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starssaroundmyscarssblog · 11 months ago

Note

Can you write for reader x Sherlock where reader is a little like Elizabeth Bennet, likes to read and paint etc. Singing and all the cultural stuffs and Sherlock has fallen for her too hard?

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐈𝐍

pairing: sherlock holmes (bbc) x fem!oc

summary: in which sherlock holmes doesn’t catch himself from falling quick enough for jane burbank

word count: 3.04k

warnings: none

a/n: this was my first time writing for a request so i really hope you like it <3 i also made it [x/oc] as i'm more comfortable doing it that way but i tried to stay away from descriptions as much as possible to make this little fic as inclusive as possible too <3

he wanted nothing more than to talk to her, even if it was only a meagre apology for accidentally brushing against her in the library isle. she enamoured him and he hated it, even years later as he held the heavy velvet curtains between two fingers and watched her cross over the road and unlock the door to her flat. john smirked behind his newspaper, "you're doing it again."

"doing what?" sherlock huffed, letting the curtains drape back into place over the window. "saying i'm doing something again would mean i'm repeating the action. what's special about me standing by the window." he stalked through the flat and flung himself into an old wooden chair by the kitchen table, seething over his frustration.

he hated it when john was right. nothing frustrated him more than his closest friend seeing right through him as if he were a spirit. more often than not, when he was sulking about not having cases or waiting for results from his less-than-ethical experiments, sherlock would find himself rooted to the floor by the window. sometimes he would play his violin slow and mournful, sometimes he would stand in plain sight.

it would stun him when the sunlight bounced off the wire frame of her glasses, the reflection shooting through her window and right back to his. sherlock found it hard to concentrate on anything else when she would sit in her arm chair with a cardigan that on anyone else would have looked ugly but on her the bright colours did nothing but compliment her. she always had a pen or pencil or paint brush hidden away in her hair, and occasionally she would reach up and fiddle with it as she thumbed delicately through the pages of her book.

sherlock looked up from concentrating hard on the surface of the table when his phone buzzed him his pocket, and he pulled it out. his smile became visible against his will.

you're doing it again, if you want to come over you only have to ask

within minutes he was at the door, ripping off his burgundy dressing gown and trading it out for his thick and heavy belstaff. at john's call of "where're you off to all eager?" he simply shouted "out" as he clattered down the thin staircase. sherlock was out of the door and crossing the road faster than he was able to think, knocking sharply on the blurred stained glass window set into her front door.

there was a crash from inside, a mutter of swearing as she pulled back the door to reveal her haphazard state. sherlock stared dumbly at her, trying to ignore the red splatter of paint on her neck dripping onto her chest, searching for words as when he opened his mouth it turned dry. "you didn't ask," she said, but stood back to let him into her house anyway.

sherlock walked in through the hall, catching himself casting his gaze over the walls like he did every singe time. the university diploma sat pride of place over the mantlepiece of the fireplace in the living room reading 'ba joint honours in history and history of art awarded to jane burbank, graduating with a first from the university of edinburgh'

next to it was a framed photo of the pair of them stood together at a mutual friend's wedding the previous year. sherlock had gone along begrudgingly when he'd found out that jane was attending the party after the ceremony because her cousin was the maid of honour for the bride. they were both standing outside of the venue side by side, smiling into the lens as one of the flower girls was messing with the petal confetti in her small wicker basket in the background.

jane brushed her bangs off her eyes as she moved around the airy living room, shoving wooden crates of paint back into place on the shelf and moving her latest canvas out into the garden to dry completely. sherlock stood awkwardly in his coat and ran his finger under the collar of his shirt sitting tightly against his neck. she stared at him as she returned, wiping a paint stain off the hem of her white dress as she did so.

"sherlock, i don't know why you insist on dressing like a child from the past in the middle of summer." london had been blanketed in a sticky, heavy heat as they hit the peak of august, making being indoors impossible but being outside worse. jane was only glad of her broken window to allow a constant breeze to pass through the ground floor of her house but knew the relief wouldn't last long. it was only a matter of time before the rain came in thick drops and plunged them into everlasting autumn.

he shrugged awkwardly and peeled the coat from his body, and when jane looked at him from behind her easel tucked away in a corner by the bay window he removed his blazer from his shoulders too. sherlock felt too free when he was with her, it scared him, but she made him feel to exhilarated to even care sometimes.

once, when they'd met at a summer research project collating students from different courses at the russel group unis, jane had cleared her throat to catch his attention in the library. at the noise he turned around, still holding the heavy volume, and saw her looking at him through a gap in the shelves perching her chin on the heel of her hands. "hey," jane whispered at him, "d'you want to do something fun?"

sherlock couldn't find his voice to tell her that what he was doing was fun and that he didn't really want to leave the safety of the library that late at night, but her bright eyes sparkling in the fluorescent lights hanging from the high ceiling from exposed wires made him throw caution to the wind and join her on their escapade. jane dragged him to a concert and to this day not one of them could remember who it was they'd seen only that they were rubbish and the cone of chips they'd picked at while walking through a grassy park was much more enjoyable.

he'd been dressed for winter then too, despite the thin linen of his shirt trying to cool him down in the muggy night air. but he couldn't care less about the heat invading his skin or the salt from the chips that caught on his finger tips because he was talking to jane burbank, and it had been all he'd wanted to do since she came bursting into the lecture hall for the summer programme two minutes late in a haze of frazzledness as she pulled down the hem of her summer dress where it had ridden up from her haste.

if he had been a better man he wouldn't have looked down past her neck but he couldn't help himself.

perched on the end of the emerald green sofa shoved against a bright white wall covered in artwork and cheap antique picture frames, sherlock fumed silently like the kettle he wished jane was setting over the stove because he could see john giving him his worst 'i told you so' look from the front window of his flat over the road. jane returned with a silver tray laden with small plates holding biscuits, two empty glasses holding ice and a large pitcher of sparkling orange juice.

"d'you want to go out and do something fun tonight?" jane found herself repeating the words every time she saw sherlock, which wasn't as often as she would have hoped considering she bought her house opposite his flat with his proximity in mind. he was always out sleuthing with john, who she'd seen more, and got on well with.

so was it really any surprise that jane took any chance she could get with sherlock, to make the most of the time they had together. he'd intrigued her all those years ago (it hadn't in-fact been too many years ago since they'd graduated with first honours, but life in the wake of sherlock holmes was long and weary) and still continued to do so now. she was pleased she knew him before he made it big as a 'boffin' in the national press and was even more pleased that he still kept up with her completely opposing lifestyle despite his cold-heartedness and want of plain fact.

with a gleeful grin and a shake of his shoulders as she squealed at his minute nod, jane was away to pack her bag and to grab her sandals before rejoining him at the front door. much to her excitement, sherlock had decided to brave the outside world without the protection of his belstaff, the top two buttons of his shirt were undone and his blazer was tucked neatly under his arm as he waited patiently for her. "ever practical," she muttered and locked the door behind her. the heat of the day beat down on her exposed shoulders from where she'd pinned her hair up at the back of her head and she pulled her sunglasses over her nose.

they set off and june looked at her watch, "quarter to three, fancy going out for something to eat first?"

"whatever you want to do," sherlock agreed, and sure enough half an hour later they were sat on outside tables for a cafe overlooking westminster watching the people go by. well, sherlock was watching the people go by and jane was peeling away the pastry of a croissant she'd ordered while taking occasional sips of her glass of diet coke. he tapped his fingers against the saucer for his coffee patiently waiting for her to finish so they could leave.

jane wanted to look through the markets in camden for old records before they tried to find a pub for dinner and finished off the day at st james' park to listen to the music drift over them from the live festival happening in hyde park that she didn't get tickets to. she was always asking him if he wanted to do something fun even when she'd planned the day to some kind of degree of legible and sherlock just agreed.

but he did so because jane had asked him to, and anything that was fun to her would be fun for him.

after their intermission at the cafe, where jane had stopped to take some candid photos of some couples she'd seen over the green before turning the lens on an unsuspecting sherlock, they suffered the stuffy carriage of the underground before emerging at camden. jane beelined for stalls selling records and cassette tapes she didn't need because her selection was already overflowing. she picked up a sleeve and turned it to sherlock, grinning, "don't you just love them?"

he smirked before saying, "i prefer blur" only to receive a smack on the shoulder for his admission. by the time they'd left jane had bought enough to put a sizeable dent into her savings account made for paying off her student debt and she was dragging sherlock to an art gallery she noticed was free to the public before they sat down to eat again.

there was something about her wide eyes as they walked around the gallery that sherlock couldn't tear his eyes away from. it might have been the sun shining down on her cheekbones from the glass ceiling or the way she looked like one of the twisted statues in her white dress and delicate sandals or her screwed up face as she focused on something in the background through the lens of her camera. being with jane was a break from the world he'd plugged himself into and he loved every second of it.

sherlock didn't love it as much, however, when they were sat outside (again) at a pub jane liked sharing a bowl of chips while she told him about the awful date she'd had with an awful guy who had an awful name two days prior. his back straightened and something curled in the pit of his stomach as jane told him about the bloke's lacklustre effort of wooing her, especially when he lumped her with paying for dinner and their tube fares back because he'd 'conveniently' left his wallet in a different jacket.

"he wasn't even wearing a jacket, sherlock, i mean can you believe it? i go on one date for the first time in months and he's a total prick!" she picked at a chip and dunked it angrily into the splodge of tomato sauce she'd poured onto the plate before soaking up any vinegar that had been left behind, "is chivalry really dead? i refuse to believe it is."

sherlock made a hoarse noise in the back of his throat before leaving for the bar and returning with a drink to replace jane's third glass of diet coke since they'd sat down. he placed down the cocktail in front of her and felt a flush of pride creep down his back as jane placed her hand over his to thank him earnestly. she took a sip, then another until the entire thing slid down her throat with a sigh of relief.

"i really needed that," she said and giggled to herself. sherlock forgot every time he was with her when she drank that jane was the lightest of lightweights, but when she'd had one she was happy and when jane was happy sherlock was well on the way to being happy too.

another cocktail later and jane had reached her happy medium for alcohol intake - she was blissfully unaware of anything happening outside of the six foot boundary around her but could still hold herself upright and kissed sherlock enthusiastically on the cheek when he caught the bill as a waiter was passing by their table. she laughed all along the path and the whole time the two of them were walking to st james' park.

sherlock didn't make it a habit to carry people around on his back, but when jane looked up at him with a pout and wide glassy eyes he acquiesced and hoisted her onto his back with her ankles locked together just below his navel.

she insisted on getting a cone of chips for old times sake even though they'd eaten enough to fuel an army back at the pub, and jane happily handed over five pounds in cash for a cone and a pot of curry sauce to the woman behind the till. "thank you!" she called out from over her shoulders and sherlock walked through the gates to the park and let her down gently onto the grass where they usually sat.

jane fell forwards and caught herself from landing on her face by her knees, laughing as she slumped forwards onto her chest and propped her chin up into her hands. sherlock sat beside her on his jacket and brushed her bangs out of her eyes, and she felt her skin flush where his fingers had touched. the music from the concert in hyde park eventually reached them just as jane thought it would and she began to hum the tune under her breath as she picked at the chips sherlock was holding out for her.

jane rolled onto her back and felt the blades of grass tickle her shoulders and she moved to make herself comfortable. "we never talk anymore sherlock." she huffed, and tried to reach out and run her fingers over his cheek but stopped when she realised her hands were moving in the completely wrong direction.

"you've been talking all day."

"but i mean you and me. we never talk, i talk at you and you listen."

"i like listening."

"no you don't, you'll out live god trying to get the last word in."

he laughed behind his smile, "i like listening to you."

jane pushed herself onto her feet and sank down again so she was eye to eye with sherlock. he could still see the red splatter of paint along her neck and upon closer inspection he found that the drips had dried throughout the day past the neckline of her already low summer dress. "i wish you would do more than watch and listen to me." she whispered, still tapping out the rhythm of the new song against her knee.

"but i like listening to you and i can't help but watch you. it irritates me." lies.

"no it doesn't."

damn.

before sherlock even had a chance to refute or say anything in his defence, jane's hands were placed gently on either side of his neck and she pulled him forwards to join their lips. jane held him so close that their noses bumped together repeatedly and she had to lean forwards to follow him when he pulled away. "jane!"

"what?" she questioned, finding that she'd sobered up at a startling rate when the gravity of what she'd done had truly set in. "oh, sherlock i'm so sorry i didn't mean to-" her words were cut off as he kissed her again, again and again to pepper kisses all over her cheeks and along her forehead where her bangs had fallen over her eyes again.

jane was a breath of fresh air, the calm in the middle of the storm he lived his life by. in the moment with her, sitting on the grass in a darkened london park he couldn't help but not care about what john would say when he finally got home or if jane would soon realise how dangerous tangling her life with his truly was.

she pushed herself onto him and held onto his arms as she kissed him harder, not caring that sherlock was the right-hand-man of every inspector at scotland yard or that his idea of fun was dissecting human bodies and testing them for bruising. the only thing that mattered to her was the boy she'd liked since she walked in late to the lecture hall was kissing her back after he'd admitted to her, drunkenly at their mutual friend's wedding, that it was all he thought about whenever he saw her

🪩⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊🔎

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imagines--galore · 1 year ago

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Another cute idea. Sorry it I'm being annoying FYI by sending multiple asks.

Reader and Sherlock sitting at a table next to each other. Sherlock on his laptop. And reader tracing the top of his hand. But then starts comparing hand size. Sherlock interlocks their fingers and reader just gets all blushy

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader Rating || Genres || Warnings: T. Romance. Fluff. No warnings A/N: Tooth aching/rotting fluff. That's what I wrote here. And you're not being annoying at all!

Quiet days were hard to come by.

And living with a person like Sherlock, they were almost rare to come across. Either he was racing off to solve a case, or he was bored out of his mind to do anything other then moan about it. That latter was when you had to call upon every ounce of your strength to try and calm him down. It had taken a lot of practice but you had begun to understand him and his.....tantrums, for lack of a better word.

Besides you, John and Mary both agreed that that was what they were. Tantrums.

Sitting in the peaceful atmosphere of 221B, you couldn't help but enjoy the feeling of tranquility it brought you. You sat beside Sherlock, him engrossed in his, coughJohn'scough, laptop. Since he was doing nothing but staring at the screen, reading some confidential document that scrolled automatically, his hands were placed on the table.

You had opted to read your book on the table as well. Only because you had been in the process of making dinner and instead of going back and forth between the kitchen and the living room, you had opted to sit on the table beside Sherlock.

With John having moved in with Mary, you had become a permanent resident in his place. At least with you there the apartment was significantly cleaner, and Sherlock got to have his meals on time. As a silent partner at several restaurants, you were something of a cook yourself, and enjoyed making dishes at home from time to time.

What you hadn't expected was starting to fall in love with the brilliant detective. Sure you had been friends with him through John and Mary, but you certainly didn't expect to find yourself thinking about him more then once during the day. Not to mention you would find yourself observing him sometimes. Just looking at him and wandering what was going on in his mind. On more then one occasion he had caught you looking, and you had only smiled at his inquiry and moved on, never giving him an answer. Then again he would do the same when you would catch him staring at you.

Whatever it was, it had become something of a game between the two of you, catching the other staring at the most inopportune of moments and allowing your eyes to meet before one of you would look away.

So far you were in the lead, with Sherlock catching up fast.

As the sauce bubbled away behind you, your eyes flitted over the text in your book, smiling every now and then at the exchange between the characters.

As you placed your mug of tea on the table, your hand accidentally brushed against Sherlock's. Neither of you seemed to notice. Not even when his fingers twitched and his hand shifted in your direction, but only slightly.

The barest of movements allowed your skin to brush against one another. Again, neither of you noticed.

Sighing you took another sip of your tea, and this time there was more then a little contact as your hand touched. And that contact stayed there, with the backs of your hands touching.

You were so engrossed in your book that you didn't notice how your finger began to trace incoherent patterns against the back of Sherlock's hand. You continued in your little motion, unaware that Sherlock had now become aware of the gentle touch against his hand.

He didn't comment on it. Though he did glance in your direction. You were so engrossed in your little romance book that you didn't even notice him look at you. Still he allowed a slight quirk of his lips in what anyone would assume to be a smile before returning to reading his own text.

You moved from the gentle stroking to playing with his fingers. It was something of a habit you had. While reading the hand not holding the book had to be occupied somehow. If you found a loose thread in your shirt, your fingers would start to play with it. If you happened to hold a pen you would twirl it around between your fingers. It was an unconscious act on your part, which was why you didn't pay any attention to your free hand as it continued to stroke and play with Sherlock's.

Glancing at the clock you stood, moving to check whatever you had bubbling away on the stove. Your sudden movement had Sherlock glancing in your direction, his hand feeling suddenly very cold.

He shook the thought away as you returned to his side, smiling as you picked up your mug of tea and took a sip. As you set it back down your eyes dropped to his hand as it rested next to the mug. Your hand was still clasped around the ceramic, and you couldn't help but notice just how different your hands were from one another.

For one thing his were bigger then yours, with his longer fingers and palm, yours was smaller and delicate looking, especially with the manicure you had done a few days ago. And it seemed you both had your share of scars here and there. You from small burns and cuts over the years of cooking, and him getting intro scrapes and fights in all his years of being a consulting detective. You were sure the inside of his fingers would have calluses from where he gripped the strings of his violin.

"Are you contemplating on chopping my fingers off, Y/N?" Sherlock's voice cut into your train of thought, prompting you to smile and shake your head. "No, of course not. I would prefer dipping them in acid." You jested, prompting a small huff of amusement from his lips. "I was simply comparing just how different our hands are." You turned over his hand so it was facing up, while setting your own next to his in the same position.

"See you have more callouses along your fingers then I do." You reached out with your other hand to gently trace along the skin. Sherlock had certainly not been expecting you to touch him, the act prompted him to go still, waiting to see what you would do next. "Not to mention the size, which is of course obvious because you're so much taller then I am." A small laugh fell from your lips. "My hand is so small compared to yours."

Seeming to have gathered his wits about him, Sherlock gave a small nod. "Yes, it is proportioned differently from my own." A small spark ignited in his mind, a hypothesis of sorts. One he wanted to test out.

"But perhaps it is a good thing. Otherwise it would be difficult for me to do this."

So saying he covered your hand with his own and allowed your fingers to intertwine. His larger hand encompassed your own perfectly, and your fingers settled between his almost as if they were pieces to a puzzle.

The both of you sat there, just looking at your hands. And when he didn't let go, didn't look like he was about to let go anytime soon, a blush began to make its way across your cheeks, making your face feel hot.

"It would seem my assumption was correct." His words caused you to look up at him, only to find him already looking at you.

"What assumption?" You asked. "That if I held your hand you would blush." He stated bluntly, causing you to roll your eyes.

"Sherlock? If you wanted to hold my hand you just had to ask normally, no need to get all experimental about it." You said with a small smile, squeezing the hand that held his.

"And since when have I ever been normal, Y/n?" He challenged, raising an eyebrow at you. You laughed shaking your head as you smiled at him.

"Never, because normal is boring. And you, Sherlock Holmes, are never boring."

His answering smile and the fact that he raised your adjoined to press a kiss to the back of your hand only caused your cheeks to redden even more.

"Maybe I should carry this experiment out further?"

"Shut up, Sherlock."

#sherlock x reader #sherlock x y/n #sherlock x oc #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x y/n #bbc sherlock

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gregorovitch-adler · 5 months ago

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Title: Clandestine Meetings.

Fandom: ACD canon (and related).

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/Original Female Character (unrequited love from OC's side).

Rating: T.

Words: 19,539.

Chapters: 8/8

Summary:

Devi Dey has moved from India to London, England with her husband Debashish Dey. Mr Dey has to face injustice at workplace, and that is how Mrs Dey ends up at 221 B Baker Street, asking Holmes and Watson for help.

Mr and Mrs Dey's marriage does not seem to work quite well, and Mrs Dey ends up falling for Mr Sherlock Holmes during the process of his crime solving with Dr Watson's assistance.

Mrs Dey has to deal with two things: the uncertainty of her husband's job, and the feelings that she has developed for the great detective.

Hello everyone! @nowiamcoveredinyou and I wrote a fanfic based on the original stories. It's a case fic, exploring a case adventure and the sentiments that Devi Dey develops for Holmes.

Check out the link! We hope you like it. 😊

Tags: @helloliriels @lisbeth-kk @calaisreno @keirgreeneyes @jamielovesjam @peanitbear @gaylilsherlock @totallysilvergirl , etc.

#sherlock holmes #john watson #original female character #acd canon #case fic #unrequited love #fic collab #my new fic #fanfic #sherlock x oc #(unrequited)#angst #hopeful ending #period typical racism #historically accurate #(sort of)#corruption #false allegations #Holmes and Watson are best friends

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rey-jake-therapist · 1 year ago

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MY FANFICTIONS

IT'S SO COLD

BBC SHERLOCK FANFIC

SUMMARY

Picture yourself as Molly Hooper, head over heels for a man who barely notices you and when he does, it's generally to demean you. And yet you're a brilliant pathologist, a kickass woman who's carved her space in a male-dominated world. You're also the woman who helped said man fake his own death and kept his secret for two years straight. You're the woman who got engaged to a man who looked like him because no other man could ever compete. You're the woman who knows him better than he knows himself. You, Molly Hooper, are the woman Sherlock respects and loves in his own way, he just does a shitty job at showing it.

Written as a contribution to Sherlock Challenge November 2023. Prompt: 'cold'.

RATING: general audiences

PAIRINGS: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper

STATUS: complete

LINK AO3 ⬇️

DREAM A LITTLE DREAM OF US (DAY 18: CHANGE)

THE SANDMAN FANFIC

SUMMARY

In the wake of Morpheus’ death, Johanna Constantine, Hob Gadling meet in a dream at the Green Dragon Tavern, where Nuala the Fairy works. They discuss the influence that Morpheus had on their lives and the love they had for him, as well as their remorses. Despite being unable to change himself, he changed them, mostly for the best.

Written as a contribution to Sandtober2023.

RATING: general audiences

PAIRINGS: references to past Morphanna, Dreamling, Sandflower and beginning of... Nualanna? (Johanna/Nuala)

TW: several mentions of a major character's death (Morpheus)

STATUS: complete

LINK AO3

BITTER SWEET LULLABY (DAY 4: FAE)

THE SANDMAN FANFIC

SUMMARY

Once upon a time, eons before Titiana became queen of Faery, Dream of the Endless -called Lord Shaper by the Fair Folk-, fell in love with a princess fae named Eleanora. While Dream has just learned that Fiddler's Green, the heart of the Dreaming, fled for the Waking World, he finds comfort in his memory of a happy moment he shared one day with the fae in the fields of Fiddler's Green, as well as the lullaby she sang to her.

Written as a contribution to Sandtober2023.

RATING: general audiences

TW: none

STATUS: complete

LINK AO3

RISE AND SHINE

THE SANDMAN/SWEETBITTER CROSSOVER

SUMMARY

It's just a short, sad but also sweet story where Jake is lost in a nightmare where he's haunted by old ghosts of his, memories of his past he needs to leave behind to finally move on. Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, is here to guide him through the darkness into the light so he can rise, and shine.

RATING: general audience

TW: references to suicide, abuse and grooming

STATUS: complete

Link AO3

LOST SOULS

A SWEETBITTER FANFICTION

SUMMARY

On Valentine's Day, Mina arrived to New York City from Los Angeles with a bag full of trauma and a half empty suitcase for only baggage. She flew to the Big Apple to see a friend and take a break from a toxic relationship, and hoped to leave a painful past that kept haunting her behind her.

Nothing went as planned, but as Mina began to think that going so far away from home was a mistake, she met a handsome stranger in a nightclub. Jake was nice, fun, incredibly sexy and apparently available. What could possibly go wrong?

RATING: explicit

PAIRING: Jake x OC

TW: references to suicide, rape, abuse, grooming and cheating

STATUS: work in progress

AO3 link

SOUNDTRACK ON SPOTIFY

THE SANDMAN META

Overture: is Dream the only one to remember?

Am I an idiot or... (Dream and food)

Could Jessamy be the first Vortex?

Hob Gadling's forgotten wives and girlfriends

Fandom and misogyny (Endless Nights spoilers)

BBC SHERLOCK META

The lying detective: self-hatred and acceptance of abuse

#masterlist #the sandman #sweetbitter #Sherlock bbc #dream of the endless #jake x oc #fanfiction #AO3 #sweetbitter jake #lord morpheus #mind the tags #tom sturridge #Spotify #Dream x oc #sherlock meta #Sherlock fanfiction #Sherlock x oc #Sherlolly

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femboykyo · 11 months ago

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Writing a fic of Juni in a relationship with Sherliam cuz I'm a nasty boi 😂 and I'd love to be in between that🤭🤭

#moriarty the patriot #william james moriarty #yuukuko no moriarty #albert james moriarty #louis james moriarty #sherlock holmes #mtp #ynm #james bonde #sebastian moran #thoughts about sherliam #sherliam fic #sherliam #sherlock x oc #Sherlock x male oc #william x male oc #william x oc #sherliam x oc #sherliam x male oc

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a-victorian-girl · 8 months ago

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not brave enough to do this off anon haha, but I’ve been considering writing a Sherlock x oc fic and just- god it sounds so stupid but I don’t want to lose the few semi-consistent readers that I have for Johnlock fics. I know cringe culture is dead, but it’s something I’ve been worrying about for a while. should I just focus on making things people actually like??

Hi Anon! I think that if you want to do it... then do it! No matter what others could possible think... I'm sure you are an excellent writer and your fic will be liked a lot too. So go ahead!

(don't forget to send me the AO3 link when you post it! ^^)

#ask box #anon ask #ao3 #sherlock x oc

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ravenscarlett · 2 years ago

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Afterglow [Sherlock Holmes x OC]

Los Hermanos Holmes #1

Tell me that you're still mine

Tell me that we'll be just fine

Even when I lose my mind.

Afterglow - Taylor Swift

El amor y el matrimonio nunca habían estado dentro de los planes del detective más famoso de Londres.

Ni en los de Grace Wharton.

Pero,cuando el señor Thummler,un hombre adinerado le propone matrimonio a la chica,sus ideales cambian.

"—Solo necesito una excusa,todos lo creerían,podríamos casarnos e ir a Londres."

Wattpad link:

Ao3 link:

Pinterest idea:

#sherlock fanfic #enola holmes #sherlock x oc #sherlock holmes #henry cavill #sherlock fandom #fanfic #wattpad #wattpad español #wattpad fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #ao3 recommendations

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nowiamcoveredinyou · 7 months ago

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So...

@gregorovitch-adler and I are co-writing for this new fic of Sherlock x oc!

The Wattpad link is here.

And this is the cover (until I digital paint one).

If you read I hope you like it. Only two chapters are out, stay tuned.

#bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock x reader #sherlock fanfic #sherlock x y/n #Sherlock x oc

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consultinghunterinerebor · 2 years ago

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Hi peeps,

I’ve been re-editing my Sherlock fanfic in the hopes of putting it back online soon(ish) and I’ve been wondering. Would y’all rather read a first-person POV or a third-person one?

#sherlock bbc #bbc sherlock #sherlock fanfic #question #sherlock x oc #moriarty fanfic #jim moriarty #fanfic

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starssaroundmyscarssblog · 11 months ago

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🪩⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊🔎 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 . . .

'let the light in' . . . in which sherlock holmes doesn't catch himself from falling quick enough for jane burbank

🪩⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊🔎

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

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imagines--galore · 1 year ago

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Destiny,

Reader x Sherlock

Summary: No matter where you are, he is there. Pairing: Sherlock x Reader Rating || Genres || Warnings: T. Romance. A/N: I mean come on I love the whole Serendipity thing. I have a soft spot for romances like that :3

The first time you met the man with the impossibly blue eyes you were on holiday. It had been a dream of yours to go visit a new country every year, and so far you were holding up to your promise. Your most recent venture had allowed you to experience new things.

One of which was learning how to act for a complete stranger because he said his life was in danger.

"There are two men tailing me and I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend."

You stared at him from where he had settled into the chair across from you at the small cafè you frequented. For a moment you had thought he was some scam artist or a con man, but when you looked in the direction he asked you to, you could clearly see two men staring at him.

And with what suspiciously looked like a gun hanging from one of the man's belt.

A cold feeling settled in your chest as your gaze flitted back to his, and though they didn't away much, you could see him pleading silently. You would rather take the chance of being conned, then allow someone to hurt another person when you could've done something to stop it.

Smiling brightly, you reached out to place a hand on top of his, the perfect picture of a worried girlfriend as you spoke.

"It was very sweet of you to come have coffee with me. I know how work has been lately." He smiled back at you, taking the hand that you had rested on top of his and raising it to his lips.

His mouth brushed just barely against your skin, but your eyes did widen at the gesture. To any onlooker it would look as if you were taken surprised by the sudden affectionate gesture.

Truthfully you were surprised.

"Anything for an exquisite creature such as yourself." So this was pretend, and you didn't even know this man, but even you had to admit that the words would make any lover swoon. A shy smile was your only response, as you averted your gaze, feeling a little too vulnerable under his penetrating blue gaze.

The both of you sat in silence, with you stealing glances at him every now and then. For his part, he continued to look at you with an almost perplexed look on his face. As if you were a riddle he could not figure out.

In your nervousness, you dropped your spoon, and once you straightened back to after retrieving it, he was gone.

Your hand still felt warm from where he had held it.

————————–

This was what Sherlock Holmes had been reduced to.

A mere delivery boy.

Granted it was a favor for a friend, but it didn't mean he would carry out the task happily.

The task in question being picking up some pastries that Mary. And these days what Mary wanted she got. Sherlock had no desire to face the wrath of an ex-assassin who was pregnant.

"Picking up a box for Mary Watson." He said as he strode into the shop. The girl behind the counter took his ticket before disappearing in the back to retrieve the box. Sherlock took the moment to look around and simply observe. The interior of the bakery was bright and open, and the scents that hung in the air? Anyone passing by simply had to stop by to buy something from the bakery.

Unconsciously he began to decipher the scents and what they belonged to. Fresh bread, of course. Cakes. Sugar. Cream, perhaps. Vanilla. And something.......flowery?

It was certainly familiar.

It lingered in the air, not as strong as the other scents but clearly there. Perhaps a customer had been wearing it? He remembered the scent. He had categorized that scent in his mind the day when he had asked a random stranger to pretend to be his lover.

What were the odds that it was the same person?

One in a million.

Just as he exited the bakery with the goods now secured, he caught that scent again. This time though, he dismissed it as nothing but coincidence before starting the walk back to 221B where Mary would be waiting.

A few seconds later, you emerged from the apartment building adjacent to the bakery. With a croissant you had just bought and the file you had nearly forgotten on your desk, you smiled and started down the path.

In the opposite direction.

————————–

You sighed as you handed in yet another file that had been buried in the archives. Sometimes it astonished you just how careless people could get when it came to such important files. They were records of crimes.

This was why you were one of the few people in charge of digitizing the files that the police filled when speaking to a potential victim or culprit. And though it had made things a little easy, it just meant more work for you and your team. You had to digitize a lot of the old files as well. Especially those cases that were still open.

Which were a lot, to say the least.

One the plus side, you were now off for the day. Smiling to yourself, you quickly gathered your things, tucking your phone back into your bag as you hummed along to the music that played in your ears. You loved listening to music while you walked back home. Though as soon as you stepped outside and noticed the dark clouds gathering overhead, you pursed your lips.

Taxi it was then.

You quickly hailed one, and climbed in, just as the heavens opened and the rain began to fall in earnest. As you waited for the driver to start the ride, something compelled you to look out from the back window. You had never done that before. Maybe there were some unknown forces at work?

Whatever it was, you saw a very familiar coat racing down the street in the rain. Of course the coat was worn by a man, but you could hardly make out who it was as they disappeared from view.

Just then the ride started, and as the car drove further and further away from the spot, you continued to stare in that direction.

It couldn't have been him?

Could it?

————————–

It was instinct that drove you.

Instinct that had you rushing towards the source of commotion.

Instinct that had you reaching for the first thing you could use as a weapon.

And instinct that made you bring down the pipe on top of the head of the man who seemed to be choking another.

The man you had hit toppled to the side with not so much as a cry of pain. You had hit him hard enough that he fainted! But you hardly paid him any mind, instead turning to the figure as they gasped for breath after having been choked.

"Are you alright?" You asked, reaching out with your hand to gently lay it atop their shoulder. Slowly the man nodded. "Yes, I am. Thank you for your assistance." His voice was hoarse, as it would be after a person has had their throat constricted. "Maybe we should go to a hospital?" You suggested, eyes flicking over to the unconscious man laying on the ground. "And the police." The man shifted as he pulled out his mobile phone and opened it up. "Yes, I have a friend, Dr. John Watson, who can....."

It was at that moment that the man finally lifted his head and you were able to see his face.

You stared.

He stared.

"You?!"

The both of you gasped simultaneously, however whatever injury he had sustained, and there were multiple, caused Sherlock to pass out at that very moment.

The fight had clearly been brutal. Luckily he had been able to dial his friend, and you had told the man of everything that had happened. Watson had asked you to stay with him, saying he would be there soon.

And so, you had stayed and you had waited.

Every now and then you would reach out to press your fingers to the side of his neck, just to make sure he was alive. But he soon regained conscious and his eyes found yours.

Neither of you said anything, and neither of you looked away.

It was so strange to finally see him after months. You had to admit that somehow, somewhere, he had always been at the back of your mind. Your interaction with him was not one to forget soon, and you had often wandered what he did that would make him ask you to pretend to be his girlfriend.

For Sherlock there was no doubt he had detected your perfume that day in the bakery. And now that he thought about it, he had picked the same scent at the police station as well. But he had thought it was Molly, perhaps trying out a new scent.

What were the odds that it was you.

John soon arrived, along with your boss Inspector Lestrade. The ambulance soon followed and the medics took over. You stood there, explaining the situation to the two worried gentlemen, but you paused, as you watched Sherlock being wheeled away.

"Is he going to be alright?" You asked, worry evident in your voice. John gave a nod and a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. He's been in tougher spots then this one. Normally he would protest going to the hospital, but there might be damage to his neck that we need to check over."

The doors to the back of the ambulance shut, blocking your view of Sherlock, but not before you were able to meet his gaze once more.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?" John's question had you looking away from the departing ambulance and offering a small smile to the man. "Y/n Y/l/n." You introduced yourself. "And since you're Dr. John Watson I'm guessing the man I just helped is Sherlock Holmes."

John raised an eyebrow. "You know him?" He asked.

You shrugged. "Everyone in the police work knows Sherlock Holmes." Lestrade cut in, clapping a hand down on your shoulder. "Now, lets say you give me a full statement of what happened. Or should I just have you type it all in tomorrow?"

Shaking your head at your boss you proceeded to tell them both what had happened.

And once everything was done, and you were finally home, you laid in bed, thinking how funny the entire situation was. How strange it was that you met Sherlock during your vacation and helped him. How weird it was that when you returned from your vacation you were transferred to the police station that he frequented. How hilarious it was that he had you had probably been just a few floors away from one another and never meeting.

Fate, it seems, had a sense of humor.

————————–

Glancing at your watch, you pursed your lips, feeling a little annoyed. You had planned on having a long lunch break and perhaps do a little shopping. But work had detained you, and you had two options. Either skip lunch altogether, or quickly grab some fish and chips from the nearest cart.

You opted for the latter, and quickly hastened your steps as you gathered your belongings, and after pulling on your coat reached for the door of your office.

Only to run into someone standing there already.

"Oh! I'm sorry I..." You trailed off when you saw who it was.

"Y/n Y/l/n." He spoke in his deep voice, prompting your lips to pull up in a smile, and action that was near involuntary on your part. "Good to finally put a name to the face huh?" You said, before holding your hand out for him to shake. "And you're Sherlock Holmes."

There was a brief pause, where he simply looked at you, before he reached out to gently grasp your outstretched hand. You were transported to all those months ago, when he had taken the very same hand and kissed it.

It had all been for show, but you couldn't help but feel a little flustered over it.

"I wanted to thank you, that is twice that you have aided me in some manner." He said, once he had let go of your hand. You shrugged. "Well it was something anyone would've done. No? I mean if you see someone in need, help them, or thats what my Nana always says."

He shook his head. "I have encountered people of different backgrounds over the years, they all have selfish agendas and needs that they meet. When I asked for your help that day, I fully expected you to either walk away or ask for something in payment."

You grinned. "Well you didn't really give me a chance to do either now did you? But if you're asking if I helped you just because I wanted to then yes. I did. Both times."

Silence followed your words, in which Sherlock never once looked away from you. The corner of his mouth pulled up in a soft smile, and there was nothing but intrigue in his blue eyes. "You are an enigma, Y/n Y/l/n." You held his gaze, raising your eyebrow a little. "I hope you meant that as a compliment Sherlock Holmes." Reaching behind you, you pulled the door to your office close.

"I was just about to go on my lunch break for some fish and chips. Care to join me?" You asked. "You do owe me an explanation as to why I had to pretend to be your girlfriend when we first met."

You started to walk off, and a few second later, Sherlock followed after you, falling into step beside you. "Its a rather long story." He admitted to which you grinned at him.

"Then we'll add a dessert to our lunch as well. I know a really good ice cream parlor."

#sherlock x reader #sherlock x y/n #sherlock x oc #sherlock #bbc sherlock

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darsynia · 1 year ago

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It feels very Sherlock to make plans without having checked ahead of time, hah. Doubly so that his first instinct is to dread hearing she has something planned she'll have to do in the future!

We should be annoyed that he's basically 'gifting' her with his presence at something he would ordinarily not be interested in, but it's a big deal nonetheless! I think the more subtle bigger deal is the fact that he's using his discernment in a kind, loving way of sorts-- understanding her reticence to invite him and choosing to step beyond it to offer. It's like a give and take of respect; she respects his boundaries, and while he probably ordinarily respects her choice not to say anything, he can tell she wants him to go.

Good job balancing the surprise of braving sheep for her with a completely out of social norms gift description, haha.

I can SEE him walking in.

Oh, but she enjoyed the surprise of it in the soft light of the church. Love that!

OF COURSE he's reflecting on the nature of romance right now...

Very sweet! I'm usually reticent to read established relationship fics (as I prefer the learning each other phase, another reason friends to lovers doesn't grab me like it maybe ought to), but this is lovely. Thanks for tagging me!

Happy Christmas, Mr. Holmes

a Sherlock Holmes x OFC fic

summary: Christmas comes to Baker Street, in a form Sherlock Holmes had never envsioned. There is a sweetness in seeing the holiday through someone else's eyes, and there are lessons in holiday spirit and the nature of giving--as well as how Love makes the season even brighter--to be learned. Part of a continuing romantic series, this is the tale of Sherlock & Tessa's first Christmas together. It just proved too irresistable for me not to tell!

rating: general audience; chapter 1 of 4

Chapter One - a Christmas 'thing'

(Sunday, early December)

"I’m off then," Tessa was busy buttoning up her coat, as it was an extremely chilly day in London.

Sherlock glanced at her from behind the paper, the brunch she’d prepared for him half-eaten, his coffee growing cool. He looked at her quizzically "What for?" he asked, surprised to see her bundling up to leave the flat. He’d thought they had the afternoon ahead of them, perhaps a dvd or two to watch while relaxing quietly, fire in the hearth, her head upon his shoulder, few words spoken but for commentary about the movies, comfortable as any old couple who knew each other’s ins and outs. With Christmas approaching his caseload had lightened significantly and he counted on Tessa to fill the hours with him, as John was in Northumberland, attending a retirement celebration for another doctor from his unit in Afghanistan, and so was away all weekend long.

"You weren’t listening again," she replied, her tone indicating this was no surprise to her. "Sherlock, I told you, I have some Christmas shopping to do—some of my favorite people are still on my to-do list, and that,” Tessa’s eyes lit with mirth, “includes you." She was pulling on her gloves, and headed in his direction, presumably for the ritual she could seldom do without—the Goodbye Kiss. She would get no proffered cheek until he’d had his say.

"Well, at any rate, shopping shouldn’t take all afternoon." Sherlock stated this as an established fact," Surely you’ll be back before too long." Then the afternoon could proceed as he’d expected.

"Well, actually…." Tessa paused, sighed and continued, "I’ve got a thing this afternoon, so I won’t be back till after dark."

"A ‘thing’? And just what sort of ‘thing’ do you have?” She’d piqued his curiosity now and he wouldn’t settle for less than a full explanation.

"A Christmas thing, Sherlock. A thing at a church." She was smiling at his growing consternation, at making him ask instead of volunteering the information herself. She’d learned he listened better when he had to work a bit for it, although the telltale scowl forming on his face warned her not to push the tease too far. She patiently repeated what she’d told him several days before, "Sylvie and Jasper’s girls are in a Christmas pageant at their church. They’ve been practicing for weeks, and I promised Syl I wouldn’t miss it."

The sigh he gave was rife with irritation; he closed his eyes a moment and asked, trying his best to minimize any aversion in his voice, “And where exactly is this pageant to take place?”

Tessa narrowed her eyes, shaking her head slightly, “Um….Saint Mary’s of the Angels, on Moorhouse Road in Notting Hill.” She bit her lip and held her breath a moment before deciding to ask, “Why would you want to know that?” Tessa downplayed the sudden hope that he just might be interested in joining her there. That was a near impossibility, although she’d be more than happy if he did.

"Because, my dear, perhaps we could meet for dinner afterwards, and it would be best if we met close by, don’t you think?" Sherlock turned the page of the paper, indicating he thought that the matter was settled. "What time is this performance going to begin?"

"4:00, this afternoon. I wouldn’t imagine it will run more than an hour or so." Tessa found she was disappointed; dinner would be fine, but she really would’ve loved to share this little holiday presentation with him—though she’d never dare to ask.

Sherlock took a deep, dramatic breath, as he completed the debate inside his head, yes or no to an idea. He lowered the paper, giving Tessa his full attention. ”Only an hour then?” Tessa nodded yes, and he continued, “You know, I could join you there. At the church. If you’d like me to.” His face was impassive, but for the slight amusement in his eyes.

Although Tessa was speechless in her surprise, Sherlock could see from her face that he’d hit the mark. He usually could read her very well, and it was obvious this time that she wanted very much for him to join her. He realized she hadn’t invited him, not because she feared him declining, but simply because she knew the idea would be naturally anathema to him.

Recovering from her shock, Tessa felt obligated to caution him. “Sherlock, this is a group of five and six year olds we’re talking about. Far from disciplined, excited about their play, excited about Christmas. You do understand what you’d be getting yourself into?”

He suppressed the cringe that would normally have been on his face. ”Tessa dear,” he said, reminding himself he needn’t sound magnanimous, “let’s just consider it an early Christmas present, shall we?”

Tessa was still skeptical. ”Um…you should know—from what Sylvie says, there may even be a couple of sheep.” She waited for a response and when he remained silent, she added with great emphasis, “Live sheep, Sherlock. Are you sure about this?”

He nodded, certain he’d followed the right course. “Never surer. I will be there, count on it.”

The smile she gave him was surely worth all the irritation and boredom he expected to experience in the church. He started to lift the paper up to read, when she knelt beside him, hugged him tightly, and nuzzled his neck sweetly. ”Sherlock,” she said into his collar, “sometimes you can be such a dear.” She moved back a little, just to see his face; saying in complete sincerity, “What have I done to deserve you?”

He answered her most dryly, giving her the half smile he knew she adored, “You must’ve been a very good girl as a child.”

Tessa’s only answer was a loving smile and a lingering kiss. She rose to leave without another word, but as she reached the door, Sherlock called to her, “If you’re thinking of getting me new gloves, the only ones worth investing in can be found at Harvey Nichols.” He lowered the paper, wanting to stress the importance of the details he was about to impart, “Cashmere lined, with five-finger, precise touch technology.” He started to return to his page, but then flicked it down a moment, adding “I’d prefer them in black, of course.”

Tessa tilted her head, acknowledging his request as one would acknowledge the victor in a well fought contest. “Of course,” she replied with a smile, before turning to leave. She hoped the other item she had in mind would come as a complete surprise, for he had so few of those in his life and she knew he enjoyed them when they came.

Tessa reached the church nearly a half-hour early, having dropped her Christmas packages off at her flat beforehand. She didn’t mind arriving early; as she headed to a pew off to the side, she saw the children were just finishing up with a final rehearsal of their pageant. She smiled at their obvious excitement—in a space designed to echo with prayer and song, there was their happy laughter ringing out (along with the attendant shushing of the adults around them). She hadn’t told Sherlock, but her family parish at home had a similar tradition, celebrated for almost fifty years. She had even played the Christmas Star when she was five, and it was one of her earliest, dearest Christmas memories.

Truth be told, it wasn’t just her promise to Sylvie that brought her here—it was a deep longing for a connection to her family so very far away, at this family-centric time of year.

Tessa had left her phone on vibrate, in case Sherlock should text her to beg off coming to the church. At 3:55 she felt it go off, and was fairly certain it was him, perhaps with a brief apology or explanation for why he wouldn’t attend. She didn’t expect him to carry through, and wouldn’t blame him in the least if he didn’t; she understood him enough to realize how uncharacteristic it would be for him to appear at such a function.

She pulled her phone from her coat pocket and clicked on his text. ”I’m in the church vestibule. Where are you?” Her eyes widened in surprise, her delight clear to anyone who cared to look her way. She quickly texted back, "3rd row, far left hand row of pews." Tessa turned to watch the doors at the back of the church, and within moments she saw him, his classic greatcoat swirling behind him at his rapid stride, collar upturned against the cold (and in his usual nod to vanity, she knew). Sherlock’s face was set in her direction, looking crisp from the cold, his curls gently tousled so that she just wanted to reach out and tame them a bit. He slipped into the pew beside her.

Tessa couldn’t help herself; she stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. Her lips were warm against his chill, and she whispered in his ear in amazement, “You’re really here.” Sherlock, looking down at her, answered in a tone clearly saying there was never any doubt, “Of course. Did you really expect any less?”

Tessa looked down herself, demure in the moment, “Well…I wouldn’t have held you to it. But now you’re here, I’m very glad.” She twined her arm around his, facing forward, saying, “I just hope you won’t regret it.”

Sherlock teased her gently, his voice a soft, deep rumble for her ears alone, “With you by my side, how could I?” He glanced forward at the activity around the altar and the final preparations. The quiet of the church was broken by a growing hubbub of murmurs as those in attendance waited to see their own come down the center aisle and begin the pageant. Tessa had leaned her head against his shoulder for the moment, and as always he found it made him happy to have her assume such a feminine pose.

A teenaged girl stepped up to the podium to the left of the altar, and gave a brief welcome to the crowd, and then began to narrate the tale the children would be enacting. There was a choir of tweens in the loft, who, with each section of the play, would sing a carol fit for the story. The younger children reacted in a variety of ways to performing; some embraced it with seriousness and all due attention; some allowed themselves to be led to the altar, looking frightened and unsure, their teachers coaxing them along; some were easily distracted, waving at their families in the pews, or turning back to watch the choir, or focusing on the sheep (the ones led in by a couple of older boys playing shepherds, as Tessa had predicted). The little girl playing Mary looked angelic, though her nerves got the best of her and she planted her thumb firmly in her mouth the moment she reached the altar. There was a bevy of angels in white and gold and silver, wings of feather or foil or painted cardboard, depending on the ingenuity of the parent making the costume. One carried a large gold plywood star, and went to stand on a step stool behind the Holy Family, so that the Three Kings could find their way.

The wise men presented their gifts, and the teachers then moved forward to lead the children in singing “Away in a Manager”, which they mimed—again with varying degrees of success—using simple motions that fit the gentle lullaby. At the conclusion, the audience broke into appreciative applause.

Sherlock had not made the performance his only focus. Throughout the little play, he glanced sideways at Tessa, enjoying her response to the music and the pageant, her hand resting comfortably in his, lying soft against her thigh. She had sung along with every carol the choir had performed, her voice rising clear and bright on the Glorias of “Angels We Have Heard on High”, singing it out with all her heart. He knew it was his feelings for her that colored his reaction, but still he thought it was the sweetest he’d ever heard them sung. And he surprised Tessa when he joined in himself, on “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” and “Joy to the World”. She slipped her hand in the crook of his arm again, squeezing it tightly and smiling up at him, as he showed a velvet baritone she hadn’t expected. He would tell her later that he’d served his fair share (as had Mycroft) in church choir at his parents’ behest, until his voice changed and proved for several years to be ungovernable. Oh, but she enjoyed the surprise of it in the soft light of the church.

The pageant complete, the lights of the church were unexpectedly dimmed, and the crowd was hushed in anticipation of the finale—the lighting of the towering Christmas tree to the right of the pulpit. As the bright white lights on the tree came on, the crowd “ooohhhed” with satisfaction. The choir began to sing “Silent Night” with almost all present joining in. Sherlock heard Tessa sing along with the first few words, and then she fell silent. He turned to look at her; her head was bowed, her lips were trembling, her breath hitched at times. It was clear she was doing her utmost to fight back tears—and despite her best efforts, she appeared to be losing. She took her hand from his arm to reach into her bag and get a tissue, dabbing at her eyes, still with her head bowed.

The choir sang all three verses of the carol, and the music died away. The lights in the church came back up, and the narrator then invited all in attendance to the basement for Christmas refreshments. Parents, children, families, began to move from the pews back to the vestibule where the stairs were located. Tessa remained still, not yet looking up. She shook her head and took a deep breath, remaining seated, still without a word. Sherlock sat beside her, not asking yet, simply waiting.

When she appeared to have recovered her composure, she finally looked at him. Her lashes were still wet from crying, but she was gamely trying to smile. This time he had to ask, gently, solicitously, “Tessa, why the tears?”

The small smile that dimpled her cheeks was pure but bittersweet, "Oh, you know me. What day could pass without at least a few melodramatic tears?” But she could see that answer wouldn’t satisfy his disquiet on her behalf, and so went on, "Really—it’s the music. It never fails to move me. I think it sounds…" she looked down again, perhaps afraid emotion might overwhelm her if she kept looking at the puzzled concern upon his face, “I think it’s the most beautiful of all the carols. Simple but pure, you know?" Sherlock nodded, not in agreement, but to encourage her to continue. "I’ve always thought it was inspired by Heaven. I’ve always thought it sounded like coming home at long last, after years of being lonely and far from those who love us." Tessa turned back to him, her eyes bright with emotion, "It’s just…this time of year…I get a little homesick. For my family…well, what’s left of us. And our traditions.” Tessa took a deep, bracing breath, more in control of the sentiment that had overwhelmed her earlier, “It’s different for me here, and somehow it sort of aches. You know what I mean?”

Sherlock had his own aches aplenty, but for most of his adulthood he had successfully kept them to himself. Seeing Tessa so vulnerable—and so pretty in her unvarnished emotion—made him feel protective, almost possessive in an archaic kind of way; made him want to be the one to whom she turned. After all these months he was still surprised that she could evoke such feelings in him. The simple, very human, nature of this—which he’d so long prided himself on rising above—turned out to be pleasant and fulfilling after all. He supposed the greatest love stories had that at their core—the feminine cleaving to the masculine as Nature intended all along. What she’d given him from their beginning was unconditional acceptance and understanding; it stood to reason that he would fiercely want to provide for her happiness. As he felt at this exact moment.

Without a word, Sherlock folded her gently in his arms and pressed his lips against her hair, making Tessa relax easily into him. Holding her so, in the now quiet church, he noticed how the small white lights on the Christmas tree strikingly brightened the white and gold decorations gracing the branches—stirring him to reflect on how they were so very like the illumination Tessa had brought into his life. Seeing things through her eyes had opened up parts of the world he’d never taken time to notice before, and it came to him that she was doing the same now, showing him Christmas from a soft and sentimental point of view that had long since vanished from his lexicon, as far back as his discovery that Father Christmas wasn’t real after all. What sort of gift, he wondered, could he give her in return, and how might he temper with some Christmas joy, her homesickness for her family so far away?

“We’ll dine in tonight,” he told her softly, knowing her well enough that she’d likely want to spend the evening quietly and as close to him as possible. She nodded her grateful assent and they started down the aisle to the back of the church. As they left, his arm wrapped protectively around her waist, Sherlock felt the beginnings of a plan start to form. It would require time, it would require effort, but if anyone could do the task, he knew that it was him. There might even be some favors he’d need to call in, but he had a wealth of those saved up, and Tessa was certainly worth whatever cost might come to bear.

(to be continued)

If you enjoyed this, I'm hoping you would be so kind as to reblog it. Being stuck in shadow ban prison has severely curtailed exposure of my work here on tumblr. Any reblog you could give me would be sure to share this story with many others, and maybe get this piece some much-needed love. Thank you!

buy me a coffee?☕

#darsy twirls the fic #sherlock x oc #a christmas treat for a rainy day

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