#watson sighs in wonderful memories and holmes is distracted for a tiny bit and smiles

[sherlock-is-ace]

I will get a clip or a gifset of this to illustrate, but the way Watson says "Ah, the Old Imperial, Holmes" and Holmes' reaction to it makes me think they had a meaningful date there.

EDIT: because i'm on mobile and apparently I can't add a video if I reblog the post, but I can if I edit it? fine

[fluffyseapancakes]

The Missing Piece

I missed writing for BBC Sherlock so I wrote a long-ish fic to satisfy my cravings. 

Your brother Sherlock Holmes and John Watson have been struggling on a case for a while, you decided to annoy them for a bit and suddenly a rare side of Sherlock came out. 

___________________________

When Sherlock Holmes and John Watson caught a whiff of a new case, they had a habit of shutting out the rest of the world and fully immersed themselves in it. After growing up as Sherlock’s less smart but more socially adept younger sister, you were used to feeling ignored and neglected by your brother and his best friend. Thankfully John was more aware of his surroundings and he sometimes asked you for help or allowed you to follow them around town. The former British Army doctor had intimidated you when you first met him, but after seeing him being loyal to Sherlock and he made sure you felt included, you considered him as another brother to you. You felt unsure about moving in with Sherlock and John on 221B Baker Street but you had nowhere else to go and you definitely did not want to share the same roof as Mycroft. As much as you loved your parents, they drove you insane from their overprotectiveness and you didn’t make enough money to rent out your own flat. You were surprised when Sherlock eagerly agreed to allow you to stay for a while and he even emptied out an old storage room for you. John later had told you that Sherlock needed someone who understood how his mind worked and he constantly brought up stories about you growing up. You and your brother had a significant age difference but you agreed with John, you could read Sherlock inside and out and you knew exactly what he was thinking before he opened his mouth. You two were extremely close and loved each other dearly, but that didn’t mean your genius older brother didn’t infuriate you sometimes.

Week three of this stupid case. A wealthy old man found his younger wife murdered on their high security estate, months after the funeral where the body was buried in a closed casket, the old man swore he saw his deceased wife walking around London holding hands with an unfamiliar man. He attempted to follow them but his heart condition forced him to stop, he scribbled down their license plate and searched for the best detectives in London. They all called him insane and rejected his generous offers, so he sought for help from Sherlock and John. John was skeptical about the case and believed the man was suffering from early onset dementia, but for some reason Sherlock was interested and offered him his assistance. Ever since then the two men had buried themselves under documents of the wealthy man and his (maybe) dead wife’s backgrounds and was gone for most of the day hunting down the vehicle with the matching license plate and for other signs of the wife that rose from the dead. Usually they came back home tired and dejected with no progress, John asked Sherlock to drop the case but he refused and said, “There’s something that we’re missing.”

It was a dreary Saturday morning and you were bored out of your mind, the wonders and adventures of London had disappeared and now you looked out into the grey city and silently begged the heavens above for a splash of color and life. You knew you had to go grocery shopping soon and you grimaced at the thought that you would have to go outside and smell the stench of gas and damp clothes. You turned to see Sherlock and John huddled over the kitchen table with papers covering every inch of its surface. Their heads were bowed down and they were mumbling intensely to each other. You caught the words fake identity and black market but everything else was mumbo jumbo. Picking up your journal that lay on your lap, you smiled as an idea formed in your mind. It was risky and you might regret it, but it was going to be immensely entertaining.

“Sherlock this is pointless,” John sighed and rubbed his unshaven face with fatigue, “we’ve been running around the city for weeks now with no sign of the dead wife, and there’s nothing in these papers that’s suspicious.”

“Patience,” Sherlock mumbled, he stared down at the documents on the table as if they were speaking to him. There was something missing from them and he couldn’t point out exactly what. He closed his eyes and prepared to slip into his Mind Palace when he felt a tiny tap on the back of his head. In confusion he reached behind him but nothing was there, John looked at him with a puzzled expression and then he heard a noise.

Thwap.

John yelped in surprise as he felt something hit his neck, he reached up and felt a small object caught in his shirt collar. He grabbed it and saw it was a wadded up ball of paper.

Thwap.

Sherlock grunted in annoyance and this time he was hit in the cheek. He turned around to see you lounging on the couch with an innocent smile.

“Stop that Y/N,” he ordered.

“I’m not doing anything,” you shrugged.

Your brother grumbled softly and turned back towards the table, you noticed John was looking at you in amusement and you snuck a quick wink at him. Grabbing your notebook, you ripped out a rather large piece of paper and crumbled it into a ball. Silently thanking your mother for forcing you to take softball lessons, you aimed at your distracted brother and threw the ball with all your might. You and John watched it sail into the air in slow motion as it bounced off the top of his head and landed in his cup of tea that he held in his hand. Clearly in his Mind Palace, Sherlock absentmindedly took a large swig of his tea and you watched the wad of paper flow into his mouth. Instantly Sherlock snapped back into reality and turned around to spit out the tea and paper on the floor. John held back his laughter but you freely bursted out into happy cackles.

“That was priceless Sherlock!” You dramatically wiped tears of laughter out of your eye, “I wish I was recording it.”

Your brother stared at the sopping wet paper ball on the floor, you could tell John was starting to get nervous but you knew that if Sherlock was truly upset, someone would have had a black eye by now.

“You are going to regret that Y/N,” he hissed angrily.

“Oh am I Sherlie?” You said smugly, “I have Mycroft on speed dial so if you hurt me he’ll be here in five minutes.”

Sherlock stood still for a second, you could practically hear the gears shifting in his head as he thought of a solution. Then slowly a wicked smile grew on his face, a smile that you haven’t seen in years and a shiver went down your spine.

Shit, you thought.

He started to approach you with a predatory look in his eyes, you scanned the room and noticed to your horror that there was no where to run in the small flat. Before you could make a run for the door, Sherlock tackled you to the ground and roughly pinned you down. John winced as you hit the floor, but he was surprised that Sherlock had voluntarily initiated physical contact with another person.

“Let me go,” you squirmed frantically under your brother but he was stronger than he looked. Analyzing your body position and using simple physics calculations, Sherlock adjusted himself to straddle your midsection so you had no way of escaping.

“Remember when we were children and you kept on stealing my belongings and buried them in the yard? Don’t you remember your punishment?” He quietly asked, drumming the tips of his fingers against your belly. Your eyes grew wide and panic started to set in.

“I don’t you what you’re talking about,” you whimpered, giving him the best puppy dog eyes that you could muster.

“That’s rather strange Y/N since you have a photographic memory,” he feigned concern and his smile grew bigger, “I should help you remember my dear sister.”

“Sherlock…,” John took a cautious step forward, he reached his hand out for his cane in case he had to wack his best friend over the head if he started to hurt you.

“John you know me better than that,” Sherlock laughed, “I’m just going to teach her a little lesson.”

As you opened your mouth to protest, he suddenly dug into your belly and you bursted out into loud laughter. After all these years he had memorized your weakest spots and the best ways to target them, he made sure to apply more pressure into your belly which sent ticklish vibrations shooting down your spine. Once he was content that your belly had enough attention, he moved to your ribs and slowly counted them teasingly. The suspense drove you insane and your laughter got louder as he counted your ribs in English, French, Spanish, and Latin. John sat down on the couch and watched the whole situation unfold with amusement, he’s never seen this playful side of Sherlock and he wanted to soak it all in before it was over.

You felt like your lungs were going to explode and you could barely speak coherently through the hysterical laughter. Sherlock chuckled at your red cheeks and slightly pulled back on his attack so you could compose yourself.

“I’ll give you a deal, you help us solve this case and I’ll let you go,” Sherlock laughed darkly. You and John both groaned and you were rapidly losing hope at the sight of freedom.

“Y/N knows nothing about the case Sherlock, how do you expect her to solve it now?” John shook his head with amusement.

“I’ve seen Y/N sneak a peek at our notes,” Sherlock winked at you, “and I didn’t tell her to solve the case, I told her to help us.”

“I really don’t know,” you whined, you turned your head to look at John for help but he was avoiding your pleading gaze. That jerk wants me to find an answer for the case too.

“Then I’m afraid you better think fast,” Sherlock suddenly dug into your belly again and the flat was filled with your high pitched laughter. You tried to enter your Mind Palace but the tickling was making it impossible to focus, You closed your eyes and went through all the notes and documents Sherlock and John had acquired. They were meticulous and knew everything about the old man and his dead wife including their immediate and distant relatives, their favorite restaurant, the name of their country club, and even information about their childhood and early education. All the bases were covered but you knew something was missing.

“Sherlock I swear to god if you tickle Y/N to death I’m not explaining it to your mother,” John stared at you worriedly as your face turned a deep red and your laughter slowly turned into breathy gasps for air.

Death.

Could it be that simple?

You went through all of the information about the client again and your suspicions were confirmed. It was ridiculously simple and you were surprised no one has realized it.

“I got it!” You screamed as Sherlock descended upon your hipbones, he immediately pulled back and looked at you in surprise. You gasped for breath and tried to get the rest of the giggles out.

“Did either of you bothered to visit the gravesite and confirm a dead body or did you just believe the old man when he said his wife had died?” You gasped out, “I don’t know why he would lie, but if there’s no dead body then it’s possible he was hiding something.”

Sherlock quickly stood up and practically ran to the kitchen table, you slowly sat up and rubbed the residual ticklish feelings from your body. You could hear him loudly shuffle through the piles of paper and John joined in to help.

“How the hell did we miss this?” Sherlock angrily slammed the table.

“The client didn’t give us a reason to not believe him,” John sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, “we just saw the obituary and a small article of the funeral which could easily have been fabricated.”

You shakily got up from the floor and plopped down on the couch, ready to run to the door if Sherlock decided to attack you again. You watched the two men bicker and your brother cursed several times under his breath. Finally they left the kitchen and grabbed their jackets, John was the first to march out the door and Sherlock was right behind him. Before he fully closed the door shut, your brother stuck his head out and nodded towards you.

“Good work,” he said bluntly, he closed the door a bit too loudly and you heard his heavy footsteps thump down the stairs. You shook your head and went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. The flat that was filled with your loud laughter and Sherlock’s playful teasing was now quiet and lonely again. Your brother had offered you multiple times to work with him and John, but you always refused and told him you were not meant to be a detective.

“Detective Y/N Holmes,” you scoffed, taking a big swig of water, “I would rather die than wear that stupid hat.”