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#fluffy sherlock
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I have never seen this photo before! Who is congratulating whom, what do you think?
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𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞!
𝑻𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒔! 𝑮𝒆𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒚 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒇𝒍𝒚!
𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏 𝐎𝐍𝐄: Head over to your camera roll. The last celebrity or fictional character saved to your gallery is your Valentine's date --- oh! what a cutie! 💗
𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏 𝐓𝐖𝐎: Sneak a peek at my Valentine's Date scenario chart! Here's how it works: Choose the first letter of your first name, your birthday month, and your star sign to reveal the ins-and-outs of your romantic getaway! 🥀
𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄: Share the deets and share the love! Tag any lovely moots or followers that you think might get a kick out of this! Cheers! 🥂
𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄! 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓!
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I'll go first...
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Okay... the Governor and I are headed to Vienna to catch a show at the theatre and I'll be gifted a love letter! I love this man to bits but I'm expecting a double cross... ❤️🥀
moots, assemble! *no pressure, of course!*: @starstruck-loner @goldencherriess @astudyinlaura @lumosouls @misaverawrites @selcouthangel @asherloki @baby-bloos @thespiritoflife @lydiablack-m @starryeddie @andthevillainshallrises @bakerstreethound @silverdaydreamer @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @classickook @lucywrites02 @stupidthoughtsinwriting @blogthebooklover @imeternallylove @fictional-hooman @waiting-for-cas-to-save-me @amplifyme @frostandflamesfanfic @mindibindi @foxmulderlovebot @space-helen @inlovewithfictionalcharacters666 @paperheartsarts @aephereal @christinasyellowflowers @natti-ice
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yamy-brett · 5 months
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The naval treaty.
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multific · 2 years
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Run Away
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Sherlock Holmes x Reader
Summary: When Sherlock went to work in London, he made a promise, a promise he has to keep and now, even more urgently as your father found a suitor. 
Ever since your eyes met his, you loved him. 
Back then, all he was is a handsome young man who intrigued you, but as the years passed, as he matured, your feelings grew. 
You two met in secret, just on the edge of your father's property, you met him every night. 
He told you about his dreams and you told him about yours. He dreamed of becoming a detective, the best one. And you had no doubt he would become just that. He had the potential.
But then, he needed to leave you.
He left you and his family for London.
"I'll become the greatest detective, My Love, and then I'll bring you with me to London, I'll ask your father for your hand in marriage. I promise." he said as he left you, and you believed him.
You believed Sherlock, so, you didn't look for another. But your father sure did.
And soon he found, Richard. 
Richard Moore was from a rich family, noble with way too much money, so of course, your father didn't have to think much and arranged your marriage to him.
You have never seen Richard, you never met him nor his family and yet, your wedding invitations were already sent out.
As y last desperate attempt, you asked for them to also include the Holmes family. Your father never knew about your feelings for Sherlock. But he sure knew who he was.
"Such an arrogant man. Sherlock had potential and yet, he became a detective," he said a year ago, just as Sherlock's popularity grew, so did your father's hatred.
"Being a detective mustn't be that bad. What if my future husband will be one?"
"Impossible! I'll never give you to a useless man! A politician or a hard-working man will be your husband. No arrogant detective can take my daughter's hand!" 
And ever since, this feeling of his only grew. Your father soon found Richard Moore, his family were known for their political views. 
No doubt, you would only be a trophy wife for him, he needed someone to call his and to show to the public, he didn't want feelings, and he would never love you. 
You were convinced you would never love someone as much as you loved Sherlock.
Which is why you insisted on inviting him to your wedding. If his feelings were true, he would come and he would rescue you from the future which seemed so dark now. A hand written invitation just for him.
You hoped he would get to you before the wedding, but as you stood there in your white gown, which you weren't even allowed to choose, your heart panicked.
Your mind told you the cruellest things, how Sherlock never even loved you, how he wouldn't come and how this will be your life from now on. And you started to believe. You started to believe that all of it is true. 
That Sherlock found someone more interesting than you, a stunning woman who is independent. 
And there you were, a love-sick teenager who was still waiting for him. He must be laughing at you, you often thought, at just how incredibly naive you were. And you don't blame him.
You were ready to walk down the aisle. You let out a deep sigh as everyone left you alone for just a moment before your father would come and walk with you.
"Love?" the voice behind you, barely a whisper, and you thought your mind was playing a trick so you didn't move, but then you heard your name getting called with the same deep voice. You slightly turned and saw, Sherlock. "Love, I'm so sorry for not coming earlier, I had matters to attend to, but now I'm here. And I'll keep my promise and bring you with me." he rushed over to you.
"What took you so long?" you asked, rather angry with him.
"We don't have much time, Y/N, please come with me I'll explain everything. And you did, you accepted his hand as he pulled you out of the church and into a carriage. 
You were surprised just how easy it was to get out of there, even in your white, very visible, dress. All that you left was the bouquet of flowers.
"I missed you, you are more beautiful than the day I left." he wanted to lean in and kiss you but you pushed him back.
"You have to explain a lot to me. There I was, thinking you didn't even care about me, that you found someone else, and then you just show up."
"I had to arrange many things. Didn't help that the police had another very interesting case, but you were more important. When I got the letter... I thought you moved on, that you found someone else. But then I noticed, the way you wrote, hand written by you just for me, and your hands were shaky, judging by the ink and the paper soaked with your tears. I am not sure how I missed that but when I realized I rushed."
"I never moved on. My father thinks your job is... not the best, to put it nicely. I tried to convince him, so we wouldn't have to run away, but he is stubborn. And Richard... I never met him, never even saw him." your eyes met his as the carriage stopped. You weren't too sure, but London couldn't be so close. 
"I thought we shouldn't let that dress go to waste." he got out of the carriage and helped you.
The scene in front of you took your breath away. 
A small chapel in the middle of a beautiful field, you recognized Sherlock's siblings, mother and a priest. 
"But only if you say yes out of your heart. I would never force you to marry me." you looked at Sherlock, eyes tearing up as you nodded. You pushed him and he nodded before walking to his place as his mother walked over to you and walked you down the aisle. Of course, there was no actual aisle, but you could live with that.
The smallest ceremony, this was about love, not about politics or trophies, this wedding was purely out of your love for one another. Suddenly even the dress you hated became the most beautiful.
A small kiss made it official, from that day on, you were Mrs Holmes.
---
London was much like you imagined but at the same time, nothing like you could ever dream about.
221B Baker Street was... interesting to say the least. Clearly, the home was a place for a man but you did see how Sherlock tried to make it more livable to you. 
"Well, this is..." you trailed off as you tried to maneuver through the books. "Lovely."
"It's messy, I know but I do not have much time too clean up. We can hire someone to do that, I do not expect you. Oh please, don't open the fridge."
And you did, and it was already too late. You closed it as quickly as you opened it.
"I really hope that is cheese... right?"
"I always eat out, so it could be anything. I'll clean it out later."
At least the bedroom was in a good shape. The bed looked comfortable and warm.
"At least nothing smells in here." he laughed slightly behind you. 
"It's a new one, I got it before I went to get you."
"We have to do something about the fridge. I don't mind the books and if it's a little messy but..." you felt his hands run up your arms.
"Do as you wish. I have the money if you wish to change something."
"I like your home, and I don't think Mrs Huddson will be pleased if I ruin her kitchen." 
Sherlock smiled as he turned you around to kiss you and hold you.
He finally had you in his arms, and he was not going to let you go ever again.
Taglist: imreadinggoaway @fleursirvart @v-2bucky ehsebastiancrunch-time-sports  @pxstelrainbow ablogbypeteparker liamssmilersmexylemony @greenarrowhead feelingsareharddd @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @avengers-r-us @destynelseclipsa   @spilledinkindumpster celebsimagine @capsiclesdoll snoopy3000 @firstangeldragonranch @puknow @crazzyter  @alwayshave-faith @soleil-dor @alex12948 scream-kiwi79  @lxdyred  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @liveforkarljacobs @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @paola-carter
~Masterlist~
ˇAO3ˇ
A/N: Thank you to my beautiful friend, @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl​ for helping me with the plot! 
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sygneth · 1 month
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I think the main reason for my warm feelings towards Victor Trevor is, that he shaped the Holmes we know.
How long would it take him to figure out his profession if not for the "Gloria Scott" case? Without this idea planted in his head, would he still drop out of college? Where would we find him years later? A consulting detective, but with no career yet? A full-time chemist running analysis for the police? An inventor? Would he and Watson even meet?
The butterfly effect goes hard in my head and I cannot stop thinking about it.
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thalialunacy · 8 days
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[for the @calaisreno May Prompts Faire. g-rated today, lol.]
17: chaos
'Daddy! Tiger!' 
John, who had been focused on his eReader, finds his daughter standing in front of him with a manic light in her eye. 'Tiger!' 
He looks around the sitting room until his eyes land on the plush tiger Sherlock had gifted her those weeks ago, then he holds it out to her. 'Say please, Rosie.' 
She grabs onto it and waddles off, definitely not saying anything resembling please. John rolls his eyes, lips twitching.
Two days later, she refuses to leave the flat, which is new and different. 'No, Daddy! Tiger will be lonely!'
John drops his head in defeat. 'Sherlock, will you--' Sherlock reappears, holding the toy, before John has a chance to finish the sentence. 'Thank you,' he says tiredly.
And so forth.
'D'you think she's got an imaginary friend tiger?' he ponders aloud as he and Sherlock wait behind a delicious-smelling Burmese restaurant for some counterfeiters. 'She seems awfully keen.'
'Hmm,' is Sherlock's non-answer, and John huffs, watching as the detective's mind churns through the facts of the case and completely ignores everything else. Some things never change, John thinks. Thank god.
Luckily (?), the mystery is solved the very next day.
Everyone in the household is very sleepy and warm, recharging from the excitement of the past week, so the sitting room is quiet and peaceful in a way it rarely is.
Which means, of course, that it must be shattered.
'Tiger!' Rosie suddenly shrieks from Sherlock's lap, and slides off so quickly she loses her balance but scrambles back up, unfazed, to shamble towards their visitor.
Which is a cat.
A rotund, wide-eyed, orange-striped cat.
'Tiger!' his daughter yells again, and the cat is off like a shot.
'Whoa there,' John says, scooping Rosie up and turning to follow the path of the creamsicle tornado. It's swift, the cat disappearing (back?) into Sherlock's room with alacrity, but surprisingly destructive.
John quickly assesses the aftermath while Rosie squirms to go after her new best friend. The skull is on the ground, books and papers are absolutely everywhere, a couple frames have jumped off the walls somehow, Sherlock's spindly music stand has wilted in terror, and Rosie's toys are, if it's even possible, even more of a chaotic mess than they'd been minutes before.
John closes his eyes and prays for patience. Both his and Sherlock's. But then he hears--
He opens his eyes to find Sherlock laughing. Doubled over laughing, in fact.
'Are you…' John asks dubiously, eyeing him. '... all right? Did it destroy something you hated?'
Sherlock snorts. 'No, no, it's just--' He puts his hands on his hips and clears his throat, the grin echoing on his face. 'Twenty years ago, if you'd told me I'd one day not only be sober, but with a partner and child and now a housepet--' He barks out another laugh, seemingly unable to stop himself.
John grins at the word "partner," then clocks the rest of the sentence. 'Wait-- We're keeping it?'
'Yes!' Rosie contributes with gusto. 'Keeping the tiger!'
Sherlock strides over and plucks Rosie out of John's arms. 'Yes, we are. Inasmuch as one can keep a cat used to the out of doors,' he amends. 'What shall we name him, Rosamund?'
'His name is Reginald,' Rosie says. Or at least, John thinks that's what she says. She's barely two and a half, after all, and John still sometimes feels like she's speaking a foreign language.
Sherlock, though, nods as if he heartily agrees. 'Reginald is a fine name. Your father will have to go and procure some food, a box, and probably some flea-preventative, and then our new friend Reginald will be all set.'
John starts to protest, but both his daughter and Sherlock turn big eyes on him, and he has absolutely no chance. 'Yeah, sure,' he says dryly. 'You can hold down the fort while I do so?'
Sherlock waves a hand, already moving on to walk Rosie around the room, presumably assessing damage. 'Of course.'
'Right.' John shrugs on his coat and heads out.
The last thing he hears is, 'Now, did you know, Rosamund, that a group of tigers is known as an "ambush" or a "streak"?'
Child, partner, cat, John contemplates as he steps out into the grey brightness. It's exactly what he'd thought for himself twenty years ago. Except... nothing like that at all.
Thank god.
[❤️]
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Hold me - Sherlock x fem!reader
Request: "Can you one with the bbc sherlock x female reader? Maybe one where sherlock is touched starved but doesn't realise it. And then he meets the reader and it's all fluffy at the end please? xx"
Warnings: None
Word Count: 2156
A/N: I'm so sorry i haven't been posting!! I've had a hectic month and not much time to write but i'm getting back to it!! If you have requested something, I'm getting round to them slowly but surely. Thank you all <33
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Sherlock never realised how touch starved he was. It was never really something he ever paid any attention to. In his mind, physical affection was yet another unimportant custom most normal people liked to spend their time searching for. He couldn’t be bothered with that. That was, until he met you.
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“Stop talking Anderson, it lowers the IQ of the entire street.” Sherlock hissed.
You let out a small laugh as Sherlock, slammed the door in his face. John and Lestrade both turned to look at you.
“Sorry. It’s just- well he’s not wrong.” You said, shrugging your shoulders.
“I very rarely am.” Sherlock replied without looking over at you.
You rolled your eyes “Okay, no need to get all cocky Mr detective.”
You walked past him, resting your hand on the shoulder, before quickly taking removing it. “Sorry.”
Sherlocks brow furrowed. “Why are you sorry?”
“I know you don’t like people touching you.” You replied nonchalantly.
Sherlock went to speak but the words died on his tongue. So instead, he opted for a sharp nod before turning his attention back to the dead body in front of him. He had actually rather liked the feeling of your fingers running along his arm, even if it was only for a second. You were right, normally he would hate people touching him. But he found himself wishing that you would do it again, only this time leave your hand there for maybe a while longer.
“Sherlock.” John’s voice snapped the detective from his thoughts.
“Hmm?” He mumbled.
“You found anything? You’ve been crouched there for a few minutes now.”
Sherlock stood up, brushing the dirt from his coat.
“It was her husband. He killed her.” Sherlock relayed to Lestrade before promptly leaving the room.
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“Well. That’s one way to get home.” You said breathlessly as you rested against the wall of 221b.
“Yeah next time we have a case sherlock, can we not chase the killer through London on foot? They have cabs for a reason.” John panted, flopping down on the sofa.
“A cab would have been far too slow Watson.” You answered, smiling at him. “However, I have to agree with him sherlock, less running next time yeah?” You said to the detective who was leaning on his desk.
“Oh I don’t know, I think it adds to the fun.” Sherlock said with a tight-lipped smile.
“Did sherlock Holmes just make a joke?” John asked, staring at you in shock.
“Oh god the bloods rushed to his head” You replied jokingly. Sherlock just scoffed at the pair of you.
“Right, it’s been fun boys but I should probably be off.” You went to take a step forward without noticing your shoelace was undone.
You tripped over, falling forward expecting to crash into the hard floor beneath you. What you weren’t anticipating was sherlock catching you. His arms wrapped around your stomach as your hands clung to his arms. His heartbeat increased rapidly as you rested against him for a moment, trying to regain your footing. You stood up still clutching his arms.
“That’s embarrassing.” You laughed looking down at your shoes, seemingly unaware of sherlocks hands planted firmly just above your hips.
Sherlocks head was spinning. The feeling of your body pressed against him was something he quite enjoyed, even if it was in an awkward position.
You patted sherlocks shoulder.
“Thanks mate, that could’ve been a lot more painful.” To sherlocks disappointment, you moved out of his grasp in order to tie your shoelace.
John furrowed his brow as he noticed the hint of longing held in sherlocks gaze before it quickly faded.
“Yeah. No problem. See you later.” He said before promptly leaving to go to his room.
You watched him leave, rather confused by his rapid exit. “Did he seem a bit off to you?” You asked john.
“Yeah a bit.” He replied honestly.
“Well check up on him, make sure he’s alright yeah?” John nodded at your words. “Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow probably. Bye Watson.” And with that you left the infamous flat.
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­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­Since then, sherlock found any excuse he could to have some form of contact with you. Whether it was standing that little bit closer to you in order for his arm to brush yours every so often, or letting you hold his hand if you were ever scared. Your touch provided him with a sense of comfort he never knew he’d needed.
Currently you were sat in your flat, curled up under some blankets on your sofa. There had been a lot of draining cases lately and while you wouldn’t swap your job for anything else – it really took a toll on you. You’d barely slept over the past week and when you had it had been a restless, disturbed night. Your body felt as if it was going to shut down any minute soon and you were honestly hoping it would as it might allow you to finally get a decent rest. However, as this is your life and nothing is ever that simple, your phone began to ring. Reluctantly you pulled your hands out from the bundle of warmth you had created and lifted the phone to your ear.
“Hello?”
“Y/n hi its Greg.”
You shot up. You loved Greg but he never called for a good reason, something was always wrong. You didn’t have it in you for another case right now, but that was what you were paid for. Your wellbeing would just have to wait.
“What is it this time? Please don’t tell me it’s another murder” You replied.
Lestrade chuckled stiffly. “Er no it’s not a case as such.” He fell quiet.
“Well?” You prompted. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s sherlock. He’s well I don’t really know.” Greg replied.
That did nothing to calm your nerves, if anything it set you more on edge. “
Is john with you?” You asked.
“Uh yeah, I’ll pass you to him.” You heard a small conversation before john’s voice came through the phone.
“Hi y/n”
“What’s wrong with him?” You asked, heart beating rapidly.
You knew he had issues with drugs and if tonight was a bad night, you needed to know. You cared immensely for the detective.
“Well nothing I don’t think. It’s weird, I’m pretty sure he’s gone into his ‘mind palace’ but he just keeps saying your name.” John explained.
You fell silent. Why would sherlock be saying your name in his mind palace? Actually why was he saying your name at all?
“My name?” You repeated.
“Yeah I don’t actually have a clue what’s going on, could you come over?” John asked.
“Um yeah. Yeah I’ll be on my way.” You hung up the phone before scrambling to get off of the sofa. This was really strange, but you just needed to know that he was okay.
After about 20 minutes you found yourself knocking at 221b as you’d done many times in the past, but tonight felt weird. Mrs Hudson opened the door, beaming at you.
“Oh y/n! How lovely to see you” She said pulling you in for a hug.
“Hi Mrs Hudson. I’m here for…well I don’t actually know. John asked me to come.” You explained.
“Yes sherlock’s been acting very strange tonight.” You raised your eyebrows at her. “Stranger than normal my dear. He was getting really worked up about a case earlier and he was doing his normal anticks. You know, pacing, shooting my wall, yelling at john – the normal. But he just went quiet, john said he went to his mind palace whatever that is. Apparently he keeps asking for you.” She explained.
“Yeah john said.” You replied quietly, looking up at the stairs.
“Well you better go up there dear.” She patted your back before returning to her flat.
You took a deep breath before making your way up the stairs. You weren’t sure why you were so nervous, but your hands were shaking tremendously. You pushed the door open, seeing sherlock, sat in his chair with his eyes closed.
“Hi” You said quietly. John and Lestrade greeted you. “So I’m here but what exactly am I meant to do?” You asked looking over at the detective.
“Not a clue. Just talk to him?” John suggested.
You sighed. “okay.” You made your way over to him. “Hi Sherloc-“
But before you could finish your sentence, the detective jumped up from his chair wrapping his arms around your waist. He pulled you into his body, holding you tightly. His head fell to your shoulder, burrowing it in the crook of your neck. That was the last thing you’d expected him to do. You stood wide eyed, your arms hanging either side of you. This was not like sherlock at all, not that you minded his sudden display of affection – but it worried you slightly.
“Hold me. Please.” He whispered, so only you could hear. His breath against your neck sent a shiver down your spine, your heart racing. He sounded so desperate; it almost made you cry.
“Okay.” You said softly as you wrapped your arms around his neck, slowly running your fingers through the base of his curls.
He sighed, and almost melted into your touch as you did so. You could feel his hands clutching your shirt, as if he was trying to calm himself down.
“You’re okay sherlock. I’m here, your safe.” You mumbled softly.
You had no idea what he was feeling right now, but it felt like that’s what he needed to hear. The two of you stayed there for a while, you just allowing Sherlock to do what he needed. John and Lestrade stood behind you, staring at the sight before them in utter shock. After a moment, sherlock pulled his head up to face you without releasing his hold on your waist. Your eyes scanned his own, trying to figure him out. His face was flushed red from having rested on you for so long
“Hello.” He said gently.
You smiled at him, arms still loosely around his neck.
“Hi.” You replied.
Slowly, sherlock reached a hand up to cup your face. His thumb moved gently across your cheek as he looked down at you. You were almost certain your heart was about to explode.
“Why won’t you get out of my head?” He questioned, more to himself than anyone else.
“I’m…sorry?” You offered not entirely sure what to say back.
He smiled at you.
“Don’t be. I’m more than okay with it. It’s just…strange. I’ve never craved another person before. But you.” His voice trailed off as he stared at you like you were the most precious thing to walk the earth. “You are all I think about. All the time. I want to be with you, near you. I want to touch you all the time.”
You were speechless.
“Not even necessarily in a sexual way. But just, feel you. You seem to calm me in a way nothing ever has before.”
You could feel tears threatening to fall. You weren’t sure exactly why, but just the raw emotion sherlock was willing to show you was overwhelming. In the best way possible.
“I’m glad I can help.” You voice was quiet, barely audible, but you knew he’d heard you.
“So can I-“ John’s voice interrupted.
“Get out. The pair of you.” Sherlock snapped, not even looking at them.
You laughed slightly, turning your head to face them. “I’d listen to him lads. I think I’ll be okay.”
Greg looked utterly baffled but didn’t question it.
“You do know I live here?” John said.
“Well go talk to Mrs Hudson?” You suggested, feeling sherlock becoming rather annoyed.
“Go.” He demanded.
With that, they left the flat. Sherlock gently pulled your head to look back at him. His eyes flickered down to your lips ever so slightly.
“I want to try something.” He said softly.
“Okay.” You replied, knowing exactly what he was going to do. He lowered his face to yours until you could feel his breath fanning across your lips.
“Are you sure-“
“Sherlock just kiss me.” You begged.
Without any hesitation, he crashed his lips against yours. He held your face gently as if he was scared, he would lose you while pulling you impossibly closer. His lips were soft as they melted against yours. Your heart was hammering in your chest, you were sure it would break free. Reluctantly, you pulled away to breathe, but Sherlock kept a firm grip on you as he rested his forehead against yours.
“I don’t know what this is.” He spoke softly, not wanting to ruin the moment. “But I do know, I don’t want to be apart from you. Will you stay with me?” He asked, eyes full of hope.
You grinned up at him as you ran your fingers through his hair.
“Until you order me away.” You replied happily, before leaning forward to kiss him once again.
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milquetoast27 · 6 months
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snow drabble :3
On an early December morning, my joints frigid with cold and my back aching, I came down to breakfast to spot my friend by the glazed and white window.
“Why, it is snowing!” I exclaimed with glee from over his shoulder. Indeed, the street outside had been verily blanketed in a porcelain, crisp layer. I observed the little flakes that were still falling as I more keenly adopted Holmes’s point of view. I could see two children running about, tucked to their chins with woollen layers, and leaving tiny footprints, deeper at the heels, in the sheet of merry precipitation.
Holmes gave some strange, noncommittal hum.
I replied carefully. “You know, most people enjoy seeing the snow.”
“I recall seeing the wonder in it when I was younger. Perhaps it has some uses in detecting crime.”
“Well,” I proposed as nonchalantly as I could. “Why don’t we go out and inspect its properties?”
He looked at me for a taut moment, and I almost thought he might decline. Then, without a word, Holmes went for the door and picked up his coat.
We had a wonderful day.
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under-loch-n-key · 5 months
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Got done with a quick drawing of (BBC) John Watson for a fic I am working on! I thought these two little drawings came out well. ^^ 💛
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(I didn't really put a background on either or pose John in the first one because it was supposed to be a basic character concept art piece. The image quality may be shit, so I apologise.)
(Yes, the leg pun is intentional. More leg pun bs to come. [:<)
Also, I will be posting the first few chapters of the fic here soon if anyone would like to read it! 💛
You can find the W.I.P Fic on A03 here ⬇️
I will try and upload as much as I can on it. I hope you enjoy it so far!! 💛
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ofbakerst · 8 months
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writing to holmes
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raina-at · 1 year
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Green
John sips at his tea, breathing deeply. The air smells of earth and the sea, salty and fresh.
It rained yesterday, but today the sun is out and it’s warm. The grass is lush and green in the summer sun, the birds are singing, the neighbour’s bees are humming in the garden. 
They've only been here two days, and John feels - renewed. Settled. Calm.
He turns his eyes from the lush greenery of the Sussex landscape to Sherlock, who's baking... something. He can't tell from here, but judging by the number of bowls, implements and ingredients, he guesses it's something complicated. Right now, Sherlock is either whisking egg whites or whipping cream, it's difficult to say. He looks absorbed and yet abstracted, fully concentrated on the task at hand yet miles away.
John wonders what he's thinking. Why he brought them here.
John needed a break, no doubt about it.
He thought nothing could be worse than the war, but then he worked in a London A+E during the worst of a global pandemic. Of course he’s ten years older than he was when he was in Afghanistan, but it’s something deeper than that. The last two years have taken something from him, something he didn't even know he still had. It’s like a well inside him has dried up. 
He looks out the kitchen window, past Sherlock, towards the sea.
It's beautiful here. Quiet. Sedate.
Boring, he hears Sherlock’s voice in his head whisper.
They arrived on Sunday. Took a walk through the village. Went to the beach. Napped. Had savoury pie for dinner. John fell asleep at nine, the sound of the sea lulling him into a deep, dreamless rest.
It rained all day yesterday. They spent the day quietly indoors. Read books, watched some telly. John baked scones, the first time in a long time. It felt a bit like coming home.
They had slow, lovely, calm, dreamy sex in front of the fireplace. Also the first time in a long time.
After, they lay on the sofa, his head pillowed on Sherlock's chest, and John didn't have the words for a truth that’s slowly become clear to him, that has been sitting on his chest for a while now.
He still doesn't have the words. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever have them.
The click of the oven door and the whirring of an egg timer being set tells him that Sherlock's contraption is in the oven.
He looks up from his tea. "What are you making? Smells amazing."
Sherlock shrugs, leaning against the counter. There's flour on his cheek. "A three-layered Neapolitan pie.” 
John walks over into the kitchen and wipes the flour from Sherlock’s cheek. “Show me?”
*-*
They spend hours in the kitchen, baking, tasting, having tea while the fillings set in the fridge. They don’t talk much, except for simple requests for implements or ingredients. 
Finally, the pie is done and the last layer is setting in the fridge, and John is whipping up a quick and easy pasta dish for dinner. He feels more relaxed than he’s been in weeks. Months. Possibly years.
“It’s okay, you know,” Sherlock says after a good half hour of silence, during which John sliced and fried onions, tomatoes and courgettes, tossed a salad and started cooking the water.
“What’s okay?” John asks, adding another teaspoon of salt to the pasta water.
“You don’t want to go back. And I’m telling you it’s fine.”
John freezes. His entire world whites out a bit on the edges. He can’t really breathe anymore, doesn’t remember how it works.
Then Sherlock’s hands are on his shoulders, massaging the cramping muscles between his shoulder blades. Sherlock’s other hand comes to rest on his belly. “Breathe, John.”
John breathes, concentrates on breathing into Sherlock’s hand on his belly, on the warmth of him, the reassuring strength at his back. 
“How did you know?” he finally asks, little more than a whisper.
“I live with you, remember?” Sherlock says, sounding just a tiny bit amused, but then turns serious again. “Do you think after twelve years together, I can’t tell when you’re unhappy? Do you think I don’t know what the last two years have cost you? I was there every time you came home after eighteen hour shifts, every time one of your patients died, every time one of your colleagues died. I was there when you got sick, and I know how afraid you were, even though you did your best not to show me.”
John closes his eyes and lets himself lean back against Sherlock’s body, lets Sherlock’s arms come around him, lets his head fall back against Sherlock’s shoulder. 
“I can’t quit,” he mutters, finally saying out loud what he’s been thinking about. “They need me. I can’t abandon my post.”
Sherlock sighs and gently turns John around so John has to look him in the eye. “John,” he says, gently, seriously, “don’t you think you’ve done enough?”
John bites down on his lips to stop himself from bursting into tears, because he will never believe that anything he does is good enough, and he knows Sherlock knows this, and disagrees. For Sherlock, John needs to do one thing: exist. That’s it. And John’s never been able to wrap his head around the simple fact that he doesn’t have to do anything to make Sherlock love him. He just does. 
Sherlock seems to realise that John’s about to do or say something incredibly stupid, because he takes him by the shoulders and says, “I know that if I told you that you don’t have to be perfect to be allowed to exist, you won’t believe me anyway, so I’m going to tell you something else. Something selfish. I miss you. I want you home with me more. I can’t stand watching you like this. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
John blanches, breath hitching in a moment of blind panic, Don’t leave don’t leave don’t ever leave. 
Sherlock seems to catch his drift because his hands wander to the sides of John’s face and he presses their foreheads together. “No. Not this. I will never leave you. Ever. But I can’t be happy when you’re miserable. So please. If you can’t do it to save yourself, save me. Please.”
John makes a strangled noise, incapable of responding, but he hugs Sherlock tightly, clinging to him like he’s a lifeline. And he is. He never would have made it through the last two years without Sherlock. And he knows that it wasn’t an easy time for Sherlock as well, but he realises only now how much Sherlock worried about him, how many times Sherlock must have swallowed down his own worries and needs to avoid putting any more pressure on John.
They stand there for endless minutes, holding each other tight, while John pulls himself together. 
“I heard you,” he finally mutters into Sherlock’s shirt. “I’m trying.”
“I know,” Sherlock says, lips pressed into John’s hair. “I know.”
“Let’s finish dinner before this becomes inedible,” John says, and Sherlock releases him with a laugh. 
They finish preparing dinner in silence, then take their plates out into the garden, watching as the sun sets over the lovely green landscape, the sound of the sea a beautiful background music to their meal.
“What would I do instead?” John finally asks, finally puts the thought he’s been carrying around into words. 
Sherlock smiles at him, and the relief in his voice is hard to miss when he answers, “Whatever you want, John. Whatever you want.”
I've always wanted to write a Bakers story that deals with John being a frontline health worker during the pandemic. I can't even imagine what hospital staff has been through these last years. Heroes, the lot of them.
This was written for @notjustamumj 's promt Green.
I'm tagging some usual suspects: @calaisreno @lisbeth-kk @meetinginsamarra @jrow @keirgreeneyes @7-percent @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @missdeliadili @topsyturvy-turtely @the-reading-lemon @thetimemoves
I hope I didn't miss any horrible typos or anything.
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Just found this on Pinterest - I love how David Burke and Jeremy Brett display completely opposite emotions XD
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swamp-adder · 5 months
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I think I love the H-W friendship as much as anyone but tbh I do worry for some people's reading comprehension when I see them treating some of Holmes' comments to Watson -- like the famous "conductor of light" or "one fixed point" quotes -- as if they were fully sincere and touching compliments instead of rather backhanded ones.
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yamy-brett · 4 months
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"There was an occasion when we were about to do a take, and it involved quite a few extras. Just before the Director was about to say, "Action!", Jeremy suddenly said, "Stop! Wait a minute!" And he went over and adjusted the dress belonging to one of the extras. I mean, it was something like -- he had two buttons of his waistcoat undone at the bottom where as it should only be one."
David Burke, as quoted in The Scarlet Street Magazine, Winter 1996
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amypihcs · 3 months
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AND HERE WE ARE! Back with Watson in London and no longer in Utah!
The prisoner, aka Mr Hope, has finished his 3 hours long monologue and well, time to get him to Scotland Yard
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HOLMES! I *understand* that you trust him. But some caution? As a treat?
Also, Watson, keep that bisexuality in check for a moment, lol. No, my man, i understand the feeling!
Well, let's get him in a cab before Holmes blushes so hard as to light the room
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Lestrade going 'well i drive' is a mood. Love it of him.
Perfect, sir, now what about a statement?
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'Oh yes, sure. I'll tell everything'
'... You sure?'
'Oh well, i'll die either way' - shrugs -
I love Watson being a doctor here and diagnosing him via _PLACING HIS HAND ON HIS CHEST_.
I'm not a medical doctor, to be fair, but i've always thought that diagnosing an aneurism was a tad more difficult? Either way, good job Watson 6!
Now, for the statement?
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Yesss, great! Mr Hope gives his statement and both Watson and Lestrade take notes. I love that few years later they're close enough to compare them. That's so good!!
On a side note, i can well imagine a young David Burke as Watson taking notes
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Even if he lacks a mustache in this photo. Such a pretty Watson.
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𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥 𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞!
𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝, 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐞! 𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐣𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬 24 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐲! 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞!
𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏 𝐎𝐍𝐄: Head over to your camera roll. The last celebrity or fictional character saved to your gallery is your time-travelling companion --- are you safe? 🔮
𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏 𝐓𝐖𝐎: Sneak a peek at my Time Dilation scenario chart --- fancy, right? Here’s how it works: Choose your birthstone, the last number of your birth year, and your star sign to reveal the intricacies of your journey. 🥀
𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄: Share your trip and share the love! Tag any adventurous moots or followers that might like to participate!
Safe travels! 🥂
𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄! 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓!
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I’ll start things off! 
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Save, thriving, and happy. I trust Aragorn with my life and he totally seems the type to stay cool during a trip like this. Looks like we’re travelling to 16th century Venice to scout the library and fall in love. Oh my gosh, imagine all the books!!! Was this intentional? Maybe, possibly...
moots, assemble! *no pressure, of course!*: @starstruck-loner​ @goldencherriess @astudyinlaura @lumosouls @misaverawrites @selcouthangel @asherloki @baby-bloos @thespiritoflife @lydiablack-m @starryeddie @andthevillainshallrises @bakerstreethound @silverdaydreamer @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @classickook @lucywrites02 @stupidthoughtsinwriting @blogthebooklover @imeternallylove @fictional-hooman @waiting-for-cas-to-save-me @amplifyme @frostandflamesfanfic @mindibindi @foxmulderlovebot @space-helen @inlovewithfictionalcharacters666 @paperheartsarts @aephereal @christinasyellowflowers @natti-ice
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