#watson now is busy kissing holmes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-power-of-a-pen · 1 year ago

Text

Make a Wish

Fandom: Sherlock Holmes

Summary: Sherlock refused to tell you his birthday, so you took matters into your own hands.

Word Count: 1470

Pairing?: Sherlock Holmes x gender-neutral reader (romantic - established)

Trigger Warnings: None.

A/n: First fic in a few years. Let me know what you think!

"Sherlock? When is your birthday?"

He briefly looked up from the morning papers to answer you. "You're the partner of one of the greatest detectives in the world and you haven't figured it out?"

You stuck your tongue out at him. "Most people just tell their partners their birthday."

"Well, I'm not most people. Besides, does it really matter?"

"Of course it matters," you exclaimed. "I want to celebrate the day that my boyfriend was born."

Sherlock hummed in response, but otherwise did not acknowledge your statement.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" you asked.

"I appreciate the thought, my darling, but I am far too busy to celebrate something as trivial as my birthday.

Internally sighing, you decided to play his mind game. If he wanted to be difficult, you'd be worse. "You're not too busy for me."

This caught his attention, and it took everything in you not to grin. He put the newspaper down. "I'm never too busy for you."

You ambled over to Sherlock and leaned over him, your hands on the arms of his chair. "Are you sure?"

Sherlock stared at your lips as though he were stuck in a trance.

"Love?"

He inhaled sharply and came to. "Hm? Yes, I'm sure. My work is important, but not more important than the people I love."

"Then you'd understand how important it is to show that love," you reasoned.

Sherlock smiled softly. "You already show me that you love me."

"Now who's an overachiever?" he smirked.

Feeling your control of the situation slipping, you gave one final attempt. "Can you at least tell me what you want for your birthday?"

"You."

"You already have me."

"A kiss from you, then," he replied simply.

You deadpanned at him. "That's not a real gift. And it brings us right back to square one: what day is your birthday? Otherwise, I won't know when to give you your gift."

"I guess you'll just have to kiss me everyday, then," he grinned.

"Sherlock-"

He cut you off by pulling you onto his lap and pressing a sweet, long kiss onto your lips, leaving you breathless.

"Just like that," he said, as though unfazed.

You decided that you could live with defeat for a while if this was your reward.

------

You cornered John when he came over for tea that afternoon.

"John-"

"No, I'm sorry, but I am not getting involved in your relationship problems."

You chuckled. "What makes you think Sherlock and I are having problems?"

John hung up his overcoat and hat, saying, "He sent me a telegram earlier telling me not to give you any details on his younger life. That's enough of a sign for me."

"No, John, you misunderstand. Sherlock just doesn't want to tell me his birthday."

"Oh," he blinked. "Well-"

"John! A moment please?" Sherlock called from round the corner.

John mouthed "sorry" and followed Sherlock into the dining area.

You sighed and boiled some water on the stove, but by the time you had brought tea for the three of you and were getting up to throw away the trash, Watson had scribbled a note on a napkin that read "F of A, AHED."

Sherlock was in the midst of explaining his latest case, and didn't notice you sneak a glance at John's writing. You stepped outside to take out the trash and decipher the code. It was unmistakeable: 6th of January, 1854.

------

"You've known him longer, John. What do you usually get him for his birthday?"

John had agreed to help you run errands while Sherlock slept in for once, and this dreaded task was the last thing on your to do list.

"Well, considering that I follow him around everywhere, across countries and continents risking my life to solves the cases he's dedicated to without so much as a single doubt," he began, "I find that an annual card at a random time of the year is quite acceptable."

You sighed and scratched your neck, a habit that you had picked up whenever you were stressed or irritated. "I need to get him something special. Something that really shows him that I'm in it for the long run."

"You've dated and dealt with him for about 2 years," John pointed out. "I don't think he doubts your loyalty."

You pressed your lips together. "If your boyfriend was the world's greatest detective who runs on adrenaline and ambition, what would you get him?"

"A therapist," John remarked.

"How helpful," you scoffed. Taking a seat on a nearby bench, you tried to massage some warmth back into your hands. "But seriously, what would he enjoy? A scarf? A plant? A goddamn encyclopedia?"

John stuffed his hands into his pockets and sat down next to you. "Just follow the good old advice. Give him something from the heart."

"Does Holmes keep you around for those groundbreaking remarks of yours?"

Watson laughed. "You're lucky I like my friends to have snark, or both you and Holmes would be out of luck."

You sat in comfortable silence for a while before daring to voice your idea. "Sherlock loves music, right?"

"Of course. Maybe get him something music-themed."

"Well, my first idea was to get him a music box," you admitted, "But I thought it was too small and low-effort, and I wouldn't even know what song to get him, so..."

"So?" John prodded.

"I wondered how bad of an idea it would be to ask Mycroft?" you asked shyly.

He stared at you for a while, dumbfounded. "Have you gone mad?"

You shrugged, picking some lint off of your coat. "I want to get this gift right."

"So, yes, you've gone mad," he confirmed to himself. "What makes you think he'll help you?"

"It may not look like it, but he does love Sherlock," you smiled. "He also spent some of the most vulnerable years with him, before you. I think he'll see it as his way of... apologizing, in some anonymous way."

"Your death sentence," John acquiesced. "Let me know how that goes for you."

------

You woke up on the 6th of January to Sherlock being dead asleep from a long night of research and used your opportunity accordingly. First, you made his favorite tea and breakfast on a tray and brought it to his nightstand. You gently stirred him awake and kissed his forehead, to which he responded by pulling you on top of him.

"Good morning, my love," you whispered. "And happy birthday."

He pulled away slightly to look at your face, clearly impressed that you had figured it out. "Thank you, dear."

Barely controlling your excitement, you jumped off of the bed and urged him to have his birthday breakfast. He obliged, and asked you to tell him about your aspirations and dreams.

You talked idly for a while, but the moment that he finished his tea, you rushed right out of the room to grab his gift.

"It isn't much," you prefaced. "But I thought you might like it."

You presented him with a cedar music box and sat down at his desk, awaiting his reaction.

He took the gift from you tenderly and opened it to find a violinist figurine in the back, spinning to some classical music. In the box, you had written a note that said, To my light and my love. May this box bring you joy and teach you to declutter your desk so you don't have to use mine. He set the box down on the bed and turned away for a moment.

You approached slowly, a bit concerned and hugging your robe tighter around yourself. "So, what do you think?"

He turned back around, and you noticed that he was wiping tears from his eyes and smiling. "How did you know that Paganini was my favorite composer?"

You grinned. "Wild guess. I take it that means that you like your gift?"

"I love it." He wrapped you in a warm hug. "I love you."

"I love you, too," you murmured into his shoulder. After a moment: "Oh, I almost forgot."

You rushed downstairs again, and came up with a cupcake with a candle in it and a lighter.

Sherlock sighed in content. "You didn't have to do all of this for me."

"I wanted to," you replied, lighting the candle. "Now hush and make a wish, or I'll get all of Baker Street to sing happy birthday to you."

"Alright, easy on the threats," he chuckled. Sherlock closed his eyes and envisioned a smaller, black box in his future, wishing for a good omen. Then, he blew the flame out.

"What did you wish for?" you asked. "And don't give me that superstition crap, because we both know you don't believe in it."

Sherlock smiled and shook his head. "You'll see soon enough, sweetheart."

#sherlock holmes #sherlock fandom #john watson #sherlock #watson #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #rio's writing

56 notes · View notes

my-head-is-an-animal · 6 months ago

Text

J Is Just A Letter

Chapter 2 - H.O.L.M.E.S.

Mycroft waited for weeks, months went by and Sherlock became a priority with his usual antics, it was enough to distract him for a while. But each night he went home, he thought about the black and white photographs kept in the top drawer of his desk.

Some nights he would just gaze at them, noting every patch of skin he could see, wondering what she would look like up close, hoping secretly that she would pay him another visit. He was especially taken with her slender neck and collarbone. He tried not to let his little fantasies get too graphic, but the idea of kissing her neck and listening to her sigh against his ear was a difficult one to shake.

He entered his office one idle morning, noting he had comparatively very little to occupy his time, a few meetings with MI6 agents, some paperwork to do and a visit to Buckingham Palace was on the cards, but unless something extravagant happened, he could devote a little time to catching up with John Watson and find out if Sherlock was up to anything unusual.

Mycroft settled behind his desk and began reading through a file, when he noticed something across the room. A painting. One he’d placed there months previous of a Victorian household, the painting was busy and was enough to stimulate his mind from time to time, but something about it was out of place. He stood up and wandered over to it. His eyes scanned every single part of the painting, it wasn’t the one he’d placed there, this one had been made especially for him with subtle differences.

Where there should have been a maid scrubbing the floor, she was now reading a book and had a name badge that read ‘Alex’. Where there should have been the emblem for a member of the British army on the soldier beret, it was the faces of Mount Rushmore. On the wall was a painting of Stone henge instead of a farmhouse in a field. On the table, there were mini Eiffel towers instead of salt shakers as well a strange little green statue, that Mycroft had to rack his brain to find; and finally, the symbol for the tube appeared as one of the toys the children were playing with.

Mycroft opened his door and called for Anthea to give him the current whereabouts of J.

‘I’m not sure sir, we’re not currently tracking her.’

‘We should be tracking her every minute of every day.’ Mycroft said, angrily. ‘She’s about to do something in several locations, we need to be ready.’

Anthea made the calls and came around her desk to look at the painting, she couldn’t see anything wrong with it.

‘I know this painting like the back of my hand,’ Mycroft said, carefully. ‘Every single part of it, so any minor change is like a fly in the ointment.’

‘What’s changed, sir?’

Mycroft proceeded clockwise around the painting. ‘Maid on the floor is reading a book and has the name badge Alex: Library of Alexandria. Up on the wall, it’s a small painting of Stone henge. On the table we have saltshakers in the shape of Eiffel Towers, as well as a statue of a praying mantis carved out of a green gemstone and currently on display at the Hermitage Museum in Russia. Then on the soldier’s beret, instead of an army emblem, it’s the faces of Mount Rushmore. And finally on the floor the children appear to be playing with a toy resembling the underground tube system.’ Mycroft was glad she was writing this down. ‘J is going to grab our attention once again by targeting these locations, I have no idea what she’ll do, but we will need to keep our wits about us. She’ll start with the Hermitage Museum, move on to Oxford Circus, then the Library, Mount Rushmore, The Eiffel Tower and Stone Henge.’

‘How do you know it’ll be oxford circus? She could pick any of the stations?’ Anthea finished writing.

‘Because she’s spelling “Holmes.” Last time it was Mycroft and now it’s Holmes.’

‘Trying to get your attention, sir.’ Anthea said in a rather annoying way.

‘Mm.’ Mycroft hummed to himself.

‘Sounds like she might be a fan.’ Anthea got on and made the calls, but Mycroft had a very bad feeling.

‘I told you “no”.’ He said to himself, still observing the detail of the painting. ‘One can only assume you didn’t take it well.’

‘Sir, the Museum has already been hit.’ Anthea said. ‘One of our undercover operatives has just been found with the mantis tied… to his head?’ Anthea had to make sure she heard it correctly. ‘He’s currently being transported back to the British Embassy, but he says he has a message for you sir.’

‘What is it?’

Anthea listened carefully. ‘He said “Are you paying attention?”’ Anthea looked a little worried.

‘Maximum surveillance on Oxford Circus tube station, I want to know everything that’s going on there before J has a chance to-‘

‘It’s too late.’ Anthea interrupted. ‘Another undercover operative has been found tied to the end of one of the cars… sir, she’s hit them all at once.’

Mycroft closed his eyes, exhausted. There were a few undercover operations he had going in several of those locations, all of them of the highest secrecy and all of them now disrupted by one woman flirting. He sighed and straightened himself up, heading to the surveillance room where Lady Smallwood was waiting.

‘Lady Smallwood, I wasn’t expecting you.’ Mycroft observed her and suddenly realised he would hate whatever was about to come out of her mouth next.

‘Mycroft.’ She said, stepping towards him. ‘Seems you’ve got yourself a fan.’

‘A flirt more like.’ Anthea said, not so quietly as she walked past, getting to work.

‘Quite.’ Lady Smallwood agreed. ‘I thought you said she was harmless.’

‘She was.’ Mycroft said, hating every second he spent discussing J. ‘Until she came to my office, told me what she wanted and I said “no”.’

‘She was here, in this building! Why didn’t you arrest her?’

‘Because she was sitting in my office whilst a safehouse in Tokyo was burning.’ Mycroft explained. ‘There was nothing at any of the sites that led us directly to her and unfortunately we are dealing with an intelligent woman who seems to have endless resources and a talent for uncovering secrets. I imagine the court case would not have lasted long and the result may have been a lot worse.’

‘Perhaps.’ Smallwood looked back towards the screens displaying each of the locations that J had hit. ‘What is it she wants?’

‘To open doors.’ Mycroft sighed, knowing he couldn’t hand that kind of power over to someone so destructive.

‘What doors?’

‘Every door.’

‘Ambitious then.’ Smallwood was starting to get the gravity of it. ‘Not even MI6 knew about every operation we had going on out there, so how did she?’

‘Her resourcefulness knows no bounds.’ Mycroft had no idea how she found out about all of these operations, but it was disruptive and damaging at best. ‘Read the rest of the messages.’ He ordered whoever was closest which happened to be Anthea.

‘Hermitage: “Are you paying attention?” Oxford Circus: “Let’s have dinner.” Library of Alexandria: “I want to hear you say yes to me.” Mount Rushmore: “Your suit looks nice today, it would look better on the floor.”’ Mycroft rolled his eyes in annoyance at that one, but it did start a flurry of fantasies in the back of his mind. ‘Eiffel Tower: “Are you still thinking about me?” Stonehenge: “I’m not hungry, let’s have dinner.”’

Everyone took a moment, waiting for Mycroft’s reaction.

‘Well,’ Lady Smallwood spoke up to break the silence. ‘I think we all know what she really wants.’ The room tried not to laugh.

‘She’s bored.’ Mycroft concluded. ‘Perhaps it is time to look at striking a deal with her. I imagine if I say no again, it won’t just be some undercover agents she’ll reveal, but something much more extravagant.’

‘You’re not seriously considering giving her access to-‘

‘Of course not, but I think I might be starting to understand what she really wants.’ Mycroft mused. ‘A resource like that could prove invaluable.’

‘You want to bring her onside.’ Smallwood concluded.

‘It’ll take some time and the right deal will need to be struck, but I think it’s worth a go.’ Mycroft nodded.

‘What if she says no?’

‘Then I’ll arrest her.’ Mycroft smiled pleasantly before leaving the surveillance room to head back to his office.

He took a moment before entering, wondering if she was yet again waiting for him. He slowly opened the door and looked to where she had been sitting last time to see nothing out of the ordinary. J hadn’t paid him a visit this time.

He checked his desk in case she’d left anything, a note or a sign she was there, but there was nothing, nothing out of place, nothing to indicate anything had been disturbed.

Mycroft sighed and sat down thinking hard on what he could do to convince her to come onside and work for the British government. It would be a hard sell and he would have to make it worthwhile, but surely anything she wanted he could secure easily enough.

He spent the rest of the day dealing with the aftermath of J’s damaging little tantrum and finally found the time to go home and get ready for another day. He was just about to walk out the door when something caught his eye once again. The painting. He took a step back to look at it and realised that the original painting belonging to him had been returned. A small note was hanging just behind it, the paper sticking out of the corner of one side. Mycroft slowly slid it out from behind the painting, it was a phone number, presumably J’s. He pocketed the note and finally left for home.

If you liked this, please consider supporting me ☕ thanks for reading!

Main Story

Mycroft Holmes Masterlist

#mycroft holmes #mycroft holmes x reader #bbc sherlock #sherlock #fanfic

10 notes · View notes

zealouscanonindeer · 2 years ago

Text

13. Paid in full

Mr Cartwright did not, of course, kill me that day; my impending death was warded off by the three police officers catching hold of Mr Cartwright and wrestling him back into the sitting room while Emily smuggled me out the back door. I asked her to fill in the police on the finer points of our investigation in my absence and kissed her hand in farewell

I hurried around to the front yard in time to intercept McKinley and son as they tried to make good their escape while the police were otherwise busy. I tripped McKinley with my stick as he ran towards one of the cabs, knocking him out cold on the walk, and made my own escape in the same vehicle.

Watson was cleared of all charges and released that night, though his watch was kept as evidence in the trial; all the same he was grateful to return to our rooms on Baker Street. It was, of course, comforting to me to have my old friend back, though I had pushed my concerns to the back of my mind during the investigation.

It was not until two weeks later that I received any compensation for this case. I was sitting in my favourite wicker chair after breakfast, engaged in an activity that Watson called napping but which I preferred to think of as meditating, when Mrs. Hudson brought up the late morning post. As Watson flipped through the various bills and letters of entreaty, a name caught my attention.

"What was that last one, Watson?" I asked, not opening my eyes just yet.

"It appears to be an invitation, addressed to both of us."

"From whom?"

"A Mr Edmund Cartwright."

I smiled to myself. "Open it, please. This may prove interesting."

I heard him open the invitation - it sounded like expensive stationary, possibly even parchment. "'You are cordially invited to attend a soiree at the Cartwright Estate to honour Miss Emily Cartwright,'" he read, "Good heavens, Holmes! It doesn't say it directly, but I think we've been invited to his daughter's debutante tonight!"

"Small wonder," I remarked, "considering her first one was ruined by a burglary - the one that led to your being arrested, you may recall."

"Ah, yes. How could I forget? So do you plan to go?" he asked dubiously. He knew me well enough that I was not a social creature.

"You have frequently told me that I need to get out more. I expect this would be an ideal opportunity to do so."

"Holmes, are you feeling all right?"

"Never better. Why do you ask?"

He sighed. "You've been a bit out of sorts lately... and I've never seen you perk up so much at the idea of a social gathering."

"I did not perk," I growled, a bit defensively.

"I thought you did."

"Then you were mistaken."

"Very well, Holmes," he resigned, though there was a note of something slightly false in his voice.

*****

We arrived at the soiree at precisely eight o'clock that evening, dressed in our evening clothes. I acknowledged Leopold with a nod as our cloaks and hats were taken by the attendant. He glanced at my boutonniere - a fresh orchid - with a raised eyebrow but made no comment. The flower had been an absolute pain to find, but I thought it would be a nice touch.

I surmised that the only reason we had been invited was at Emily's urging, considering her father's attitude towards me when I'd left at the close of the investigation. As was my habit when I didn't expect to be otherwise intellectually stimulated by a situation, I started picking out people at random and making deductions about them.

One gentleman, for example, suffered from a slight inflammation in the right shoulder, to judge by the way he carried that arm close to his body and used his non-dominant left hand to gesture and such. Another middle-aged gentleman was having a falling-out with his wife, who was now neglecting such minor services as informing her husband that he missed a spot shaving... just there, in the hollow of his jaw. And there...

I stopped short and inhaled sharply when I reached the next subject of observation. I nudged Watson with my elbow.

"Tell me, Watson," I said to him, "What do you deduce about the young lady in the blue dress?"

Watson peered at her as discreetly as he could, trying not to look like he was staring.

"Well," he said finally, "Her husband is very well-off, if she can afford such a nice dress. French, to judge by the neckline."

"Yes, I believe such decolletage, as they call it, is a recent import amongst the fashionable. Why do you say she is married?"

"Well, she's in her twenties, it looks like. And she's a very attractive young woman. I imagine she was married fairly early on."

"Yes, but I don't see a ring of any sort."

"By Jove, you're right," he said as he looked closer, "I wonder why she hasn't married?"

We watched in silence as a young man approached her and attempted to engage her in conversation. During their brief encounter, he showed her something that sparkled - probably an offering of jewelry - but she brushed him off with an abrupt wave of one gloved hand and a few sharp words and walked away.

"Well," Watson concluded, "That answers that. She seems like quite a heart- breaker, if this is a regular occurrence."

"Oh, I don't know about that," I said whimsically, "You can ask her if you like, though. She's coming this way."

Watson froze in mortification as Miss Emily Cartwright strolled towards the two of us. Blue quite suited her, I thought, as did the smile and the slight blush when she noticed the orchid.

"Good evening, Miss Cartwright," I said, kissing her proffered hand.

"Good evening, Holmes - and I said before that you could call me Emily."

I shot a quick glance at Watson, who was smirking.

"Perhaps you would like to introduce your friend?" Emily prompted, saving me from an explanation I didn't wish to provide just then.

"Yes, of course. Miss Cartwright, may I present to you my friend Dr John Watson. Watson, this is Miss Emily Cartwright, who aided the investigation in your absence."

"Charmed," Emily said as she and Watson clasped hands.

"I expect Holmes must have given you quite a run for your money," said Watson.

"Not as much as you might think," she smiled, "I don't need to be cushioned from a rousing adventure like that. And I certainly don't need to be patronised by the well-meaning." Her manner was pleasant enough, but I heard a note of warning in her words that reminded me of something she'd said earlier.

"Is that what happened to Michael?" I asked, and had the satisfaction of seeing her look surprised by my recall.

"No," she finally said, "Michael was at the last gathering. He'd had a bit too much to drink and he tried to corner me and put his hands where they had no business being. So I dislocated his knee."

Had Watson been taking at drink at that moment, I expect he would have sprayed it over whomever was standing nearby, such was his expression.

"A scream of protest probably would have sufficed," I said wryly.

"Well, of course I screamed," she said, "but by that point so did he."

"It's the strangest coincidence," Watson finally said, "Do you know that when I was out that night I treated a young man with that exact injury? I was passing by in a cab and I saw two men carrying him to another carriage. Of course my physician's Oath dictated that I had to help where I could, so I jumped out to see what was the matter. He was rather incoherent, though, and he smelled of alcohol."

"That couldn't be why you were so vague about it," I remarked.

"No," Emily concurred, "It was probably the hatpin."

Watson looked at her and turned scarlet. "Yes... well, that was an operation I felt better suited to a proper hospital," he said, choosing his words with care, "Considering its location."

Even a man without my powers of deduction could have combined that statement with the respective expressions on Watson's and Emily's faces and come up with an accurate conclusion. My eyes watered slightly.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Dr Watson," Emily said then, "But Holmes and I have a few things to discuss about a few details of the case. If you will excuse us?"

"I wouldn't dream of detaining you," said Watson, sounding like he meant every word and looking a bit fearful for my safety. I offered him a reassuring glance and allowed Emily to lead me away. She walked into the secluded balcony, away from the humdrum of the ball. It felt like walking into silence.

"I don't wish to occupy you for long," I said as we crossed the dance floor, "I imagine your dance card is quite full."

She smiled. "Nonsense. This is business, not social, right?" "Of course," I said, mainly for my own sake, "So, what happened after I left so abruptly?"

"Well, after the policemen got my father calmed down, they realised their birds had flown - but oddly enough, somebody had winged them coming down the front walk. It took all three of them to pick up Mr McKinley and carry him back in. I explained what had happened in the delivery office, both the fight with McKinley and also the location of the stash of jewelry. After they checked out our story, they arrested McKinley for the burglaries, and at present they're trying to figure out what jewelry came from whom. You can expect that that will take a while."

"From what I learned of the families, I expect no less," I replied.

"I do have one question, though... how did you know where the jewelry was? You seemed to know that whole day we were scouting about. I could have hit you when you finally told me."

I smiled. "Until we found the cardboard box, it was merely a theory that your belongings would not be with the rest. You see, according to the eyewitness accounts from Leopold and yourself, the thieves had no opportunity to dispose of the jewelry someplace outside, but they didn't have it on them by the time they were searched. Thus, they hid the jewelry somewhere within the house. Now young Adam was in the presence of the maid from the time he left the lavatory to the time he returned to the hall, and I'm certain she would have seen any furtive activity in the meantime. The only logical conclusion was that the jewelry was hidden within the main hall. When you have eliminated the impossible-"

"Whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth," she finished for me.

"Very good. And of course, the best hiding-place is one which you expect to take away with you in the future."

"So... what made you choose the centrepiece?"

"You might have noticed, Emily, that I took care to check the bowl before my dramatic unveiling. I would have looked quite foolish had I blindly chosen the wrong vessel - not to mention the fact that your father would have chased me out before I could find the correct one."

She laughed. "True enough. And of course you always make sure to do your research." She tapped the orchid in my lapel. "That was a nice touch." She held her gaze for a few moments longer, then looked away pensively. "I'm glad you could make it to the soiree," she said quietly, "I knew you'd want to hear how everything turned out... and you have no idea how much arm- twisting it took to get my father to let you back here."

I gritted my teeth. This was starting to get awkward. She turned looking the other way, I gently touched her elbow and put my forefinger under her chin and tilted her head up so I could see her face. I was planning only to assess how her injuries from the fight had healed, but in the process I noticed for the first time the soft contours of her face, the fullness of her mouth, the way a stubborn wisp of hair that had escaped the pins trailed down at her left temple and over her cheekbone, and the precise shade of fathomless ebony found in her eyes.

I hadn't noticed, and I always prided myself on noticing details. A dozen thoughts raced through my mind.

The one that came out was: "I see your split lip has healed nicely."

Argh.

She smiled, acknowledging the attempt. "Did your eye swell too badly? It still looks a shade puffy."

"I've had worse injuries than a blackened eye."

There was an awkward pause.

"Well," Emily finally said, "Is this discussion social yet, or is it still business?"

"It seems to have gone in its own direction," I replied stoically, "Leaving us with no choice but to follow." I stepped back and offered her my hand with a bow. "May I have the honour of this dance?"

She smiled and took my hand.

Even now I can't say for certain how long we danced. Suddenly it was 11.30 and Watson was at my elbow.

"Holmes! I've been looking all over for you!"

I blinked and looked over at him, still quite aware of the young woman in my arms. I hurriedly stepped back to a more discreet distance from her.

"It's getting late," Watson continued, "And I'm really quite worried about you."

"Worried?" I echoed, "Why?"

He merely glanced significantly over at Emily. I frowned.

"Watson," I said, "I can assure you that there isn't the least thing wrong with me that wasn't already there two weeks ago - and all that has healed, by your own account."

"Holmes-"

"But of course if you wish to go, we shall go." I was being peevish, I knew.

"Holmes." This was from Emily. I looked over at her. "You're not going to leave before you receive your fee, are you? For services rendered?"

My brain scrambled for a few moments before I remembered what she was talking about. "Ah, yes. For getting your jewelry back. Of course."

Emily flagged down Leopold, who had in an inside pocket an envelope, which she took from him and handed to me. I opened it and looked at the cheque inside, then raised my eyebrows at the amount.

"That's from my father," Emily explained, "though I think he was just glad to get you out of the house."

"He's very generous," I said, tucking the cheque into my breast pocket.

"The cheque is only part of the fee, though," she said, "This part is from me."

Before I could ask, she gently bent my head down with one gloved hand and kissed me softly on the corner of the mouth.

"Good night, Mr Sherlock Holmes," she murmured close to my ear as her hand brushed down my cheek, then she stepped back, inclined her head to Watson, then turned and vanished into the crowd.

Watson looked at me with newfound respect. "Holmes, you devil!" he smirked.

I cleared my throat. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," I lied.

"No?" he asked, "Then why are you blushing?"

I stopped short and glared at him. "I am doing no such thing, Watson," I snarled, "And you know it."

He started laughing as I stalked away to the coat check.

******

The End.

Continue to the new

Adventure of the grasping ghost

7 notes · View notes

riddlesandlies · 1 year ago

Text

I, uh, don't have many people here that I know, and you ask me for nine people that I want to get better? Thanks for the tag, @quotesandmiracles, but this part of the chain dies with me >:3

Three ships

Orpheus and Eurydice in Hades (because of the music, of course it's because of the music, I will always listen to Darren Korb's tracks with reverence), Hound/Sandor Clegane and Lady Brienne from Game of Thrones (they have one scene in which they fight, and one scene in which they talk about why they fought and that's it, I want more of these two idiots trying to kill each other for whatever knightly reasons) and finally Christoph and Darell from Kindret (a relatively obscure russian book from 2006) (this is just the best kind of platonic friendship - two dudes helping each other through all the hardships, they are intimate through shared passion and grief, Chris even going as far as to excorcise a god rather than kill it on an off chance that Darell might survive, just mwah, dudes being bros to the grave and beyond)

First ship

I don't do fandom, but the earliest relationship I can remember that I can reasonably point to and say "I ship it" is Roy Mustang and Liza Hawkeye from Full Metal Alchemist. It's a fun one - romantic relationships didn't make a lot of sense for me, most of them just registering as "a plot device to make two characters care about each other". This justification was so pervasive in media, that whenever two characters of opposing sex have two much tying them together, I awaited a kiss scene like one would await a dentist's appointment - with hope that it comes and passes without much pain. It never happened with those two and it was such a relief that they kept it in character - business only. And yes, I'm calling lieutenant Liza, this is the hill I will die on.

Last song

I almost always have background music, even now as I'm writing this. I can't sleep, which means whatever relaxed epic I liked the most recently, which is Crimson Crown by Swallow the Sun, pulled right out of the depth of Spotify, cursed be its name.

Last movie

Either Nimona or Banshees of Inisherin, and I don't think I can figure out which. Nimona is Nimona, you know it. Banshees is not what I expected of it, but still very enjoyable once you become comfortable answering the questions it poses.

Currently reading

Congregation by Nadezhda Popova, recommended to me by @reflingthefox. The protagonist, a newly appointed inquisitor and investigator on his first case, is such a relatable character to me in the way he thinks and overthinks and spirals into his thoughts, never quite sure if he's doing his best. A nice book to have when you need to kill some time.

Currently watching

Elementary, yet another retelling of Sherlock Holmes, in which he's a recovering addict, and Joan (!) Watson is his sober companion. I'm just a sucker for hyper intelligent detective protagonists, I'll probably watch Mentalist next someday.

Currently consuming

Uhhh, tea shroom, which is just a basic combucha, protein shakes, and whichever soda finds itself in our fridge

Currently craving

More intimate, quiet time with my boyfriend, more opportunities and energy to meet him

2 notes · View notes

isles-of-man · 2 months ago

Text

Sherlock Holmes slouched in his study at 221B Baker Street, the room illuminated by the harsh glow of the street lights outside the window and cluttered with scattered files, and a jumble of half-empty coffee cups. The sharp, acrid scent of his cigarette smoke. On the desk, among the mess, lay his phone, unanswered from calls from his brother and Watson who had increasingly more busy with marriage and a newborn. He didn’t understand family life, little of his own had been ever been much on his mind.

Holmes knew he was teetering on the edge. The adrenaline from the chase and the high from the drugs had merged into a dangerous cocktail. What had once been a pursuit of truth and intellectual satisfaction had devolved into a relentless, destructive cycle. His need for the next fix was as consuming as the case itself, dragging him further into a spiral where the line between investigation and addiction blurred beyond recognition. The very thing that had once sharpened his brilliance was now a crutch and a curse, threatening to undo him from within.

It was only a saving grace he had a number to call; his dealer in a way named “Granger” as he had come to know her all. They had had trysts, in and out of his flat where he had taken her. She had been both intellectual and intimately satisfying to him since they had first met. Unbeknownst to John he had used his name; avoiding detection of using his own name to connect with a willing subject to his needs. She had answered to his messages. Since then he had called on her like he had just a half hour ago to give her time to arrive.

His front door open, eyes darted towards it and greeted his guest with a quick smirk and lowered his head to kiss her firmly with a nip of her lip. The simple touch already causing a satisfied feeling in him. She was indeed, a drug. His drug. "I don't want you to hold back tonight, understand?"

@theirmadness

#isles-of-man #ship: sherlock x hermione

0 notes

sablesigyn · 1 year ago

Text

What's you worst Obligatory Date Story?

Mine needs a bit of context...

I was staying with my parents on winter break from college and ran into one of my childhood bestie's little brothers at the store. There were 10 kids in that family at the time so our hang out time often included the younger kids. My bestie was a year older than me, so this little brother was my age and I had known him for years but hadn't seen him or my bestie (his sister), since she went to college the year prior. I asked if she was visiting and he told me she had eloped! He said he would elaborate over the phone later.

He called my parent's number. I never gave him my cell number. After giving me very little info about his sister, he mentioned it had been a long time since we had hung out and we should catch up some time. Now....I thought he meant we should hang out....not date...

I said, "Sure. I'm only in town for a few weeks though."

He replied with a huge sigh of relief and said, "Oh my gosh, I was so nervous!"

When I asked why he would be nervous about hanging out I realized I had done goofed. Now, I did try to explain the misunderstanding and said I had never thought of him romantically, but I had already agreed to hang out and felt obligated to do so.

What followed was nightly phone calls to my parents number. If I didn't answer, he kept calling until someone picked up and my parents would always make me take the call. When I told him not to call so much and not to call after 9pm, cause I was working on a project, he started calling at 8:58pm and would ramble on for a hour by making it super difficult to end the call without sounding rude. Eventually I agreed to see the new Sherlock Holmes movie, but there was a snowstorm the night before. He called to change plans and said he was would walk the 30-minute drive/15 miles through 2 feet of snow to see me....

I was alarmed and only convinced him not to by rescheduling for 6pm on the same day I was having dental work. Turned out he didn't have a car, so this was a double date with his friend driving us and they showed up 2 hours early, at 4pm. My face was still very numb from my 2pm dental work. The other couple went to a different movie and things weren't too bad until Dr. Watson's wedding scene, when Watson is hung over. This is when my date said, "Don't worry. That won't happen at Our wedding."

After the film we went to the Mongolian Grill with the other couple, where you get to cook your food at the table. If my face wasn't numb, this would have been nice...but the meat was chewy, and I could only use one side of my mouth. I was taking a long time and couldn't reply without biting my cheek, so I was quiet. My date was too busy staring at me chew to notice he caught some food on fire and I bit my cheek badly when bumped into by them trying to put out the fire. The other couple tried to minimize this by telling a story about seeing someone accidentally light the whole table on fire before.

I was relieved when dinner ended until they said my date had a work training for pampered chef...across the street. I was left at Barnes & Noble for an hour, my cheek bleeding and a mouth of pain as the numbness was finally wearing off from the dental work. My friends texted me to pass the time and make sure I was safe. Finally, my date showed up and said we could go. As we sat in the backseat, he tried to steal a kiss and asked for a second date....the couple in the front was listening. In the quietest voice I could muster I politely said, I only saw us as friends.

Now, you would think that the story was over at this point....but you would be wrong.

After this, the nightly calls continued and my father said I had to talk to my "boyfriend." He wouldn't turn down the calls or back me up when I said I didn't want to talk. My father said that my "boyfriend" got me a job I could do for a week as a door-to-door DOOR salesman. I declined.

A few days before I was returning to college, this guy showed up at my folks' house to do a Pampered Chef sales pitch that he arranged with my Father. My mom wasn't interested and left. After his pitch, my father invited him to stay for dinner and said he needed to get something at the store....leaving us alone.

I sat on the other side of the room from him and something made me sneeze, a huge and gross sneeze. I excused myself and rushed to the bathroom to clean up, kicking the door closed behind me only to discover that this guy had ran after me and INTO the bathroom.

I yelled at him to get out and close the door. He did...but waited behind the door for me to come out. At this point I was angry, but my father had left us alone and this guy had no car or way to get to his apartment unless he walked 15 miles. When I came out, I told him that following a woman who excused themselves INTO a bathroom/walking in on them when the door was closed was Unacceptable behavior and I wouldn't be speaking with him again. He did apologize, but I don't remember what he said. When my father returned I told him to see to His guest and I left the house.

Turns out my father was trying to play matchmaker. He said this guy reminded him of himself when he was younger. I then had to explain all the things wrong with following a woman into a bathroom, how barging in on someone in a private place wasn't acceptable "puppy-dog love" behavior...

And then I had to explain to the guy's grandma that no...we were not dating. At least his grandma was cool about it. And I never saw him again.

#worst decision of my life #personal #bad dates #operakitten #stories #matchmaker dont make me a match

0 notes

rory-iero-real · 8 months ago

Text

Here are my notes (live action) :

TW for spoilers

EHAHAHAHHAAAAAAAA I LOVE OLIVIA COLEMAN

Lestrade with sideburns is amazing

Sherlock......... in a PLAID SUIT

I love how this was filmed

Why am I scared

"It's a shotgun wedding" baddie moment

Everyone looks so sexy in the 1800's I love this

"I have some urgent business" IS IT MYCROFT?!?!

M is prob mycroft

Wait do we not get to see Molly?!?!

Rude.

AHHHHHHHH WHAT

I LOVE BUTCH MOLLY HOOPER BUT WTF IS HAPPENING

"It's never twins" he said the thing!!

Not the secert twin-

Can I marry Mr Hooper?

THATS FUCKING CREEPY...

"Now that daddys gone" AHHHHHHH BE MY HUSBAND

"And I should have to go deeper still." cunty

Eating up the Victorian dressing gown

Idek what he just said bud talks too fast

"Who have I been talking to all this time?" Awww sherlock misses his man wife

Why is John being a dick

Ewwww

"If inconvenient, come anyway" he said the thing!! Pt 2

"Shut up" love a sibling rivelry moment w the Holmes boys (if their seeing myc, idk yet)

What..... is happening.....

"Sorry what" me that whole scene bud

The way they are depicting Mycroft is- something

I know it's Canon but like-

Not them betting on Mycrofts life

This makes how Mycroft is in the 2010s feel sadder

Love the brothers bickering

Please get back to case solving

Still trying to figure out where Mary is going

"Those are my specialtys" love that guy

A priest?? GHOSTS?!?

Are those seeds?? Am I dumb??

I'm very confused

HER?!?!?!?!??!

"My sins have found me" DID HE KILL HER?!?!?! WHAT

Was she his ex wife??

That bed looks mad comfy ngl

WHAT??

I'm scared it's too misty

Is he dead?!?¿

HOLY SHIT-

AHHHHHHHHHHHH IM SCARED

The head tilt is giving me the hibby jibbys

NO FUCKING WAY HE JUS DIED RIGHT THERE.

"But he could be" lmao

Watson??

AHHHH MARY YES.

"And I was about to laugh in your face"

So theirs no ghosts??

Babe that was NOT sleepwalking

Sherlock feminist moment

He's so funny

This episode is sideburns central

Ohhh so their orange seeds

IS IT SCURVY??

It's not scurvy.

"The game is afoot" he said the thing!! Pt 3

Dad thinks it's finally twins ("cause it's NEVER TWINS")

I think it's ghosts (I like ghosts)

Love their yapping

IRENE ADLER MENTION

Watson just wishes holmes had game

"A brain without a heart"

DOES HE MEAN SEX?¿?

BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAH

"Oh Watson, nothing made me. I made me."

REDBEARD!?!??

IS IT A GHOST

I'm dizzy wtf is happening

I'm fr kinda scared

OMG HES DEAD!?

John bby u can't shoot a ghost

WAIT WHO WAS THAT

PLEASE BE GHOSTS PLEASE BE GHOSTS

AHHHHHHHHHHHH NO JOHN PLEASE

AHH GO SHERLOCK GO

"THEIR ARE NO GHOSTS" WHY are u yelling at me Sherlock

Yay Lestrade is back!!

Dude how is it John's fault??

Benny hunnny PLEASE talk slower

THERES A NOTE??

IS IT THE WIFE

YESSSSSSS ITS MORIARTY

"Good boy" I WOULD LET MYCROFT HOLMES THROW ME DOWN THE STAIRS.

If Moriarty doesn't have sideburns I'm turning the TV off/j

HES COOKING LET THE MAN COOK

Mind palace mention

"I just sort of do" I love you Mrs Hudson

THE DEVIL??

NOOOOO SHERLOCK SAY NO TO DRUGS

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HES HERE

"Or are you just pleased to see me?" HE SAID TJE THING!!! pt 4

Not him posing so cuntly

HE WAS IN HIS BED??

HE LICKED. THE. DUST.

DONT SHOOT MY MAN HELP

"where's the intimacy in that" PLEASE kiss

"UGH so what?" WHY IS HE BEING SO CUNTY

Yes. I do need to know how.

PLEASE ANDREW STOP BEING SEXUAL I AM WITH MY FATHER.

"DEAD, is the new sexy." GRRRREAHHHHHHHHHBHHH

WTF. IS THAT.

It's ghosts. It's ghosts.

Wait he was dreaming?!?!?!!

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh he WAS dreaming

EXACTLY LIKE MORIARTY

ohhhhhhhhh is that why everything was so- sherlock

Ie. John being "dumb", Lestrade being "weak", Literally JUST made a shot at Mycrofts weigh

Wait now I'm sad

UGHHHHHHH MYCROFT JUST CARES ABT HIM.

IM GONNA CRY

I love Mary

"Yapping?" YAPPING.

"It was my fault" BABY PLEASE I LOVE HIM

HUH?? WHAT IS HAPPENING

I AM TWEAKING IS EVERYTHING A DREAM????

"I could break every bone in your body while NAMING THEM."

Awwwww John just cares

WHAT?? MARY??

"Wear the damn hat" he said the thing!!! Pt 5

I AM SO CONFUSED I LOVE THIS

IS IT CULT SHIT!?!?!?!??!?!?!?¿?

"Being the slow little brother" MARY BADDIE MOMENT

Wait so they're showing how she did it like how they showed Sherlocks

Love that

IS THIS ABT FEMINISM????

ITS ABOUT FEMINISM

This is so cool

But confusing

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH MOLLY

SO MOLLY WAS JUST BUTCH IM A GENIUS

I WAS JUST BEING FUNNY BEFORE

New #1 episode

This is so fuckinf cool yall

I LOVE MOLLY HOOPER. SO MUCH.

IT. WAS. ALL. MOLLY.

WASNT IT

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH IT WAS MORIARTY.

I KNEW THAT

I ALSO LOVE MORIARTY.

IT WAS ALL A DREAM. I KNEW IT

Slay Mary tech queen

"Smartest person in the room istg" - my dad

YAAAAAAY LESTRADE IS HERE!!! (he's my fav) (can u tell?)

BENADICT. TALK SLOWER.

PLEASE.

"Mary's taking me home" he gets pegged.

WHAT IS HAPPENING

NO. NONONONO

I HATED THAT.

Wait- WTF IS THAT A WATERFALL

Yaaaaaaaaaaaay Moriarty!

Imagine they kiss

"Not in your mind, I'll never be dead there."

DID HE CALL MORIARTY SHORT ASS? I CANT HEAR WITHOUT SUBTITLES

HELP IM SCARED

"SHALL WE GO OVER TOGETHER?"

OMG JOHN AHHHHHHHHHHH YES

"That's not fair there's two of you" waaaaaawaaaaaa poor stinky baby

"Since when do you call me john?"

AWWWWWWWWWW

"Pretty damn smart."

YES MORIARTY. THEY SHOULD ELOPE.

HE JUST GOT KICKED DOWN. THE. WATERFALL.

HE ALWAYS SURVIES THE FALL.

"ITS ELEMENTARY MY DEAD WATSON." HE. SAID. THE. THING.

Awww the little smile

Stumble stumble

"Promise me?" he just CARES AHHHHHHHGGGGGGG

"Look after him, please?" SOBBING.

REDBEARD.

Watching The Abominable Bride w my dad

1 note · View note

amypihcs · 3 months ago

Text

"Do try my stew Watson!" "... That's the murder weapon, right?"

HELLO PEOPLE! FROM RAINY ITALY, LATE AS HELL AND INSTEAD OF STUDYING, DrWatson and his husband in the adventure of the gossipy cave!

Watson hear a voice outside and can't believe his ears!

IT'S HOLMES! Of course it's Holmes! Watson is a bit worried for him, has he eaten OR slept enough? He looks so thin, no DOUBT that figure was so tall and thin, it was Holmes! Still, Watson is QUITE worried.

STILL, he was never more glad to see a person!

We extend our thanks to Granada Television for having included Mortimer and so realistically stopped Holmes and Watson from kissing each other stupid.

Still, both Holmes and Watson are quite surprised to see the other around!

They're both so very happy to be once more around each other!

Holmes must've been so happy to see a sign of Watson around!

Still, Watson is not ENTIRELY happy! He's justifiably a bit raw because of y'know Holmes lying to him.

And how to find any fault in it! But he's quite easily pacified.

Holmes is back! now we'll be able to talk and he'll help me!

They of course enter Holmes' humble abode and set to do what the two biggest gossip girls of London do: GOSSIP!

Well, at least once dismissed the stew. Cooking's not QUITE Holmes' forte.

Chatting of country gossip with some important wait what moments!

What do you mean his wife, Holmes?

DAAAAMN. Well, allusions to 'making love' aside, this chat is going quite well.

Nothing better than discuss the details of a case while curled up in an old cave maybe eating canned peaches togethe-

WHAT IS THIS NOW??! Not the time, Watson. What the hell?

Damnit, They are too late! And yes, well NO, but yes, unfortunately.

It's undoubtedly sir Henry!

They have some talks of revenge and so on, but Holmes is for keeping calm. As calm as possible

Using the Granada chronology, he's passed through Five Orange Pips already. It's nto the first time he loses a cli- Are you alright dear fellow?

CHANGE OF PROGRAM! IT IS NOT SIR HENRY! Wahoo, i suppose!

The hell now? They just agreed on hiding the body when someone is approaching! The wannabe murderer himself! The audacity!

Not a word, John. So good that i wasn't kissing you.

Stapleton surely wanted to make sure the work was well done and complete!

Well, at least now Holmes can toss his last line by assuring the man that he WON'T be around the following day and he and Watson can retreat to the hall to finish talking the business over!

And we'll see what they'll make of it in the next episode!

#letters from watson #victorian husbands #jeremy brett #unnecessarily handsome #edward hardwicke #the dark side with kind eyes #asexual falling hard for actors from an 80s show #the power of giiiiifs #so good ahahaha #granada included mortimer and doggo to give them a sufficient reason not to kiss #i love Hound

34 notes · View notes

married-to-google-translater · 3 years ago

Text

Getting caught might make out session for Mycroft, Albert and Bond

William, Sherlock and Louis are Here

James Bond

James would have been busy in the last few days.

Now you finally got some "time between just two of you".

So you didn’t have time but took full advantage of the time you got.

So James was just kissing you when the door opened.

Behind it was William who wanted to talk to James about the next mission.

This incident doesn't bother James at all.

He would just talk to William quickly as you blush in the background.

(Times were different and at the time such would have been generally considered immoral. You weren't even married. Oh horrible.)

However, James thinks there is no problem with this.

He would be willing to continue these "things" after William left.

If you want...

Mycroft Holmes

Mycroft would be really annoyed.

He had told his little brother at least 100 times that "you have to knock before you step inside my office."

But again, Sherlock did not listen to him.

And this time he rushed in when you and Mycroft were doing "things."

Poor Watson also inadvertently joined this show.

He would be really red.

The situation is not eased by Sherlock starting to tease his big brother about the situation.

“I didn’t know you could have decent relationships” style humor.

Mycroft looks like he wants Sherlock to get the hell out of his office.

Fortunately, Watson has a good sense of the situation.

He pulls Sherlock out the door before something serious happens.

(Or so Mycroft looks like he’d be happy to strangle Sherlock.)

Albert James Moriarty

It all started when you and Albert spent "quality" time.

He is busy leading the MI6 team and due to other duties.

So because of that, this moment would be really valuable.

It's just a shame the time was wrong.

Just when you had "got up and running," Louis came to announce that the food was ready.

It was embarrassing on so many different levels.

Lewis leaves the room really quickly.

He doesn’t want to make this situation even more embarrassing than it already is.

Too bad that you don't have time to continue the thing you started.

Maybe later ?

821 notes · View notes

topsyturvy-turtely · 2 years ago

Text

(Rosie's) Elephant in the Room

Fandom: Sherlock (TV)

Words: 4491 (on ao3)

Summary: John Watson loves Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock Holmes loves John Watson. John Watson’s daughter loves her giant elephant plushie.

This is the story how the two men finally jump over their shadows and confess their feelings. All because of an elephant plushie.

---

Rosamund Mary Watson owned one thing she was incredibly proud of: her gigantic elephant plushie.

Name: Ellie Phant Astic

Gender: female

Age: 1 year 24 weeks and 5 days

Material: very soft fabric

Strengths: very good at hugging and listening. The best plushie in the whole wide world.

Weaknesses: shy, not talkative (only talks to Rosie Watson).

“Hi, Rosie, sweetie. What are you writing down?”, her dad (John Watson) asked, as he dropped his bag to the floor after he came home from work.

“Key data of Ellie Phant Astic. Look!”, proudly the girl showed off her scrawly handwriting to her dad, who squated down to kiss his daughter’s top of the head and review her professional plush toy data. Seven years old, exceedingly smart and good at social interactions as long as it only includes herself, her way too big elephant plushie and family, Rosie reminded John more of Sherlock than of himself. Writing down key data of a plush toy? Definitely a thing Sherlock did as a kid!

“Wow, that’s truly elephant-astic”, John joked and winked. Rosie giggled.

“I believe you call that a dad-joke, John”, Sherlock said leaning in the door frame, dressing gown over his sweatpants and a white T-shirt and a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Well,” John stood up and his spine made a clicking noise. “I am a dad, so I am allowed to make those.” John smiles. “How was your day with the little one?”

“Oh, it was quite ‘elephant-astic’, wouldn’t you agree, Watson?”, he said, making air-quotes when saying the really not that funny word.

Enthusiastically Rosie nodded her head. “Yessss! Phantie and Lock and me went to the pond in the park and fed the ducks and then we came home and played Cluedo and then I had to go down to Granny, because Lock was angry, because he wasn’t playing according to the rules but that’s okay because Phantie, Granny and I made cookies and they were delicious and I ate soooo much!”

“That sounds like quite a busy day, Rosie. But, I suggest you don’t play Cluedo with Lock anymore, he is extremely bad at it.”, the doctor said with a smirk directed at his flatmate.

Rosie laughed, looked at the tall detective, then at the 3 foot stuffed animal and finally whispered into John’s ear, “Phantie agrees.”

Knowing full well his Watsons were whispering and giggling over him, Sherlock countered, “I am not bad at Cluedo. This game is simply illogical.”

“Yeah, sure it is, Sherlock.”, John said and Rosie fell into a giggling fit. With a pout, Sherlock turned around and walked back into the kitchen.

Still smiling, John turned to Rosie. “I’ll be taking a shower and be right down. Will you be alright with Mr. Pouty-Face over there?”

Giggling, Rosie nodded and pointed at the giant elephant next to her, “Phantie and I can handle him.”

“Probably even better than I can, sweetheart.”, John said, gave Rosie another kiss and left to take a shower.

Upstairs John was overwhelmed by the chaotic mess of a room screaming at him. He used to have a very tidy room, apart from the occasional pants or jumper laying one day too long on the floor. That had changed when Rosie came and Mary had died. John had moved back in with Sherlock and was since then sharing his room with a little girl: Plushies everywhere, pirate costumes over his bed, a magnifying glass with a bunch of sheets with a kid’s colourful handwriting, on and around the desk. The closet door wide open, half of the clothes falling out.

This room was getting definitely too small for a little girl living her wildest dreams. Let alone a little girl and her father. Said girl wasn’t even that little anymore. They had two small singles now, instead of the queen sized bed, because Rosie was kicking like crazy in her sleep. John’s nightmares had gotten better with her close to him, but on bad nights he had to sleep on the couch downstairs, as to not disturb her. Or blankly stare onto the ceiling hoping sleep would make John its slave at some point. Thankfully Rosie slept like a stone most days.

And as much as it pained him and would for sure pain his daughter: John would have to move out soon, if he ever wanted to live like a grown man again. If he ever wanted Rosie to become not dependent on her father. They both needed their own space. For their own sakes.

John sighed, grabbed some fresh clothes and left the messy room to take a shower. Tomorrow. He would tell Sherlock they’d move out tomorrow.

Continue on Ao3 ;)

#turtely writes #(rosie's) elephant in the room #parentlock #lots of fluff #a tiny bit of angst but nothing severe i promise #idiots in love #love confessions #johnlock #johnlock ficlet #bbc sherlock #sherlock bbc #sherlock x john #john watson #sherlock holmes #rosie watson #mrs. hudson #johnlock fic on ao3 #happy about reblogs 🥰#*throws badly cut out paper hearts at you*

123 notes · View notes

2salty4snails · 3 years ago

Text

"Y/n, wake up!" y/n's drug addicted mother screamed. Y/n woke up, brushing their hair out of their face. They groggily put on their slippers and shuffled downstairs.

"What is it, mom?" Y/n asked as they sleepily slid down the banister. "Why is Harry Styles here?"

"I need more drug money, so I'm selling you to One Direction, y/n."

Y/n's eyes filled with tears. "You can't do this to me, mom! How will I date my boyfriend, Dean Winchester, or see my father, Tony Stark, if I'm sold to One Direction?"

"Cope," y/n's mother said. "Dean is cheating on you with Castiel of the Lord anyway."

"Time to go, girl," said Harry Styles. Y/n sadly followed him out the door, their eyelashes glistening with their tears.

"What are you going to do with me, Mr. Harry Styles?" Y/n asked when they were in his limo.

Harry Styles shrugged. "Idk I just ordered you off of Amazon at 3am, so I didn't really think this through."

Y/n arrived at the One Direction studio with Harry Styles. One Direction's manager met them at the door. "Harry Styles! You can't keep buying random people off of Amazon! You already have too many!"

Harry Styles sighed. "You're right." He turned to y/n. "I guess I have to let you go, Dean Winchester's ex/Tony Stark's child." He turned away his eyes filling with tears. "Goodbye."

Y/n stood and watched him leave, wondering what would become of them now. They decided to go to a coffee shop.

Y/n walked into a coffee shop. It was being run by Sherlock Holmes played by Benedict Cumberbatch. "What can I get you?" asked Sherlock Holmes played by Benedict Cumberbatch.

"I don't have any money. My mother sold me to One Direction."

"Then, I suppose, you'll just have to pay with your body," said Sherlock Holmes played by Benedict Cumberbatch. Y/n blushed.

Y/n was no longer blushing when they were serving as a barista in the coffee shop so that Sherlock Holmes played by Benedict Cumberbatch could go off and kiss John Watson. "Hello, what can I get you?" y/n asked the customer at the front of the line. Crowley took off his glasses, revealing his demonic eyes. Y/n swooned.

"One straight black coffee with eight sugars and a tea." Y/n nodded and made the order. Crowley took it. "How much do I owe you?"

Y/n twirled their hair and blushed. "It's on the house."

"That's nice of you. My boyfriend, Aziraphale, would like that." Crowley left to go see his boyfriend, Aziraphale.

Y/n slumped onto the counter. They didn't even bother to stand up straight again when another customer came in. "Let me guess, you want two drinks for you and your boyfriend."

The Doctor look confused. "What boyfriend?"

Y/n stood up and grabbed The Doctor's shoulders from across the counter. "Wait. You mean to tell me that you're actually single?"

"Yes?"

"Date me!"

"I'm just here to buy coffee."

Y/n screamed. "That's it! I've been working at this coffee shop for five whole minutes and I haven't found my soulmate! I quit!" Y/n threw down their apron and stormed out.

As y/n trudged down the streets, they decided they would have no choice but to visit their friend, Legolas - though he would probably be much too busy with his boyfriend, Gimli, to give them any mind. Everyone seemed to be dating someone except y/n. Even their drug addict mother had managed to hook up with Tony Stark all those years ago. As y/n changed direction to go to Legolas's house, they got kidnapped.

Y/n woke up, tied up and gagged in a room. They opened their eyes to see Loki, laughing evilly. "Finally, I've kidnapped Iron Man's child! Now the Avengers will be unable to do anything and I can conquer Earth!"

Y/n struggled until their gag fell off. "Are we dating now?"

Loki turned around. "What? No. I kidnapped you."

"If we aren't dating, why am I tied up?"

"Because I'm kidnapping you to use against your father, Tony Stark!"

"It kinda seems like we're dating and this is a sex thing."

"No! It's not a- !"

"It's okay; I'm into it."

Loki's face turned serious and he cut y/n's bonds. "Get out. I never want to see you again. You scare me."

"Bye, ex-boyfriend!" Y/n blew Loki a kiss as they left. Loki shuddered.

After y/n left they sighed. "Well, guess I have no choice but to date the Onceler."

#y/n #drug addicted mother #harry styles #sold to one direction #dean winchester #tony stark #destiel #coffee shop au #bbc sherlock #johnlock #crowley #ineffable husbands #the doctor #gigolas #loki #onceler

113 notes · View notes

butterysalt · 3 years ago

Text

I’m Not Going Anywhere | Sherlock x Reader

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x reader (gender neutral)

Summary: After John beats up Sherlock for being gone for the past two years, you help tend to his wounds back at Baker Street.

Word Count: 1,405

Contains: Slight post-Reichenbach angst, injury

A/N: Other fics are in the works I swear,,, Creative energy is at a small low right now. But I still wanted to be somewhat active so I pulled this one from the old archives. Personally, this one isn’t a favorite of mine. Hope you’ll enjoy either way. :)

You and Sherlock took a cab back to Baker Street. The flat still needed to be cleaned up after sitting idle for so long. The occasional sheets of dust that weren't cleaned by Mrs. Hudson remained thick on the surfaces of shelves and furniture. Generally everything there was left untouched. No one could bear to see themselves throw any of it out. A part of Sherlock Holmes lived within everyone whether or not he was still around.

You briskly wiped down the old green couch with your hand and led Sherlock to sit on it. He groaned lowly in pain as he carefully leaned back into the cushions. You frowned watching Sherlock’s sore expression. His eyes were shut tight and he hissed quietly, an arm clutching his ribs.

John did quite a number on him. It was your job to watch over him while Sherlock was gone but you supposed that no amount of pampering and comfort could bring anyone complete peace after losing their best friend — someone that meant so much to John. But you didn’t doubt that Mary would help bring him around with time. They were Holmes and Watson after all. They always figured it out no matter how much they’d like to deny it.

Sherlock eventually opened his eyes again and found you staring. He made an effort to straighten his back and relax his face as best as he could in his condition. He flashed a sarcastic smirk. His voice came out quiet and tired. “Don’t worry. I’ve looked worse.” There was that infamous wittiness you remembered so dearly.

You fought back the smile trying to creep on your face and shook your head at him. You went to the bathroom to grab some first-aid supplies. You returned to the living room with a bowl of cold water, some towels, and a first-aid kit. With everything on the coffee table beside the couch, you just stood in front of him expectantly. No words had to be exchanged for him to understand that you were waiting for his permission to help him. He smiled a little at your old habit. Always the sweetheart. Sherlock nodded lightly and you sat yourself down on a soft spot next to the detective.

His eyes followed your hands as you wrung out a small towel in the water. You dabbed the cold cloth along his long face, being sure to avoid touching the cuts and green bruises. Sherlock inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and relaxing under your care. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach seeing how calm he was with your touch. How he could fully trust you and be himself in your proximity.

Even when he was wounded and struggling to keep himself together, his mind was still racing as fast as ever. You swore you could hear how loud his thoughts were bouncing around in his head. Suddenly, the curly-haired man sighed heavily, “I thought I told you to take care of him when I left.” He was referring to John.

“I did, Sherlock.”

“Not well enough, surely,” he perked his eyebrow and immediately winced from it. You blew air in your face, huffing at his comment. “I did the best someone could do when their friend disappeared off the face of the earth for two years.” Sherlock was silent hearing this. Afraid you had struck a nerve, you scanned his face, searching for any signs of vulnerability. But he looked overall unconcerned so you decided to continue.

“He has been quite well, actually, aside from tackling you at dinner. He met Mary a few months ago and really felt something special with her… He was actually trying to propose tonight,” you said pointedly, pausing your sanitizing to give him a sharp look. Although his eyes were still shut, his lip twitched from the feeling of your gaze.

“John hasn’t been the same as before but let’s face it, no one is. We’ve all been doing the best we can; I’ve been doing the best I can.” The subtle shaking in your voice didn’t fly past him. It was safe to say that he was a big reason for your internal disturbance. He peeked an eye open and analyzed your expression.

You were focused solely on taking care of his injuries. Your brows furrowed down in concentration and your jaw clenched and unclenched ever so often. In your eyes, you were troubled. Conflict flashed and swirled within them but Sherlock could see how you suppressed those thoughts.

He knew you spent these last two years blocking out everything and marching forward. All this effort to keep yourself functioning. To keep living each day one second at a time. If it were otherwise, you would have cracked under the overwhelming pressure a long time ago. Anyone would do so. And yet here you were, still putting others before yourself like always.

Your hand accidentally brushed the cotton pad over his cheekbone. He hissed sharply and pulled his head away. You mumbled a quiet apology, “Sorry.” Your gentle hands carefully caressed his face and pushed his hair away. Along the way, you ran your fingers through his wavy locks. Sherlock leaned into your hand from the sensation.

He was reminded of how much he missed your tenderness. No matter how many harsh jabs you tried to throw at him, you were too good for him. It was a known fact to Sherlock — and one he did not choose to argue with.

His pale hand trailed along your waist as you leaned forward to patch up his wounds. Your mind was too busy to register his fond touch. Sherlock absentmindedly messed with the material of your clothes. He was soon engrossed in the feeling of the fabric wrinkling under his rough fingertips. You were still wearing your formal attire from the restaurant and Sherlock had to admit, it was a good look on you.

“You clean up nicely,” he commented. His soft tone shook you out of your immersive state. You pulled your hands away from his cuts and looked at him, baffled. “Was that a compliment I heard?” Sherlock made a small smirk and shrugged. You narrowed your eyes down at him. “...Odd hearing that from you.”

“I’m a changed man.” He smiled at you and you willingly returned it. The detective was all patched up now but you found yourself resistant to leaving that spot on the couch. Sherlock was humming deeply under the slow circles of your fingertips in his hair. You felt your chest heaving up and down as your eyes flickered along his beautiful features in the room’s dim lighting. You were his peace as he was yours. “You have no idea how much I've missed seeing your annoying face.”

“Well that's not a very good compliment,” he mumbled, on the brink of falling into a sweet slumber from your ministrations. You snorted at his casual humor, trailing your fingers around his jaw. “Yep. Definitely missed that.” He grinned in response and covered your warm hand with his, getting lost in your eyes.

You continued to trace his features, delicately dancing around his wounds. Sherlock’s colourful eyes pierced through you and your breath caught in your throat. His eyes were blown, dilated. You could feel the vibrations of his heart pulsing through his body and over to yours when you touched him. The way he remembered to stop and breathe and all the tension in his body left when you were with him. And that’s when the realization finally settled in.

Sherlock is back. It's really him. A tear slipped from your eyes and a strangled noise gurgled in your throat. You pressed a hard kiss on his hand and curled up into his chest. He was shocked, jumping at first, startled by your sudden movement.

Slowly, he wrapped his arms around your figure and rubbed your back comfortingly. He hushed you, now being the one to run his fingers through your hair. “I really did miss you, Sherlock,” you hopelessly cried into his shoulder. “It’s been so long. I’ve been so worried, you idiot.” You weakly pushed his chest but ultimately ended up hugging him.

He smiled admirably at you, pulling back briefly to return a kiss of adoration on your forehead. Then he pulled you tighter into his form, holding you more securely as he whispered into your ear. “It’s alright. I’m home now. I'm not going anywhere.”

#bbc sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlock x you #sherlock x y/n #sherlock holmes x reader #bbc sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock fanfiction #sherlock fanfic #sherlock imagine #sherlock drabble #sherlock #sherlock holmes #angst #old writing #drabble

367 notes · View notes

ren-therose · 4 years ago

Text

The Penthouse Plot

Sherlock X F!Reader (3.8k words)

Summary: Sherlock, John and Reader all go to a penthouse party to pick up some clues about their newest case. But Y/N and Sherlock are put in a compromising situation.

Warnings: smut 18+, semi-public sex, fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kids), creampie, squirting, after care

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We are going to a party”

This was an incredibly abrupt statement from the detective who was still in pajamas at four in the afternoon, slouched down into the arm chair with the news paper covering his face. I couldn’t see his emotions, but I could tell that the idea had already been formulated, and he had not quite been excited out of it. His boredom was chronic, and it would often times only be soothed by myself to get him out of it.

The first time we met, I was sitting on a park bench in Paddington Street Gardens, not but two blocks away from his flat. As if drawn to the cigarette I was smoking, he walked up as casually as he could, coat turned up, and sat on the bench over from my left. I didn’t look, but I was aware that a tall, dark man was watching me as I tried to solve today's crossword in the paper.

He leaned closer, trying to take in the smoke for the nicotine high. With a slight glance his way, it was all I needed to take the cigarette from my mouth in my left hand, and casually rest it on the bench next to me. I blew out the smoke to the right side of my mouth though, purposefully keeping it from him, allowing my lips to guide the smoke in a stream to dissipate into the morning air. Still looking at the crossword, I began filling in 20 across, feeling a sense of intrigue and frustration emanating from the man next to me.

“It’s not diva, its aria,” a deep voice says. I smirk, not looking up to his face quite yet.

“No shit, Sherlock. 18 down is ‘erie’, so why would I put down diva?” I inquire, but before he could answer, I reply myself. “I was proving my hypothesis: is the detective next to me just trying to second-hand smoke, or is he actually paying attention to me? And the answer was both.”

He stands and comes to sit on my right side, not looking at me directly. The cigarette dangling from my lip wasn’t his main concern anymore.

“How quickly did you realize it is only an herbal cigarette Mr. Holmes?” I ask, erasing my trap from 20 across.

“As soon as I first looked at you. You have no stains on your fingers from the smoke, as well as no burns, which tells me you don’t smoke often. If you were a smoker, you would need at least a pack a day, and these tell-tale signs would be there. You don’t need to smoke because there isn’t an addiction. I presume you do it to attract men, though possibly women too, and to fit into the culture of London, as you are not from here. But you specifically looked up this park because you were looking for something or someone. I would presume it is me, considering you recognized me through my name” he says smuggly, finally looking at me. I didn’t know it then, but he later explained that he was shocked to see the prominence of my “subtle beauty”, and the way in which I held posture in every way that symbolized I was relaxed next to him. This of course was followed by the fact that I was so comfortable that I had gained a pound within the first year of knowing him.

“So you are as good as they say,” I reply, looking up into his clear blue eyes. Those eyes dart down to my lips where the cigarette is still being held by the moisture of my mouth. I remove it, holding out the cigarette between my fingers. “I can imagine it is worlds different from a regular cigarettes addictive effects, but the smell of smoke and the herbs inside might calm you,” I offer. He leans down and takes the cigarette in his mouth, inhaling deeply. I let go of the cigarette as he leans back and removes it. He exhales out, happy to have something other than CO2 leave his lungs.

“You could have phoned” he said nonchalantly. I closed the newspaper and turned my body slightly more towards him.

“No I couldn’t. This isn’t about a case or me looking for my parents or some shit. I needed you to listen. I am a doctor and I am looking for the topic of my next publication” I state. His eyes widen a bit, as he gives me a once over. I was quite young to have a doctorate, but the ambition I have was intriguing to him.

“Great, another doctor. And you must study some form of psychology right?” he implies.

I chuckle as I brush the hair behind my ear to look at him as I explain my credentials.

“BA in a social science and a minor in Women's Studies and Gender, just to make it easier on you. Two masters in something to do with policy and a knack for behavior trends across cultures. A PhD in…” I trail off to let him figure it out.

“International Relations. You couldn’t let go of the need to work abroad and help other. You also study the difference in human behaviors and how it can be interpreted and persuaded. It is why you are now living in London, after living in a southern European country, and I’m going to go with Italy” he responds.

I raise my eyebrow at him. “Italy was fun. I spent most of the time on the mainland with a friend and would visit their family in Sardinia”.

“He was gay wan’t he?”

“Not that he himself knew.”

The detective laughed. It was the beginning of a friendship, with many late nights, bad coffee and fighting. I lived in the basement of 221 Baker Street, after coming to a bargain price with Mrs. Hudson if I agreed to get rid of the black mold and redo the space for future renters. When I asked her why she was already thinking of future renters, she just smiled and told me Sherlock's door was open and I could just walk in.

Now, a year and a half later, I was in his flat, in my own night gown and robe, working on pot of tea to make a London foggy, one of Sherlocks favorite drinks I could make. I had told him that if he got to work in his pajamas, or just a sheet at times, then he couldn’t expect anything less of me. But his abrupt statement that we were going to a party had me do a double take.

“A party? Are we feeling like clubbing tonight Sherlock?” I tease.

“It is just a bit of field work. But I need you to come with as my date so that I am not bothered by lonely, sad women.”

“Ah yes. All the lonely, sad women will flock to the handsome, cocky detective for comfort and an inquisitive night,” I mock, bringing the tea to him.

“Isn’t that what you did?” He says without looking up.

Offended, I grab the paper from his hands and smack him on the head with it. He flinched, protecting his tea from me.

“Haven’t you figured it out by now? I’m here for John” I say, tossing the paper into his lap. Sherlocks mouth slightly gapes before he snaps it shut, looking behind me.

“I’m sorry, what did I just walk in on?” John says from the doorway. Sherlock turns red as I walk up to John, pulling my leg up on him, placing my hand on his cheek while giving him a lingering kiss on the other, maintaining eye contact with Sherlock. “Afternoon John,” I say with a flirtatious growl. He didn’t move since my dramatic act, and as I exited the apartment to get ready, I hear John exclaim “I could get used to that kind of welcome”. I laugh as I hear the paper get thrown at the doctor.

Two hours later, and a lot of fighting with a curling wand, I hear a knock at my door. I do a once-over of myself in the mirror. It was a high-end party, requiring a more put together look, and I was determined to look my best. In helping Sherlock and John, I realized that I rarely dressed up-practicality and professionalism is key.

I put my phone into my handbag, and slipped my feet into my black pointed stilettos. One more once-over in the mirror next to the door, and I unlatched the lock. As soon as I opened it, the detective couldn’t help but let his eyes wander. My hair was in loose curls around my face, and the dress, oh the dress, flattered my body in every way. It was a silk green dress, that hugged every curve. It was ruched in the sides, creating a tight draping across my abdomen. The fabric on my bust sat just below the tops of my breasts, and dropped to my off-the-shoulder sleeves. I was wearing a simple emerald necklace with matching earrings, and a ruby ring on my left hand. My legs were well accentuated, and the stilettos did wonders for my posture. Still, I was the same girl in pajamas at this now well suited man's place as I was now.

“You’re giving yourself away Detective,” I flirt, walking by him to climb the stairs to the front of the building. I make extra care to add a little movement as I climb, knowing he would be right behind me and very distracted. It was my favorite game to tease both of the boys, but especially Sherlock. It was always a game, and he loved games. As I exited the building, John was waiting for us outside, also dressed sharply. His eyes widened as I walked towards him.

“In the words of a great detective, ‘Your body betrays you’ John. It’s still me inside this get-up. Now where is the cab?” I ask.

“Umm...uh, there hasn’t been an available one yet...” he forces out.

London was busy on a Saturday night, and it could often be difficult to find a cab. Lucky for us, my dress is pretty reflective, and I was going to use that to my advantage. I stepped off the curb just slightly, jutting out my shoulder blades and putting my weight on one foot to give myself more shape. By the time I had raised my hand, two taxis pulled up. I heard a cough behind me, Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson both smirking at me.

“I’m sorry, did you have a better idea?” I shoot at them. I open the door for myself and climb into the cab. The two men clambered in after me.

The party was at a lovely high-rise in the middle of London. It looked to be a penthouse, but one grander than I had ever seen. As the three of us exited the elevator, we looked at each other once more, setting our plan in motion. John was to walk around and mingle, while Sherlock and I were to snoop about the place, looking for context clues. I grabbed a flute of champagne from one of the trays, and Sherlock and I began our promenade. We quickly realized that I was drawing a bit too much attention in my get-up and we would need to look around before people noticed we were gone. Our arms entwined, we strolled past the main crowd into a hallway, casually chatting the weather. The detectives hand was on my waist, holding tightly, as though I might leave his side. It was different than they way he usually grabbed my arm to move me around or out of the way of harm.

We were looking for the bedroom of our hosts place, though, it did not seem there was one here. The penthouse was more of a party pad then a living space, which lends more to our profile of him. We continued to walk, and came across a study. His hand slid off my waist as he entered the room. I stood outside with my drink, while Sherlock took note of every little detail there. As he came out of the room though, I heard footprints coming round the corner. I grabbed his arm and pulled him into the bathroom next to the study. As I pushed him in, our eyes searched each other for the next move that we hadn’t initially planned. Though we were going as a date, it was never really a date. Until now.

Grabbing the lapels of the detectives suit, I slammed my lips on his, pushing us both backwards onto the sink. Knowing that he was more recognizable. I spun him around so that my back was to the sink and his was to the door. I jumped on to the sink, hiking up my dress a little higher, so that I could hook one leg around his waist. Instinctively, his right hand went to my leg to hold it up, and his left hand was in my hair.

His lips. I had seen them a million times before, studying his face as he rambled about a case. While he was just a colleague and possibly a friend, there were a few times when I would fall asleep thinking about those lips. And here he was, kissing me on a bathroom sink at a party, with enough force to make me melt into it. My hand went to his hair, as he began to trail kisses down my neck, hiding his face in me so that his reflection could not be seen. My other hand was gripping his waist, trying not to slip into the sink itself. My shoe was dangling on my toes as our bodies continued to crash. We heard the door click open, and my eyes opened to see the host and his assistant wide-eyed at us.

“Occupied,” I panted, smiling with a small wave. The two quickly shut the door, their footprints receding down the hallway. As soon as it was quiet, Sherlock froze on my collarbone, neither of us moving for a moment. I removed my hand from his hair, trying to pat it back into place. He stood up, and looked down at me. My dress had ridden up further, and my black lace panties were definitely on display. So was the red in both of our faces. I glanced over his shoulder to look at the door, realizing that there was a lock on it. Sherlock didn’t look back. He kept his eyes on me.

He knew there was a lock. He wanted the situation. He wanted to get caught.

“Lock it” I demanded.

He took a few steps back and turned the button, locking the door. His eyes didn’t leave me. I was still propped up against the sink, both hands propped up behind me. My legs had still been open, and as his eyes raked over my body looked, I grew self-conscious and went to close them. But he stepped towards me, grabbing my lower thigh. I hesitantly opened myself back up for him. His hand moved up my thigh, while the other wrapped around my waist, drawing himself closer to me. I placed a hand on his chest, running it up until it was at the nape of his neck, playing with his soft, black curls. I gently tugged him toward me, and our lips attached once more. This time, it was more more sensual. Taking the time to just allow ourselves to feel one another. As he pulled away, I let out a small gasp as I felt his growing bulge against my clothed core.

He seized the opportunity to kiss me again, letting his tongue wander and explore my mouth, pulling me as close as I could be to him. He pushed himself against me, causing a soft moan to escape, as I involuntarily rolled against him. He smirked against my mouth, moving once more against me. I hissed, feeling myself grow wetter.

Sherlock pulled me off the sink, wrapping both of my legs around him before pinning me against the wall. I was sitting just on top of his cock, and the friction was even more frustrating. I grinded down on him, kissing his neck, while leaving small bites in between. I needed more though. I unwrapped my legs, and he lowered me to the ground. When he placed me down, I kissed him with passion while I started to undo his trousers. He walked backwards to the sink, leaning up against it, as I palmed him through his suit. His low groan made me quiver as I licked a long stripe up his neck to his ear, wear I softly bit the lobe. This drove him crazy.

Pants still undone, he whipped us around so that I was against the sink again. He pulled my dress up enough so that he could hook his fingers in the lace of my panties and pull them down. He lifted me up on to the sink to get them off of me. He worked them past my heels, and placed both of his hands on my thighs, rubbing circles into them with his thumb. His forehead was resting on mine and we were both breathing in sync. I opened my legs for him, as he traced his way between my legs. The violinist in him was showing, and he was going to work out the tension and boredom he had been feeling all day. His fingers came in contact with me, running through my folds. He went from my clit down to my opening, just toying with me. I let out a whimper as he placed his middle finger just barely inside of me. He slowly pushed his digit inside of me, causing a guttural groan to escape. I bucked into his hand, desperate for more. He pumped it casually, as if he had done this to me a million times and knew how I would react. He then slipped a second finger into me, causing me to emit another moan.

“Please Sherlock. No games,” was all I could manage.

He began to pump his fingers in a come-hither motion, curling them to hit my g-spot. I gasped with every movement, keeping as quiet as I could. He was working his way to get me as wet as I could be for him. I was starting to feel the tension in my stomach build when he placed his thumb on my clit and made sharp movements with it. I cried out, gripping his shoulders for support. I was going to need him soon if he wanted to me to finish with his cock inside me. But he kept pumping and rubbing, watching as my face conveyed every emotion he had ever made me feel. My arm wrapped around his neck, as I could barely keep myself up anymore.

“Sherlock, you-you’re gonna..m-make me..c-cum…” I stutter out. I am rocking against his hand, chasing what I can’t stop. This only urges him more, as he quickens his pace. Without warning, I cum all over his finger with a cry. But he doesn’t stop. He continues to work my pussy, until I gasp out “I’m...I’m gonna squirt”. He steps out from between my legs, his fingers not stopping. As he steps to the side, he leans in to my ear and finally says something.

“Show me”.

It was all it took for my orgasm to elongate itself, as I squirted on his hand. I couldn’t stop and was shaking, barely able to keep myself up. I almost crumpled backwards before he caught me. Once again, he was between my legs, his hands on my neck and waist. I reached for his painfully hard cock, pulling it from his pants. I started stroking him, causing his eyes to flutter close. I was still coming down from what he had done with just his fingers, but I needed his dick inside me. I looked up at him, and said something that I knew would only boost his ego, and he would probably use against me later.

“Mr. Holmes, I need you inside me, now”.

His eyes shot open, as I looked back at him with lust-blown eyes. My hand was still wrapped around his cock, slowly pumping him. He and his god-complex were completely enamoured with my new take of teasing him. I lined his cock at my entrance, but not before teasing him through my folds. Just that little movement caused goosebumps to erupt on my skin. As I put his tip in my entrance, he searched my eyes once more for the consent he needed. I pushed myself onto him a little, letting him know he could take me. He leaned in, pushing his length all the way into me. I let out a loud gasp, wrapping my arm around his neck once more, my other hand on his back. I was still throbbing from my previous orgasm, and I knew he could feel my warm pulse inside me. He slowly pulled out, and then quickly sheathed himself inside me again. Our pelvises were against each other and his gently movements drove me crazy. I let out a cry of ecstasy, letting my head roll back, exposing my neck. He kissed it gently, and then, lifted me off the counter and back against the wall. All I could do was struggle to remain quiet as he began quick thrusts deep into me, relentlessly hitting my sweet spot. He was open mouthed against my neck, breathing erratically as he continued to hold me up.

“You feel, s-so g-good,” I moaned, urging him to continue. He loved it when I complimented him, he had always been that way. But to be inside me as I told him how much I loved his cock, it was heaven for him. The guttural sounds from his throat proved to me that he felt the same.

“Y/n, I’m not gonna last much longer” he said, as though it would deter me. As he began to remove himself, I grabbed his face to look at me.

“I want you to cum inside, Detective,” I whisper, wrapping my legs tighter around him to prove my point.

His eyes widened searching my face as I was in taking all of him, bouncing on his dick in a penthouse bathroom, loving everything he did. Seeing what he could do to me, looking into my eyes as I stifled my moans, he began to stutter inside of me. I was on the edge too, and when his hot rope of cum shooted inside of me, my own orgasm exploded, milking him of the rest of his cum.

When we had both stilled, frozen with him still inside me, we could hear the party still going and the noise of London below us. He pulled his softening cock from me and as he did, our cum dripped down my thigh. My legs were incredibly weak, as he continued to hold me up. I reached for a hand towel to clean me up, but he beat me to it, wiping up and between my legs, careful not to cause pain from the sensitivity. He picked up my underwear that he had tossed on the ground somewhere, and helped me step back into it. I was still shaky if I bent my legs, but I knew he would hold me up. As we looked at each other, there was something new we both saw. Romance. The sexual chemistry that had been there was a response to the catalyst of romance.

Before we could discuss the aftermath of our actions though, there was a loud banging on the door. Smoothing out my dress just past the door, Sherlock opened it to find John, arms crossed, waiting outside.

“Are you shitting me Sherlock? You look like you just took a hit of something. Did you seriously lose Y/N at this party because you were trying to get hi…”

The door widened to reveal me, just behind Sherlock, makeup slightly down my fae, and both of our hair tousled. I smiled at John, knowing it wasn’t what he had expected. His jaw dropped, “Tha..you were,,,um...has this been long or...?” Dr. Watson stuttered.

“No John, that was the first time and it won’t be the last” he said, grabbing my arm and pulling me past him.

“Don’t be too jealous John,” I said with a wink.

John didn’t know what to say except, “Are we done here?”

Sherlock and I walked arm in arm down the hallway, casting back a look at John as if to say “What do you think?”

~~~~~~~~~~~

This was my first oneshot and was it trash? Yeah, maybe. So if you know me, no you don’t :)

Leave suggestions if you’d like, I’m writing smut I can’t find.

#sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlock smut #sherlock bbc #benedict cumberbatch #cumberbitches

373 notes · View notes