#bbc sherlock holmes imagines

[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

[lovecraftiancicada]

#hannigram #hannibal lecter #will graham #sherliam #sherlock holmes #william james moriarty #sheriarty #sherlock holmes bbc #jim moriarty #lawlight #l lawliet #light yagami #chishiya shuntaro x sunato banda #otp #uhh who else #i can't remember #it's like 1am and i have school tom #imagine your otp #i'll update the tags if i remember any more #feel free to add on

[starks-hero]

brother dearest

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Summary: Mycroft had never considered himself to be overprotective. However, he isn't overly pleased with how smitten his little brother is with you...

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: John is the only one with any emotional intelligence and Mycroft is faced with the horrifying ordeal of realising his younger sibling is dating, so they're all idiots really

Mycroft Holmes could practically feel his blood pressure rising. Confidential documents had been stolen from the very hands of the British government, putting the democratic well-being of an entire nation in jeopardy. And his little brother wouldn't answer the phone.

The moment word of the breach had gotten to Mycroft his first plan of action was to call Sherlock. Of course, he could have hypothetically dealt with the issue himself had it not required leg work. But to his dismay, contacting the youngest Holmes seemed to be as unlikely as winning the lottery.

Tossing dignity to the wind in the name of restoring balance to the western world, Mycroft stooped to the, in his opinion, ever embarrassing low of visiting Baker Street himself. He ascended the stairs, his displeasure evident in the weight of his steps, and refused to practice the common courtesy of knocking before entering the flat. Sherlock had lost that privilege when he refused to pick up the bloody phone.

Mycroft tutted with annoyance when he found both the living room and kitchen empty. Sherlock's coat, with whom he refused to go anywhere without, still hung idle on the clothes rack. He was in the flat and Mycroft was going to find him if he had to tear away every brick.

With all the begrudgement of a man who'd had his morning routine seriously uprooted, Mycroft marched towards Sherlock's bedroom and swung open the door.

He almost immediately wished he hadn't.

Sherlock lay sprawled out on the bed, white sheets twisting over alabaster skin. His eyes were shut, his hair a tangled mess of curls and you lay by his side.

Mycroft's jaw fell so quickly he expected it to unhinge and clatter against the floor with all the comedic effect of a nineties cartoon.

Sherlock's head rested against your shoulder whilst the lower half of your face was largely hidden by his curls. Your lips brushed his forehead in a prolonged kiss and Sherlock's arm was thrown over you almost possessively. Your own hand curled softly around the nape of his neck.

Disbelief, embarrassment and anger chased each other across Mycroft's expression before he settled with complete mortification. He couldn't explain it, not really, but seeing his little brother in bed with someone made him feel ridiculously nauseous.

Sherlock shifted, stretching out his limbs like a content cat before nuzzling closer to you.

Having no idea what else to do, the eldest Holmes shut the door. After a quick and failed attempt to purge the last few moments from his memory, he made his way back towards the living room.

He was met by John.

The doctor quickly did away with his fresh bag of groceries in order to make small talk, much to Mycroft's disdain. When John got around to the reason for his visit, and therefore Sherlock's current whereabouts, Mycroft shifted awkwardly.

“He seems to be occupied.”

A look of confusion clouded John's expression. He glanced down the hallway, jutting his thumb in the direction of Sherlock's room.

“I'm fairly certain he's just–” John's words were dissolved by the bitter look that was thrown his way by the eldest Holmes. “–oh, he didn't tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Mycroft asked with a painfully fake smile.

John swallowed thickly, suddenly very unhappy with the fact that he was the one that had to break the news to possibly the most powerful man in Britain that his little brother was seeing someone.

“He uh– he didn't tell you about himself and Y/N?”

Mycroft blinked. “It would appear he left out that minor detail.”

The silence that followed was awkward at best and utterly painful at worst. John, who wanted nothing more for the interaction to end but had no idea how to make that happen, nodded. Mycroft cleared his throat and readjusted his hold on his umbrella.

He glanced back towards his brother's room and John didn't miss the subtle glare he was trying to hide. Ah, so that's what this was about. John may not have shared Sherlock's observational skills but he did have a sister. He knew what overprotectiveness looked like.

“Mycroft, you do realise that Sherlock is an adult.”

“If that's what you would like to call him.”

“Right,” John dismissed quickly. “But he and Y/N are together. They have feelings–”

What was very much beginning to sound like a new rendition of ‘the birds and the bees’ was shortened by a scoff on Mycroft's behalf.

"My brother is barely capable of understanding his own feelings, you think he can handle someone else's?"

“You'd be surprised.”

Surprised was certainly one word for it. Mycroft simply couldn't imagine his brother being emotionally involved with anyone, regardless of how much imagination he tried to employ. He failed to imagine Sherlock in any situation that involved intimacy or vulnerability, let alone with you.

As if the very thought of you had doubled as a summoning spell, you entered the kitchen, steps lazy and eyes tired. If you were surprised to see the eldest Holmes you hid it well.

“Mycroft,” you greeted with a tight-lipped smile.

“Y/N.”

Your eyes moved between him and John, trying to piece together what exactly you'd walked into. John cleared his throat. You fought the urge to just go back to bed.

“Can I get you anything?” You motioned to the kitchen.

“My brother, if it's no trouble.”

“Showering,” you yawned. You decided not to add the bit where Sherlock had mentioned needing to ‘cool off before facing the devil so early in the morning’ upon realising his brother was in the living room. “He won't be long.”

“I see. I hate to show up unannounced. But I tried to call this morning and it seemed he was unavailable.”

You smirked despite yourself. Mycroft's grasp on his umbrella tightened.

After a few agonising moments that consisted of you cluelessly making yourself a morning cup of tea, Mycroft glaring holes into your back and John all but hiding behind his newspaper, Sherlock joined you.

His hair was damp, curls frizzed up due to the warm water. Mycroft hadn't seen it in such a state since Sherlock was a child. The unruly nature of his hair, as well as its tendency to make him look far less intimidating and far more endearing, often led to embarrassment. Which is why Mycroft was so surprised to see him so at ease.

Sherlock didn't so much as acknowledge his brother's existence as he made a beeline towards you, accepting the tea you offered and leaving a lazy kiss against the side of your head. He was smiling fondly all the while.

Said smile immediately fell when he spotted Mycroft. Sherlock muttered something about god under his breath and took a long, almost purposefully so, sip from his mug before speaking.

“Terrorist attack or security breach?”

Mycroft raised an unamused brow.

“It's ten o'clock on a Sunday morning, from my understanding you should be having tea with the prime minister or something–” Sherlock waved his free hand around dismissively. “You wouldn't be here if it wasn't of national importance. So which is it? Suspected terrorist attack or a security breach?”

“That, brother mine, is something you would have already been clued in on if you'd learned how to answer my calls.” Mycroft intended for his words to be somewhat scolding but judging by how Sherlock reclined in his chair and crossed his legs he figured his attempt at exerting some sort of authority over his younger brother had failed. “Now, it's not as threatening as initially believed but still relevant enough to warrant some sort of investigation. Which is why I need you to–”

His words fizzled out at the sight of you moving to stand behind Sherlock's chair. Your stance was relaxed, comfortable, as if you felt you belonged where you stood, as some sort of watchful protector. Mycroft glowered.

You seemed unfazed and Mycroft couldn't tell which he hated more, your hand now on Sherlock's shoulder or the fact that his brother was smirking because of it.

By some miracle, he managed to make it through the rest of the briefing without giving away just how much he wanted the floorboards to open up and swallow him.

He didn't know why the sight of you both together irritated him so much but by god was it getting under his skin. The glances you shared that Mycroft knew had hidden meanings behind them. How his brother, who needed a week's recovery in his room after any social interaction, preened under your touch. The youthful look in his eyes, the boyish smile. It was somehow painful to look at.

Mycroft could still recall when he was the only one that could placate his brother. When they were children, spending hours in their garden estate, finding insects and frogs and recalling their Latin names. Anything to keep their brilliant young minds entertained. He remembered how Sherlock would light up with each new nugget of information Mycroft gave him. Even into their teenage years, he was the one Sherlock trusted, the one he looked to for help and guidance. It had always been him.

But now, now there was you.

He had you to confide in. To talk to. To irritate with a tirade of useless facts that anyone else would think irrelevant. He had you to look out for him and comfort him and Mycroft couldn't understand why this was angering him so–

Oh.

The notion that his little brother had, in fact, grown up and didn't need him anymore came as a very unwelcome realisation. Mycroft had the sudden desire to leave the flat as promptly as he could.

“Well,” he cleared his throat. “I should be getting on. I trust you'll fill me in on your findings?”

Sherlock groaned, in agreement or dismissal it was hard to tell.

Mycroft, who now wanted nothing more than to leave, turned to make his way to the door. “Good day, doctor Watson.”

John nodded, not failing to notice the change in Mycroft's stance.

‘He's copped on then.’

Partially because of your closeness to the door and partially in an attempt to rectify whatever you'd done to wrong Mycroft, you moved to show him out.

He passed you silently but as you stepped back to close the door, he stopped you.

He seemed uneasy, an emotion that looked unnatural and foreign on him. His nerves were infectious and you quickly found yourself growing anxious, expecting him to gift you with some horrific piece of information to pass on to Sherlock to save him from dealing with the mess of telling his brother himself.

His actual request was something much softer.

“Take care of him, will you?”

It took a few moments for you to blink away your surprise. As confused as you were, you nodded all the same.

“Of course.”

Mycroft responded with a nod of his own, offered a surprisingly genuine smile and then turned to leave. He'd descended the stairs entirely by the time you finally closed the flat door.

“What was that about?” Sherlock asked nonchalantly.

You shook your head. “Absolutely no idea.”

John took a sudden interest in his newspaper in an attempt to ignore just how hard he was biting his tongue.

thank you for reading!

Sherlock tag list: @miraclesoflove @ilovefanfictions @mylovelysnowflake @quentawewe @bakerstreethound @andreasworlsboring101 @doozywoozy @xxinvisiblexx @the-worst-critic @the-queer-dungeoneer @jellyfishbeansontoast @starrykitn @starryeddie @ladymercury8 @themorningsunshine @evelynrosestuff @mywellspringoflife @simp-for-scammanders @Xhz17x @allieberries @kealohilani-tepise

#finally starting to clear out my drafts to help me get back in the writing groove #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #bbc sherlock x reader #sherlock imagine #sherlock x you #sherlock holmes x you #bbc sherlock x you #bbc sherlock imagine #bbc sherlock #1k

[lilmoonbunny]

Denial; Mycroft Holmes

Mycroft only seeked you out to deduce you (aka, how Mycroft realised he liked you).

John and Sherlock were, without a doubt, the loudest neighbours that Y/N had ever had.

Gunshots at God only knows what hour, constant stabbing, banging, and so on. Despite this, she still considered them dear friends and the best neighbours that she had ever had. Sure, they were weird and loud, but they were also kind and genuine, at least for the most part. Alongside this, they also appreciated her baking, especially after long cases.

A gentle knock sounded on the door the 221B catching the attention of three people.

“You can come in, Y/N,” Sherlock called from behind the door, greeting the woman with a nod before turning his attention back to Mycroft whilst John smiled at her.

“Hi, Sherly. Hi, John.” She smiled at the two friends before turning to the older Holmes brother. “Hi, Mr Holmes.” Y/N greeted him with a smile. Although she hadn’t met him before, it wasn’t difficult to deduce who he was; the expensive suit and the fact Sherlock was glaring at him gave it away.

“Sherly?” Mycroft spat, grimacing at the nickname given to his brother. “Who on Earth would you let call you that?” He asked.

“This is Y/N, our neighbour. What have you brought for us today? I’ve been looking forward to this all week.” The sweet smile Sherlock gave to the woman made Mycroft feel ill. He had no clue who this woman was and absolutely no idea why they seemed to be this close.

“Chocolate cake, sugar cookies, and love.” She joked, beginning to laugh at the way Mycroft audibly gagged. “I’m only kidding. No love.”

“I should certainly hope not,” came Mycroft’s response, one which simply made her laugh again.

“Are you jealous, Mycroft?”

“Because of the cake, he is.” Sherlock interrupted, waving Myrcoft off. “No, I won’t take the case. You can leave now.”

“This is an urgent matter, brother mine.”

“Don’t care.”

With a groan and a roll of his eyes, Mycroft lifted himself to his feet and prepared to leave.

“I’ll leave these with you, just in case you change your mind. Goodbye brother mine. John.” The hesitation was obvious on Mycroft’s face, despite how well he typically hid his emotions, as he faced Y/N.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr Holmes.” Y/N smiled sweetly, earning a simple nod from him before he left.

Sherlock, who had leaned to grab the tub of baked goods from the woman’s hands, rolled his eyes as Mycroft left and immediately began to eat.

It wasn’t long until Y/N’s entire life had been researched.

There wasn’t much there. No criminal record, a few jobs, occasional moves, but no sign of her posing any danger to Sherlock and, by association, John. However, the way Mycroft felt upon seeing her was unusual, so he decided to do his own investigation.

“Morning, Mr Holmes,” he was greeted before he reached the empty counter. “Welcome to my bakery! Would you like anything?”

“Just a coffee, please. Black.” Mycroft nodded, not returning the smile she had given, despite the odd feeling it gave him. She was evil and he would prove it to Sherlock.

“Coming right up! Take a seat wherever you’d like, and I’ll bring it over.”

As Mycroft occupied a seat, he took a moment to properly assess the woman making his drink.

She didn’t seem threatening: a content smile on her lips as she prepared his coffee, humming a quiet tune that he barely picked up on. In fact, she didn’t seem out of the ordinary at all, but the feeling when he first saw her – a feeling Mycroft couldn’t explain – had him needing to investigate her further.

“Here you go, Mr Holmes.” Y/N said, placing a hot coffee and chocolate cake on the table in front of him. “Sherlock mentioned that you like cake, so I grabbed you some. It’s all on the house.”

“Why?”

With a small laugh, she responded without hesitation. “You’re Sherlock’s brother.”

How odd, Mycroft thought to himself. She doesn’t even know me and she’s giving me things for free…

Despite his thoughts, Mycroft simply nodded, watching as she took a seat opposite him. “I hope you don’t mind. It’s quiet today so I figured I’d try and keep you company the best I can. I’m sure you have better company than me, though.”

“I don’t mind,” he replied before even thinking. It was safe to say that he didn’t enjoy the way his chest felt whilst he watched her smile.

Maybe she’s a witch? No, don’t be stupid, Mycroft. They don’t exist.

“So,” Y/N’s voice broke the man from his thoughts. “It’s a funny story how me, Sherlock, and John met. I was actually working and Sherlock bursts in demanding to talk to me. My baking stuff had been found at a crime scene and he thought it was me!”

“How interesting.” Came Mycroft’s blunt reply, even if he was intrigued.

“You listened to it, so you must care, even just a little bit. I think that’s a win for me!”

Mycroft couldn’t help the tiniest smile that crawled onto his lips, but he internally prayed that nobody noticed it, especially her. She, however, seemed oblivious to the movement, simply staring over his shoulder and out of the window.

“Anyway, what was he like growing up? Was he like he is now? Blunt and rude?” Y/N asked with a giggle.

“He wasn’t, actually. He was rather sweet. He liked playing pretend with his friend; he always wanted a dog too.” Came Mycroft’s reply. “His favourite thing was pirates.” He said with a fond look in his eyes. Sherlock wasn’t going to be happy when he found out that he had told her, but he couldn’t resist answering her question.

Mycroft watched closely as the woman in front of him grinned, the bright and happy smile a nice contrast to what he was used to whilst working with the government. He couldn’t help but smile back, noting how her smile widened further as he did so.

“That’s sweet. I couldn’t imagine that, to be honest,”

It was time to ask the question that was on his mind. “Are you attracted to Sherlock?”

“Sherlock?” Y/N said, bursting into laughter. “No, absolutely not. He’s more like an annoying older brother. Same with John. We’re just friends, and, well, neighbours too.”

Confusion spread over Mycroft as she felt the weight on his shoulders lift at her words; she was telling the truth.

“How is she?” Sherlock asked the moment he answered the phone.

“How is who?” Mycroft’s voice sounded through the device.

“Y/N,”

“Why do you assume that I know?”

“It’s obvious you were there earlier.”

“…”

“Well, that and Mrs Hudson told us.”

“Of course she did.” Mycroft said with an involuntary roll of his eyes.

“So, how was it?”

“It was fine.”

“You like her then?”

“What makes you think that?”

“Well, you went to see her. It’s quite obvious, Mycroft. Come on, I thought you were smarter than that.”

Mycroft simply put the phone down.

He did not like her.

The next time that Mycroft came across Y/N was when it was raining.

He hadn’t wanted to seem ‘creepy’ by seeking her out again for more investigations and deductions, so he simply waited. She was friends with his brother, it wasn’t like their paths wouldn’t cross at some point. Besides, he didn’t want Sherlock to think that he liked her.

“Raining real bad tonight, isn’t it?” The driver spoke to Mycroft. He was new, so Mycroft couldn’t exactly blame him for attempting some type of conversation with him; it was still annoying, though.

Anthea, looking up from her phone was what caught Mycroft’s attention. “I feel bad for her.” She said, nodding towards a soaked woman. It only took Mycroft a moment to realise who it was.

“Pull over,” he stated bluntly, grabbing his umbrella. He simply ignored the look he was receiving from his assistant.

It had been a long day filled with rude customers, and to make it worse, it was raining, and she had forgotten her coat. Today couldn’t be going any worse for Y/N.

Shivering wildly and soaked to the core, Y/N huffed, watching the way her breath instantly evaporated; it was clearly below freezing, but she held out hope that the rain would stop and she would be home soon.

Her hope seemed to pay off, though, since she could no longer feel the rain. As she looked up at the sky, she spotted a familiar face.

“Mycroft?”

“Y/N.”

“What are you-“

“Get in.” He said, pointing towards the car before wordlessly leading her towards it, still holding the umbrella above her, even if he was getting wet.

“You don’t have to, Mycroft.” She said as he ushered her in and shut the door behind them both. “I mean, I’m soaking your car!”

Mycroft, who could feel the heat on his cheeks from their proximity, simply shook his head. He was too focused on the way her leg was pressed against his as she sat between him and Anthea who stared at her phone with a small smirk.

The ride was void of conversation, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, the only noise was that of Y/N shivering.

After a moment of hesitation, Mycroft shrugged off his jacket and handed her it. “Here.”

There was no chance of refusal, Mycroft wouldn’t allow it, so with a quiet ‘thanks’, Y/N popped the jacket over her shoulders. He just found the chattering of her teeth annoying, was what he told himself.

As they arrived at the flats, Mycroft followed her out of the car.

“Thank you, Mr Holmes.” She said as they stood on the door of her flat.

“Mycroft is fine, Y/N.”

“Thank you… Mycroft.” She said with a small smile before bidding him a goodnight.

“I see you gave her your jacket,” Was all Sherlock said as Mycroft entered 221B.

It was hard. Very hard. Harder than anything Y/N had ever experienced. Having a crush was not easy as it was, but having feelings for Mycroft Holmes was the hardest thing in the world: he rarely showed emotion, he was blunt, he was rude, but most importantly to her, deep down, he was nice.

A small sigh left Y/N’s lips as she worked on her latest batch of cookies for the morning. He was on her mind… again. It was a common occurrence by now.

“We’re not open yet, sorry!” She called over her shoulder at the sound of the door opening. As she turned around to see who it was and apologise again, a blush rushed to her cheeks. “Mycroft! What are you doing here?”

Mycroft stood there, umbrella in hand, and gave a simple shrug. “I was on my way to work so thought I would ‘pop in’ as people say.” He explained, earning a laugh from the baker.

“Modern phrases don’t suit you, Mycroft.” She teased.

With an amused shake of his head, Mycroft took a seat at the table nearest her.

“Want some cookies? They’re fresh out of the oven!”

Mycroft nodded with a grateful smile, always glad to have sweet treats. He would never turn down anyone’s desserts, least of all Y/N’s; not because he liked her and didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but because she was a good baker.

The pair sat in a comfortable silence, Mycroft gladly eating his cookies with an appreciative look whilst Y/N worked on her next batch. There was nothing awkward between them, and there, surprisingly, never had been.

“Are you not at work today?” Y/N broke the silence with a question that was bugging her. She could have sworn Mycroft had always worked this time over the months that she had known him.

Mycroft hesitated for a moment. He was supposed to be there right now but had decided to visit you before. It wasn’t like anyone could fire him for it, he was basically the British government, after all.

“Not yet,” he lied, and he was glad that he was a good liar.

“Oh, okay! I’m happy you came then. I don’t want to bother you.”

“You could never be a bother,” the words fell from his lips before he even registered what his thoughts, and he noticed the blush race up her cheeks, as did she with his.

“Thank you, Mycroft.”

As he stared at her and her rosy cheeks, a million thoughts went through his mind, but they were all related to one thing: her. It was in that moment that he realised the truth, he did like Y/N, and he had been attracted to her since the beginning; that was what he was feeling.

Oh dear…

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

[strangesthirdeye]

Sherlock:*opens the body bag*

John: *shocked because he saw Y/n in a body bag with airpods in her ears*

also John: uhm.. Sherlock, shouldn't the clothes or items related to the corpse be separated?

Sherlock: *groan in frust* Y/n! How many times have I told you not to sleep in a body bag!

Y/n: *gets up and yawns while stretching her hands and cracking her spine* nice bed ever

John:...

#benedict cumberbatch x reader #bbc shows #benedict cumberbatch #bbc sherlock x reader #the abominable bride #bbc sherlock imagine #incorrect sherlock quotes #martin freeman #dr john watson #johnlock #sherlock reader insert #bbc sherlock #sherlock bbc #sherlock holmes x reader

[fandom-oneshots-etc]

✨ Dropping by to request literally anything sherlock x reader - would love something with awkward idiots in love ✨

🍄 Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

🍄 Genre: Fluff

🍄 Summary: When Sherlock goes off on a frantic tangent, John knows exactly who to call, the idiot in love with him...

🍄 Word Count: 2084

🍄 Abbreviations: N/A

🍄 Warnings: N/A

🍄 Note: I hope this is what you were looking for Anon! :)

“What’s he doing this time?” you answered the phone as John’s name appeared. You had become so accustomed to the calls at all odd hours of the day, usually all pertaining to your high-functioning sociopath of a friend, Sherlock. Odd hours like the one now.

You had just sat down in your cloud chair, kindle in hand ready to read the next chapter of your gripping (b/g) when the phone had pinged, angrily vibrating against the coffee table-top. A puff of air had moved the stray hairs touching your face as you instantly recognized the personalized ring tone you had installed. You knew that John wouldn’t call you unless it was at least a code blue, blue-in-the-face blue. A colour code the two of you had created to describe the different moods of Sherlock Holmes.

“I’m so sorry-” You rolled your eyes with a little smile. “He’s just off on one. He solved the case, you know the one with the woman and the suitcases? He’s been off the walls since then. Can’t get him to settle, he’s talking about renovating the flat, knocking walls down for more ‘thinking space’. I think Mrs Hudson’s threatened to evict him already,” You couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped your lips at the thought of the sweet old woman threatening your tall friend, knowing very well that she’d mean every word. You could already picture the offended horror on Sherlock’s face at her threats.

“I’m on my way,” you reassured before hanging up the phone and pushing yourself out of the comfortable chair. Slipping your kindle into your bag, you grabbed your keys from the hook and turned off the lights. You didn’t bother changing out of your night clothes,, instead your threw a long coat over your pajamas and slipped on your trainers before heading out of the flat. You weren’t exactly keen on the idea of getting a cab this late at night, but you preferred that over walking the streets alone in the dark.

Thankfully, Baker Street was only a few roads away and the journey was nice and short with the lack of traffic at this time of night. Looking up at 221B you could see tat it was one of the only lights on in the street. You slipped the spare key out of your bag and unlocked the door to 221B.

Mrs Hudson reached the bottom of the stairs in an angry flurry huffing as she passed, a few rushed ‘oh dear’s escaping her lips as she passed you, only briefly making eye contact as she scurried back into her flat, red-faced. Taking that as your cue, you started up the stairs to the flat, fully expecting to see the flat in complete disarray, and you weren’t disappointed.

The papers from the now-closed case were still strewn across the flat, stuck to the walls, laid out on the desk, tucked under the tea cups on the small side table. The tea cups, several sat on the desk untouched and probably growing a few types of fungus that Sherlock could happily describe for you. The pillows from the sofa were thrown about the flat as Sherlock stood on the sofa, feet buried in the sofa cushions and tape measure I hand as he stretched it across the wall in front of him, a HB pencil clenched between his teeth.

“Thank God you’re here!” John poked his head out of the kitchen as if weary of the man in the living room. He gestured for you to step into the kitchen, with a final glance at the tall consulting detective, you slipped into the kitchen.

“How long has he been like this?” you asked, setting your bag down on the cluttered kitchen table. Piles and piles of old experiments were stacked tall, filling up almost the entire surface of the table and from the darkening black patch by one of the chairs you had no doubt that Sherlock had blown something up today, yet another thing to add to the list of problems for you and John.

“A couple of hours now, I stupidly thought that solving the case would change his mood, but it only seemed to make him more antsy for another one-” He sighed. “Sorry it’s so late, I know you usually sit down and read about now. I didn’t want to bother you but with Mrs Hudson threatening eviction I thought it best not to wait.” You smiled at your friend and shook your head.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s been a while since he’s been like this so it was expected sooner or later. Better sort him out before Mrs Hudson really does chuck him out.” The two of you chuckle at the thought of a homeless Sherlock, it’s not really a sight either of you can imagine fully. But you had no doubt that his homeless network would really find him the best spots in London to squat.

“You don’t mind if I take a quick walk do you? I’ve been cooped up in here for a few hours trying to sort him out, just need bit of fresh air.” You shook your head and hurried John out of the kitchen door and down the stairwell. You knew it would be easier to deal with Sherlock without John around anyway. Not that John was a problem, but with Sherlock like this and his habit of making unsavory comments without fully thinking of the consequences, it would be easier than having a row start between the two flat mates.

You paused for a moment and brushed your finger against the black mark on the table top and inspected the pad of your finger. That’ll come off with some polish, you decided. Stepping back out of the kitchen and into the living room, your eyes zeroed in on the consulting detective who had now abandoned the tape measure and was gently knocking against the wall looking for a hollow sounding area.

“No.” You spoke clearly, catching the attention of the detective who had yet to notice you. Spinning on his heels, his eyes flashed at you wide and adorable. It kind of reminded you of a child who had been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. His mouth started to open but you shut him down quickly. “No,” You gave him a stern look. “That wall has all of the major electricity lines and one of the main water pipes. No.”

“There’s no way you could possibly know that just from looking at the wall-” Sherlock argued.

“No I couldn’t. I know because I had to get the schematics for the flat after you started shooting the walls because you were banned from in-person cases and blew the power out in this side of London,” You reminded. “An event that Mycroft still calls ‘The Great COVID Blackout’.” Sherlock’s nose scrunched at the mention of his brother. “Now, are you going to sit down or am I going to have to use that self-defense training program you insisted I go on to incapacitate you?” You could almost see the cogs turning in his head as his eyes narrowed at you, trying to deduce if you were serious or not. Your unwavering stance must have given him his answer as he slowly stepped down from the sofa and settled his feet back on the floor calmly.

“Why are you here?” You were very rarely offended by Sherlock’s blunt words, it just wasn’t worth the energy when you also knew that he rarely meant it to come across in that way. “No, don’t answer that. You’re here in your night clothes, your kindle is tucked in your bag and your hair is done up which means it’s late- John called you. Why?”

“Probably because his roommate was threatened with eviction after planning to renovate their rented flat and set the landlady off.” “Mrs Hudson wouldn’t evict me. She still owes me for getting her husband executed.”

“Favours do expire Sherlock. They have their limits.” His eyebrows furrowed.

“Really?” You nod. “Oh. Well John wouldn’t let her evict me.” “Have you been experimenting today?” You think back to the two mugs settled on the kitchen counter, one sporting a brownish green sludge at the bottom.

“Yes, why- Oh.”

“Right come on,” You clapped your hands, moving towards him and grabbing one of his hands to pull him over to his chair. You ignored the sounds of protest from Sherlock as you settled on the chair and tugged on his arm. “Sit down,” you instructed. Sherlock sighed and complied, dropping onto the floor and crossing his legs underneath him. You grabbed the TV remote and switched it on. “What should we watch? Bones or Criminal Minds?” you pondered.

“Why do we have to watch a crime show? They’re always so inaccurate-” You flick the TV onto an episode of Criminal Minds. “Look, the killer’s using tape- what about finger prints? They don’t need to study his behaviour, just find the prints-” You smiled softly, fiddling with a few strands of Sherlock’s curly hair in your lap as he rattled on about the mistakes of the Unsub and the BAU team.

It was around an hour later that John returned to the flat. Pushing open the front door of 221, he was relieved to hear nothing. The light under Mrs Hudson’s door was now off, meaning she had slipped into bed, no longer tormented by her tenant’s renovation plans. The light on the landing let off a soft glow as John started up to the flat. A heavy wave of relief swept through him as he noticed the lack of banging, drilling, sawing or any construction noises at all. You had managed to talk him out of it for now. He reached the top of the stairs and could hear the muffled sounds of the TV in the flat. Stepping into the kitchen he could see that the place was still a pig sty but at least there wasn’t any knocked down walls or partially constructed extensions. The mess could be dealt with in the morning.

As he turned the corner and peeked - still a little cautiously into the living room - a soft smile graced his face. Your back was pressed against one of the arms of Sherlock’s chair, your legs swung over the opposite side. Sherlock’s was still perched on the floor with his legs crossed, his head dropped back against your stomach, with your right hand resting on top. Your fingers rhythmically threading through his curly brown locks, soothingly. John flicked his eyes up to the TV screen to see an episode of Criminal Minds playing, Sherlock’s face scrunched in distaste as he watched the team profile the murderer. Your other hand held your kindle tightly, your fingers set comfortably around the flower pop socket on the back as you occasionally flicked the pages with your thumb.

John couldn’t help but watch in awe for a moment. No one he knew had ever been able to soothe Sherlock in the way that you could. Not him, not Mrs Hudson and certainly not his brother, not even his parents had this calming effect that you had. He wondered if Sherlock would ever confess to the effect you had on him, or explain why you had such an effect on him. John knew the reason, Mrs Hudson knew the reason… did Sherlock? Did you?

You were always just as oblivious as Sherlock. John had mentioned to you once or twice about how you effected the consulting detective, but you couldn’t see it. You wouldn’t admit to the effect you so clearly had on him nor would you confess to the butterflies that whirled in your stomach whenever you were this close to him.

You caught John’s eye and must’ve made an educated guess of what he was thinking as you rolled your eyes and shook your heads. Deciding that now was probably not the time to bring up the obvious pink elephant that shared the living room with the three of you, John mouthed a ‘thank you’ to you and you nodded, letting out a quiet yawn. He bidded a quick farewell to the pair of you before shuffling out of the kitchen and upstairs to his room. On his way up the stairs, he couldn’t help but wonder how long the two of you would remain oblivious.

As he reached the top of the staircase he paused and chuckled. Lovesick idiots.

#sherlock x reader #sherlock oneshot #sherlock imagine #sherlock holmes #sherlock #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes oneshot #bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock oneshot #bbc sherlock imagine #request #reqs open #requests open #anon ask

[french-vanilla-in-the-clouds]

𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: It is finally Y/N's turn to walk down the aisle. Sherlock can't keep his eyes off of her. She is certain that the man waiting at the alter is the one she will spend the rest of her life with. Is he?

wedding fluff and angst

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

Sherlock stood at the alter, hands clasped behind his back. To the wedding guests, his sharp stance would suggest ease. In truth, each deep breath he chased was laboured and unsure.

She was a vision in white. Precious in deep sheets of ivory.

Sherlock had never seen such perfection.

Y/N took measured steps down the aisle in time to the music's pace. A few steps further and the bride would become somebody's wife.

Sherlock promised himself he would not cry today. Not one tear, he swore. He was better than that. Still, as Y/N drew closer, step by step, he wasn't certain he could keep a dry eye.

He considered turning away or focusing on the flower arrangements set behind her shoulder. Anything to keep the strain in his chest at bay.

It was in that moment of deliberation that Y/N chose to wink at him. A small gesture, hardly visible behind her veil but even so, he caught it.

Propping his shoulders back, he chose to keep looking. Better to face the music than miss a flutter of her lashes or the quiver of her lip when she smiled.

Though his throat felt constricted and his chest heaved for breath, Sherlock Holmes could not turn away from the bride.

He registered John shoot him a grin from the left. He wasn't sure that he returned it.

"She's beautiful," John said in a hushed tone.

"She's beautiful," Sherlock repeated.

Three years earlier, Sherlock had met Y/N for the first time. Since then, she had stumbled through the flat each day, always with a shy smile and a soft spoken, "hello".

He loved her from the start.

Their highs and lows, they would experience together. When she threw her head back in laugher, teeth gleaming at something her lover said, Sherlock would see it. He often revealed his experiments to her, if only to see the wonder shine in her eyes.

Even after every lover's spat, Sherlock would wrap his arms around her and swear that things would look brighter in time.

He was right. By God, he was right. He had to be, for now, she stood just steps away from him, at the alter, incandescently happy in her wedding gown.

A slow tear trailed down Sherlock's cheek.

Y/N finally reached him and there was silence in the cathedral when the music at last, had died. 

"You're crying," she said.

Sherlock choked out a laugh that hurt his head. "I'm not," he replied. He tightened his lips together to ease the line of worry that had suddenly appeared on Y/N's brow.

"You're beautiful," he whispered. Closing his eyes, Sherlock shifted her veil aside. His hand trembled as he pushed it just far enough to kiss her cheek.

Though he gave her the softest of kisses, he felt a sharp stab in his heart, as arduous as the touch of his lips on her skin was brief.

He dropped her veil again and opened his eyes. "Every happiness," he said to her. His gaze steeled into her own. He hoped she wouldn't understand but she did.

Y/N nodded and her veil rustled. "Every happiness," she said back to him.

Sherlock clenched his jaw and feigned a smile for the wedding guests that stared from the pews. Then, he took Y/N's hand in his own and walked with her for three final steps.

John waited beside the priest.

Sherlock presented the groom with his bride and took his position as best man.

He was good at that, after all; standing on the outside, looking in. It's how he captured so many of his friends' most private moments in the small space of 221B.

Throughout the ceremony, the words, "every happiness" rang in Sherlock's mind.

When John and Y/N shared their first kiss as man and wife, Sherlock clapped along with the others but still, "every happiness" lingered at the tip of his tongue.

He simply couldn't manage to add the words, "I wish you..." at the start.

Things would be brighter in time, he told himself.

He knew it was a lie but for now, he clapped.

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

I'm crying. I have reposted this thing like, 10 times. Last time, I swear. omg. please work. If you'd like to be tagged, let me know.

Thank you for your patience, literally everybody I'm tagging: @twisted-monster @starryeddie @the-chaotic-cow @turkisherlockian @aephereal ​ @andthevillainshallrises ​ @baby-bloos ​ @cookiemumster1 ​​ @eternal-silvertongued-prince ​ @bogginsreadings ​ @lumosouls @spencerrxids @serenity-lattes @msseijii @classickook @starstruck-loner @i-beg-your-pardon-laufeyson ​ @lucywrites02  @danzalladaggers @mrs-holmes @pytharuw @antsn @kabubsmagga @newtsniffles  @cemak​ @liv-olive-oliver @iamtrash-withrespect @asgards-princess-of-mischief

#sherlock #sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock #reader x sherlock #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock x you #sherlock fluff #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #reader x sherlock holmes #you x sherlock #benedict cumberbatch x reader #benedict cumberbatch #sherlock imagine #sherlock self insert #sherlock fic #sherlock holmes fanfiction #fanfiction #writing #sherlock holmes fluff #bbc sherlock x you #sherlock x y/n #sherlock holmes x y/n #sherlock comfort fic #y/n x sherlock #sherlock holmes x you #you x sherlock holmes #sherlock fanfic #sherlock bbc

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine Sherlock constantly barging into your apartment…

The key turned in the door as the locked clicked to allow you passage into your apartment. Pulling the groceries into the room, you were busy thinking of which bags held the frozen items when you looked up and saw the calamity being conducted inside by the detective downstairs.

You had told him repeatedly not to enter your home without your consent and most certainly, not to touch anything!

“It’s like you get a kick out of pressing my buttons.” You asked, setting the bags down at your feet.

Your favourite clock had been taken off the wall and dismantled. The books were scattered along the tables and floors and Sherlock appeared to have taken creative liberty with your mantelpiece decor.

Shaking your head, you had had enough. “I can’t do it anymore - you win. I’m moving out.”

Sherlock, not expecting that to be the response, frowned. “What?”

“Moving out.” You repeated. “It’s clear that you hate having me around. I thought that staying here would be nice - that it would be easier to consult with you on cases but obviously not.”

You grabbed your coat from the back of the chair and moved in the direction of the door.

“I don’t come here because I don’t like you. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.” Sherlock said.

Stopping what you were doing, you turned around. Sherlock was now looking at you. His face harbouring a light smile.

“I enjoy spending time with you and yes, sometimes I irritate you and disrupt your life but it’s because I don’t know how to ask for your company.”

~ More imagines here ~

#theladyofmanyfandoms #theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction #gif is not mine #sherlock imagine #sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock imagine #bbc sherlock holmes imagine #Sherlock Holmes x Reader #bbc sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes imagine

[spooksicl-e]

small comic for a thing i’m very deviously constructing with a friend (nemesis)

#like imagine sherlock (bbc) but rewritten by two people on the internet #who are deprived of sleep #and unwell about characters played by benedict cumberbatch. #yeah anywho you’re not getting context for this but there is SOOO much context #happy theorizing !! #my art #no @ bc i forgot #so just don’t use or steal ig #fanart #fanartist #art #sherlock holmes #sherlock #benedict cumberbatch #martin freeman #bbc sherlock #johnlock #john watson #sherlock fanart #trf #teh #the reichenbach fall #the empty hearse #comic

[specialagentlokitty]

Sherlock x reader - my type

Hello, how are you mate, could you do a fic where reader is a pretty young lady with lots of male admirers and Sherlock thinks she’s out of his league. But he didn’t knew she was actually into him. Thanks! - Anon💜

Walking into flat with you looked around for your older brother but you couldn’t find him anywhere, but you did find his flatmate.

“Hey Sherlock, have you seen my brother?”

Sherlock looked up from the laptop.

“John isn’t here?”

You smiled a little, shaking your head at him and you walked over to him, leaning over the back of Sherlocks chair, you looked at what he was doing.

Sherlock glanced at your arm next to him but he said nothing about it.

“Why are you looking for John?” He asked.

“He was supposed to come to the shopping centre with me.”

Sherlock nodded his head and carried on scrolling through whatever webpage he was looking through.

It was silent for a moment.

“Come with me.” You said.

“Why?”

You smiled a little and walked back around the chair, placing your hands on your hips as you looked at him.

“Because I want you to come, it’ll be fun!”

“I’m busy.”

“No you’re not don’t lie to me Sherlock Holmes. Come on! Do you really want to leave a lady walking around the city alone?”

Sherlock went back to looking at the laptop and you huffed a little.

“Please Sherlock? I don’t wanna go alone.”

Sherlock sighed, closing the laptop.

He stood up and grabbed his coat and you beamed brightly at him as your an down the stairs.

“Thank you Sherlock!”

He complained the whole way to the shopping centre, but he went wherever you went even if he didn’t want to.

You were in a store looking for new tops and jackets, and Sherlock stood looking around.

He noticed how a lot of men would stop and look at you and he furrowed his brows slightly.

Sherlock looked at you.

You didn’t even seem to pay the other men any attention, you simply went about your business shopping for what you wanted.

“Hey beautiful, wanna grab a drink later?”

You looked up at the unknown man and blinked.

“Not interested.”

You walked away, grabbing Sherlocks arm so he would follow you.

“This is why you didn’t want to come alone.” He said.

“Yeah, John usually scares them away.”

Sherlock nodded his head and looked at the red shirt you were looking at.

“That’s not your colour. Here.”

He reached out and handed you a light blue version of the top and you smiled slightly.

“Thanks.”

You happily went to pay for everything, and started wondering again.

Sherlock noticed more and more men trying to hit on you, some offering to get you lunch, pay for your things, take you out.

You declined them all, but it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt him slightly.

Sherlock wasn’t one for human emotions.

But you were beautiful, even he had to admit that. You seemed to have a sort of glow about you thay no matter where you were he could easily pick you out in a crowd.

You were absolutely stunning, he was sure if you wanted too you could’ve been a model.

And even though you declined the advances of other men it hurt him they had the courage to hit on you when he didn’t.

He didn’t know how.

But not just that, he was certain that there was no way you would date someone like him. He was sure of that.

He sighed softly, and glanced at you, seeing you stopping by a small bakery.

“Are you hungry?” He asked.

“A little. I just want to look.”

Sherlock nodded and gestured for you to go in, and he followed you, watching as you showed interest in different things.

“I’ll be out in a moment.”

“Okay!” You beamed.

Sherlock went back around and gathered a few of each thing you seemed to like or he knew you liked and brought them.

Walking outside, Sherlock held the bag out to you.

“Sherlock?”

“Well take it then, it’s for you.”

You took the bag and looked inside.

“Aw Sherlock you didn’t have to!”

“You wanted them and couldn’t make up your mind, so I got them all. Are we done shopping?”

You looked up at him and you smiled softly, nodding your head.

“Yeah, we can go home now.”

You got a cab back to the flat with him and happily skipped up the stairs, and you sat on the arm of his chair.

Sherlock walked over and sat next to you, and you held out the bag of baked goods.

He looked up.

“They’re yours.”

“And I want to share with you.”

“Thank you.”

Sherlock took one and you smiled, leaning against him and he couldn’t help the fact his heart skipped a beat a little.

“So, why did you turn down all of those men?”

You hummed a little.

“They’re not my type.”

“You have a type?”

You nodded.

“Oh yeah. Tall, brown messy hair, blue eyes, really smart but kinda oblivious to normal emotions, lives with my older brother and he buys me food from the bakery.”

You jumped up and beamed brightly at him, giving him a wink you grabbed your stuff and ran away while he sat there processing what you said

#bbc Sherlock #bbc sherlock x you #bbc sherlock x reader #bbc Sherlock imagine #Sherlock Holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #Sherlock Holmes x you #sherlock holmes imagine

[barachiki]

Looking sharp in the 70s.

#Sherlock #BBC Sherlock #Sherlock Holmes #John Watson #Lestrade #Mycroft #70s fashion #just imagine John is standing on a box #barachiki brand new #I was going through some fashions of yesteryear #and I really thoughth this one was funny #edit: fixed Mycroft's giant head.

[starks-hero]

what a lovely inconvenience

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Summary: Sherlock Holmes pushes your buttons like no one else. So when a case leaves you stranded in a hotel room with only one bed you worry that Scotland Yard might have a new murder case on their hands.

Word Count: 1.0k

authors note: Writing a different dynamic between Sherlock and the Reader for a change to acknowledge the fact that irl I wouldn't be able to spend more than ten minutes with him before attempting murder.

“Would you please just go to sleep.”

“If you quit taking up half of the bloody mattress maybe I would,” you bit back, pulling at the covers defiantly.

It wasn't often Sherlock left London for a case but when he did he rarely went alone. And given how you were currently sharing a bed with said detective in an oh-so-unflattering hotel in rural Scotland it would seem apparent that you were the unfortunate soul he'd chosen as a sidekick for this particular outing.

The hotel was dull, exceedingly so. The wallpaper seemed ancient, peeling away at the corners and the aged furniture was placed in such a way that it swallowed up the dismal amount of space the room already offered. The entire setup was worsened further by the hotel's location; unpleasantly sandwiched between a bar and a flat complex whose tenants were... vocal, to say the least.

Not to mention the fact that Sherlock wouldn't. stop. moving.

He pulled the cover back harshly, leaving you defenseless against the cold. “Bold words coming from the one that hasn't gifted me with so much as an inch of blanket. Not to mention you've hogged all the pillows.”

“Hogged all the–” you swiveled to face him. “How many pillows do you need?”

“Another one.”

You blinked twice, already calculating how long you'd spend behind bars if you resorted to murder. “Why? Can't fit your ego on the one you've already got?”

At that, Sherlock turned so you were face to face. His glower contended with your own.

“If you must know I need another to block out the sound of your insufferable talking.”

“I can't deal with this.” You tossed back the covers, begrudgingly snatching up a pillow and thin bed sheet, and strode across the room. Sherlock watched as you sprawled out on the sofa, sinking so far into the poorly made furniture it was almost comedic.

There was a beat of quiet. Then another.

“If you're waiting for me to apologize or rush to trade places you'll be waiting all night.”

"I'm sure I'll survive.” you quipped bitterly.

Sherlock, as he'd promised, didn't argue. He grabbed the spare pillow somewhat victoriously, bundled the covers around him, and turned on his side.

Meanwhile, you were already struggling not to admit defeat. Metal springs dug into your back in three separate places, the fabric caused your skin to itch and it was beyond freezing without the bed cover. You would never have described yourself as a particularly proud person, you could admit when you were wrong. But when it came to Sherlock, you'd rather stay on the couch.

Time crawled by agonizingly slow. The red italic numbers of the alarm clock across the room shone through the dark almost mockingly. You'd given up on sleep, the moment the first light of morning seeped through the poorly hung curtains you were out of there. You'd take sitting in the dingey hotel reception alone and tired over watching Sherlock waking up satisfied with his extra cushions and soft mattress as his spoils of war.

“You look ridiculously uncomfortable,” the detective's voice cut through the quiet of the room.

You pulled your excuse of a blanket over your head. “I'm fine.”

You heard Sherlock sigh, followed by the shifting of the mattress. “I can see you trembling from here.”

“I'm sure I'll soldier on through.”

“If it was a point you were trying to get across then consider it made. Now, will you please just get over here and get some sleep before the sun comes up.”

At the offer, you reemerged from your makeshift cocoon like an easily bribed butterfly. “Relax Holmes, if you wanted me in bed that bad you should have just said so.” You spoke the words into your pillow, slurred from exhaustion and dripping with sarcasm.

Regardless, Sherlock was thankful of how well the darkened room hid his blush. He cleared his throat and turned back on his side. He'd been doing an admirable job at keeping whatever it was he felt about you to himself and he wasn't about to undergo the embarrassment of having you find out simply because he spent more than twelve hours in your vicinity.

Briefly noting to never be the bigger person again, Sherlock closed his eyes and prepared to leave you to your self-inflicted misery. Then he heard feet padding across the floor.

The covers pulled back and the mattress dipped as you silently joined him. You stretched out and sighed in relief when the mattress pressed softly against your aching muscles rather than biting into your back. You pulled experimentally at the covers and Sherlock let you gain an inch. But only that.

“Was that so hard?” He asked.

“Extremely.”

Turning over as quietly as he could, Sherlock noted how your back was to him, how the plane of spare mattress between you was so wide you could easily fit another couple there. How you almost hung from the side of the bed. Sherlock wouldn't have called what he felt in that moment guilt, but it was very similar.

“You know, if it truly makes you uncomfortable I can sleep on the sofa for the night.” His offer was genuine and he hoped you picked up on it.

There was a long moment of quiet, Sherlock giving in to the fact that you'd probably fallen into sleep the moment your head hit the pillow.

“I was kidding, you know.” Your voice came as a surprise. “It's more of a hindrance than anything, sharing a bed with someone that kicks in their sleep."

Sherlock smiled in the dark. “Not as much a hindrance as sharing one with a degenerate blanket stealer.”

There was an unfamiliar tone to his voice, one that, had you not been two blinks from sleep, you would have mistaken for humourous.

“You know, you're kind of endearing when you're sleep deprived,” you thought, too tired to have realized you'd said the words aloud.

“Funny,” Sherlock watched as you turned on your side and rolled towards the middle of the bed. Your nose twitched adorably and with the security the dark offered, Sherlock let himself smile over it. “I was just about to say the same thing to you.”

He was certain you were gone now, chest falling rhythmically and lips parting to make way for quiet snores. He didn't blame you, your alarm had woken you early this morning.

You didn't know he'd noticed, of course, just as you didn't know how he noticed many little things about you. Not things of importance, nothing essential he would have to file away in his mind palace. Just simple everyday things that were unmistakably you. Things he recalled not because he needed to but because he wanted to.

There was something about you, Sherlock simply couldn't shake it. But that was a dilemma he needed at least a good night's rest to solve.

He closed his eyes, not so much as complaining when you stole the covers in your sleep.

thank you for reading!

Sherlock tag list: @miraclesoflove @ilovefanfictions @mylovelysnowflake @quentawewe @bakerstreethound @andreasworlsboring101 @doozywoozy @xxinvisiblexx @the-worst-critic @the-queer-dungeoneer @jellyfishbeansontoast @starrykitn @starryeddie @ladymercury8 @themorningsunshine @evelynrosestuff @mywellspringoflife @simp-for-scammanders @Xhz17x @allieberries @kealohilani-tepise

#*gasps* there was only one bed #clichè but ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯ #also two fics in one night? who do I think I am? #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #bbc sherlock x reader #sherlock x you #bbc sherlock imagine #sherlock imagine #sherlock holmes x you #bbc sherlock

[bakerstreethound]

🍓Sherlock doing this to reader 😩❤️🦋

1. whispering ''kiss me'' to your lover

2. wrapping your arms around your lover's neck

3. kisses traveling from your lover's nose to their lips

Hello my dear @lady-harvey you sent this months ago but I hope you enjoy what I came up with. I don't even remember where this prompt list resides anymore haha. Anyways I hope you enjoy the soft boy and hi everyone, I live! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

Berry Kisses

Summary: Sherlock's kisses are one thing you cannot live without anymore. He can't resist you anymore than when he's on the trail of a killer. You live for the quiet moments where you can be at peace with each other, if even for a short while.

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound​ (Do NOT copy, repost, claim, or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username)

You live for these moments when Sherlock allows himself to rest, a short reprieve from the demands of his day. He won’t admit it outside the doors of 221B, but when you crawl up on the bed to straddle him, he can’t look away. This is one of the best parts of his day, these quiet moments with you.

You offer a small smile in return, watching him, as his gaze meets yours his hands resting along your back, stroking and rubbing circles as you inhale deep, burying your face in his neck. It doesn’t take long before he groans while you not so subtly suck marks along his neck. 

“You’re not going to get away with that so easily," he huffs, rolling on top of you, his lips a fraction from yours, teasing you so close but he feels miles away in the moment and all you want to do is run to him and drown in his kisses.

He pins you deeper into the mattress, piercing gaze roaming along your body, causing you to shiver. It always did in his presence, your body responsive in every way, each touch and caress of his awakening the sleeping siren within. 

His lips still linger over yours, heat cascading along his body, setting fire to yours as if you are kindling ready to burst into flame. 

“Are you going to kiss me or not?” you let out the barest whisper, tongue teasing along your lips. 

“If that’s what you wish, yes” 

“Really I thought it’d take more convincing than that, my love.”

“Kiss me then,” he quips, it’s almost a challenge but a deeper request, He wants more oh how he aches for more of you. You’re already driving him mad being here with him this way and he wants to devour you until dawn breaks, but he lets you take your time. How willing you are to take your time, breaking him down bit by bit, his fingers digging into your shoulders with every desperate kiss, sigh, and plea you draw from his lips.

It’s an addiction you’ll never recover from but will gladly drown in tenfold if you can see this vision each and every day, of him bathed in the light soon succumbing to the shadows. 

Your arms immediately wrap around him once more, straddling his waist and peppering his face with more kisses. He savors it, letting you do as you wish despite the protests of his mind. He wants you, yearns for you terribly but he wants, oh how he wants more. 

He finds himself fixated on your nose, and so he caresses your jaw, cupping his face in your hand to stop you from your conquest on his neck. He barely pecks your nose, grinning at the amused laugh that follows, but his lips remain along your body trailing from your cheek, fluttering along to the corner of your lips before finally kissing you properly. You groan at the contact, somehow pulling him impossibly closer, falling into his adoration and warmth. 

“I need you,” you sigh softly, your heart aching. You’d feel so empty without him, but his lips are your salvation dragging you into the light, saving you from drowning in the depths of your mind. 

He obliges, turning to press you into the mattress, pulling you under him not intent on letting go. “So good for me,” he murmurs, words muffled by the sounds falling from you, your mind comprehending nothing but him and the love he bestowed upon you. 

“You taste,” he kisses your lips engulfing you before brushing against them again, “you taste like strawberries.” 

“I see you’re catching on, how observant of you, my love.” 

His lips press against your neck, savoring the smell of you and strawberries intermingled-, and a few moments pass, his lips find yours once more, fingers carding roughly through your hair, and you groan. You want, how you want more and you let him take as much as you give, his hands falling to your waist gripping tight, worshiping you in nothing but adoration. 

You make a reality what you imagine in your dreams. You find yourself falling into him consumed by him, wanting and feeling nothing but his skin against yours, relishing the sounds falling from his lips, the weight of him on top of you filling your every need. When his hand strokes your sides a shiver follows in its wake, his hand caressing the apex of your thigh, his sapphire gaze staring into your eyes, shimmering. 

“May I?” his gaze doesn’t part from yours not when you whisper a yes against his lips, a long, elegant finger stroking you and the fire consuming you from the inside out. It’s wonderful and all-consuming like him and when he adds another, working you slow, always eager and desperate to memorize this, memorize you for he knows your body, some of the darkest parts of your souls as well and you gladly fall bringing your lips to his in a searing kiss the feeling of him and his adoration pulling the last bits of pleasure from you. There you remain, basking in the bliss, his chest rising and falling curls brushing along his brow encompassed by you in your own universe.

****** 

#sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #strawberry!sherlock #strawberry sherlock x reader #sherlock x you #sherlock fanfiction #fluff #sherlock holmes imagine #bbc sherlock #sherlock tv #my writing #writing request #lady-harvey

[strangesthirdeye]

A detective and a part time dad (SH x wife! Reader ft baby)

Summary: only a detective whose part time job is to look after his son. Warning: it's Sherlock. He's detective. Sweet, fluff, baby, love, warm, William can be 5 or 6 months years old. (The Sixth Thatcher references ahead) As usual, I'm sorry if there are any wrong sentences or typos or grammatical mistakes, please forgive me and again English is not my first language, so I try to improve my language and writing in this way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"you just need to make his milk and heat his milk if it's cold. And make sure his diapers are always clean" You told Sherlock as you put your wallet in your handbag.

"what if he cries? How to stop him crying?" Sherlock adjusted baby William's support in his arms. Sometimes he took out William's hand that was put in his mouth.

William babbling in protest after his wet hand was removed from his mouth. Sherlock then wiped William's hands and mouth with a napkin.

"Just sway him when you pick him up until he fell asleep or give him that soft cookie or when all that is useless maybe you should give him attention" You cooed at William with a sweet smile while stroking William's cheek with your finger.

"Didn't he always get attention?" Sherlock replied while stroking William's small foots.

"perhaps he needs your attention more." You said then walked to the door of the flat and put on your black jacket. "I won't be gone for long, I just want to settle some files in St's Bart. So you, young man. Be good to daddy, okay?" you muttered to William as you played with his little hand.

William let out a small babbling and then showed a wide toothless smile. Sherlock then sighed a little. Right, this is the first time he took care of baby William. So far only you know how to handle William with what he wants but now it's Sherlock's job.

You noticed Sherlock's concerned face and looked softly at him then you put your hand on Sherlock's cheek. "don't worry, I'm sure Will can cooperate with you. You boys go have fun while I do work, ok?" You stroke Sherlock's cheek and kiss Sherlock's lips passionately.

Sherlock returned the kiss and nodded slightly. You smiled gently and walked out of the flat. The flat door is slammed, signifying that you had left and there was only Sherlock and William left. Mrs Hudson went out to London to visit a friend far away so there are only two people living in the flat for now.

Sherlock then looked at his son who was also looking at Sherlock's face with his mouth and his shirt wet with saliva. Sherlock looked narrowly at his clone.

"Wonder what's going on in your head" Sherlock wiped William's lips.

William wailed happily and patted Sherlock's chest as his feet kicked in the air in Sherlock's arms.

"Ok Will, now.. what should we do?" Sherlock looked around for a moment trying to think of what activity they should be doing. William let out a small cooes trying to get Sherlock's attention. Sherlock then looked at his son's chubby face with calculating on his face.

"fancy a game of Cluedo?"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Already told John the victim could be a suspect but he didn't believe it and said that's not how this game works." Sherlock mumbled to himself as he flipped through the cards in his hand.

William who was sitting on the strap on John's chair (like Rosie's chair in The Six Thatcher) let out a loud wail as if agreeing with his father and waved his hands in the air.

"see, you agree with me"

William babbling while bubbling his lips with saliva creating a bubble. Sherlock wiped William's lips with a napkin.

"well, the rules are wrong"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"no you can't put my magnifying glass in your mouth" Sherlock snatched his magnifying glass from William's grasp and put it on the dining table so William couldn't reach it.

William then screamed in protest trying to slap his father's hand with his chubby hand. His feet kicked in the air several times quickly.

"you cannot put that in your mouth, understand?" Sherlock kneeled in front of his son in front of the baby seat.

William then stopped screaming in protest and looked at his father's face with a red face. And immediately his face scrunched up in sadness and started crying loudly.

Sherlock panicked and didn't know what to do and then he got up and lifted William from his seat. His hands held William's small body tightly and swayed left and right trying to calm William down. But it doesn't work. William kept raging and sobbing as he pressed his face to Sherlock's chest. This is tiring. Sherlock was stumped. He doesn't know how to calm his own son let alone persuade him to stop crying.

Soft cookies were given but William still wanted to put something hard in his mouth. What did you say before? William started teething? Is that what you call? Perhaps his gums are already itchy and uncomfortable, that's why he always puts hard things in his mouth to relieve his itchy gums.

Sherlock sighed tiredly. William was still struggling in his arms but his face pushed into Sherlock's chest making Sherlock's shirt wet with his tears and saliva.

Sherlock then gave up and put William back in his seat and walked towards the corner of the living room where there was a toy box and reached one of William's toys. Sherlock then kneeled in front of William and held out a toy magnifying glass towards William with a soft face.

"You can put this in your mouth. At least it's a little soft and won't hurt your gums" Sherlock said softly and put the magnifying glass toy in William's hand.

William, whose face was red and had streaks of tears on his face, looked at the toy in his hand for a long time. Sherlock smiled genuinely at William. Not a few seconds later, William threw his toy magnifying glass at Sherlock's face precisely making Sherlock startled and dumbfounded.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

After a few hours later, Sherlock and William slept together on the couch. William who was lying face down on Sherlock's chest snored slowly while Sherlock had his arms around William's small body protecting him from falling. The father and son were sleeping so soundly that they didn't even hear the flat door being opened by you who had just returned from work.

You expect this flat to be noisy with William crying or Sherlock mumbling to himself but no. This flat is quite quiet. Weird. You took off your jacket and hung it on the hook next to the door then slowly you went up the stairs to flat 221B. As soon as you arrived in front of the door of the flat, you slowly opened the door and were stunned to see your husband and son sleeping soundly on the couch. You refrained from making a sound. This scene is too sweet and it will give you a cavity but what the heck, it's too cute.

You slowly took out your phone and opened the camera and pointed your phone at your two boys and snapped the picture to make memories. This is so cute. You chuckled softly and walked without footsteps to your bedroom to change your clothes and bring a blanket to join the two of them.

#benedict cumberbatch x reader #bbc shows #benedict cumberbatch #bbc sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock imagine #sherlock reader insert #bbc sherlock #sherlock bbc #bbc sherlock x you #sherlock holmes x reader #Sherlock Holmes x wife! reader #sherlock fandom #sherlock fanfic #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock holmes #baby boy #Spotify

[forevers-world]

A Mycroft Holmes appreciation post.

What a beautiful specimen of the human race. 👏👏👏

#bbc sherlock #sherlock bbc #i am sherlocked #sherlock fandom #sherlockbbc #sherlock #sherlock fanfic #bbc mycroft imagine #sherlock imagine #sherlock x reader #bbc mycroft #mycroft x reader #mycroft holmes headcanons #mycroft bbc #mycroft holmes #mycroft holmes imagines #mycroft holmes x reader #mycroft imagine #mycroft #mark gatiss #he's so sexy #omg #like wth

[entitled-fangirl]

A deer in the headlights.

Jim Moriarty x reader

Summary: Jim comes home early and scares the reader, prompting a panic attack.

Words: 811

Warning: panic attack, but hey, comforting criminal Jim! Also... criminal Jim.

Author's note: I don't own the character Jim Moriarty! And you know I couldn't resist using a Fleabag gif. Andrew Scott has my <3

Masterlist

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She sat on the couch of their shared home, her legs pulled up to her chest. Her arms wrapped around her legs, holding her book out for her to read. It was a cute sight, seeing her so comfortable in their home. 

Jim opened the door, his hands immediately moving to loosen his tie. He shook off his blazer, hanging it over one of the dining room chairs. He was quiet, almost silent. It was one of his favorite attributes of himself, being practically silent when he moved.

She hadn’t noticed him yet, her gaze focused on the book in front of her. He decided to have a little fun with his darling deer. 

He stalked up behind her. Her long hair was hanging off the back of the couch. Even as the conspiring smirk showed on his face, he couldn’t help but admire her. He continued his plan, his steps careful and meticulously done. 

He got slightly distracted staring at her hair, the tile under him squeaking. He froze, as did she. Her head moved up, her eyes looking straight forward at the wall like a deer in the headlights. He knows her so well, he can practically see the look on her face, knowing that she is now contemplating her options. 

As if instinct, his little deer jumped up, her book falling to the ground as she sprinted to their shared room. Jim smiled. He loved a game like this. He ran behind her quickly. His longer legs catching up to her.

The stairs slowed her down, her shorter legs moving quickly. He followed quickly behind her, not caring to be quiet anymore. As his foot hit the top step, she was within his reach. 

His hands wrap around her waist, pulling her to him. She let out a small squeal in fear. He smiled, resting his face in the crook of her neck and shoulder. Her hair covered his face, but he didn’t mind. It gave him an extra opportunity to smell her sweet scent. 

Her body completely froze. Her fear was an aura surrounding her at this point. Jim finally noticed her quick breaths, and her hands that had his in a death grip around her waist. She was very scared.

His grip loosened immediately. He turned her around to let her see him. Her eyes were glossy with unshed tears and they carried an uncertain look to them. He had seen this look. She was having a panic attack.

Her eyes may be looking at him, but she didn’t see him. She was in her own little world. A world of fear.

His heart dropped. His hands naturally moved to her face, cupping both of her cheeks, and pulling her face to his. Her hands jump to his, her death grip continuing. 

“Shh… it’s alright…. Shh….shh…,” he said in a comforting tone.

It seemed to calm her slightly, her body recognizing his touch, even if her brain didn’t. The tears began to fall from her eyes, another sign of her body relaxing further.

He smiled gently at her, his voice low, “Little deer, it’s alright. You’re safe…. You’re safe.”

Her body lets out a soft sigh, shaky from the tears. Her voice came out broken from the hiccuping of her diaphragm, “J…James…?”

He laughed at this. His deer was so precious. The thumb on one of the hands resting on her face began to gently move back and forth, giving her a feeling of comfort. “Yes. I’m here.”

He hated seeing her this way, but he also loved it. How she always ran into his arms when she was scared. Like now.

She let out a sob, her arms moving around his neck, pulling her to him. She began to cry harder into his chest. His hands moved to her waist, wrapping around her.

“I’m sorry, deer. I didn’t know I would frighten you like this. I wouldn’t have done so, had I known. Shh… it’s alright...,” he continued.

As her tears began to settle down, she pulled away from him. She pulled one of her arms to her face to wipe the tears, but he stopped her, his hand wrapping around her wrist. The other hand moved to her face as he gently wiped the tears for her. 

She sniffles, “You’re home early.”

He let out a loud laugh at this, “You silly girl. Of course I am. I told you I would be.”

Her eyes met his, “I forgot. I’m sorry.”

“Do not apologize, little deer. You should know by now that I would never let anything happen to you."

She nods slightly, moving back into his embrace, to which he happily obliged. The feeling of her in his arms was his favorite.

One of his hands moved to the back of her head, playing with her hair. “I will call Seb, and tell him to consider me off for the rest of the day. It is you and I for tonight. No interruptions. No phone calls. Could you even begin to forgive me, angel?”

He could feel her smile against his shoulder. “Of course, James.”

He sighs, kissing the top of her head, “Thank you, little deer. Now, let’s go relax, huh?”

She lets him lead her the rest of the way to their room to make up for lost time.

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