John: I hope only good things and not how annoying or embarrassing I am. Stop rolling your eyes, Rosamund. And Maya, you can call me John if you like. *shouts* Sherlock, lunch is ready. And wear some clothes, Rosie brought a visitor.

Maya: I can't wait to meet your famous Papa, Rosie.

John: Papa?

Rosie: Oh, I forgot. Maya, you can't call him my Papa here. Daddy and Sherlock are still pretending they're just "good friends".

John: Preten—?

Maya: Didn't you say they were dating for three years?

Rosie: Nearly four, but they're still trying to figure out how to tell me. It's quite funny to watch them pretending. So please, don't let them know I know.

John: You know I can hear you? I'm literally next to you.

Rosie: I know.

John: Since how long did you know?

Rosie: About from the beginning. But Uncle Myc said I should wait until you tell me and enjoy the show in the meantime. He said it'd be fun and you can always trust Uncle Myc to know the fun thing. You'll like him, Maya. Uncle Myc is the best.

Sherlock: Hello Bumblebee. Hello friend of Bumblebee, I'm Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, Rosie's godfather and John's good friend.

John: Sherlock, we can stop pretending. She knows.

Sherlock: She… oh.

[holmesianlove]

Chapter 11 - Ribbons

“Brother?” Mycroft asked, surprised to see Sherlock at his door.

“Yes, well, no need to stare,” he snapped, pushing past his brother and into the apartment. He moved straight to the kitchen, unravelled his scarf, placing it on the counter, and grabbed an apple out of the fruit bowl, biting into it aggressively.

Mycroft watched as Sherlock paced alongside the kitchen counter in silence. He did this when he was worked up. He’d spit it out eventually. While he waited, Mycroft grabbed a crystal tumbler and opened his freezer to pull out some vodka. He poured himself a bit and then held it up in question to his brother. Sherlock waved him off impatiently. Apparently drinking wouldn’t help. Mycroft knew to wait in silence until Sherlock was prepared to speak.

“He’s just… so infuriating!” Sherlock finally burst out with.

“I can only assume you mean John.”

Sherlock flashed his brother an angry glare.

“Want me to have another little talk with him?” Mycroft offered.

“Don’t you dare,” Sherlock snapped, pointing his half devoured apple at his brother.

“Okay but you’re here. You have… feelings to express apparently.”

“Huh. Feelings.” Sherlock scoffed and continued to pace in silence for a time and Mycroft let him. “The thing is, there’s this case. And John’s reaction has been… difficult to understand.”

“Right…”

“When he first moved in, he asked…” Sherlock paused, looking at his brother to assess his level of judgement. Mycroft wasn’t giving anything away.

“He asked me about my situation.”

“Situation?” Mycroft asked.

Sherlock simply gave his brother a look in answer and continued. “Yes, and I said the usual.”

“Not your area?” Mycroft checked.

“Quite so.”

“Seems reasonable,” Mycroft agreed. “You barely knew each other and given Dr Watson’s hobby of serial dating, I can’t see how—“

“He’s bisexual.”

“Oh? I hadn’t… spotted that.”

“Well he covers it well,” Sherlock mumbled, clearly irritated by it.

“He told you this?” Mycroft asked.

“No.”

“Okay… then…” Mycroft was confused.

“Only, now, we’re dealing with a case and it seems to really be bothering him. I can’t understand how it should bother him, though, if he is also…”

“Not publicly though,” Mycroft suggested. “Publicly, he makes a point of being straight.”

“True. Although to be precise he always says he’s not gay.”

Mycroft paused. He didn’t like seeing his brother so distressed. It often coincided with danger nights. “Sherlock, won’t you sit. The pacing is… distracting.”

Sherlock hesitated, ready to argue as usual and instead pulled out a stool and sat at the centre bench.

Mycroft relaxed against the opposite bench. “So tell me,” he began, before taking a sip of vodka. “I can decipher why the case might be bothering John - perhaps some hidden truths he’s not ready to acknowledge - but why is it bothering you so?”

Sherlock munched quietly on his apple for a while.

And Mycroft sighed. “Oh. I hadn’t noticed it before. But now I see it.”

“What?” Sherlock asked, annoyed.

“You love him.”

Sherlock instantly choked on a piece of apple and stood up again, beating at his chest to move the piece of apple lodged there. He shot his brother an angry glare.

Mycroft simply stood watching his brother flail about dramatically with a knowing smirk. “Confirmed,” he said, when Sherlock finally sat again. Without a word he grabbed another glass and poured his brother some vodka after all, sliding the glass across to him. “I can’t believe I hadn’t seen it until now,” he said.

“Well you are the slow one,” Sherlock teased, taking a sip and sitting back down.

“Lucky for you John is the slowest.”

Sherlock gave him another annoyed look.

“What do you need then?” Mycroft asked more gently.

“He’s oblivious. Irritatingly so. I don’t think he’s aware of his own identity. I can’t… see a way past it.”

Mycroft took a leisurely sip of his drink. “When we were children, Mummy used to read us a book. I don’t know if you remember it. Well, she read it to me and so I assume to you also. The one with the ribbons?” Mycroft asked.

Sherlock frowned. “Why would I keep a children’s book in my mind palace?”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Well the gist of it was about two people who loved each other so much that a connection grew. Two ribbons that tied them together. Tied their hearts together. And everywhere they went these ribbons connected them. No matter how far, the ribbons just grew long enough to keep them connected. I think Mummy used to read it so we understood that when they travelled so much, we were all still connected through love.” He huffed then, realising how it sounded. “The idea that someone could fly to another country entirely and still have their ribbons remaining connected is, of course, completely ridiculous and romanticised. Children are so gullible and stupid,” he scoffed.

Sherlock laughed. “Speak for yourself. I clearly dismissed it early on, which is why I hold no memory of it. I never took you for such a romantic, though.”

Mycroft snorted, looking down at his drink. “Actually, I loved that book so much. I used to read it to myself even when they were away. There was something… hopeful in it,” he admitted. “I think part of the reason I’ve remained single is because I refused to give any time to anyone who wasn’t worth that kind of love. I never found it.”

“You’re not dead yet, brother,” Sherlock said, suddenly feeling very sorry for his older sibling. Sherlock did tease him constantly about being a sad, lonely old man, but in truth he had always hoped Mycroft might find someone to share his life with.

“It’s fine. I’m… comfortable,” he said stiffly. They remained together in silence for a long time. Finally, Mycroft decided to impart his wisdom.

“When I first met John. When I picked him up and tested him, I was… quite taken aback. He was nothing like any of your other friends. He was instantly loyal, virtually unshakeable, in fact, yet with a vulnerability he tried desperately to hide. I couldn’t have found a more perfect partner for you, with all the resources I have at my disposal. The two of you connected instantly and I saw it.”

Sherlock looked up. “Saw what?”

“Ribbons,” he said softly, finishing his drink. Sherlock looked taken aback.

“You want my advice?”

“Please,” Sherlock said, watching his brother closely.

“John has trust issues, yet he trusts you. But he doesn’t really trust himself. He’s never going to tell you he has an interest. He’s never going to admit to being bisexual. He’s going to assume you are too far above his station in life. He’s going to assume you have deduced everything about him, including any feelings he has about you. He knows how you operate. He will expect you can see and hear his every thought and are wilfully ignoring them out of disinterest. I suspect all it would take, to win him, is to make the first move and he would topple over the cliff with you.”

“I see,” Sherlock said, swallowing hard.

“That is, if he will allow himself to admit he has feelings for a man. He could just as easily deny it to the death,” Mycroft added.

“Well that’s been very helpful,” Sherlock said, the comment dripping with sarcasm.

“You asked,” Mycroft replied smugly.

Sherlock stood and reattached his scarf to his neck. He swallowed the last of the vodka and gave his brother a little bow.

“Thank you brother. I will take that advice with the usual level of disregard that I always give it.”

Mycroft pursed his lips tight. He had tried.

And with that, Sherlock stormed out of the apartment again, out into the snow.

— —

Thanks @notjustamumj for the prompt list

@lisbeth-kk @helloliriels @totallysilvergirl @safedistancefrombeingsmart @naefelldaurk @a-victorian-girl @peanitbear @starlitkeys @lumilama @yorkiepug @talkativeanxiousturtle @kettykika78 @kittenmadnessandtea @whatnext2020 @egregiously-chuffed @chriscalledmesweetie @catlock-holmes @battledress @kholkate @randomquadballpun @221beloved @little-owls-things @daltongraham @sillygirlsmindpalace @phoenix27884

@oetkb12 @odditiesandeverything @johnlockficclub @rainstarboii @bheadhe

@hospitableasacactus @wssh13 @br-nz

[topsyturvy-turtely]

Love at First Pride 💜

Johnlock fic for the may prompts hosted by @calaisreno <3 (31st may)

summary:

John just recently discovered he is bi. So this is his first Pride Parade. And then this tall, attractive man catches his eye and he promptly falls in love.

[based on a true experience by the author]

Teen And Up Audience, 892 Words, Fluff. Alternative First Meeting, Pride Parades, Bisexual John Watson, Mike Stamford the proudest straight ally, Gay Sherlock Holmes, Genderqueer Sherlock Holmes, Love at First Sight, POV John Watson, POV Third Person, Meet-Cute, they are in their 20s, Brief Mention of Alcohol and Weed

tags under the cut!

tag list! (tell me if you wanna be added or removed please 💚) @justanobsessedpan @helloliriels @catlock-holmes @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @so-youre-unattached-like-me @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @musingsofmyown @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee @baker-street-blog @macgyvershe @myladylyssa @battledress @a-victorian-girl @dreamerofthemeadow @oetkb12 @ohnoesnotagain @mutedsilence @jawnscoffee @raenchaosandcozyadashofmurder @lisbeth-kk @quickslvxrr @compact-and-beautiful @kabubsmagga

[strawberrywinter4]

May 9 | Prompt: Intimidation

Warning: Depictions of violence and drug use.

“You’re just too much sometimes, that’s all I’m saying,” his mother comments as she troubles herself with the dishes.

Mycroft rolls his eyes. He knew it would be a poor idea to come visit. He should have just settled for a call.

“You almost scared John away,” she says, scrubbing a class clean. “Your comments and glares at dinner are not helpful, you know. Sherlock almost had your head.”

“John is anything but frightened by me, Mummy. He made that perfectly clear when we first met.”

“Sherlock told me about that first meeting.” She sighs, turning toward him with a scolding expression. “Mycroft, why did you do that?”

Mycroft wills his cheeks not to flush crimson in embarrassment. “It was merely for precaution.”

“Sherlock is a grown man. He can take care of himself.”

Mycroft’s hands clench the kitchen counter. She doesn’t know. She hasn’t seen the extent of Sherlock’s pain like Mycroft has.

“All I’m saying is that I think you should be more considerate to the people who seem to actually want to be around him,” she says. “And John…well, he’s a very polite man. I think he’s good for Sherlock. Very good.”

Mycroft doesn’t answer her. Realizing she’s not going to get a response out of Mycroft, she leaves the kitchen with a tut under her breath.

Mycroft’s eyes are trained to the sink.

——

The front door opens and shuts loudly, Mycroft wondering if the force of it broke any vases. Ignoring his brother in the lounge, Sherlock runs up the steps, his little feet going as fast as they can. Mycroft hears his bedroom door shut.

Mycroft sighs, getting up and leaving his science project. Heading upstairs, he turns the corner and knocks on Sherlock’s door.

“Go away, Mycroft!”

Mycroft is silent for a moment, then tries for the door handle lightly. Locked, of course. He rests his head on the door.

“If you open the door, I’ll make Ginger Nuts.”

A few seconds pass and the lock clicks, the door creaking open. One of Sherlock’s blue eyes peak through the crack. “Do you promise?”

“Yes.”

Satisfied with the reply, the door fully opens. Mycroft holds his grimace successfully, but it isn’t a simple task.

Sherlock’s eye that wasn’t peaking through the door is a mixture of purple and black, a few bruises gracing his jaw. His lip is cracked and blood is oozing down his chin.

Mycroft attempts to keep his voice leveled. “Sit on the bed, I’ll grab the first aid kit.”

Returning with the kit, Mycroft is pleased to see Sherlock took his advice for once, sitting on the sheets, eyes focused on his legs as they swing back and forth over the edge.

Without comment, Mycroft sits beside him. “Up,” he instructs, tilting Sherlock’s face to the correct position. He applies alcohol to a cotton and begins dabbing the application to his brother’s lip.

They sit in silence, Sherlock hiding his winces and Mycroft cleaning the blood and bruises.

“When are they coming back?” asks Sherlock.

“I’m not sure. Probably not for another few days.” Mycroft is used to their parents being gone for business trips, but Sherlock is still wrapping his mind around it.

Silence falls again. Then Sherlock speaks up:

“Are you really making Ginger Nuts?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe you.”

It takes everything in Mycroft not to crack a smile. “Why is that?”

“You don’t like Ginger Nuts and you only do things that benefit yourself,” he says bluntly.

Mycroft hums. “You really think so little of me?”

“Yes.”

They both share a grin.

Mycroft’s face hardens as he wipes another trail of blood on Sherlock’s cheek. “Did you decide to make another quip?”

Something changes in Sherlock’s expression. Something akin to…embarrassment? Shame? Mycroft’s not sure, but he’s never seen his brother acquire such a look.

“I didn’t,” Sherlock replies.

“Then what happened?” Mycroft demands, though his voice is quiet.

Sherlock shrugs. “I don’t know.”

And it truly seems like he doesn’t know. “Then tell me what could have possible occurred.”

Sherlock looks down, his finger trailing the design of the solar system on his bed sheet. “I thought I made a friend.”

Mycroft blinks. “A friend?”

Sherlock nods. “He said he wanted to be my friend. At break, he offered me to join him at the back of the building to play, and I said yes because…well, I told you about the pond that’s back there.”

Sherlock enjoys observing the frogs that live around there.

“I thought I’d show him the pond,” Sherlock says, this time more quietly. “But then we got there and he pushed me in the mud. His apparent friends came around the corner and…”

“Did that,” Mycroft finishes, nodding to Sherlock’s face.

Sherlock nods in answer.

Mycroft will never understand it. Out of all things, he will never understand this. Yes, Sherlock is odd. He has required rudeness over the past year, but Mycroft fully believes that Sherlock has just been taking after him.

Then there are the admittedly good things about him. Sherlock enjoys rambling about scientific discoveries, he likes to play in ponds and rain, he likes to help Mummy bake, he likes to play Pirates (which is actually quite fun), and he is a swift and independent learner. Mycroft admires these qualities. And though he’s never been good at showing his affection (and possibly never will be), he and Sherlock know how to make their relationship work.

“I will take care of them,” Mycroft says as Sherlock wipes tears from his eyes.

“They’re big,” Sherlock says. “And scary.”

Mycroft snorts. “Bigger than you. Not me.”

Hesitantly, he puts a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. This seems to give a sign to Sherlock that he’s been waiting for, and he hugs Mycroft tightly. Stunned, Mycroft settles for patting his curls awkwardly, but this doesn’t will Sherlock away. Sherlock continues to hug him and cry, and Mycroft wants to make it all go away.

After a while, Sherlock releases him and sniffles stubbornly, wiping more tears. “Can I have Ginger Nuts now?”

Mycroft stands, nodding to signal Sherlock to come along. “You’re assisting me. I know you know how to make these in your sleep.”

——

In a random building, in a random place. That’s usually where he is.

Mycroft hears either miserable sounds or nothing at all. He sees stranger’s eyes rolling to the back of their head while taking sedatives or pills.

The curls are unmistakable. Sherlock is huddled up in a corner, a blue hoodie wrapped around him loosely. Mycroft nudges him. He then turns him and is not startled to see his pale skin, his unhealthily sharpened cheekbones or his dull eyes.

Mycroft sighs.

He helps Sherlock up and practically drags him to the vehicle parked thankfully close outside.

Carefully putting him in the passenger’s seat, Mycroft gets behind the steering wheel.

Mycroft glances at him, and is overcome with what his brother has turned into.

“Brother mine. Why do you hurt yourself so?”

He knows Sherlock doesn’t hear him, doesn’t understand his whispers.

Maybe that’s for the best.

——

“I worry about him…constantly.”

John stares at him. “That’s nice of you,” he murmurs.

“But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you call a difficult relationship.” Mycroft keeps his voice impassive. His heart aches.

John’s phone pings. It’s obviously from Sherlock.

They continue with comments back and forth. Mycroft feigns an impression that he’s only wanting Sherlock’s whereabouts for personal gain. John seems to believe it wholeheartedly.

Mycroft can’t decide if John is worth Sherlock’s time.

Probably not.

Mycroft analyzes him to get a rise out of him.

“Are we done?” John asks, attempting to keep his frustration to a minimum.

Anger issues. Of course.

The rest of the meeting goes not so smoothly. John leaves obviously bothered and Mycroft doesn’t know, he doesn’t know if he can trust this man to even come close to deserving Sherlock’s friendship.

No one does. It’s the truth.

Mycroft has been called overprotective. He’s been called annoying. Unfair. Unethical.

Mostly by Sherlock.

But what are big brothers for?

——

You can read it here on ao3 as well.

I hope you all enjoyed! Love me some Sherlock and Mycroft lore.

Prompt by @calaisreno Thank you!

Tags: @a-victorian-girl @whatnext2020 @totallysilvergirl @ninasnakie @thegildedbee @whodwantmeasaflatmate @with-a-ghost-mr-holmes @sherlocknjohn221b @jawnn-watson @blogstandbygo @lisbeth-kk @holmesianlove @7-percent @itsonlytext @chinike @peanitbear @bakerstreetbe @curlyjohnlock @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @ceceliajupe @ghostofnuggetspast @dw91165 @jolieblack @gwendelaneyisjohnlocked @cortinita @kettykika78

(Please let me know if you do or don’t wish to be tagged)

[jrow]

May Prompts (1)

Thank you for doing this @calaisreno! This year I am endeavoring to write a single story using some (most?) of the prompts. Consider it a creative writing exercise. Will I write everyday and use every prompt? Unlikely! Will this be a coherent story in the end? Possibly! Do I know where this story is going? Hells no! So ... enjoy, I hope?

Open

“Open your eyes.”

His brain may be foggy, but the words come through clear. The voice saying them sounds pained. Pleading. He knows that voice—it’s comforting—but he’s far too confused to place it. He’s far too confused to place much of anything.

Now someone is retching. And crying. Sounds he’s all too familiar with. He must be in Afghanistan; something must have gone wrong. Which means the chaos is coming. He should prepare.

He doesn’t want to prepare. He wants to sleep.

There’s arguing now, hushed but angry. Machines are beeping. Have they been beeping the whole time? Why is he so tired?

He hears the soft click of a door opening and closing. Is he alone now?

No, there’s another voice. Familiar. Not the slightest bit comforting.

“Do wake up, Dr. Watson. He won’t survive if you don’t.” A pause. “Forgive me the double negative.”

Another click. He knows he’s alone now.

He sleeps.

Day 2 here.

[jolieblack]

A big, enormous shoutout to all you lovely people who have risen to @calaisreno ’s May Prompts 2024 challenge and are providing us with a ton of great fic at the moment, some of you every single frigging day.

👑 I hereby crown you all Queens* of May! 👑

*Queens, Kings, Monarch or whatever gendered or non-gendered term you prefer.

@lisbeth-kk , @bs2sjh , @thalialurksalot, @keirgreeneyes, @deelaundry , @jrow , @weeesi , @raina-at , @a-victorian-girl, @calaisreno , @strawberrywinter4 , @totallysilvergirl , @meetinginsamarra , @starkraivennemad , @copperplatebeech , @friday411

Here’s a selection of my favourite ficlets for this first week - and I mean it when I say I had real trouble limiting it to seven. ALL the entries are worth reading, I've not been disappointed by a single one and I'm totally in awe of the amount of talent that is still being dedicated to the BBC Sherlock fandom.

Day 7 - Calm - by @weeesi

Day 7 - Calm - by @raina-at

Day 5 - Ecosystem - by @copperplatebeech

Day 5 - Awkward - by @thegildedbee

Day 2 - Box - by @thegildedbee

Day 1 - Open - by @raina-at

And I’m also absolutely captivated by @jrow 's serialised May Prompts Angst Fest that starts here.

Keep the good stuff coming, everyone! ✨

[iheardyou]

[Headcanon / prompt / just an idea to be used in a fic]

What if...

John and Sherlock are on a crime scene, a house in a busy side of town.

John is outside. He is having a panic attack while Sherlock is still inside.

Crowd is forming around John, who is now suffocating.

This is when Sherlock just get out of the house, sees the crowd.

He briefly stops when he sees John, then runs towards him.

"John, please look at me."

No answer, just two worried eyes searching his.

Sherlock places his hands on John's temples. Breathes with John and that, more that everything that have been tried by the crowd, helps.

Tagging some beautiful writers that can be interested

@discordantwords @weeesi @calaisreno

[gregorovitch-adler]

Messy

John turned off the microphone and sighed. He placed it on the side table beside his armchair and sat back in an almost dark room.

Sherlock, John and Mariana had been working on another case.

It was quite late, so Mariana had gone to bed in 221 A. John had been in the sitting room of 221 B, ruminating about his podcasting skills to himself.

John looked at Sherlock - who was sitting in his armchair across the room with his eyes closed - and inevitably began to think the differences between the two of them.

Must be different, being so perfect at almost everything, John thought, continuing to gaze at Sherlock.

Perfect analytical and observational skills needed to solve the cases, perfect timbre of the voice, perfect enunciations, and...

John had obviously noticed it a million times before but now he had to admit it.

... Perfect looks.

Not that John was jealous of all that (okay, maybe a little, but not too much), but now and then he would think that he made a wrong career choice as a podcaster after having served as an army doctor.

Oftentimes he would think that maybe he was better off as a general practitioner now that he was a civillian himself.

A comparatively ordinary job, without anyone else to work for or with.

Would that life suit him better?

John furrowed his brow at those thoughts.

"I won't be able to sleep if you keep your eyes on me the whole night," said Sherlock with his eyes still closed.

John parted his lips and got up from his chair, feeling heated around his face. "Oh, sorry. I'll, er, I'll just go upstairs. You should go to bed too, mate. Aren't you - aren't you uncomfortable here?"

John mentally kicked himself for stuttering yet again.

"No, stop. I could hear you thinking from across the room, just now." Sherlock finally opened his eyes and sat straight on his chair, looking at John intensely. "There is something on your mind, Watson. I need to know what."

John was taken aback by the kind of intensity he saw in Sherlock's eyes. He gave in. "Well, it's just that..." he trailed off.

A brief silence fell in the room as Sherlock and John locked their eyes together. Sherlock got up from his chair and walked over to John so he could be close to him.

"What is it?" Sherlock prompted.

"Am I doing this right?" John finally spoke, taking in irregular breaths.

"Doing what right?" Sherlock was looking at him with confusion.

"This whole podcast thing. I mean, I make it so awkward for our listeners sometimes. And half of the time my jokes don't even seem to land well." John gesticulated widely. "And, um, even after all that editing and cutting out the extra bits, the end result isn't flawless. It's so messy and imperfect."

Sherlock stared at John blankly for a moment. He then opened his arms wide looking at him with an awkward face. "Is it okay if we..."

John caught on. "Uh, yeah, sure," he said with his brow knitted.

They both wrapped their arms around each other. John's one arm was around his waist, and he ran his other arm over Sherlock's back. Sherlock's arms were around his shoulders.

John managed to place his chin on Sherlock's shoulder and sighed.

"The end result is not what we listen to," Sherlock began in a calm voice in John's ear. "The end result is the response of our listeners. How is it?"

John smiled. "Really good, so far, overall."

"There you go."

John felt Sherlock smile against his right shoulder.

They let each other go, but they were still holding hands, looking at each other deeply in the eye.

"Even if that weren't the case, I would not have cared."

"And why is that?" John asked, still looking at his friend with a smile.

"Because I like you as you are."

John chuckled, followed by Sherlock.

John turned around to make his way to his bedroom, already feeling loads better than before.

*

Prompt: Imperfect by @calaisreno

Tags: @helloliriels , @jamielovesjam , @topsyturvy-turtely , @keirgreeneyes , @totallysilvergirl , @lisbeth-kk , @peanitbear , @gaylilsherlock , @friday411 etc.

[ellethespaceunicorn]

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

Title: The Paganini Problem

Rating: Mature, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Wife!Reader

Fandom: Enola Holmes series

Word Count: 1.3K

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

Warnings: female!masturbation, spanking, softDom!Sherlock

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

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist 

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

He was stumped on a case. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

No reaction. 

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

Nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good girl,” he praises.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That we shall, Mr. Holmes.”

**Tag List**

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

[thalialunacy]

[for the @calaisreno May Prompts-all-the-Time; just a wee silly interlude today]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) 14: eavesdropping (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28) (29) (30) (31)

Greg Lestrade has tried only three times, in the several aggravating years of their acquaintance, to surprise his friend Sherlock Holmes. It has yet to work, even when Sherlock was off his tit. The bastard.

But Greg has a new plan. Time has passed; he'd like to think he's learned a thing or two. And he has a new ally: Rosie Watson. 

Sure, she's too small to be a super spy--yet--but she is a very excellent excuse to come round the flat. 

She's undoubtedly getting spoiled, this one, as if everyone involved is trying to miraculously compensate for a lost mum, even though they know it's futile. 

But also? Kids are fun when they're little. And Greg has no issue admitting he misses those days. Especially when he can hand the kid back when the nappy needs changing. It's brilliant.

And it's nearly John's birthday, so he figures he can kill two birds with one stone. Surprising Sherlock is just a bonus, a personal challenge he lays out for himself every once in a while. To keep his mind sharp. Like sudoku, but one where the sudoku insults you afterwards.

Today, he's prepared: He's bribed Mrs Hudson with some (completely legal, thanks) CBD sweeties. He's noted which stairs squeak. He's planned it for a time he reckons Rosie will be home and awake. He knows Sherlock isn't on any case for the Yard.

Yes, there's a chance John will be at his day job, or Sherlock will be on a private case, but those are chances he just has to take.

He holds the carefully wrapped package under his arm and starts up the stairs. He can hear music, immediately recognisable as Frozen II, but not much else.

One he gets to the landing, he considers the two doors in front of him. He listens again, harder, and thinks he can hear Sherlock and John conversing under the soundtrack, and thinks they're in the sitting room.

So he just goes for it. Opens the kitchen door slow as treacle, then peeks round.

He blinks, then pulls back. Has he just seen-- 

He peeks around again.

Yep. Yep, he has definitely seen Sherlock and John standing in front of the fireplace, in between their well-loved chairs, and kissing like the world is theirs to command: That feeling of a new relationship, which is a bit of luck considering how long those two blokes have known each other, but…

He rubs his eyes, then goes back for one more look.

Same picture, only this time-- Sherlock, eyes closed and expression intense as he holds John's face in one hand and explores his mouth without shame, uses the other hand to make two fingers in Greg's direction behind John's back.

Greg almost laughs out loud. Instead, he leaves the gift on the landing and heads back out. There's only so much a man wants to know about his mates.

He grins to himself. New new plan: Never try to surprise Sherlock Holmes again.

[ <3 ]

[whispersfrom221b]

Sherlock: Hrmpf…

John: What's wrong?

Sherlock: Nothing.

John: You sound like my mum. Spill.

Sherlock: You're dating Molly.

John: She just asked me—

Sherlock: She asked you and now you're dating her.

John: I'm not—

Sherlock: If I'd have known that all it needs is to ask you, I'd have done that.

John: Are you saying you'd want to date me?

Sherlock: Obviously.

John: How is it obvious?

Sherlock: I haven't destroyed any of your jumpers in months. And I ask before I use your laptop. Occasionally.

John: Ah, yes. The universal signs of attraction.

Sherlock: Indeed.

John: Listen, Sherlock. Molly asked me if I'd accompany her to her sister's wedding this weekend. That's all.

Sherlock: This means you wouldn't date me if I asked?

John: I didn't say that.

Sherlock: So you'd date me.

John: I would. If you ask me.

[holmesianlove]

Chapter 8 - Tea

It was the middle of the night when John was surprised by a cup of tea being placed down beside him.

“It's late, John,” Sherlock scolded in a low, deep, yet concerned rumble.

“Sorry, did I keep you up? I thought you'd actually gone to bed,” John replied, rubbing a hand over his face.

“What time is it anyway?”

“You know I don't sleep when we’re on a case, John. It’s just past 2am now.”

“Weren’t you in your room?” John asked, surprised.
“Nope. Went out. I did say so.”

“Oh, sorry I was typing away. I must have missed it entirely.” John was surprised with himself. He usually noticed every move the detective made. Or so he thought.

“I slip in and out all the time and you barely notice. It's endearing actually, that you are so involved when you're writing up your case notes,” Sherlock said, sitting himself in the chair opposite, and nestling his own tea between his hands. “I read some of them earlier.”

“Oh?”

“Do you really think that the fourth wife was lying when we interviewed her?”

“Do you really want to talk about this in the middle of the night?” John asked, brow cocked in amusement.

“You know I do.” Sherlock’s mouth twisted ever so slightly into a smirk.

“Casework is what we do,” John parroted in a little sing song reminder of Sherlock’s usual words but when he looked at his friend, Sherlock was giving him the strangest expression. He almost looked affronted.

John grabbed the tea and sipped it, only to grimace at the heat of it. Too early to drink it yet. He nodded slightly in reply to Sherlock’s question, tilting his head to the side. “I don't think if I was with someone, if I was married to someone, that I would want to share them,” he said. To which, Sherlock simply hummed in thought, bringing his own tea cup to his lips, looking enthralled, as if John were about to tell him a bed time story.

John hesitated for a moment before continuing: “So I find it very hard to believe that all four of these people were completely unaware of each other, particularly with the two linked best friends. That they never noticed anything amiss, and that they might all be okay with it and have not done anything about it.”
“You think the fourth wife found out about the others and killed him for it?“ Sherlock smirked into his tea.

“I don't know. I definitely think it's possible. The first wife could have been unaware. They'd been married the longest and marriages - so I understand - tend to lose some of that passion. Therefore, it’s feasible that she may not notice his absences or his lack of attention. From what I understand, though, newlyweds should be more attentive to each other. Don’t you think the fourth wife would be the most likely to notice something was amiss? And the other two with the shared friend? I absolute believe that somebody must have seen something. I think out of the four of them, the first wife is the least likely to be a suspect and the fourth wife is the most likely to be the suspect.” John nodded with satisfaction. It was the longest Sherlock had ever let him speak with a theory.
“Interesting. You really do still sound a bit perturbed by the whole thing, John.”

“I don't know how anyone has the time… I certainly don't have time to date people. You don't have time to date people. How do people have time to keep up more than one relationship? And somehow this man was managing four different lives? Four different lies? It sounds exhausting.”

“You've managed to see lots of women, John.”

“Not at the same time, Sherlock. None of them for long periods, in any case.”
“I imagine if one was determined to, they could put in enough effort.”

”Hmmm. Maybe,” John sighed, deep in thought. “You never date anyone, Sherlock. Don’t you ever—“

“The body's just for transport, John. You know that. I’ve told you many times. If I don't need to eat or sleep when I’m busy, why on earth would any of those other ridiculous human behaviours hold any interest?”
“I see.” John watched Sherlock closely in silence for a time. “Do you ever think about dating or—“

“God no.”

“Or, I don't know, marriage? Do you ever think about marriage?”

Sherlock opened and closed his mouth a few times staring into his tea before answering. “I learnt very early on, John, that people don't respond to me the way they respond to others. That's partly my own fault, but I don't plan to change how I am, so I simply learned not to expect anything more for myself,” Sherlock stated stiffly.

“I don't agree,” John said gently as he sipped his tea. “We instantly got along.”

“Yes.” Sherlock smiled very slightly and sipped at his tea. “You are one of the rare exceptions and I appreciate you for that. This is why I talk to you now, instead of my skull.”
“Well thanks very much. but you still drug my tea occasionally,” John said, suddenly realising his words, and looking at his tea cup in horror before glaring back at Sherlock, who was watching him.

“No, not tonight, John.” He shook his head with a smile. “We have work to do.”

“Is that why you managed to make me green? Boredom?”

“Are you really not going to let that go?” Sherlock asked.

“Not in a hurry, no.”

“Hmmm, fair enough. Come on, John. I have an idea. There’s something I wanted to investigate and I need your eyes on it.”

“Really?” John sat up in his chair, already intrigued.

“Yes, John, of course,” Sherlock looked genuinely surprised at John’s lack of confidence after all this time. “Of course.”

“Very well.” John left his tea and followed Sherlock. He could never resist when his detective needed him.

— —

Thank you for following along my first attempt at a December prompt!

Thanks @notjustamumj for the list

@lisbeth-kk @helloliriels @totallysilvergirl @221beloved @safedistancefrombeingsmart @givemesherbet-blog-blog @naefelldaurk @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @peanitbear @starlitkeys @lumilama @yorkiepug @talkativeanxiousturtle @kettykika78 @kittenmadnessandtea @whatnext2020 @egregiously-chuffed @dragonnan @chriscalledmesweetie @catlock-holmes @battledress @kholkate @randomquadballpun @221beloved @little-owls-things @daltongraham @sillygirlsmindpalace

[helloliriels]

Thinking of that jail scene with Rorschach, and imagining Sherlock if he was arrested and locked in with the criminals he was secretly after (much less violently) saying, "I'm not trapped in here with you ... you're in here with ME" and then making it everyone else's problem.

[topsyturvy-turtely]

turtely's OTP challenge!

now on AO3! (tumblr link)

read the (slightly improved) 7th part here:

summary: When Mrs. Hudson passes away, the unusual family of three is devastated. Sherlock shuts off, Rosie cries every day and John is desperately trying to keep it together for their sake.

Until one day, Rosie asks for "Lock", and the great detective shows a talent John wasn't aware of yet.

General Audience, 2112 Words. Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Slash, Parent!lock, Minor Character Death, it's sad i am sorry, but it is REEEEAAALLLLY sweet, i promise you won't regret reading this. (i mean you never know but i tried my best to make this rude prompt into something wholesome still)

tag list! (tell me if you wanna be added or removed please 💚) @justanobsessedpan @helloliriels @catlock-holmes @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @so-youre-unattached-like-me @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @musingsofmyown @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee @baker-street-blog @macgyvershe @myladylyssa @battledress @a-victorian-girl @dreamerofthemeadow @oetkb12 @ohnoesnotagain @mutedsilence @jawnscoffee @raenchaosandcozyadashofmurder @lisbeth-kk @quickslvxrr @compact-and-beautiful @kabubsmagga @sunshineinyourmind

[strawberrywinter4]

May 8 | Prompt: Hobby

“You look horrendous.”

Sherlock’s words thrash Greg’s daze, and he turns to the detective to make sure he heard correctly. “What?”

“I said you look horrendous,” Sherlock repeats, eyes not leaving his device.

Greg holds a scowl, his eyes flickering down to the floor. “Yeah, thanks for that.”

It’s odd that Sherlock would even mention anything other than the case they are currently glued to. They are about to question the suspect that is being brought by other enforcers. In the mean time, Sherlock and Greg have slipped into a peaceful silence in two uncomfortable chairs just outside in the hall. Only now it’s not so peaceful and Sherlock has brought that upon them through insults.

“What I’m trying to make you understand is that you obviously haven’t slept properly in the past week,” Sherlock observes. “When you and your wife were together, that was never an issue.”

Greg has to refrain from rolling his eyes. “Mm.”

“Sherlock,” John hisses as he comes toward them with two coffee cups. “You can’t just say that out of nowhere.”

“Oh, please, John. You were informing me of that viewpoint just last night,” Sherlock says.

Greg’s jaw drops open as he looks between the two men, Sherlock impassive and John embarrassed. “Oh, I see how it is, then!” he says, crossing his arms. “You two just want to have a laugh so you decide to think of ways to gossip.”

“No, Greg. That’s not what this is,” John argues calmly, sending a glare to Sherlock which he ignores. He hands the coffee to Greg, and Greg’s about to deny it in stubbornness before he gets a whiff of the warm goodness. Instead of turning his nose up at it, he takes it, mumbling a ‘thank you’ in the process. “I was only saying that you seemed off, mate,” continues John. “You’ve been digging yourself in cases and that isn’t like you. We’re just worried, is all.”

Greg sighs, his tenseness dissipating. “I know. I’m sorry for snapping, it’s just—”

“It’s fine,” says John, taking a seat next to him. “But…you know, my suggestion is that you find an activity you enjoy or something. Get your mind off work for a while.”

“I second that,” Donovan pipes up when walking towards them. “You look awful, Greg.”

“Yes, thank you,” Greg grits out.

“When you feel up to it, get home, look on the internet,” Donovan instructs. “Trust me, I’m sure you can find a hobby, no matter how weird.”

And Greg does just that. After the case, he heads to his flat and takes a long nap, it nearing 5AM. Once he’s woken up and somewhat refreshed, he scrolls on his laptop.

The first suggestion that pops up is gardening. He could do that.

He sets up a little string of seeds in a row of dirt just outside his balcony. He had asked the man at the shop which seeds he recommended, and the kind man sent him off with various different seeds.

“I’ll name you Toby,” Greg says as he plants a seed he doesn’t know the name of. This should be simple enough.

The plants are short lived when Greg buys a hose and puts it at the wrong setting when watering the plants. It’s at the highest setting and when he turns it on, the weight of the water knocks the wooden bucket of plants off, sending them flying down his balcony. He winces when he hears them crash on a car below, the vehicle honking. Greg rushes inside, trying to ignore the loud cursing that the owner of the vehicle provides.

“How about knitting?” Molly suggests a few days later. “Always calms me.”

“Okay,” Greg considers. “I’ll knit something for you.”

Molly smiles shyly. “I’d love that.”

That activity is short lived as well. Greg can’t hold his frustration for one moment as he constantly pokes himself, gets lost with the tutorial on YouTube, and all in all, the supposed sweater turns out to be a bundle of false direction.

Greg puts the attempted knitting project on the counter in front of Molly.

Molly smiles in pity. “It’s a start.”

“No, it’s shit.” Greg sighs, wishing he could glare at himself. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” says Molly. “How about you find something a little more simple? Something that doesn’t require a set of rules.”

Donovan suggests a hiking trail outside of London. Greg can do that. He can absolutely do that.

“Fuck!” Greg curses when tripping on another long set of weeds. A family passes him, sending him horrified expressions. Greg huffs, sweat dripping down his back. “Yeah, why don’t you take a picture while you’re at it.”

He doesn’t know how Donovan recommended this with such ease, as if it’s the simplest activity in the world. So far, Greg has received numerous scars on his ankles due to sharp ends of rocks and vines, he’s cursed every minute he’s walked (he’s sure he will get kicked out of the park soon), and dizziness from the heat has taken over.

Once back home, he flops on his bed, rolling himself up in blankets. He’s not good at anything. Nothing is for him. Greg shouldn’t be surprised, but he is. Either he’s shit at all hobbies or he’s meant to suffer as a workaholic.

A week later, his neighbor, Mrs. Sue, knocks on his door. When Greg opens it, she’s holding a grey kitten with bright yellow eyes in her hands. Mrs. Sue sneezes several times, putting on a smile.

“Hi, Greg,” she says a bit timidly, her nose noticeably stuffed. “Uh—well, my sister left me with this and I was wondering if you could sit her for a day, only a day. I need to find some place where they will accept cats because I’m quite allergic.”

“Oh,” Greg says. “I mean—yes, of course. I suppose I could sit for a day. What’s her name?”

“Luna,” Mrs. Sue informs, already handing him the cat. “I’ll be back in the afternoon.”

When she leaves, Greg shuts the door and puts the loudly purring cat down. She rubs against his leg, looking up at him with innocent eyes.

“Well, aren’t you just a cutie,” Greg comments. “C’mon. I’m sure I have some milk. Cats like milk, right?”

The whole day, Luna is nothing but attached to him. When Greg sits, she settles herself on his lap. When Greg does his light workout routine on the floor, she’s under him when he does push ups and on top of him when doing sit-ups. Greg can’t help but laugh. Even after he’s taken a shower, she’s waiting patiently outside the door, looking up at him expectantly.

Afternoon hits and the doorbell rings. Disappointment admittedly looms through Greg, especially when he looks down to see Luna sleeping soundly against his leg.

He opens the door and Mrs. She is holding a box. “Thank you so much, Greg,” she says. “I can take her now. I found a place.”

Greg blinks, and he’s considering giving her back to Mrs. Sue. Maybe it’s for the best.

But when Luna looks up at him with her big yellow eyes, Greg can’t resist.

“Erm…actually,” he starts. “I wouldn’t—y’know, mind keepin’ her.”

Mrs. Sue’s eyes widen in surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean,” Greg shrugs, “she’s a sweetheart. I would be happy to, actually.”

Mrs. Sue signs in relief. “Thank god. I didn’t even know if the place I visited would have accepted her.” She smiles. “This works out perfectly, Greg, thank you.”

Once she’s gone, Greg sits on his chair and pats his leg. Luna hops up and begins to purr against his chest. “Guess this worked out just fine, hm?” he says as he scratches behind her ear.

Though it isn’t classified as a hobby, Greg finally finds something that keeps him busy and content. Though Luna’s constant mewing and purring can be annoying at times, Greg is delighted to have another pair of soft footsteps on the floorboard. He’s happy to have some noise other than himself in the once quiet space. He’s glad to have something to come home to, something to look forward to.

——

Thanks for reading! I know I haven’t been following with the prompts, but I’m sick at home and actually have some time to write so I thought I’d do this prompt today lol.

Greg is one of my absolute favorite characters and I love, love, love writing him. I stand by that he’s both an impatient and patient man, but that’s okay! He finally found something that makes him happy.

Prompt by @calaisreno Thank you for making this a tradition of sorts. I loved writing this!

Tags: @a-victorian-girl @whatnext2020 @totallysilvergirl @ninasnakie @thegildedbee @whodwantmeasaflatmate @with-a-ghost-mr-holmes @sherlocknjohn221b @jawnn-watson @blogstandbygo @lisbeth-kk @holmesianlove @7-percent @itsonlytext @chinike @peanitbear @mary-johnlocked @bakerstreetbe @curlyjohnlock @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @ceceliajupe @ghostofnuggetspast @dw91165 @jolieblack @gwendelaneyisjohnlocked

[faibleprompts]

Faible prompt of the day!

I used to be obsessed with Sherlock 2010, so this prompt is so nostalgic