#sherlock knows this and it’s why he’s so whipped for that man

[ohwatson]

john’s dick game has to be insane because how else would he be able to pull off asking his boss out immediately after falling asleep on the job, almost getting her killed by involving her in a case with a smuggling ring and then still date her for a considerable amount of time afterwards????

[deathsbestgirl]

Tell me everything about how insane Scully is please!

how insane is scully????

you guys. i mad it through a lot of s1-3 and then started doing random episodes. this is LONG and incomplete. but you've been waiting so long already. so, under the cut:

my favorite crazy thing about scully is in the pilot, she's assigned to debunk mulder's work, and in the middle she's ready to run back to the fbi to tell them he's right because of dirt. she's known the man a few days and runs to his room to undress in front of him & run into his arms!! her face buried in his chest. she has him whipped on the first day, chasing after her. and she'll follow him anywhere.

in deep throat, mulder runs off on his own and next thing you know, scully takes another government agent hostage at gunpoint (with his own gun??) to get mulder back. she teases him, calls him crazy. he likes it so much she never stops. sucker.

in squeeze, scully just has to stick with mulder because he said she was right & played with her necklace. she has to know every thought in his head. she calls him to gossip about colton because now they're best friends.

in the jersey devil, scully whines when mulder sends her home alone, bails mulder out of jail, ditches her date the moment mulder pages her, turns down a second date & follows mulder...threatening to hurt him for teasing her. she's told her friends he's cute and tries to justify why he isn't an option. and it isn't because they work together. (as much as we say she's not getting into another relationship with a superior / colleague...she would, also insane behavior)

in ghost in the machine, scully meets jerry and dislikes him instantaneously just because he was mulder's partner (she's his partner). she knows mulder's profile without any doubt in her mind, but she still asks mulder to confirm. she tells mulder to go get a beer, as if she doesn't already know he can't stop (and even if he could, he wouldn't)

in ice, she very nearly attacks hodge for suggesting she's been infected because she was yelling at mulder. she pulls a gun on mulder and refuses to give up on him, she goes in to talk to him alone. she tackles a man twice her size with no hesitation.

in eve, she answers the phone in mulder's room!!! (this is silly but clearly, they never gave a second thought to being in each other's rooms lol)

in fire, she hates phoebe right off the bat. scully knew her game before mulder told her anything, but she asks him questions anyway. she single-handedly solves the case and gets that woman back out of his life...then scares him with a fake accent. she takes the sherlock joke and makes it hers & mulder's. phoebe who?

in e.b.e. she meets the lone gunmen, calls them the most paranoid people she's ever met, then proceeds to become the most paranoid person you've ever met, most paranoid person in the world.

in tooms, she lies to skinner to give mulder an alibi. she participated in an illegal stakeout so mulder wouldn't get himself killed. she calls him fox and tells him he's the only person she'd put herself on the line for. she is completely devoted.

in erlenmeyer flask, she teams up with a man she doesn't trust to get mulder back. she goes into a top security government facility to steal an alien fetus, and figures out the password deep throat didn't tell her about.

in little green men, she sets up a secret meeting with mulder using their little code. she talks about george hale, lets herself into mulder's apartment, hacks his computer, and tracks him down to puerto rico. where they end up running from the military. she can barely keep her hands off him.

when krycek shows up, scully snubs him because he's working with mulder. scully is his partner, she's his friend. she doesn't trust anyone else with him — and she's right.

in duane barry, she inserts herself into the hostage situation, to the point they let her talk to mulder to guide him...as the rest of them have failed. she finds the metal implant, scans it at the grocery check out, correctly surmises what it's for (at least one purpose), and screams for mulder. i also think she manages to get her necklace off so mulder will know he's on the right path when he finds it (someone else pointed this out, idr who i'm sorry!!) she remembers squeeze.

in end game, mulder knows he couldn't tell her about his sister because she would have sacrificed herself. while he's in martha's vineyard (?) she's running around d.c. on her own as she's being followed. doing all the things he taught her to evade them.

in dod kalm, she goes on his unsanctioned trip to the middle of the ocean and forces him to drink the little water they have, refusing to take it for herself. the entire time they're stuck there, she figures out what's happening and that's how the doctors save them & reverse the aging effects.

in anasazi/the blessing way, she's nearly shot and makes sure mulder doesn't go back to his apartment and instead comes to hers. she undresses him and puts him in her bed while she investigates to exonerate him. she shoots mulder and drives him across the country to albert hosteen. she tells teena mulder that mulder is okay, after walking to her mother's house with no shoes to tell maggie mulder is dead and argue with her sister. she attempts regression hypnosis but she can't do it because she doesn't have mulder.

in revelations, god is sending her signs and she believes she's supposed to protect kevin. she gets defensive at mulder's derisiveness toward religion and she doesn't hold it against him. in the end, she doesn't push and goes to confession instead, accepts his help with her coat. it's enough.

in war of the coprophages, she calls mulder all day on their day off. she rationalizes everything he finds. when he starts talking about bambi, she sleeps with the phone in her hand for when he calls again. she doesn't want to hear him talk about another woman but she does it anyway. "are you sure it wasn't a girly scream?" and then she just drives out to meet him because no one investigates with mulder except her. smart is sexy. after he asked her what she was wearing after she spouted off about darwin.

in syzygy, i don't even think i need to say anything here. she's just so insane and i love it. she's jealous & petty & mean, but also very honest about how she's feeling. in the end, they're still in sync but she is going to drive like a maniac because she's still mad.

in grotesque, scully is once again prepared to hate mulder's former boss. she doesn't need to know anything and she yells at this man for how he treats mulder. this is a woman who grew up with brothers for sure.

in pusher, scully doesn't believe mulder when he theorizes about modell's abilities. but the second he's the target, she believes. she doesn't hide her fear for him and she walks into that hospital room blind with only a bulletproof vest on. she doesn't run when he tells her too. she will never leave him.

in home, she's thinking about motherhood and having kids and asks mulder about his family. when he swings his head around to her at the question, she stares right back. i swear it's a challenge.

in the field where i died, she yells at mulder for not telling skinner the truth (she never rats on him). she still goes with him to his regression. she doesn't believe these are past lives, but she takes the information he shared and digs into the archives. she finds the american revolution era names. she tells him she wouldn't change a day.

tunguska/terma: she is held in contempt of congress to give mulder time. she trusts his instincts and not her own. she tells the court about the government conspiracy of men and continuously avoids their questions, pushing forward about the lawless men.

in never again, she likes ed because he's interested, because she can talk openly with him without consequences, because he's a sad man & a little dangerous. but then he's really dangerous. she only goes out with ed because she thinks mulder only cares about the work and not her. she gets a tattoo.

in memento mori, she only tells mulder about her cancer. she chooses to investigate instead of pursue treatment right away. she apologize to skinner. she rights letter after letter to mulder, begging forgiveness & asking him to go on. talking about how she feels him close. when she decides to start treatment, she asks mulder to bring her things & call her mother. in the end, she decides to abandon typical treatment and live with cancer.

in gethsemane/reduxes, she doesn't tell mulder he cancer has metastasized. she continues to work, getting injured on the job. she tells police the dead man in his apartment is mulder, she lies to skinner & the fbi. she runs herself ragged to the point she collapses. she begs mulder to blame her & save himself. she's adamant mulder can't trust skinner, even after skinner was shot because he tried to keep melissa's case open.

in chinga, she has no idea how to take a vacation anymore. she can't ignore the x file she stumbles into and she believes it's the doll. she microwaves a little girl's doll to save a woman.

in pine bluff variant, scully chases after mulder when they lose contact. some unknown pathogen just killed someone. she rewatches the tapes after she's sure she saw mulder let whatshisname get away, but stays silent in the meeting. he won't tell her anything but it doesn't stop her from investigating. she can't believe that he's betraying his country, and hiding anything so big from her. it gets to the point skinner has to tell her and she rails at him & that other guy for endangering mulder. she's his partner!! and she makes more headway in a few days than these other idiots did in weeks. she's relentless.

in tithonus, scully has to work a case without mulder and she hates it. she insists it isn't an x file but i think she knows. she's endeared toward fellig despite herself. she asks 'how can you have too much life?' she knows the pain of dying, of leaving people behind, of not being able to finish everything you started. she can't get enough despite all the pain & struggle. she has things to do, someone she wants to be with & they aren't there yet. and when she's got, and fellig tells her to close her eyes, don't look at him — she does it!! in this vulnerable moment, on the cusp of death, she believes. she believed him almost instantly.

in mulder & scully meet the weremonster, she approaches suspects ALONE. mulder scolds her for it both times. she tells him 'you forget, i'm immortal'

in home again, maggie dies and she loses it. she's sobbing, refusing to let them take maggie, mulder tries to get her to take time and she refuses. it's a stark contrast to her grief in beyond the sea. he can't stop her but he can be with her. we hear her call mulder 'fox' for the first time since tooms.

in the my struggles (idk which one lol) scully is desperate to save mulder. she knows what's coming and she can't lose him. "you need him, and i neee you." the truth is she needs william too, and he's so close now. she never tried to find him to keep him safe (supposedly) but for mulder, she'll take the risk. and maybe stop fighting herself for once. she's unbearably good, but her & mulder are the only ones who can save the world and she can't do it alone. (crazy, crazy, crazy)

other things: scully thinks mulder's porn habit is funny, endearing. she doesn't seem to have any (real) negative thoughts or feelings about it. she argues with him relentlessly about his theories/actions/decisions, but never in front of other people. in front of others, she backs him up, defends him, or stays silent (pine bluff variant). but she will good-naturedly make fun of him to strangers ('he chews the furniture' and something in humbug & quagmire). on friday nights, she stays home cleaning her gun, reading books, reading medical journals & writing for them. she loves jose chung. she believes in the possibility of time travel but not in science's current abilities to achieve it. she remembers every word mulder has ever said (dreams, ftf hallway speech). she literally hangs in his every word and incorporates it into her worldview, her behavior, who she is as a person. scully dedicated herself to mulder in the pilot, before she knew what it meant. and once she did know what it meant, she stayed and stayed and stayed. she believes in him so much, in what he can achieve that it drives her to do crazy things herself. something she always had in her, but now she can let it out. it has a purpose. and dana scully with a purpose is someone you don't mess with and can't be hidden in the shadows (despite the effort of a global conspiracy).

[sp0o0kylights]

Part One: Merry Crisis 

It’s also on A03 (this chapter will go up too but not for a bit bc I have stupid adult work to do) 

Five days after New Years and Steve Harrington was haunting Eddie’s head.

This time at least, it was consensual. 

Mostly. 

“I thought you said New Year's resolutions were a total waste of time and a conformist’s mmrrph--” Gareth cuts off as a ringed hand claps (gently) over his mouth, Eddie’s glare burning a hole in the side of his best friend’s head. 

“No one asked you to comment.” Eddie informs him darkly.  

“He’s got you there, Eds.” Jeff teases, seated on a bin in Gareth’s garage, friends occupying the couch across from him. “It is one of your yearly rants.” 

“New Years Resolutions are just a convenient way for normies to understand my quests.” Eddie sniffs, ignoring the fact that he’d been going on about this since he showed up, several hours ago.    

 He releases Gareth’s mouth, springing up to pace another circuit round the garage. “I refuse to repeat another year in this god-awful high school--and!” 

Spinning on his heels, Eddie flings a hand in the air, the exact same way he had when he auditioned for Sherlock Holmes in Hawkin High’s performance of Hounds of Baskerville. “It is my duty as Hellfire’s DM to figure out what the hell those freshmen are wrapped up in with Harrington!” 

“Rii-iiight.” Gareth remarks. “I’m sure your obsession with this has nothing to do with those, what did you call them?”

Grant covers a laugh with a cough as Gareth pretends to think before saying: “Harrington’s big ol’ puppy dog eyes?”

Eddie’s face goes red. “I told you, I’m not crushing on Steve!” 

“Bro.” Grant says, expression calling out Eddie’s lie better than words ever could. 

“The entire planet knows you have a crush on him, Eds.” Gareth adds, leveling his best friend with a knowing look. “Frankly I’m amazed Steve himself hasn’t figured it out.”

“Shut it!” Eddie hissed, face aflame. “This is about everything else!  What he’s hiding! Why the kids--”

“--worship him.” Jeff, Grant and Gareth all finish as one, their impromptu chorus deflating Eddie like a sad balloon.

“We know.” Grant says. “You think Harrington and the kids are wrapped up in some kind of crazy conspiracy that's eating them all alive and because you have a compulsive desire to solve every mystery put in front of you, you can’t leave it alone. This is starting to become something you should really like, work on man.” 

Eddie turns his glare on Grant. 

“You need to drop out of that AP psychology class.” He demands with another sniff. “It’s rotting your brain.”

“Uh huh.” Grant says, voice dripping in sarcasm. 

“You;’ll see.” Eddie mutters as he resumes his pacing. “You’ll all see when I finally figure it out. You’ll be all,” Eddie straightens, clutching his hands together and squeezing them against his chest, “Oh-my-gawd, Eddie, holy shit, you were so right, they were hiding a huge secret!” 

“Keep dreamin’ bud.” Jeff says flatly, prompting laughs from Gareth and Grant.

Eddie takes off a shoe and throws it at him. 

(Jeff swears it was worth it.) 

xXx

10 days after New Years and Steve Harrington was right there.

Right.

There.

It would be easy to walk across the parking lot, strike up a conversation. Hell, the kids' presence makes it even easier, Eddie knows all he has to do is talk about them before Steve drives them home. 

He just--has to do it. 

"You do know the first step is actually talking to him right?" Jeff teases, leaning against the school’s doorway.

Eddie startles, flushing scarlet. 

"Shut up!" He snaps, turning around to run his hand over his face.

 God why was this so hard!? 

He's talked to plenty of people. Hell, he's talked to Harrington before. Talking was the thing  Eddie arguably did best and suddenly he just fucking…couldn't!? 

"He's waving at you." Jeff observes. 

Eddie whips back around to face the parking lot--to find that Harrington wasn't even facing their direction.

Jeff chuckles. 

"Oh screw you!" Eddie shoves  his shoulder into Jeff’s, glowering. 

Jeff playfully nudges him back. "Just go talk to him man. He didn't bite at the party, and he left you that note, so he's clearly open to it." 

"I know.” Eddie grumbles, moving so he could lean against the opposite side of the doorway. 

“So what’s holding you back?” Jeff turns to look at him now, as Eddie tangles a finger into a few strands of his hair. “It’s not like you hesitate instead of jumping into something head first.” 

Eddie hides in his hair for a moment, unsure of how he wanted to handle this question.

Jeff knew he was gay. All the Corroded Coffin guy’s knew he was gay, after the first (and last) time he tried to buy product from a supplier that wasn’t Rick. 

(Eddie was smart, but he’d been young back then. Hadn’t caught on to the fact the weed he’d been sold was laced with who-knew-what. 

What he did know was that when he and the boys tried it out; Grant had given a very emotional speech about love and acceptance, Jeff wouldn’t stop hugging people, Gareth ended up crying over gender issues and Eddie had admitted he was flamingly gay. 

He never bought from another supplier again, even if he did technically owe the guy who’d brought him and his best friends closer together.) 

Being gay wasn’t exactly the issue.

It was being gay, and having a blatant crush on Steve--the guy who the Hellfire kids loved. The guy who had surprised Eddie by being decent and downright fun. 

The guy who kept insisting he and Buckley were “Platonic with a Capital P”and even with Robin climbing all over him like a lemur, he had in fact kept his hands and eyes to perfectly respectable places. 

Who was practically built to appeal to Eddie, between his stupid sexy smile and the weird mystery he was wrapped up in, the same one that caused his smiles to drop the second he knew no one was paying attention. 

Add in the fact he’d played D&D once before and it was like God had made Eddie’s perfect match.

Of course because Eddie’s relationship with a deity of any kind was agonistic at best, they’d made Steve not only the straightest man to ever rule a high school, but also dangled him in front of Eddie constantly. 

Like a treat he could never, ever have, but will always crave. 

“Oh he’s actually waving at you this time.” Jeff says, and despite the high chance of this being another joke, Eddie looks anyway. 

Sure enough there was Harrington, dumb little grin on his face, waving his hand.

Eddie managed to get his brain to function long enough to wave back. 

“Wow Eds, you actually waved at him. That’s a lot of progress for you.” Gareth chimes in, appearing in between his friends with a smirk. 

“We’re proud of you buddy.” Grant adds, standing behind Gareth. 

Eddie groans aloud. “I hate you all.” He mutters, trying to keep a smile on his face for Steve until the guy turns back to herald the children into the car.

“No you don’t.” Gareth sing-songs, to the snickers of Jeff and Grant. 

And no, he doesn't--but fuck if Eddie didn’t want to wring all their necks. 

xXx

January 13th, Eddie finally gets his first resolution breakthrough.

It came in the form of Sinclair’s girlfriend, oddly enough, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

“I’m not Lucas’s girlfriend.” The redhead spat, which Eddie thought was a hell of a lot of anger for someone who he had not been formally introduced to but had flung herself into his passenger seat anyway, with a declaration that he would drive her home. 

(He, of course, had been about to protest until Max reminded him with a glare that they were neighbors--which had the effect of making Steve look relieved, like Eddie was doing him some kind of massive favor.

A favor Eddie wanted.

“For totally normal non crush related reasons Gareth, god!”) 

Currently Max is staring out the window as Eddie drives home, arms crossed and in a full sulk.

Eddie recognizes it in her the same way he recognizes it in himself, and knows intimately that he has a chance to be to her, what Wayne was to him.

Someone who didn’t just see the problems he had, but acted on them. 

That began with a conversation. 

“So not that sitting in awkward silence isn’t totally fun, but uh, why am I driving you home instead of Harrington?” Eddie asks, watching Max out of the corners of his eyes. 

She doesn’t even flinch. “What, and miss the chance to ride in the drug mobile?” 

He expects the snappish response but has to give Max credit--she is absolutely the most vicious of Steve’s kids. 

“Ok fair,” He says, because getting angry back was what she wanted. Or at least, what Eddie wanted, back when he was in Max’s shoes. “But don’t all you kids like, worship King Steve? Thought you’d want your beloved babysitting to drive you home..” 

Max’s shoulders hunch immediately, her jaw clenching. “Don’t call him that.”

“Babysitter?” Eddie questions. 

“King Steve, you ass.” She bites back. “If you like him like Lucas and Dustin swear you do, then you wouldn’t be an dick.”  

Quieter, she mutters, “He hates that nickname.” 

“Hate to break it to you, but Steve gave himself that nickname.” Eddie says, if only to buy time while he swallows the fact that the kids have decided he and Steve aren't just cool with each other, but like each other.

Obviously not like-like, as in romantic like, because they weren't psychic, but--

'Focus, idiot! Max is still talking!' 

Max rolls her eyes, huffing angrily as she finally tears her gaze away from the window. “You don’t get it.” 

“I sure as shit don’t and won’t.” Eddie agrees easily, and has to look away to keep the laughter off his face at the confused look it nets him. “Not unless you want to clue me in.” 

She chews over that for a moment, before apparently coming to a decision. “You’re annoying.” 

“Oh come on Red, if you’re gonna insult me at least do it right. Annoying is boring.” Eddie fakes a yawn, and this time does laugh at Max’s outright offended face. 

Thankfully, the antics get him exactly what he wants. 

An answer. 

"Steve saw the real world and decided he wanted to be a better person. To grow up and leave all the stupid high school petty shit behind." Max says, and for a moment it's almost like she's speaking to someone else.

Likely the person she really is mad at, Eddie assumes. 

"Calling him King Steve just takes all that progress away, and for what? Cause you're jealous?" 

She's on a roll now. Eddie remains silent, knowing Max needs to get this out.

That this rant isn't aimed at him. 

"You're mad that things were easy for him? Because newsflash, they weren't. He put in the effort to be a good guy, could even," Max fakes a dramatic gasp, "--apologize!" 

An idea takes shape, both of the unsurprising source of the younger teens' hurt and frustration, and why she at least defends Harrington so hard.

Eddie may not know how exactly Max fits into "The Party" (or even who all is included within it) but it's clear she's just as close to Steve as the rest.

Maybe even a touch moreso, in a way that's eclipsed by Henderson alone. 

Max is still going. "Steve's a genuinely good person and he's earned the right to be acknowledged as one!" 

Her eyes are wet when she finishes and Max angrily swipes at them with her sleeve. 

Eddie knows better than to comment on it, but does take a moment to think her words over. 

"Have you seen it too?" He decides to ask. It's the part that sticks out to him, so it becomes the thread he decides to pull. 

Max blinks. "What?"

"The real world. Have you seen it too?"

"Yeah." Max admits, after a long moment of silence, chewing on her lower lip. "I did. And I wish I hadn't." 

"Sucks huh?"

"You don't know half of it."

"I might not know the exact parts you saw," Eddie agrees, as he pulls up in front of his trailer. "But I have seen plenty of other nasty bits and bobs." 

He puts his van in park. "Just because the monster changes shape doesn't make it any less of a danger, you know?" 

Max sits with that for a moment. Eddie sits with her, his music on even if he has the volume turned down low. 

Waits to see if she'll say more, or if this is all he's getting. 

There’s a slight hesitation--as if for a moment, Max considers opening up--but something in her balks and she opens the door instead. 

“Thanks for the ride.” She grumbles, quiet enough that he almost doesn’t hear, before slamming the door and walking fast to her trailer.

The lights are off, and the car he knows belongs to her mother isn’t in the driveway. 

It’s not unusual to be home alone at this hour. Not for Hawkins kids, and especially not for trailer park kids like them, but for the first time, Eddie finds himself wondering how often she’s alone. 

“Hey, Red!” He calls, as he makes his way out of the van. 

She turns to look at him, and Eddie realizes he must be getting a glimpse of what every adult used to see in him. Fury and discontent, all rolling over a sadness that’s bone deep and afraid to face daylight. 

“You ever wanna explain it to me, you’re welcome to come over.” He says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at his own trailer. 

“Whatever.” Max says with an eye roll, before storming to her front door. 

Eddie waits for the lights to go on, before retreating back to his own house, feeling like he at least established something.

Even if it was just proof that he wasn’t going to blow up or brush her off like everyone else.

xXx  

January 13th's luck didn't end there.

A few hours after Eddie made sure Steve's attack chihuahua child made it home safe, a car pulls up in front of her trailer. 

Curious (and nosey as fuck) Eddie peers out the window to spot Harrington’s Beemer flick its lights off, owner crawling out and up to Max's front door with an arm full of takeout.

Steve stands there for a while, alternating between knocking and not-quite yelling, before finally putting the food down.

Eddie knows now that Steve's some kind of pseudo parent to these kids, that the intent he has towards them is a combination of brotherly and maternal. 

Can't help himself from the opportunity that arises when Harrington moves to peek into one of Max's trailer windows, though. 

"Damn Harrington," Eddie calls out, after quietly slipping onto his front porch. "Didn't know you were the kinda creep to stare into teenage girl's windows."

Steve spins, startled, and nearly goes down on the gravel while doing so. 

Eddie laughs--it's like watching Bambi on ice--but regrets it immediately when the younger man trots over to him. 

Puts his hands up and is about to defend himself out of sheer habit. 

"Is she okay?" Steve asks, trotting up the two steps so he can lower his voice. 

Eddie wiggles his raised hands in a “maybe” sort of gesture before lowering them. 

“She’s fine right now, but she’s definitely upset.” 

Steve hums, peering worriedly at the opposing trailer, takeout food sitting innocently by Max’s door. “

“She’s been upset for a while. I just…” He trails off, running his hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to do for her, you know? She’s not as easy to figure out as the others.”

Which isn’t the least bit surprising. At least, it isn’t to Eddie. 

While he can’t speak for their missing fourth member, the remaining three freshmen are the kind to wear their emotions on their sleeves, in their own ways. Mike and Dustin compete for loudest but even Lucas, the most likely to let things go, eventually explodes. 

All Harrington has to do to handle any of their issues is simply see that something is wrong, and then ask about it. 

The drive from the high school to the trailer park took less than fifteen minutes but in them, Eddie knew immediately that Max was far more like himself at heart. Angry at everything and everyone, using insults or humor to distract from her real problems. 

Eddie now was better than he was, the eleven year old kid who’d been dumped on his Uncle, extremely wary of adults and furious at the world at large. 

Like recognizes like though, even if he’s made progress. 

“I think the best thing you can do is keep being there for her.” Eddie admits quietly, because this is an area he can actually provide some insight for.  “That all that anger isn’t going to push you away. Just don’t be surprised if it takes her a while to understand you won’t abandon her like everybody else did.”

“Huh.” Steve says, and Eddie shouldn’t be surprised that Steve is taking him seriously. Not after the not-Christmas party, but he is. 

That’s part of the mystery of Steve Harrington, after all. 

The way Steve never quite reacts the way Eddie thinks he’s going to. 

“If she doesn’t take the food can you let me know?” Steve asks, and he sounds so sad about it that Eddie couldn’t possibly refuse, even if he’d wanted to. 

“Sure thing man.” He agrees. 

Harrington watches Max’s door for a moment longer before heaving himself off the porch with a sigh

“Oh,” He says, turning around partway to his car. “ We’re gonna have a movie night next Friday night. You should come.” 

‘Bing-fucking-go.’ 

“Well how could I say no to the King himself? Tell me the time and I’ll be there.” Eddie says, and then watches Steve’s face as he winces. 

Apparently, Red was right. 

Steve doesn’t rip his head off for the nickname though. Plows right on ahead, as if Eddie hadn’t called him it at all. 

"We were planning on making it just the adults--or at least, not the freshmen.” He nods towards Max’s trailer. 

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Oh I’m sure they’re just delighted to be left out.” 

"You’d be surprised.” Steve says with a long-suffering look. “I've been informed I need more adult friends." 

Eddie can’t help but tease, though he softens his voice and grins to take the teeth out of it. "Band geek and a bunch of fourteen years olds not good enough for you?" 

"You’re forgetting my ex girlfriend." Steve adds, with his own self deprecating tone. 

“Well damn  Harrington, guess the town freak might actually be a step up for you!” Eddie says, loving that this version of Steve is willing to banter like this. 

“I dunno man, I think that nickname might be overhyped.” Steve says, and there’s that grin back on his face, the one he wore when he was stealing meaningless corporate trophies out of his father’s office. “I don’t think you’re that freaky at all.” 

He dips down in a movement that takes Eddie a moment to realize is him mimicking the curtsey he had given Eddie at the Christmas party, before getting in the Beemer. 

Then he’s gone, leaving Eddie trying to recover on the porch, wondering if the last part of that conversation actually happened or if he just wanted it so badly he dreamed the whole thing.

(When he looks back over to Max’s trailer, the takeout by the door is gone.) 

xXx 

20 days after New Years and Eddie didn’t know what he expected from a movie night at Steve’s-- but it wasn’t getting his ass kicked at beer pong. 

Of course, this may have been his fault. 

It started when Steve, three beers into a home recording of Animal House, made an off comment about Nancy Wheeler once putting all of Hawkin’s to shame at a party. 

(“Her aim has always been insane.” He'd added, as Nancy rolled her eyes and tried to hide her pleased grin behind a hand.  

Eddie had been a little surprised to see Steve hadn’t been kidding about Nancy coming--but also realized that Steve might have been serious when he’d joked about not really having a lot of friends. 

In Eddie's head, a miniature bat version of himself donned a detective's hat and cape, whipping out a notepad to dutifully write down; ‘Clue one: Steve has very few friends.’

“You, Nancy Wheeler, beat out four teams of dumb jocks…at beer pong?” Eddie asked, in total disbelief. 

“I did.” Nancy told him smugly. “And I could do it again.” 

“Really?” Eddie had said and it hadn’t been intended as a challenge, but it was taken as one.)

 Three games in, the beer having a long run out (they were actually playing “Vodka Shot Ball") and Eddie has to concur. 

Nancy Wheeler was in fact, god’s gift to throwing small orange balls into cups.

“How are you doing this!?” Eddie yells, throwing his hands in the air as Nancy sinks her last shot, Robin shrieking in victory behind her. 

Hand on her hip, Nancy gives him a lazy, smug smile. “I suppose,” She says, tilting her head, sounding for all the world like a cat who’s caught a canary, “--it would be my incredibly good aim.”

 Robin, who previously had been paired with Steve before insisting they switch (and who is more than a little drunk), shouts; “Take that Munson!” before grabbing Nancy’s wrists, pulling her into a dance. 

Laughing, Nancy goes with her, their celebration a stark contrast to the other half of the table where Steve is leaning heavily on his elbows. 

"Alright. Maybe, you do have some ungodly skills." Eddie admits, putting his hands on his head. “Forgive me for doubting you, oh Queen of beer pong.” 

"Oh, now you admit it?" Steve mutters playfully, head hanging low. "Couldn't have done it before I ran out of beer?"

"Hush Harrington, you enjoyed it." Eddie grins knocking a hip into his teammates

He too, is more than a touch drunk, despite having been on Nancy’s team for the prior two rounds. 

Vodka-Shot Ball, as it turns out, is enough to really mess a person up if you miss enough. 

"Did I?” Steve moans, before hiccupping.

(“Harrington you’re a jock, are you missing on purpose!?” Eddie had asked early in this game, when Steve’s shots had gone from fairly decent to fucking abysmal. 

“He’s two shots in, Eddie.” Robin had spoken for her soulmate, as she aimed a ball at a cup. “All those concussions don’t play nice with hard alcohol. Why do you think I switched sides?”

“I’ll remember this betrayal, Rob.” Steve grumbled in response. “See if I ever do your hair for you again.”

Batective Eddie promptly scribbled; ‘Clue Two, Steve has had a lot of concussions and can no longer handle a lot of hard liquor’ down on his notepad, puffing on his little old-timey pipe. ‘Also he does hair.’) 

“Now that Stubbornson over here has finally admitted defeat,” Steve says, “Can we please go lay down? We're way too drunk for another round.” 

“Speak for yourself, Lightweight. I’m fine.” Eddie tells him, walking towards the door to the kitchen.

Of course life cannot tolerate him being smooth and so Eddie walks dead-on into the closed glass door rather than the open one next to it. 

He staggers back and loses his balance, falling hard on his ass. 

“Shit!” Someone curses. 

“You okay Eddie?” Someone else asks.

“Yeah.” He moans, rubbing at his head. 

Wheeler appears next to him, shooing his hands away from his face so she could examine him. 

“You’re an idiot.” Nancy informs him calmly, hands expertly checking his head. Her touch is professional, but Eddie's surprised by it anyway, “But I think you’ll live.” 

Eddie squints up at her. “How come you’re not drunk?” He asks, and okay, yeah, he definitely hears the slur in his voice this time. 

"I only had three drinks across all three games." Nancy informs him sweetly. "None of them were vodka."

"I hate you." Eddie moans dramatically, before opting to lay down on the porch. 

“No you don’t.” Nancy says confidently, and then pats his head, before getting up from her crouch. “How are you doing Steve?”

“Kill me.” Comes Harrington's voice from across the patio, sounding very pathetic. 

Eddie wishes he could pet his head.  

“Denied!” Robin calls out. “Don’t even joke about that dingus, you got too close last summer as it was.”

(Batective Eddie, swaying a little with a beer bottle in his paw, tries to write that down.

He somewhat succeeds.) 

Nancy disappears for a moment and Eddie wills himself to sit up--or at the very least roll to where Harrington and Buckley are. 

"I'm going to drive myself and Robin home.”  Nancy announces as she reappears, alongside a hovering bottled water. 

Gratefully, he takes it.

With a tone that’s only this side of too-sweet, she asks; “Eddie? Would you like a ride?”

He considers it.

On one hand, that means he leaves his van here. So someone else has drive him to get it back in the morning (unless Harrington drives it to him and while Eddie finds himself weirdly unopposed to that idea, he doesn’t want to impose.

…Or inflict the current sad state of his van’s interior on Steve before he knows the guy better.) 

On the other hand, he’s clearly too drunk to drive, which means more time with a drunk Steve Harrington.

That’s gotta be good for figuring out clues, right? 

(In his head, Batective Eddie shoots him a thumbs up from where he lays, facedown on the floor.) 

 "If I get into a car I’m going to hurl." He announces. “So I’m gonna pass.” 

Nancy makes a very unlady like noise, and Eddie grins, finally managing to lurch up to his elbows. “Nancy Wheeler was that a snort!?” He teases gleefully, as she rolls her eyes. 

“Maybe.” She says, then holds out a hand. 

Eddie slaps his in it, but does his best not to pull on her. Instead he mostly uses her for balance as he works his way to his feet. 

“You guys get home safe okay?” Steve says, voice uncharacteristically serious as Robin helps him up from the pool chair he'd collapsed in. “Check in when you do.” 

That’s weird--Eddie half expects it to be some sort of inside joke or macho, alpha man type comment but instead both Robin and Nancy nod seriously. 

“We will.” Nancy promises. “Thank you for inviting me, Steve. Nice meeting you properly, Eddie.” 

She gifts him with a smile, an honest one, before guiding Robin out the door. 

Who screams; “Bye losers, love you!” as she exits.  

(Eddie thinks this might be another moment for Batective Eddie except he’s sort of getting a headache and kinda just wants to sleep rathe than envision his Sherlock Holmes styled bat-self.) 

They follow the ladies in, Eddie beelining for the first cough he sees. 

“You can sleep it off here.” Steve tells him, zombie-walking to his fridge. He pulls out a soda and chugs it as Eddie falls face first into couch cushions, taking a moment to let his stomach settle before adjusting to a better position. 

"Nah I'm just gonna close my eyes for a second." Eddie mumbles. “Be fine in a ‘lil bit, promise.” 

Does so, and enjoys the sweet, sweet darkness that envelops him. 

He jerks awake a moment later, blinking hard in the dark. A blanket has been draped over him, and his shoes kicked off, though judging from where they landed Eddie thinks he’s done that part himself.

A glance at his wristwatch reveals it's 1 AM, and Eddie goes to scrub his eyes with his hands.

Shit, he hadn't intended to stay this long. 

Harrington’s creepy Christmas shit’s all gone, replaced by walls so blank they look almost sterile. 

It creates a different, quieter vibe that's almost more spooky than the Santa-themed tomb Eddie had previous seen. The large windows throw shadows across the open space, like elongated fingers. It covers parts of the room in thick darkness, giving the appearance than anything could be hiding within them. 

There's blankets on the couch catty-corner to Eddie’s. They're rucked up, and the sound of running water abruptly clues Eddie in to where Steve might be. 

A golden glow erupts from the kitchen, then off again, before repeating the pattern.  

( Batective Eddie returns with a squeak, frantically waving a sign. 

It reads ‘Steve is afraid of flickering lights, remember!?’) 

The noise in the kitchen has gone eerily quiet. The bad kind, that makes the hairs on his neck stand up, and Eddie rolls off the couch and to his feet, making his way to the kitchen. 

Comes around the corner to see Steve frozen halfway to the stove, his head craned upward at the ceiling lights. 

Eddie knew that whatever had happened, a clear trigger for all those involved (the kids, Harrington, hell even Nancy Wheeler that one time in the library--) was electrical issues in lights. 

He clears his throat, the sound coming out like more of a growl. He coughs to clear it, then sidles closer. 

Steve has a stillness to his body that Eddie doesn’t clock until it’s too late, his hand already reaching out to tap the taller man’s shoulder. 

"Hey, uh Steve?"

Gets the shock of his life when Steve yanks his shoulder away, spinning back and around like he's been burned. 

Eddie gets a flash of wide brown eyes, glassy and wild, before a frying pan is swung at his head. 

"What the hell Harrington!" Eddie yelps, falling down on his ass and scrambling backwards, pan missing his head by inches. 

(Envisions in his head his Batective self throwing his notes in the air, taking flight with a startled “Fleeeee!”)

Harrington stands over him. Looks just like Wayne did that one time a car battery caught fire and exploded near the trailer. 

Like he was somewhere else, and prepared to do what he had to in order to get back. 

Chest heaving, Eddie put aside all thoughts of stupid bats and did what he did best.

Talked.

xXx

20 days after New Years, Steve almost takes Eddie's head off with a frying pan. 

Doesn't realize he's swung it like a weapon until he hears the surprised shout, his brain too steeped in adrenaline and old fears. 

Freezes, because the shout sounds like one of the kids but he doesn’t remember them being here...

"--eve?"

"What?" He asks, the ringing slowly easing as his tunnel vision does. 

He'd heard the growl, saw the lights flicker…

A gentle hand presses into his bicep, and he finds himself staring into Eddie Munson’s eyes. 

The guy has a sort of look on his face that says he's trying his best not to freak out, but then Steve blinks and it's gone. 

Replaced with something gentle, if cautious. 

"You wouldn't mind if I just," Eddie trails off as his ringed fingers slowly stroke down Steve's arm, before carefully taking hold of the pan’s handle. "--took this, aye love?"

It's the nickname that brings Steve back fully, and he loosens his grip on the pan, surrendering it to Munson. 

"Thank you Steve." He says, leaning to put the pan back on the stove, far out of Steve's current reach. 

Then his hands return to Steve's wrists, and he finds himself staring at them in confusion.

Not because he doesn't know what happened--he does.

It's  more that he's shocked Eddie is still willing to touch him after he nearly brained him. 

"There's egg on the floor." Steve says, because it's the easiest thought to have at the moment. 

Easier than apologizing. 

Definitely easier than explaining.

"We'll clean the egg up later." Eddie says firmly, and Steve's never heard him use that tone of voice before. Firm and unyielding, like he has all the answers.

It's the kind of voice Steve can surrender his anxiety to and he finds himself almost sinking into it. 

If Munson asked him to walk over a cliff just then, he would be more than a little tempted.

"Let's go sit down, just for a few minutes." Eddie tells him, a gentle tug on his wrists and Steve finds himself breathing out, his body shivering with the release of stress. 

He nods, unable to speak, and allows himself to be maneuvered out into his living room, then down on one of the loveseats. 

Eddie sits next to him, his thigh a line of grounding heat pressed against Steve's leg and he focuses on it to keep himself in the present. 

"You back with me?"

Steve works his throat, hyper aware of how dry it is. "Yeah." He says.

Then adds, "sorry."

"Don't apologize, man. I've done plenty of trip sitting in my day. I know a panic attack when I see one."

Steve vaguely wants to ask what the hell trip sitting is, but finds himself unconsciously leaning towards Eddie instead. 

Somehow he doesn't mind, even though Steve's practically squished up against him. Not that Eddie's ever been one to care about personal space, but Steve knows there's a difference between a teasing joke and whatever this is. 

Eddie's thumb begins to rub gentle, grounding circles into the meat of Steve's wrist. 

It gives his eyes something to track and gratefully Steve does, so he doesn't have to look Eddie in the face. 

Isn't sure he can clear the tears trying to wet his eyes in time to brush this off. 

Claim it's nothing serious.

"You wanna talk about it?" Eddie asks and somehow Steve didn't account for how direct the metalhead could be.

The tears strengthen and for a moment his vision blurs with them, before he sucks in a shuddering breath and forces himself back under control. 

'God Steven, toughen up.' His father's voice rings out in his head, the memory branded into Steve's very being. 'It's ridiculous how much you cry. Do you think anyone wants to put up with that?'

Steve had answered no then, tone wobbling. 

"I--" He starts, "--signed an NDA."

Which is not, at all, what he meant to say, but too late now. 

"The cops and I aren't exactly on speaking terms, your secrets are safe with me." Eddie says, entirely unphased. 

Which ghosts a smile over Steve’s face at least, even as he finds himself totally lost. 

How exactly is he supposed to explain this? 

The Upside Down, the Russians, hell even the way he's become hyper vigilant?

That certain words or references act like bullets, sending him to the floor in a spiral of burning panic? 

Nevermind his finely honed instinct to use anything as a weapon when startled.

Sensing his discomfort, Eddie hums quietly before making a suggestion. "How about you tell me a totally fake, very unreal  story?"

Steve croaks a laugh. 

"I'm a really bad story teller." He warns. 

"Practice makes perfect." Eddie tells him, leaning his shoulder into the taller man's. 

Grateful--and feeling more than a little pathetic--Steve finds himself seeking out the touch. 

"Okay." He agrees quietly, with a jerky nod of his head. "A--completely untrue, over exaggerated story. I can do that." 

So he does. 

xXx 

The story Steve tells in halting, fumbling bursts of words involves monsters, the supernatural, government secrets and coverups. 

The latter half of which doesn't even surprise Eddie--anyone with half a brain could see the sheer number of incidents that happened one after another was a cover up for something big-- but he can't help himself from trying to detangle reality from fiction. 

Monsters he gets. It's easier to pretend the bad guy is an evil creature than a real person, to distance yourself from it in such a way it feels fake. 

The supernaturally gifted girl is a little harder, but if you replace superpowers with some poor kid involved in some kind of shitty, abusive government program, then he can buy it. 

What Steve never explains, is what set him off. 

Eddie tells him so. 

"I told you I was a bad storyteller." Steve says in response, which isn’t an explanation but then, Eddie realizes he is pushing awful hard for a guy who he barely knows to bare his soul--and who, in turn, barely knows him.

Not really anyway.

Not outside of rumors and old wounds. 

"Is there anything that ever helps you feel safer?" 

"People." Steve says immediately. "People always help but ah, well." His smile is pained, self deprecating. "I can't exactly ask for sleepovers every night, can I?”

He shrugs. “So I just keep a few things close.' 

"A few things?"

"My nailbat."

"Is the nailbat a bat…with nails in it?" Eddie hedges, desperately attempting to keep a calm, straight face because what the fuck? 

But this was a no judging zone, and it wasn’t as if a bat with nails in it was the weirdest thing Eddie had ever encountered. Not since Uncle Wayne’s friends informed him they had at minimum, seventeen guns hidden in their own trailer across town. 

‘Things are happening at night, kid. Bad things. Don’t go too far into the woods looking for trouble.’

"Maybe." Steve admits. 

"How about instead of hugging a nail bat to sleep, if things get bad you come over. Wayne works the night shift and I have insomnia anyways." 

"Really?" 

Eddie can’t blame him for sounding surprised. 

"Yeah man. No skin off my nose, though you will be stuck hearing my beautiful sweetheart. She's a guitar sent from heaven. "

"I can handle that." He says, a smile ghosting across his face. 

Then; "Thanks Eddie."

Eddie presses his shoulder against Steve’s. "Anytime, big boy." 

(Crisis over, Batective Eddie returns, swooning. 

Eddie mentally squashes him under his own notes.) 

[blacklegsanjiii]

Oh I love the warlord!Sanji au it feels so chaotic with that kid! must have been some childhood huh

gosh what if sanji doesnt actually tell the crew abt his weirdass family even after meeting again? maybe he and his parents decided that keeping distance would be best cause now nearly all of the shichibukai are wanted criminals and it would be dangerous to have Sanji's identity knwn to the govt. how would the straw hats even find out here? it ought to be really funny but i cant think of smthing proerly dramatic enough

I think what's funnier is if no one in the government knows that black leg is Sanji who grew up in the Warlord meetings. And then when it all goes down in Marineford? Wondering why the fuck the almost all the Shichibukai have turned around to help Strawhat after not hearing the yelling. Just watching all the warlords leave after Redhair shows up.

And then in Dressrosa Doffy calls the others, in a similar vein of Alabasta and is like "our child is dumb and I'm slicing them up." And Jinbei is like "They've declared war on Big Mom."

So many groans and Boa screaming about them being dumb! Then Sanji's new poster comes out and Doffy after the ship wreck makes it to the crossguild and is like "MEN OUR CHILD!" And even Boa is there and Buggy is cowering in fear.

"Yes, we are aware, Doffy. Pity about the photo but at least it's not that awful drawing anymore." Mihawk sighs.

"Did we ever figure out who their birth family is?" Boa asks.

"No, I have Daz and several others working on it now." Crocodile answers.

"I'm sorry who is your kid?" Buggy asks meekly.

"Black Leg Sanji." The Warlords answer in unison.

"Jinbei said he's joining the crew though." Mihawk mutters.

"I can't believe he gets to join the crew." Boa whines.

"You're a queen and your obsession with our child's captain is weird." Doffy scolds.

"You know you've made a mistake if Doffy is telling you that, Boa." Mihawk says. Buggy just keeps whipping 'what the fuck' to himself over and over again. No one pays him any mind as they just keep working.

Luffy probably forgot all about it and Sanji doesn't mention it. Zoro never found out because when Perona was patching up Zoro and the green haired man falls asleep he's like "So we can't tell him" and Perona is like "No shit Sherlock"

Sanji and Jinbei don't make a scene in Fishman Island and no one acts like Sanji spent a lot of time there. Sanji fully expected to get sliced by Doffy.

Idk what would be funnier if WCI happens as canon or if the other four warlords meet up with Jinbei and the rescue team. More likely it's the first. Wano is canon I feel like.

And then Kizaru sees Sanji on egg head and is like "Sanji? What the fuck? You're Blackleg Vinsmoke?" And Sanji just diable jambe's him when he's distracted.

[alexendria-rose]

~Dance with me~

Sherlock Holmes X Reader

Y/n watched as Sherlock Holmes played the violin so beautifully and elegantly for his closest friends. Her eyes completely focused on him. The way he felt the music beneath his fingers and soul made her smile in awe. His eyes open darting towards her giving her a small smile that was only for her, because as soon as his gaze wasn’t on her; his face went natural once again and she cherished that. Y/n was the person that has been by his side as long as John has. She was the person that would tag alone cases with him, the person that would grab him milk because he always forgot to when John asked and when she thought he died she was constantly wishing it was all fake, that it wasn’t real; finding out she was right made her open her eyes about how she felt about Sherlock. The way they would sit and talk about different cases and how to solve them at 1AM while they drunk tea, the way Sherlock made sure he wouldn’t let his legs go so fast so she could keep up. It was always Sherlock and Y/n and as she stared at the way he looked at Mary and John, she knew she wasn’t stoic and distant and cold. He was human, more human than anyone she’s ever met. She was in love with her best friend, the man who was content in being alone so he says.

Sherlock finishes the song, John dipping Mary giving his now wife a chaste kiss on her lips. Y/n grins clapping along with the crowd. She watched as Sherlock walks up to the two smiling and laughing with the newlywed couple. They soon disperse, as Mary and John continue to dance and talk to their families and friends. Sherlock looked around the room scanning for the person who mattered the most to him, his eyes immediately finding her a small smile playing on his lips about to take the steps to go towards her, realizing someone already got there first.

Y/n eyes were locked on Sherlock when Greg Lestrade comes up slurring his words.

“Oh bloody hell Greg how much have you had to drink?” She laughs putting a hand on his shoulder to keep him steady.

“Maybe a bit too much?” He groans leaning against the wall they were beside. Y/n rolls her eyes turning to head to look back at Sherlock noticing his presence was not there. She crinkles her eyebrows giving her glass to Greg.

“I have to go, don’t kill yourself with alcohol please.” She mumbles hearing Greg scoff before leaving her spot looking around the dance floor to see if she could spot Sherlock. She moves her head towards the exit noticing the curly mop of hair leaving the building. She follows swiftly behind him making her way out of the crowed room.

“Where are you going?” She says as soon as they’re outside. Sherlock whips his head around his coat in his arm as well as his scarf. He notices her confused expression, but her sad one as well.

“Weddings aren’t my thing.” He mumbles softly, keeping to himself the exact reason he was leaving. Because he knew he was going to end up alone anyways.

“I wouldve left with you.” She whispered shyly walking her way closer to him.

“I didn’t want you to leave your fun because of me.” He mumbles turning his face away from her his jaw flexing slightly.

“I was waiting for you.” She admitted to him placing a hand on his arm. “You played amazing tonight,” Sherlock glances at the way she rests her hand on his arm.

“You were?” He questions. She just smiles softly at him.

“I remember the time you told me that you always loved dancing as a child.” She giggled remembering the way he told her like it was a secret. “I wanted to watch you dance and enjoy your time. I know why you’re pushing away.” Sherlock laughs softly at her memory but soon as she mentioned him pushing away his face snapped away from hers.

“I’m not pushing anyone away-“

“Sherlock, you’re afraid of change.” She whispered softly keeping her hand placed on his arm. “You’re scared that it’s not just going to be the four of us chasing you around all the time.” Sherlock looks into her eyes trying to read her wondering why she was so soft spoken with him, why she’s never been offended at the way he was so blunt and honest.

“It may not always be the four of us, but I will always be here for you Sherlock.”

“Why are you?” He moves himself closer furrowing his eyebrows. “Why are you always here for me.” Y/n clears her throat shaking her head.

“It doesn’t matte-“

“It does, please tell me. I’ve been trying to deduce that for years and for the life of me. I can’t figure it out.” He steps closer to her noticing the way her breathing became more uneven, and her eyes dilating.

“Because I care about you.”

“It’s not just that.” He mumbles tilting his head grabbing her wrist to feel her pulse. “Your pulse is abnormal, your eyes are dilated…” he freezes his eyes lifting up from her wrist to her eyes. “Love?”

Y/n eyes widen moving her wrist away from his grasp.

“Sherlock it’s fine I’ve already come to terms with all of it.” She waves her hands to stop this conversation going any further, not wanting to hear that love is a defect, or even worse the rejection that he will never ever look at her that way. Instead he just chuckles, running his hand through his hair, setting his stuff down on the ledge of the fountain.

“Dance with me.” He says lifting his hand out to her. She looks at him with a confused look before taking a hold of his hand. He pulls her hand bringing him close to his chest starting to slow dance with her. She squeals as he brings her to his chest looking at him with flustered cheeks. “Do you know the reason why I always want you near me?” He asks his feet moving swiftly but slowly keeping her in her pace.

“Because I’m useful?” She laughs softly looking up at him noticing his eyes soften as he looks down at her.

“Well yes, you are one of the most intelligent people I have ever met but no.” He smirks softly their bodies moving gracefully together. “Because you are the one person who doesn’t see me as a robot, or just a detective, or just someone who’s impressed by me.” He pauses turning his face away from her. “You’re someone I want to spend my time with, someone I always think about whether I want to or not.” She bites her lip softly watching his face turn valnerable and completely in tune with her. “I’ve always said that love was a weakness, and now I know that isn’t the case because of you.” Her heart quickens at his words.

“But that would mean-“

“I love you, all I want to do is protect and hold you. You’re all I think about, so yes tonight scared me because I cannot bare the thought of things changing between us. I’m scared of losing you.” His gaze focusing on hers not noticing there dancing has stopped as his focus was on her and only her.

“I love you too.” She whispers softly and delicately afraid this moment would just end. He chuckles deeply lifting her chin up with his index finger.

“You have my heart Y/n.” He mumbles leaning forward to place a soft kiss on her lips. She sighs softly as there lips touch. It was quick but it was full of passion and love knowing this won’t be their last kiss, that it was just the beginning.

[starshower1215]

Detective Hange Zoë (with team Erwin and Levi)

She smokes a pipe like Sherlock Holmes and dresses in a trenchcoat of the similar style. Unlike Sherlock, she wears it in her Hange style of draping it over her shoulders

Saxophone music. Blues. I do not need to elaborate.

There are two newspaper-boy style hats (called cabbie hats specifically): the one for men (it is flat) and one for women (it is puffy). Hange has donned both.

She is perfect for being a spy. She can enter a bar to listen in on conversation in a sleek dress, hair down, and then follow the informant home under a different disguise, dressed in a suit, her hair done as usual, and she would pull off both disguises.

Erwin is part of her team, and he has a very grand selection of golden, bronze, copper, elegant watches. He likes to switch. He and Hange are the brains.

Levi is part of her team, and he isn't good at not looking suspicious or threatening, so he generally works as The Guy who stalks the informant [stealthily] home and murders him. Oddly enough, as the clean freak of the group, he is the one getting his hands dirty.

For a change of pace, Erwin is also comedic relief. The trio may have someone cornered, and Levi may be about to stone the man, but Erwin will still make a lame pun and/or dad joke about the victim being between a rock and a hard place, with a completely straight face that only Levi and Hange can read as amused, and Hange will go bonkers while Levi just despises them both [fondly].

They get exclusive tickets into a Rich People Place, where the target is, but only get their hands on two. Erwin and Hange hide Levi inside one of their enormous trenchcoats (to his dismay).

Hange wears her shiny glasses. Erwin wears a monocle and insists that it looks cool.

When they go to a bar together to celebrate a successful mission, Erwin holds his drink well, Hange is the lightweight, and Levi is boring and orders water (jk).

Erwin has a secret chocolate stash in his trenchcoat's inside pocket. Hange knows but Levi doesn't.

Hange pins various snacks to the insides of his coat so he can whip it open to reveal an array of food to choose from on the go. He somehow manages to keep the wrappers and bags from crinkling lously when he walks.

Levi does the same, but with sponges. No one is sure why and he glares at whoever asks.

Erwin figures out who is behind the trouble, but Hange develops the plan to catch them. This is the contrast of their minds: Erwin analyzes and Hange designs.

Hange has a special selection of lollipops in her coat just for Levi (whether he accepts them or not is for you to decide).

On stealth missions to fancy Rich People Places, they have a whole GRWM style preparation in one bathroom like school girls before prom (it's more professional than that, obviously, totally), and Hange and Levi make very good use of Erwin's hair gel.

Hange fixes Levi's hair to make him look like mini Erwin.

Hange is the one who performs autopsies on dead bodies for further evidence. She learns a lot about different kinds of poisons this way.

They take city buses around rainy streets at night, illuminated by the faint yellow glow of street lights. The three of them sit in comfortable silence in the seats, each reading separate books because it's an aesthetic.

Levi wears his fedora hat (what type of hat is it?) and likes striped coats.

They all go to libraries and search through the city's old newspapers for information, or through dusty books and scrolls to find out what this symbol they keep seeing means, or what relations this man had with that one (this is quickly becoming dark academia)

Hange and Levi team up with each other and make fun of Erwin for his reading material choices when they get on the bus.

If the bus is full, Erwin or Hange will hold onto the bus rail things and Levi holds onto them because they Know Him.

Hange carries a little leather bound notebook in her pockets even off the job, in case she runs into something important.

[siremasterlawrence]

YES CHEF!

Poor star Emmy award winner actor Jeremy Allen White is about to feel a hot whole new world of pain. When he is arriving for a huge photoshoot the photographer looks a bit off his rocker. Wearing a black hot with a spiral on it that seems to spin out of control grows exponentially in to his view so much he cant look away. The man walks closer to him as his eyes are nowhere to be scene with his black shades showcasing his spiral on them in bright light overtaking his vision he stares into the magi power of the abyss and the closer to his face inches away from him he cups his chin and snaps his fingers as his eyes roll back in to the socket.

“Jeremy? Jeremey ?”

“Uh huh!”

“You are so thrilled to be here right now”

“Yeah! I am”

“Rock hard and pumped “

“I am fucking hard!”

“Obviously dumb ass”

“This is a interview “

“Ask me anything “

“You are so cool”

“Thanks buddy”

“What is it like to be on The Bear”

“It is so Great! Wonderful cast”

“You have no idea what that is”

“I am not a actor “

“You are not “

“Duh!”

“Yes! You are my person chef”

“Shouldn’t I be making you dinner you?” He questions.

“Zip it Sherlock “

“Yes Chef”

“Stand up and pose”

“I feel awkward “

“Nobody cares”

“Take the jacket off”

“Good boi”

“Mmmmmm”

“Turned on?”

“HARD….”

“As fuck?”

“How do you know?”

“I know it all”

“You I mean “

“Your core “

“Wow!”

“Inside and out “

“I can’t hide”

“Why would you?”

“ I wouldn’t “

“Mwahahahahaha “

“Kneel”

“Look at me”

“Pose”

“Smile”

“Blow me a kiss”

“Get up”

“Grab a pole”

“Do a dance “

“Oh Yes! chef “

“Fuck!”

“YES!”

“Yyyeeeesssss”

“Ooohhh Gggooodddd!”

“You have Mastered me”

“I conquered you “

“Claim this as mine”

“You have already succumbed “

Jeremy is in a deep spiral of love, lust, need and desire to serve me his lord and master the one who saved him in the longterm and in the long run and because finally I own him forever as he looks up at me with this bright smirk on his face. He leans into kiss me slowly, tenderly and so much love as he kisses me deeply pushing my lips apart as I use my tongue to force him to submit even more and the more I dig deep his knees begin to buckle falling apart under me.

His hands are going insane landing both on on my waist holding me tight as he shoves me forward his front pressing his body on mine because he is desperate to have all my attention and my control that he gave up his celebrity life. I grab his chin leaning it to the side so he can see the exercise equipment he lifted and brought up yesterday mindless under my spell because he belong solely to me his God and the one that will whip him in to shape for the longest time as he willingly exist for me.

The end 

[gayuu-the-necromancer]

Basically, this is Harry...........🦊

At breakfast: Drinks strawberry milk with a straw while making his morning tea and empties the whole sugar pot.

Roger: "Control yourself, man!"

While reading Sherlock Holmes: One hand wholes the book while other hand holds a can of strawberry milk.

Jude: "Tch, isn't that unhealthy for you?"

While going on a mission: One hand is around Liam while the other hand holding a can of strawberry milk.

Liam: "Why are you holding me, Harry? (to make sure he's safe)

During the mission: Harry: *points the gun at the golden butterfly member* "Strawberry milk is the best-flavored milk, yes or no?"

Golden butterfly member: *in tears with his hands up* "Please spare my life, I'm allergic to strawberries..."

Harry: "Liar." *gunshots sound all over the room*

William: "Fufu..." *while drinking his own cup of strawberry milk covered in whipped cream and strawberry toppings*

After mission: Holds a strawberry milk can in one hand and three-tier gelato in the other.

El: "Al, does that gelato look beautiful?"

Al: "I'm afraid you cannot lock that inside your room, El. So no."

Victor while shopping:

Victor: "Oh yeah, Harry asked for a carton of strawberry milk! If I forget, he will expose my magic trick next time."

While sleeping:

Harry: "Strawberry....milk......give me....."

While visiting his dad's grave:

Harry: "Here's a strawberry milk for you too, Dad."

Marco (in heaven): *raining strawberry milk*

When meeting Arthur:

Harry: *two straws shoved inside his mouth and drinking from two cans of strawberry milk at the same time and eyes sparkling*

Arthur (Ikevamp): (Wow, he can beat Theo)

I know Harry is not all about strawberry milk, but I thought it would be funny if he was all about strawberry milk.

[mariana-oconnor]

Shoscombe Old Place full

First of all, in my head this story is either called Shoscombe Old Spot*, and is about pigs, or Is a repeat of the Boscombe Valley Mystery. I cannot call it the right name to save my life.

This is all I am going to see for every character in this story. I apologise in advance.

*There is a type of pig called a Gloucester Old Spot.

Sherlock Holmes had been bending for a long time over a low-power microscope. Now he straightened himself up and looked round at me in triumph.

"Since I ran down that coiner by the zinc and copper filings in the seam of his cuff they have begun to realize the importance of the microscope.”

And 100 years later it would be used in flashy, edited montages of pretty forensic scientists also identifying glue and threads from a tweed coat.

"Watson, you know something of racing?” “I ought to. I pay for it with about half my wound pension.”

Did Mary die, or did she throw him out for his gambling addiction and they both agreed to pretend the other was dead because it's Victorian Britain?

“It was when he horsewhipped Sam Brewer, the well-known Curzon Street money-lender, on Newmarket Heath. He nearly killed the man.” “Ah, he sounds interesting! Does he often indulge in that way?”

I would call that neither interesting, nor indulging, but you do you, I guess.

Sir Robert Norberton. Sounds like a great guy.

"He should have been a buck in the days of the Regency—a boxer, an athlete, a plunger on the turf, a lover of fair ladies, and, by all account, so far down Queer Street that he may never find his way back again.”

That took a distinct turn for the unexpected at the end there. Quite the euphemism there. Apparently it just means he has money problems (presumably because of being a horrible person and a gambler) but the joys of linguistic evolution strike again.

Is he... far down Queer Street, or has he just gone a few steps?

“There are the Shoscombe spaniels,” said I. “You hear of them at every dog show. The most exclusive breed in England. They are the special pride of the lady of Shoscombe Old Place.”

The spaniels are now also pigs in my brain. Everything is pigs. It's actually a long con that Lady Beatrice has been pulling for years. 'Most exclusive breed' = they're actually pigs in disguise.

...the firm, austere expression which is only seen upon those who have to control horses or boys.

This absolutely made me laugh. Excellent description.

“First of all, Mr. Holmes, I think that my employer, Sir Robert, has gone mad.”

Really? How could you tell? He seems like such a level-headed and calm person with absolutely no emotional issues whatsoever.

No really, how could you tell?

“Well, sir, when a man does one queer thing, or two queer things, there may be a meaning to it, but when everything he does is queer, then you begin to wonder."

😐😐😐

They did say he was pretty far down Queer Street, my dude. That's probably what the issue is.

This story is already one of the most unintentionally hilarious we've read. I hope it doesn't end with the deaths of horses or children. Or some woman marrying the abusive arsehole. That would ruin the joy.

And ah, we have reached the casual antisemitism. Because of course we have. Money lenders were mentioned, clearly there was going to be some.

"Then there is his conduct to Lady Beatrice!” “Ah! What is that?” “They have always been the best of friends. They had the same tastes, the two of them"

Does she also enjoy whipping people almost to death? Family dinners must be a riot!

“And a bitter, savage, spiteful quarrel at that. Why else would he give away her pet spaniel that she loved as if he were her child?"

"But then, again, what is master doing down at the old church crypt at night? And who is the man that meets him there?”

...I mean... Do we really want to get into that?

There's a haunted crypt? Excellent. Ghost pigs abound.

"So we up when Sir Robert was gone and pretended we were just having a walk like in the moonlight..."

Just a casual moonlit bro walk at midnight in the hook-up graveyard. Like bros.

What even is this story? I don't need to provide commentary, it's all in the text (apart from the pigs).

‘Hullo, mate! who may you be?’ says I. I guess he had not heard us coming, so he looked over his shoulder with a face as if he had seen the devil coming out of hell.

You were in the haunted graveyard. He thought you were a fucking ghost my friend. And if he didn't, he should have done and I will be very annoyed.

"From Dr. Watson's description of Sir Robert I can realize that no woman is safe from him."

Or man. Or non-binary person.

“No, sir, and there is something more that I can't fit in. Why should Sir Robert want to dig up a dead body?”

I feel... like you could have opened with the grave robbery? Maybe. Could be important. Seems relevant, if not to the case as a whole then just to... general interest, honestly.

If he dug up a grave at the haunted hook-up graveyard on Queer Street, man's going to be haunted by all the queerest ghosts. It's going to be Queer Eye for a Live Guy all over that place. Though I suspect Sr Robert is beyond their undead assistance.

"It was all in order, sir, except that in one corner was a bit of a human body.”

A bit... Which bit?

"It was just the head and a few bones of a mummy. It may have been a thousand years old."

Oh wow, is this the thing where people ate mummies for their health or something? There was a massive fad where people were just like 'I guess eating this person who is dead will stop me from dying, that makes logical sense and isn't disgusting at all' nom nom nom. Please tell me one of these people is a cannibal. Not like cannibalism yay, obviously, but that's pretty much the last thing this story needs to become completely epic.

"The creature was howling outside the old well-house, and Sir Robert was in one of his tantrums that morning. He caught it up, and I thought he would have killed it. Then he gave it to Sandy Bain, the jockey, and told him to take the dog to old Barnes at the Green Dragon, for he never wished to see it again.”

Ways in which Sir Robert Norberton is better than Sir Eustace of The Abbey Grange fame: instead of covering the dog in petrol and setting it on fire, Sir Robert just sent it away. The bar is so incredibly low for Holmesian villains.

Also, there was something in the old well-house. Probably a horse. Dog was giving it away so dog had to go.

But he didn't kill the dog. So proud. He can whip men half to death, but he draws the line at hurting dogs, apparently.

“It's the upper condyle of a human femur,” said I.

Hey. Look! Watson did a doctor thing! And it wasn't brandy.

And now they're going undercover.

Part 2

"...refuses to stop at the stables to greet her favourite horse..."

This makes me feel like it's not her favourite horse. We've already been told the horse has a doppelganger. Did the real horse die and now he's got a problem because all his money is on the horse winning the race, but he's only got the rubbish one? Or was there only ever one horse in the first place and it's rubbish? But the bone is a human femur, or so Watson says.

"Let us suppose, Watson—it is merely a scandalous supposition, a hypothesis put forward for argument's sake—that Sir Robert has done away with his sister.”

Did not see that coming. I think I missed that no one at all had seen her other than the maid. I guess it makes sense because if she dies, the estate goes to someone else and then he has no money at all. I have been distracted by horses.

Though the fact that Holmes is saying this implies to me that it's not the case. On the other hand, this is only a two parter, so there can't be that much more plot to go.

“My dear Holmes, it is out of the question.” “Very possibly, Watson. Sir Robert is a man of an honourable stock."

There is so much wrong with this exchange, I don't know where to start.

"Never mind me. I shall stand behind this holly-bush and see what I can see.”

By which you mean whether the 'spaniel' wants to go to its mistress.

Aw, he's such a good boy.

Then they stop in the suspected murder investigation to have a fishing day. That's the thing about the Holmes stories. ACD isn't afraid to say 'and there was nothing that could be done right then so we just had a jolly day out'. Crime fighting is such a leisurely business.

“‘Fore God, Mr. Holmes, it's all right,” said he. “Appearances are against me, I'll admit, but I could act no otherwise.”

A surprisingly reasonable response here from the man that we have been repeatedly told by multiple people likes to punch first and ask questions never.

"Mrs. Norlett, under her maiden name of Evans, has for some years been my sister's confidential maid."

The maid is married!? and her husband's a character?! That Sir Robert knows?! Plot twist!

So she died of natural causes. That's kind of nice. If it wasn't for all the antisemitism, this one would be pretty good.

Except for how the violent gambling addict magically makes good in the end and turns out not to be so bad after all. Though I suppose I should be happy he turned his life around. Maybe a little anticlimactic, but it's a good twist that I didn't see coming because I was too busy thinking of horses.

And pigs.

[j-eryewrites]

The Blind Banker (IV)

Part 13 of The Arbitrary Lives of the Occupants of 221b Baker Street

SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTER LIST

Previous | Next

Word Count: 9.4k

Warnings: Gun violence, descriptions of murder, character death, Y/N is in danger, mentions of strangulation, Sherlock gets scared, Sherlock is Sherlock. Sherlock fluff, Sherlock is still sherlock. 

If I missed anything let me know!

Notes: Thank you all for your patience! I tried making this chapter a little extra length with some more Sherlock x Reader stuff. Can’t leave you guys hanging now, can I? ;)

In times like these, John appreciated Y/N’s addition to the crime-solving group. The two of them sat on a bench in the museum, eyes darting back and forth as they watched Sherlock pace around the room. His mouth was open and moving as he asked Andy the questions that plagued his brilliant mind. 

Andy, the poor man, had developed a cold sweat. When he arrived at work today, he did not have been interrogated by a stern and cold consulting detective. John felt pity for the man. Most people did not know how to handle Sherlock’s sherlockiness. 

“So…” John began. His dark eyes were no longer on Sherlock but are now instead on the woman next to him. Y/N bore an expression of worry that had only increased since she and Sherlock had emerged from the apartment. Her worry sparked a tiny voice of doubt about John’s original idea of what happened earlier that day. 

Y/N’s eyes darted from Sherlock to John briefly. “So…?”

“What really happened in the apartment?” John whispered. He briefly looked at Sherlock to make sure he wasn’t listening before he turned his body to face her. 

She frowned. “I…”

“He’s not going to find out,” John assured Y/N. 

“Yes, he will, he’s Sherlock,” Y/N said harshly. She winced seeing John flinch at her tone. “Sorry, just–” She sighed in defeat. “He was strangled.”

John could barely hear her response. “He what?”

Y/N leaned in closer to John. “The intruder was still in the apartment. When I left the room to let you in, Sherlock got attacked and then strangled.”

John stared into Y/N’s eyes which were trembling. “That’s why…” John began. 

The two of them went silent as they heard Sherlock’s thundering footsteps near them. 

“When was the last time that you saw her?” Sherlock interrogated Andy. 

“Three days ago, um, here at the museum.” Andy motioned to the room around them. 

Sherlock’s pacing paused as he observed a glass case in front of him. In this case, there were clay teapots. The reddish-brown clay was brittle and dry all except for one. The glossy and shiny surface made it shine like a diamond. Sherlock’s eyes narrowed in thought. 

“This morning they told me she’d resigned just like that,” Andy said. 

Sherlock whipped around to the other cases in the room. One of which contained some jade figurines and the other pieces of artwork. 

“Just left her work unfinished.” Andy’s voice grew sombre. 

“What was the last thing that she did on her final afternoon?” Sherlock questioned. 

“The tea ceremony. She would have packed her things and put them back in the archive.”  

Y/N’s head perked up. She turned to John. “I was there three days ago. Jim took me to the tea ceremony for a date.”

John raised a brow and turned to her. “Really?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and marched over to his friends. “Care to share with the rest of us?”

Y/N’s mouth went slack. “I was just…” Sherlock’s eyes peered at her. “I was here three days ago for the tea ceremony. It was for a date.”

Sherlock involuntarily flinched, but he played it off as him going into thought. “Show us the archive,” Sherlock commanded. 

Andy nodded and motioned for them to follow him. As they walked down the elegant halls of the museum Y/N thought of Jim. She thought of how she led him around the museum. She smiled at the memory. It was strange to have been here three days prior for extremely different circumstances than she was there for now. The paintings and artefacts of old no longer seemed to hold the awe and mystery that they held when she came with Jim. Now, the paintings of great artists and historical objects seemed lifeless. 

Soon, they descended the stairs and into the basement of the museum. The basement was colder than the rest of the building. Its dim lights only did so much to illuminate the place. Statues and paintings were leaned up against the sides of the walls. Pristine white sheets covered them. Each object mourned for its turn to be in the sun and in the gaze of guests of the museum. 

“SooLin does this demonstration for the tourists – a-a tea ceremony. So, she would have packed up her things and just put them in here.” Andy explained. He led them over to a row of shelves. He carefully opened the drawers to where Soo Lin kept the teapots. 

John and Y/N walked down the hall after Andy, but Sherlock stood as stiff as the marble statues filling the basement. He steps farther away from John and Y/N to a sculpture of a nude woman. The sparkling snow-like surface was tainted by a bright yellow streak. The same yellow spray paint from before vandalized the surface of the statue leaving the Chinese numbers 1 and 15 to stand out. 

“John! Y/N!” Sherlock called out. The two of them including Andy emerged from behind the shelves. Their eyes widened as they took in the view Sherlock had noticed moments before. 

“We have to get to Soo Lin Yao,” Sherlock stated. 

John approached Sherlock. The view of the graffiti on the statue became more vibrant. 

“If she’s still alive,” John croaked. 

Sherlock, John, and Y/N shared a look of worry and concern. So far two people have died and if it were up to the trio, they wouldn’t allow for any more. 

They hastily thanked Andy for answering their questions and showing them around. Then Sherlock, John, and Y/N dashed out of the museum. 

The sun was blaring down on them as they descended into the sky. Shades of pink, purple, orange, and hints of red mixed together. People were out and about. Everything seemed cheerful around the three of them despite the grim news they had just discovered. Y/N was the first to collect her breath from their quick exit. “How are we going to find her? London is huge. She could be anywhere!”

Sherlock, whose face was flushed from the run, opened his mouth to answer but he was silenced by a shout of his name. 

A familiar red jacket filled their view. It was Raz. 

“Sherlock!” Raz called again. 

“Oh, look who it is,” John grumbled. 

Raz has reached the group. A large grin adorned his face. “Found something you’ll like,” he said. Then he turned on his heel and was off. Sherlock, John, and Y/N trotted after him.

Raz seemed to have the three of them follow him a great distance. An ever-present soreness plagued the feet of Y/N. She swore to herself that she’d invest in some shoes that would not hurt her feet. 

It was dark when the three of them crossed over a bridge. The streetlights were the only source of illumination as they journeyed along the south side of the river. Raz’s pace had slowed down allowing John and Y/N to walk alongside him and Sherlock. 

“Tuesday morning, all you’ve gotta do is turn up and say the bag was yours,” John told Raz who completely ignored the comment. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Forget about your court date.”

John sighed and Y/N patted him on the shoulder in a comforting manner. 

Soon the sounds of wheels against concrete, loud rap music, grunts, cheers, and light chatter filled Y/N’s ears. Teens and young adults skated across the ground. Occasionally flipping the board in the air as they did tricks. 

“Dude, that was rad!” a teenager cheered as one of their friends successfully jumped off the railing. 

“If you want to hide a tree in the middle of a forest, this is the best place to do it, wouldn’t you say? People would just walk straight past, not knowing, unable to decipher the message.” Sherlock muttered to the group. His bright blue eyes scanned their surroundings. Every wall was decorated with vibrant graffiti designs. Skulls, flames, roses, and symbols scattered the walls and ground of the skate park. 

Raz nodded at Sherlock’s comment. He pointed his hand to the right of where the group stood. “There. I spotted it earlier.” 

Sherlock, John and Y/N approached the area which Raz had directed them to. Amongst the colourful expressions of art and protest there stood slashes of yellow paint forming the Chinese symbols. Some of the symbols had already been painted over by other artists. 

The consulting detective’s eyes widened. “They have been here.” Sherlock turned to Raz. “And that’s the exact same paint?”

The young man nodded. “Yeah.”

“John, Y/N,” Sherlock stated. “If we’re going to decipher this code, we’re gonna need to look for more evidence.” 

The three of them shared a look of understanding as they split up around the skate park. Eyes wide as they took step by step, scanning the walls and floor to not miss anything. They turn up nothing in the skate park. The group’s search radius now spread to the railway system next door to the park. Sherlock went off on his own. John and Y/N stood next to each other walking in the opposite direction.

Y/N and John walked through a nearby underpass. The rumbling of the train passing overhead shook the walls. The thundering sound only added to the eeriness of the dark passageway. What disturbed her the most was the silence that came. She hadn’t heard a silence like that since she was locked away in the classroom. Separated from Sherlock, trapped by a serial killer and chained to a heater. The walls around her seemed to close in. The darkness swarmed her mind. Y/N found herself walking closer to John. Her arm brushed by his as the sounds of the train screeching against the railing above echoed throughout the chamber. The sound of his footsteps next to hers kept the monsters at bay. 

Soon the two of them found themselves outside the underpass staring at a brick wall covered with dirt, grim, posters, and graffiti. Again, they had no luck finding any clues, so they moved on to the next wall. The underpass area seemed to be a sort of museum for graffiti artists. Unlike the oil paintings from the masters of old showcased in golden frames, the lively and vibrant art created by just anyone brought a sense of peace to Y/N. It was art and art was to be respected. For some reason, the smell of spray paint and the depictions of the artist’s inner conflicts and trials on the wall brought a sense of peace to Y/N. This was a place of reverence. The ground was scattered with litter. The glass bottles of beer shattered and mixed with the cobblestone. The faint sounds of the skate park in the background. The dimly lit lights flickered as they fought off the darkness of the night. 

Y/N found her step fell behind. The distance she desperately sought to close between her and John grew. Whilst he was looking for familiar symbols, Y/N browsed the art. Her pace was the same as when Jim had taken her to the museum a few nights ago. The woman grinned. Jim would like this. The graffiti, the art. She was sure of it. 

“Y/N!” John called out. 

Y/N snapped out of her trance and jogged over to John. His mouth hugged agape. His eyes were practically sticking to the wall in front of him. 

“What is it?” She asked. 

John could only point his flashlight at the wall in front of them. Not that they needed to. The bright yellow streaks of paint illuminated in the dark like the stars in the night sky. Their bright golden hue was a stark contrast to the worn and dirtied bricks on which they were painted on. The entire wall was filled from top to bottom with numbers. 

Quickly, Y/N yanked out her phone and took a picture of the wall. There were the familiar numbers of one and fifteen, but those weren’t the only numbers present. Y/N’s lips pursed as she tried to decipher the numbers. The yellow spray paint wasn’t the cleanest with drips and leaks spreading from one number to the next. 

John reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone to call Sherlock. The phone buzzed before clicking. A robotic voice chimed over the speakers. It had gone to voicemail. 

“Damn it, Sherlock. Y/N, we’ve got to find him,” John said. His words passed through Y/N’s ears. Her mind focused on the numbers. 

The rocks underneath his feet crunched as he took a hesitant step away from the woman. 

“Y/N.” He said again. John was unsure to leave her here by herself. 

She turned to him at the mention of her name. “Coming.” She had to peel herself away from the wall to follow John. 

When the two of them found Sherlock, he was staring at the side of a freight container. 

“Answer your phone! I’ve been calling you! We’ve found it.” John explained. 

“Where?” Sherlock asked. 

“Near the underpass,” Y/N said. 

Sherlock's eyes met hers. They held an uncertainty to them. A part of him was still surprised she was standing next to John–talking to him. Another was worried. What he wasn’t sure. Though he found himself being concerned for the woman more than was appropriate. Sherlock shook himself from his daze and motioned for the two of them to lead him to the location. 

______

Sherlock stares at the wall. John groans and Y/N curses under her breath. The wall was now blank. A fresh coat of black paint now covered the entire surface. John shook his head. He looked between the walls. He was sure that this was it. The numbers had been here a second ago. How…

“It’s been painted over!” John cried in frustration. This case was really getting to him. 

“I don’t understand. It-it was here …” John stumbled backwards. “... ten minutes ago. I saw it. A whole load of graffiti! Y/N saw it too.”

“It was here, I swear Sherlock,” Y/N responded. 

Sherlock nodded. He believed his friends. “Somebody doesn’t want me to see it,” he muttered. 

Suddenly, Sherlock had his hands on John’s shoulders. His long fingers wrapped tightly around John, and he began to spin his friend around. 

John’s eyes widened at his friend's action. “Hey, Sherlock, what are you doing ...?”

“Shh, John, concentrate,” Sherlock replied. “I need you to concentrate. Close your eyes.” 

The two kept spinning in circles. Y/N grew dizzy just watching them dancing around her. She could only imagine how John was feeling right now. 

John tried to fight Sherlock’s grasp on him. “No, what? Why? Why?!”

“Sherlock,” Y/N shouted. 

“What are you doing?!” John asked again. 

Sherlock kept spinning John and completely ignored his friends' questions. Sherlock leaned in closer to John. 

“I need you to maximize your visual memory. Try to picture what you saw. Can you picture it?”

John rolled his eyes. Something he wished he hadn’t done. Now it felt like his whole body was rolling. “Yeah,” he groaned. 

“Can you remember it?” Sherlock interrogated. 

“Sort of.” John was feeling sick now. If Sherlock didn’t stop spinning him around soon, he was going to be sick. 

“Can you remember the pattern?”

“Sherlock,” Y/N called warningly. 

“How much can you remember it, John?” Sherlock asked. 

John snapped his arms around, breaking himself free from Sherlock’s grasp. With a thud, he fell to the floor. John’s head spun around. 

“The average human memory on visual matters is only sixty-two per cent accurate,” Sherlock said. 

Y/N’s voice grew in pitch. “Yeah, well, don’t worry Sherlock. I remember all of it.”

Now, this got his attention. Sherlock left John’s side and marched over to her. 

He raised his brow in disbelief. “Really?”

Y/N nodded before shoving a picture of the wall into Sherlock’s face. 

“You took a photograph,” Sherlock stated. 

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock. That’s my job,” she said. 

He took the phone out of her hands, and his finger buzzed when they touched hers. There it was. The photo of the graffitied wall. John groans as he gets up off the ground. Sherlock flashed a look of embarrassment before zooming in on the photo on Y/N’s phone. 

________

The photo was now placed on the wall. Each section zoomed in so that Sherlock could see the whole message clearly. Underneath each number, was Y/N delicate handwriting. She had been so kind as to translate each of the numbers for Sherlock. Not that he could do it himself, she was just faster. 

The fireplace crackled to life as the warm fire lit up the room. John sat in his chair with a large quilted blanket over him. In his hand, he held a cup of tea to help settle his stomach. John was begging to think that he was getting old. It had only taken Sherlock a few seconds of swirling him around before he was on the floor sick to his stomach. 

Y/N sat on the couch. She drank her own cup of tea. John had told her she could have gone to bed for the night to which she just shook her head. She had been with him and Sherlock long enough to know nothing was really over until the case was solved. Though by the looks of John dozing off in his chair, it seemed he needed to sleep more than she did. By now she was used to the long restless nights. Bjørn on the other hand did not agree. She felt bad for her cat even though Mrs Hudson spoiled him rotten when she was away. Y/N swore her cat gained a few pounds every time he visited her aunt.

“Always in pairs, John,” Sherlock noted. 

John felt his eyes grow heavy, closing them briefly before prying them open again. “Hmm?” He hummed.

“Numbers come with partners.” Sherlock’s baritone voice rang. 

John gazed blankly at his friend. The warm orange flames lulled him into a daze. He shook himself awake. 

“God, I need to sleep,” he groaned. 

“Why did he paint it so near the tracks?” Sherlock asked. 

“No idea,” Y/N replied. 

“Thousands of people pass by there every day.” Sherlock continued. 

“Just twenty minutes,” John mumbled before he dropped his head back against the chair’s cushion. 

Sherlock stepped back from the fire. The light of the fire reflected the sparks of his brilliant mind at work. “Of course.” He took one more look at the photos before turning to his friends. “Of course! He wants information. He’s trying to communicate with his people in the underworld. Whatever was stolen, he wants it back. Somewhere here in the code.” 

His longer fingers ran over the papers until they stopped on the original photo. He yanked it off the mirror and shoved it in his pocket. 

“We can’t crack this without Soo Lin Yao,” Sherlock stated as he walked to the door, threw on his coat, and jumped down the stairs.

“Oh, good,” John groaned. He pushed himself off the chair and tiredly stepped over to the door. A hand stuck out in front of him. It was Y/N and she was holding out his coat for him. 

“Here you go,” she said softly. A soft smile formed on her face. A smile that John returned. He was glad to have Y/N by his and Sherlock’s side. 

“Thanks,” he whispered back as she helped him put on the coat. She led him out of the flat. The door closed behind them. 

“Let’s go!” Sherlock shouted from down the stairs. 

“Coming,” Y/N replied. “Some patience would be appreciated.” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes at her response. 

______

“The National Antiquities Museum will be closing in 30 minutes. Please make your way to the exit soon. Thank you.”

John groaned. The museum closed around eight at night and he was already exhausted. By now he would’ve had a word with Sherlock, but his body only had the strength to follow his friend around. 

Andy was surprised to see them back. Sherlock strolled over to the man and began his questions again. 

“Two men who travelled back from China were murdered, and their killer left them messages in the Hangzhou numerals.” 

Andy’s eyes went wide at the mention of a killer. 

“Soo Lin Yao’s in danger.” Y/N told him. Her voice full of concern contrasted with Sherlock’s neutral informative tone. Andy’s body trembled. It was clear he cared for Soo Lin. “Now, that cypher – it was just the same pattern as the others. He means to kill her as well.”

Andy shook his head. His hands ran through his curly brown locks. “Look, I’ve tried everywhere: um, friends, colleagues. I-I don’t know where she’s gone. I mean, she could be a thousand miles away.”

Sherlock shook his head, and a glimmer in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He walked over to a case in the room. His lips pursed. 

“What are you looking at?” John asked. 

“Tell me more about those teapots,” Sherlock asked Andy. 

“Th-the pots were her obsession,” he replied. “Um, they need urgent work. If-if they dry out, then the clay can start to crumble. Apparently, you have to just keep making tea in them.”

Sherlock bent down to get a better look at the shelf of teapots. “Earlier today, only one of those pots was shining. Now there are two.”

He stood up. His eyes looked at Andy. Then to Y/N and to John. John grumbled. He knew that look well. He wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon. 

_______

A silence fell upon the museum. It had been a few hours since the building had closed. Only the sound of the air conditioning could be heard, but that soon changed with the sound of footsteps. A figure entered the display room and walked towards the display case that held the tea pots. Slender and delicate hands carefully picked up a dull teapot. The woman, Soo Lin, took the tea pot into the back of the museum. She placed it gently on the desk and began to work away. 

The hot liquid of the tea poured over the surface of the pot. Soo Lin’s finger brushed over the pot, rubbing the tea into the surface. Then she placed the pot down and reached for a few small cups. Each one filled to the brim with the tea. She picked up the cups and poured the tea over the pot.The leftover liquid dripped down into the tray. 

“Fancy a biscuit with that?” A voice shot out. 

Soo Lin gasped and turned towards the sound. The teacup in her hand slipped from her fingers. A gloved hand shot out and caught the cup moments before it hit the ground. Sherlock placed the cup back onto the table. 

“Centuries old. Don’t wanna break that.” He said. His eyes met Soo Lin’s. 

The woman took her hand and flipped on the desk light. The room came to life. She gasped again seeing two more people in the room with her. 

“Hello.” John waved. 

Soo Lin looked from John to the woman standing next to him. 

“你看到了。” Soo Lin spoke. Her voice was directed to Y/N. She nodded. 

“English please,” Sherlock asked. 

“You saw the cypher. Then you know he is coming for me,” Soo Lin whispered. 

“You’ve been clever to avoid him so far.” Sherlock chimed. 

“I had to finish ... to finish this work,” She pointed to the pot in front of her. “It’s only a matter of time. I know he will find me.” Her voice got quiet. 

“Who is he? Have you met him before?” Sherlock questioned. 

Soo Lin nodded. “When I was a girl, I lived back in China. I recognise his ... ‘signature’.” 

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. “The cypher.”

“Only he would do this. 蜘蛛(Zhi Zhu).“

“Zhi Zhu?” John wondered. He looked at Y/N. 

“The Spider.”

Then Soo Lin lifted her foot. Her hands worked quickly to untie the shoes. She removed the shoe and ran her hand over her heel. 

“You know this mark?” She asked. Sherlock peered at her foot. It was a black lotus flower inside a circle. 

”Yes. It’s the mark of Tong.” Sherlock replied. 

“Hmm? John and Y/N asked. 

“Ancient crime syndicate based in China,” Sherlock explained. 

Soo Lin’s shoulders sank. “Every foot soldier bears the mark; everyone who hauls for them.”

“Hauls?” Y/N wondered. 

Soo Lin’s dark almond eyes met hers. There was a sense of regret in them. “Y-you mean you were a smuggler?” Y/N clarified. 

“I was fifteen. My parents were dead. I had no livelihood; no way of surviving day to day except to work for the bosses.” Soo Lin explained. Her head lowered and she placed her shoe back on. 

“Who are they?” Sherlock queried. 

“They are called the Black Lotus. By the time I was sixteen, I was taking thousands of pounds worth of drugs across the border into Hong Kong. But I managed to leave that life behind me. I came to England.” A soft smile adorned her face. “They gave me a job here. Everything was good; a new life.”

“Then he came looking for you,” Sherlock guessed. 

“Yes.” The smile wiped from Soo Lin’s face. A tear fell down her cheek. “I had hoped after five years maybe they would have forgotten me, but they never really let you leave. A small community like ours – they are never very far away. He came to my flat. He asked me to help him to track down something that was stolen.”

“And you’ve no idea what it was?” John asked. 

“I refused to help.” 

“So, you knew him well when you were living back in China?” John asked. 

Soo Lin nodded. There were tears that now flowed freely down her face. “我哥哥。”

Y/N gasped. “Her brother.”

“Two orphans. We had no choice. We could work for the Black Lotus or starve on the streets like beggars. My brother has become their puppet, in the power of the one they call Shan – the Black Lotus general. I turned my brother away. He said I had betrayed him. The next day I came to work, and the cypher was waiting.”

Sherlock ruffled through his pocket before he pulled out the photo. He laid it on the table in front of Soo Lin. “Can you decipher these?”

She leaned forward and ran a hand over them just like she did with the teapot. “These are numbers.”

“I know,” Sherlock said. “But what’s the code?”

“All the smugglers know it. It’s based upon a book …” Soo Lin began.

Suddenly the lights cut out. Soo Lin shot out of her seat. Dread filled her face. Sherlock and John looked around sharply. Their heads darted around the room for any sign of an intruder. 

“He’s here. Zhi Zhu. He has found me.” Soo Lin whimpered.

Sherlock doesn’t waste a second running out of the room in search of the intruder. 

“Sh-Sherlock. Sherlock, wait!” John called. He turned to Y/N and Soo Lin. “Stay here.” He led the two women into a cupboard in the back of the room. “Get in!” He commanded. Y/N and Soo Lin stepped. It was a tight fit, but they made it work. John nodded and closed the door. Then he ran after Sherlock. 

____SHERLOCK’s POV____

My feet clatter against the stone floor of the museum. The noise of my steps would no doubt give me away. Not that I cared. I came to a stop in a large open foyer. Above me was a glass roof. Possible entrance, I thought. My head whips around for any sign of the intruder. 

Bang!

I ducked to the floor. 

Bang!

I quickly ran out of the foyer and down a hallway. The figure jumped to the ground with a thud. Their quickening footsteps chased after mine. I came to halt. 

The room was filled with glass cases holding skulls and artefacts that have lived throughout the ages. Each case was transparent allowing one to see into the next. Not much of a place to hide, I grumble to myself. 

Bang!

The intruder is close behind me now. I dart behind a nearby case. The display sign blocked the view from the other side. It would have to do for now. 

Unsure footsteps clattered against the floor. The sound echoed throughout the room and in my mind. My breath stills. A second pair of running footsteps dulls the sound of the nearby footsteps. John. 

The figure turned around and ran out of the hall. I peer over the corner of the case and quickly make my way out of the room. In the corner of my eye, I see John. He’s standing behind a column. His back was against the marble surface as he looked over his shoulder. I try to make my way to John. My feet lift off the floor and move in his direction. 

Bang!

I duck to the floor and dash into a nearby room. The gunman is on my tail. To my luck, there is more cover in the room. The display cases were opaque. Tables and wooden platforms are scattered in the room. 

Bang!

I slide to the ground and behind a display case. 

Bang!

“Careful!” I call out. 

Bang!

“Some of those skulls are over two hundred thousand years old! Have a bit of respect!” My breath is heavy. My heart is pumping, and adrenaline runs through my system. My hands feel clammy as I brace myself against the case. 

“Thank you,” I grumble into the silence. 

Silence. Which means quiet. It’s too quiet. I frown. My eyes widen as I peer through the glass case. The figure is gone. 

____Y/N’s POV____

Silence. That’s all I could hear or at least try to hear. My lungs exhale like the wind thrashing against my window on a stormy night. My body was trembling. My body rumbles like an earthquake shaking through the city. My hands grip tightly around my legs hugging them close. I wouldn’t dare shut my eyes. Even in the darkness, my eyes were on alert. The drumming of my heart pounds louder and louder. It slams against my rib cage threatening to break free–threatening to give our hiding location away. 

There was a creak beside me and my head whips to Soo Lin. She pushes open the cabinet door and extends her legs. I reach out and grab her wrist. I shake my head and dare to whisper. 

“No.” 

Soo Lin places her hand on mine in a soothing manner. Her soft fingers wrap around mine and gently pulls them off. She brings a finger to her lips and smiles. All I can do is shake my head as she closes the door to the cupboard once more. Faint light leaks into the cabinet and I shuffle my position. My eyes now catch sight of Soo Lin creeping over to the desk. Her hand works away at solving the cypher that we had brought her. The light flashes. I stifle a cry. My hand glued over my mouth as tears flooded my view. 

Behind Soo Lin was a man. He stood slightly taller than her. I could see her smile. Her hand came to cup her brother’s cheek. 

“亮 ” She whispers. “大哥 ”

I shake my head. Soo Lin looks behind her brother at me. She smiles softly. Her tear-stained cheeks crinkle. She turns back to her brother. 

“请你” Soo Lin pleads. 

Bang!

A cry escapes my lips as Soo Lin’s body crumbles to the floor. The man–her brother turned around. His eyes scan the room. He heard me. My nails dig into my hands in an attempt to freeze my shaking body. My ears whimper as the man steps towards the cupboard. The light disappears and I can see no longer. 

___SHERLOCK’s POV___

I ran out to find John. He was still hidden behind the column. I ran over to him, my hands grasping his shoulders. There it was. A single gunshot. The sound rang out from a distance. I look at John. His face grows cold, and his eyes fill with horror. 

My face drops. “Where’s Y/N?” I ask. My hands shake his shoulders. “John!” I yelled. My voice broke. 

“Oh, my God.” John cries. He runs in the direction of the back room. A grim feeling creeps up my body. My eyes darken and I run. My feet are tumbling against the floor. John and I race back to the stairs. We dash up the steps and run into the room. The doors slam open banging against the walls. 

I ran into the room. My eyes frantically dart from wall to wall. One word in my mind. Y/N. Y/N. Y/N. John crumbles to the floor next to Soo Lin’s desk. I look over in his direction. 

___Third POV___

They say that the human body is made up of 60% water. For Sherlock. At this moment, the image of Soo Lin’s lifeless bleeding body is in his mind. His body was 100% filled with a sea of dread. Tears threatened to escape his eyes the longer he looked at the body. He wouldn’t dare move for fear of stepping into some dark corner and finding her. Y/N. Hair strewed across her face. Her beautiful eyes now hazed over. Her body lying limp against the floor. 

A creaking noise came from the left of John and Sherlock. The two stood defensively fists held close to their body. 

Then there she was. Full of life. Her eyes were red and tears were flowing from them. Her body shook as her feet hit the floor. Sherlock darted over to her, his hands wrapped around her, holding her close. He pulled back slightly. His eyes filled with worry as he cupped her face. Her lips trembled as she tried to make out words. Sherlock’s hands dropped from her face to her neck. Her pulse beat fast underneath his cool hands. She was alive. 

John ran over to the two of them. His doctor instincts took over. He asked her questions checking her physical well-being. Once, John was sure that Y/N was alright. They all turned back to Soo Lin. Y/N sobbed at the sight. She leaned into John who took her into a hug.

Sherlock’s face dropped at the sight of them. Then he crouched down to the body. His hands picked up the origami black lotus flower in the palm of Soo Lin’s hands. 

____

“How many murders is it gonna take before you start believing that this maniac’s out there?” John said to Dimmock. 

The Detective was trying his very best to, what seemed to John and Sherlock, ignore them. His hands rummaged through the paperwork on his desk. 

John placed his hands on his hips and stepped closer to Dimmock. A sense of urgency in his voice. “A young girl was gunned down tonight. That’s three victims in three days. You’re supposed to be finding him.”

Behind John sat Y/N. She had a far-off look in her eyes. They were frozen over. A layer of frost covered them. Her mind was far from the walls of the precinct of Scotland Yard. Her eyes cast down at her feet. She was sitting so still that someone could have mistaken her for a dummy. Sherlock sat next to her. His hand ran up and down her arm in an attempt to comfort her. 

Sherlock’s hand fell still and he gave Y/N’s shoulder a squeeze before releasing her. Reluctantly, Sherlock left Y/N’s side and walked over to where John and Dimmock stood. 

“Brian Lukis and Eddie Van Coon were working for a gang of international smugglers,” Sherlock said. “A gang called the Black Lotus operating here in London right under your nose.” His smooth voice grew tense as the last words spilt from his mouth. The fear from this evening mixed with the anger and frustration from the case. 

Dimmock stilled his motions. “Can you prove that?”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. “John,” he said. “Take Y/N home.”

John looked between Dimmock and Sherlock then over at the slumped figure of his friend. He sighed and agreed to Sherlock’s request. John carefully made his way over to Y/N. He placed a hand on her shoulder, just as Sherlock had done. He helped her out of her chair. 

Y/N found her feet mindlessly moving as John guided her out of Scotland Yard. Sherlock’s eye never left her figure until she was out of view.  

This case had gone on long enough, thought Sherlock. 

_____ 

“Let’s get you inside,” whispered John. He held a steady hand on Y/N’s lower back as he led her inside 221B Baker Street. The hallway was dark. The only light to be seen was the light that escaped from under Mrs Hudson’s apartment door. A door which soon creaked open. 

“Is that you, N/N?” Mrs Hudson asked into the darkness. 

“It’s us,” John replied. 

The hallway light flickered on and Mrs Hudson felt her heart sink at the sight. Y/N was leaning onto John. His arms around her holding her up. Y/N’s face was lax. No emotion held in her features except for her eyes. They were glossed over. The frost had melted and now there were tears. 

“Come here, dear.” Mrs Hudson urged. She crept towards Y/N and wrapped her in a hug. “Why don’t you come in? Have some tea. Bjørn’s here. I’m sure he misses you.” She comforted her niece. “John, you too.”

The three of them made their way into Mrs Hudson’s home. The walls were decorated with a whimsical wallpaper. Almost fairytale like with all the birds and greenery. On the walls hung photos of Mrs Hudson and her family. Young Y/N in grade school, her front two teeth missing. A spark in her eyes, that was absent now. 

Bjørn’s ears perked up at the sight of his owner. His tail twitched as he sat up. Mrs Hudson had sat Y/N down on the couch next to her. Bjørn meowed sweetly. His sound was like that of a kitten. The cat’s golden eyes softened at the sight of his owner. It didn’t take long before Y/N shot out a hand and pulled her cat close. Her tears stained his brown fur a few shades darker. 

“What happened?” Mrs Hudson asked. John wasn’t sure to whom she asked, but he answered. 

“The case.” John wouldn’t dare say more for fear of worsening Y/N’s condition. 

Mrs Hudson shook her head in understanding before asking John to sit down in the open chair. A seat his tired form gladly took. 

Gently Y/N peeled away from Bjørn and laid her head down on her aunt's lap. Bjørn snuggled in close to his owner. His tail wrapped around her forearms as she held him close. Mrs Hudson ran her hands through Y/N’s hair. Her nails softly scratched Y/N’s scalp in a calming manner. 

John sat in his seat. His brow furrowed with worry as he looked at his friend. He couldn’t help but blame himself. For her state and the death of Soo Lin. He thought about what would have happened if he had stayed with the two women. Would Soo Lin be dead? What if he and Sherlock hadn’t made it in time. What if the man had found where he hid them. There were so many what if’s for his tired mind. It didn’t help that Mrs Hudson had turned on a soap opera. The faint voices in the background pulled John to sleep. His head hung heavy against the chair’s cushion. 

Mrs Hudson began to braid her niece's hair. A soft lullaby in the form of a hum fell from her lips. In the corner of her eye, she saw John asleep. Beneath her, she saw her niece. The light from the screen flashed as it changed from scene to scene. The niece’s reddened eyes and trembling lips were in full view. Y/N laid with Bjørn in her arms. 

“Auntie M.” Y/N croaked. Her voice was sore from all the crying. 

Mrs Hudson’s hands stopped as they finished a braid. “Yes?”

“Can I have some tea?” Y/N asked. Her voice was so quiet. There was a remnant of shakiness to it. 

Mrs Hudson smiled lovingly and nodded. “Of course.” 

Y/N lifted her head up and let Mrs Hudson stand up. Y/N laid back down on the couch. Her eyes focused on the screen in front of her. In the soap opera, a man appeared on the screen. He was chasing after a beautiful woman with tears in his eyes. The actor had deep brown eyes. Eyes that reminded her of Jim. Oh, how she wished he was here. She’d cuddle close to him. His warm embrace protected her from the horrors she had just witnessed. But Jim wasn’t there. Sherlock was. She remembered how he ran to her and held her close. His eyes frantically looked her over with a hand on her neck. Her beating pulse pounded underneath his cool hands. There she felt safe. In Sherlock’s arms, she felt safe. She closed her eyes shut and allowed a few tears to escape. She wanted him to hold her now. 

“Y/N” Mrs Hudson whispered. “Tea’s ready.”

Y/N nodded and sat up. Her hand wiped away her tears and she sniffled. Mrs Hudson handed over the cup and then settled back down in her seat. Y/N brought the warm beverage to her lips. The sweetness of the tea mixed with honey soothed her throat. The comfort of the tea seeped into her bones and for once that night she finally felt her mind relax. Y/N tucked her legs and laid her head against her aunt’s shoulder. Bjørn occupied her lap. 

“Thanks,” whispered Y/N. 

Mrs Hudson smiled. “Anything for you dear.” She replied. 

With another sip of her tea, Y/N pointed to the screen. “Mind telling me what that’s all about?”

“Well, you see that man there, he’s in love with the blonde…” began Mrs Hudson. She knew her niece wasn’t really interested in some soap operas she watched on daily. However, she knew that’s what Y/N needed. A distraction. Something else to focus on other than whatever happened that night. So, from love triangles to long-lost siblings Mrs Hudson explained. 

______

John shook himself awake. His eyes winced as they tried to adjust to the bright screen of the television. The door to 221 B had opened. Mrs Hudson turned away from her door and looked at John. 

“That must be Sherlock.” She said, her voice was just above a whisper. On her lap lay Y/N. Her face lay peaceful as she slept. 

“Right,” John replied. “I’d better go. Want me to?” He pointed to Y/N. 

Mrs Hudson waved her hand. “Let her sleep a bit longer. I’ll wake her up soon enough.”

John nodded and looked at Y/N once more. Then he pushed himself from his seat and made his way up out of Mrs Hudson’s flat and up the stairs to his own home. 

John found Sherlock standing in the living room. His hand propped up against the mantle. 

“Sherlock,” John said. 

“Is she…?” 

“Asleep. She’s with Mrs Hudson.” John explained. 

Sherlock nodded. A silence fell over them. “You left her there,” Sherlock said coldly. 

John looked at his friend. Sherlock’s jaw was so tense he could have ground up steel nails with his teeth. “If I had known…” John began.

“She–she could have been killed,” Sherlock spat. 

John gasped. “You don’t think I know that? What about you, Sherlock? You ran out of there with no regard for her. I did my best to…” 

There was a glint in Sherlock’s eye. John’s words changed course. “You already know. You’re angry with yourself.”

Sherlock’s eyes closed. John knew he hit the nail on the head. “You like her. Don’t you?”

Sherlock turned around and faced John. “I care as much as you do.”

John rolled his eyes. “Right.” He knew Sherlock wasn’t going to say anything more, but in his heart, he knew. Sherlock cared for Y/N. 

Sherlock sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I…” He began. John tilted his head. Was Sherlock going to say it? 

“I…It’s not just a criminal organization; it’s a cult. Her brother was corrupted by one of its leaders,” Sherlock stated. 

“Soo Lin said the name.”

“Yes, Shan; General Shan,” continued Sherlock. 

John moved to his seat and sat down. His head resting on his hands. “We’re still no closer to finding them.”

“Wrong,” Sherlock said. John looked up at his friend with a brow raised. “We’ve got almost all we need to know. She gave us most of the missing pieces.”

“Why did he need to visit his sister? Why did he need her expertise?” Sherlock asked in John’s silence.

“She worked at the museum,” John muttered. 

“Exactly!”

“She was an expert in antiquities. Mmm, of course. I see.” John responded. 

“Valuable antiquities, John. Ancient Chinese relics purchased on the black market. China’s home to a thousand treasures hidden after Mao’s revolution,” Sherlock clarified. 

“And the Black Lotus is selling them.” John finished. 

Sherlock tilted his head to the side. An idea forming in his mind. Quickly he reached for the computer next to his chair and pried it open. His hands furiously typing away at the keys. John stood up and looked over Sherlock’s shoulder. He was on a website–an auction website. Sherlock scrolled through the screen, numerous Chinese and Asian artworks were listed. 

“Check for the dates …”  Sherlock mumbled to himself. His eyes widened and he pointed to the screen. “Here, John. Arrived from China four days ago.” His eyes scanned the details of the listing. “Anonymous. Vendor doesn’t give his name. Two undiscovered treasures from the East.”

“One in Lukis’ suitcase and one in Van Coon’s,” John said. 

Sherlock nodded and scrolled down the screen once again. “Look, here’s another one. Arrived from China a month ago: Chinese ceramic statue, sold for four hundred thousand.

John had removed himself from Sherlock’s side and retrieved Lukis’ diary. As Sherlock read the dates, John flipped through the diary. “Ah, look a month before that – a Chinese painting, half a million.”

“All of them from an anonymous source. They’re stealing them back in China and one by one they’re feeding them into Britain.”

“And every single auction coincides with Lukis or Van Coon travelling to China,” John said as he compared the diary to Van Coon’s schedule. 

Sherlock looked up from the computer screen. A brow cocked up. “So what if one of them got greedy when they were in China? What if one of them stole something?”

“That’s why Zhi Zhu comes,” John said in a hushed voice. 

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Mrs Hudson’s head appeared from behind it. “Sorry. Are we collecting for charity, Sherlock?” She asked. 

“What?” Sherlock asked in confusion. 

“A young man’s outside with crates of books.”

Sherlock nodded and shortly afterwards two police officers were carrying in plastic crates of books. Crate after crate, the free space in Sherlock and John’s flat seemed to disappear. 

“So, the numbers are references,” Sherlock explained. 

“To books,” John said quizzically. He didn’t understand how people could own so many books. 

“To specific pages and specific words on those pages,” Sherlock stated. 

“Right, so ... fifteen and one: that means …”

“Turn to page fifteen and it’s the first word you read.”

“Okay. So what’s the message?”

“Depends on the book.” Sherlock declared. “That’s the cunning of the book code. Has to be one that they both owned.”

 John looked around the room. A sense of despair filled his mind. “Okay, right. Well, this shouldn’t take too long, should it?”

John walked over to the nearest crate and flips open the lid. The sight before him elicits a sigh. He most definitely wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight. Beside him, Sherlock opened another crate. With his hands full he looked over the covers of each book. John, copying Sherlock, took a handful from his crate and carried them over to the dining table. The books thudded to the table. Dust flying from the surface. 

“We found these, at the museum,” a voice spoke out from behind the towers of crates. 

It was Dimmock. In his hand, he held a plastic bag. Inside was the photograph of the cypher that they had taken to Soo Lin. 

“Is this your writing?” Dimmock asked. John and Sherlock walked over to him. 

John was the first, taking the bag into his hands. 

“Uh, we hoped Soo Lin could decipher it for us,” he explained. 

Dimmock nodded. His eyes scanned the room. “Anything else I can do? To assist you, I mean?” He asked Sherlock. 

“Some silence right now would be marvellous,” Sherlock replied. His eyes focused on the bag in John’s hand. 

Dimmock just stares at Sherlock. John flashed an apologetic look at him. Then Dimmock turned on his heel and was out the door. 

John returned to his seat by the table. Sherlock took out another handful of books.  His eyes froze over one. He had seen this cover before. He found the second book and laid them side by side before cracking one open. Page fifteen. Word One.

“Cigarettes.” Sherlock sighed in disappointment. He closed the book shut and delivered it to John at the table before searching through the books again. 

Again, Sherlock finds two copies of a book. Page fifteen. Word one. “Freakonomics.” then it was “Imagine” in another book. A frown appeared on Sherlock’s face. He dumped the books on the table and picked up his search once more. A pile that once was two books tall now stood sixteen. Next to that pile, there were three more. One could hardly see John from underneath all the books. Behind him stood Sherlock. His hands made quick work through the crates of novels. 

Page by page. Word by word flew by John’s mind. The words muddled together one after the other. His eyes blurred and his head sunken deeper and deeper. The book's stacks got higher and higher as John fell deeper and deeper into a restless sleep. His back and neck strained as they rested against the table. 

_______

Sherlock placed, yet again, another pair of books when the floorboards near the door creaked. 

His eyes, with dark circles underneath them, gazed in the direction of the noise. Y/N stood against the door frame. A blanket wrapped around her slumped shoulders. 

“Hi,” she whispered. 

Sherlock smiled. “Hello.”

Y/N’s eyes scanned the room, and a chuckle left her mouth. “Either you really like books, or this is for the case.”

“The case.” 

“Knew it,” she replied. “I, uh…” She began before she shook her head. “It’s stupid.”

Sherlock placed the books in his hands back into the crate. He walked over to the woman. “Tell me,” he said. 

“I couldn’t sleep, so thought I’d come to bother you.” She said, her eyes lifted up to meet his. She wanted to say more. She wanted to say that she didn’t feel safe alone and that the only place she considered safe was in his arms. 

“Perfect. I’m going to need all the help I can get, especially since John fell asleep a while ago.”

“What can I do?” She asked. Her hands hung at her sides brushing the loose fabric of her sleep shirt. 

Sherlock led her over to the crate and briefly explained the process. The numbers correlated to pages and the word on the page. Y/N nodded her head trying to understand it all. It was simple. However, for her tired mind with the reminisce of fear from earlier that evening, it was hard to grasp. 

Sherlock could see that. So, instead, he suggested she’d read the pages and he’d find the books.  She nodded in agreement. She turned away from him and found a seat on the couch. The soft cushion sank underneath her, enveloping her in comfort. She pulled the blanket around her tighter as Sherlock carried a set of books over to her. 

“Page fifteen. Word one,” he said. He handed her a notebook. “Write down the word and the book title.”

She took the pen and paper from her hand and opened the first book. Her eyes found the page and jotted down the word. It was a task to keep her mind busy. Her left hand moved across the pages of the books and with her right she scribbled down the information. 

As she worked through her fifth book, Sherlock turned to her. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Y/N’s hands stopped moving. She peered up at him. Her lips slightly parted. 

“I’m sorry about leaving John behind. I’m sorry for–” his voice threatened to break. “For leaving you in the room with Soo Lin by yourself. You’re too important to…” Sherlock paused, “to John and I.”

“I forgive you,” she replied. A soft smile appeared on her face and Sherlock felt a weight lift off his chest.  

“I’m sorry for being stubborn,” Y/N jokingly said. “But at least I’m not as stubborn as you are.”

Sherlock grinned. “I’m not stubborn. I’m right.” 

“Oh sure,” Y/N rolled her eyes. The smile was still on her face. 

The two of them settled into a comfortable silence. Sherlock dived through the books as Y/N tried to find the code that the Black Lotus used. The weight of her blanket and the way the couch’s cushion swirled around her, Y/N found herself dozing off to the same spell that put John to sleep. Her body went lax and her head sank into the pillow behind her. 

Sherlock looked up from his pile of books at the sleeping woman. He shut the cover and moved towards her. He didn’t know how, but his arms slipped around her legs and back. He lifted her off the couch. His mind followed the map of the apartment to his room. The door swung open and Sherlock carried Y/N over to the bed. He reasoned with himself, saying her neck would be sore in the morning from the position it lay in, as he laid her on his bed. 

She whimpered in her sleep at the loss of Sherlock’s warmth. After he had placed the blankets on top of her, that whimper soon faded. Instinctively, Y/N snuggled into the sheets. Her head lay against Sherlock’s pillow. Eyes closed and relaxed. 

Sherlock didn’t know how long he had stood there watching over her sleeping figure. His blue eyes roamed her face. Her lips parted slightly, and a few stray hairs fell against her cheeks. Sherlock reached a hand to brush away the hairs. His hand lingered. Y/N’s chest rose and fell. She was alive. She was safe. Sherlock’s heart couldn’t take it any longer. Soon he found himself leaning over. His lips brushed against her forehead. His eyes closed as if he was in reverent prayer. Her skin felt like silk underneath his lips. 

Reluctantly, Sherlock pulled away. His feet took him backwards until he reached the door. His hands ran through his curly locks. His cheeks flushed. He had kissed her. His eyes fell over Y/N once more before he forced himself out of the room. He needed to think. He needed to work and not think about her, but that’s all his mind seemed to think about nowadays. With a soft click, the door had shut, and Sherlock made his way over to the books–the distractions. Without another sound, he picked up the book he had placed down earlier. His eyes scanned the cover before he dropped it down once again. His eyes darted over to his bedroom door. 

This was going to be a long night, Sherlock thought.

____________________________________________________________

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[topsyturvy-turtely]

Fluffbruary with turtely

(missed days edition)

Day 18

[day 17] [day 19]

prompts: recovery | flight | film by @fluffbruary

fandom: BBC Sherlock

will be uploaded to "That Stuff Called Fluff" on Ao3!

A/N: this is more hurt/comfort than fluff i hope that's okay. entirely inspired by this post. also: this is long! be prepared!

♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡

John Watson, the flight attendant on the aircraft from LHR, United Kingdom to PAR, France, noticed the nervous passenger at first glance. Sweat damping curly dark brown hair, fingers twitching, eyes already looking for emergency exit signs.

John greeted him with a friendly smile and directed him down the aisle where he could find his seat.

As soon as the passenger sat in his seat (21D), his legs started bouncing. John memorized the seat number just in case.

And the case was as soon as they had taken off. The passenger's face had turned extremely pale and his breathing became faster and faster. His knuckles turning white, because he gripped the seatrests so tightly.

John couldn't take it anymore. He walked over to the man. "Good morning, sir. May I ask if this is your first time flying?", he questioned.

The man barely gave him a look, stared straight ahead and shook his head tightly. "Don't like planes much. Please don't lecture me how 'the risk of dying in a car crash is far higher than in a flight crash', I know that." The passenger grumbled through his teeth. "People just seem to neglect the fact that IN CASE you crash with an aero plane, you fall from the sky, approximately from around 33.000 to 42.000 feet. The impact this would cause to a human body is-"

"Alright. You seem pretty damn smart for having half a panic attack there.", John said, something about the man letting him drop the mask of politeness he usually wore as a steward.

"It's called aviatophobia."

John smiled. "They say calling the fear by its name takes away its scariness."

"I wouldn't necessarily agree." The passenger argued, his legs still bouncing and his eyes still haunted.

John bandied looks with Sarah, his co-worker, who gave him a thumbs up. So John crossed his legs and let himself glide to the floor. He held out his hand. "Haven't introduced myself yet, have I? John Watson. What's your name, if I may ask?"

"Sherlock Holmes.", the man replied, taking John's hand in his own. Finally he looked, no - studied - John's person. The anxious passenger had an incredible face. Unique. Eyes changing colors every time he laid them on another object of interest. High cheekbones. Lips, perfectly shaped. It was an angular face, not fitting into any beauty standards and yet remarkably gorgeous. Briefly John wondered what those lips would taste like, but he quickly pushed this thought away. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Holmes."

The passenger still held his hand in his and looked intensely into his eyes. "Sherlock will do."

John nodded, "Alright, Sherlock." The flight attendant liked how that name on the one hand rolled off his tongue but on the other hand had a hard ending. In some way, it suited the man in front of him. "What are you doing in Paris, at this time of year?", It was the middle of the winter, but the snow seemed to refuse to agree with that and stayed in the comfort of the clouds.

"Sightseeing.", Sherlock simply replied, and looked away.

John scoffed, "Yeah, right", he said.

The passenger's head whipped around. "Why are you laughing?"

"A bloke like you sightseeing? You are wearing too expensive of a suit for that. And why would you take the plane if you clearly have a fear of flying? The train connects pretty conveniently nowadays. It doesn't make sense. It has to be something urgent."

Sherlock's intense eyes glared at him again, and John felt a bit hot. This guy had some effect on him... if he wasn't in this situation of him being a flight attendant trying to prevent a passenger from panicking, and they were in a pub or something... John would probably even take his chances.

"Not as stupid as I thought you'd be.", the other man stated.

John laughed at the directness of his conversational partner. "Well, I'd hope they wouldn't give a doctor's degree to complete idiots."

Sherlock cocked his head slightly, the initial anxiousness obviously slowly fading. "What does a man with a doctor degree do on board of an airplane?"

"Oh, it's a long story..."

"Elaborate. I insist."

The two man continued talking like this. Sherlock in his seat, John on the floor, their hands intertwined. Sherlock occasionally gripping John's hand tighter when turbulences occurred, John casually explaining how it came to those. Sherlock seemed to know most of it already, but apparently John's voice seemed to calm him down. After a while, John had to walk through with a cart to offer beverages to all passengers. When he was done, John had hoped Sherlock would have kept the calm from their conversation, but apparently the fear had come to the surface again.

John didn't think for long; He grabbed two cups of coffee and headed back to his problem child, who was his favorite passenger at the same time. Together they drank their coffees, Sherlock holding on to John for dear life and they shared more about their life, anecdotes and thoughts. John felt bad about it, but he was almost glad Sherlock suffered from aviatophobia, because otherwise, he probably would never have gotten to exchange words with the fascinating man.

When 1 hour and 15 minutes have passed, they finally landed. Reluctantly, John had to take a seat away from Sherlock and the other passengers to stay safe. He kept clenching his fist, when suddenly a voice caught his attention. "He'll be alright. Stop worrying." It was Sarah.

"I know. But I am... worried.", John said, embarrassed about already feeling attached to the almost-stranger.

"You know what I think you should do?", Sarah asked. John opened his mouth but was interrupted, "Give him your number. And don't give me your 'But I am not gay' bullshit, either. We both know that's not quite true. Trust me. I know that look on your face. Give. him. your. number. Or I will.", She casually said but John knew she was right.

For a minute he sat there in awkward silence but finally his heart won over his head and he frantically searched for a piece of paper and pen.

Before the seat belt sign turned off, John used the opportunity to slip Sherlock his little note. He already walked away when he turned around and saw Sherlock's confusion in his face. The man pointed at himself and mouthed 'Me?'

John nodded enthusiastically and mouthed, 'Yes, of course. You.' back. To make sure there was no doubt he made fist, stuck his pinky and thumb out and shook his hand close to his ear, 'Call me'.

When everyone had left the plane, John's phone dinged.

John? SH

Attendant. JW

Did you seriously think I addressed anyone other but you with my note? JW

Funny. SH

Needed to be sure. SH

Well, be assured then ;) JW

Call me. Hopefully we'll get to know each other in a more comfortable atmosphere. JW

Wouldn't want to miss it. SH

Good. Me neither. JW

Call you later? SH

Oh, god. Yes. JW

♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡

A/N: endings are hard :( feedback is so so precious to me! please don't hesitate to give constructive criticism or anything else, as a matter of fact. love you! thanks for reading! *throws badly cut out paper hearts at you*

tag list! (tell me if you wanna be added or removed💚) @justanobsessedpan @helloliriels @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @so-youre-unattached-like-me @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @pansherlock @the-smol-bean-libby-blog @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @musingsofmyown @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @almosttinycowboy @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee @baker-street-blog @psychosociogentleman @quickslvxr @macgyvershe @myladylyssa @johnlock2708 @battledress @a-victorian-girl @dreamerofthemeadow @oetkb12 @ohnoesnotagain @mutedsilence

[vivihar]

hello vivi !! it’s ME again !!

im here to yap again so BE READY !!

—

first i love tomerus i want them to smooch but i also want them to have a billford dynamic…please here me out with tired stressed severus being tormented by an entity (tom ahah TOMENTED) who wants to take over the universe and finds fun in torturing humans with a whole ‘let’s see how many times i can rearrange your atoms without you ceasing to exist!!’ but in a TOM way yk ?! like severus who shouldnt like this weird demon but he’s also kind of hot in a way he hates himself for. like please my man wanted to research creatures and potions and instead accidentally made a deal with a god damn trillion year old psychotic masochistic interdimensional demon ????

—

THE SECOND YAP is i want them…sherlock johnlock coded…severus just looking for an apartment and meeting up with an old friend (insert whoever you want here) and who says ‘wow, you’re the second person to ask me that.’ and he’s like ‘wtf r u talking abt’ and there tom is whipping a dead body because he wants to know if bodies bruise after death ?? and everyone’s okay with it except for severus who’s stood there wondering who tf this guy is and why is behaviour is normalised ?? or you could make it sheriaty which i now realise while writing this is slightly better. moriarty as tom and severus as sherlock with their homoerotic rivalry where neither of them actually want to kill the other because what’s the fun in that ?? this is what severus needs, the thrill of the chase and the only person that can give him that is tom and while toms reading out this pre-rehearsed villainous speech severus is thinking ‘this guy talks to much…i should kiss him. or shoot him. both is good.’ and tom is thinking ‘maybe i should kill him…no then i wont be able to see him. maybe i could just rob his grave after. i’ll see what he does first.’ because honestly they’re ALL THE OTHER HAS !! they’re ALL THE OTHER WANTS !! no matter how much tom does, severus will always be there to stop him and the thrill of the chase is what gets them off !! they’re insane !!

and i love them and then concludes my yap LOVE YOU VIVI !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hello Dori lovely how are you 🧡

I confess it's been a long time since I watched both of them so I don't know if I could make them as you said but I did understand the dynamic you're referring to which thank you love, it's perfect especially the first one.

Maybe not a deity (or maybe could do) Tom has psychopath tendency which if we make Severus some type of a creature Tom would want to play and test everything about Severus like a kid playing with his toys. But if we think him as a 'deity' I think we could go with Canon. Like V winning the war and playing with Severus, torturing him and making him live forever so he could play with him forever etc etc.

I kinda have Moriarty and Holmes thing au. Not really same but similar chasing and playing game. Muggle au where Tom is a criminal Lord or something and Severus journalist or detective who looks for him. More likely journalists tho. Tom would have fun how his newly graduated 'stalker' finds things about him(he lets him) and Severus would be excited to discover more and more things about Tom. And at some point Severus gets good, he finds things Tom doesn't want him and rather than being angry Tom would kinda feel proud lol anyway I hope I tidy the plot soon so I can start making the au because it's fun.

I love you too 😙🧡🧡

[helloliriels]

Sleepless in London

(Part 6 of Tumblr posting is 1/2 of Ch.7 on Ao3)

Read Pt. 5 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 1 | AO3

“Aren’t you going to read these, Daddy??”

Rosie had been sifting through the pile that John managed to shift into their sitting room - one armful at a time - and was now covered in them, like a dragon buried in its hoard of gold … 

He was trying to avoid the questions, as her eyes positively *glittered* with hope!

“I might do, later,” he answered, non-committal. 

His focus was on the eggs he was trying to whip into shape, while his mind was distracted by this entirely new problem … 

It was one thing to go on a radio talk show and stroll as it were, down memory lane … 

     … It was another thing entirely, to actually expect that he could find real love again.

               … And absolutely laughable to assume that out of all the billions of people on planet earth … it would be contained in this pile of letters!

He sighed. Slouching again, despite his best efforts the last few weeks to be cheerful.

.

Yes - he had meant it, 

             When he said he would try for Rosie’s sake. That night on the radio. 

.

And if he was being honest with himself … 

             He really did miss the companionship.

.

But these letters … ?

       He hadn’t counted on them.

.

“Did they make you give out our address?” he asked, concerned.

He thought about his wording, and adjusted his tone of voice, so as to not sound too harsh or accusing as he continued, “when you called in to the radio station that night - Rosie?” 

But the more he thought about it, the more concerned he really felt.

She was nodding, but then she shook her head, ‘No’. Then she nodded ‘Yes’ again. John was confused. Rosie was confused. She had to stop bobbing her head and perusing letters to look up. “Standard seizure?” she replied at last, “the man said they needed your Name. Number. Residence. Like at hospital. Before you can be admitted. In case anything happens to you?” Her voice hit that lilting note, like this should be obvious.

John smiled at the thought that Rosie misunderstood the meaning of “happens".

“I think they meant, kiddo -” John turned the burner down and watched the eggs sizzle in the pan … “that in case they drop the call, they know how to call you back - and they didn’t actually need our address for that!“ he noted her look of concern, “but it’s fine.” He smiled. “Standard Procedure,” he repeated the full words back to her, making sure it stuck this time.

He went back to cooking, only to ask over his shoulder, “did they tell you to expect the letters?”

Now Rosie was confidently nodding. 

“A lady called to say they had LOTS and that she wasn’t at all ‘prised!” she boasted. 

John smirked at his reflection in the glass.

.

“She says you were 'the hottest bachelor on air since Prince William'…" Rosie stopped bobbing again and looked up at John, “what’s a bachelor?” she asked. 

“A bachelor -” John explained, serving up dinner onto their plates, “is a man who is not yet married.” He huffed as he was setting their places at the counter, and was not sure why he felt the need to continue … “and a confirmed bachelor …  is a man who does not intend to marry. Possibly ever …”

“There!” He finished laying dinner out with a flourish and indicated that she should join him and eat! Now! 

Rosie giggled and grabbed a handful of letters as she ran over to the table.

“Read some, Daddy?” she begged, batting her eyes for extra effect. She had the brightest, most colourful envelopes fanned out in her hands, and one with a little love heart.

“Oh no!” John countered, “not until AFTER dinner!”

He took the treasured finds and tossed them back towards the pile. Shoving her, playfully, into her seat with a bop on the nose. “Now eat! Or I promise to read none!”

Sherlock stared at the open sea. 

             Amsterdam felt hollow.

               Everything felt hollow. 

.

It seemed, the more he pushed himself to be the machine Mycroft lauded - the more he felt like he was missing something … essential? 

.

But he didn’t want to stop to think about it. He wanted a distraction. 

He had not been able to get John’s voice out of his head, since the radio program that night, and what was worse … 

        … He was beginning to regret tossing the letter. 

.

Mycroft had caught him at just the right moment. Offering him a lead to this new case. A case that was clearly going to require more than two weeks. Maybe more than two months, if he was lucky! And he had jumped at it!

Now ... having traced the route and found that it led in three directions … he decided he needed a new plan; to keep ahead of the game and to release as many of the captured teens as humanly possible; before anything or anyone alerted the Spider at the centre of the web … that his world was about to come unravelled … 

… And for the first time since Victor … he wished he had someone to help him with it. To share the work.

He convinced himself. That was all this was about. Not John.

But once the thought had planted itself in his mind … he just couldn't shake it. 

Maybe he should start with a roommate …?

                     When he returned to London?

.

After all … 

It was foolish to hope he could share his life with a friend or a lover ...?

                                        … If he couldn’t even handle sharing the rent.

(fic continued on AO3) will keep posting here also. Have two more parts to catch up before I keep posting on Ao3 (more chapters are ready!)

Tagging @johnlocky @fluffbyday-smutbynight @chinike @rhasima @mydogwatson @kettykika78 @mxster-jocale @cupidford @meetinginsamarra @peageetibbs @calaisreno @7-percent @john-smiths-jawline @anyway-kindness @swissmissing @inevitably-johnlocked @totallysilvergirl @kittenmadnessandtea @topsyturvy-turtely @safedistancefrombeingsmart @colourfulwatson @holmesianlove @kabubsmagga @peanitbear @copperplatebeech @tiverrr @pocketwatchofmycroft @mutedsilence @2smach @loki-lock @daltongraham @amyreadsandstresses @raina-at @discordantwords @gregorovitchworld @bluebellofbakerstreet @sarahthecoat @reveling-in-mayhem @masterofhounds @missdeliadili @mysterythecat @iamjustreading @midgemao @ileenhaddockhawkins @storytellingdreamer @fuckcannibals @cortinita @marisaysthings @a-clithridiate-in-my-heart @salmonsown

[beyonddmythoughtssworld]

Broken Hearts Club || Part II

Pairing(s): Rafe Cameron x Reader, slight!JJ Maybank x Reader 

Summary: Rafe proves to be insatiable as you find it harder to ignore him. 

Word Count: 4.4k 

Warnings: 18+ content, smut, choking, cursing, minor verbal altercation, drinking

“Do you plan on explaining why I had to pick you up from Figure 8 when last I checked you were on your way home?”

Your head whips to where JJ is standing with his arms crossed, leaned against the bar of the Country Club as he awaits your answer. You brushed past JJ to take the money from your last customers to the register, shrugging as you tried to play it off while you formulated an answer.

It struck you that while you spent the morning wrapping your head around what happened last night, you didn’t even think of coming up with an excuse as to why you were on the other side of the island, at the ass crack of dawn, with just a shirt on. You knew you were stupid to call JJ this morning, but you were a downright idiot for thinking he wasn’t gonna question you about it afterwards.

“… I decided to go to the bar instead. Met a guy.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie. Well, if you replace the bar with the beach and guy with the man you hate most in this world. You glance to gauge his reaction, seeing a frown on his face. Confusion came over once again, “… so you left drinking with us… to go to the bar? What happened to your mom ‘being on your ass about getting home’?” he finger quotes, the wrinkle between his eyebrows only growing deeper the more he questioned you.

You sighed, “I went home. She yelled. Passed out. I left and went to the bar.”

“… and went home with a guy.”

“Yes.” 

“… A guy who lives in Figure 8.”

“Yes.”

“Who was too much of an asshole to drive you home the next morning?” he scoffed, “Way to pick ‘em.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” you mumble before you can stop yourself. He opens his mouth to rebuttal, but you’ve already walked to your section to check on your customers. After making your rounds, you walk back to where JJ was leaning against the register, still looking at you except now with this unreadable expression.

“So do I know this asshole?”

I rolled my eyes, “JJ.”

For a second, you almost think he sounds jealous. You can’t remember any time he’s questioned John B or Pope’s whereabouts, and you can’t help feel a little hopeful that this hookup sparked any reaction from the blonde. 

He raised his hands, “I’m just asking. As your friend I’m allowed to be a little curious about your.. endeavors.”

“Oh, is that the word of the day?” You smiled sarcastically, him wrinkling his nose back at you and pulling at the curl in front of your face. You swipe at his hand, hip bumping him away from the register and pointing to the other side of the bar, “Customer, Sherlock.”

He glances back, before returning his gaze to you and glaring playfully, “I have more questions, ma’am, so I hope you don’t plan on leaving this club anytime soon.”

“Please go,” You laughed at his corniness, shaking my head and he went to the other side of the bar. The bell of the door rang as the next set of customers made their way in, you not really paying attention other than that it’s a table for three. Knowing your section is the only free one, you focus on grabbing a tray and three sets of napkins and utensils for the table. As you’re wrapping the utensils in the cloth, you can’t shake the feeling that someone’s watching you. At first you think it’s JJ, so you turn your head to the side only to see him fully focused on making a drink.

When turning your head forward, you jump slightly at the sight of Rafe standing directly across from you at the bar. He’s wearing his regular, a blue polo with khakis, a golf glove adoring his hand. He sets both his elbows on the bar, leaning forward, “I guess I have the pleasure of being serviced by you twice in less than twenty-four hours.”  

Your eyes narrowed at him as you looked at him in disgust, “Don’t make me punch you in front of all these people.”  

“Now, is that any way to treat a paying customer? Have you already forgotten your manners from last night?” You hate the smug look on his face, but can’t help but blush as the flashes of last night came through your mind like a movie, the dominance he had over you and your willingness to do as he asked just for a simple promise of release-

No.  

You ignore him, walking over to where the rest of the Death Squad is sitting. You stop at the table, feeling the presence of Rafe right behind you as he slid to get to his own seat, his hands resting on your waist as he got by. You rolled your eyes at the unnecessary move, looking to Kelce and Topper to find both sets of eyes on you. Normally, they’re looking down at the menu as if they haven’t been here enough to know exactly what’s on it, ignoring your complete existence as if you were nothing more than someone a bug they can’t swat away until they need to order something rudely. 

This time though, they’re both looking at you with the same curious expression, and it makes you angrier than it did when they simply ignored you. At least when they ignored you, you knew why. Now, you can only imagine why the hell they were looking at you like a zoo animal. A part of you doubts that Rafe would say anything to his friends about last night, he would rather confess to murder than admit he fucked what he considered a low class citizen. Maybe they just saw the way he grabbed you to get by and that peaked their interest. Yeah, we’re gonna go with that.  

“What can I get you guys to start off with?” You ask, pulling out your notepad and pen.

Fortunately, they spend the rest of their time being as cordial as they know how. You avoid Rafe’s gaze through the rest of your shift, only glancing at him when Topper or Kelce caught his attention. In the outside world, nothing’s changed between you two, but you can’t shake the feeling that the man sitting in your section had been inside you just the night before, and you don’t know how you feel about that sentiment enough to even begin to unpack what that means.

One one hand, it was a stupid drunken mistake that you would do anything to forget. On the other hand, last night was the first night you can remember where JJ wasn’t at the forefront of your mind. When you were kissing Rafe, you weren’t thinking about the unrequited feelings you had for the pogue. When you were fucking Rafe, you weren’t thinking much of anything. He did more for you in one night than months of drinking has in terms of just being able to offer a distraction.

None of that changes that Rafe is still Rafe. He’s the same pompous dick that on more than one occasion has made you cry out of pure anger. Only now, he’s made you cry for the exact opposite reason. Your eyes drift from Rafe to JJ, and you make your mind up instantly. Even if nothing were to happen with JJ, you can’t betray him even more than you already have. You slept with someone who’s hit him on numerous occasions, littering his skin with blood and bruises. You’ve cleaned up after the fights he’s started, and you know JJ would never forgive you if he finds out what happened last night.

So you decide then and there that from now, you’ll do everything in your power to stay the hell away from Rafe Cameron.

-- 

The party was in full swing when you and the rest walked in, taking in your surroundings. Sarah mentioned a party over on kookland she heard from an old friend, Scarlet, and convinced us all to go with the promise of free drinks. JJ was the loudest in saying no, but we all felt the same way about showing up to a party full of these rich assholes. But, you dangle free drinks in our face and it doesn’t take much convincing after that.

As we walk in, I feel JJ’s arm go around my shoulder, him leaning in to me and saying, “Stay close, alright? I don’t trust these assholes as far as I can throw them.”

You force yourself to not overthink, knowing this is just how he is. You’ve learned a long time ago not to read into the little things he does, even the small flirting moments because in the end, they don’t mean the same to him as they did to you. This is proven when he leans over to say the same to the rest of the group, his arm slipping from your shoulder as he leans into Kiara, asking if she’s alright. 

She smiles at him and nods, their eyes lingering for a second too long. 

You take the time to scan the party, taking note of the game of beer pong in the kitchen, the endless amount of drinks and dancing bodies littering the house and the dirty looks sent your way by the few who noticed your arrival.

“Let’s play beer pong,” You say to no one in particular, already making your way to the table. You hear JJ curse and follow after you as he tells the rest to meet up within a couple of hours and call if needed.

“What happened to stay close?” he asked, and you gave him a pointed look, “I’m just as close to you as I was when you first told me. Besides, the table was free and I didn’t want to miss our chance.”

He took your answer, clapping his hands to catch the attention of the guys who just finished their game. He challenges them to a game, and when they decline he turns around, “Okay, who’s not a pussy and wants to lose some beer pong?”

Hands clasped on JJ’s shoulders, roughly shaking him, “Very bold of you to make a scene at a party you don’t belong at, Pogue.”

Shaking Rafe off, JJ clenches his fist as he turns to face the taller man. His chest puffs up, both men trying to display some stupid amount of testosterone. You sigh, grabbing JJ’s arm and pulling him back, “We’re here to have fun, J, just ignore him.”

The older guy takes the moment to turn his eyes to you, scanning you so quickly you would’ve missed it if you blinked. He smirks, “Fancy seeing you here.”

You avert your eyes, not wanting to acknowledge the man any more than you have to. It’s been a week since the Country Club, a week since you’ve slept blonde. You’ve done a good enough job at ignoring him if you don’t count having to serve him after his blatant requests to sit in your section. If he’s with his friends, he’d order normally but would look at you as if he was wishing you were on the menu. He did show up once alone, though, when you were working the bar.

“Go away,” you immediately greet him with a glare. All week he’s been coming in here and at this point you’re annoyed. He refuses to be seated in any other section, and now he’s sitting here with this arrogant look on his face. He makes himself comfortable, leaning forward on the island and flashing a smile.

“I’ll take a Jack and Coke,” he bows his head, catching my eye, “Please.”

You walk over to behind the bar, grabbing a sign and walking back over to the bar before placing it on there for him to see. Under Federal Law, we observe the right to refuse service to customers.

It’s his turn to glare at you, “Ha. Ha. Jack and Coke.”

You roll your eyes, but nevertheless begin making his drink. You place it on the counter and he picks it up, taking a sip. His eyes remain on yours over the rim of the glass, and you break eye contact, taking a quick breath to shake off the annoying heat starting to build up on your face, “Anything else I can get you?”

“I would really appreciate a text back,” he instantly replied. I point my eyes at him, “Something on the menu, Rafe.”

“Okay, I’ll have another sex on the beach,” Your mouth drops open, him laughing at your reaction and smiling arrogantly. His eyes are sparking in mischief, and you want to throw the drink you made him in his face. You get over your shock, and your lips going in a straight line as you lean forward.

“Let’s make one thing clear,” you look him in the eyes, refusing to break the contact even when he leans closer to you, “What happened at the beach, is never gonna happen again. So cherish that memory for as long as you can, because that’s all you’re ever gonna get.”

“Hey.” JJ blocks Rafe’s access to you, pushing him back roughly, “Don’t look at her. I’m right here.”

“Guys! This is a party, can we act like it?” Sarah saves the day, walking over and glaring at her brother before smiling warningly at you guys. You knew what she was saying without words. We’re outnumbered here, we need to play nice if we don’t want this night to end in a brawl not even ten minutes after we arrived.

“How about we play some pong? You win, I’ll leave you guys to have your fun and enjoy the endless supply of alcohol. We win… Well, let’s leave that a surprise.” Rafe offers. In his mind, there’s no way he’s about to lose so he doesn’t think twice of offering them a chance to stay. He’s like a cat playing with his food.

“Fine. John B-!” JJ begins to call, Rafe quickly tsking and shaking his head, wiggling his pointing finger back and forth before pointing at you.

“She plays.”

“Look, asshole-” JJ starts, and I grab his arm before facing him towards me, glaring at him, “I wanted to play anyway. It was my idea, remember?”

“Yeah, that was before he decided to join and bargain.” he spits out in disgust at the kook, and you sigh before placing both hands lightly on his shoulder, “I’ll be fine. Relax.”

Normally his protectiveness would make your heart skip, but you’re already slightly annoyed at him undressing Kiara with his eyes since before you even arrived and just having to check on her wellbeing within two minutes of being at the party. You know you’re slightly being petty, but at this point you don’t care. 

“Are you two lovebirds done, or should we go ahead and call this a forfeit so you guys can get back to the Cut?”

JJ whips around, the insult ready at the tip of his tongue before I quickly cut him off, “Just set the game up.”

The older guy just smugly looks at me, “Yes ma’am.” He moves to the table, replacing the cups and pouring the liquor into each one.

-- 

It takes you ten minutes to convince JJ you can make it to the bathroom on your own. You’re not too off your ass for that to be a concern, but he’s been hovering over you since the pong game. It was hard to convince JJ that Rafe was just being an asshole with his comments, and that he obviously had no interest in you considering his obvious distaste of your status.

During the game, Rafe continuously did everything to get under your and JJ’s skin. It was obvious he was trying to start a fight to take away from the fact that he was losing, not expecting people he thought so little of to beat him in anything. Little did he know JJ and I play this on a random Monday cause we’re bored and want to get wasted. Even when he or his partner did make a shot, the liquor in our systems only added to our skills. When we won the game, JJ gloated loudly about beating the kook prince, feeling like the fucking man.

You giggled at his antics, catching Rafe’s eye as he went from frustrated to smug within two seconds, replying to the blonde, “Thank your partner. Gotta say, I like a girl who can play some pong and looks good while doing it.”

The smile dropped from JJ’s face, and he moved towards the kook only to be stopped by you grabbing his arms, “Hey, let’s go over there,” pointing to a random part of the house and redirecting him to it. You quickly grab him a beer, watching him down it.

“He says shit just to get under your skin. And even if he did mean it, it’s fucking Rafe. Who cares?” you lightly punch his shoulder, smiling at him and pouting when he looks at you blankly. Using both of your pointer fingers, you place them on either side of his mouth before pulling up, “Come on, turn that frown upside down.”

He slaps your hands away playfully, and you know you’ve eased him when he smiles at you and says, “Fuck it, let’s get drunk.”

Three shots later, you get the inevitable feeling that you need to have your first tipsy pee of the night, removing yourself from your group of friends to walk up the stairs. You slightly stumble down the hall, gripping the wall and giving yourself a second before making your way to the end of the hall. You open three doors before finally opening one to a bathroom.  

After using it and washing your hands, you stumble out of the bathroom right into a hard chest. Hands grip your waist, holding you from falling back. You open your mouth to thank the stranger, but quickly swallow it back down at the sight of Rafe looking down at you. You’re all too aware that his hands are still on your waist, and you push at his chest to move him back. He doesn’t move an inch, and you try not to let that go straight to your core.

“You gonna keep standing here like a creep or let me through?”  

“Worried your boyfriend’s gonna send out a watch party if you take too long?” he retorts, walking forward, forcing your own feet to step back. You narrow your eyes at him, trying to go around him only for him to step in your way as he continues to walk forward. When he makes it in far enough to close the bathroom door, he uses the grip on your waist to move you towards the sink, pressing you into it.

“Rafe,” you sighed out of frustration, using more force to push at him. His hands quickly grab your wrists, placing them both on either side of you on the counter, leaning down until his lips are brushing against yours, “Are you sure you wanna leave?”

“Yes,” you whisper, but can’t help your glance at his lips before bringing your eyes back to meet his. He cocks his head lightly to the side, placing a kiss at the side of your mouth. His kisses move in a line on your cheek, letting go of one of your hands to push your hair behind your ear so he has more room, placing a kiss behind your ear. Loose curls fall back to their former place, but he doesn't let that deter him as he whispers, “You sure about that?”

Kissing back to your mouth, he pulls away and stands straight, letting go of you fully. He steps back, nodding his head towards the door. But that’s all he does, looking at you with an almost predatory gaze as he leans against the wall adjacent to you. He’s silently daring you to leave, and his arrogance would be enough to make you barf if he wasn’t so fucking hot, and before you can think about your next move you reach over to lock the door.

You don’t know what you were thinking. You just told yourself a week ago that this would never happen again, and yet the anticipation is already building inside of you. You can blame the alcohol in your system, but you’re not nearly as drunk as you were the first time you had sex. Despite your silent promise, you haven’t been able to get that night from your head. He made you feel so good, and it was just an escape, so what’s the harm, right?

Walking to his figure on the wall, you raise on your tippy toes at the same time he leans down to crash his lips to yours. His hand comes up to wrap around your throat, switching your positions so you’re now pressed against the wall. His left knee moves between your legs, forcing them apart as he pushes up against your core, your dress sliding up at the movements. The kiss is a repeat of the first night, his mouth moving hotly against yours as he pushes his tongue inside your mouth.

The feelings of your tongues dancing together and his hand on your throat was enough to make you whimper, and his hand tightened their hold, pushing your head back to the wall as he pulled back, “Get on your knees.”

About to drop to your knees without a second thought, you take a second to think about the last time you guys were in this position. Rafe held the same amount of dominance he held now, and you refused to let the kook have the upper hand twice in a row without having to work for it even a little bit. He’s proven to let that get to his big ass head. 

Taking a step back, he gives you more room on the wall. You lift up to place kisses on his neck, finding the spot that makes his head throw back lightly as he fights down a groan. Annoyed at his stubbornness and wanting to hear him, you press your hand against the growing bulge in his pants, and he rewards you with a light moan.

This pushes you to rub against him even more, unbuckling his pants and pulling down his boxers to pull out his thick erection, using two hands to rub up and down as he groans, leaning down to catch your lips again. The kiss is messy, you being too focused on your hand movements and him being too distracted by them.

“Get.” Kiss. “On.” Kiss. “Your knees.”

You smile into the kiss, following his command this time and getting down on both your knees with the help of his hand that’s still wrapped in your hair, pulling his pants down further. His length slaps against your face, and you run your tongue lightly on the vein on the underside of his cock, leading all the way to the tip before slightly sucking on it. You repeat the same cycle a few times, Rafe growing frustrated and using his grip on your hair to pull you back, glaring down at you, “Stop fucking teasing.”

“Ask nicely,” you kiss around his cock, not breaking eye contact even when he throws you a look that can kill you right there. His lips press together in defiance, and you shrug before leaning back.

“Fuck- fine. Please put my cock in your mouth.” He rolls his eyes before his jaw goes slack at the sensation of your lips wrapping around him as you get used to the feeling of him in your mouth. You move halfway down his cock before bobbing her head up and down, not going any further than the halfway point. He allows it for a second, relishing in the feeling of your warm mouth before losing his patience.

“Am I gonna have to shove my cock down your throat?” he growls, and you pull off, kissing the tip once more before replying.

“You can…” you slap his cock against your tongue, making him groan, “..but will you?”

Tightening his hold on you, he answers you by forcing his cock down your throat. You lightly gag, but he holds you at the base, “Hold it. Relax your throat.” You do as he says, and the groan he lets out makes your pussy drip, “Just like that, fuck.”

Pulling you off his cock, he gives you a second to breathe before forcing him down once again. He repeats this process a few more times to get your throat used to the intrusion, before hands grip either side of your face, slamming his cock down your throat. You feel your head start to tap against the wall in time with his rough movements, and your soaked pussy begins to drip arousal down your legs.

You feel him getting closer, so you slap his hands away and hold onto both of his thighs, deepthroating him and holding your head there. He groans loudly, suddenly grabbing your arms and pulling you up, kissing you within an inch of your life.

His hands come down to your ass, gripping the flesh before pulling your underwear down, you helping him finish taking them off and throwing them to the side carelessly. He returns his grip to your thighs, lifting you until you wrap your legs around his waist, pressing you against the wall roughly. He grips his cock, sliding it up and down your folds and lightly dipping it in, “Ask nicely.”

You gasp against his mouth, “Asshole. Put it in.”

“That’s not so nice, baby.” he returns, dipping himself a little further before pulling out again, rubbing himself against you. You dig your nails into his shoulder, making him hiss against your lips, before giving in and whimpering, “Please.”

“That’s my girl.” he praises, sliding himself in fully and giving you a moment to adjust. The alcohol in your system only added to the experience, the feeling of him being almost too much to handle. It isn't until he reminds you to breathe that you realize you haven’t been, letting out the breath and relaxing against him as he begins to move inside you.

Lewd noises leave the both of you, him pressing his face against your neck as he breathes, “You’re so fucking good. You feel so fucking good.”

He slams into you harder, and you moan loudly, pressing your hand against your mouth to keep you quiet. He notices, and replaces your hand with his own as he brings his face to yours, the eye contact not breaking as he drives his cock further into you. The rhythm of him pounding into you becomes too much, and your walls tighten as come around him, your legs shaking at your strong release.

He groans, his breath fanning your face as he removes his hand from your mouth and placing it on your thigh. He halts his movements, grabbing both of your thighs to spread your legs until they’re pressed against the wall, holding you there as he pounds into you even harder. You moan loudly, and he kisses you to silence your sounds.

It doesn’t take long for that familiar pressure to build up again inside you, the coil in your stomach just begging to release itself. As you tighten, he bites your lip and tugs on it, “Don’t come until I tell you.”

You whimper pathetically, bucking your hips to drive him deeper into you as if that was even possible. He hits a spot inside that makes your eyes roll, and you move faster against him as he praises you, “Just like that baby. Keep moving- I’m gonna come.” 

Getting your second wind, you continue to meet his sloppy thrusts, and it's his turn to moan loudly as he looks at you, “Come with me. Come now.”

Relishing in his permission, you throw your head back against the wall as you bask in the waves of pleasure that shoot through you. This release was even stronger than the last, and you feel yourself making a mess around him as he pumps his seed into you, holding himself inside until his climax subsided. His head drops to your shoulder as you both catch your breath, both of your chests rising with each other. 

He lightly puts you down, holding there until you get your footing. He pulls his pants up silently, buckling them before leaning down to grab your panties from the floor. You hold your hand out to take them, but he slaps it away as he pushes the fabric into his pocket.

Before you can protest, he grabs your throat for the second time that night and pulls you to him, kissing you roughly. It’s over before it starts, him pushing you off and scanning you once more before turning and unlocking the door, leaving you in the bathroom with nothing but your thoughts.

Fuck.

[conchepcion]

Christmas prompt: Sherlock and Molly get into a fight and he wants to apologise, but she's gone to her family's for the holidays and he doesn't know where they are exactly .So he's going caroling door to door to find her

John didn’t know why he’d gotten put up to this. Honestly. Sherlock hadn’t told him what they were doing, though he’d been very specific about the area. 

He’d gotten out of the cab, clapped his gloved hands together and looked expectantly at his friend who’d dragged him out on Christmas Eve of all days to - “What? - - There’s no case?” he’d said, mouth dangling in the air. 

“No,” said Sherlock who strode ahead confidently. “We’re looking for Molly.”

“Molly - Molly Hooper?” John repeated, taking to jog to keep up. 

Sherlock let out a breath, surveying the row and row of identical houses, “Yes.”

“…What did you do?”

“It was just a disagreement.”

“So - -  what are we here for then?” said John stopping up, though feeling more confused when he saw a car race into the street suddenly stop, before Greg Lestrade came running out of the car, gun practically at the ready. 

The detective inspector was breathless when he reached the two, “I came as soon-,”

Sherlock said “No need for that,” - causing Lestrade to disable and holster it, looking a bit put out that he wasn’t action-man for a second.  

“Right, so what’s going on?”

“At least you didn’t bring a team this time.”

Lestrade smile dropped. 

“What - is it one of those other emergency’s?”

John laughed, “Yeah, if finding out which building Molly Hooper is in is an emergency. I thought you’d be able to find her yourself?”

“She’s surprisingly good at covering her tracks.”

“Wait - we’re trying to find Molly?” said Lestrade making a face. “What do you mean she’s good at covering her tracks?”  

“And you know the address, don’t you Greg?”

Lestrade shook his head, “I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“You could have asked him in a text..” said John in a low voice. 

“Wouldn’t have given it to him, either way.”

“What do I have to do?” said Sherlock causing Greg to light up. 

“I don’t know,” he said with a very put on sigh, crossing his arms as if he was thinking it through. “You know what I like to do every year-“

“No. Absolutely not.”

“What?” Said John grinning as well.

“It’s not to everyone’s taste though,” said Greg as sincerely as he could. “But I really do enjoy it.”

John blinked.

Sherlock groaned, “Caroling. Seriously? Three grown men. Alone.”

“The PM did it in Love Actually!”

“Hugh Grant isn’t the actual Prime Minister though, just throwing that out there, Sherlock,” said John unable to hide his laugh.

Sherlock whipped his head towards him, “And you’re up to this as well? Caroling?”

John made a face at that, looking pointedly at Greg, “How many houses before you let up?”

“Ten?”

“TEN?!” Sherlock guffawed. Fury rolling through him.

“Well, if you really want to see her, because we both know why we’re doing this,” said Greg.

Sherlock made a face. Both John and Greg waited with bated breath. John avoided asking any questions as to “why” even if he was dying to know, but he had an inkling as to why. There’d been a phone call. A “i love you” and surprisingly radio silence on either end, after all. No matter how he turned it around his head - if it had meant nothing, then, they wouldn’t be here right now.

“Fine, fine-“ he said waving his hand dismissively, letting Greg lead the way. They rang the door, and just as they were about to - it was Molly who opened the door.

Greg and John wandered off quite quickly after that.

“So, you were pulling his leg?” Said John as they walked off.

“Yeah, ten houses? Are you mad?”