#sherlock holmes imagines

[multific]

Run Away

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! 

#Sherlock Holmes x Reader #sherlock holmes imagines #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes #sherlock series #enola holmes #henry cavill imagines #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill sherlock #henry cavill sherlock holmes #x reader #domestic fluff #fluffy

[fandom-imagines]

Awkward Confessions

Fandom: Sherlock

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Warnings: Awkward Sherlock

Sherlock was many things. Some were good, some were bad, some were… interesting, but if there was one thing that Sherlock was absolutely terrible at, it would be admitting feelings. That much became obvious as he stood in front of Y/N, the object of his affection, attempting to express his feelings for her.

“Sherlock?” She asked. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, just be quiet for a minute.” Came his response.

“All right?” She was confused, it was pretty obvious to anyone. Sherlock never looked this awkward.”

“There’s something I need to say, something I should say…” He began, unsure where he was going with this. He lost his trail of thought the moment she looked at him with her wide and worried eyes; they were beautiful. “I know I’m… me, and I’m not exactly the most likeable person in the entire world. I’m rude, blunt, and a smartass, but…”

“There’s no need to put yourself down so much, Sher,” she sighed, shaking her head at his insulting words.

“I thought I told you to be quiet!” He rolled his eyes, shaking his head as she laughed and apologised.

“What I’m trying to say is… I like you. Don’t ask me why because I have no idea why, you’re a moron.”

Y/N burst into giggles at the final sentence. “That was so cute, at least until you called me a moron.” She smiled, stepping towards the, now blushing, man. Lifting herself onto her toes, Y/N placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.

“Don’t worry, I like you too, even if I am a moron.”

#sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlock imagine #sherlock imagines #sherlock fanfic #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes imagines #sherlock holmes fanfiction #sherlock holmes fanfic #bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock imagine #bbc sherlock imagines #bbc sherlock fanfiction #bbc sherlock fanfic

[frost-queen]

Upon a nightly walk //part 2 (Reader!Bridgerton x Sherlock Holmes)

Requested by: anon, Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex–awesome–22 @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco@subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine

Summary: Having fallen asleep at Sherlock's home after his drunk night. You have to rush home, hoping no one would find out about your nightly adventures of roaming the streets of London. Will anyone find out or can you sneak back in unseen? < read part 1 & part 3 >

Slowly your eyes started to open at the morning glow. A soft light peeking through the curtains. Inhaling deep, you rolled onto your back, stretching your arm out. Squealing a bit. What a lovely dream you had. A warm touch had cherished you. Brushed against your cheek. A yearning your heart desired in your dreams. Someone that loved you, look after you. Hold you into their arms and whisper sweet words of love.

Stand between the cruel world and your dreams and hopes. Offering you protection, love, ambition, and pleasure. Not to be one’s wife for one purpose of breeding. It was the loveliest dream you had. Flickering your eyes open, you slowly got up. Blinking slowly as your brows furrowed. These were not your curtains nor your walls. Looking down these were not your blankets nor pillows.

The sound of something happening outside your door, startled you. It made you jump out of bed, hurrying away from the door. Muffled sounds on the other end of the door frightened you. Seeing a candleholder on the nightstand, you took it. Holding it high as you carefully stepped up to the door. Taking the handle in your hand, you took a deep breath.

From underneath the door, you saw a shadow move across. Clear to you that someone else was around. You waited a few seconds before opening the door. You stormed out, candleholder in the ready as you took a swing. – “Whoah there!” – Sherlock called out, ducking down just in time, and grabbing you by your wrist to stop you from taking another swing. – “Sherlock?” – you called out confused.

He moved your wrist down, holding a gentle hand in front of him. – “Yes it is me, Miss Bridgerton.” – he reassured you. He let go of your wrist, pulling his vest straight. You looked around, trying to recall how you found yourself here. – “This is your home?” – you questioned out loud. – “Yes.” – Sherlock answered with a deep hum. He watched as you looked curiously around as if seeing it for the first time.

“Miss Bridgerton, you… you do remember how you got here do you?” – he asked wanting to be sure. You paused, frowning deep. – “I was out for a walk.” – you started pacing around. – “Then I…” – your eyes widened. – “I stumbled upon you… drunk.” – pointing at him. – “Not my finest moment.” – Sherlock replied. – “You brought me home Miss Bridgerton, remember?”

You nodded remembering it. It made Sherlock sigh relieved. For a moment he wasn’t sure which one of the two had been drinking for this memory loss to occur. – “Feeling any better?” – you asked, moving a bit closer. He nodded. – “All thanks to your care Miss Bridgerton.” – he smiled, fond of the memories of last night. How pleased he was his mind was careful enough to store the events of last night to his memory and not forget about it.

You started chuckling remembering his drunken state. – “Am I that amusing to you?” – he said quirking his eyebrow up. – “Yes, my lord.” – you replied. Eyes caught with his, staring lost at each other for a moment. – “Would… would you like some tea?” – he whispered, taking a step closer to you. You nodded, drawn closer to him. He opened his hand, offering it to you. You raised your hand up, to place it in his when the sound of a carriage riding on the cobble stones made you pull back.

Eyes wide at the horror that was awaiting you. – “My brothers.” – you exclaimed worried. – “I…they have no idea I disappeared last night. What would they do? What would they say?” – you wondered, panicking a bit. You were pacing once again with worry. Gasping loud, you came to a sudden realization. – “I staid here? What will they say if they find out I spend the night here with you. I would be locked up? Send away? Killed?” – you spewed out with terror.

“Miss Bridgerton, Miss Bridgerton.” – Sherlock tried to intervene, but you had no ears for it. – “Y/n!” – he shouted loudly, catching for sure your attention. He took a deep breath to compose himself. – “Your brothers will not end your precious and beautiful life.” – he reassured you. – “I…” – he took another breath. – “It might not to be too late. If I escort you home now, you could be home without anyone knowing.

It is still early. Very early as no noblemen is yet awake.” – he explained with a suggestion. It took you a few seconds to let it sink in. – “Can I? Will it be effective?” – you asked. Sherlock nodded, plucking your hand from beside your body. – “It will. If you trust me.” – he said, staring down at you. – “I trust you.” – you breathed out, your body almost drawn to be in contact with his. He brought your hand up, drawing circles with his thumb. – “Tea shall be for another time.” – he spoke losing himself in your gaze.

“Pity…” – you whispered drawing your head nearer to his. Sherlock was tempted to lean in as well and touch your lips. Yet he held back, knowing time was of the essence. – “We must leave Miss Bridgerton.” – he said, moving away. You nodded, following him downstairs. Out of his home. Sherlock walked you up to his carriage, assisting you inside. – “Bridgerton estate.” – he told the footman before joining you in the carriage.

He sat across from you. The memories from last night slowly slipping through. How you held his hand. Him resting his head on your shoulder, yet also the other parts. Where you had to shove him in the carriage as he was beyond himself. Drowsy from alcoholism. It made you move your hands between your thighs in the folds of your dress. Flustered of last nights ride. Sherlock briefly looked at you before turning his gaze away to outside.

Not wanting to embarrass you or himself in any matter. He truly felt ashamed for acting like such a fool in your presence. He hoped you wouldn’t think any less of him. – “Miss Bridgerton I…” – he started, feeling the need to explain his last night behavior. He kept his next words in seeing you had raised your hand. – “My lord, an explanation is not in order. You would’ve had your reasons. All I care about is that you are well.” – you told him.

Sherlock smiled, wondering how you could keep surprising him. – “You are a remarkable lady Miss Bridgerton.” – he complimented. – “Do believe me that you hold a special place in my heart.” – he moved a hand to his chest with a comforting nod. It made you bashful, warming up. – “As do you.” – you whispered, turning your head for if you stared any longer at him, you might catch fire.

Your heart started to thump louder when the carriage rode into your street. The anxiety of sneaking back into the house, drumming loudly in your chest. The carriage came to a stop, making you take a deep breath. – “Shall I escort you to the door?” – Sherlock asked. You shook your head. – “This is mine to do alone.” – you replied, moving closer to the door of the carriage. So did Sherlock. – “I look forward to that tea.” – he told you. – “So do I.” – you answered.

The door opened as Sherlock gave you his hand, helping you out. You stepped away from the carriage, looking back at him. Sherlock kept staring, not wanting to leave yet. You turned round, taking a few steps when the door opened. – “Y/n Y/m/n Bridgerton!” – Anthony called out, rushing out of the door. Followed by Benedict and Colin. It had startled you, making you drop down, sitting crouched. Sherlock’s eyes widened at the sight of your brothers.

He signaled to his footman to take a leave. The carriage took off just before Benedict could reach it and open the door. He had run past Anthony towards the carriage, ready to pull him out. – “Don’t think I didn’t see you Sherlock!” – Benedict shouted with a warning finger. Anthony grabbed you by the arm, pulling you up roughly. – “Inside!” – he ordered, dragging you along.

He dragged you to father’s old study, followed by Colin and Benedict. – “Where have you been?!” – he shouted, setting you down on the chair. You wanted to answer, but closed your mouth when he set his hands on the chair’s railing, staring down with a scowl. – “Disappearing into the night, wandering the streets! Do you have any idea how dangerous that was!” – he said loudly. – “Not to mention what you were doing at Sherlock’s!” – Colin interfered. – “I wasn’t…” – you said in defense.

“So what? You slept on the streets is that it Y/n?” – Benedict called out; arms crossed. – “No!” – you replied. – “So you were with him?” – Benedict answered setting his hands on the desk. – “Yes but…” – you said, your brothers scoffing loud in agony and frustration. – “Nothing happened if that is what you fear.” – you told them. – “I stumbled upon him and brought him home. I didn’t mean to fall asleep there, but I assure you nothing has happened that could ruin my reputation. Our reputation.” – you made clear.

“That is not the point Y/n!” – Anthony said, grabbing you by the arms, pulling you out of the chair. – “You went out alone in the dark! If you were in anyway harmed? I…I” – he squeezed your arms tighter. – “I do not require another month of mourning Y/n!” – he said loudly. You nodded softly. – “Apologies… I wasn’t thinking.” – you responded. – “Clearly!” – Colin pointed out. The bitterness in his voice made you regret everything in an instant.

Anthony let go of you, looking away. – “This has not come to an end yet! You will face the consequences of your actions.” – he warned you. You tried looking at your brothers, but they avoided your gaze. Truly disappointed in you. With nothing else to do but apologize and beg for forgiveness, you lowered your head. – “I am deeply sorrowed.” – you said.

You walked past Anthony who couldn’t even give you a look. Benedict too did not grant you a look. Arms crossed as he forced himself to not look upon you. You moved past him nearer to Colin, who kept looking at the ground. When you attempted to meet his gaze, he turned his posture, back towards you. Deeply saddened, you left the study, making your way upstairs to have a cry in your room.

------------------------------

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#imagines #imagine #enola holmes fanfiction #enola holmes #imagine enola holmes #enola holmes fanfic #bridgerton fic #bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #colin bridgerton #y/n bridgerton #sherlock holmes x y/n #sherlock holmes x #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes imagines #bridgerton imagines #fanfiction #fanfic #crossover #bridgerton #bridgerton brothers #enola holmes 2

[imeternallylove]

Cloud Covered - S.Holmes

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Warning: Graphics of violence, torture of dead and plenty of more brutality

Word: approx 3.5k

main mastetlist  | request & ask | prompts | theme song

Chapters index

Bloodbath (you are reading this) | Marionette | Invisible Strings

It's an abominable to see. 

Two victims were strewn on the floor, and one was hanging upside down. Blood is spilled as far as the eye can perceive, staining both the walls and the ceiling, creating a gruesome bloodfield scene. The odour in the air is revolting.

"My god," Sherlock hears you gasp next to him, shaken by the sight. He doesn't blame you; it's beyond anything he's ever seen, and he can easily say he's been in some gruesome crime scenes in the course of his job.

But his concerned against one another continues to be and before proceeding and allowing his own inquiry to begin, a gentle hand grips his partner's shoulder and he leans close. "Wait outside," he asserts that reassuring squeezed into your shoulder. He watches as you give a nod giving one final startled glance around his surroundings before turning around and going towards the police outside the warehouse's closed doors.

Sherlock returned his concentration to the crime scene only when you were close enough to the door, taking his first steps ahead and closer to the corpses. He crouches close the first, his sombre stare fixed on the horrified, wide-eyed look of the dead body, apprehension from his final moments on earth imprinted on his soulless eyes.

Only a few details emerge from his solitary observations: the corpses are soaked in their own blood, concealing any wounds or scars. Before handling the bodies in the mortuary, Sherlock always waits to meet them. He argues that people should look with their eyes, not their hands, because hands are awkward and untidy, and dragging their fingers across a flawless crime scene ruins so many aspects.

Many facts can be deduced by Sherlock with a single glance at a person, object, or scenario without even moving a muscle.

He takes his time studying the bodies and their ravaged faces, capturing everything in his memory and safely storing it for future use. It takes him twenty minutes in that stinky warehouse to be satisfied with his mental notes, and he turns to leave, his own feet leaving faint bloody prints behind from how dirty the floor was.

Once outside, he nods to the fellow officers, indicating that he has finished his studies and that the bodies may be taken away for further investigation before making his approach towards you, who appeared to be preoccupied in a hushed conversation with two police officers and a witness.

When they notice Sherlock's arrival, both officers leave, assuming it was time to get back to work. "How do I address you?" Sherlock asks the witness, a youngster of the same height as himself, pretty directly.

"James. McGuigan, James." The boy responds calmly, despite the fact that he, too, is visibly shaken by the circumstances.  Sherlock took note of every expression he made. "I was just telling the officers that I have no idea what happened here," he adds, casting a furtive glance towards the warehouse before returning his attention to Sherlock. "I was going for a morning jog when I saw all the blood, so I immediately called the police."

"You did well," Sherlock replies, his hands in the pockets of his long coat. He casts a glance at you, who returns his stare with a begging look to leave the location within as little time as possible. "Do you usually go for a jog around here?"

"Yes," the boy says, nodding. "It's serene in here, and there's plenty of space." I went here this morning as well, and there was no blood."

Sherlock's brow furrows slightly, allowing the witness's comments to enter. "Interesting," he says, though you groan at his uncommon habit, he speaking slowly and attentively before nodding. There's nothing else to listen to, so there's no time to waste. "I'm sure you've had enough of the cops.” Sherlock steps towards to the boy, “thank you for your time with us." He gracefully lowers his head,  hand finding your back to stroke against before departing and tugging the shorter along; which meant you. 

You take out your phone and dial your friend's number; it takes a few moments for her to answer. "Hey, Molly." You greet with large exhaustion. "Have your toys arrived?"

The mortuary room, shall be you both next stop.

"Jeff Hewlett, Vincent Mcbride, and Reynard Hall." Molly says it with her arms crossed across her chest and an uncomfortable expression on her face, as if corpses still frightened her despite years of working in a mortuary. "Vincent and Jeff are siblings, not sure how Reynard falls into the picture."

Despite hearing Molly's remarks, Sherlock remains silent, leaning over Reynard's corpse and studying. The bodies had all been cleaned of blood, and the cause was clear; they had all been shot, albeit no bullets were recovered in them or at the warehouse.

"Jeff and Vincent have been dead for a while." Molly speaks up once more, watching as he moves on to Vincent's body. "I'd guess two days. Perhaps three."

"But our witness said there was nothing in the warehouse yesterday." You ponder during where you stood against the wall, brow furrowed, looking, waiting, having never been fond of mortuary space.

“Indeed,” Sherlock straightens himself up. “Only Reynard was killed there. Whoever did it painted us a whole show to make it seem like all three murders happened at the same time, in the same place.”

You pucker up, your weary face tilting. "But why?"

"Why not?" Sherlock retorts. "Perhaps it was a warning for Reynard, showing him Jeff's corpse as a threat. He wasn't given a choice, however. The killer definitely wanted him dead as well. It was most likely a game for their own entertainment, as well as an opportunity to leave a magnificent crime scene behind with all that splattered blood."

You ponder, your mind already absence. "Bloody Hell..."

"I wouldn't use the word magnificent to describe such a bloody scene." Molly mutters, breathes deeply, and shakes her head slightly. "In any case, there's more. Check their chests."

Sherlock doesn't need to be told once more, yanking at the white sheet that covers the rest of the dead. His brows furrow and he leans in, curious.

"What on earth is it?" You ask yourself, moving closer.

"All three bodies have the letter J carved on the left side of their chest." Molly adds this as she uncovers the two more bodies, displaying the same wounds that Sherlock saw with a little magnifying glass.

"Beautiful," Sherlock thinks to himself as he walks up to examine Reynard's scar. "The murderer left his imprint... He wants everyone to know that he did it. It's another jeopardy a warning that this could be a case for a serial killer."

The proprietor of the mortuary room frowns. "You should tone down your enthusiasm for murd-"

"Collect their files and bring them to me. All three of them." Sherlock commands, straightening his back and walking towards you, his arm wrapping across your shorter shoulders to urge you along. "I need to do some research."

Things were finally getting fascinating around there.

Shouting out the route out of Sherlock's flat to take you home. "Jeff and Vincent were cousins," he recalls fast as the outcome of his momentous laboratory spills out, loud enough to alarms you, half-sleeping from the passenger seat window.

You two share a knowing, amused gaze as a bright shade of pink sweeps across your cheeks after his delicate smooch on your hairline. "The entire thing could have been a family issue, a misunderstanding- but then you have Reynard, eh? Who appears to have no connection to them. However," Sherlock says, raising his finger. "According to my research, Vincent and Jeff were in a relationship. This could be a love problem instead, but it's still strange because of the cousins."

"Ugh, please. Don't tell me it was about illicit bromance like old fashioned in 70' European," you counsel with a smile. And your comment made him snort next to you.

"This J is dropping hints, which indicates that they intend to return. But if they don't, we can rely on your brilliant cousin illicit bromance concept." You can't stop yourself from laughing. Till you realize what he implied then your smile faded: "Are you trying to say we supposed wait for someone else to die before going after this 'J' ?” Your brow furrows in bewilderment.

“Exactly.” Sherlock gives a short, innocent smile. "God! Sherlock Holmes, that’s bloody nonsense. What's we need to do is avoid the next victim, not waiting and enjoying it!" You shout out as he turns right, leaving you dumbfounded. 

Your water is just starting to boil when Sherlock asks, "-so what about steak and your fondness for wine?"

"Huh," you keep staring out the window, knowing he's only attempting to loosen you by addressing the food topic, and the only response you gave him was the muttering in rage. "Nah, I saw plenty of blood today."

"We're going to have burger for dinner," Sherlock replies hastily. "There will be no more second thoughts."

“Fries, also”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You were about going over soda when Sherlock's phone started ringing. He urged him to slow down his car and search his trousers pocket for the device. He frowned at the number as you gazed upon him doubtfully, then slid his thumb to the green button. "—Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock stared down at the body, and the body stared back to him.

"She was discovered exactly like this an hour ago." The officer from the local police department explained. "She drowned and washed up on shore, but we called you because she has the letter J carved on her. We do believe you are familiar with this."

Sherlock shut his eyes and exhaled slowly. He'd been overly confident, certain that he'd put the pieces of the puzzle together, that he'd tied all the traces together and located the real victim the murderer was looking for.

And now this - an elderly woman and she defies the men-only pattern, has no ties to any of the previous cases, and smashes Sherlock's assumptions and inferences in the blink of an eye.

And Sherlock is never, ever wrong with his predictions.

He feels your palm on his arm, a delicate tug of reassurance, of comfort, but he brushes it aside and walks to kneel over the body. You shake your head at the others, signalling that Sherlock needs a bit of solitude time.

"She used to work at a local, tiny grocery store." Sherlock claims that bending his head as he searches the body with furrowed brows for any wound other than the J sliced through her garments. There was nothing, which was not surprising given that drowning her shouldn't take much effort.

"Hold on, Greg." You paused the line and step over him, scracth your shoulder; by now it's already midnight and you're still at the crime scenes with nothing in your tiresome stomach. "You got that from just looking at her?" He sighs as he hears you ask in stupor.

"When I was younger, I used to go to her store and buy candy." He explains, possibly in a fairly harsh tone, though it was common for the frustration to crawl up on his chest and adhere to his ribcage. "She is unrelated to the other victims. She's most likely retired by now. It makes no sense."

No one says a thing. The wind from the Thames is refreshing, yet the air is dense. If Sherlock doesn't comprehend, the others obviously don’t either.

"Perhaps the connections between the victims weren't as straightforward as I would assumed." 

Curled up within your coat, you allowed the darknight breezes swirl over you, leaving your blonde hair tangled. You've known your thoughts went away into the cloud from your body since this granny bodie had a sheer string with Sherlock.

"Anytime," you say as you offer your namecard to one of the local police officers, who appears to be the lieutenant. 

Sherlock could hear your breath hitching behind him, followed by the noises of you turning around and exiting the room. He looked over his shoulder as his girl walked away, briefly wondering if the mortuary had finally become a bit too much for you to bear, before returning his gaze to the corpse.

"Mercury poisoning." Greg reinforced his thoughts, an uncomfortable expression on his face as he gripped the victim's files against his chest and watched Sherlock. "In his body, a big dose was injected. Considering the others, I'd say this was a rather clean death."

Sherlock concurred silently, his gaze fixed on the J cut right below the body's collarbone. “Name?”

"Clifford Shelton," the proprietor of the mortuary room replies, returning her gaze to the paperwork. "A kindergarten teacher, Oxford Montessori Schools."

There it was. The headache came slowly, cautiously, curling its twisted fingers around his thoughts and squeezing it.

"Do you think there's any connection to the other victims?" Sherlock questions, putting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose and frowning at the gathering annoyance.

"Nothing that I can think of."

“Figured.”

Sherlock straightens up, disregarding Greg's somewhat irritated expression. Seconds passed slowly, static silence filling the air as he stared harder and harder at the corpse, as if the jigsaw pieces might fall into place on their own if he did it long enough.

"Where did Y/N go?" Molly is the one who breaks the silence, her hands moving to draw the sheet over the dead, effectively ending Sherlock's investigation.

The detective's attention slowly returns from the shrouded body to the pathologist, accepting the query before returning to the exit. "I don’t know.”

"So," Greg begins, his tone tinged with doubt and perhaps a hint of amusement. "You can't figure it out?"

"I haven't start to figured it out yet." Sherlock corrects Greg, irritated by his choice of words. He has copies of all the victims' files strewn over his desk, but the more he stares at them, the more difficult it is to think. Part of him blames Greg; honestly, the shorter's presence lowers his IQ by the second.

“Right.” He nods slowly, a kitten-like smile twisting on his lips, yet he doesn't dare to continue his tormenting.

"He was thirty-two years old, making him the second oldest victim so far, but there's still a significant age difference between him and Mrs. Madison from Thames river." They both were in your house, Sherlock muses as he leans over the papers, fists gripping the table. "In any case, it's barely significant. He was born and reared in Scotland and has no history of being linked with any of the men." He sighs and leans back against the table, his palms against his face, away from the paperwork. "I feel like there's something obvious here which I'm overlooking." 

There was a brief moment of silence before you stood up, the entrance of the door. "He should be in Oxford, it’s Tuesday and no necessary to be in London." You mutter, barely audible, before turning and heading for the bedroom instead.

Sherlock kept an eye on you, the unfamiliarity of the circumstance, along with your out-of-character actions, making you nervous. He exchanges a glance with Greg, who returns his gaze, and he suddenly feels as if there's something else he's missing that isn't related to the murders.

"Is she-"

"Is she okay? You should go ahead and ask her." Greg shrugs, maintaining his nice, casual grin, but his eyes were clearly prodding Sherlock; attempting to break past his thick mind loaded with puzzles and detective novels. "Did you happen to forget Clifford was Y/N's ex?"

Sherlock's mouth opens in surprise, then closes again.

"Thought so." Greg laughs and shakes his head slightly. "Go talk to her."

Three knocks on the door before Sherlock stepped in, turning the handle. “Y/N?”

His shorter girlfriend sat on the bed, phone lighting out on your hands, apparently doing nothing more than being lost in your own thoughts, yet a smile spreads across your lips as your gaze meets Sherlock's, albeit somewhat tiredly. "Hey, beb."

Sherlock pursed his lips, locking the door behind him; he believed Greg would busy himself in the sitting room or the kitchen (like he always did), so he stepped farther into the room. He knew about Clifford and you, but the whole serial murderer thing managed to take over his entire head, seizing its place and leaving no room for other facts.

Even those about his girlfriend.  

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asks, the mattress sinking slightly as he sat next to the shorter, bony fingers searching for you to hold. He senses you relaxing only for his touch, and you shrug.

“I hate your silly question.. It has been a long time. I haven't spoken to him for years." You say, seizing the opportunity to finally express yourself now that you have the opportunity. "It's just... strange -- you know? That someone I used to know..." You trail off, words turning to ash in your tongue before you can say anything, yet there is no need for a detective to figure out the finish of this phrase this time.

Sherlock's hand squeezes yours, and your head leans on his shoulder. "Suddenly, it all feels a lot more threatening when it's about someone you know, doesn't it?" Sherlock hums, now his head resting on his woman's shoulder, lips placing a kiss to the top of your hair. "Are you scared?"

“Kinda.” You chuckled defeatistically. "Well, if something happens to us, I mean; I guess 'J' knows who we are. Mrs Madison and Clifford happen to be related to us." You breathe out with a slight smile on your face. "And I wished I'd died first because I couldn't live without your goofy face."

Sherlock's stomach clenches, and he is anxious but determined. He presses your hand once more. "Nothing is going to happen to us." He then draws you closer into his warm embrace. "Just put your trust in me."

“I always did.”

“I know.”

While his lips were connected to yours, the deadpanned blank countenance quickly covered over your agonised sorrowful appearance that you showed to him. And, despite your best efforts, you sense no peace from his embrace, at all.

To your mastermind that running back and forth in your veins, something within you shouts louder and more profoundly in the silence.

a/t: eh i did told you don’t hate me yet xD

#Sherlock #bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock x you #sherlock imagine #sherlock x reader #sherlockxreader #Sherlock Holmes x Reader #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock x y/n #sherlock x you #sherlock bbc #sherlock holmes imagines #bbc sherlock imagine #bbc sherlock x reader smut #sherlock fanfic #sherlock angst #bbc sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes

[newtsniffles]

You'll Be Gone | Sherlock Holmes x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Fem!Reader

Summary: After witnessing the death of her best friend and crush, Sherlock, reader falls into a depression. She spends less and less time with her friends, John, Greg, Mrs Hudson, locking herself inside with her ever-declining health. Two years later she reaches breaking point.

Warning/s: Angst. A lot of it. Mentions of depression, suicide, self-neglect, and death. Please do not read if these topics make you uncomfortable.

Word count: 1630

The death of anybody; an acquaintance, a stranger, took a toll on those who witnessed, who were involved. But spectating your best friend, the man you love, launch himself from a building and not being able to do anything about it as he said goodbye over the phone. That was soul crushing. It was torturous. It continues to be torturous even two years later.

You tried to move on, ignore the everlasting agony. The sharp stabs of severe pain in your heart. It was not possible; it would never be possible. Sherlock Holmes is dead, and because of that, so are you. John had forced you to move from the foetal position under your weighted blankets, a physical form of your depression that held you to your bed. He dragged you by your shaky limbs to Sherlock’s funeral, where you still refused to remove the blue, silk robe of your consulting detective.

The same robe that you held to your heart on many sleepless nights. The same robe that you so desperately tried to imagine as Sherlock’s arms. The same robe that eventually lost its familiar smell of light cigarette smoke, cinnamon, and old paper that was so characteristically Sherlock. You love him- loved him, and you never got to tell him that, and it is one of your biggest regrets.

You wish you could be happy for John moving on. You wish you could be happy, period. But you knew that was not going to happen. He had prescribed you some pills, antidepressants, but they did not work, and so you stopped taking them. You would never tell John that though. It was almost as if it got worse over time. Your brain continuously thinking of more ways to torment you.

‘It is your fault.’

‘You should have been there for him.’

‘It should have been you.’

‘I bet John wishes it was you.’

‘You should just end it all now. The pain would stop. Maybe you will see Sherlock again.’

Eventually, you found yourself giving into those thoughts. And the pills on your bedside table grew more and more tempting. Clutching the bottle of pills in your hand, you pull yourself up from the bed. Dragging your frail, but still heavy-weighted limbs to the bathroom.

Looking in the mirror was one of the many painful things you refused to do, but knowing what was to come next, you lifted your eyes. In front of you stood the cracked shell of a once powerful woman. Sunken eyes surrounded by the darkness of depression, and lips chapped from little care. Crying was futile, you begun to feel empty long ago.

The easiest part was removing the cap, step one. Followed by swallowing pill after pill, step two. It’s almost laughable how it did not phase you at all. Nothing compared to the sound of your heart shattering parallel to the deafening cracks of Sherlock’s bones as his body hit the pavement.

Waiting, step three. The most painful of all. Waiting with your own thoughts, thrashing against the excruciating hold of Depression as it clung to you with its honed talons. Keel over and clutch your stomach as it begs for mercy, step four. Finally, close your eyes and let your final breath push delicately past your lips like the London breeze. The final sound to play like a marching band on your ear drums, a plastic bottle hitting the floor as it rolled from loose fingers.

You had hoped it was your last breath, you had begged you would never hear another sound. Even in death, you were unlucky, unfruitful. How did you know? The obnoxious beeping of a heart monitor, the oxygen mask that felt irritable against your skin, and the blinding white of hospital walls that you never really understood. People in hospitals vomit, they bleed, they take care of business, so why white?

Through hazy eyes, you glanced down to your numbed limbs. A large hand engulfed your own, its warmth coaxing you to fall asleep. But you refused to close your eyes, you refused to blink or look away. Because right there, sitting on the uncomfortable hospital chair beside your bed, was the man you loved so dearly. The man you once could not imagine living without, until you had to. A never-ending abuse. Maybe you had died, that would explain his sudden appearance. Maybe this was the entrance to the afterlife, and he was waiting to give you a tour and solve crimes even in death.

“Sher—” It came out as barely a whisper, a voice so weak you could break it with a stare. And that is what he did, his head flung to the side, glassy eyes you had never forgotten meeting your own. Quick to rise to his feet, towering over your bed ridden form. His free hand was so gentle, so very soft as it contacted your cheek. A careful thumb passing over your cheekbone.

“You’re awake.”

“I can’t be,” you speak softly. Head shaking slightly in disbelief, tears that had been dry for so long, threatening to fall.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re here.”

“I’m here,” he smiles. The soft smile he reserved two years ago for you and only you. “And you’re awake.”

“How do I know if you’re telling the truth? How do I know you won’t be gone again once I wake up like all the other times?” Your voice was slurred by the drugs flowing through the IV drip that contained the medication keeping you stable.

“You have to trust me,” Sherlock brushed away some tangled hair from your face. “Do you trust me?”

“I used to.” And with those words, the almighty Sherlock’s face expressed pain.

“I’ll prove it,” he moved to take a seat on the thin hospital mattress, holding both your hands in his. Your eyes drooping, he knew you would fall back asleep soon.

“How?”

“By explaining,” Sherlock leant down, placing a delicate kiss to your forehead. And you relished in it, even if this lasted for only moments, and you would awake without him by your side once more. “I had to disappear, you and everyone else had to think I was gone, or it would have been your lives, not mine.”

“And I would have been okay with that,” you allowed the tears to finally flow freely, cascading down the curve of your face.

“Which is why I couldn’t let you know,” Sherlock swiped the tears away with gentle thumbs before returning to hold your hands. “I spent two years taking down Moriarty’s organisation. I had to make sure everyone was safe. I had to make sure you were safe.”

“Sherl—”

“And then I finally get to come home after two years of torture and death,” his baritone voice cracks. The great consulting detective Sherlock Holmes was breaking, and it was in front of you. The only person that could read him as well as he could read them. The one person he allowed himself to let his guard down in front of and question his title as a sociopath. “And I go see John, so he could convince me to face you, because I was scared that you would hate me, that you would scream and berate me. But when I finally get to your house, and I take the spare key from your silly little hiding place above the door frame. I unlock the door, and I knew something was wrong.”

“You couldn’t have.”

“I did. And for once I can’t tell you why, I just knew. So, I called your name, I ran to your bedroom hoping maybe you were sleeping. And I suppose you were, except it was on your bathroom floor, with an empty pill bottle by your side.”

“You should have left me there,” you sigh, looking everywhere but Sherlock’s eyes. “I guess you know what it feels like now.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what, Sherlock? You can’t talk,” you chuckle dryly.

“I take it you’re mad.”

“Fuming,” you took a deep breath before speaking again. “But I still don’t know if this is real, I still don’t know if I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone. I still don’t know if I’m actually dead or not. And honestly, I hope it’s the latter because I’m so tired. I’m just so tired.”

“I couldn’t imagine a world without you in it,” Sherlock squeezes your hands gently.

“I thought the same, and then it happened. But in case you do disappear again…” you raised a weak limb, palm connecting with the sculpted face of Sherlock Holmes. With slow, weighted movements, you slide the same hand to the back of his neck and tug him down to meet you halfway in a kiss full of love, regret, and longing. “I love you,” you whisper against his lips.

“And I, you.” He places a loving peck on your lips, and another on your forehead before letting you get comfortable once more. “Now get some rest, you look like crap.”

“If you’re still here when I wake up, and by Gods, you better be,” you stare down man as he situates himself back in the uncomfortable hospital chair. “You have a lot of making up to do.”

“Still mad?”

“Still mad,” you closed your eyes, letting sleep take over. For once in two years, you finally rested well with the thought that maybe, just maybe when you wake up, your darling consulting detective will be by your side.

“I love you,” he whispers so lightly as he watches the love of his life get her much needed rest. And in that moment, he promised to himself that he would never leave her alone again. He would help her pick up the pieces of herself that she had dropped, no matter how long it took.

#sherlock holmes imagine #bbc sherlock holmes #bbc sherlock imagine #bbc sherlock imagines #bbc sherlock holmes imagines #angst imagine #benedict cumberbatch #benedict cumberbatch imagine #221b baker street #sherlockbbc #sherlock holmes fanfiction #bbc sherlock fluff #bbc sherlock angst #benedict cumberbatch imagines #sherlock holmes imagines

[gilgamushroom]

VICTORIANS WHEN BLORBO FROM THEIR COMMUTER'S MAGAZINE COMES BACK FROM THE DEATH AFTER A DECADE LONG HIATUS THEY THOUGHT WOULD BE PERMANENT

#letters from watson #sherlock holmes #can you IMAGINE the joy?? one of the biggest moments in fandom history #they waited so long queen victoria wasn't even ALIVE anymore

[jarrows]

Ah, Lestrade. I've always had a bit of a soft spot for him, and it only got bigger with the recent reread.

#his bitchfests with holmes are just always so entertaining lol #sherlock holmes #lestrade #got a couple requests to see lestrade's office so i went back and cleaned up my sketch a little bit #not totally happy with it since it didn't end up looking as cramped as i really envision it #i mean hes a neat guy so i imagine he takes care of his space its just that (in my mind) hes dealing with an awkward layout and no budget #also he gets a nice fashion forward cut to his suits bc watson so consistently describes him as dapper #which is just about the only nice descriptor watson throws his way lol

[ithebookhoarder]

En Garde (Sherlock Holmes x Reader)

Synopsis: Your husband has always been protective of you, given his line of work. However, when he offers to teach you the basics of self-defence, it quickly becomes clear that his intentions may not be quite so innocent after all... 

Warnings: Mild reference to bodily harm, light smutty behaviour, spoilers for the second film.

A/N: Oh, how I’ve missed Enola Holmes. I loved the books, and the films are just as great in their own way, so expect a bit of spam for the next few weeks - apologies in advance. 

Masterlist

“Now, try again-”

“-Sherlock-”

“No. Come on. Focus, darling. Once more, from the beginning. Eyes forward-” 

Oh, that was it. 

You were going to kill your husband. Slowly… and painfully… It would be the least he deserved, torturing you as he was. 

“Call me ‘darling’ one more time, husband,” you warned dangerously, “and see if I don’t shove this sword in your direction.” 

Why you agreed to this in the first place was beyond you, given that the day had so far been much more satisfying for him rather than you. 

After all, it had been Sherlock’s idea to help teach you the basics of self-defence - throwing a punch, dodging one, along with the fundamentals for using weapons such as a pistol, club, and now a sword (although when he thought you’d be in such a position to use one, you weren’t sure). 

Given his profession and the fact that his cases often lead to unplanned consequences, it had seemed a rather sensible idea at the start. His recent run in with the infamous Inspector Grail had rattled him, helpless to protect Enola everyone involved in the case from harm. 

Luckily, they had all survived, if not a little worse for wear - most of which was down to your skilled hands, having sewn, cleaned, and bandaged each and every wound they presented you with following the confrontation. 

You had seen the pain etched into Sherlock’s face that night, as you had helped wipe the blood from Enola’s head where she had been struck. He may have often denied having emotions, but the brotherly love and concern was all too clear to you as he seemed to blame himself somehow for failing to protect her. 

So, now, Sherlock was determined to equip you with the tools you may need should a similar situation ever arise. It made it an easy yes, to agree to his tutelage in the hopes of soothing both his and your concerns. That, and dare you even say it sounded like fun? 

Well, fun for you, yes, but evidently even more fun for your husband as it turned out.

Indeed, Sherlock was certainly a ‘hands-on’ kind of teacher and it had become clear early on that his focus was not entirely on developing your skills in combat. You didn’t have to be the detective to notice how his hands kept drifting to places they didn’t belong, or that his eyes seemed to be capitalising on the opportunity to observe your form in tight trousers as you lunged about the room. 

And that wasn’t the worst of it - in fact, for the past half an hour, he had been standing behind you, his chest pressed to your back, one of his hands covering yours as it gripped the hilt of the sword - or the foil, as he had informed you. 

As for the other, it was rather distracting, pressed against your stomach so as to allow your husband to correct your stance… or so he claimed, as he pulled you closer once again. 

“That’s it,” you huffed, trying and failing to ignore the sudden shiver that ran down your spine as he ground against you. “You are certainly having too much fun. Perhaps I should have asked Enola or Edith to be my tutor instead. At least they can be trusted to remain professional.” 

He scoffed, not sounding the least bit ashamed at the accusation.

“You wound me, wife,” he murmured, his lips grazing against your cheek, “After all, was it not you who said you didn’t wish to be a ‘maiden in need of rescuing’ should anyone wish you harm?”

“You know that I am neither a maiden, nor in need of rescuing, Mr Holmes.” Turning your head, you were quick to return the favour, letting your lips graze his teasingly. His soft groan was enough of a sign that your efforts appeared to be working. 

Two could play this game. 

“In fact, the only person I seem to need rescuing from right now is you, and your wandering hands.” 

You felt his laughter shaking through him, making it hard not to laugh yourself as he began peppering kisses to your neck. 

Clearly your lesson in swordplay would have to wait; it appeared he had a different kind of physical activity planned for you both. 

#enola holmes #Enola Holmes 2 #sherlock #Sherlock holmes #Sherlock Holmes x Reader #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x y/n #Henry Cavill sherlock holmes #masterlist #ithebookhoarder #thesilentmage #henry sherlock #henry cavill #Henry Cavill x Reader #enola holmes imagine #enola 2

[maggotzombie]

the day/night we met ; henry cavill

PAIRING — Henry Cavill x Reader (fem) SUMMARY — On your wedding day, your Maid of Honor prepares a special gift to which you and Henry have distinct responses. WORDS — 1,8k TW — nothing really just a lot of fluff, emotions (I cried a bit writing it), Henry in a suit 😈. A/N — Hi! I'm not dead, just quit the most toxic job ever so I'm getting back here lol Here's a short but very dear fic to me that I wrote last year but never posted. I'm so happy to finally post this! This story has been in my head for two years now and it came out better than I thought.

Song insp.: Eu Me Lembro by Clarice Falcão feat. Silva

— 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

“ALRIGHT,” YOUR MAID OF HONOR smiles, carefully wiping her tears with a napkin. “After making you cry and potentially ruining some makeup,” The room laughs. “I’ve prepared something different to end this on a high note.”

This is one of the dearest moments of your life: your wedding. You’re marrying your soulmate. Your heart could burst with love and happiness whenever.

Everything’s perfect, from your dress to the lights of the venue. Henry – your newly proclaimed spouse – has an arm around you as you listen to your family and friends' speeches about you and your love.

You found it strange when your Maid of Honor wasn’t the first to speak, but it seems she has a reason for it. Immediately, you feel anxious, but in a good way.

“When these two told me they were getting married, I knew I wanted to do something special for them,” Your best friend starts. “I just didn’t know what, but I knew it had to be something remarkable, something for them to look back and have a good laugh,” She looks at the both of you with tears in her eyes, chuckling.

You also wipe tears off your eyes, smiling back at her, and Henry tightens his embrace around you.

“So I sat down with these two, separately, and started to ask a few questions,” She smiles and wiggles her eyebrows, which is an expression you know very well.

‘Oh my,’ You think. ‘What is she up to?’

“Things started to get really interesting from the start, and I decided to make a video out of it,” Your best friend winks at you. “Without further ado, enjoy it.”

With a pleasant smile, she sits down. The attention turns to the screens set around the venue.

You remember sitting with your Maid of Honor to chat about your relationship. You didn’t really understand why she wanted to do that. However, it always has been effortless talking about Henry, and you brushed it off as having something to do with the wedding.

You recall having a great time answering her questions – drinks might have been involved beforehand, but the whole process was surprisingly professional.

Your friend’s face pops up on the screen as she introduces herself. “In this little video, I wanted to talk about our lovely couple’s amazing and fun story, especially the day they met,” She explains. “Newlyweds, I love you very much, and I hope you like this little something I put together for you.”

She blows a kiss and waves. Then in fancy lettering, “A love story” is scribbled on the top-left corner of the screen, and “A story of love” on the bottom right corner. You wonder why both phrases – which convey the same thing – are on the video, but the thought quickly slips your mind when your smiling face appears on the screen.

“State your name and occupation, please,” Your friend prompts on the video, but she’s out of the shot.

You roll your eyes amusedly. “What’s this, a trial? I’m innocent, your honor!” You giggle, making everybody at the venue laugh.

You answer the question anyway, and your name also appears written on the video.

“For the purpose of… this, I’m the bride?” It sounds like a question, and you make a face, unsure of yourself.

She never explained what the video was for, in your defense.

Right after you, Henry appears. “I’m Henry, and I am the lucky groom,” He smiles brightly, looking as handsome as always.

“So, tell me, how did you meet Henry?” Your friend asks, and your smile is instant as you remember that exact day as if it was yesterday. “How did you meet Y/N?” She asks him in the next scene, and his reaction is the same.

“I was hosting a brunch,” You start, your eyes unfocused as the vivid memory plays in your mind. “And it was morning when Henry arrived.”

When he reapers, you can tell it’ll cut back and forth between you. “I was throwing a party, and she was the one that came around. I think it was three in the afternoon,” Henry replies, quite differently from you.

You scoff mockingly, looking at him by your side. He chuckles, brushing it off with a shoulder tic before you turn back to the screen.

“And I said: ‘Hi, come on in, make yourself at home,’ You know, something of the sorts,” You shrug off.

Your betrothed chuckles in the video, scratching his chin in thought. “I was the one that said hello, but she didn’t hear.”

His comment makes the venue erupt in laughter. You meet Henry’s loving gaze again and squeeze his hand, making him bring yours up to press a kiss on your knuckles.

If your shared story had different and entertaining versions until now, it’d just get better!

After being asked about first impressions of one another, he replies: “She thought I was hilarious,” He says with such confidence that is endearing.

In your turn, you laugh and cover your mouth as if what you are about to say it’s an embarrassing secret.

“Oh my god, he wouldn’t stop talking! Like a lot!” You emphasize. “And I pretended to laugh the entire time,” You say very sheepishly before throwing your head back in laughter again. “That’s terrible. I feel like I need to apologize,” You add after your fit.

“Oh, I just remembered something,” He suddenly announces, and his smile is wide as the memory toy around in his head. “Her blouse was inside out,” He chuckles, eyes focused on a spot. “She’s so adorable and such a goof, isn’t she?” He looks back at the camera.

“He loved the way I was dressed,” You giggle, visibly shivering as you physically remember the feeling of him truly looking at you for the first time.

Your friend asks another question, changing the subject slightly, but Henry shakes his head.

“Yeah, the party was great! Everybody was having a good time, but I only remember searching for her when she wasn’t near me. Trying to get another look, you know?” He says.

In turn, you scoff. “No one was dancing! I don’t remember who was taking care of the music, but it was terrible!” Your genuine response makes the room fills with laughter another time. “At least everyone had a drink in hand and ate something.”

“Oh, yes. The food was wonderful. Everything homemade,” Your partner assures with a proud nod naively.

“I bought everything off Tesco,” You rushedly confess, throwing your head back in laughter again.

Back to the present moment, you’re wiping the new tears from the corners of your eyes due to laughter. You love the good energy around the room as your guests and yourself enjoy the video your Maid of Honor made.

Now you understand both phases in the beginning, and although you and Henry have very distinct versions of the day you met, you love both of them and the feelings they bring you.

However, something changes in the next second of the video. For the first time, on a split-screen, you two appear together.

“When I saw him, I knew it (When I saw her, I knew it),” You both say simultaneously. “She (He) was the person I’d spend the rest of my life with,” You continue.

Glancing at him, you’re surprised to see he’s already looking at you. Then you exchange a knowing look. It seems like you got on the same page in this part of the video.

“And that’s how I realized that life put him (her) in my life,” You say in unison. “On that Tuesday (Thursday) of September (December),” Your responses overlap with each other, drawing amused reactions from people.

“That’s why I remember everything, of every second,” Both of you state, which is downright ironic at this point. “Ask me anything that I remember.”

“I remember,” You proudly declare with a grin but, this time, by yourself.

And so does Henry. “I remember,” He nods with a beam.

The video ends there, and the room erupts in applause, whistles, and hollered praises.

Words couldn’t describe the dazzling feelings you’re experiencing if you wanted to. You can’t be more grateful to your friend for this treat either. And, of course, the man you now get to call your husband.

The spotlight of attention returns to you as you’re exchanging the most enamored gaze ever. Henry leans in and presses his lips to your forehead, making you close your eyes. Slowly, you allow all those remarkable sensations to wash over you.

When you reopen your eyes, you smile at him before looking at your Maid of Honor. “Thank you so much for this extremely thoughtful gift. We both loved it a lot.”

Henry confirms with a head gesture.

“Words won’t do justice to how much you’re special to me. I’m just so grateful I get to share such a special and meaningful moment of my life, like this one, with you,” Your voice cracks at the end, and you smile, trying to hold your tears at bay as you can see she’s doing the same. “So I can’t thank you enough.”

As the room gets loud with another round of applause and cheers, she smiles, mouthing an “I love you too” to you. Wiping your tears carefully one more time, you chuckle.

“Although, I only have one question,” You announce, making the room pipe down. “Was my blouse really inside out?” You giggle as you look back at Henry.

Your husband starts to laugh. “Yeah,” He confirms bashfully. “Yeah, it was,” He nods as your guests join you in laughter.

“Oh, God. I can’t believe it,” You shake your head in embarrassment. “I also would like to point out that my husband clearly has a lot of experience with interviews,” You remark, addressing the room. “I feel kinda bad after saying I was pretending to laugh at his jokes when he’s all loving and caring,” You rejoin your friends and family in fun.

“I do tell bad jokes,” Henry concedes in your defense. “I love how genuine you are, and you’re loving and caring to me, too,” You nearly melt at his famous Hollywood-star smile.

The sound of ‘aww’s’ fills the room. “You see what I’m dealing with?” You joke, making everybody chuckle.

You give him a chaste but affectionate peck on the lips. Your wedding coordinator decides it’s time for the first dance to open the floor to make your guests burn some energy after the buffet.

And so, feeling the most secure and happy while pressed against your husband’s chest with his arms around you, you swing slowly. By sharing the same air, the same space, and the same feelings, you can’t think of anything better.

It all started on a Tuesday morning in September for you. But for him, it was a Thursday afternoon in December. Now, it is a Saturday evening in November that you’ll never forget.

You will remember. Everything. Of every second.

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x you #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill rpf #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill headcanon #the witcher #geralt of rivia #august walker #clark kent #superman #sherlock holmes

[itstheimpossibledream]

Big

Pairing :Henry Cavill x reader

Warning: Daddy!DomHenry, Smut, Oral, Size Kink

Everything below the cut is NSFW I won’t lie.

Summary : Henry loves how big he looks in comparison to you. 

“On your knees.” he commands calmly. You bring yourself to the floor as he unzips his pants. He brings himself out of his underwear practically slapping you in the face as it springs free.

“Sorry.” he chuckles, fumbling to hold himself down.You laugh at the juxtaposition of his handsome face and figure, that exudes this constantly flustered personality. You know he loves seeing his size next to you.He caresses your cheek softly, then replaces his hand with his cock. You look up at him, eyes wide and innocent. 

“Open your mouth.” his voice is stern while he gently slaps himself against your face.

“You look so fucking cute like this.” he can tell his compliment perks you up and he does not stop there.

“Come now, open that pretty little mouth for daddy.” he says, tapping his member on your lips. A bit of his precum leaks onto you and he uses the tip of his cock to spread it across your lips. The sigh that leaves his body makes your heart skip. And when you part your lips slightly, he presses down with his thumb popping himself into your mouth. Your eyes widen a bit at the surprise of the expanse he takes up ,practically engaging your gag reflex. 

“Fuck that’s good babe.” he says grabbing your hair, angling your face further up so he simply fits straight into your throat. “Mmmm.good girl. Take me just like that.” he praises. You can feel your insides light up at that positive response and can’t help yourself from feeling your pussy juices drip down your leg. He extends his arm down to you, and when you move to take it he lifts you up, swinging you over his shoulder, to the bed.He sets you down much gentler than you had expected.

“Open your legs baby” he coos while hovering over you. You try to squeeze them tighter, almost embarrassed by how much you were leaking all over his bed but, he works one strong hand in between the middle of your upper thighs and spreads them before you get the chance to continue your protest. 

“It’s to big” you protest but,he hushes you. Slowly he pushes into you, deeper and deeper, letting out a low growl once he finally finds himself fully inside. 

“That’s it darling, make space for me.” he whispers. You can’t stop the noises that escape your lips as he ruts into you,complementing and praising you the whole way.

#henry cavill #henry cavill reader #henry cavill smut #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x female reader #henry cavill gifs #henrycavillgf #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fic #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill fanfiction #henrycavillfan #henry cavill witcher #henry cavill sherlock holmes #henry cavill sherlock x reader #henrycavill rp #henrycavilledit #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill sex #henry cavill series #smut #sexy stories #henrycavillxreader #henry cavill daddy #henry cavill drabble #size k!nk

[cinebration]

Bewitched (Sherlock Holmes x Reader) [Request]

hii, if you taking requests, you could do sherlock holmes (of enola holmes) x reader fic with a pride and prejudice quote?? thank you so much!! ♡ Quote: “You have bewitched me…body and soul.”—Requested by @folklorecavill​

I apologize for this feeling a little OOC, but I tried!

Warnings: none

Gif Source: henricavyll

Sherlock found himself on your doorstep once again, calling on you.

It wasn’t until you descended the stairs and entered the receiving room that he suddenly froze, the feelings that had driven him to your door immobilizing him. He wanted nothing more than to flee and at the same time stay to enjoy your presence. The feelings were both unusual and regular—unusual because as a man who took great pride in divorcing emotion from reason, it was irregular for him to be so arrested by feeling; regular because it only ever seemed to happen around you.

The furrow between your brows reappeared. “Mr. Holmes. How may I help you?”

Sherlock swallowed thickly, words lodged in his throat. A distant part of himself regarded his reaction with distrust bordering on horror. He was Sherlock Holmes. Speechlessness was not in his being.

The furrow between your brows deepened. The sight of it struck of a chord of distress within his chest, ratcheting up the mounting alarm he felt.

It was too much.

Words swam up his throat suddenly, and he blurted, “You have bewitched me!”

You took a step back, disconcerted by the unschooled outburst. Sherlock withdrew into himself, struggling to compose himself as he heard his own words echoing in his ears. He did not believe in superstitions, they being instruments for the uneducated masses to process that which they did not care to understand, but he had dared to say bewitched as though it were true.

It had to be, did it not? How else to explain his uncharacteristic behavior? The whirlwind of feelings buzzing beneath his skin and making him physically ill?

Moderating his voice as best he could, he repeated, the words springing to his lips and spilling over through a thick throat, “You have bewitched me…body and soul.”

Surprise transitioned by increments into disbelief, followed by cautious optimism. You glanced away demurely, pausing to gather a response.

Sherlock’s heart thudded in his ears. He tried to bat the feeling away, hating how beholden he was to your response, whatever it was, his stomach twisting.

Deliver me from this torment, he thought, pleading. What fresh hell was he being subjected to?

“You mean to say you think only of me?” you asked carefully, not meeting his gaze yet.

“Like a lesion on the brain,” he answered. The words did not strike him as anything but true.

You laughed. “A lesion on the brain, yes.”

He frowned, hesitating. He could hear Mycroft chastising him—not merely for fumbling social interactions but for even succumbing to a woman’s charms in the first place—and the ghostly sound of his brother’s voice in his skull nearly made him storm from the room, embarrassment and shame working to displace the other feelings he had. Shaken by the emotions, he struggled to remain steadfast. Pursuing killers down harrowing avenues had never instilled such trepidation within him.

“And if I told you the same?”

Sherlock glanced at you sharply, his brow furrowing. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“I think of you too often to be…salubrious,” you said, a note of laughter chased by distress in your voice. “As you said, a lesion on the brain.”

Hope fluttered in his chest, making him sick even as he felt himself chasing the feeling.

“In that regard, I suppose you also have bewitched me…body and soul.”

Silence stretched in the quiet room, so complete that Sherlock was sure you could hear the thundering of his heart.

“I…I’m afraid I do not know how to proceed,” he managed to say. He had never found himself in such a predicament.

You smiled lopsidedly, then drew near him. Your hand reached out to brush his, first the back of your knuckles against his, then your fingers twining with his as he responded in kind.

“I’m not sure how,” you murmured, “but we can learn together, can’t we?”

#Sherlock Holmes x Reader #Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock Holmes imagine #Henry Cavill x Reader #Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill imagine #Henry!Sherlock #Cavill!Holmes #Enola Holmes #requests

[multific]

Holmes Brothers Reaction to You getting hurt by Their Enemy - Preferences

Mycroft Holmes

Mycroft didn't care for 'Goldfish'. Then why was he rushing to the hospital as soon as he got the call? Why did his heart skip a beat when your name and the word 'shot' was mentioned in the same sentence?

Mycroft didn't even stop by the reception desk, he knew where you were, of course he did.

And then, he saw you on the bed, talking to a nurse as she put a new IV bag up for you.

"Myc?"

"Darling." he said so naturally, it didn't even shock you. His eyes scanned you over and you knew he just checked your health better than any doctor could have.

"I'm perfectly fine. I was shot, my arm does hurt, but I'm fine." you said and Mycroft collected himself and smoothened his tie.

"I wasn’t worried." he said and you giggled. Of course, he would deny any emotion, but you knew better, you saw it in his eyes.

Mycroft stayed with you while they checked you out, he wanted to be 100% sure everything was absolutely okay with you. And once you could leave the hospital, he would make sure to drive you home and he would only drive away once the light in your apartment is turned on, that's when he'd know you are safe. Of course, he would have his revenge on the person who did this to you.

Even if he said he didn't care, he certainly did. It warmed your heart and certainly made you hope for the future.

Sherlock Holmes

John got the call, you called him asking if he can drive you home since you were attacked and left with a broken ankle, Sherlock just happened to be there.

Sherlock made John break a couple laws while driving there "My brother IS the government, you won't get a ticket!" he said over and over.

But once they arrived at the hospital, he'd be stoic, he would also analyse your posture, getting to the conclusion that your injury was bad but not life-threatening, what was scarier is what you said to John.

"I was walking home when they hit me in the head. They said it was because of Sherlock and then after a couple hits and kicks, they left, they smelled strongly of alcohol."

Sherlock was immediately on the case, already half done by the time they arrived to your home.

Sherlock would proudly present to you the three men that attacked you by the time you got to your apartment and opened the door. And five minutes later, the men were in cuffs.

You knew it was his way of showing he cared.

"You should tell her." said John as the two sat back into the car.

"Tell her what?"

"You are clever, Sherlock, you know what I meant." John started driving as Sherlock smiled, he just might, in the future, so you can move in and he can keep you safe.

And John ended up with speeding and parking tickets.

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​​​​​

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

#Mycroft Holmes #mycroft holmes fanfiction #mycroft holmes fanfic #mycroft x reader #mycroft holmes imagines #Sherlock Holmes x Reader #sherlock holmes imagines #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes #sherlock series #mycroft holmes bbc #bbc mycroft holmes #sherlock bbc #bbc sherlock #sherlock imagine #sherlock imagines #sherlock x reader #mycroft x you

[kazuma-nyasogi]

man this new olympian fucking sucks

#herlock sholmes #my art #hades #hades fanart #tgaa #dgs sherlock holmes #i wanted to give him a violin but i didnt want to draw a fucking violin #just. just imagine his boon/keepsake jingle is a violin

[imyourbratzdoll]

Hi Cheleah😌❤️

drunk sex with Sherlock(Henry) pls👀👀

hi baby! another request done, hehe. I hope you like it even with how short it is.

summary - your husband fucks you after a few drinks.

warning - smut, intoxication, swearing, creampie.

18+ only please, the gif I use isn't mine, divider by @newlips

You moan, feeling his slow but rough movements against you. Sherlock moves inside of you, whispering slurred drunken words into your ear. “So fucking tight and warm, my best darling.” He groans, gripping your hips roughly, thrusting harder and deeper. Your mind is fuzzy from the intense pleasure mixed with the alcohol. The feeling of his thick member sliding in and out of you feels excellent. Everything felt so electrifying, so raw and passionate. Your husband looks deep into your eyes, smirking as he notices your glazed-over look matches his. “My precious little darling, letting me have you even while intoxicated.” The scent of whiskey on his breath causes your eyes to roll to the back of your head and your walls to clench around his throbbing member. 

Sherlock cups your cheek, instructing you to wrap your legs around him as he picks up the pace, slamming into your sweet spot deep inside. You cling to him, not daring to let go of the man you love, the man currently splitting you open over and over again. You feel shivers roll through your body, a bliss washing over you as your back arches and your juices flow out of you. Sherlock snaps, becoming feral in his drunken state, pinning you down into the mattress and pounding you into it. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream. 

He buries his face into your neck, grunting when his balls tighten and his cock throbs wildly, thrusting as deep as he can before he lets go. Thick spurts of cum fill you to the brim, leaking from your full cunt. You whimper, trembling underneath him as his cum continues to shoot out of his mushroom tip. “Good girl, such a good girl.” 

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

#imyourbratzdollasks #imyourbratzdollwork #jamneuromainask #sherlock holmes fanfiction #henry cavill x y/n #sherlock holmes #henry cavill x you #sherlock holmes fandom #henry cavill x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #henry cavill #sherlock holmes fic #henry cavill x female reader #sherlock holmes fluff #henry cavill fanfiction #sherlock holmes imagine #henry cavill imagine #sherlock holmes au #henry cavill characters #sherlock holmes x you #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill fic #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill imagines #henry cavill au #henry cavill angst #henry cavill x short!reader

[imeternallylove]

Every second - Sherlock Holmes

Sherlock x Reader (request)

genre: mild angst, end with fluff

warning: blood, the shot and reader injured

words: 2.0k

main mastetlist | request | prompts

You don't hesitate at all.

Not even for a second.

"Shoot me, not him."

The instant the words left your mouth, you knew you were ready to receive all of the riskiness of life for Sherlock. At the moment, your life didn't matter. It would be best if you concentrated on moving the weapon away from his face and toward yours.

"Yeah? I suppose I should!" The man's insane eyes light up as he waves the weapon at you.

In front of this guy, spread your surrendering hands.

"I'm the one you're searching for," Sherlock adds with his panic that is kept out of sight. When his eyes meet yours, his jaw clenched in anxiety, a stream of emotions surges in the crystal blue pupils, only to be replaced by steely resolve a second later. His focus has shifted back to the man who has him roped to the pipes. "You don't want her. You wantㅡ"

"Shut up!" The handgun is held between you and Sherlock. The man appeared to be conflicted about who to shoot. You notice his finger tightening on the trigger as the gun rests on your detective's temple.

No hesitate, no more. You take a step forward in a second decision, aiming to disarm the man while his focus is on Sherlock. And just as his finger returns to the trigger, you lash out, and the man's hold on the pistol drops. Then, He collapses at your feet in a heap.

It all escalated quickly that you overlook him as you turn to confront Sherlock. He's been shot, oh my gosh. You're going freaking out. He's been shot! He's been attacked!

Hurry kneel in front of him, your hands both shaking in shock, before reaching into his pocket for the handcuff keys that will release Sherlock. Your stare scourges his physique for the bullet wound.

You shouldn't believe his idea to buy time; you two should call Lestrade since he stole the handcuff keys an hour ago.

But why don't you discover any of his wounds? With your brow furrowed in confusion, you only see the only of his blood that dried on his temple from where he was pistol-whipped.

Sherlock has kept his mouth shut. His eyes are wide with shock. "Y/N," he murmurs weakly as you notice his sweat vegetate wider. Your eyes follow his attention to your shoulder, where his palm rests on your middle abdomen, which felt bizarrely thick.

You soon feel as if the air has been knocked out of you. The permeated dark spots in your vision make it hard to focus on releasing Sherlock from his shackles.

The key hits the ground, out from your grip. "Sher-" you squint cautiously, even attempting to speak out is tough due to your tongue having been taken over by a metallic taste in sudden.

"Y/N!" His voice has gotten more urgent. Distressed. Frightened. He's tense against the metal bands on his wrists, which are the only thing keeping him from helping you. "Give me the keys." He repeats once again, "give me the keys!"

But you're already swaying, your eyes wandering away.

"Y/N! Hey, love. Focus on me." He orders you yet again, hoping to catch your attention. You bet you could smile at the thought of the callous guy finally giving you a nice pet name after everything you two have been through, but you only reach down to collect the keys to the grey stone floor.

Slowly, you gasp in pain and collapse off his lap.

"No, no, no, no!"

The scream that burst from his lungs wasn't human, and you barely get the keys to him before a realm of darkness sends you reeling, striking you out.

The throbbing with a continuous discomfort across your shoulder makes you rouse even if you don't like to. However, there is an entry point that compels you to do so, and that awful sensation causes you to grunt.

Close your eyes fairly rapidly when the brightness of the light gets underway to urge you; it's the same as a major assault while you're injured and so lame like this. Your overall body winces as a touch tightens around your significantly.

Sherlock is sitting next to you. Deep sleep, holding your hand, head in your lap.

The grand extent of your love for the consulting detective reveals when means of the crooked toothy smile that appears on your lips, in spite of the fact that your bone into and out of the skull feels like it's being pierced by a million knives.

You assess your condition as quietly as you can, hoping not to bother him. Eventually, you were certain that Sherlock hasn't left your side, no matter how long you'd been bound to this bed.

That whenever a nurse steps in, watches you and his posture, her lips pucker moodily. Maybe to call a doctor or wake him up, but your brain acts far faster than your muscles, your finger to your lip and shakes your head as you groan in pain yet again.

As you slink back beneath your blankets, the nurse only smiles, then injects the analgesic to temporarily relieve your pain and leaves the room. It heals you and makes your eyes suddenly heavy.

"That was the most ridiculous thing you've ever done." Sherlock's rich-hush accent is as radiant as the bright day, despite the fact that his words are muttered darken. And when he speaks, his head doesn't lift from your lap; simply put, he clings to your lap as his mouth works.

"Ew, shouldn't have woken to be blamed like that."

You're only joking, you know his magnificent cerebrum pate must detect it well. However, his stranglehold on you grows stronger, contradicting your core assumption. "I'm kidding, kay? I'm not dead, you see." Your voice turns strained since Sherlock doesn't reply back, but you may presume he heard what you have said.

"You're back," his eyes now rest on your face, one of his thumbs tracing your velvety cheek, for a while until his both palms cupping your face, caressing them at a slow speed as if hanging in the air as if he was afraid you wouldn't stay with him as long as he'd desire. He repeated it yet again, his voice possibly cracked, if you're not so wrong. "You've come back."

Your eyes shut when his lips are on your forehead, let out a soft chuckle when he shifts away. Sudden, the detective made your blood vessels dilate by the lips locked together in the same place as yours.

"Yeah," you made a point of saying gently as you patted his curly hair with your free hand, soothing him and enhancing your wide smile. Glaring at every feature of his face that you cherish, you're the one who made his face seem fatigued.

Sighing, your fingers are on his chin, brushing his newly sprouting moustache, which has always been shaven. "I'll always come back for you."

Every morning, your painkillers were there on the bedside table, with a glass of water alongside it. Every shower time, there are fresh and warm towels all prepared for you.

Every breakfast, lunch, and dinner was always served promptly by your words. Comfort foods and hot chocolate were suddenly plentiful. Blankets, hugs, kisses, and movies were never in short supply. You were offered a hot bath, his kiss buried all over yours, not just even your face.

You keep telling Sherlock that it's not necessary to do this. All he was doing is using lots of extra effort in helping you with activities that you can do alone. And his habit, regularly, your words are never acknowledged like he's deaf ears. He never hesitates to attend to your every need and want, even if you don't think of them.

And every night, you fall asleep clutching his chest.

This night, unfortunately, was completely different.

"No!"

Sherlock's relentless scream wakes you up. In the dim illumination, you blink erratically, seeing him burying his face into the pillows, his hands extending, folding, and extending over, attempting to reach something in the air. "Don't go. Please! Please don't do this to me."

Sitting up and adjusting your eyesight to match the light source, you can clearly notice your Sherlock, who is lost in the depths of a hellish nightmare.

Then you realized, shockingly, that he never stops sobbing, crying out for your name.

You don't give it any thought before cuddling up to his shoulder. "I'm here," you whisper as you take one of his arms and brush gentle circles into his palm, brushing away his soreness. His face crushes on your chest, and your lips press against his sweaty brow, "I never left you, Sherlock. No, I wouldn't."

The yelling match isn't the first you've ever had, so you've been shouting and insulting each other since the Scotland Yard, the cab, and now you're both struggling to breathe and marching in the flat's bedroom even if you're not speaking.

"I'm not a kid! I can take care of myself."

"I know you can! But you! you-" His hands over his waist, leaving his back to chat with you. "You-"

"What the hell?"

"It's different."

"For God's sake! Sherlock Holmes! Don't make me look like the load!!"

"No, you don't get it- it isn't."

"Why the hell not?"

Sherlock exhales sharply, a furious hand raking through his hair. Flaming bright blue eyes gazing into yours with such real seriousness that it was almost broken, but how could this man be expressing to you his emotional reactions?

"Because I can't lose you!"

The enormous tension in the room appears to disappear all at once. As he rants, your rage diminishes, and your shoulders sag. The fight seems to be over. Sherlock has moved his gaze away from you. He steps away and sits on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, striving to control his rate of breathing.

You bite your bottom lip and approach his side. Stick close and place your palm under his tough jaw as he slowly glances up. "You're not losing me," claim comfortably, your head bowed to look into his eyesight.

"You have no clue." Sherlock's hand completely covers your spine and upper hips. "Didn't you observe? I can't lose you."

"I do."

After that, neither of you says anything. Then he grunts, and now you truly have no idea what he's saying. He urges you to flop back into his arms, dragging you down to the mattress with him.

You chuckle as his hands trace your midsection to your shoulder, pinning your leg between his, chest to chest, foreheads squished together, noses intertwining.

For a little moment, time freezes. Before you both slide into a desperate kiss, you look directly into Sherlock's sight, breathing, feeling, and appreciating his soft touch.

He intensifies his grip on you and tosses you both over, keeping you beneath him. Sherlock's warm breath tickles your ear as he gives a tentative nibble at your neck. "I love you," he whispered, one hand caressing your head, the other trailing the exposed skin at the hem of your top.

"I love you," you say in response before your lips meet in kisses that endure all night.

You'll never wonder why you respond positively the way you do. He doesn't either. Because there isn't any other option when it comes to you and Sherlock.

No more alternatives.

"I love you," he repeats once more, this time more passionately.

His jaw's proprietor seems to be yours from now on, owing to a peck of the kiss. "I love you."

"I love you even more," Sherlock whispers as he climbs over you. Fighting a nibble on your neck just causes you to crack up laughing.

Every second, his face leans in and ends with giving you a really great kiss; it's completely worthy of melting your universe, and you're confident he felt exactly the same way.

Neither of you will be hesitating.

Not even for a second.

.

#sherlock bbc #bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock x you #sherlock holmes imagines #bbc sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x you #bbc sherlock imagine

[callmemaeverick]

Dangerous Games [Sherlock Holmes x fem!Reader]

A/N: This little oneshot has been playing in my head since the release and I had to get to get it out. Forewarning, this is unbeta’d AND non-period accurate. I am not a Brit, nor am I from that era, though I like to pretend. I just like Henry as Sherlock and I like whump, so when he was shot, well, this came out of it. 

Summary: You are Mrs Hudson’s niece and you were at your aunt’s for your monthly visit, when you heard her favourite tenant stumble through the door

You knew of him, of course. How could you not? He had commanded attention and admiration wherever he went. And that case Basilweather case a few months ago made him even more popular. But you knew him not as the brilliant detective. No. You knew him as your aunt’s reclusive tenant.

Sherlock Holmes.

He was definitely a character, you decided. Sharp as a tack and not a bad violinist. But he was also blunt and straightforward, sometimes to the point of rudeness. You could recall a time or two where his unsolicited remarks and astute observations made you clench your fists and narrow your eyes at him.

And then there’s the constant revolving door of guests, wanted and unwanted, going up and down the stairs to his flat cum office cum lab cum whatever else. It was very irritating for one looking for a peaceful afternoon with one’s reading.

Your aunt loves him though. Dotes on him as if he was her own. You knew he had helped her with something serious, but no matter how many times you asked, she wouldn’t tell you what. It sometimes drives you mad, but deep down you were grateful he was there to help.

So, despite his apparent lack of empathy, you knew he was a good man. Which was the only reason you put up with him.

xxxx

“You’re an idiot, Sherlock Holmes,” You hissed as you pulled the thread stitching his skin back together.

Judging by the quirk of his eyebrow, you knew it was not something he hears often. In fact, most of the time, it was probably the exact opposite. But you were undeterred, especially since he almost gave you a heart attack, walking through the front door limping and covered in blood.

“Do I want to know the reason you decided to forego a hospital and the attention of a real doctor?”

Sherlock grunted at a particular sharp tug of the suture but did not pull away from your hand. "And miss out on your charming company? Never."

Rolling your eyes at his snark, you returned your focus to the gunshot wound. "Don’t be glib with me, you know it doesn’t work. And it’s not like you couldn’t afford the hospital, so tell me what’s going on?”

When your question was left unanswered, you finished off the last suture and looked up, just to find that his attention was no longer on you but on his map over your shoulder, still cluttered with notes. Frowning, you shifted to block his line of sight. “Sherlock?”

“I had to know.” There was no trace of jest in his voice anymore.

“Know what?”

“I had to know how deep the corruption goes. Her web. I need to know what she’s involved in.”

“She? Enola?” You referred to his young sister, someone you had just met a few days ago helping the man before you up the stairs. She endeared herself to you quite quickly, you realized, as you felt your concern for the Holmes’ siblings grow.

“No. Mira Troy. Moriarty.”

You scoffed at the clever wordplay and turned to look at the map behind you. The name was written clearly on one of the cards.

“She could have died… Enola.” He clarified before you asked. “Had the knife been real, she could've…”

You didn’t know what had truly happened and you suspect you might never will. But you knew it had shaken him quite seriously.

“Sherlock, hey, look at me,” You called, turning back to him. You waited until he pulled his eyes to yours, until you could see the slight discoloration in his left iris. “She is safe, hm? She is sleeping, right in there.” You motioned to his bedroom. "You need not worry."

His gaze moved to his closed door as if he could see right through the wood.

“I just got her.”

“And you’re scared you’re going to lose her.”

“Yes.”

You smiled at the sentiment in his soft voice. He wasn’t as unfeeling as he would like people to think him to be. “You’ve changed, Sherlock Holmes.”

He hummed, coming to the same conclusion. “Perhaps.”

“Give her some credit, Sherlock. She’s tougher than she looks.”

He was silent as he contemplated your words and you didn’t know what he was seeing as he turned to look at you but you refused to break under his stare.

“Like you?"

Heat tinged your cheeks at the sincere mirth dancing in his eyes. It hadn't escaped your begrudging notice that Sherlock Holmes is an attractive man, all wide, strong shoulders and deep voice. It also didn’t help that he was indeed one of the most intelligent man you’ve met.

The feel of his soft touch on the back of your hand stole your attention and your breath stuttered in your lungs when you saw that your hand were clasped overtop his. You didn’t know when you had reached out to him, but what shocked you more was that you felt comfortable enough that the action did not even register to you.

You could only watch as he leaned a little bit closer, grunting with the effort. His head dipped to where his thumb was tracing your knuckles. “My sister believes I’m alone here. In need of a companion."

"Is that," Your voice had dropped to a whisper, as if you were sharing a secret, so you cleared your throat to return it back to normal. "your way of asking me to be your friend?"

Sherlock looked up at you and you froze at the look in his eyes. Heart beating wildly in your chest, you followed his gaze as it dropped to your lips. "Not a friend." He said.

You opened your mouth to respond.

"Sherlock?"

The call of his name might as well be a clap of thunder with the way you both jumped apart at the sound of it. And in that instance, the moment was gone. Blood rushing to your face in embarrassment, the both of you awkwardly stood to face Enola, coming out of the room.

"Are you two alright?" She asked taking in the sight of you, wide eyed and flushed, and Sherlock, shirtless and bloodied. "I heard-"

"Y-yes. I was just... leaving." You sidestepped the man before you and headed for the door, highly aware said man following closely behind.

He called your name, exasperation in his tone, but you ignored it.

"Keep the wound and stiches dry and you'd be right as rain in a few days." Over his shoulder, you smiled at his sister. "You take care of yourself, Enola. If you still feel dizzy and nauseous, have your brother take you to the hospital, alright?" Finally meeting his eyes, you tried to convey what your lips hadn't had the chance to.

"Goodnight, Mr Holmes."

His lips twitched at the game you had initiated. He inclined his head in reply.

The game is on.

Part II

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