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futureplayboibunnie · 2 years ago

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‘Innocent’

Sherlock x fem! reader

- oh. my. god. i got a few requests for this virgin/ inexperienced smutty fic and lord i got so carried away. I LOVE THIS ONE SO MUCH IT TOOK ME SO LONG BUT MY OWN WRITING HAS ME FERAL??? help x

Sherlock was feeling completative, pondering upon forbidden grounds that he wouldn't usually travel. He was walking through the avenues of his mind, the thoughts reeling through him- even though it really wasn’t a good time.

You were next to him, he was being awarded another stupid gift for his incredible and somewhat pretentious sleuthing skills but he really wasn't paying much attention. Not after what he did. Not after what he felt.

Sherlock accidentally grazed your fingers while you were standing next to him, he was versed enough to catch onto bodily reactions but yours was incredibly different. Your breath caught in your throat but you still let out an audible gasp, you stiffened under his glare and your face started to blush a heated rose with every moment he stared at you. Lips parted, eyes widened with a surprised sheen, teeth clamping onto your lower lip- he didn't know he had the ability to draw that type of reaction out of you. He hasn't really seen a woman react like that before. Especially because of something he did.

Jesus Christ, it's like you've never been touched before.

He stole another glance at you. You were incredibly bashful, not in a nervous way but in an endearing shyness. Naive but knowing, chilling but warm...sexy yet sweet. A mystery altogether and Sherlock wanted to uncover all the secrets you were hiding, you were concealing something and he wanted to find out what it was. It was nagging him relentlessly. He was in spite of it. Sherlock was able to deduce anything about anyone but he couldn't place his finger on you, maybe it's because he couldn't but maybe it was because he didn't want to. This helpless attitude he was beginning to adopt was disarming him and he did not like it one bit. Even if he did want you, he simply wouldn't have the opportunity, you were as blocked off as he was.

Stop, Sherlock. She's much too young.

Sherlock's sex life was incredibly demanding. It never really occured to others that he had a sex life at all but what he demanded in the bedroom was intricate and detailed- he fucked his women in the way he alone wanted. He pushed the limits of every woman he had ever bedded and to some it may be shocking that he had a line of women begging for him.

Sherlock's tastes were very singular, specific and he was beggining to question if...you...were adventurous in bed. He shouldn't even be thinking about you in this way because you seemed so...innocent. Normally he didn't find that attractive but you were a fascinating creature altogether.

His brow creased. He could quite literally feel you shiver. He wondered if you were cold or nervous, but it all began to click- the puzzle pieces began to fall into place and he only realised once you were alone in his presence.

He asked you to meet him at Baker Street.

You were filled with dread and pining, you weren't even sure if it was quiet or loud pining but the desperation that was beginning to bubble within you was becoming very difficult to control and hide. Especially when the object of your desires wanted you to meet him..alone. You were so sweet for him. So ready for him but concern began whirring the cogs in your mind...for one, Sherlock Holmes was quite frankly unattainable and you were...inexperienced. Either way you were fucked, and not in the way you wanted too. He was just too potent, too strong and he could see through anything and everyone, you couldn't deal with the embarrassment he would be so unashamed to put on you- dealing with the ramifications of that would simply be your downfall.

But you couldn't find it in your bones to say no. Saying no to Sherlock Holmes? It simply wasn't within you, you couldn't find the strength to pretend not to want him anymore. Your heart thundered with every step you took up those stairs. Velveteen and living single wasn't really cutting it for you anymore.

‘’Sherlock?’’ You called after him as you creaked the door open, not really expecting an answer from him. ‘’Sherlock, what do you want?'’ You sighed exasperated and annoyed by the way he was keeping you waiting.

He was very certain with himself. He had a simple hypothesis but he wasn't sure if it was true, it really couldn't be true. Sherlock came out from the kitchen to see you standing there, trying to keep yourself cool, calm and collected but anyone with a brain stem could see that you were filled with panic. He straightened his blazer and unbottoned it as he made his way over to you.

‘’Can I try something? Please.’’ Sherlock asked with inquisitive and dark eyes, you were wondering what he wanted, what he was going to do. ‘’An experiment of sorts.’’

All you could do was mindlessly nod. ‘’Yeah.’’ You breathed.

Sherlock gazed into the endless summer of your eyes. If time stood still you'd take this moment and make it last forever. Your pupils dialated and that was something to cross off his checklist, his face was nearing yours and you blinked up at his dumbly. Your breath mingled with his and you stilled once his fingertips grazed up the bare skin of your arm, the pads flowing on the suppleness like oil upon water. Smooth skin left with goosebumps, you let out a shaky breath- completely confused yet enthralled with what he was doing.

His head dipped near your ear. Sherlock could feel your pulse kick into overdrive, he felt your body alight as he neared you- warm breath coating your skin. You were so damn shy, bright, deep and arousing as hell.

‘’No. It simply can't be true.’’ Sherlock muttered, he let go of you and you felt as though the sun just left everything in complete darkness.

Sherlock swayed slowly to lean on the edge of the table, arms crossed and the way he stood was enough to make electricity shoot down your thighs. Sherlock was shocked. It really couldn't be true but he secretly hoped it was.

‘’What are you talking about?’’ You asked impassively, afraid to reveal too much of yourself and the desire to jump his bones you were feigning in.

Sherlock finally pieced together you hadn't had anyone. You were a virgin.

It made his breath halt in his tracks when he came to the realisation, aren't people your age supposed to be fucking like bunnies? It was an objective expression: you were beautiful, sweet, charming and completely disarming. You had barely been touched. The thought is strangely appealling. Inexperienced? He could work with that, God knows he wanted to.

‘’Have you been kissed before?’’ Sherlock asked out of the blue, completely oblivious to how dumbfounded you were.

‘’Of course I have.’’ He thought you looked offended.

Yeah, you've been kissed but not often.... for some damn reason, it pleased him.

‘’Have you ever been touched before?’’ He questioned as if it was a normal thing to say.

You opened your mouth to talk but you couldn't find it in yourself to speak.

Hmm…interesting.

You were so...different. So different to his other women. He liked that.

And he wanted to fuck you, spank you and watch your skin pink beneath his cold hands. You weren't talking, that's out of the question now- isn't it?

He wanted to whip you into shape, your mouth would need training of course but he liked your naivite- it provided a challenge. Well maybe not fuck, that's too heavy handed for you. Maybe he could break you in...show you the ropes. It would be a novel experience for the both of you.

The look in Sherlock's eyes was that of fire swirling into a cylone, he sauntered his way over to you like a sly fox. Your chest was heavy as you looked up at him, the proximity between you two growing smaller and smaller. You daren't blink when he hooked his fingers up from your chin and jutted it up slightly- the feeling of his hands on yours was enough to do you in.

‘’I would like to bite that lip.’’ Sherlock grumbled concisely, his voice low and authoritative and your lips parted in surprise, he grazed his thumb over the soft pink flesh of your lips.

‘’I think I'd like that too.’’ You whispered, shocked by your own words.

‘’Where have you been? How have you been- how could you…?’’ Sherlock breathed, eyes inquisitive. Imploring you to make him understand how no one had taken you, no one had had you or touched you. How could it be possible?

‘’Waiting.’’ You breathed as you felt his hands cradle your face. ‘’For you.’’

‘’And a nice young man hasn't swooped you off of your feet? Men must throw themselves at you.’’

You were melting, knees buckling- you felt pathetic.

‘’No. No one. Just wanted you.’’ You exhaled, so intense and certain of your desire for him as you give him a bright come hither look, he was startled by the fact you weren't feeling so innocent now.

‘’Can I kiss you?’’ Sherlock asked politely and under his breath, which he wouldn't normally do but for you he was willing to bend the rules, his rules and it made him irate. He didn't like his specific rules he set be broken...he was just so curious about you that he was pushing to just get you out of that skirt, gag you and fuck you over the table but he had to tread lightly.

You shocked him when you grabbed him by the collar like instinct and slanted your mouth against his. Sherlock twisted his hand in your hair while your lips seek to find his. You moan into his mouth, the call of a siren and finally he could sample you: mint, tea, peach and an orchard of mellow fruitfulness, a fresh full supply that he wanted to drown in. Innocence and sweetness.

You taste every bit as good as you look.

You reminded him of a time of plenty. Good Lord, he was yearning for you.

Sherlock grasped your chin, deepening the kiss and your tongue tentatively touches his...exploring. Considering. Feeling. Revelling. Kissing him back.

Good God in Heaven. You thought you would grow wings before you could see the day, this could only happen in your wildest fantasies and dreams. A manifestation of sorts. You were punch drunk off of his taste, completely intoxicated beyond your reach and you didn't want to let go but you had to tear your lips away from his to breathe.

‘’I want to take you now...can I?’’ Sherlock had to ask politely, he couldn't just jump your bones although he wanted to.

‘’Sherlock, please. Do whatever you want with me, take control, I don't care. Just because I haven't been touched in this way doesn't mean I'm fragile and breakable. Fuck me how you want to, show me what you like. I've waited long enough, just do something.’’

Your voice sensual and that of an exotic creature, far too holy to be considered earthly. Sherlock had to contain his amusement and surprise, wow you were pulling the rug from under him and he liked that a lot. Those big doe eyes wide and gleaming to give you a morsel of the pleasure you were craving. He loved your incessant blushing.

‘’You don't mean that.’’ Sherlock warned.

‘’Yes I do.’’ Your voice timid.

‘’You're incredibly brave. I'm in awe of you.’’

‘’I feel like I'm too clothed.’’ You flirted.

Sherlock wanted to taste you, eat you out until tears were leaking down your face and then shock you with his cock.

He'd get there soon...in time. Maybe next time, he'd use the riding crop.

Yeah, yeah keep dreaming Sherlock. You have her here right now, just ease into it.

When he gripped you by the hand and lead you to his room, you felt your cheeks pink in desire. Sherlock felt a wholly unexpected thrill unfurl inside of him. He held you flush against his body. You gasp in surprise and his loud thoughts were subdued by his libido, he was so damn horny because of you- you had no clue how arousing you where. So alluring.

Sherlock's fingers tug at your hair, pulling your face up to his as he gazed into your captivating eyes.

This is so different...so intimate. It felt so heated. Although there was no arrangement made between you two, nothing placed, no limits set, you weren't his to do with as he pleases but yet he was still excited.

Aroused. It was obvious the way he was trying to reign his eagerness in when he was peeling you out of your clothes. You were shivering into his feather light touches, your body was alight like the fourth of July- a million fireworks exploding into the clear night sky and you were bathing in the feeling. He was so damn seductive. It was an unfamilair and exhilerating feeling, the desire for him coursing through you, at the tipping edge of a giant rollercoaster.

Sherlock got you half naked fairly quickly, he kneeled in front of you as you stood and your eyes widened. Sherlock Holmes on his knees? Dear God. You felt so special. He got you in your bra and now he wanted to peel your skirt off. His gleaming eyes met with yours and they daren't waver, they were blown out and dialated. Sherlock hands gripped onto your hips and he kissed the skin below the hem of your skirt and it began riding up with his nose as it travelled north. You whimpered and threw your head back in pure ecstasy. Your brows tensed as he stopped kissing you and finally shimmied your skirt down your legs.

Damn it.

His cock hardened in his pants. You in stockings? You in fine lingerie even though you had no one getting to see you like this, this…intimate? Who were you wearing them for? Him? Oh fuck. He was on top of the world.

His nose trailed over your panties and the scent of you was simply perfect, so delicious, he was salivating.

‘’Do you have any idea what I'm going to do to you?’’ He grumbled, planting kisses on your thighs.

You whined at nothing, the words filling you up entirely. You were entranced- lost in his spell- he was clearly happy with himself.

‘’Do you want me to kiss you here, sweetheart?’’ Sherlock asked and you nodded fervently as his mouth was dangerously near the place where your ache was.

Lord, you were pulsating. Soaked.

‘’Yes. Please.’’ You agreed politely and he loved how naive and cute you were, it was delightful that you remembered your manners.

Sherlock's thick finger pulled your panties to the side as he kissed and suckled on that spot that no one else had touched. You felt electricity course through you, your hands flew to his soft curls to tug at it. It made him feel so good. His tongue was doing his magic now, swiping and suckling on your swollen clit, illiciting these lewd noises out of you in the process.

You were seriously about to cry, it was all so much.

You grabbed his face to make him stand and he got on his feet in quick hot flashes, his mouth was fastened to yours again. You moaned into his mouth when his tongue tangled with yours again, you could taste yourself off of him- it was so damn erotic, something out of a dream. When he ripped his lips from yours to see the wanton look in your eyes, he found that you were covered in a delicious rose, your breathing shallow and quick. You were clearly embarrassed at how quickly he got you like this.

Sherlock groaned when you gripped onto his arms, he finally reached behind you and unclasped your bra. Your tits fell free and he immediately palmed at them, your nipples were painfully hard and it made him realise how badly you actually wanted him. Your skin was warm as you flushed. It was the first time anyone else had seen you naked and the fact it was the infamous Sherlock Holmes made it all the more better.

'So pretty, I want to mark your skin up, make you mine." He wasn't sure why he blurted the last part. Would he make you his? Well you weren't.

‘’Do it then.’’ You breathed.

Like clockwork, he obeyed. His teeth sunk into the skin of your neck as he littered bites all down the column of it, leaving his mark on you.

His mark all over you. You then noticed that he was still fully clothed and it made you frown and Sherlock saw that as he peeked at you.

‘’What's with the frown? Am I not satisfying you enough?’’ He taunted.

‘’You've still got clothes on.’’ You pouted. ‘’Let me take it off for you.’’ You offered so deliciously and for once, Sherlock let you. It was unheard of, but you were already bending his rules.

You unbuttoned his shirt and peeled it off him, but before you could revel in his physique he pushed you onto the bed. Your face contorted into different scenarios of pleasure and he wasn't even inside you yet. Sherlock fawned over you, hands roaming every inch of your skin, your hands raking in his hair. Breath warm as he kissed you. Your hands flew to his pants.

Whoa...gentle. Easy. So...eager. He liked that. The naive innocent itching to just get into his pants- interesting.

You unzipped it and Sherlock finally let his cock spring free. He peeked up at your face to check that you were still keen but it was more than that. You were desperate. Your mouth formed into an 'o' as it popped open, eyes wide with how big he was. It startled you, even envisioning what it would look like. He was leaking. Fuck.

‘’You still want this?’’ He checks again and you nodded furiously, already panting. Has he ever been this aroused? He didn't get it…it must be you.

Sherlock postioned himself in between your thighs as he slid into you so he could take you on his whim. Your eyes were open wide, imploring him as you strained. Should he be gentle and prolong the agony or just go for it?

The need to posses you clouds him. He goes for it.

You cry out and the pain felt so fucking God, the sting burned and you fucking loved it.

‘’Is that okay?’’ Sherlock checked as his eyes bore into yours, your face was etched in pure pleasure.

‘’Mmhmm...fuck...it feels...nice.’’ You whisper in his ear, moaning and whimpering and it was like his favourite sound of music.

Nice?

Sherlock? Nice?

Oh no, that's not good enough.

Sherlock wasn't nice in bed he was downright devilish in bed but for you he was willing to be soft, maybe later he'll fuck you in every way possible.

He had never felt this desire. This hunger before. He wanted so much from you but for now, he wanted you to cum on him.

Sherlock eased in and out of you slowly, eyes connected and scorching. Intimate. Hot. Slow. Normally, he would've pinned your hands above your head but right now they were in his hair and that's exactly where he wanted them to be right now. He began to pick up the pace and your moans echoed throughout his bedroom. It was just beginning to dawn on you that you were being fucked by Sherlock Holmes in his own bedroom.

‘’You're so fucking wet, I love it.’’ He cooed condescendingly and you didn't find it in yourself to care.

Sherlock reached you at the hilt, hitting that spot over and over as he kissed your lips and your jaw. He was just relentless and perfect.

‘’..God..'’ It was more of a strangled cry than an actual word.

‘’Cum with me...feel it with me, baby.’’

That's it…Feel it.

He loved that you were so responsive, he'd have to keep you in line for that later though. The pet name drove you to insanity as you bottomed out, gushing onto him as the flood gates opened and you had none of the means to keep them closed. Your cry was incandescent and it made him follow you in your footsteps. How telling. It was an explosive collision, a once in a lifetime event. That blush began to coat and prick your skin again.

When he finished, he rolled off beside you to regain his breath. The air was so thick and fulfilled, fire and erosion turning the atmosphere to molten lava. You cut through the pants.

‘’Am I supposed to thank you...because..uhm. Thank you.’’ You breathed bashfully, so sensual in your stance but you attempted to collect yourself and he wanted to laugh.

You were so amusing. So fun.

‘’This was more for me than you.’’ Sherlock admitted truthfully.

‘’Humility will always be a mystery to you.’’ You raised your eyebrow as you leaned to your side to peek up at him. Silence encompassed the air as your statement was incredibly true, he wasn't oblivious to it.

‘’How on Earth have you avoided…?’’ Sherlock seemed exasperated, confused as his brows creased but you cut him off.

‘’I told you, I wasn't interested. I only wanted you.’’

#bbc sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes fluff #sherlock smut #sherlock holmes angst #sherlock x fem!reader #sherlock holmes smut #sherlock fanfic

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thedaredevilsgirl · 2 months ago

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I saw you said you write for Sherlock, are requests still open? I have a short blurb of an idea. Reader has a long day at college and Sherlock notices and tries to help, maybe with just pulling reader away from an assignment or something. Fluff, lots of fluff. (I’m tired, thank you for reading this ask though, you don’t have to write it)

A Mystery of Calm

bbc/Sherlock Holmes x Reader

718 words

I decided to combine your idea with one I already had, I'm also in college, so I know how complicated and difficult this period of our lives can be, but we'll get through it.

As it's the first time I've written after so long, I decided to write something not so long, but I hope it doesn't upset you.

Enjoy reading, I hope you like it.

❀﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏❀

It was almost 7 a.m. and Sherlock Holmes was at home at 221B Baker Street, immersed in yet another of his cases, something about a politician killed during his own election campaign. But his attention was focused on something much closer: you, his partner.

He knew that your exams were approaching and that this made you feel overwhelmed. The stress was consuming you, it even seemed to have become a feature of your personality. Worrying about getting the best grades and staying among the best students was like a big weight on your shoulders, it was all you could think about, with no time for distractions or fun, not even the most fascinating books could hold your attention anymore.

Sherlock looked around again and found himself getting worried, it was still so early and you hadn't even taken a break from your studies to eat or sleep the night before, it was clear that you were tired, he could tell just by your breathing and droopy eyes. Noticing your anxiety, Sherlock decided it was time to put work aside and use his skills not only to solve mysteries, but also to help the love of his life.

"Darling," he said softly, approaching where you were sitting, "you need a rest."

You looked at him, a tired expression mixed with doubt. "But I have so much to study, Sherlock! I have a very important exam tomorrow, I don't want to do badly."

Holmes smiled, knowing that you needed more than words of comfort "Sometimes the best way to move forward is to take a step back. Your grades are excellent and you've studied hard, I think a rest and some fresh air wouldn't hurt. How about a walk in the park? We can have a picnic, have something to eat, I can even show you my favorite crime scenes," he says with a sweet smile on his face.

Reluctantly, you agreed. Soon, the two of you were in Hyde Park, where the trees swayed gently and the sun illuminated the path. Sherlock knew you needed him at that moment, so even if it was just something simple, he made the effort and asked Mrs. Hudson to help him prepare a delicious picnic, with sandwiches, fruit and some tea.

You sat under the shade of your favorite tree, the same one where he met you for the first time and asked you various questions, considering you a suspect in one of his cases, where you had your first date and where he assumed that for the first time he might be having romantic feelings for someone. As you ate, he watched you with affection. "You know, even the greatest detectives need a moment's break. The mind needs to be aired in order to find solutions."

You laughed, just being away from your books and study materials made you feel a little lighter. "But I'm not a detective, Sherlock."

"But you are a problem solver," he replied, looking into her eyes. "Life, like a mystery, takes time and patience."

After the picnic, he led her to a quieter area of the park. "Close your eyes and listen," he said. "The sounds of nature can be as comforting as a book."

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, feeling your worries dissipate. The birdsong, the gentle whisper of the wind, and Sherlock's reassuring presence beside you brought a peace you couldn't remember feeling for weeks.

Sherlock approaches you, placing his hand gently on your cheek and leaving a kiss under your lips. You smile as he pulls away, knowing that despite everything, you had chosen the right person for you.

"Thank you, my love," you whisper, still close to him.

"And remember, love," he says with a smile. "When everything seems like an unsolvable mystery, it's good to have someone by your side to help clear your head."

In a new mood, you returned home, knowing that you had studied enough and now needed a little rest for your mind. After a long, relaxing bath, you lay down on the bed you shared every night with Sherlock and felt him tuck the soft sheet under your body.

"Sleep well, my love," he says, leaving a light kiss on your forehead and leaving your room to finally let you rest.

#sherlock holmes fluff #sherlock holmes smut #sherlock holmes angst #bbc sherlock #stephen strange fluff #stephen strange angst #stephen strange smut #stephen strange #benedict cumberbatch

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fallenangellinwonderland · 2 years ago

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The invisible girl case

I just got this prompt idea for Sherlock and reader... Might be just silly so I'm going to ramble about it.

Reader is quiet, she is nice, she does talk with workmates, but she is rather selected introverted, she is mostly an invisible gurl. One day she ends up involve in a murder. All clues lead to her somehow, but she is innocent, Sherlock is confused because they all point to her but that would be way too easy and he can read her easily, but he cannot say he is on her side because she is a big suspect! Even John thinks she did it. And slowly Sherlock starts falling for her and that's when he feels betrayed by his brain because his feelings are getting in the way and he starts believing she is the killer. He is mean to her, he breaks her heart and one day, all pieces fall into place that's when he realizes she is a victim. She even starts believing she did it. Maybe Moriarty is behind it.

#Sherlock #Reader x Sherlock #Sherlock x reader #sherlock x you #sherlock x y/n #Sherlock x y #sherlock bbc #Bbc Sherlock #Sherlock Holmes #sherlock holmes fluff #Sherlock Holmes fic #Moriarty #Sherlock Holmes angst

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strrynigghts · 1 year ago

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— series

— oneshots

#sherlock holmes #sherlock fandom #henry cavill sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes smut #sherlock holmes angst #sherlock holmes fluff #henry is so daddy idgaf #strry writes

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blackwidownat2814 · 7 months ago

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I loved this so much!!!!!

Thread of Gold | S. Holmes

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader

Summary: [Based on Invisible String - Taylor Swift] Now that they are back in each other's lives, it becomes increasingly difficult for either to conceal their affections.

masterlist - PART ONE

A/N: this is the second and final part :)

'One year', Y/n read, squinting as she held the letter up to her eyes. 'One full year working as a governess without giving any thought or time to your future.' She huffed and reluctantly skimmed through the rest of her mother's letter while taking slow steps back to the kitchen where Enola waited for her.

Y/n's mother was not the least bit happy after learning her daughter had taken on a governess position as opposed to participating in the social season. In fact, her ladyship was so livid she sent a letter almost every week for a year criticising her daughter's decisions and imploring her to return home.

Until then, all of her letters read the same. It was four pages of criticism followed by a two-page plea to consider the dishonour she was subjecting her family name to. However, this one was only a few pages. Y/n's mama spent the first two droning on and on about how it had been a year, which had little impact on Y/n. Ultimately, it was the last page that caused her to stop in her tracks so abruptly, it made a sound that echoed through the empty corridor.

'There is a gentleman', Lady Y/l/n wrote. Y/n looked over her shoulder to ensure no one was around before bringing herself to read on. 'A suitor who expressed interest in courting you in your previous season, that was before Mr Harridge proposed.'

Y/n could hardly remember him. She knew he was a tall man whose father worked alongside hers. That was all she could recall.

'I informed him your engagement to Mr Harridge was no longer, and he has expressed interest in asking for your hand."

She stumbled back until she felt the wall behind her. Clutching onto the wood panels, Y/n inhaled sharply, the air in the hallway grow thick and suffocating. Even so, she could not stop reading.

'Your father has invited him to Christmas dinner, as I assured him you would be returning,' she read. Her immediate response was to feel cross with her mama that she would make such promises without consulting her. However, reading the following lines softened her frown.

'I know you will be reluctant to return but, my dear, I beg of you to consider it. If not for the sake of our family name, then for the sake of your future,' her ladyship continued. 'You will not be Miss Holmes' governess for many more years and I fear when you are inevitably dismissed you will regret not returning.'

Y/n sighed, conflicted as to what she was to do next. She knew returning home was the sensible decision to make, but the mere thought of it brought searing pain to her chest. How was she to leave them? How was she to marry a man she did not care for when there was another who possessed every ounce of her affection?

She decided to give it more thought later in the evening when she was alone in her quarters and was free of any distractions. Standing tall, she returned to the kitchen to Enola who sat on a barstool waiting impatiently for her next lesson to commence.

The young girl's eyes lit up when Y/n returned until she quickly noticed her troubled expression. It was unlike her to be anything short of enthusiastic. Enola noticed the sheets of paper in one of her hands and the torn envelope in the other.

"Is that a letter, Y/n?"

"Yes," she jolted, realising she still had it. Before Enola could inquire further, Y/n shook her head and discarded the letter into the nearest waste bin. "But do not pay any mind to it. It was nothing important."

Having no reason to doubt her, Enola nodded and drew her attention back to the ingredients Y/n had laid out in front of her. She watched curiously as the woman then rummaged through the pantry before returning to the table with two round metal tins.

"Today you will learn how to bake and decorate a cake," Y/n announced, a playful grin growing evident on her face as she watched Enola grimace just as she expected.

"You cannot be serious," the young groaned.

"All week, we have spent our lesson time engaging in all the experiments you wanted to conduct," Y/n reminded her before gesturing outside to the bits of pumpkin scattered throughout the garden after exploding. "I have decided we should try and do something that won't shatter any of the windows."

"Is this why you dismissed the kitchen staff for the day?"

Enola recalled watching the cooks and scullery maid leaving the gates and being confused as to what Y/n was planning.

"They will return in time to prepare dinner," the older girl assured, rolling her eyes mockingly. Enola huffed.

"Y/n, I refuse to believe you expect me to stay in the kitchen when there is so much learn out there," she whined.

The woman chuckled and placed her hands on the young girl's shoulder. She had a habit of becoming irritable whenever she did not have her way. It reminded Y/n of another member of the Holmes family she knew quite well.

"But Enola," Y/n began, playfully mimicking the girl's whinging tone. "There is still so much to learn here."

"Did my brother put you up to this?" Enola asked with narrowed eyes.

Y/n scoffed, offended she would even think that would happen.

"I am your governess," the woman proclaimed. "Thus, it is I who decides what you learn and when you learn it. Not Sherlock."

"But, Y/n-"

"Mark my words, Enola Holmes, there will come a day where you will have to disguise as a scullery maid for an investigation," Y/n vowed. "And only then will you realise how useful it is to have an extensive skillset, even if it includes skills you do not care for."

The young girl sighed. Perhaps she had a point, and perhaps considering all she was able to learn from her in a year, she ought to place a bit more trust in Y/n teaching methods.

After hours of mixing ingredients and waiting for their cakes to be cooled enough to frost, Y/n showed Enola how to fill a piping bag and began instructing her on how to use it.

"Steady your hand, Enola," Y/n spoke softly. "The icing will appear more consistent if you do not tremble quite so much."

Though she was still irritated they were not doing outdoor activities like she hoped, Enola nodded and did her best to follow her governess' advice. Y/n grinned as she watched the young girl finish icing with impressive precision. After finishing, Enola slumped her shoulders and put the icing bag aside.

"Y/n, I still do not understand the point in teaching me this," she spoke honestly. It felt like a contradiction to everything she believed in. Principles she thought Y/n shared as well.

"It is called transferrable skills, my dear," she explained as they both stepped back and marvelled at the cakes they made. "You may not enjoy baking, but you have learned how certain ingredients react with one another. And you may not enjoy icing cakes, but you have practised steadiness and precision which..."

Y/n turned to face Enola with a grin, knowing she would be elated to hear what she had to say next.

"... Will prove useful to you when we conduct some dissections tomorrow," she finished.

Just as Enola's eyes lit up, the door to the kitchen swung open and their conversation was interrupted.

"I do hope you plan on doing that far away from where we store our food."

Sherlock smirked as he walked in and took his hat off. He should have been accustomed to the feeling of coming home to his sister and Y/n, but every time he did he felt his heart flutter rapidly inside his chest.

"Sherlock, we were not expecting you," Y/n spoke, confused as to what he was doing home when he was meant to be heading to London to meet with a new client.

"I had a change of heart," he answered vaguely. Y/n crinkled her brow in confusion, but Enola shared a knowing grin with her older brother.

Ever since Y/n became her governess, Enola could not help but notice how often her brother delayed returning to London all so he could continue spending his days pretending to read the papers and write letters to clients. She knew his attention was focused somewhere else on someone else.

"Well, in that case, you must try this cake I made," Y/n insisted before taking a fork and pulling out a bit from the cake Enola had just finished icing.

She held the fork up to him, expecting Sherlock to take it from her hand and eat the bit of cake. Much to Y/n's surprise and Enola's amusement, Sherlock leaned over slowly and ate the piece, his eyes never leaving hers.

He began smirking at her dumbfounded expression and the way her hand shook while she held up the fork, but his smile was short-lived when he began coughing, his mouth overcome by a bitter taste.

"Do you not like it?" Y/n asked worriedly.

"No, no!" Sherlock shook his head and force the vile cake down without so much as wincing. The last thing he wanted to do was insult Y/n's baking, despite it being clear there was much room for improvement. He gulped and forced a smile. "It is delicious."

He felt relieved when her worried expression faded, but he quickly found himself confused when she glanced at Enola who had been studying him closely. The two girls threw their heads back in fits of laughter, leaving Sherlock all the more puzzled.

"Enola made that cake," Y/n explained as she tried to catch her breath. He furrowed his brows, still lost as to what the source of amusement was. The woman shook her head and clarified. "She mistook the salt for sugar, hence the very bitter taste."

"But you said you made it," Sherlock stated.

"Only because she knew you would lie to her about how it tasted," Enola interjected. She laughed once more before turning to her governess. "You were right, Y/n. He does have a tell."

"I do not have a tell," he denied defensively.

Sherlock thought himself unreadable. While he could deduce an endless list of facts about a person, he took pride in the belief that he was not so easy to pick apart.

"That was precisely what I told Y/n, but she was adamant she could prove it," Enola said, a newfound excitement soaring through her because she finally knew something her all-knowing older brother did not.

"Well, now I am interested to know." Sherlock placed his hands on the edge of the kitchen table and leaned closer to Y/n.

She glanced at Enola who had a mischievous grin. Watching the two of them banter had been her primary source of entertainment for the past year. Y/n lifted her hand and slowly grazed her fingers along the bottom of his face.

"You tense your jaw after telling a lie."

He froze for a second, too entranced by her touch to remember to move. It was not until Enola and Y/n began laughing again that he stood straight and narrowed his eyes. Only then did he feel a cold sensation along the side of his face and realised Y/n had smeared cake frosting on him.

"Ah, so the two of you find this amusing?"

Without giving it a second thought, Sherlock reach out his hand and scooped a large chunk of the bitter frosted cake and ran around the table to where the girls stood. Y/n was quick to scurry, but Enola had little time to run before her smeared cake all along the left side of her face.

"Sherlock, you are acting like a child!" Y/n shrieked, clasping her hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter.

"You only say that because you have started a war you are unable to finish," he retorted, before scooping another handful and hurrying towards her.

Though Y/n managed to only just escape his wrath with the table in between them, Sherlock opted to do the unthinkable. He swung his arm and sent the cake in his hand flying until it plopped on Y/n's hair. Enola was the first to react.

"Was that a giggle I heard, Miss Holmes?" Y/n narrowed her eyes and attempted to look intimidating, which made the young laugh harder. When Y/n scooped a piece of cake and tossed it on Enola's head in retaliation, all trace of sensibility and decorum vanished.

The three of them scooped as much as they could hold and raced around the kitchen table trying to lob it at one another. Enola eventually found herself ducked beneath the table, laughing quietly to herself. Meanwhile, Sherlock wrapped an arm around Y/n and smeared the side of her face with a cake he held in his other hand.

"You will regret that, Sherlock!" Y/n scooped the last of the cake on both her hands before smearing it all along the sides of his face until it was covered completely in chocolate cake and white frosting.

Enola came out from under the table and fell into fits of laughter at the sight of her brother. With no more cake left to throw the three of them had nothing left to do but laugh at how ridiculous they looked.

"Enola, please go and wash as much of the cake off so you are not a sticky mess at the dinner table." Y/n chuckled as she guided the young girl out of the kitchen and watched her leave a frosting trail as she made her way down the hall.

When Y/n turned back around she watched as Sherlock struggled to blink with all the frosting covering his eyes. Though she found it most endearing and most amusing, she could not watch the poor man struggle any longer. Y/n silently approached him and gently wiped the frosting away from his eyes.

"Better?" She asked, chuckling beneath her breath.

"You are a terrible influence on us," Sherlock jested.

"I smeared the smallest bit of frosting on your face," she rolled her eyes. "You threw a piece of cake at my head from the other side of the kitchen."

They both laughed. Perhaps they were both influencing one another.

"I wonder how my brother would react if he caught wind of this," Sherlock smirked. Mycroft had no tolerance for improper behaviour. It was precisely why Sherlock always talked him out of visiting their home.

"Oh he would be livid," Y/n giggled. "Honestly, it is no wonder he found a match with Miss Harrison."

They visited just a few weeks ago to announce their engagement. Though it caught both Sherlock and Y/n by surprise, by the end of their meal it was clear to both that they were a match made in heaven.

"That reminds me," Sherlock began. "I will be in Nottingham next week, but I should return in time to accompany you and Enola to London."

Y/n scrunched her brows in confusion.

"What on earth are you referring to?"

"The wedding, of course," he answered.

"I was not aware I had been extended an invitation," Y/n admitted honestly. Sherlock's eyes widened, shocked she thought such formalities were necessary when her attendance was never in question. She simply shrugged. "Well, I thought the occasion was open only to close family and friends."

"That is precisely why you are expected to be there."

How she could have ever thought otherwise was beyond Sherlock. From where he stood, Y/n was a significant person in his life and that of his siblings. If not because of the year she spent with them, then it was because of all the years she spent before looking out for the three of them. Him, especially.

"Then... very well," she smiled.

Y/n wondered if she was reading too much into his words, but ultimately decided it did not matter. She had spent much of the past year feeling uncertain about where she stood amidst the Holmes family. Was she anything more than Enola's governess? At last, her worries were put to rest.

"Splendid," Sherlock chirped.

"I suppose I should clean the frosting off before the kitchen staff return to make dinner," she chuckled, before excusing herself and heading to her quarters.

Even after she left, he still found himself smiling. There was something about her presence and the effect it had on him. There was something about the way they had grown closer and closer over the course of her time working there. Something he was most grateful for.

Sherlock lifted his hands to his face and wiped off as much of the cake as he could before scanning the room for a waste bin. He spotted one just beside the table and went to scrape the frosting off his hands but froze when he saw a discarded letter.

He flicked the cake off his hands and reached down to retrieve the sheet of paper. It was the last page of Lady Y/n's long-winded letter to her daughter. Sherlock's nostrils flared when he read about the gentleman that was supposedly interested in asking for her hand. His stomach dropped when he read her mother's plea for her to return to their home.

Unable to read any further, Sherlock put the letter back into the bin and huffed, regretting ever retrieving the letter, to begin with.

***

A month passed and though Y/n was going about her governess duties, as usual, things were drastically different. Her eyes were not as bright and there was no bounce in her step. She dragged her feet across the Holmes estate haunted by the reminder that her days there was now numbered.

"Are you sure you want to leave, Y/n?"

Enola drew her arrow back and released it before turning to face her governess. She completely missed her target, but she was far too concerned about Y/n to care for it.

"I do not want to leave you, Enola," Y/n spoke sorrowfully. She sighed before walking over to the young girl who drew another arrow back with appalling technique.

She adjusts her elbow before stepping back. Enola slumped her shoulders before releasing the arrow. Another miss, but she was too distracted to try and improve her form.

"If you do not want to leave then why are you still going?"

Y/n frowned as she struggled to come up with a simple answer. How could she explain to Enola that while sitting in the chapel and witnessing Mycroft marry Miss Harrison, it dawned on her that her chances of experiencing marriage were fleeting? How was she to say that the longer she spent working at their home the more she feared for her future?

"It is complicated, Enola."

"I might be able to understand," she smiled weakly. "I have been told I am quite bright for my age."

"That you are," Y/n chuckled.

The two of them sunk down and sat cross-legged on the grass. As a light breeze picked up and swept over her cheeks, Y/n closed her eyes and did her best to find the right words.

"Enola, there will come a time when you will be faced with a difficult choice," she began. "Your emotions will sway you one way and your sense and logic will sway you another."

The governess sighed as her gaze returned to the Holme's family house and the window into Sherlock's window. Her emotions had always swayed her towards him, ever since the day they played out in the garden as young kids.

"I think I may have allowed my emotions to sway too many of my recent decisions," Y/n exhaled, allowing her shoulder to slump while lowering her head sheepishly. "And I fear if I let that continue... I will come to realise I have neglected my own well-being beyond the point of repair."

Though her explanation was vague, Enola had spent enough time with Y/n to pick up on the subtext, and she just knew her brother had a role to play in all of it. Even so, Enola felt a world's worth of sympathy towards the woman who put her life on hold just to spend a year teaching her about the world.

"I understand, Y/n. But, I must admit..." Enola turned to face her as her eyes glossed over and her bottom lip began to quiver. "I will miss you terribly."

"Oh, I will miss you too, Enola," Y/n cried, immediately standing up so she could hug the young girl properly. She gently stroked Enola's hair and sniffled. "Promise me you will be good for your next governess."

"Even if she is only half as smart as you?"

"If that be the case," Y/n smirked, pulling away and gently placing her hands on the sides of the young girl's face. "I trust you will bring her up to your speed."

Enola giggled before wiping her tears away. Y/n did the same before shaking off her sorrows if at least for the time being. She still had to tell Sherlock and that was sure to leave her in an even bigger mess of tears.

"Nonetheless, I am not leaving just yet," Y/n smiled, trying to lighten the mood. She still had a job to do, even if it were for another two weeks. "And you, my dear, are still in need of archery lessons. I will retrieve your arrows so you may try again."

While the woman paced to the other end of the field and searched for all four arrows, Enola saw her brother walking over. He stopped beside his younger sister and studied her closely.

"Your eyes are red," he stated, concerned. "Have you been crying?"

"Of course, I have been crying, Sherlock," Enola scoffed. She furrowed her brows and stared at him, puzzled. "How are you so composed when Y/n will be leaving in a matter of weeks?!"

His face fell immediately, as though the blood coursing through his veins came to an abrupt halt. Enola gasped beneath her breath, realising her mistake. She glanced between her now distraught brother and her still clueless governess, suddenly worried about the conflict that would arise.

Sherlock's heart thumped as he watched Y/n return to where they stood. It could not be, he told himself. After reading the letter from her mama, Sherlock's worries faded. He thought her disposing of the letter was a clear indication she never even entertained the idea of going home. Now, he was struggling to accept that she had a change of heart.

"Hello, Sherlock," Y/n chirped, smiling at the older Holme's sibling only to be completely ignored. She thought nothing of his indifferent reaction and turned her attention back to Enola. "Hold your elbow higher and do not slump your shoulders."

The young girl nodded before focusing on the apple hanging from the tree across the field. She released and missed the fruit narrowly, prompting her to let out a frustrated huff. Enola turned to Y/n in hopes she knew what went wrong, but her governess was preoccupied side glancing at her brother who was refusing to even look her way.

"Y/n?"

"Oh, sorry, Enola," Y/n jolted, before handing her the next arrow. "I suggest you change your stance and... do not release so hastily. Ensure you are satisfied with your aim before letting go."

Enola nodded and took a minute or so to correct her aim. The sudden breeze prompted her to hold still and wait.

All the while, Y/n stared ahead at the apple hanging from the tree, her train of thought riddled with questions as to why Sherlock was acting so strange. Had she done something wrong?

"Is it true you are leaving to accept a proposal of marriage?"

Sherlock spoke with such sudden aggression it caused Y/n to jump and Enola to unintentionally release her arrow and, surprisingly enough, hit the apple and bring it to the ground. The young girl turned to her governess, wondering if she saw what happened, but her eyes never left his. While she stared at him in horror, he was glaring back, his nostrils flared and temple creased.

"I hit the target," Enola spoke softly as she smile weakly, hoping it would ease the tension if even slightly.

The tension between the two adults grew thick and before either of them could say anything more, Y/n turned to Enola and gently place her hand on the small of her back.

"Enola, please go inside," Y/n whispered.

Though the young girl wanted to know what would happen next, she obeyed and took her bow with her back into the house. Once she was out of earshot, Y/n turned back to Sherlock who appeared to have gotten more agitated with each passing second.

"So it is true?"

Her guilty demeanour was all the answer Sherlock needed. His tone was no longer accusatory but blatantly angry. How could she leave Enola? Moreover, how could she leave him? Had he miscalculated the nature of their relationship entirely? Y/n narrowed her eyes pointedly.

"How did you know there was a proposal?"

Y/n deduced that Enola told him she was leaving, but the young girl was not aware of the proposal. In fact, Y/n made a point not to tell another soul about it, so there was only one way Sherlock knew.

"You read my letter," Y/n gasped, shocked he would do something so improper and invasive.

"I found it in the waste bin and assumed you had discarded both the paper and the notion of returning home," he defended.

"Well, you assumed wrong."

She felt her cheeks burn and her forehead crease and her conflicting emotions intensified. It pained her to have to tell the news to him, but the tone he was taking made her blood boil. Was she not allowed to act in a manner contrary to what he wanted and expected of her? Sherlock scoffed.

"What on earth are you doing, Y/n?" He shook his head disappointedly, which only infuriated her more. "Were you going to just leave without giving me any notice and return with-child in the spring as some lowly gentleman's wife?"

"You forget yourself, Mr Holmes," Y/n hissed. "I do not deserve spoken to with such an ill-manner, nor should I be expected to disclose personal information simply because you are upset."

"I see you are choosing to ignore my question," he retorted.

"Because it is ridiculous of you to react in such a way!"

He had every opportunity to express his affections for her openly and explicitly. 365 days, to be exact. Why was he so shocked at her decision to accept another's proposal while she had the opportunity? How could he feel so entitled to her time and her life?

"These past years have been wonderful," Y/n expressed honestly, before exhaling exasperatedly and meeting his gaze. "I cannot deny how much I've enjoyed working with Enola and... and with you, but this was bound to happen."

"Is that what you've convinced yourself?"

Sherlock scoffed with such confidence and disapproval. Y/n gritted her teeth and stepped closer to him, unwilling to succumb to any of his plain attempts at belittling her reasons.

"How a man with your intelligence can still be so ignorant continues to surprise me," she spat. "Sherlock... if I were to stay, what will happen when Enola comes of age and she ventures to fulfil her own pursuits and desires and when you inevitably return to London? Will I be left here alone and unemployed once again?"

Her last words were reminiscent of the time she watched his carriage leave for London hoping he would turn back to see her waving. He never did. Sherlock furrowed his brows, thinking back to that time but only for a split second, reminding himself he was not that person anymore.

"I would never-"

"Did you expect me to just serve you and your family until you no longer needed me around?" Y/n glowered.

"You know that is not true," he fired back.

"What I know," Y/n rebuked, "- is that there is a gentleman in my hometown who is willing to have my hand and has acted on his feelings because he understands how little time I have to spare on stolen glances and tense conversations."

It was all they had spent doing for the past year. Even in spite of her best attempts at communicating that she yearned for more. She could not contain her resentment any longer.

Sherlock's eyes widened his expression a mix of shock and hurt he quickly concealed with anger. His defensiveness overpowered both his better judgement and the voice in his head, warning him not to say anything he would quickly live to regret.

"If that is how you feel, Miss Y/l/n, I cannot understand why you ever agreed to take this position."

"I took it for Enola!" She shouted, before breathing heavily in silence and disclosing the entire truth. "... And for you! Because, despite how frustratingly difficult, stubborn and patronising you can be, I still find myself caring an awful lot for you and your family."

If only he knew the arguments she had with her mama when she accused her of being too involved in their lives. Y/n could hardly help herself. Back home, she had no one else to talk to aside from private tutors and other members of staff. The friendship and companionship she found with Sherlock and his siblings was a relationship she craved terribly.

"I find that very difficult to believe considering how easily you made the decision to leave me," he hissed, too overcome with emotions to realise what he was saying.

"Easy?!" Y/n repeated, widening her eyes. "You believe this decision was easy for me to make?"

She has spent so many hours and sleepless nights contemplating her decision, constantly haunted by the pain she would cause if she chose to go. Did he think her so heartless?

"Well, when exactly were you planning on telling me about it?"

"When I was certain you were not going to go absolutely ballistic like you are right now," Y/n answered. She hoped he would understand her reasons for leaving and be civil if not for her sake then for the sake of their now dwindling friendship.

"How do you expect me to react to the news that I will have to find a new governess for Enola in no less than a month?"

Sherlock tossed his hands up in frustration before turning his back to her and walking away. Y/n marched ahead of him and blocked his path, offended by the implication of his words.

"Do you mean to insinuate that your primary concern is that you will have to find my replacement before the new year?"

"It is my only concern, Miss Y/l/n," Sherlock spat, moving closer glaring down at her. "You are my sister's governess."

She was stunned by what he was trying to say. Though she tried to match his glaring gaze, the more his words settled the more suffocating the air around them felt. A lump grew in her throat as she mustered enough energy to test just how far he was willing to go.

""Is that all I am?"

"That is all you are to me," he answered swiftly, without even a second's hesitation.

Sherlock wanted to appear convincing, and to a degree he did. She was close to believing him, only she knew in the depths of her soul that the love she had for him was not unrequited. To make that fact even clearer to her, Y/n watched as he instinctively clenched his jaw immediately after speaking. She inched closer and narrowed her eyes.

"You are a terrible liar, Sherlock."

And that made it worse. To know he was willing to lie to her face about his feelings for her as punishment for doing what she thought was best for her. Y/n never knew a pain so wretched and so conflicting because, despite it all, she still loved him.

Sherlock gulped nervously and watched her leave him alone on the field while she headed inside without turning back. He sighed before sinking into the grass beneath him, unsure whether he could live with the consequences of what he had said.

***

The following weeks passed swiftly, but the tension between Y/n and Sherlock remained unchanged. It did not help that during those two weeks, neither spoke a single word to the other. After their argument, Sherlock went to London for 8 days. When he finally returned, he locked himself away in his study during the day and instructed the staff to send his food to him there.

Even when Y/n's uncle, Francis, arrived and loaded their carriage with her luggage, Sherlock remained in his study with the curtains closed and the door locked. Though she did not know what exactly she would do or say, she hoped he would come out and mutter a quiet goodbye.

Yet, when her uncle came back in and announced loudly that the carriage was ready to take them to the train station, the door remained shut. Y/n frowned and turned to face Enola whose cheeks were already damp.

"Oh Enola," Y/n murmured, pulling the girl into her arms and hugging her as tightly as she could. She gently patted her hair down and kissed the top of her head. It was nice to know at least one of the Holmes siblings was going to miss her.

After pulling apart, Y/n held the sides of the young girl's face and gently wiped her tears with her thumbs. Enola sniffled before meeting the woman's gaze.

"Promise me you will try to avoid jumping out of moving trains while I am gone," Y/n spoke softly. Enola giggled before nodding her head.

When silence befell the halls of the Holmes family house, Y/n instinctively glanced at the door to Sherlock's study. She sighed disappointedly.

"I suppose this is it," she muttered in disbelief.

He could not cast aside his ego for even a minute. Enola waved with sympathetic eyes as she watched Y/n and Francis leave the gates. When the horses began trotting along the road, she turned back, hanging on to the tiniest shred of hope he was chasing after them. She had never been so saddened to see nothing but an empty country road.

When the workers began closing the gate after Y/n's departure, Enola's nostrils flared as she stormed towards her brother's study.

She banged her fists against the door as aggressively as she could. When he still refused to answer, Enola, pulled out a specially bent nail she kept tucked beneath her bootstrap. Remembering Y/n's demonstration, Enola inserted the nail into the keyhole and jiggled it until it unlocked.

The door swung open and Enola walked in cautiously, her expression growing more and more concerned with each step. Sherlock's study, once an immaculately kept room looked as though a hurricane had blown through. Then there, sitting at his chair with his head in his hands was a now rugged, bearded and sullen-eyed detective.

"Sherlock?"

Enola almost questioned if he was a different man entirely. She walked around his desk and stood beside him, unsure what exactly was going through his mind.

"Has she left already?"

His voice was timid and croaky, a true testament to how distraught he was. However, when he lifted his head looked his sister in the eye, he appeared expressionless.

Enola furrowed her brows. Though she hated to see her brother so distraught, she refused to ignore how cruel he was being to a woman who cared about him too much for her own good.

"Why did you not stop her?"

Sherlock huffed before turning to his desk where a damp glass and an almost empty bottle of rum rested. He poured the last of it out.

"She made the decision to leave," he muttered groggily, lifting the glass to his lips. "I was merely respecting it."

Enola scoffed, snatching the glass away before he could sip. She poured the liquor out on the floor in front of her but resisted the urge to slam the glass against his stupid desk.

"Though not enough to say goodbye to her?"

Sherlock inhaled sharply, knowing his sister made a fair point. She watched as he let out what she could only assume was a quiet sob.

"I wouldn't have been able to bear it," he admitted sorrowfully, running his hand over his mouth and the stubble that had grown.

Enola sighed before placing a hand on his arm and bobbing down until they were at eye level. She thought back to her conversation with her former governess on the grass just outside her home.

"Y/n told me that there comes a time in life where you will be faced with a choice. Your heart will sway you one way and your head will sway you another."

Before he could begin to understand what she meant, Enola stood back up and reach for the nearest sheet of paper she could reach.

"You, my dear idiotic brother," she sneered, taking the rolled-up newsletter and whacking the back of his head. "- have spent far too long listening only to your logic."

Sherlock rubbed the back of his but felt an impending urge to chuckle. Y/n clearly left a significant impression on his sister, who had otherwise never spoken ill of him. That was always Y/n's forte.

Enola kissed her teeth in annoyance. They did not have the luxury of sitting around and reminiscing. Not when Y/n was getting closer to the station with every passing second.

"Sherlock," she cried out, placing her hand on his shoulders though resisting the urge to shake him about wildly. "Do you believe Y/n is a person worth fighting for?"

He nodded once, then quickly realised what he needed to do just that. He needed to fight. Not a moment later, the detective was rising from his chair and donning his coat and hat before racing out the door, his sister trailing closely behind him.

However, their feet came to a sudden halt when they looked around their empty lawn. Sherlock cursed beneath his breath kicking the rocks on the ground in frustration. With no carriage insight, they had no way of getting to the station before Y/n's train left.

"We will never make it in time," Sherlock grumbled.

He turned to his sister whose eyes landed on the two bikes resting against the front gate. She turned back to him with a grin.

"That is all a matter of perspective."

With no other viable option, Sherlock found himself pedalling his old bike he last rode when he was a mere child. They had barely made it past the gate when he started to struggle.

"Sherlock, you'll need to pedal faster or we will never make it in time," Enola shouted.

"Well, you will have to excuse me if I'm finding it difficult to pedal a bike I rode when I was 12," he rolled his eyes, growing frustrated with his bike, his sister and himself.

Enola huffed and tried to think of a way to improve their chances of reaching the station. Luckily, she and Y/n had spent several afternoons riding around their local area and discovering hidden paths and shortcuts. It took her a matter of seconds to think of a shortcut that went downhill to account for Sherlock's inability to pedal his bicycle.

Unfortunately, Enola overestimated her brother's ability to steer and underestimated how narrow and winding the shortcut was. The first time they tumbled over and went rolling through a muddy field, she suspected Sherlock would count his losses and preserve his dignity.

When she watched him stand up after each fall and continue to ride the bicycle despite being covered in grass clippings, mud and faint bruises, Enola knew she had underestimated just how much he cared for Y/n.

The 9am train was boarding and Y/n felt her feet drag as she reluctantly approached the entrance door. Her uncle Francis stepped into the train carriage and held his hand out to his niece. She raised her and made one step in until she heard the one voice she had been missing for weeks.

"Stop!"

Y/n stepped back and turned to see where the voice came from, her eyes widening when she saw Sherlock pushing past several people with Enola following closely behind him. She gasped quietly, unable to fully believe he was in fact chasing after her.

"What on earth are the two you doing here?"

The siblings stopped when they finally reached her, both of them huffing from all the running they had just done. Francis stepped onto the platform and watched with a silent grin. About time, he thought to himself.

Y/n scrunched her brows in confusion when she noticed the grass in both their hair and the mud that stained Sherlock's clothes and covered parts of his face.

"And why do you both look like you have been tumbling through the garden?" she added, stepping forward and pulling a small twig out from Enola's now tangled and frizzed hair.

Before she could step back, Sherlock's hand reached for hers and Enola stepped aside so that he could finally face her. Y/n's breath hitched, curious as to what he had to say now that he was finally acknowledging her presence.

"Y/n, I am sorry," he spoke sincerely, throwing caution to the wind and finally allowing his feeling to surface. "I have been acting so incredibly foolish and childish in these past two weeks."

"That you have," Y/n muttered, maintaining a disapproving expression yet also a firm grip on his trembling hands.

"I know I should not have read the letter and I should not have lied to you about what you were to me," he added ashamedly.

Sherlock knew the second Y/n called him a terrible liar that he would live to regret what he had done and said. It was not long before the guilt ate away at him to the point where he could not bear to face her and resorted to locking himself in his study.

"The truth is, the two years I spent alone in London was absolute torture," he explained. "I had everything I thought I had wanted: the independence, the career and all the mysteries I could possibly want to solve. Yet, it was not until I saw you again that I realised what I had been missing all along."

A companion. A partner who knew just how to bruise his ego, who made life all the more vibrant and more interesting and who knew his every flaw and every shortcoming yet, by some miracle, loved him still.

"I am so sorry, Y/n," Sherlock sighed. "And I will do everything it takes to earn your trust and forgiveness. I will spend the rest of my life doing so if need be, but please, I beg of you..."

He inhaled sharply as his grip on her hands grew firmer. Y/n's heart had been racing the entire time she had been listening, only coming to a sudden stop when Sherlock spoke in a quiet whisper.

"Don't go."

He gazed at her intently, hoping he had done enough to change her mind. She felt tempted to give in but resisted.

"Why, Sherlock?" Y/n asked quietly, knowing Sherlock was right at the precipice of saying what she had always wanted to hear from him.

"You know why," he replied.

Though it was unspoken, Sherlock knew it was always mutually understood that they cared for each other greatly, in ways that went beyond the mere friendship they once had in the past.

"Yes, but..." Y/n let out a small smile. "- I’d like to hear you say it."

Sherlock breathed deeply, hoping to still his racing heart. He had spent so long denying his affections for her than an entire year trying to conceal it. Now he was trying to muster the courage to outright say it.

"Iloveyou," he expressed rapidly, too anxious to notice how fast he had spoken.

It was not until he heard snickering from Enola and Francis that he realised. Y/n raised a brow and smirked, satisfied with the fact that he finally said, even in an almost incoherent rush. However, Sherlock was not satisfied. He needed to be sure she knew.

"I...I love you, Y/n," he repeated firmly. "And I know am difficult, prideful and stubborn, and you are deserving of so much more... but I have let you go once before and I will not sit idly and allow it to happen again. Not without fighting for at the very least a chance."

"A chance at what?" Y/n asked, eyebrows raised and gaze narrowed in amusement. She slipped her hands away from his and place them on the edges of his shoulders.

"At subjecting you to a destiny of tolerating my ego until death do us both part," Sherlock smirked.

Y/n laughed as she fondly recalled when she said those very words to him in an insult at the gala for the London mapmaker society. It did not sound quite as daunting as it did that night.

In fact, after hearing him apologise and express his affections to her, Y/n thought it a particularly favourable notion.

Unable to wait another moment, she linked her fingers behind Sherlock's neck and leaned into his embrace. Sherlock placed his hand on her upper back and held her close, feeling all the more relieved when the 9am train finally left the station.

For his beloved was staying with him.

***

The man turned around and smiled at the woman behind him, tightening his grip on her hand and keeping a close eye on where she stepped as she exited the train. The girl, who had been waiting close to an hour for their arrival raced towards the couple, her arms stretched out as wide as she could, pulling them both into her embrace.

"It is so lovely to see you again Enola," Y/n exclaimed.

The girl stepped back and gasped when she realised how much her former governess had grown. Y/n rubbed her abdomen gently and giggled, having already grown accustomed to such reactions. Sherlock lifted his wife's hand to his lip and kissed her knuckles affectionately before stepping away to organise a carriage.

Enola grinned as she watched the exchange. She had never seen her brother so happy. Turning back to her sister-in-law, Enola's eyes were drawn to the elegant pendant she wore.

"You have a beautiful necklace, Y/n."

She raised her hand to her chest and smiled gratefully, remembering all she went through to not only retrieve it but to finally inherit it. Perhaps she would tell Enola all about it after dinner at her parent's estate, in exchange for a story of what happened to her after jumping out of the train.

As the two of them continued down the platform, Y/n scanned the station and felt her breath hitch when she saw a familiar woman. She narrowed her eyes, trying to be sure it was the same woman and raced towards her the moment she was certain.

"Agatha."

The older woman looked up from her table with a knowing grin. She had been expecting the younger woman's arrival, and not a moment too soon. Agatha stood from her seat and smiled warmly.

"Miss Y/l/n," she chirped before observing how different the younger woman looked compared to the last time they spoke. Agatha smirked. "I see you did in fact have a change of luck,"

Y/n furrowed her brows, confused as to what she meant until she remembered. When Agatha studied the lavalier she wore, Y/n swiftly recalled the signs she had been given and found herself dumbfounded.

The field of daffodils Enola landed in after jumping out of the train; the necklace she lost and had to work with Sherlock to retrieve; the cartographers at the gala they attended while pretending to be a couple and the apple Enola used as a target during the archery lesson cut short due to her and Sherlock's argument.

All of the signs she never paid any mind to were always there, guiding her down the path that led to her husband. Y/n chuckled.

"So it appears even sceptics cannot escape their destiny."

Agatha laughed, fondly recalling several readings she gave to Y/n despite her vocal scepticism. After wishing her well, Agatha walked past and approached a young girl sitting along on another bench. Y/n returned to Enola and Sherlock who stood waiting at the other end of the platform, but not without slipping the last of the coins she had in her purse into the glass jar Agatha kept at her table.

By the time Y/n reached the carriage, Enola was already seated inside while Sherlock held the door open with the doting smile he wore every day since his wedding. She grinned as she approached him. Perhaps she would tell him about the signs she had been given during an evening stroll through her mother's garden when it was just the two of them.

When the horses began trotting, Y/n found herself unable to stop smiling. The last time she was in her hometown, she was facing an impending uncertainty as to how her future would unfold. Now, years later, she felt a newfound appreciation for the way her life had unravelled and for the greater force that pulled her closer to the arms of the man she had loved for so long, like a mystical thread of gold.

Or an invisible string.

asked to be tagged:

@identity2212 @dangeritems

#Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock Holmes x you #Sherlock Holmes x reader #Sherlock Holmes x female reader #Sherlock Holmes angst #Sherlock Holmes fluff #Sherlock Holmes fanfiction

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icecreambeach · 3 months ago

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anyone else get occasionally assaulted by thoughts of holmes and/or watson dying in sussex? like, maybe one day, when they are both very old, holmes wakes up to watson in his arms and he knows right away. he genuinely believed he would be the first to go. he steps downstairs and lights up a pipe. he stands there for a long time. he writes a few letters and sends them out. he walks around the house, observing everything. then he goes outside to sit near the bees. he listens to their soft humming and passes away in the sunshine.

or, one day, when they are both very old, watson comes back from the village to see holmes asleep in his chair. he knows right away. he genuinely believed he would be the first to go. he sobs and sobs and sobs. he writes letters by candlelight. then he writes more. he writes until he has nothing left to say. then he goes out and sits by the bees, who are all silent. he passes away under the moon.

#LISTEN #I KNOW #I HAVE A PROBLEM #genuinely feel like i should trigger warning this because the impulsive thoughts should be giving ME trigger warnings #trigger warning: death #trigger warning: maximum old man yaoi angst #i am very sorry #i just need to exorcise whatever demon this is #also #i love pain #in shambles #sherlock holmes #john watson #acd holmes #acd johnlock #sussex retirement

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tremendously-crazy · 6 months ago

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The reason we never see a Sherlock Holmes mystery narrated by Holmes where Watson is actually there is because Holmes would ONLY talk about Watson the entire time

#sherlock holmes #acd holmes #acd sherlock holmes #john watson #acd john watson #acd johnlock #holmes/watson #he would ONLY talk about him #like have you seen how he talks about him #when he's NOT EVEN IN THE STORY #i wish we couldve seen a holmes narrated story with watson though #im devastated that we never got one #its always just angst about how watson deserted holmes or something

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holmosexualitea · 30 days ago

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I'm a fool; I'm just a man If I only could hold you again... - "Wait by the River", Lord Huron

#sherlock #johnlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes #art #john watson #sherlock fanart #fanart #sherlock art #my art #the reichenbach fall #angst

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blackwidownat2814 · 1 year ago

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I know me thinking that some Victorian customs are ridiculous, but people thinking it's inappropriate to be sleeping in the same bed as your spouse is absolute crazy-banana sandwich.

Also, Sherlock shouldn't accept Mrs. Demeter's apology. Her ass should be fired...IMMEDIATELY.

Mrs. Sherlock Holmes (2)

Summary: Your marriage starts rocky.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Wife!Reader

Warnings: shy reader, fluff, getting to know each other, implied innocent reader

A/N: A collection of drabbles on how you became Mrs. Sherlock Holmes.

Mrs. Sherlock Holmes (1)

Mrs. Sherlock Holmes masterlist

“She was small, but strong,” while you describe your attackers to Lestrade, Sherlock won’t leave your side. He stands behind you, his hands on the backrest of the chair you’re sitting on.

“Can you describe her features? Her hair and clothes maybe,” Inspector Lestrade asks as he looks at your husband for confirmation to interrogate you.

“I got something better.” You shove your sketchbook toward the Inspector. He thumbs through the sketches you drew. “You’re quite talented, Mrs. Holmes.”

Your cheeks heat up when Lestrade looks at a drawing of your husband.

“You can draw?” Sherlock locks at the drawing, wondering what else he doesn’t know about you.

“It’s nothing…I…only do it when I’m alone and got nothing else to do. Mrs. Demeter won’t let me anywhere near the kitchen, or the garden. So, I draw from my memory.”

“Impressive, Mrs. Holmes,” Lestrade exclaims as he looks at the drawing of the woman running into you. “You got her features, even her eyes.”

“My thank you, Inspector,” you try not to squeal in joy when he looks at the drawing of your attacker in awe. “This is too kind of you.”

“You’re very talented,” Sherlock places his hand on your shoulder, making your heart flutter at the compliment. Hearing it from Lestrade was nice, but your husband’s praise means so much more to you. “We should get you more drawing utensils.”

“Sir, that’s kind of you but,” you shy away from your husband, and drop your gaze as the Inspector looks at you, “I don’t need more.”

Sherlock clears his throat, disappointment barely hidden on his features. You seem to pull away anytime he tries to do something nice for you.

“We will discuss this later. If I want to spoil my wife, I’ll do it.”

Lestrade drops his eyes to the drawing of your attacker again. “Mrs. Holmes, can I take the drawings of them with me?”

“Oh, of course, Inspector. You can keep them if it helps you find them,” you carefully remove the pages from the sketchbook.

“Have a look around, Precious. I want you to choose all the utensils you’ll need for drawing.” You know he means well, but you don’t want to be in public after you get attacked and feel uneasy as everyone seems to watch Sherlock walk you around.

“Sir…can we go back home? I don’t need anything,” you murmur, not daring to speak any louder.

“Are you unwell,” Sherlock asks and dips his head to look at you. “We can get the utensils later. I want you to have everything you wish for.”

You don’t dare tell him that all you want is his attention and for Sherlock not to leave you alone at the large house. ��I’d love to go home, Sir.”

“Precious, please stop calling me Sir,” he whispers in your ear. “You’re my wife now, call me Sherlock. I want us to get to know each other better. In any way.”

Heat floods your face. Your cheeks feel hot, and you make an odd noise. “In any way,” you whisper and touch your hot cheek. "I-I..." You don't know what to say, so you nod and let him guide you toward the carriage waiting for you.

“Sir, Mr. Holmes,” Mrs. Demeter follows your husband around the house. He insisted on sharing his bedroom with you since you got robbed, and she’s not having it. “This is inappropriate! She should sleep in her room! Your wife needs to know her place!”

He raises his voice. “I let you get away with your behavior far too long. Mrs. Holmes and I are married. She’s my wife. You’ll pay her the needed respect, or you are dismissed.”

“You want to let me go?” She asks. “I took care of you for almost ten years. I helped you when you came home drunk or showed all the women you brought home the way out. She’s no different.”

“I think you forgot your place! NEVER,” he yells now and towers over Mrs. Demeter, “compare my sweet and innocent wife with the wenches I brought home to satisfy my needs. I won’t have it!”

You are fast asleep, unaware of the things he throws at the head housekeeper. He storms off, huffing as she follows him. Mrs. Demeter repeatedly apologizes and begs him not to release her from her duty.

“Get out of my sight! I’ll consider accepting your apology in the morning.” Sherlock storms upstairs, panting heavily. He stops in front of his bedroom, taking deep breaths to not scare you.

Sherlock closes his eyes and imagines your face as he tries to control the anger he feels. No, not just anger. There is a beast inside of him telling him to finally claim his bride, but he cannot treat you like all the women he had before you.

"I need to do this right..."

You stir in your sleep, but he shushes you. “Sleep. I need you well rested when we meet my brother and sister. It’s going to be an exhausting day.”

“Sherlock?” You murmur.

“Precious and so sweet,” Sherlock whispers as he moves closer to press a soft kiss to your temple. “Tempting too.” He nuzzles his face in your neck. “I’m going to taste your sweetness soon, my love.”

Tags in reblog.

#Series: Mrs. Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock Holmes x you #Sherlock Holmes x reader #Sherlock Holmes x female reader #Sherlock Holmes angst #Sherlock Holmes fanfiction #Henry Cavill characters

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futureplayboibunnie · 2 years ago

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‘Angel’

Sherlock x fem!reader

-tehehehe. this one has been sitting in my drafts for ages but i know how thirsty y’all are for more smutty sherlock fics so here u goooo. this one is a lil angsty too. you know the drill. enjoyyy xx

You didn't want to stroke Sherlock's ego to admit you felt special- so you simply didn't. For a reason still unattained, he'd continue his openly obnoxious hubris and unexplainable nature by asking you to travel away with him. Sherlock was insistent it was for a case, he needed your inexplicable prowess when it comes to interacting with other humans- something he hadn't really learned to get down pat yet, he disguised it as needing another detective on the case but it did raise your eyebrow when John wasn't the first person he came to.

Did that make you special in his eyes too?

You didn't know. You didn't care. It was difficult to differentiate.

Now you were in a hotel room with Sherlock fucking Holmes, expensive and paid for with Mycroft's blood money. At least the room had two beds but it was connected through a shared kitchenette, so you'd have to interact with him in such a comfortable state eventually. The case was closed, this was the last night you had here with him and you didn't like that it went by quickly, too quickly. Time slipped through your fingers like grains of sand seeping like tears during a breakdown. You were panicking and you hated yourself for it, you were just like Sherlock Holmes in the way that you never let anyone get close.

But he was.

And you didn't like it.

Sherlock utlised this time he spent with you to find out who you really were, to understand how it was so difficult to pry any information out of you - there were some fairly easy things to spot when he conducted his initial deduction of you, assessing the equation of you in his analytic mind. You were isolated. Intelligent when you wanted to be. Bold. A risk taker. Expressionless. Good at retaining a blank face. Awful in relationships. Attractive. Strangely magentic. He didn't like not understanding why he was drawn to someone in a way, was it because he felt as if you were akin to him? Leading the same life of risk taking in order to absolve the…loneliness?

It irked him.

Who were you? It felt like he was looking for something else under this hard shell you had.

It was cloudy grey, dark, aphotic. Crepuscular in the rayless shared space of the kitchen. You shouldn't be awake, not this late- but if you went to bed then it would be tomorrow...the day of your departure. Not being able to find another opportunity to be this close to him, ever. It would be too long winded to go about understanding why you felt this strange swelling bloom inside your body when you thought of Sherlock but all you knew is that you felt miffed by it. You didn't want to feel any type of way torwards him. Was satiating your need to be cured of this ailment for better or for worse? Staring out into this hell casted abyss, you just pondered upon these thoughts that plagued your head- amplified only by these last few days you spent with him. You sat at the dining table, trying to bridle the inane nature of your conviction. Attempting to sleep was out of the question, your last endeavour proved to be fruitfuless.

Is this what feeling...helpless feels like?

Sherlock noticed that he didn't hear those fated footsteps to your room, it's because you weren't even in bed- you were wilting alone, sitting at the dining table moping.

He was just like you though, wondering how to drag this out...make you stay so he could work you out. He hadn't gotten anywhere, you needed to give him a little bit of direction, some oversight- you were impossible to solve. Probably blinded by his own unwillingness to get to the heart of it all: he had to remember he didn't have one.

He wandered out of his room, padding aimlessly to find you; he didn't even get changed out of his own clothes, he just discarded of his blazer jacket.

Sherlock observed you as he entered your air, cool breezy blue thinning at the sight of you all but illuminated by the pale moonlight hitting every single picturesque feature. He knew that beauty was merely a construct created by childhood impressions and representations but you were undeniably entreating, tempting, engaging. You were right in front of his eyes, too real to be considered a measly construct. So incredible in your stance. He was in boundless awe of you, his face would never express it though.

Sherlock gazed at you as he went to get a glass of water from the sink, an excuse to be out here talking to you; but Lord was he entranced by your body, your skin. You had never showed it off so freely before, you worse a short silk nightdress with thin straps that kept falling off of your shoulders; you insessantly kept dragging them back up and he had to surpress the urge to just keep the straps down...or better yet just peel the annoying fabric off of you. He had to shake his head of the laviscious thoughts swirling, it was crowding his brain and he had to be free of it.

‘’Last night here.’’ You stated impassively, unsure of why you were running your mouth to the man that filters others words like it was second instinct.

‘’I doubt you've missed London already.’’ Sherlock replied, a slight judgement in his cadence.

‘’No.’’ You swivelled your head to look him in the eye, voice low and face hard.

All you could see was Sherlock, so confident it was a natural prospect- standing there hollowed eyed as he rolled up the sleeves to his button down, you don't think you'd ever seen him do that before. Get himself messy. Your gaze was brutal yet expressionless, it was an impossible combination and he was too preoccupied to get into it now. For once, Sherlock didn't know what to say. The silence in the room was fattening up with every moment that passed.

‘’Why am I here Sherlock?’’ You asked him sincerely, inquisitively, eyes slightly tensing with every word.

He took a beat before he responded. ‘’Because I don't who you are. And I'm no where near close to figuring it out.’’

‘’You can't see what's right in front of you?’’ You tilted your head.

‘’No. I can't. Give faith to me.’’ Sherlock's eyes daren't waver from yours as he implored you to make him understand.

You paused for a moment, hoping your mouth, brain and heart will all catch up but they never did. Severely fucked didn't cover the half of it.

‘’What do you think of me now?’’ You asked softly, breath warm and frigid. You looked candid and earnest and Sherlock didn't know how to start on this impossible question.

How could he? He stood stoic as he stilled at your interrogation.

Sherlock watched your lips part as you tried to suck your exhales back in, your mouth was distracting him- losing focus with every millisecond and he felt his inhibitions leave him like the fast colours of the wind.

‘’I think you being here in front of me right now makes me feel destitute and defenseless.’’

‘’Good.’’ You stated simply, covertly proud of yourself- denying him the privilege of seeing you surprised, you didn't want to be predictable like everyone else.

‘’Good?’’ Sherlock was taken aback by your response. You thought it was a good thing to get him all teeming? He was practically losing his mind over you and you thought it was good?

It wasn't. His mind was his sanctuary, his palace, his temple and you were wrecking his entire worldview. Sherlock was irritated by your carefree exchange, your sheer untroubled attitude provoked him and part of his consciousness was begging to grab you and fuck you over the table to never even think of dismissing him like that again.

‘’You're delicate Sherlock, don't let me be the one to break you. Especially when we've only got one night left here. It's not worth it….is it?’’ Your voice was like velvet, smooth and slow like honey.

Sherlock creased his brow as you looked down upon him once more, he detested it and he felt his insides jump and churn at your disposition.

Sherlock? Breakable? Absolutely not. He wanted to show you, feel your skin and feel you shatter beneath him. Is it worth it? It'll end badly but he was too drunk off of you to jump into the events of the future and it's consequences. You were worth it. Yes. You were.

After letting the words settle into the air for a while, you got up with a sharp exhale and started trodding off back into your room. ‘’Goodnight.’’ You mumbled as you brushed passed him but Sherlock couldn't let you leave. He caught onto your arm with heavy lidded eyes and watched your face harden into a motionless blank, you gasped as he tugged you flush into him and to your surprise you let him. Shamelessly.

‘’It is. It is worth it. I haven't figured you out yet and I will. But for now, all I know is that you're a siren, hellbent on trying to disarm me and I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to take you. Right here. Right now.’’ Sherlock grunted as he leaned into your ear, his intonation alone sent a shiver through you and it echoed through your insides.

He was gruffer than you initially thought. Eyes bottomless and dim, a pit you could find yourself getting lost in over and over again. But this was the last night.

‘’Sherlock, I'm afraid you might be…shatterable and I don't want to be soft.’’ You warned him with a deviant look on your face.

He wanted to see what it looked like when he made you feel so good you drew blood from his back.

Sherlock had never had anyone questioning his durability before- it was�� refreshing. A unique change of pace. His fingers danced on the outskirts of your neck as they slowly threaded through your hair, you let out a shaky breath as he cradled your head- his grasp tight.

‘’I never am.’’ He muttered as he captured your lips with his.

Kissing him was just brutal and magical, a brawl between mouths and the break of the bubbling tension that seemed to go on forever. He tasted...untouched. You felt so damn special, and only now you were willing to admit it. Sherlock's tongue delved into your mouth, exploring, seeking, probing for an inch- to step further into your psyche by feeling you physically. A million questions fell through his mind.

What the fuck was he thinking?

Why does it feel so wrong?

But feel so damn good?

Who were you?

Why were you making him feel so helpless?

So fucking beautiful...so fucking bewitching. It'll be his inevitable undoing. The cause of his violent destruction. You bit his lip and tugged it back before breathing out, thoughts running rampant at the speed of sound as his hold didn't loosen.

‘’Tell me you want me and I'll get on my knees for you. I just need to hear you say it.’’ Your eyes were glistening and dark, wicked and unforgiving- timeless and imploring him to say what you needed to hear, you didn't care if it was real or not.

All he did was just stare at you vacantly...yet intently. Thumb travelling to the smooth skin of your cheek and lower lip, brushing the magic that danced on your lips away in the process, making this dream all too real.

‘’Baby, you don't have to do that. You’ll get a taste of how much I want you. ’’ Sherlock cooed sincerely, face dipping to the column on your neck and your jaw, peppering soft kisses as a means of reassurance. Part of him wanted to make such slow sweet love to you, in a way a normal, banal, disgusting couple would do but you were so eager and ready to go- you didn't want him to be soft.

‘’Let me just feel you. I want to feel you. I think I've been torturing myself over it. Please.’’

You stared at him momentarily before your mouth devoured his again, your fingers carding through the tufts of soft black curls as tongues twisted together beautifully.

Sherlock started walking you to the dining table again, grabbing you by the waist and sitting you down on it as he stood inbetween your legs. You were almost embarrassed by the way you were pulsating and soaked already. Sherlock's curious and insatiable hands travelled the expanse of your back, smoothing out the silk that covered you and teased the straps of the babydoll too. He liked you in silk, it flattered you perfectly.

Sherlock's free hand outlined and palmed at your thighs, they were soft in the areas he didn't leave goosebumps- he smirked into your kiss at the idea he affected you so. You grasped his head so he could nip and suck at the high point of your tits, near your heart.

‘’I think I fancy you.’’ You breathed, tongue flinging out words you wouldn't be able to take back, already salivating at the prospect that he wants to fuck you.

The whole idea made Sherlock stop in his tracks, the sentence was jarring and so comforting- he somehow thought it was all in his head but you saying those words brought him to a halt. Oh, darling. If only you knew how bad you would both be for each other. Two entirely closed off people, so emotionally distant and incapable of being in a relationship. To provide further evidence, the first thing he caught about you was that every single relationship you had you would always be bad at it.

‘’Don't drool.’’ He demanded coldly, completely ignoring your admission of honesty. He'll deal with it later even though it commanded his emotions in the present.

Sherlock peeled the fabric off of you, pleased to find your bare and naked body beneath it. You perched yourself back as you watched him fawn over you, his large hands palming at your tits and travelling to the dip of your waist. He perked up to your incessant squirming when his head bent down and dipped to your heat, Lord you smelled so inviting.

You tried to bite back the moans he illicited out of you when he started kissing your skin, he was so close in the area you needed him to be but he was obviously enjoying drawing it out for you- almost as if he didn't want it to end. When his lithe muscle finally reached home, you were sure you saw stars as he ate you out like a man starved of a meal. Like a lion at any form of meat. He loved the way your back arched and the way you tugged onto his hair that much harder.

‘’Sherlock…You...I- I've wanted you so bad, it's clouded my clear thinking.’’ You admitted in a fucked out haze, his tongue making you feel so good it made you delve into all of your dirty secrets of him. You were afraid that you would admit that the night previous you fucked yourself with your fingers playing make pretend that it was him. Now it was really happening.

Sherlock stopped his ministrations and peered up at you, his lips glazed with your wetness, those blue eyes a light cast in the darkness. He was rather excited and that was apparent by the way his lips found yours again.

‘’You taste. So. Fucking. Sweet.’’ He grunted between rough kisses, so hard on your soft flesh you were sure he would draw blood if he would be so careless.

The idea piqued at you. Sherlock...careless. One day that'll happen. And you'll be right there when it does.

You tasted yourself off his tongue and you hated that he was right, all of these flavours coming together to form a patterned myraid. Sherlock swallowed your moans, those lewd noises he could never be able to phase or drown out, his need for you amplified tenfold.

He pushed you back down roughly before unzipping his pants and tugging his impossibly hard cock, you waited in expressionless awe your mouth open agape like a fool as you waited for him to just fuck the melancholy and mopiness out of you. Sherlock gazed at you intently, fixed on every jerk your body made when he stroked himself at the sight of you- his teeth sunk into his bottom lip when his brows furrowed.

He aligned himself with your glistening pussy with a kiss between the valley of your tits to your collarbone, you lifted his head up so you could take him in through all of his glory and when he pushed himself in you...it was as if it was only you and him left in the world.

It felt delectable. The push and pull. The strain. The delayed gratification. He slid in and out of you so easily, your bodies merging together as one as he set a brutal pace that only a person with a libido like him could create. You couldn't help but gawk up at him dumbly, what could you say? He got you all bendy and incoherent. All inarticulate and tongue tied.

‘’What is it baby? Can't think properly already?’’ Sherlock scrutinised but you couldn't care less- all you could think about was his constant pet names. He called you baby twice now, it made an unfamiliar feeling swell in your chest. You bit his lip again at his insult.

‘’Don't be so righteous. You can't figure me out, remember?’’You flirted and you were pleased to find that you caught him out.

‘’How proper of you.’’ He said gruffly, obviously annoyed that he still had to solve this puzzle of you, like a never ending equation that just couldn't be ammended. You felt your brain turn into mush and your body whirr as he just kept up his never ending torture: so fast, so good, so painful...perfect. Stretching you out entirely to accomodate his massive size, but he got you so wet it was an ease. Sherlock sensed the thrumming of your heart, it's pace kicking into a noticeable overdrive as sweat dripped down your body and pants encompassed the dim room. You were feeling shameful at the idea that he could make you cum this quickly and at this point you were sure anything else could set you off

You were proven to be right.

‘’Angel...’’ Sherlock cooed at you and the use of another pet name made you spiral into an endless pit of oblivion.

Your scream caught in your throat, so you let out a strangled cry for mercy instead as you came undone around him. Lungs caving as you gushed whatever energy you had left onto him, hands clawing at his back to make him realise the fate he set within you.

You came so hard around him Sherlock was struggling to fuck you through your orgasm; Christ, how long have you went without a fuck? How long has it been since you actually came? He didn't have it in him to figure out the logistics, all he was concerned with was how he felt the coil within him break. Sherlock let out a gutteral groan as he finished inside of you, completely and utterly spent and tweaked by how tired you got him; he pulled out of you and rolled himself off of you to lie beside you. Breathing heavy and laboured, like you'd just ran a marathon.

‘’Is this the part where we forget this ever happened?’’ You questioned him in an all too serious tone that Sherlock didn't like.

‘’Is that what you think?’’

‘’Am I an experiment, Sherlock?’’ You asked with no sense of humour playing at your words, not annoyed either just rational.

Sherlock stayed in a moment of brief silence, scared of not being able to say the right thing for once. He never really cared about it…until now.

‘’Answer the question.’’ Your tone was flatlined.

‘’No.’’ He stated plainly.

‘’I think I'm falling in love with you.’’

Sherlock was dumbfounded, he turned his head so he could stare at you after you said those words you would never be able to take back. You were falling for him? As he was for you? Blinded by nothing but cold relations to see that the warmth was right here all along...he frowned. He was afraid that he would disappoint you like all of the other relationships you had been in, he detested the idea of being banded in that same category. He was better. He wanted to be better. For you. You deserved to feel wanted. Was that worth his sanity though? Sherlock swivelled and grabbed your face to make you look him in the eyes, he stroked your cheek as a form of tenderness. Your eyes were guileless and the reaction you drew out of him was pitiful.

‘’You're so...inconceivable. When I look at you, I see heaven incarnate and I don't think I'm going to be able to live up to your expectations.’’ Sherlock said under his breath, thumb grazing your lips as he stared at them parting.

‘’I think you’ve finally figured me out.’’

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