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luxwritesfanfic · 3 years

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On Tap

Sherlock insists that it would work better with the reader on top and after the night they’ve had, there’s no point in arguing. Or, the one where reader plays superhero for poor Greg and her beloved detective. Thanks for reading!

Sherlock Holmes/Reader

You hadn’t even taken your shoes off when your phone started ringing in your purse. Sighing, you dug around for it with one hand and reached for the lightswitch with the other. Work had been incredibly stressful since you were working short during flu season and everyone in London had been feeling under the weather apparently. You had told your coworkers that if they really needed you that you would come back even though you had put a solid 16 hours in. Sherlock and John had gone out for John’s bachelor party so you didn’t mind working late, and Bucky was visiting his brother in the States so all your time was truly yours. You had thought about soaking in the bath or catching up on that show you always missed, but all of those thoughts were stopped in their tracks when the ringing persisted.

“Hey, what’s up?” You tried not to sound like you’d rather chew on glass than clock one more minute into the hospital but you weren’t sure you were so convincing.

“Come get him. Please, for the love of God, come get him.” At hearing Greg’s voice, you were both relieved yet confused. Sherlock must’ve invited him last minute to celebrate with them, you didn’t remember him saying that he was coming along.

“Oh, I didn’t know you went out with the boys! Where are you guys?” It was nice to know they were all having a good time. You liked Greg and thought he was a really good friend for Sherlock and John. You had plopped down on the couch and had started pulling one of your shoes off when he said, “No, I didn’t go with them. They were brought to me. Someone called the cops on them and now I’ve got tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum arguing about the solar system and taking turns puking in my waste bin. Please, I beg of you, come get him. Matter of fact, I can bring him home. If that makes the process quicker--- I mean easier.” You heard Sherlock trying to take Greg’s phone in the background, asking to talk to you and then quickly after arguing with John once more if it was really that important he knew they orbited the sun. Greg sounded just as exhausted as you felt and you could only imagine how annoyed he was by the drunk detective that he was already annoyed with most of the time sober.

“Yeah, yeah of course I’ll come get him. I’m actually at my flat though, so if you could meet me at his place that would be awesome. I’d just need a few minutes to finish up here...” You mourned the hot bath you were never going to get to take and worked on shoving the shoe you just took off back on, “did you call Mary for John?”

“Yes, she’ll be over soon. As soon as she gets here, I’ll bring Sherlock. You’re doing the Lord’s work, thank you.” With that, he hung up and you went to your room to pack an overnight bag. You were exhausted and if you had to go all the way to Sherlock’s, it would be easier for you to crash on the couch than to try to come back home late.

By the time you got to Sherlock’s, you were dragging your feet up the stairs and you could barely keep your eyes open. You had received a text from Mary when she picked John up saying “good luck” and you wished you knew what you were walking into. You had never seen Sherlock drunk, or heard any stories of him being drunk, but you were sure he was even more eccentric than he was sober. If you weren’t so tired, you’d be jumping with joy at the experience to see Sherlock so out of character.

You went into Sherlock’s room and laid out some pajamas for him and went ahead and put a water bottle and some Advil on his nightstand because you were sure he would need it. After doing that, you changed into something more comfortable too and rummaged through his fridge to see if there was anything to eat. Thumbs, unsalted butter, and milk that shouldn’t look like blue cheese was what was on the menu and you had decided sleep for dinner sounded much more appetizing. You’d go shopping for him tomorrow.

Greg had texted that he was outside but Sherlock didn’t have his key so you made your way down the steps to meet them. Upon opening the door, Sherlock looked up at you like he hasn’t seen you in ages. He stumbled towards you and held you at arms length with a look of wonder on his face. “Finally! Y/N, I was thinking I’d die from being surrounded by total stupidity, and here you are. Ever the shining light and the beacon of hope.”

You felt the heat from his stare and turned to Greg to try and keep your composure under all his attention. “Uh.. I— thank you. For bringing him home.”

Still staring at Sherlock and shocked by his outburst, Greg met your eyes with a knowing smile. “It’s no trouble. He’s your problem now. Good luck, my dear.” He was gone in the blink of an eye, leaving you with a very drunk Sherlock Holmes and a dozen steps to climb.

“Okay,” you clapped your hands together, turning towards the door, “do you think you can get up the stairs? Or do you want me to help you?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” he started until his eyes widened like he forgot who he had been talking to. It had only been a second but he saw the look that flashed across your face. You hated when he made you feel dumb because you always tried so hard to keep up with him, and he knew that. You didn’t have a chance to react before he quickly interrupted. His previous statement was immediately followed by, “I’m sorry. Forgive me. Please help me.”

You just nodded, unsure of what made him have such a quick change of heart but you were happy he did. You hated him thinking you were dumb. In comparison to him, maybe, but you were intelligent in your own right and you did a better job of keeping up with him than most. He threw his arm around your shoulders to steady himself and allowed you to lead him carefully up the stairs. He started telling you about his night and it honestly sounded like he had a great time, and so did John. You were really happy that it all worked out even if they did end up with Greg at the end of it all.

As soon as the back of Sherlock’s legs hit his chair, he was down in a clean swoop and you took the opportunity to start untying his shoes. He seemed like he was lost in thought and was quiet for a few moments but you could tell from the way he was swaying that he was too far gone to sober up before the morning.

“I already put your clothes out for you and I’ll help you to the bathroom so you can brush your teeth. You’ll love me for that in the morning.” You smiled at him as you pulled off his loafers and moved to stand up so that you could figure out how you were going to get him out of his chair.

“Will I, though? Will I tomorrow once I’m in my right mind?” He asked, and while he didn’t say it in an ignorant tone, it sounded like Sherlock, and that was close enough.

You looked at him hoping he’d say something else. But he didn’t, and he looked back at you with a look of confusion as if he was really expecting you to answer that. It seemed like just last week he was in your bed trying to convince you that he didn’t have eyes for anyone besides you and now he’s reminding you that he’s not even sure of that. Sherlock could have you at the top of the poll and then have you kissing the ground in the same hour if he tried.

“It’s just a saying. I didn’t really mean...you know, let’s— let’s just get you to bed. It’s late and you have a date with a hangover in the morning.” You could tell he was on the verge of passing out which was good in the way of no more awkward conversations but horrible in that you’d never get him into bed as dead weight. So you pushed things along and eventually got him in bed before he was out like a light.

Draping the blanket over him, you watched as his eyes fluttered behind his lids and how his lips twitched as fell into a deeper sleep and you were sure then that you would never love anyone more. You would never understand how he didn’t realize how beautiful he made the ordinary and how easily he made everything extraordinary. Afraid that you’d turn to stone if you spent any more time staring at him, you turned off his light and made your way to the living room where the the couch had never looked more inviting. It didn’t take you long to get settled in and asleep seeing as the TV in the background ended up being the perfect thing to mask Sherlock’s drunk snores and you had never been more tired in your life.

—

“I thought you were staying over?”

It had only been a few hours since you had put Sherlock to bed when he found himself looking over you on the couch, wrapped up in his bedsheet.

“M’right here.” You murmured into the pillow, body still turned away from Sherlock on the couch. He was probably still drunk and you were hoping if you laid still enough he’d wander back to bed.

He didn’t respond to you, instead he continued to stand and stare with his lips pursed and brows furrowed. You had drifted back off only to be nudged awake once more.

“I won’t fit like that.” He gestured with the hand not holding the sheet to the couch, sounding exasperated like he had been explaining this to you all night. “It’ll only work if you’re on top, so get up so I can lie down first.”

You didn’t process what he said really, you just knew that if he was being persistent and you didn’t do as he asked he’d never let you go back to bed. You squinted as your eyes adjusted to the light and swung your legs off the couch, standing on stiff bones. Sherlock immediately made to get comfortable on the couch while you stood dazed and confused and he cleared his throat expectantly when he had finally got settled. He was on his back with one arm holding the sheet up between himself and the back of the couch allowing room for you to climb over and snuggle right into him.

All you could do was blink and hold his stare as he waited expectantly, still holding the sheet for you. You didn’t think he was asking you to lay with him, especially with how close you’d two be. Sure, you shared your bed before, but there was always enough room for you both to have your own space. You could tell he was getting embarrassed by your reaction, or lack there of.

“I didn’t think this would be rocket science, even for someone like you.” His nervousness was showing as he yanked his arm back down and curled into to himself like a child. You jumped into action so you wouldn’t upset him any more and shook his shoulder as you whined, partially from exhaustion and from missing the chance to sleep next to him.

“I’m tired, I’m sorry! I didn’t realize what you were asking. Come on, open up. Let me in.” You continued to shake at his shoulder until he looked back at you. He looked wrecked from drinking all night and you knew this bout of sobriety wouldn’t be as easy on him in the morning but you were sure he looked holy.

Sherlock reluctantly brought his arm up again and you wasted no time sliding under the sheet and tucking yourself under the crook of his arm. He smelled like beer and mouthwash and Sherlock and you thought you were going to go into cardiac arrest when he brought his arm back down on you, subsequently pinning you down to him. It was definitely a tight fit especially since the couch barely fit Sherlock but you had decided that if you had the opportunity to sleep with him like this every night that you would. Back pain be damned.

The steadiness of his heartbeat was already working you back to sleep. Sighing content, you let your body fully relax and sink further into him.

“You never answered my question.” He shifted next to you and kept you close to him all the same, his head leaning to rest on yours.

“Hmm?” You made an incoherent sound, your breath evening out as you fell asleep.

“My question,” he whispered more so to himself as he worked it out in his head. The feelings he found himself harboring for you were ones he had never felt before. He thought so highly of you in a way he couldn’t understand even if he wasn’t the best at expressing it. You were patient with him when he got on your last nerve and was amazed by him when other people would tell him to piss off. You were always kind and warm and made him feel human even after he spent so long separating himself from his feelings. He couldn’t stand the idea of you looking at anyone else the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t looking.

So yes, he thought. Yes, he would love you in the morning. He’d love you when you’re angry with him for putting himself at risk during a case and he’d love you when you were overly tired and petulant after he made you stay up all night to keep him company in the lab. He loved that you valued him regardless of what he offered you, and that you always showed him that even if he never reciprocated it. You were never embarrassed by him, you always tried to learn about what he was interested in, and you never doubted him even when he was wrong.

Girlfriends weren’t naturally his area... but he didn’t think he would mind if it was you. He liked being close to you and physical touch wasn’t something he had sought out often before. He found that he chased the opportunity to be near you at all times. He thought you looked lovely in scrubs and a lab coat and even lovelier in your everyday wear, even if you considered it plain. He had begun to notice the way other people stared at you when you walked by and it left him with the most unsettling feeling. But then you’d smile at him and despite himself he’d smile right back and he wondered if anything in the world mattered to you besides him. Because in those moments, nothing mattered to him besides you.

Sherlock woke up alone again the next morning with the worst headache he’d ever had. Light was shining through the curtains and he cursed the sun for rising another day as he covered his eyes and groaned. Peaking through his fingers, he saw that the Advil and water had been moved to the coffee table for him and when he reached out for it he noticed the note on the table. He sat up with one hand gingerly holding his head as he read it.

“Got called into work to help the girls. John and Mary are coming over for lunch, so text me what you want me to bring home. We can’t serve our best friends buttered thumbs for lunch. I’ll see you soon!

-Y/N xx”

He held the note in his hand, contemplating what his next move would be. You were interested in him, that he knew for sure. He’d contemplated casually mentioning to everyone that you were dating, but he technically hadn’t asked you to be his girlfriend and you two had never talked about any mutual feelings. Maybe he’d kiss you when walking you to your taxi, but he knew he’d make you stay with him instead of letting you go home. Possibly tonight when you were laying in his bed he’d tell you it had to be you, it could only ever be you.

Leaning back against the couch, he rubbed at his eyes and decided he’d call John over early and he’d help him sort it out. John always helped him. Standing up was harder than it looked apparently, as Sherlock wobbled to the side and fought the urge to puke. Perhaps he should shower first, surely you wouldn’t say yes to being his if he didn’t look his best.

He remembered how he looked and acted last night and winced. On second thought, maybe you would. You had already given yourself to him for better or for worse and soon enough, he smiled, he would give you himself in return.

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blackspoon99 · 3 years

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The Sign of Three Pt. 3

Sherlock x Female! Reader

TW: Drinking, Language, Potential Emetophobia (If you’ve seen this episode, you know), Spoilers to Season 3

Part 1

Part 2

Part 4

Part 5

“Of course, there’s hours of material here, but I’ve cut it down to the really good bits.”

Oh god, the stag night. You almost laughed just thinking about it. It was unbelievable that Sherlock was willingly telling this story to an audience. You were fortunate enough to witness some of the events of the night firsthand.

The story began the morning of in Baker Street, 11 am:

It was a Saturday morning, and you were over having tea with Sherlock. For the two of you, “having tea” consisted of you both reading in complete silence while you happened to be drinking tea. It was a common occurrence, and for you, it was a treasured tradition. You were curled up in John’s chair opposite Sherlock. Today, you were reading Emma by Jane Austen. You peeked over at Sherlock to see what he was reading. Sherlock was reading a book titled “Atlas of Forensic Pathology”. Riveting. The book looked so heavy; it would probably go straight through the floor if he dropped it.

You returned to your book. This was probably your third time reading the Jane Austen classic. You were inexplicably drawn to the plot, the message, the love story, all of it. You finally were at your favorite part. When Mr. Knightly said to Emma, “If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.” You looked at Sherlock over the pages of your book. You couldn’t help but consider the relevance of the quote in your own life.

When you first came to terms with the fact that you were in love with Sherlock, the feeling had burned through you. You couldn’t focus and constantly fought the urge to tell him. Possibly because of the several near-death experiences you'd had. After you made up with Sherlock at the engagement party, the feeling persisted but it was almost duller, easier to live with. You’d slowly regained security in Sherlock’s role in your life and you no longer constantly worried he’d leave again. You returned to your version of mundane and your unrequited feelings for Sherlock became the new normal. It had become more of a consistent ache than a burn.

Sherlock interrupted your thoughts: “Shouldn’t it be relatively easy to find a new book to read if you work in a bookstore?”

“True, but I like this one,” you said without looking up from your book.

“Why? What do you gain from reading a convoluted story of questionable morals that provides no useful information?”

You finally put your book down. “Because, I like to read for fun. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

Sherlock smiled and scoffed at you then returned to his book.

You shook your head and downed the rest of your tea. “Okay, I’ve got to go to work.” You got up and took your mug to the kitchen. On your way back to gather your things, you noticed an open file on the kitchen table that looked like a John Watson scrapbook. You pulled the first paper off the stack to see a cutout of John’s head pasted onto the Vitruvian Man. “Sherlock?” you called over your shoulder, “What’s this file for?”

“What file?” He asked.

You picked up the file and carried it back to the living room. You returned to your seat and started thumbing through it.

“Oh. That’s for the stag night,” said Sherlock.

“Stag night? I didn’t think you would want to do that sort of thing”

“Why not?” He swiftly closed his book. If you didn’t know better, you’d take the action as a sign of offense.

“Uh, no reason,” you said hastily. The file was full of peer-reviewed studies on alcohol consumption, detailed chemistry notes, and copies of John’s medical records. The last page was a detailed schedule of where they were going and how much they were going to drink every hour. “This is awfully thorough.”

“I needed to ensure the maximum amount of enjoyment for the both of us for the duration of the night.”

“How considerate of you.” You put the file down and leaned forward. “So, what do you have planned?”

“John and I will be drinking at a pub on every street we ever found a corpse.”

“That is oddly perfect for the both of you.”

“I thought so,” Sherlock said with a grin.

You looked at the time. If you didn’t leave now, you’d be late. “Well, I’m off. See you later, Sherlock.”

“Yes, yes, goodbye,” he mumbled and returned to reading. You left the file on the table, gathered your belongings, and left for your shift.

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

Later that evening:

You closed the bookshop at 8 pm and headed to the tube station. As you made your way through the crowded streets, you heard your phone ringing. You dug through your bag to find it as you walked. You saw Sherlock’s name on the caller ID and answered it. Your ears were immediately assaulted by electronic dance music.

You heard Sherlock’s voice first “Shut up John, I’m calling her.” He shouted over the music

“Who?” you then recognized John’s voice.

“Her John, I’m calling her!”

You struggled to hear the call over the booming music “Hello?? Sherlock? Why are you calling me?”

“Oh! It’s y/n! Hello!” John shouted into the phone. You winced at the volume.

“John? Where are you? Are you drunk?”

“Stag night! Sherlock tried to measure my piss. Then he got into a fight.”

“Give me that back” Sherlock’s voice “Y/n meet us back at Baker Street. It’s an ‘mergency”

“What did you say? Sherlock? It’s really hard to hear,”

“Baker Street. Now!” He shouted then hung up.

For a moment, you stood in the street, dumbfounded. It was only 8 pm and both Sherlock and John were piss drunk at some club. You couldn’t even begin to process the rest of the information. So much for Sherlock’s plan, although it did seem like they had “maximized their enjoyment”. You weren’t about to miss this.

——————————

You arrived at Baker Street by 8:30 pm. You opened the door to find Sherlock and John laying across the bottom of the stairs. “Hello boys, I’m here.” You announced.

At the sound of your voice, Sherlock and John scrambled to sit upright. Sherlock fell down a step in the process. You tried your best to suppress your laughter. “So, I’m here. What’s the emergency, Sherlock?”

“Right, you,” He said, raising his arm to point at you. “Upstairs.”

You watched Sherlock and John slowly stand up. John lifted one foot to climb the stairs, then stumbled backward.

“Do you need help, John?” You asked.

“Nah,” he said, “‘s alright, I’m fine. I can do it myself.”

You slowly helped Sherlock and John up and into the flat. Sherlock tried to take off his coat, but his arms got stuck behind him. You giggled and gently pulled his coat off him and hung it on the coat rack. You lead Sherlock over to his chair and he flopped down into it.

You went into the kitchen to get some water for him and John. You figured they’d need it. You searched the cabinets, but there wasn’t a clean glass in sight. You resorted to the clean beakers on the countertops instead. You poured two 250mL beakers most of the way with water and walked them back into the living room. When you returned, Sherlock was sitting in his chair. He was drinking from a glass of scotch.

“Sherlock,” you groaned. “Where did you get that?” You attempted to reach for the glass, but he pulled his hand away, spilling it all over himself.

“It’s okay, this is fine,” he said, staring at his scotch-soaked shirt. “Oh,” he started. “I almost forgot,” Sherlock leaned over the side of his chair to grab something off the floor “You left this,” Sherlock said and handed you your copy of Emma. You hadn’t even realized it was gone.

“That was the emergency?”

“I still don’t understand how you could read this 3 times,” Sherlock slurred. “It’s so- what’s the word? Incorrect? ‘There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart.’ What an absurd thing to say” He contorted his face into an expression of disgust and took a sip of scotch from the glass in his hand.

“You read it? Today?” The fact that Sherlock had gone out of his way to read your favorite book made you unnaturally happy. You knew not to read into the things with Sherlock, but sometimes you couldn’t help yourself.

“You left it behind and I was so bored. Besides, I had to understand why you liked it so much. I still don’t know.”

You leaned over and snatched the glass of scotch from him. “I don’t think that’s the best idea, do you?” You handed him the beaker of water.

“Thank you,” he said with a goofy grin. In all the years you’d known Sherlock, you had never seen him like this. It was odd to say the least yet decidedly hilarious.

“Where’s John?”

Sherlock didn’t answer but pointed in the general direction of the bathroom. You decided to take the seat opposite Sherlock. As you sat down, Sherlock put his water on the floor. He then leaned forward and put his head in his hands, staring at you.

“What are you doing, Sherlock?” you asked.

“You,” he said, pointing at your face “are so hard to figure out sometimes, you know that?”

“Me?”

“It’s soooooo annoying. I can tell what almost everyone is thinking all the time, but not always you.”

“You think I’m hard to read?”

“Yes, you. Y/n L/n.” He waved his hands around while he slightly slurred his words.

“Okay then, how about this: I tell you what I’m thinking right now, and you do the same. Then, for one moment, we can understand each other completely.”

Sherlock furrowed his brow “You first.”

“I’m thinking… that I’m glad you called me.” Sherlock smiled and nodded. You giggled, “Now it’s your turn, and don’t lie to me. What are you thinking in this moment?”

Sherlock paused. “I’m thinking that my shirt’s all wet,” he said with a slight frown.

“That’s your own fault,” you said, putting one hand over your mouth to contain your laughter.

John re-entered the room holding post-it notes and a sharpie. “I’ve just had the best idea,” he said with a sloppy grin.

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

The three of you all had post-its stuck to your foreheads, each with names written down. John sat in the client’s seat with the name MADONNA scribbled on the piece of paper stuck to his forehead. Sherlock, much to your enjoyment, had SHERLOCK HOLMES sloppily written on his forehead. As per the game, you had no idea what was written on yours. Sherlock was lounging back in his chair, resting his head on his hand.

“Am I a vegetable?” asked John

“You? Or the thing?” Sherlock asked smiling. The two of them snickered.

“Funny!” said John.

Sherlock looked down and smiled. “Thank you,” he choked out.

“To answer your question, John, no,” you said.

“Your go, Sherlock,” said John.

“Erm…. am I human?” he asked, turning to you.

“Sometimes,” you said with a smirk.

“No, no, it can’t be sometimes, can’t have that…”

“Fine. Yes, you’re human” you confirmed. “My turn. Am I a man?”

“Yeeep” answered John. “Sherlock, you again,” John said, forgetting it was his turn.

“Am I a man?”

John nodded. Sherlock kept going. “Am I a tall man?”

John looked at you and started laughing before he even spoke “Mm, not as tall as people think.” John’s head flopped to the side as he let out a hiccup

“Nice?”

“Ishh,” John said skeptically.

“Clever?”

“I’d say so,” you interjected.

“Do people…” he made air quotes as he spoke the word ‘people’ “... like me?”

“Not really,” you said, chuckling “You tend to rub them the wrong way.” If you had to babysit your adult drunk friends, you might as well have some fun.

“Hm,” Sherlock nodded intently. “Am I the current King of England?”

You and John immediately burst into laughter. “Good guess, Sherlock. But you do know England doesn’t have a king?”

“Don’t we?”

“No,” John said. “Y/n, you go now”

“Right, okay. Am I a friend of ours?”

“Ehh, yes?” Sherlock said.

“Yes, yes they are Sherlock,” said John “Jesus.”

“Well, that narrows it down significantly. Am I Greg?”

“Who’s Greg?” Sherlock asked.

You rolled your eyes and took the post-it off your forehead. The name “Gavin” was written on it in Sherlock’s handwriting. Of course.

“Hey!” Sherlock yelled, “Cheater, that’s cheating. John, did you see that? Y/n’s cheating.” Sherlock got up and took the post-it from your hand. He leaned forward and stuck it back on your forehead. “There. Now it’s John’s turn.”

“Am I a woman?” asked John. He slumped in his seat. Sherlock immediately started giggling. “What?” John asked.

“Yes,” confirmed Sherlock

“Am I a pretty woman?”

“Er, beauty is a construct based entirely on childhood impressions, influences, and role models.”

“But am I pretty?” John asked again.

“Yeah, Sherlock? Is John a pretty woman?”

“I don’t know who you are. I don’t know who you’re supposed to be.”

“What?! You picked the name,” John said.

“Ah, but I picked it at random from the papers,” Sherlock said, flailing his arm over to the stack of newspapers in the corner.

“I don’t think you understand the point of this game, Sherlock,” you added.

“So, I am human, I’m not as tall as people think I am ... I’m-I’m nice-ish ... clever, but I tend to rub them up the wrong way.”

“That’s correct,” said John.

“I’m you, aren’t I?” Sherlock asked, pointing to John.

“Ooh-ooh!” Mrs. Hudson chirped as she knocked on the door. “Client!” Behind Mrs. Hudson was a woman wearing a nurse’s outfit with a cardigan over it. You scrambled to take the post-it off your forehead as you stood up.

“Hello, I’m sorry, but this really isn’t a good time—”

Sherlock immediately stood up and interrupted you. “It’s not a bad time, no, no Y/n. We always help a person in need.”

“Do we?” you said with a forced smile and looked over at John for help. John just stared back blankly at you with a goofy drunken smile.

The woman beamed “Thank you,” she said. “Which one of you is Sherlock Holmes?”

John imitated a slide whistle, and pointed to Sherlock’s post-it on his forehead. Sherlock flashed a wide toothy grin. You put your head in your hands in defeat.

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

A few moments later, you’d made the woman, Tessa, some tea, and you John and Sherlock were sitting on the couch. Sherlock was sat in between you and John. Tessa sat in a chair opposite the three of you.

“I don’t ... a lot ... I mean, I don’t ... date all that much ... and ... he seemed ... nice, you know?”

You looked over at Sherlock and John hoping they could keep it together. John was blinking slowly and heavily while trying to stay awake. Sherlock was listening to Tessa’s story intently.

She continued. “We seemed to automatically connect. We had one night – dinner, such interesting conversation. It was ... lovely. To be honest, I’d love to have gone further ...”

Beside you, Sherlock closed his eyes and began to lean into your shoulder, dozing off. You subtly elbowed him, and he straightened up abruptly.

“But I thought, no, this is special. Let’s take it slowly, exchange numbers. He said he’d get in touch and then ... Maybe he wasn’t quite as keen as I was ...”

You looked over at John who was practically asleep with his eyes open. He had a blank stare and his mouth hung slightly open.

“But I – I just thought ... at least he’d call to say that we were finished,” Tessa concluded, tearing up slightly and looking at the floor. Immediately, Sherlock’s face contorted into an expression of sympathy as he dramatically brought his hand to his mouth. You stared in disbelief and handed Tessa a tissue. “Thank you,” she said to you. “I went round there, to his flat. No trace of him. Mr. Holmes…”

Sherlock leaned forward and rested his head on his hands.

“I honestly think I had dinner ... with a ghost.”

You and Tessa waited to hear what Sherlock had to say. You leaned forward to look at Sherlock and John’s faces only to discover they had both fallen asleep.

“With a ghost, Mr. Holmes!” Tessa repeated, louder.

You sharply elbowed Sherlock in the ribs much harder than before, and he sprung awake. “Boring, boring, boring,” he mumbled, then turned to you and put his hands on either side of your head. “No! fascinating!” He exclaimed, his face right up close to yours. Sherlock then turned to John “John – John! Wake up!” John finally stirred awake.

“I’m up,” he mumbled.

“Apologies about my ... you know ... thing,” Sherlock said, pointing at John. “Rude. Rude!” he yelled straight into your ear. You grimaced at the loud noise and put your hand on Sherlock’s forearm to settle him.

“Yes, that’s enough, Sherlock,” you whispered. “Uhm, go on, Tessa.”

“I checked with the landlord, and the man who lived there died. Heart attack. And there we are, having dinner one week on.” She turned and began to rummage through her purse. She pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper and handed it to Sherlock. You grabbed it before he could take it. It was a print-out of an online chatroom. “And I found this thing online, sort of chatroom thing for girls who think they’re dating men from the spirit world.”

You nodded. This actually seemed like a decent case. Too bad Sherlock and John probably wouldn’t remember one word of it tomorrow. Sherlock tried to stand up next to you, wobbled, and then put one hand on the top of your head to steady himself. You groaned and struggled to untangle his hand from your hair.

“Don’t worry. I’ll find him in ten minutes,” Sherlock said confidently. Tessa smiled in relief. “What’s your dog’s name?”

You facepalmed and stood up next to Sherlock. He leaned over to wake up John. “John! Wake up! We’re meant to ... The game’s ... something” he said, waving his hand around.

“On!” yelled John.

“Yes, that,” Sherlock said, walking out the door. “Come on, Y/n.”

“Wait, Sherlock. Where are you going?” You protested, following him down the stairs.

“That’s a good question. Where are we going?” he asked Tessa in the foyer.

“Oh! Well, I suppose we ought to go to his flat,” Tessa said.

“Sherlock, no,” you said, “You can’t leave...” you looked off the the side awkwardly “…like this.” He ignored you and dragged John out to the sidewalk by his sweater sleeve. He stepped out into the street and hailed down a cab.

“40a, Jasmine Grove,” interjected Tessa as the cab pulled up.

“Are you coming Y/n?” Sherlock slurred.

“No!” you yelled. “And neither are you.” Before you could reach him, Sherlock climbed into the cab after John and Tessa and slammed the cab door in your face. The car drove off.

“Come on, really?!” you yelled in frustration. Now you had to follow them. You ran to the edge of the sidewalk and decided to call a cab for yourself.

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

You finally made it to the apartment to see Tessa and a man you presumed to be the landlord standing by the door. It was a rather modern apartment with exposed brick and abstract furniture. John was standing in the corner with his hands crossed over his chest and his lips pursed. He was swaying slightly, trying to keep his balance. You pushed past the landlord to see Sherlock kneeling on a shag carpet holding his pocket magnifier. As soon as you walked in, he face-planted into the carpet and passed out.

“He’s clueing for looks” John announced, proudly.

“Oh god,” you said, scrambling over to Sherlock. You grabbed his upper arm and tried to pull him up. God, he was heavy.

“That’s it, I’m calling the police.” The landlord pulled out his cell phone.

“No, no, please, that won’t be necessary,” you protested.

“This is a famous detective. It’s Sherlock Holmes and his partner, John Hamish Watson,” Tessa clarified.

You finally managed to get Sherlock to straighten up. “When did you get here?” Sherlock asked, looking up at you. Then, he bent over and immediately threw up on the carpet.

“Ugh why?” you groaned and plugged your nose. Sherlock wiped his mouth on his sleeve and then clicked his magnifier shut.

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

The next morning…

The landlord had called the police and the night ended with you watching Sherlock and John being driven away in the back of a police car. You’d immediately called Greg hoping he’d let them go. Greg had said the best he could do was try and let them off with a warning if they spent the night in the drunk tank. When the station opened, Greg sent you a photo of Sherlock and John asleep in a cell with the caption “Come and get ‘em!”

You walked into Scotland Yard and Greg was there to meet you. “Thank you, Greg,” you said, handing him one of the 4 coffees you’d brought.

“God, what on earth happened to them?” Greg asked, taking a sip from the coffee you gave him.

“Stag night got a bit out of hand,” you said. “Afraid I lost control of the situation.”

“You can say that again,” agreed Greg as the two of you walked through the station to the drunk tank.

“Rise and Shine!” Greg bellowed as he swung open the door. John was awake and sitting on the floor. He had his hands on his head while Sherlock was still fast asleep on the bench.

“Oh my god,” John said, grimacing in pain. “Is that Greg?”

“Get up,” he said “Y/n’s come to collect you. Managed to square things with the desk sergeant.” John painfully and slowly got up. “What a couple of lightweights! Y/n said you couldn’t even make it to closing time!”

“Yeah, could you whisper?” John asked.

“NOT REALLY!” Greg shouted straight into his ear. Across the cell, Sherlock jolted awake, mouth wide open in shock. He tried to stand up, then fell backward back onto the bench. You walked over and helped him up.

“There you go, Sherlock. Nice and easy,” you said quietly and handed him one of the coffees. He took it and stumbled out of the cell, head down. He looked like hell, not to mention the way he smelled. You caught up to John and handed him one of the remaining coffees, leaving the last for yourself. You took a sip of your coffee and continued down the hall.

“Well, thanks for a ... you know ... an evening,” John said to Sherlock.

“Oh, it was awful,” Sherlock said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I was gonna pretend, but it was, truly,” said John. He then turned to you. “Y/n, I am so sorry, that was—”

“It’s okay, I had fun,” you said with a smile.

“At least someone did,” said Sherlock. “That woman, Tessa, dated a ghost. The most interesting case for months. What a wasted opportunity.”

“Really? That’s your takeaway from this?” you asked. He shrugged. “Come on, boys, let’s get you home.”

A/N: Stag night! I love this part of the episode, so I hope I did it justice. Funny story. When I was writing this, I was trying to find real book titles for Sherlock to read and I came across a real book titled “Surrounded by Idiots” I wanted to use it in the story SO BAD but it was so perfect, that it sounded cheesy and made up lmao. I’m 100% certain Sherlock would have it in his bookcase though.

Taglist: @the-chaotic-cow @amoeebaa @scorpios-echos @sad-bitch-h0ur @drifting-away-in-space @that-thing-in-the-graveyard

#bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock x you #Sherlock #Sherlock Holmes #sherlock imagine #sherlockxreader #sherlock x reader #sherlock x y/n #sherlock x you #Sherlock Holmes x Reader #sherlock holmes x you #the sign of three

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waitimcomingtoo · 4 years

Note

Hey, so never really request things, but I really like your writing so here goes nothing. Would you be willing to write a Tom Holland and Reader fic where the reader has a stalker and her and Tom are best friends, but she’s too scared and panicked to tell anyone until one night when she realizes a cats following her when she’s walking home and she runs to Tom’s instead. Really fluffy and love confessions please? If not, that’s ok too, I love all your work!❤️

Every Smile You Fake

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Synopsis: You can’t tell your best friend about your stalker

Warning: a stalker and an incredibly unrealistic police procedure

Masterlist

“Happy birthday, pretty lady.” The ladies in your office greeted you as you arrived for your internship. You beamed as they enveloped you in hugs, a chorus of birthday wishes eliciting from the group.

“Thank you, thank you.” You smiled as you hugged them back, squeezing whoever’s hand you could reach.

“Your boyfriend left you something on your desk.” One of your co-workers winked at you, making the rest of the girls ‘ooo’ and ‘ahh’.

“We’ve been over this, Tammy. I don’t have a boyfriend.” You reminded her as you brushed some hair out of your face. Tom had been seen around the office too many times for them to believe you were actually just friends, as you claimed to be.

“Oh yeah? Tell that to the giant bouquet in your office.” Tammy turned you around and pushed you towards your desk. You could see a large bouquet of yellow and red roses on your desk and blushed a little at the sight. You looked over your shoulder at Tammy and swatted her hands away before walking over to your desk. You did that thing where you pretend to ignore the gift until you’ve read the card and picked up the note sticking out of the bouquet.

“What’s it say?” One of your co-workers asked as they rest of them leaned in to listen. You rolled your eyes at them before reading the note out loud.

“My love,

Today is the most special day of the year. It’s the anniversary of the day you graced us with your presence. I regard that as the greatest thing to ever happen to this earth. Happy birthday.” You read, earning a series of aw’s from the rest of the office.

“He called you his love.” Tammy gushed.

“Does he know he’s not your boyfriend?” Another co-worker asked and the rest laughed.

“Yes, he does. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have phone calls to be answering.” You dismissed the girls and got to work. The rest of the day went by quickly thanks to the ladies in your office. They surprised you with a cupcake at lunch and walked with you to your car at the end of the workday.

“So how are you celebrating? We’d love to take you out for dinner.” Tammy asked as she unlocked her car.

“Thank you, but I have plans with Tom.” You said, anticipating the reaction it’d get. Sure enough, Tammy put her hand over her heart and grinned.

“Ohhh. Of course she does.” She teased you.

“Stop it. He’s just a friend.” You reminded them. You stopped short when you noticed an unfamiliar car parked next to yours. You’d been working at the office long enough to recognize all the cars in the small lot. “Huh.”

“What’s wrong?” Tammy asked when she noticed your confused expression.

“Did we hire a new employee? I’ve never seen this car before.” You pointed to the maroon car next to yours.

“Me either.” Tammy stared at it for a moment and shrugged. “Probably a new janitor.”

You nodded and let it go, hugging Tammy goodbye for driving to Tom’s house.

You pulled into his driveway and fixed your skirt before knocking on his door. Tom opened it in no time, taking a moment to take in your appearance before pulling you into a hug. He lifted you off the ground and walked into his house, shutting the door behind him with his butt as he hugged you. You laughed in his embrace and he gently put you down.

“Wait here.” He told you, leaving you in his living room as he ran into the kitchen. “And thank you for wearing the pencil skirt.” He called.

“Well I know how much you love it.” You laughed, always flustered by Toms love of your work clothes. Tom reappeared with his hands behind his back and a cheeky smile on his face.

“Happy birthday, darling.” He said as he presented you with a homemade cupcake. Your eyes lit up in delight as you took the cupcake. You took a bite as Tom kissed your nose, getting frosting on both your faces.

“Thank you.” You said as you swiped your finger through the frosting and licked it off. “And thank you for the flowers.”

“Flowers?” Toms tilted his head in confusion as he picked a piece of you cupcake off and put it in his mouth.

“The ones you sent to my workplace.” You laughed at his poor memory.

“I didn’t send you any flowers.” Tom laughed back and you stared at him in surprise. “I did, however, bake you this mediocre cupcake. So, you’re welcome for that.”

“Oh, you know how much I love mediocre birthday treats.” You said sarcastically as you smeared some frosting on his nose. “Did you burn the bottom?” You wiggles your eyebrows.

“You know I did, baby.” Tom playfully slapped you with a towel as he walked back into the kitchen, you following behind him. You shared a happy glance and Tom let his linger a while after you looked away. “So uh, who did send those flowers?”

“I’m not sure. Probably some of the girls at work.” You shrugged as you took a seat on one of his barstools. You knew that wasn’t true judging by their reaction to the bouquet, but you didn’t want Tom to worry. But if Tom hadn’t sent them, who had?

“No secret admirers I might have to fight off? As your best friend, that’s legally my job.” He told you as he leaned across the counter to be closer to you.

“No. I think you’re okay.” You giggled, happening to glance upwards right as a car drove by. The maroon hue reminded you of the one parked next to yours earlier in the day. You shook your head and turned your attention back to Tom, letting the car completely slip from your memory until the following week.

“What’s wrong? You’re quiet today.” Tom put his hand over yours and rubbed it with his thumb. You were meeting him at a cafe for your lunch break, like you often did, but you were particularly quiet, like you often weren’t .

“Breakfast is sick.” You said as you put your cup down. Tom looked at you sympathetically, knowing how much you loved that dog, and tried to cheer you up.

“Sick of that name, I’d imagine.” He teased and you let out a short laugh. “What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s been house broken for 7 years but all the sudden, she’s having accidents everyday. And she won’t eat. I even put little strips of bacon in her bowl and she still won’t touch it.” You sighed and Tom nodded.

“Have you taken her to the vet?” He asked and you looked down at your cup.

“No. I can’t.” You told him. As you looked up at him, you noticed a familiar maroon car parked outside the shop. You quickly looked away, not wanting to get yourself worked up over nothing.

“Why not?” He asked, checking behind him to see what you were staring at.

“Because the last time I took a pet to the vet, I never saw them again.” You answered and he squeezed your hand to comfort you.

“You had another dog?“ he wondered.

“No. It’s was my cat.” You responded. “She had to be put down before I met you.”

“Her name wasn’t Dinner was it?” Tom teased, pleased when it made you smile.

“Sherlock.” You said sheepishly.

“Sherlock?” He leaned closer.

“I was little and a big fan, okay?” You defended yourself and he laughed at your expense.

“What if we take Breakfast to the vet together? Will that make you less nervous?” Tom offered.

“It might.” You shrugged as you sipped your tea.

“Then we’ll go on Saturday.” He patted your hand and withdrew it.

“Thanks, Tom.” You smiled in appreciation at him.

“I got you, girlie.” He smirked and took a sip of his own tea before clinking it with yours. “And come over after we go to the vet. I’ll cook you dinner.”

“I thought you were trying to cheer me up.” You poked fun at his cooking and he opened his mouth in mock hurt.

“I’ll see you at eight?” He raised an eyebrow, knowing you’d be over anyway.

“Yes you will.” You confirmed as you shook a sugar packet and stirred it into your cup. You finished up at the cafe and returned to your office. The rest of the work day went by quickly and before you knew it, you were home.

You threw your keys in the bowl by the door and slipped your jacket off. You walked into your bedroom, kicking off your boots when you noticed a note on your bed. You smiled as wandered over to it and picked it off your pillow.

“My love,

I hate to see you troubled. You will be able to get through this. I believe you can get through anything. That’s one of the things I love about you.” You read from the note. You sighed happily at Tom’s sweet gesture, not even bothering too wonder when he had time to come over and leave the note.

You arrived at Tom’s house a little late that Saturday after you dropped Breakfast off at your apartment. The vet said she was fine, just getting old. You shut the door behind you and locked it, calling out to Tom to alert him of your presence.

“Mm, I love it when you’re half an hour late. Really keeps me on my toes.” Tom teased you as he enveloped you in a hug.

“Shut up.” You laughed as you set your purse on his couch. “Traffic was really bad. The car behind me was totally up my butt. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think they were coming here too.” You blew your hair out of you face and took a seat on his barstool.

“Maybe they heard about my incredible cooking skills.” Tom grinned before giving you a kiss on the cheek to say hello. You began to get plates and cups out and set them on the table. You noticed the candles he had set out, all a different scent, and smiled at his gesture.

“Maybe. But they definitely didn’t hear it from me.” You poked his side and stole a tomato from his pile of ingredients.

“Hey.” He said softly, turning the stove off and transferring the pasta onto the two plates you set out.

“I’m sorry. You know I love your disgusting cooking.” You put a hand in his back and rubbed it for a moment to apologize. “I got your note, by the way. Thanks for cheering me up.”

“Note?” Tom asked as he put a plate in front of you and handed you a fork.

“The one you left on my pillow. It said you loved me and I’d be able to get through this.” You explained, feeling your body chill when his face didn’t show any sign of recognition. “You didn’t write that?”

“I do love you and you will be able to get through this, but I didn’t leave that note.” Tom said as he took a bite of his pasta. You quickly sipped your water, your mouth having gone completely dry. If he didn’t send the flowers and he didn’t leave the note, then who did?

“Oh, okay.” You chuckled nervously. “Must’ve been someone else.”

Only it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Tom was the only person you told about the problem.

“Someone else is leaving love letters on your pillow?” Tom asked skeptically as he pushed his food around his plate. “Are you seeing someone or something?”

Your mind flashed to the car you had been seeing around lately, making a mental note to check the license plate next time you saw it.

“Something like that.” You said quietly. You didn’t want to worry Tom, especially if there was nothing to worry about yet. You could chalk the car up to being a coincidence, but you had no explanation for the notes. His eyebrows knit together and he stabbed a piece of pasta rather aggressively.

“Who?” He asked, his body language changing to show his insecurity. You but your lip and debated telling Tom about what had been going on, but ultimately decided against it. If you said it out loud, that would make things real.

You thought you had a stalker.

“Nobody.” You said stiffly and gave him a fake smile. He dropped the topic for the rest of your time there, and it slipped your mind as well. You didn’t think about your potential stalker until the next day when you checked your mailbox. Your stomach fell when you found something on top of your usual pile of magazines and bills.

Another note.

“My love,

I hope this note finds you well. You don’t seem to be appreciating my advances as you should be. Is there another in your life trying to take my place? Maybe that brunette I often see you with. Is he a treat, my love? Has he turned your head? Don’t be scared. I only want what’s best for you. What’s best for us. Don’t go to the police or there will be consequences. I love you.”

You crumpled up the note as tears filled your eyes. You looked around for anyone who might have left the note, but found yourself alone. You quickly made your way back to your apartment, locking yourself in there for the next four days.

Tom texted you constantly, but you were too on edge to give him your attention. You told the girls at work that you were sick, not wanting to risk your stalker showing up at your workplace and putting them in danger. You decided the safest move was to stay home, out of harms way. The door was locked, as well as all the windows. To increase your security, you positioned yourself in a chair in front of the door to watch it. You barely slept or ate, only leaving the chair to use the bathroom. On the fifth day of hiding out, your phone ringing made you jump. You saw atoms contact name and shakily raised the phone to your ear.

“Hello?” You said quietly, in case anyone was listening.

“Hello? Four days of silence and that’s all I get? Where have you been girlie?” Tom asked, sounding annoyed and concerned all at once. You kept your eyes on the door, watching the doorknob carefully for any movement.

“I’ve been…busy.” You lied. You knew he deserved a better excuse but you were in no position to give him one.

“Come over” He whined and you stiffened. You’d love to be safe at his house but you were too scared to go outside. You had the blinds drawn and hadn’t seen sunlight in days. You didn’t want Tom to see you like that.

“I can’t.” You stammered, beginning to get emotional. You didn’t want to lie to him, in fact, you wanted nothing more than to cry into his arms and let him comfort you. But that could put him in danger, and you couldn’t have that.

“Why not? I haven’t seen you in days.” He complained and you laughed sadly. “I need my fill. I think I’m going through withdrawal.”

“I’m busy, okay?” You repeated, wishing he’d accept that answer and let it go.

“So come be busy with me.” He said, and you could hear his pout through the phone.

“No, Tom.” You said sternly. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to see each other for a while.”

“What? Why?” He asked, the hurt in his voice sending a deep pain through you.

“Because I don’t want to see you, okay?” You snapped, not knowing how else to get rid of him. Tom was quiet for a moment and all you could hear was his breathing.

“Is this about the guy you’re seeing?” He said suddenly and you wanted to cry. He was given you an out, but it was gonna kill you to take it.

“Yes.” You said and bit your lip to keep from crying. “It is.”

“Okay.” He sighed and a tear rolled down your cheek. “Sorry. I’ll leave you alone.”

As soon as he hung up, you let yourself cry. Whoever was stalking you was ruining your relationship with Tom. You stood up and kicked the chair over before retreating to your bedroom.

After a restless night, you woke up around 3 the next day to someone knocking at your door. You hesitantly approached the door, baseball bat hidden behind your back. You looked through the peephole and sighed in relief when you saw your neighbor.

“Hey, Y/n. Are you all right?” Your elderly neighbor asked you.

“Yeah, I’m fine Mrs. Beverly. I’m just getting over a cold.” You lied and she nodded in understanding.

“I need to ask you for a favor.” She asked. “My grandson left his phone at home and he’s playing baseball at the park a few blocks from here. I was supposed to pick him up at 4 but I need to take my cat to the vet. Do you think you could drive down there and pick him up? I don’t know how long I’ll be at the vet and it’s in the opposite direction of the park.”

“That’s no problem, Mrs. Beverly.” You gave her a tight lipped smile. “I hope your cat is okay.”

“Thank you, dear. I’ll see you later.” She waved goodbye and left. You sighed and closed your door, dreading having to leave your apartment. You couldn’t say no to her, but now you actually had to go outside. You decided a quick drive to the park wasn’t lethal and took a quick shower to get ready. You threw on some clothes and by then, it was time to go. As you neared your car in the parking garage, you noticed the maroon car parked next to it. The sight of it struck fear in your heart and you immediately turned on your heel to leave the garage. You walked the short blocks to the park, looking over your shoulder the entire way there. You got to the park as quick as you could and found Mrs. Beverly’s grandson amongst a group of kids. After he told you he was going out with some friends for ice cream, you took a seat on the bleachers to catch your breath. You didn’t blame the strange looks the children were giving you. You knew you looked a mess. After taking a moment to breathe, you began your walk home.

It wasn’t long before you heard a car driving behind you. You slowly turned around and saw the same maroon car that was following you. You felt sick to your stomach when you realized no one was around to help you. You turned back around and kept walking, trying to stay as calm as possible. You could see the car following you out of your peripheral vision and quickened your pace. You got to your apartment but kept walking, not trusting yourself to get to safety in time. The possibility of getting into the elevator or stairwell with whoever was following you was too great. You walked a few more blocks until your reached Toms neighborhood. You ducked behind a giant bush and ran through his neighbors backyards to make a quick escape. When you didn’t see the car behind you anymore, you darted to his house and banged on his front door. He opened it in no time and you rushed inside, shutting the door behind you and locking it. You leaned your back against the door and panted, all while Tom stared at you quizzically.

“Hey.” You said sheepishly. You knew you looked crazy. And you knew the way you spoke to him the day before made the situation even worse.

“Hey.” He said softly. You could tell he was hurt and it broke you into pieces. He turned around and went back to the kitchen, wordlessly inviting you inside. You shut the curtains before you joined him and made sure the windows were locked.

“I was just making some pasta. You’re welcome to join me because I don’t know how to measure things. I’m pretty sure I made enough for a football team and who are you talking too?” The subject of his sentence quickly diverged, making you jump a little.

“What?” You asked, surprised by his assertive tone. The playfulness he usually had with you was long gone.

“You keep mentioning somebody that you’re talking to. The guy who left the note. Probably the same guy who gave you those flowers.” Tom said bitterly and you looked down in shame. “Is he the reason you don’t want to see me?”

“That’s not…no, Tom.” Your voice was weak as you silently pleaded with him not to start something.

“I just want to know, okay? I don’t care if you’re seeing somebody.” He paused, knowing he was lying. “It’s just weird that you didn’t tell me. We’re best friends-“

“-I know.” You cut in.

“I thought we told each other everything.” He looked at you and shrugged.

“We don’t.” You said quietly, feeling fear rise in your throat again.

“Why not? Did I do something? Do you not trust me?” He asked as he leaned on the counter. You rubbed your neck and swallowed hard, glancing over your shoulder out of habit.

“I don’t know who to trust anymore.” You whispered as a tear slipped from your eye. Toms angry body language shifted to that oj sympathy and he walked around the kitchen island to rest his hands on your shoulders.

“Is something wrong?” He asked gently as he rubbed your shoulders. You bit your lip tearfully as you nodded.

“What’s going on? You can tell me.” He said as he took the seat next to you.

“I’ve been seeing someone.” You admitted for the first time.

“I know that-“

“No.” You cut him off in fear of losing your nerve. “I’ve been seeing a car. The same maroon car every day now for a month. I thought it was a coincidence at first but then I saw the license plate and now I see it everywhere. It’s parked outside the stores I’m in, it’s in my parking garage at work,” You welled up with tears as you recalled the sightings and Tom took your hands in his, “and it followed me home tonight. I-I didn’t know what to do. I just panicked and came here. I’m so sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” He asked as he took a napkin from the table and wiped your eyes. You smiled gratefully and took the napkin from him.

“Because it could be outside right now.” You said lowly, and Tom could see the fear in your eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were being followed?” He asked, desperate to know why you kept something of this nature from him.

“I’m scared, Tom.” You breathed. “I’m scared everyday. Whoever it is, they’re not just following me. They know things about me. They knew about my dog being sick. They sent me flowers on my birthday to my workplace. If I told you, it could’ve put you at risk.”

“I’m calling the police.” Tom said definitively and went to his phone. “Do you remember the license plate number?” He asked as he held the phone to his ear. “Yeah, hi, I need an officer over at 123 Internet Street. It’s about a possible stalker.”

“They told me not to go to the police.” You got out of your chair and pulled him away from his phone. He immediately went into a drawer and pulled out a pad and a pen.

“Well they didn’t tell me that.” He stated. “Here. Write down the plate number.” He slid through pad towards you.

“Tom-“ You tried to get him to stop.

“Write it down. Now.” He slammed the pen down in front of you, making you jump back. You obeyed his orders and took the pen, writing the license plate number down. You sheepishly slid the pad towards him and his eyes softened when he realized he raised his voice at you.

“I’m such an idiot.” He sniffled, feeling himself get emotional over the situation. You were scared enough and he had made you feel even worse.

“There’re no way you could’ve known.” You put your hand on his but he yanked it away and baled it into a fist, banging the table.

“Oh, yeah?” He challenged. “So I couldn’t have asked you why you’ve been looking over your shoulder lately? Or why you stopped wanting to hang out in public places? How about when you stopped wanting to see me? None of those could’ve let me know something was going on?”

“Please, Tom.” You begged him as you took his face in your hands to calm him down. “Don’t blame yourself for this. I could’ve told you.”

“No. I should’ve known.” He shook his head. “I knew you were acting funny but all I could think about was who sent you those goddamn flowers.” He said through gritted teeth and he hit the table.

“Why are you still hung up on that?” You took your hands off his face, angry now that he wasn’t listening.

“Now is really not the time.” He blew out a hot breath and ran his fingers through his hair.

“I’m already full of nerves, Tom. Whatever it is, just tell me.” You pleaded with him. He looked at you, taking you in for everything you were. You raised your eyebrows, asking him tell you what he was feeling, and he obliged.

“Y/n, for the past few years I-“ He began.

“Police. Open up.” A banging on the door interrupted his moment.

“I’ll…I’ll get it.” You said quietly and went to the door. Tom wiped his face, knowing this wasn’t the right time. You opened the door to two female officers.

“We got a call about a 1036M. What seems to be the problem?” The officer asked you. Tom appeared behind you and opened the door wider.

“My friend believes she’s being stalked.” Tom spoke, but the officers eyes never left you.

“Is this your boyfriend?” She asked you, nodded towards Tom.

“No.” You shook your head and she nodded.

“I’m her-“ Tom tried to explain.

“I think you ought to let her speak.” The officer looked at him sternly. “Is there another room we can speak in?” She asked you kindly.

“Oh, sure. We can go in the bedroom, right Tom?” You asked him.

“Yeah, it’s right this way.” He said, beginning to lead you towards the room.

“I’m sure she can show me.” The officer told him. Her tone changed from sweet to sassy when she addressed Tom. If you weren’t so stressed, you might have laughed.

“Come with me.” You told her and the other officer followed. You and Tom exchanging strange looks as you left the room. She shut the bedroom door behind you as you took a seat on the bed.

“You know, he’s a really nice guy.” You laughed softly.

“The 911 dispatcher heard you when he made the call. We hear a distressed woman, we take every precaution.” The officer explained and you smiled in appreciation. “I also like being rude to men.”

You nodded in understanding as he took out her notepad.

“Can you explain your situation, honey?” She asked you sweetly, and you nodded.

“I think I’m being stalked.” You told her. “I’ve been seeing the same car following me around. And I’ve been getting notes.”

“Notes?” She asked, looking up from her notepad where she was writing everything down.

“Like, love notes.” You explained. “They contain personal details in them.”

“Do you have these notes on your person?” She asked you.

“Yes.” You said, digging in your purse and pulling out the notes you hadn’t crumbled. The officer took them and handed them to the other officer, who put them in a plastic bag.

“Can you describe the car for me, sweetie?” The first officer asked you.

“It’s maroon and the license plate is 7TYP256. I think it’s a station wagon or something.” You said as you looked between the two officers.

“Can you run a license plate for me?” The second officer said into her intercom. “Plate number is 7TYP256, over.”

“That should be a few minutes.” The first officer told you. “Have you ever seen the person leaving these notes?”

“No, but one was left in my house.” You remembered, your mouth drying out at the memory.

“Was anything taken?” She asked you. Tom leaned against the wall on the other side, trying to listen in.

“Nothing other than my ability to sleep at night.” You laughed humorlessly as some noise came through their radios.

“We got a hit on your plate.” The other officer spoke up. “The car belongs to an Andrew Whittemore. Do you recognize that name?”

“Yes.” You thought for a moment, trying to think of where you knew that name. “He was in my history class in college.” You realized. “He asked me out once was I blew him off. I didn’t think anything of it.”

“Have you lived in the same apartment since college?” She asked you.

“Yes. He was even over once for a study group.” You began to panic, not knowing if knowing your stalker made the situation more or less scary.

“See here? He’s been convicted of stalking before. We put an APB out for him.” The first officer said as she showed you something on her screen. You looked and saw a picture of Andrew, older and more worn down from how you remembered him from college.

“Thanks.” You said simply, not knowing what else to say.

“That’s what we’re here for, baby.” The officer told you kindly. “Come on, lets go tell your not-boyfriend what’s going on.”

The three of you walked back into the living room, where Tom was seated on the couch. His posture was perfectly straight, something out of the normal for him. You had a feel he had rushed to the couch when he heard you coming and it made you smile. He made his way to you quickly and nodded at the officers, who were busy conversing with each other and listening to their police radio.

“Is everything okay?” He asked you, running his fingers from your elbows to your hands.

“Yeah.” You nodded, your nervous energy dissipating with his touch. “They actually found the guy.”

“They did?” He asked, looking at the officers with hope.

“We did.” She confirmed. “And my guys just found him a few blocks from here. He had a couple notes on him that were enough evidence to convict him. He’s been taken into custody.”

You sighed in relief and Tom pulled you into his body, letting your back rest against his chest.

“Is there anything else you need from me?” You asked the officers and they shook their heads.

“You’ll have to testify before a court, but don’t worry about that tonight.” One of them told you.

“Thank you.” You said sincerely and the leading officer gave you a warm smile.

“Of course. Have a nice night, ma’am.” They nodded at you before leaving. You stayed silent for a moment as Tom softly stroked your arm.

“What do we do now?” He asked, leaning down to press a comforting kiss to your shoulder. You smiled cheekily and looked up at him.

“Didn’t you say you made some pasta?”

A few hours later, you had washed the dishes together and were relaxing on the couch, your feet in Toms lap.

“It’s late.” You realized when you saw the clock under his TV. “I should probably go.”

“Do you feel safe in that apartment?” He asked you as he rubbed your ankle bone.

“I honestly don’t think I’m ever gonna feel safe again.” You chuckled softly, rubbing your hands over your arms. He watched your sympathetically, wishing there was something more he could do.

“He’s in prison, darling. He can’t get to you.” He said softly. You shrugged and looked at him through your lashes.

“What happens when he gets out?” You whispered. “What’s stopping him from driving right over to my apartment and waiting for me?”

“I’ve been thinking of moving.” Tom said suddenly, giving you a playful smile.

“You and me both.” You laughed and rubbed your tired eyes.

“What if we got a place together?” He scooted a little closer to you. “Somewhere in London, maybe, since you like the city so much.”

“Really?” You lit up, liking the idea already.

“Really.” He smiled. “And you can stay here until you feel ready to go home. I’ll swing by your place tomorrow and get some clothes.”

“I’d like that, Tom. Thank you.” You wrapped your arms around him and stayed there in his embrace. He tilted his face a little to place a kiss on your cheek, looking at you for a moment before clearing his throat.

“I’m happy to do it. You don’t have to thank me.” He said as you pulled out of each other’s embrace. Your hand slid off his shoulder and rested on his chest, where you clutched his shirt slightly, bunching up the fabric to keep him close.

“What were you gonna say before the police came?” You spoke softly.

“I don’t remember.” He lied, not meeting your gaze.

“Don’t lose your nerve now.” You urge. Tom studied your face and took a deep breath.

“I really value your friendship.” He began. “And if I’m overstepping, stop me at anytime but, do you ever want more?”

“More?” You asked.

“Yeah. I’m happy with how we are, believe me. But I can’t help from wanting, I don’t know, more.” He repeated, watching closely for your reaction. “Like, when I kiss you on the cheek sometimes, I wonder what would happen if I just moved over just a few inches and actually kissed you. Or when we’re sitting next to each other on the couch, and I’m cold, and you’re cold, what’s stopping me from pulling you into my lap to warm us both up? I know best friends don’t do that stuff but, I’ve always felt like we’re-“

“More than best friends?” You laughed softly as you finished his sentence.

“Yeah.” He smoked in relief when you understood. “It’s hard to explain. Like, I’m not pinning after you, but if you wanted to be more than friends, I’d want that too. Do you get what I’m trying to say?”

“Funnily enough, I do.” You replied as a smile tugged at your lips.

“Good. Because I’m totally pinning after you.” He admitted with a nervous chuckle. You stared at him and made a decision that if you could face a stalker tonight, you could face your best friend that you were crushing on.

“Tom?” You asked, a coy smile on your face.

“Yeah?” He tilted his head, looking at you fondly with his signature soft brown eyes.

“Pull me into your lap.” You instructed. “Let’s find out what really would happen if you actually kissed me.”

Tag List 🏷

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#tom holland x reader #tom holland x yn #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #peter parker x reader #marvel #spiderman #peter parker x y/n #peter parker fluff

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Mouse’s Reclist (#2/?)

It’s time for a second reclist! Here’s the first, if you want. This is again in no particular order. Title, author, pairing, and fandom will be listed, as well as if it’s a WIP.

The first few are going to be Snarry, because my reading list recently has basically consisted of entirely Snarry. Why? Because I fucking love Snarry. Sue me.

Angels on the Moon by Writcraft - Harry Potter/Snarry - The aftermath of the war is almost as difficult as the war itself, Harry is a mess and Severus is a reluctant survivor forced back to Hogwarts to recuperate from his injuries. When a brick-bonding spell goes awry, Harry and Severus are forced to confront hatred, misunderstandings and a new and unexpected intimacy which takes them both by surprise. Notes: This is the classic-style Eighth Year!Fic, which has long been my favourite trope in the HP fandom. It’s an especially loved trope of mine when it comes to Snarry, too, as I am problematic filth, and teacher-student relationships are my jam. It’s also a classic bonding!fic. But the way it handles the tropes is just… *chef’s kiss*

The Man Underneath by maraudersaffair - Harry Potter/Snarry - Severus is a secret Auror and must always be disguised. When Harry Potter becomes his new partner, Severus struggles hiding his true identity and burning attraction. Notes: This is more bottom!Snape than top!Snape, which I know isn’t to everyone’s taste. However, it’s fucking fantastic, and as someone who has a cathartic and self-fulfilling love of “char A is ugly and has a shittonne of self-hatred and yet manages to score super hot char B” (something that I struggle with myself and still worry how I manage to keep my own gorgeous partner over), this is perfect. Not that I even agree with J.K.’s assessment on Sev’s ugliness. I like the “goth filled with churning angst” look.

a forest, dark and deep by bleedcolor - Harry Potter/Snarry - Once, many years ago (for that is when all great stories begin, many years ago; we never consider we might be in the midst of our own great story) there lived a boy. But wait, you might say, there is nothing special about a boy living, many people do and never amount to much of anything. You would be right, but you would also be wrong, because this story is not about a boy who lived, but The Boy Who Lived, and that is all the difference. Notes: Harry is cursed and must go on an adventure to the Fountain of Youth to find the cure. I cried. I cried a lot. I cried a lot a lot a lot a lot. Happy ending, though! Fairy tale fic. One of the best fics to read if you want magic in the HP universe portrayed more like magic in ancient medieval history tends to be portrayed: mysterious, Eldritch, Occult-like power that requires strange and sometimes dangerous rituals to harness.

you like making me work for it by bottlefamebrewglory - Harry Potter/Snarry - “Before what, Mr. Potter?”//Before Snape had looked at him, drunk and miserable without knowing why, and told him that he could change his future if he wanted. Before he had pulled Snape out of the darkness he’d been determined to drown in. Before the memories. Before he’d looked into Snape’s eyes and watched him die.//Harry didn’t often change his mind, not about people. He’d been accused by Hermione more than once of being stubborn, even prejudiced. And, once upon a time, he’d thought he’d known exactly who Severus Snape was. But that had changed and Harry was no longer that boy anymore, just as Snape could no longer ever be just his hated professor.//“Before,” Harry said again, more finally.//Harry was pretty sure the fact that everyone never thought he’d live past seventeen was at least half the reason becoming an actual adult was so goddamn strange. Severus just wanted to get on with his life now that it was free of controlling old men.//Or, five times Harry flirted with Snape and one time Snape flirted with Harry. Notes: @snapedefender‘s most recent masterpiece. Post-War!fic, one of the best of. Harry worms his way into Severus’ life, as he always does. Also he has a big crush. Their interactions are golden. Everything about this is golden, in fact. It’s just delightful. Read it, please.

How the War Was Won by avioleta - Harry Potter/Snarry - Severus Snape should be dead. Instead, he wakes up after the Battle of Hogwarts to find himself quarantined in a house full of Gryffindors, waiting for Harry bloody Potter to save the world…again. And Severus must be going crazy because he can’t seem to stop thinking about Potter. (Or, where Harry needs a distraction, and Severus doesn’t refuse.) Notes: War Doesn’t End with The Battle of Hogwarts!fic. And it’s by avioleta, a longtime and well-loved Snarry writer. Well-loved for good reason! They know what they’re doing, and it shows. I’ve long loved “Harry and any number of Slytherins are holed up together and must get along” as a trope, and this nails it perfectly. Another fav was in my previous reclist, Hauntingly by ObsidianPen, where Harry is holed up with Draco, Sev, AND Tom! Fun times!

Chasing Ghosts by DictionaryWrites - Harry Potter/Snarry/WIP - “I guess I’m not ready to join the land of the living just yet,” Harry says. “Need a little more time here at Hogwarts, with all the ghosts. You know what I mean?”//In the aftermath of the war, Harry doesn't feel ready to leave the safety of the castle, and to go out into the world at large: he wants to stay. The Room of Requirement - with great reluctance - grants his wish. Notes: Adult!Harry wakes up in the Marauders Era and becomes a teacher, all while he tries to figure out the nature of spacetime. TIME TRAVEL!FIC! That’s in all caps because I love and adore time travel!fic with all my heart. Again, more of a bottom!Snape story. I used to think I preferred top!Snape, but bottom!Snape has come into my heart with a passion as of late and showed me I’m not always going to want Snape to nail Harry into his mattress. This also shows more of Snape’s backstory, with mentor!Lucius and all, which is a fav of mine as well.

OKAY! Enough Snarry, yes, sorry. Moving on!

Love Potion #9 by murderlight - Bleach/GrimmIchi - Gifted with a horrifying box of potion-laced chocolates from Urahara in the hopes he might feed them to somebody, Ichigo thought all the excitement for Valentine’s Day was done with. Then Grimmjow had to get snacky.//A story in which Ichigo is entrusted with the scientifically altered affections of his once-enemy, and might just discover some of his own. Notes: I love the goddamn love potion/love spell trope. This one highlights the dubcon nature of making someone fall in love with you (even on accident) a lot more, but still makes everyone’s feelings feel genuine and real. And of course it ends happily. And there’s no noncon, if that’s not to your taste. Ichigo is a good boy and does not stroke that pussy until that pussy is entirely free from Kisuke’s experimental serums. Yes, I made that pun.

The Edinburgh Problem by snorklepie - Sherlock/Johnlock - “A nice holiday, just a bit more...murdery. ” John said drily.//“Yes! The best kind of holiday!” Sherlock beamed. “So we won’t get bored!”//After he separates from Mary, John returns to Baker Street. Following a request for help from Sherlock's cousin Violet, the detective and his blogger take a trip to Edinburgh. John discovers more about the Holmes family and Sherlock than he bargained for, but tries not to run screaming. Notes: I fell in love with Violet immediately. I am so gay. If you are also attracted to women, you will probably join me in falling in love with Violet. She is amazing, and very Holmes. But a more balanced Holmes. Well, as balanced as a Holmes can be. I love case fic, I love Sherlock Holmes in general because of my adoration for murder mystery (yes, I am a forensics major, thank you for being able to clock me very obviously), and I love deep backstory and family bonding. It’s a long, long ride, but it is undoubtedly worth every single minute.

The Loss of Flesh and Soul by deuxexmycroft - Sherlock/Johnlock/Abandoned WIP - Five years after John Watson puts the murderous Sherlock Holmes behind bars, a vicious copycat killer emerges. A reluctant John is pulled out of retirement to seek the expertise of the only man who can help, a man who has developed an unsettling obsession with John himself.//Crossover with Red Dragon/Silence of the Lambs Notes: It’s Hannigram but Johnlock, what’s not to love? Sherlock’s characterisation in the TV show is already unsettling enough (well, in the beginning, but I like to pretend Sherlock doesn’t exist past S2), so adding in a little Hannibal Lecter is fantastic. Yes, it’s an abandoned WIP. Yes, that hurts like hell. But it’s so, so worth it anyway. Seriously, this is one of the best executions of serial killer!Sherlock I’ve seen in fandom, and given how fucking gigantic the Sherlock fandom is, hopefully you can see how big of a thumbs up that is imho!

Sinking the Land by emungere - Sherlock/Mystrade - Three weeks ago, Mycroft Holmes picked Lestrade up outside New Scotland Yard and made him an offer he'd been unable to refuse, despite his best judgement. Mycroft had sucked his cock, dropped him off at home, and Lestrade hadn't heard a word from him since.//Now, the door of the black car swung open as Lestrade drew level with it. He could just see Mycroft's profile, hawkish nose and shallow chin limned by the orange glow of the streetlight. Notes: Porn WITH plot! That’s the best way to take your porn, imho. One of the best ways I’ve seen the Mystrade relationship developed. It’s just so real. And Lestrade is so head-over-heels, which is my favourite way to take my Lestrade :p.

Clark Kent, of Krypton by TerresDeBrume - DCEU/Superbat - Batman crashes on Krypton a few days before the Turn of the Year celebrations, and Kal-El's life takes a sharp turn to the left, on a path that will, ultimately, lead him to becoming Clark Kent. Notes: Krypton Wasn’t Destroyed!fic is always, always, always my favourite. Sci-fi mystery again, yes. If you saw my first reclist, then you understand that I am always going to fall for a sci-fi mystery fic. This one develops Kryptonian culture beautifully, and equally-as-perfectly encapsulates what “Clark Kent Pretending to Be a Mild-Mannered Reporter, but on Krypton” would actually look like.

Q It Again by writerofprose - Star Trek/QCard - Picard thinks his position, as captain of the Enterprise, plays the largest role in Q's obsession with him. Q would like to take that bet, even if Picard wasn't making one. What say they try it again, from the start? Without the captain nonsense? Notes: A poignant take on Q’s weird fixation with Picard. Not that anyone can blame him. I mean, shit, the man is Jean-luc Picard. Anyone would be fixated on him. Q uses his Q powers to explore Picard in multiple alternate universes, and erases his own memories in order to come in unbiased. Picard gets to keep his original memories, and those of the AU. Does Q still like Picard as much when he’s not at the helm of the Enterprise?

American Outlaws by manic_intent - Red Dead Redemption/Morston - “Bounty’s for one ‘Jim Milton’,” Sadie said, as she got close to the man under the oak tree. “Wanted for murder, robbery, and unnatural acts.”//“Unnatural what?”///“Don’t got details on here.” Sadie passed the folded up poster to her hunting partner. “You all right?”//Arthur Morgan didn’t answer her as he smoothed open the poster. He was aggressively smoking a cigarette, his second, judging from the stub on the grass. Notes: I loved RDR and RDR2 so much that I wrote my own fic in the fandom, despite knowing jackshit about late 1800’s America. It was only a ficlet, in order to hide how little I remember from my contemporary history classes, but much more talented people than me took on the burden of whole-ass novels. Here’s everyone’s fav BNF manic’s take on a fix-it Morston, pre-RDR1 but post-RDR2. It’s excellent. Who doesn’t enjoy forbidden love historical romance? Especially with a delicious helping of age gap. If you’d like Vandermorgan or even Vandermorston, check out more of manic’s stuff, and also kriegersan, who is another long-time fav of mine.

Every Deckerstar fic by wollfgang. But especially a softer beginning, an amnesia!fic, and if you saw all of me, a true form!Lucifer!fic. You know, since angels are described as weird Eldritch beings in ancient texts. Both tropes are my favourite. Also that latter one has monsterfucking and we are all monsterfuckers here.

A Modest Proposal by ignaz - House M.D./Hilson - Tritter's case against House still depends on subpoenaed testimony from Wilson. To save House from losing everything, the doctors of PPTH decide on an unusual solution, which in turn leads to unexpected consequences. This is a story about the sacrifices we make that turn out not to be such great sacrifices after all. (Contains spoilers for everything up to and including "Merry Little Christmas.") Notes: Work 355 on the AO3. It’s that OG. And for an OG slash fandom, too. Well, not Star Trek levels of OG, but it’s a fandom based on Sherlock Holmes, and ACD did come before Star Trek! You’ve probably read it. It’s the OG Hilson Pretend Marriage!fic. But I had to rec it because when I get bored I watch House on Amazon Prime (or the thousands of clips they upload to YT nowadays), and I always am struck by HOW GAY HOUSE AND WILSON ARE OH MY GOD. I can never watch it with Mum in the room, though, because she was in the medical field before she retired, and the unrealistic nature of how House characters behave (and some of the medical procedures) make her SOOOOOO peeved. Though doctors, especially surgeons, were apparently huge egotistical dicks at times. Maybe not kill your own patient levels, though.

In A Place Where No One Appeared by Gefionne - Star Wars/Kylux - Following the destruction of Starkiller Base, General Hux is ordered to remove a wounded Kylo Ren to a place where he can recuperate. Knowing nowhere else to house him safely and discreetly, Hux takes Ren to his family’s estate on Arkanis. He anticipates adding this experience to the already long list of abhorrent memories he has of his childhood home, but six weeks in company with Ren turns out to be something quite unlike Hux expected. Notes: The imagery is so fucking vivid, I love it. The entire world of Arkanis is just lit up so beautifully in Gefionne’s words. This takes a little liberty with Hux’s backstory, given there wasn’t too much out at the time, but it’s so fucking good, I’d prefer its canon to the actual one, lmao.

all that you love will be carried away by coldhope - Star Wars/Kylux - Supreme Leader, the oscillator is failing. The collapse has begun. There is nothing that can be done.//Hux, sent to retrieve Kylo Ren from the dying Starkiller Base, has lost almost everything, and has little patience or tolerance left for anyone or anything--particularly not Snoke's pet pseudo-Sith and his amateur theatrics. But you do the job that is in front of you, to the best of your ability, and you hold on as long as you can. Notes: One of the first Kylux fics, and one of the best. Their relationship is just so real here.

London Calling by SectoBoss - Overwatch/WidowTracer - Recaptured by Overwatch, Widowmaker is sent on a mission to assassinate a high-ranking Talon agent in London. It should be an easy mission – get in, take the shot, and leave. But when Tracer’s your getaway pilot a lot of things can go wrong, and things like 'subtlety' and 'discretion' tend to be the first casualties. Now, lying low after the mission goes awry, the pair of them have to survive in the city until Overwatch can get them home. Notes: Written when OW was in its heyday. And before the fandom was qqqquite as bad as it became. A WidowTracer case!fic, with Amelie as the reluctant good guy, which is always the best trope and I don’t take concrit on this point.

To the Victor, The Spoil by Annakovsky - Hunger Games/Haymitch/Katniss - No berries, no mockingjay, no rebellion. Katniss killed Peeta in the arena, and now she has to live with herself like every other victor. Notes: An old fandom, an older fic, back in the day when nobody complained about fucked up dark!fic. And fucked up dark!fic this is. Rape, age gap, age gap rape, Katniss losing all hope about the future, etc. But damn, it’s good.

The Want of You by MKK - Star Trek/Garashir - Julian Bashir is not quite sure yet about his feelings toward his enigmatic new friend Elim Garak. So when they both show symptoms of a mysterious illness, it seems they'll now have more time apart to ponder the future of the relationship. Their symptoms worsen, however, and to their shock, they discover there's only one way to effectively and inexplicably ease the pain: getting physically closer and closer - and closer. Notes: A forced bonding!fic where Bashir doesn’t actually know Garak all that well. As in, set very early in the canon. Very early. Which is my favourite way to read this beloved trope, because the whole fun of it (imho) is characters who barely have a grasp on each other’s personalities being forced to learn them.

Timeshare by astolat - Harry Potter/Drarry - “It’s not for long,” Hermione said. “By the time we get back to Hogwarts, the Unfettering Brew will be ready.”//“Listen to you!” Ron said. “He’s got to get through a month with the Dursleys and a month at Malfoy Manor. With Draco Malfoy.”//“Yeah, thanks,” Harry said, because he hadn’t just spent the last week contemplating just how much more horrible his summer holidays were about to be than they’d ever been before. Notes: Another forced bonding!fic, this time by AO3’s own founder. I love it. I love it, I love it, I love it. Their interactions here are perfect.

Speaking of Drarry, here’s a Veela!Draco fic I’ve recced before, but I don’t believe was in the original masterpost.

Talk to Me by Saras_Girl - Harry Potter/Drarry - When the usual channels of communication are shut down, the most surprising people can find a way in. A strange little love story. Notes: Harry is temporarily deaf and blind thanks to a misaimed spell. Draco takes care of him, in secret. Identity porn at its best.

Semaphore by DevilDoll - MCU/Stony - "I’m trying to like you, Tony. You’re just making it very hard." Notes: I wanted to rec another OG. One of the first Stony fics in the MCU, and still one of the best. It holds up very, very well and is worth a read if, by some miracle, you haven’t already.

Prisoner’s Dilemma by AvocadoLove - MCU/Stony - After taking the airplane down in the Arctic, Steve wakes to find himself imprisoned as a human test subject. With no idea where in the world he is, his only ally is a fast-talking inventor in the cell next door. Something’s off about Tony that Steve can’t put his finger on, and it’s obvious Tony doesn't fully trust him either. But to escape they may not have a choice… Notes: IDENTITY PORN! And it’s by an author I adore. AvocadoLove has pioneered the MCU MattFoggy fandom, and also donated their efforts and words to Stony. It’s the best. And it’s canon divergence! Which is another favourite trope, and one I can’t ever seem to stop writing myself. I have a lot of appreciation for it.

Speaking of MattFoggy, all of theapplepielifestyle’s works for the pairing are amazing. And all of their works in general.

Belief Space by magicasen - Marvel 616/Stony - The Time Gem appears not when it is wanted, but when it is needed. Steve learns this the hard way.//(Or: an Infinity #6 AU where Thane refuses his birthright and the Avengers are doomed - until the Time Gem shows up within Captain America's grasp.) Notes: A 616!Stony fic, if you’re craving something in the comics rather than the movies. Still with Civil War angst and Stony angry tension, just this time it’s even more painful, because their friendship in the comics!verse was beautiful and their fallout even more devastating.

This time tomorrow (where were we?) by dorcas_gustine - Marvel 616/Stony - Tony goes to see Wanda, and suddenly Steve is alive and there are Skrulls! Or maybe Tony is just going crazy. Nothing happens in this fic, until the very end. Seriously. There's a lot of talking, mostly at inopportune moments, Tony's views on the acceptable gifts to give people are slightly different from everyone else's and he spends more time than would seem necessary being (half-)naked. What else is new? Notes: More 616 for your Stony needs! Tony time travels into a word pre-Secret Invasion and decides to fix things his damn self.

despite the threatening sky and shuddering earth (they remained) by praximeter (Zimario) - MCU/Stucky - “They really didn’t want the mask to come off.” Hill thumbed through the scans, and pulled out a film that she then handed over to Sam, face mostly expressionless but for the flat line of her pursed lips.//Sam accepted the film and held it up to the light, angling so both he and Steve could see it, squinting at the outline of the Winter Soldier’s skull, and the blips of unnatural white that showed up, God, in his brain, not to mention about half his teeth, plus the mask, with its thin protrusions—//“Those are pins,” Steve realized. He looked over at Hill. “The mask—it’s nailed to his face.”//Hill’s face was as unmoved as ever. “Like I said. They really didn’t want it coming off.” Notes: TWS Identity Porn!AU. Gore, given that the Winter Soldier’s mask is literally stuck to his face. But it’s excellent.

Simple by Osidiano - MCU/Stucky - Written for the capkink meme; "To the Winter Soldier, there are basically three kinds of people in the world: superiors, mission support, and targets. He doesn't have the context to understand things like friendship. So what he sees in the Smithsonian exhibit and what little he remembers or feels about his past, he interprets in that light. He thinks that Steve must have been his handler during World War II. That the reason he couldn't kill Steve and the reason he was smiling in the museum photos was because Steve was a good superior who treated him well (or at least didn't hurt him like Pierce and Rumlow, which to him might be the best he can imagine).//Thinking he understands the situation, he decides to report to Steve. Cue misunderstandings, confusion, and heartache for both of them." Notes: Bucky taking a while to snap out of TWS mode is one of my favourite tropes. This fic executes it perfectly.

Bridge Over Troubled Water by soniclipstick (veriscence) - MCU/Stuckony/Phlint - Ultron is destroyed, the Avengers are in disarray, and the Winter Soldier is still in the wind. Steve knows that he has to fix the ever-growing ocean of distrust between Tony and himself, so he takes a leap of faith and tasks Tony with the most important thing: finding Bucky Barnes. But it takes a pair of sexy but stolen hand warmers, several robots, Hawkeye and countless selfies before Steve realises the immensity of what he's set into motion. Notes: I would die for Stuckony as a ship. It’s one of my favourites to read and to write, and this fic here encapsulates it quite frankly in the best way.

Strange New Worlds by Leletha - Supernatural/Destiel/Sabriel - AU…THE FUTURE: Humanity survives everything, spreads to the stars, and finds it needs to know where it can land. Enter interplanetary explorers Sam and Dean Winchester…and sentient starships Gabriel and Castiel. Then ships and crews start disappearing out in the black and, as usual, all goes straight to hell. Notes: I corresponded with Le’letha when they originally wrote this fic, and my love for it has only grown in the years since. Sci-fi mystery, yes. Dude, Castiel is a sentient spaceship. That itself is premise enough.

In His Image by Anonymous - Supernatural/Sabriel - Kali can breathe life back into a corpse, but what exactly is Gabriel now? Gabriel flits around various centuries trying to work that out, Dean has another powered-down angel and a little brother to look out for, Castiel has forgotten how to trust, and someone keeps sending Sam annoying little notes on his laptop. Oh, and Bobby would like to remind you all that there’s an Apocalypse still going on. Covers season 5 from Gabriel’s death to the finale. Notes: My favourite Sabriel fic. God only knows why the author abandoned it. I have their original name, but it doesn’t feel right to reveal it when they made the conscious choice to anonymise. Let me just say that they were a favourite of mine.

If You Were the Last Woman on Earth by Vali - Doctor Who/Thoschei (Twissy) - Just because your best enemy accidentally destroyed planet Earth is no reason to refuse her hospitality. Written for the Only One Bed fanfic challenge. Notes: That last note doesn’t even begin to cover how wonderful this fic is. Tropes are irrelevant, this captures them perfectly. Still one of my fav ever Thoschei fics. Now just get me one where The Master calls our titular hero Theta Cubed Sigma Ex Squared Lungbarrow, please.

A Wealth of Sorrows by evelynwaaaaah - Dragon Age/Solavellan - Things are getting back to normal in Skyhold now that Corypheus is gone. Until the Inquisitor collapses in mid-conversation. Notes: Solavellan is still a ship I would die for. This fic will make you ship it, if the game didn’t already. And this is coming from someone who romanced Cullen on my first playthrough.

Reclamation by copperbadge - Harry Potter/Background Jily and Wolfstar - In an alternate universe, one man still struggles with a moral decision made many years before. Notes: What if Tom Marvolo Riddle wasn’t quite the same maniac of the canon!verse and was accepted to the position of DADA professor? By the esteemed copperbadge.

Truth and Illusion by penny_dreadful - Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magica/MadoHomu/KyoSaya - “I’ve, um, been dreaming.” She closes her eyes because it’s easier to ignore Mami and Homura’s stares. “In, in my dream I’m still in bed, but I-I’m not alone, Sayaka’s next to me but she’s not breathing, she’s—”//She’s pale and cold and pretty in the same way the stained glass windows of Kyoko’s father’s church are pretty and she’s lying so still she can’t be anything but dead. But in her dream Kyoko still curls around her, soul gem in hand, keeping her warm, keeping her safe—//“—she’s dead, I didn’t even know her that well and she’s dead and in my dream I’m so, I’m scared that there’s nothing I can do.” She opens her eyes. “But there really is nothing I can do. She’s already gone, and we left her there.” She stares hard at her hands. “We weren’t really even friends.” Notes: Not really a fix-it for MadoHomu, but certainly one for SayaKyo. Homura does more spacetime bullshit. Kyouko remembers.

~~~

I think that should cover it for now! That took me ageeeees, and I have games to go waste my life on and fics to write now lmao. Let me know if you want a third installment!

#fic recs #recs #fic rec #long post

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whatismarvel · 5 years

Text

ruin the friendship • tony stark

summary; in which Tony admits his feelings for you.

warnings; i’m terrible at titles omg. fluff. bad writing. one curse word. unedited (the usual).

a/n; this has been sitting in my drafts for a few months now so I thought why not finish it. also I’m kind of experimenting with my writing so I apologize if this is extra shitty. enjoy loves.

“Peter. No.” You jokingly warned him.

“C’mon! He’s never gonna see it coming!” He threw a pillow at you from across the room. “Peter it’s 1am! He’s asleep.” You retorted. “As should we be!”

“We both know Mr. Stark does not sleep.” He stated matter-of-factly.

You sighed, nodding your head in agreement. “Secondly, it’s Saturday. Live a little Y/N!” He grinned.

Picking up the pillow that was recently thrown at you, you flung it back at Peter. He grunted as it clashed with his face. You giggled, taking a seat next to him on your bed.

“So are you in?”

You rolled your eyes. “We aren’t robbing a bank Parker, we’re just going to spray him with silly string.” You reminded, grabbing the can of silly string from behind you.

“Let’s go!” He grabbed your hand and pulled you out of your room.

___

“Do we really have to do this?” You questioned as you both reached the door. It finally dawned on you how dumb of an idea this was. “Too late to back down now Y/N.”

“Is it?” You wondered out loud. He shrugs, “Unless you want me to tell Mr. Stark about your little secret.” He says casually, smirking.

Your eyes widened, “Mr. Parker, are you blackmailing me?”

“Maybe.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me, darling.”

You rolled your eyes once more at the spider boy and huffed. He was the only one who knew about your crush on Mr. Stark and you sure as hell was going to keep it that way.

Peter knocked on the door, the loud sound echoing throughout the halls. “There are assassins sleeping in this compound Peter!” You hissed.

“Right! Sorry-Should we just go in?”

“I guess.” You chuckled, shaking your can. You didn’t really have much to lose at this point. Wearing an old t-shirt of Peter’s and pajama shorts, you were going to silly string Iron Man himself. This was one for the books.

Peter instantly went into stealth mode, he quietly opened the door, trickling in, with you following closely behind.

“What the fuck are you two doing?” Tony snarled, not even looking up from his desk.

“B-But how the fuck did you hear us?” Peter exasperated.

“Mr. Parker this is my compound I know everything that goes on in here.” He chuckled.

“Did you know Sam sometimes sleepwalks?”

“Oh my god. You knew that too?” You jumped in the conversation.

“Yeah-one time he-“

Tony rolled his eyes. “Okay! Okay! Yes I know Sam is a sleepwalker! Can we get back to why you two are in my room at-1 in the morning?”

“Well, Y/N wanted-“ Peter started.

“Wha- Don’t blame this on me! This was your plan!” You jokingly punch his arm.

“Plan? Were you going to assassinate me?”

“We were going to spray you with silly string.” Peter muttered, to himself mostly.

“What? Didn’t hear you Parker.”

He took a deep breath. “We were going to spray silly string at you!” He blurted out.

“Peter,” Tony sighed, “That’s pretty lame.”

“Tell ‘em Mr.Stark.” You muttered, plopping down on his bed as you tried to contain your laughter. Peter was flushed right now.

“Hey! You were part of this too! Stop laughing.” Tony accused, a smile playing on his lips.

“I’m only here because he blackmailed me.” You confessed through laughs.

“Oh really? What’s he got on you Y/N?”

“Something that I’ll take to the grave.” You revealed, trying to regain your composure but failing miserably as you broke out in another fit of giggles when you caught a glimpse of Peter pouting like a little child.

Tony grinned at your laughing state. The way your eyes crinkled as it formed tears of joy and the way your hair lightly bounces around your face each time you laugh, the way it caresses your skin has him feeling some type of way. Your smile disappears for a second as you try to catch your breath, and Tony feels as if his heart stops. A frown is slowly creeping onto his face until he sees your smile reappearing. His mood changes instantly and he feels something. He doesn’t know where it’s coming from, his whole body is tingly but he has a hunch it’s his heart causing this mess. His insides are all warm and fuzzy and his stomach is doing backflips as he is just so smitten by you and it’s like he’s back in high school again.

With your breathing steady, you realize how red your face must be. You’re shaking your head and grinning as you come down from your high. You can feel a pair of eyes on you and you’re suddenly nervous. You don’t bother looking up, you know it’s Tony. Your heart is beating so loud you’re wondering if he can hear it from here. Or worse, if Peter can. He’d never let you hear the end of it. You’re trying your best to not act like your stomach is filled with butterflies, your palms are sweating and a blush appears on your cheeks, for a second you thought your face was on fire.

You constantly reminded yourself that this was just a silly crush that would blow over soon, but goddamn Tony made that incredibly difficult for you to believe every time he was near you.

You both knew there was something there, but Tony and you never acted on your feelings. Why? You didn’t know. Maybe it was fear, maybe it was the thought of ruining your friendship. You really didn’t know.

“This was an absolute failure,” Peter started, “No shit, Sherlock.” You giggled, interrupting him. He rolled his eyes, “I’m going to sleep. Goodnight.” He whined and scuffed out the room.

“He’s such a drama queen.” Tony uttered.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” You chuckled. “I should probably go-“ You were cut off by Tony’s phone ringing.

“Hey Pep! How was your flight?”

You instantly got off his bed at the sound of her name. You didn’t want to hear this conversation. You already felt sick, heading for the door you were stopped by a crumpled up piece of paper hitting your arm. You glanced at Tony, ‘Stay’ he mouthed to you. Your heart fluttered at that.

You opened your mouth to reply but he motioned for you to sit on his bed. You didn’t know what to do. You stood there pondering for a good 10 seconds as Tony wrote something down on a piece of paper. He looked up at you, his brows furrowed as he noticed your uneasiness.

“Pep, I’m gonna have to call you back.” Your eyes widened, you didn’t want him to cut his conversation short because of you. It’s not like you didn’t like Pepper. She was a sweet woman, but god did you envy her and Tony’s relationship. Even though they weren’t together anymore, it still got to you.

“What’s up with you?” He queried, strolling towards you, his eyes never leaving your figure as he plops down on the side of his bed. He pats a seat next to him, you hesitantly sit.

The tension in the air? You could cut it with a knife.

You sigh. “Just tired is all.” You reply, your back hitting the plush bed. You’re not even that close to his pillows but you can smell his cologne. The scent lingers in your mind as you relax. You feel comfortable now. He hums in agreement.

“So, what does Parker got on you?” He asks, shifting his position on the bed so he faces your horizontal figure. He picks up your dangling feet and places it on his lap. You fix your body to suit and now your head hits his pillows. God, it feels so right, being here, lying on these pillows. Him touching you so lovingly. It feels too good to be true. You heart is beating a mile a second and you swear he can sense it with the way your chest moves.

You’re in such a serene trance that you forgot he even asked a question. “Hmm?” Tony mutters. “What? Oh it’s nothing, really.” You shook your head, trying to play it cool.

“Is that Parker’s shirt?” He asks out of the blue, lines appearing on his forehead as he pays closer attention to your choice of garment. “Uhh. It is actually.” You laughed uncomfortably. He locks eyes with you and you know this is something different.

“Hmph,” he grunts.

“What is that supposed to mean?” You questioned, his disapproval slightly exciting you.

“Oh nothing.” He says sarcastically getting out of the bed, leaving you dumbstruck.

“Are you serious right now?” You groaned as your feet hit the soft bed. You were enjoying the very rare and intimate moment you had together and he had to ruin it with his antics. You sighed, as you got out of his bed and faced him.

“Are you? I don’t know how else to say this Y/N. So I’m just gonna come right out and say it.” He rambled, putting his hands on his hips.

“Well?” You ask, folding your arms. He was just blabbering right now and you were in no mood for his jokes.

He opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it. “W-Well-“

“Spit it out Tony. C’mon you can do it.” You encouraged him, the faster he’d say what he needed too, the better for you. You couldn’t handle all this anxiousness.

“I like you Y/N! Okay? Are you happy? There you go I said it!” He says sassily, as he rounds his desk and sits on his chair.

His eyes fell on you. Your whole body was frigid. You were stunned, to say the least. Your mouth was dry as you tried to form coherent sentences. “I-I’m sorry. C-Could you repeat t-that?”

“Uhmm, no.” He murmurs, twirling a pen between his thumb and forefinger. He never breaks sight of you as he tries to appear calm outside but inside, he’s a mess. He’s freaking out. The thought of him ruining the friendship frightened him. He didn’t want to scare you away. He could handle the rejection but living without you just seemed like a hell he didn’t deserve.

“A-Are you serious Tony?” You stammered, unsure if he was playing games with you.

“Yes Y/N goddamn, you’re making me nervous!”

You laughed, walking towards him behind his desk. You leaned against it. “I like you too, Tony.”

“Oh, thank god!” Tony blurted, clasping his hands together, making you giggle. “I love that sound.” He mutters softly, standing up from his chair. Tony gazes into your eyes, and everything just feels right in that moment.

“Can I kiss you?” His voice is soft with affection and you melt, right then and there.

“Yes.” Your voice just below a whisper.

“Can’t hear you.” He teased softly.

“Tony I swear-“ His lips are on yours in a second, his hands gently brush your hair back and then tenderly cups your face. You can feel his grin through the kiss and it makes you so happy. You’ve both waited for this moment to happen so long and it’s just magical for the both of you.

You both break apart, your gazes linger as you stare lovingly into each other’s eyes. Tony places his hands on your hips and brings you closer to him. He goes to kiss you again, but you jump apart when the door flings open.

“What the fu-“ Tony begins, only to stop when he sees who’s at the door.

“You’ve got to be kidding me right now, Sam. You little shit.” He mutters, making you chuckle.

#tony stark x reader #tony stark imagines #tony stark #tony stark fluff #fluff #marvel imagines #mcu imagines #iron man x reader #iron man #mcu #peter parker #sam wilson #x reader #avengers #avengers x reader #peter parker x reader

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honeypiehotchner · 5 years

Text

Trust -- fifteen

Sherlock Holmes fancies you.

It’s taken you longer than you’d like to admit to come to this conclusion, but once you did, sitting there in the middle of a game of Cluedo, it was like the skies opened up. Not because you you’re going to act on it now – well, maybe, but you haven’t decided; he is fun to mess with, though – but because all of his little actions make sense.

How…gentle he is toward you. Yes, the two of you have your arguments, but they are never real. They are always playful, teasing, both of you trying to get a rise out of the other – and it works. But you knew when he picked you up and carried you to the cab, and when he put you in his bed – you knew that day that something was different. It was just put on the back burner because of obvious reasons.

You were trying to write it off as something else, of course. Because he’s Sherlock Holmes, he doesn’t have friends, so why would a man like him have a crush? But one thing you kept forgetting to remind yourself is that underneath all of that, Sherlock Holmes is still very much a human being. And the chemistry of a crush is extremely telling.

Like his dilated pupils.

When he saw you yesterday morning– afternoon with only the jumper covering your body, his pupils dilated. You wrote it off as his eyes widening, because who wouldn’t be shocked by a woman opening her door in only her jumper? But it was there. There is no denying it.

Especially not when you saw it again, when he looked at you while playing Cluedo. There was a hint of a smile there when he explained something to you, but it was all in the eyes. It’s always in the eyes.

That is why Molly’s accusation comes as such a surprise to you.

“Do you fancy him?”

Your sandwich stops halfway to your mouth as you give her a strange look. “Who?”

“Sherlock,” she replies, like it’s painfully obvious, then lowers her voice to say, “I think he fancies you.”

You place your sandwich down in front of you, smirking. “What makes you say that?”

She shrugs. “He talks about you differently.”

“He talks about me?” You raise an eyebrow. Consider this research. This is yet another thing to add on to the growing list.

“Well, I asked him about you.” Maybe not, then. “I asked where you were. Because he was experimenting for your case. And because he’s normally with you.”

You ignore the last comment. “My case?”

“The one with Tony and Allen?”

“Oh, right,” you chuckle. Hearing their names sometimes still hurts. “But no, uh, I don’t fancy him.”

Molly smirks. “He said the same thing.”

“What about you?” You ask, switching things around. You noticed the ring on her hand, but you want her to be the one to tell you. “Anyone in your life?”

“His name is Tom,” she smiles, then holding up her left hand. “And we’re…”

“Engaged!” You grin. Bloody hell, everyone is getting engaged. Do people not have anything better to do with their lives? “It’s so pretty!”

“He’s really sweet,” she begins to gush, and you let her. “He’s got a dog, and we go to the pub on the weekends and I’ve met all his friends and family.”

“That’s lovely,” you smile softly. “I’m happy for you.” You feel like you say that too often. You’re happy for someone else. Does there ever come a time when you’re happy for yourself?

“Thank you,” she chuckles. “So, if you don’t have anyone in mind…what’s your type?”

“My type?”

“Yeah, who do you like?”

“I don’t really have a type,” you laugh awkwardly, picking through your bag of crisps. “The realest relationship I’ve had wasn’t technically a relationship…we never labeled it. And he’s— It was with Tony.”

“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you shake your head, not wanting her pity. You’ve had enough pity the past few weeks to last a lifetime. “In the past. But I’m not really cut out for the whole relationship thing, so. It’s fine.”

She gives you a look, and you almost want to ask her what it’s about, but you decide against it, returning to your lunch.

~~~

You fancy Sherlock Holmes.

It’s the only possible solution, he thinks to himself. As of right now, he only has subtle evidence at best, but your pupils dilating during Cluedo, now that was telling. He hasn’t been close enough to you to feel your heartbeat, but he thinks he will try to do that as soon as possible.

But “as soon as possible” is rather hard for Sherlock to accomplish with how secretive you’ve been the past week. You’re sleeping in until noon – which he supposes is a good thing because you do need your sleep, but you are retiring to your flat before eleven almost every night. John doesn’t worry about this because he just assumes you’re getting well-rested for a change, but Sherlock senses something different. Something that comes about because you’ve also been having lunch with Molly an awful lot. Not to mention the few days when Mary has visited, and you’ve practically been attached to her at the hip as well.

So when Sherlock hears a creak down in your flat – unmistakable, really – he practically flies to the window to look out. With narrowed eyes, Sherlock watches you disappear down the sidewalk, glancing over your shoulder only once, but not up at the window where he stands.

Interesting.

He could follow you. That would be the easiest solution, but then again, nothing about you has ever been easy to him. He might as well presume this is the same.

Instead, he grabs his lock picking kit from his room, and ventures down to your flat. Quickly opening your door, he sees the source of the creak he heard earlier.

Your window. It’s cracked open and left unlocked.

Now, Sherlock could sit here and wait for you to return, or he could do what he does best, and try to get a rise out of you.

With a small smirk, he closes your window and flicks the lock, making sure it’s secure before he leaves your flat the way he came, also being sure to lock the door behind him.

He pockets the kit and skips up the stairs to make a cup of tea.

And then he waits.

~~~

You curse loudly as you check the time on your watch. You’re smart enough by now to know not to take your phone with you when you’re going somewhere you don’t want your brother to find out about – for example, the drug den. You aren’t even sure where you heard it called that, but you’re sure that’s what John would call it, knowing him.

Sprinting as fast as you can through the streets, rounding the corner to Baker Street. John will be leaving for work soon – wait, does he even have a shift today? There’s no time for you to contemplate that. It’s best to just always assume he has a shift.

You smile in relief upon seeing the window of your flat. You’re home free in just a few seconds.

Or so you think.

Your face falls when the window doesn’t budge. You swore you left it open like you always do. Cracked just enough, almost locked, so that you can still weasel your way back inside. But this time, you examine the lock, and it’s fully locked. Completely. You don’t even have anything with you to open it.

You step down off the crate, ignoring the shakiness in your legs as your mind starts thinking. You don’t have your keys with you, so how the hell is this going to look? Knocking on the front door, very obviously looking like you’ve just come back from getting high – because you have – asking to be let back inside?

Then it dawns on you.

Who is the one person who would know where you’d been? Who would catch on to your little late-night behaviors quicker than anyone else?

The answer is obvious.

And he opens the door after you knock only one time.

“Don’t tell John.”

Sherlock raises his eyebrows. “I haven’t said anything.”

You quietly and slowly shut the door behind you, not wanting to wake Ms. Hudson – or John, especially not John. “But I know what you’re thinking.”

“What am I thinking?”

You sigh. “Can we at least talk about this in my flat instead of out here like a bunch of disrespectful hooligans?” You turn the door knob, already knowing it would be unlocked if Sherlock Holmes was sitting outside it.

Sherlock does follow, and you hear him shut the door behind him – quietly, thank God. You glance at the clock, muttering a string of cuss words afterwards. You really hadn’t expected to be out this late, but now here you are, stumbling into your flat with Sherlock on your ass.

“Go on,” you turn to face him, crossing your arms over your chest. “What do you know?”

Narrowing his eyes, Sherlock begins. “Those are the same clothes you wore yesterday, and you’ve been out all night, not a difficult deduction. You left through the window because you didn’t want me to hear the door but forgot to remember I look out the window when playing the violin. You haven’t slept.” He pauses. “Your pupils are dilated intensively and not from the lighting because the sun has yet to rise. You’re sweating, but not from scaling buildings, though that is plausible as well.”

You nod. “Okay.”

He sighs suddenly, causing your eyebrows to furrow. He takes a few steps forward, and if you were sober you probably would’ve had enough sense to take a few steps back, but you don’t. You stay put, watching him in confusion as he gently takes your hand, his eyes watching you as he pushes the sleeve of your jumper up your arm, revealing the few injection sites from earlier.

You avert your eyes, not wanting to see his expression when his thumb grazes over your veins. You don’t see the pain that fills his eyes, or the worry that follows when he sees older spots, confirming his suspicion that this has been happening for a while. A week, maybe two. But not only before that, from earlier. Years.

He’s disappointed in himself that he didn’t say something sooner. He suspected it but didn’t want to jump to any conclusions in fear of his growing sentiment clouding his brain. It turns out he should have let his heart rule his head.

“I know an addict when I see one.”

“I’m not an addict anymore,” you counter weakly.

Sherlock raises his eyebrows. “Aren’t you?”

“I don’t need a lecture from you. From you of all people.” You yank your arm away this time, pulling your sleeve down harshly. “Go ahead and tell John if you must. I know you can’t keep your mouth shut.”

“I’m not going to tell John.”

“Why not?”

“Because you are.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You care for John, you have since you met him. You’re going to feel guilty and you’ll tell him. In your own time.”

“With all due respect, Sherlock Holmes, I’ve kept more from you and John than you’d think.”

“Yes, I know,” he replies, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think you detected a hint of sadness in his tone. “But this is different, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” you pause. “Maybe.”

He smirks, turning for the door. As he said before, he knows an addict when he sees one. And if you are anything like him, you’ll want a shower right now.

“Hey, Sherlock?” You clear your throat when he turns back around. “It’s for a case. The Congregation.”

“I’ve used the same excuse,” he gives you a look. “But why?”

“I figured out to be drugged, Tony and Allen had to be vulnerable. As tourists, at a café. But I don’t sit down in a café.”

“No, you get high,” he deadpans, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Exactly,” you reply, entirely serious. “But it is just for the case.”

He nods, but still looks like he doesn’t believe you. Which is fair. You’re not even entirely sure you believe yourself at this point. “You should still talk to John. Every instance when I didn’t, I wish I had.”

“Why can’t I just confide in you?”

Sherlock looks confused for a second before replying, in that tone that says why don’t you see the obvious, “Because John worries about you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And you don’t?”

“Worrying takes up too much of my time,” he replies, but he’s smiling, a playful glint in his eyes.

“Right,” you tease. “Says the man who locked the bloody window and waited up for me.”

He looks down a little bashfully, almost like he’s embarrassed of his own actions. You shake your head, taking the few steps forward needed to close the distance between the two of you.

You stretch up on your tiptoes, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Good morning, Sherlock Holmes.”

“G-Good morning,” he stutters, giving you a strange look.

You see the light pink blush dusting his cheeks and you smile in satisfaction, sauntering off to your bathroom for a shower. You hear Sherlock leave your flat in a bit of a rush a second later.

#Trust #sherlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #molly hooper #sibling!reader #half-sibling!reader #slow burn #soft #a lil cheek kiss hehe

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taenamseok · 6 years

Text

The Case of Her Heart

Masterlist

A/N: Hello everyone! Welcome to the beginning of The Case of Her Heart. A quick summary. This is a Sherlock based au, but not everything is the same as Sherlock. Whenever I do an au based on something I will change things to make it my own. Now many of you may think that the roles in this should be Namjoon as Sherlock and Y/N as the Watson character, but I don’t feel that way. I feel it would be more interesting with Namjoon as Watson and Y/N as Sherlock. These will be long chapters, the first chapter being the shortest. Due to the long chapters I’ll only be posting once a week to make sure I provide the best content possible while writing other stuff too. Well, enough of my rambling. Enjoy!

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Summary: A damaged man that just wants to feel alive again. A detective who doesn't understand people's emotions. Can they work together to bring down a criminal mastermind?

Chapter One

"How are you doing, Mr. Kim? Has anything changed since our last meeting?" Dr. Brighton asked, her eyes flicking up from her notepad. The man sat cross-legged in the chair, his fingers anxiously dancing across the arm of the chair. The far away look in his eyes, as he's had for years. "Um," he licks his lips, "no, not really." He replies. "Have you been out of the house at all?" The doctor asks, scribbling on the notepad. "Not much, I don't like being around too many people, you know?" The man says. "And the nightmares?" She asks, looking up at him. "Um, still, still there. I don't sleep much." He sighs, yawning at the thought. The doctor nods, writing down the information.

"Doc, we've been over the same things over and over again for months. I'm not going to improve." The man sighs, rubbing his temples. "That's because you don't listen to my advice, Mr. Kim. You're too stubborn, and its tearing you apart. Now, I'll tell you again. I want you to get out of the house, meet people. You hole yourself up in your flat because you're afraid of people, or what might happen to them. I want you to go outside, to the park or a cafe or something. Also, write down what happens to you. Keep a journal. It'll give you something to confide in, your true feelings."

Mumbles and camera flashes flood the room, all eyes focused on the panel of law enforcement members. "Are you ready, sir?" Sargent Jones asked quickly. The man nodded, closing his eyes as he prepped for the bombardment of questions he was about to endure. "May I have everyone's attention please!" Jones spoke into the microphone, the crowd growing silent. "Detective Inspector Park will now answer questions pertaining to the recent disappearances of James Willington, Marcus Baker, and Lilly Cunningham." She said, taking the seat next to Decective Inspector Park. A wave of hands shot through the air, all waving and wishing to have theirs picked. "Um, you there, row 3 seat 7." Inspector Park said. The man rose from his seat, notepad in hand.

"Detective Inspector, is it true that these disappearances might be linked somehow?" The man asked. "Its a possibility, but it's not very likely since they were all very different people, with different lifestyles, ages, and in different areas and cities. We are investigating it a bit but our main focus right now is finding the persons in question." Inspector Park spoke coolly, have done this too many times to be proud of. As Inspector Park finishes his sentence, a chime of every cell phone in the room sounds, including his own. He sighs, pulling the device put of his pocket and reading the text on the screen.

"Um, Inspector, this says they're connected." The same man says. Everyone looks at each other quizzically, and Inspector Park's jaw tightens. "Everyone, please ignore the message, it's not known for sure that the disappearances are connected. Why don't we get back to the questions?" Jones says quickly. "Yes, please." Inspector Park sighs. "You there, row 1, seat 3." The woman stands up.

"Inspector, do you think any of us are in danger?" The woman asks. "No, I can assure you that we have our on high alert throughout the city. This case should be solved soon, we have our best detectives working very hard." Inspector Park assures the nervous woman. Another wave of ringtones echoes through the room, everyone taking their phones out to check. "It just says 'Wrong' Detective Inspector." The woman gasps. Inspector Park groans, rubbing his temples.

"Tell her to stop, she's ruining this." Jones spits in his ear. "Don't you think if I knew I'd have done it already?" He sighs. His phone pings again, a message popping up on the screen. "You know where to find me. I'll be waiting." "That's it. This is over. If we continue she will too." Inspector Park sighs, standing up and walking out of the room, leaving Sargent Jones to deal with the angry reporters.

The warm air felt nice, the leaves in the trees rustling. He walked slowly on the path, finally taking Dr. Brighton's advice and getting out of his dusty flat and getting fresh air. He had his earbuds in, still preferring his music over the sound of others in the park. He pauses as he feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns quickly, putting his hands up defensively, ready to take on his assailant. He sees a somewhat familiar face, pulling his earbuds out and hanging them around his neck to greet the man.

"Woah, Namjoon. It's been a while, I hope you still recognize me." The man chuckles. "Of course, Jackson, how good I forget?" Namjoon smiles, meeting the man's hand in a handshake. The two men sit down on a bench nearby, an awkward silence falling between them. "So, how've you been? It's been a few years." Jackson breaks the silence. "Um, alright, I guess." Namjoon nods, fiddling his thumbs in his lap.

"Namjoon, you know, it wasn't your fault. You know that, right?" Jackson asks, placing a comforting hand on Namjoon's shoulder. He nods quickly, sniffling at the memory. "I still could've helped more, you know?" He croaks. "You can't beat yourself over this, man. It's not your fault." Jackson says softly. Namjoon straightens up, falling back into his stoic demeanor.

"So, how's Kyungmin?" Jackson asks, leaning back against the bench. "Um, I'm not sure, exactly, I haven't talked to her in a while." Namjoon laughs nervously. "Ah, well she has always been a handful, I have no doubt its difficult to keep tabs on her." Jackson chuckles. "Yeah." Namjoon replies, falling back into an uncomfortable silence.

"How's your living situation if you don't mind me asking. You in a good place?" Jackson asks. "Um, it's alright. Not great, but alright. It's enough for me. I don't have people over so it doesn't matter that it's small. Why?" Namjoon answers, looking at Jackson questioningly. Jackson smiles. "I have someone I want you to meet. I think you two would get along quite well. Come on."

"Hoseok! What happened to that body?" The young woman asks, tucking her hair behind her ear as her eyes lowered to look into the microscope again. "Well, you definitely beat the hell out of him, I'll give you that, but no bruises." Hoseok said from across the table. The woman sighs through grit teeth. "Okay." She replies simply. "That was quite an interesting sight though, seeing you beat a dead body with a riding crop. I pray that you're not into BDSM, your partner would probably end up on my table." Hoseok chuckled. The woman looked up at him, her eyebrow cocked. "Uh, nevermind, forgot for a minute you don't know anything about sexual stuff." He sighs. "That's because I have no use for it right now. There's much more to do than be pleasured." She shakes her head. "Well, if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me." Hoseok smirks, winking at her. "Didn't you say the same thing to the receptionist this morning?" She asks coolly, causing his eyes to widen. He ducks out of the room in embarrassment, running into two men in the hallway.

Namjoon and Jackson enter the room, the woman not looking up. The moment Namjoon laid eyes on her, he was captivated by her beauty. The way way her hair was tucked neatly behind her ear, her nimble fingers adjusting the knobs on the microscope, her teeth clamped onto her bottom lip in concentration. "Ah, Jackson, what a surprise." She said, looking up at the men. Her eyes gleamed in the florescent lighting as she looked between them. "Namjoon, this is Min Y/N. Y/N, this is Namjoon, and old friend of mine." Jackson says, pointing between the two of you. "Um, it's a pleasure to uh, meet you." Namjoon stuttered, bowing slightly.

"Hello. So, what time will you be prepared?" She asks nonchalantly. Namjoon stands there, looking over at Jackson, whose eyes are on him. He realizes Y/N's eyes are on him too, and he raises an eyebrow. "Me?" He asks. "Yes, you. What time will you be ready to look at the flat?" She asks, completely confusing him. "Um, I'm sorry, flat? What flat?" He stutters. "Well, I told Jackson this morning that no one would ever want to live with me, then he shows up hours later with ex-military with severe PTSD." She says, looking back into the microscope. Namjoon is taken aback, looking between Jackson and Y/N, a smirk painted onto Jackson's face.

"You told her about me, didn't you?" Namjoon asks. Jackson shakes his head. "Then how does she know all of that?" "Well, the ex-military part is because you both are very young and Jackson doesn't have too many friends, and he's never mentioned a Namjoon. So, you must have known each other for a while, but not been in the same unit. You met in bootcamp, right?" Y/N asks. Namjoon nods slowly. "So what were you? Your hands are fairly nimble. Doctor, right?" She asks, looking up at him. "Um, yeah, that's right." Namjoon replies.

"You keep to yourself. Theres no outline of a phone in your pocket so either you don't have one or you keep it at home, having no need to use one while you're out. Also, you still seem fairly comfortable without it. If you were just forgetful you'd be twitchy without it, which means you don't actually use it. The PTSD part, you jump at the slightest sudden sound. You've jumped three times since being here and all I've done is set down petri dishes." "She's good, isn't she? Be careful though, she can be a real bitch sometimes." Jackson chuckles. Y/N doesn't reply to the comment.

"That's, amazing. How do you know all of that when you've just met me?" Namjoon asks, putting his hands in his pockets. Y/N sets another dish down, and Namjoon involuntarily jumped slightly. Y/N raised her head, looking at him as if to make a point. "Alright, I get it. That's really amazing." Namjoon smiles, surprised that such a beautiful woman is so intelligent. Y/N raises her eyebrows quickly. "Well I've always been smarter than average, my whole family actually." She says, passing Namjoon to grab her coat. "So, meet me at 221B Baker Street, 3 o'clock. Please, don't be late, I hate waiting on people." She says quickly. "See you around, Jackson." She waves while exiting the room, her heels clicking on the tile. Namjoon stands there, completely baffled. "Um, what just happened?" He asks, chuckling in disbelief. "You, my friend, are about to have one hell of an adventure." Jackson smirks.

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dalilaswork · 7 years

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Emergency, code Hamish

Title: Emergency, code Hamish Author: Dalila Ship: Sherlock x Reader Word count: 2.270 Request: “I have a request! Could you do a oneshot where Reader tells Sherlock she is pregnant but he freaks out because she has been shot in the back previously and has some serious back problems and he's not sure if she'll be able to even carry to full term? Bonus points if there's a scene where he's calling John every five minutes because he has no clue what's going on! Please and thank you! I love your writing so much!” Summary: Sherlock and you have been in a relationship for approximately three years. You are still facing the difficulties with your back, but there is something worse for you to face now - telling Sherlock you’re pregnant with his child. Warnings: mention of being shot and panic attacks, abuse of John’s mobile phone

You sat on your chair with your eyes glued to the book you’d been holding for an hour, unable to actually understand what you are reading. Sentences were meaningless, words were just letters randomly put together. Your mind was a mess, but you were trying your best to keep it together. You had to.

An invisible knife was pushed somewhere below your ribs and you frowned in pain. The pain was constant - sometimes easy to handle, sometimes unbearable. The inevitable consequence of your meeting with one of the serial killers Sherlock had been tracking.

He had known that you were the following target for a while, but he needed to get to the killer. What he didn’t expect, was that the man didn’t really care about getting caught. Even though Sherlock was aiming his gun at him, the man didn’t hesitate to put a bullet in your back… It was over five years ago.

Ever since then, Sherlock was constantly by your side.

At first, you couldn’t bring yourself to even look at him. The man, who allowed a serial killer near you just to finish one of his cases. But the more time he spent by your side while you were in hospital bed, the more time he helped you through your rehabilitation… at some point you had to begin talking. You were still angry with him, but he remained by your side no matter your snarky comments and accusations.

Your friendship wasn’t easy at first. It wasn’t easy to like a person, who seemed so emotionless. Words weren’t his strength, he often made you cry. But his actions spoke louder, as he always did everything in his power to make your life easier. Forgiveness came slowly and even after you’d forgiven him, the memory was still alive. You had constant panic attacks and even after the rehabilitation your back was in constant pain. There were times when he didn’t know how to deal with you. Sometimes he just sat in the chair next to you, silent.

It took you a while to grow familiar with him. After a year, it felt wrong not to have him beside you. You missed the sound of him breathing, the smell of his cologne and his sociopathic comments. The two of you had fallen into a comfortable pattern, where you just felt… right with each other.

It was love, that neither of you saw coming.

And now there was something… someone else coming and you needed to tell Sherlock.

“Anderson’s a bloody fool, he took the most important piece of evidence because he wanted to check it. It took me two days to solve this case only because he took it.” The storm entered the flat, and you knew your time for thinking is over. You put the book on the armchair, waiting for him to walk through the door.

“I would have solved it in ten minutes if it wasn’t for him.” He walked in to the room, shutting the door behind him. He was frustrated, but not angry. Usually you’d walk up to him, ruffle his hair and distract him from his annoyance with Anderson. But today wasn’t like any other day.

And he’d noticed it too.

“What is it?” he asked, piercing you with his bright blue eyes. Before you could say anything, he was right in front of you, kneeling with his eyes narrowed. “You have something important to tell me.”

Despite the situation being serious, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him. “We both know that I can’t keep anything from you for long.”

“This is something really serious.” His eyes didn’t leave your face for a moment. “Normally you would have told me by now.” Suddenly, he pulled back with his eyes widening and jaw slightly dropping. “No…” his head started shaking.

“That’s your reaction, really?” you straightened your back, trying your best not to squirm in pain.

“What other reaction would you expect?” he continued stepping backwards. “I was supposed to jump out of happiness, or what? This is just wrong…”

“Sherlock!” your eyes began filling with tears. Oh dear, you knew he would have hard time adjusting to the thought of being a father but… This just made your heart break into a million pieces. “I know it’s hard, but…”

“But what? There’s no but, (Y/N). If you want to leave me, then just do it. Without playing any games…” he then turned to his room, with an expression of pure hurt on his face.

“Sherlock, wait!” you laughed at him. “Did you think I want to leave you? You got it all wrong…” you couldn’t help but laugh. Pregnancy brought your emotions to their highest, making it impossible for you to stop laughing. “Why did you think that?”

For a moment he stood there silent, with his hand still on the doorknob to his room. Probably gathering his thoughts. And when he finally turned back to you, you began standing up from your chair. Immediately, he was by your side, wrapping an arm around your waist to secure you. “You were quite distant lately. I thought it was normal at first, but then… you’ve changed. You look so beautiful. You’re practically glowing. And the fact you wanted to discuss something… The only logical assumption was that you’re leaving me for someone else.”

“Oh, dear…” you placed your hand tenderly on his cheek with a smile on your face. He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch, breathing out a content sigh. Despite being in a relationship, as John described it, you were still a bit distant with each other. You were an introvert who felt more comfortable keeping away from other people and him being the high-functioning sociopath… “Open your eyes and see it. That’s not the only logical assumption.”

His eyes suddenly widened with shock, the truth finally becoming visible to him. You swallowed, trying to prepare for any sort of reaction he’d show.

“You’re…” words stopped somewhere in the middle, leaving Sherlock just standing there. You smiled and rubbed your thumb against his cheekbone, gathering up your courage to finally voice the thoughts that were running around your mind all day.

“I’m pregnant.” You whispered, unable to speak any louder than this. You still weren’t used to the thought, but it was the time to face the reality. To embrace everything that came along with it.

His arms wrapped around you slowly. This sort of tenderness was still new to him but you gladly welcomed it. Your own arms wrapped around his waist, as your cheek rested on his chest. Probably you would just stand there silent for what would seem like ages, if you only hadn’t listened to his heartbeat. Irregular, strong, fastened.

“You’re scared…” you deduced, pulling away to look at him. His face was still, eyes widely opened. The fear was evident, as if he didn’t even try to hide it. “Sherlock… it’s going to be okay.”

Pulled out of his thoughts, he shook his head. Without a word he guided you towards the sofa, making you lie there. He kneeled beside you, holding your hand. For most people it would seem that he was trying to comfort you, but you knew him better than this. It was him who needed to be comforted by you.

“(Y/N)…” he began speaking, slowly. “How is it going to be okay?”

He didn’t say anything more than this. But that was enough for you to tell what was happening in his brain. His body, his lips were too slow for his thoughts, which were racing inside of his head. His mind palace was facing an earthquake, his outside losing all focus on the reality. You’ve seen that only once before in your life but you wished he’d never have to go through that again.

You crossed your legs on the couch and pulled him to you, his body obeying your every move. He was now curled up on the couch, his head resting on your lap as you stroked his black curls. Small droplets of sweat appeared on his forehead. You knew what he was going through, knew exactly what thoughts were now crashing the walls of his mind palace.

He thought about your spine, your state. Doctors said you’d never fully recover from this. His body was now shaking. You both learned to live with that thought, but now there was someone else involved. His fists were closed so tightly that few of his veins popped out. He was torn, between his baby growing up inside you and your health. Pregnancy meant complications, danger. But he’d never even think of the unimaginable, knowing you also wouldn’t accept it as an option.

Sherlock blinked a few times, returning to the real world. The panic was fleeting, but the unbearable fear remained there. But he was back, that was all you needed.

“I know it’s going to be okay, Sherlock.” You whispered to his ear. He didn’t answer you. “It won’t be easy, it won’t be pretty. But it’s our child we’re talking about. Whatever might come our way… My dear – no matter what, it’ll be worth it.” You placed your palm on either side of his head, making him look at you. He himself looked like a child right now. A child lost somewhere, not knowing where. “As long as you’re with me… Everything’s alright.” Only when one of your tears landed on his cheek, you realized you were crying.

His hand went up to your cheek, his thumb erasing other tears from your face. His touch calmed you, stopped your body from shaking. “Remember how I was like after being shot?” the memory made his nerves visibly tense. “I was a mess. I didn’t want to make it. I thought I was too weak, but you were there. Pushing me all the way through it. Even when I thought I hated you… You were my anchor. You gave me a reason to keep fighting for my life. And you… you gave me the life I’d never even dreamed about. We just… have to do it once again. Fight our way through…” your throat was hurting, as the tears once more flew down your face.

Both of you remained silent, just relishing in each other’s touch. Reconnecting through silence. You knew he was calming down. No matter what you said, he wouldn’t stop worrying. But the panic was over. At least for now… After around an hour, you fell asleep in your bed with his hand gently stroking your hair.

Once you were asleep, Sherlock quietly jumped out of bed and rushed to the living room with his phone. He didn’t want to wake you up, but there was someone he needed right now.

John was almost asleep when he heard his phone vibrating on the bedside table. At first he ignored it, but when the phone vibrated for the fifth time, he knew who was trying to reach him. With a groan, he checked his phone.

Hamish. – S.H. John, HAMISH! – S.H. John Watson, there is an emergency, code Hamish – S.H. This is not a joke, John. I need you there. – S.H. JOHN, (Y/N) IS PREGNANT, I NEED HELP! – S.H.

Smiling contently at himself, John turned off the vibrations on his phone and went back to sleep. He knew it would come to that one day, only he didn’t expect it that particular night. Sherlock would need him the following day, but John wanted to enjoy his (probably last) peaceful sleep.

...A few months later…

“John H. Watson’s private clinic, how can I help you?” John answered the phone, repeating the memorized words automatically. Boredom quickly disappeared from his face, becoming annoyance. “Sherlock, for the last time – you can’t dial the clinic just because (Y/N) wants pickles with chocolate!” he sighed, sinking to his chair.

“John, this is serious. (Y/N) slept twelve hours today and she’s having another nap. What if she’s growing weak and her back is going to…”

“No, being tired is normal at this point of the pregnancy, you know that. You memorized every pregnancy book that is out there, stop calling me.” He ended the call, rubbing his forehead with his fingers. He knew that Sherlock would become a mess when faced the perspective of being a father and taking care of (Y/N), but he wasn’t ready for experiencing it.

The phone rang again.

“John. H. Watson’s…” he spoke once more, really hoping it wouldn’t be…

“She said her head is spinning, what if the spine…”

John didn’t even bother answering this one, cutting the call right away. His friend was just paranoid, and there was no right amount of telling him She’s going to be okay to make his mind ease. Doctor Watson understood his worries about (Y/N)’s health, but Sherlock was being unhealthy himself in his desperation.

Five minutes hadn’t passed when the phone rang again.

This time John didn’t even have time to repeat the memorized sentence. “John, this is (Y/N). I’m sorry to bother you at work, but how many sleeping pills should I add to his coffee, so he can finally go rest?”

The doctor couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m not sure if there are enough pills in this world to force him to sleep now.”

At that moment, John’s private phone vibrated.

I know about the pills, tell her it’s not going to work. – S.H.

“I honestly feel bad for this child, you know.” John said, with a smile growing on his face. “Their teen life is going to be a mess with a father like this.”

#sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlock imagine #bbc sherlock #sherlock oneshot #bbc sherlock imagines #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes imagines #imagine request #sherlock x reader oneshot #sherlock inserts

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loveisfriendship · 7 years

Text

The Whole Time

Requests:

1. By @writerbugg : „Hello. I have a request if you’re interested :)) Thinking something along the lines of. Sherlock x reader where the reader meets Sherlock and he immediately deduces that they self harm / have self ham scars. some fluff. Totally get it if its not within your blog Relm aha”

2. By Anonymous: “hi hi. i just discovered your blog and i’m loving it already!. I have a request if you’re interested. I was thinking a Sherlock x Reader where the reader has old self inflicted scars and often hides them from Sherlock and one day its really hot out and she finds the courage to tell him, only to have him nonchalantly tell them/her that he deduced it ages ago and they don’t bother him at all. I think it would be interesting to see Sherlock interacting with a topic such as this. much love xx”

Author’s Note: Thank you guys again for the love and for the requests. It is certainly interesting to see how Sherlock interacts with such a topic. I have not experienced anything like this, not even through a friend. So this is a warning, too! This one will deal with the Topic of Self harm and I’m trying it out to see what I can do as a writer, but please if you have anything to say on the way I write it, please tell me so I can either stop because I feel like I’m not getting it right or try it on my own again, depending if I still feel comfortable writing about it after this one.

On other notes, if everyone needs to talk about anything, my messages are always open for everyone! I love getting to know new people and love listening if someone just wants to talk. If you don’t know how to approach me, just go straight ahead, like “OMG you won’t believe what’s happened to me today” or “You know I always wondered, how people lose one shoe or one sock” (because honestly, I’m asking myself that question for years now, it just doesn’t make sense). So please, don’t hesitate 😊

Okay enough about the Author’s note ^^ have fun reading

Love,

Lis

Warning: mention of past self-harm

It was hot. For once in god knows how many years, it was extremely hot in London. In the Baker Street everyone was trying to cool down. Which wasn’t very easy, considering Sherlock was complaining so much about the heat, that it drove everyone insane. Apparently it was too hot for any experiments, there wasn’t a knew case in sight and nobody was in the mood to challenge him.

After a while, you just ignored him, trying to think of things that will cool you down. You were wearing a long sleeve shirt, had it tucked into your pants and it was way too hot. You were sweating like crazy and already got a warning from John, that you should change, so you won’t overheat. Easy for him to say, you thought, he doesn’t have to hide anything.

Around 3 pm, it was just too much. All the ice cubes are gone for now and you can’t take the heat any longer. You go back to your darkened room and close the door behind you. You quickly ripped of your shirt and pants and immediately felt better and much cooler. You fall on your bed, arms and legs spread away and enjoy the coolness of the bed against your back. You breath slowly and enjoy just being in your underwear on your bed, not having to worry about anything or anyone for that matter.

It actually helps you dose off, which is a pleasant surprise considering you didn’t get much sleep last night due to the heat. You wake up with your heart pounding because Sherlock bursts in your room, yelling your name, making the door hit the wall with a loud bang.

You sit up in bed and look at him wide eyed, then down at you, still being just in your underwear and most importantly your arms uncovered.

“Sherlock!” you scowl him and try to get under the covers as fast as possible.

“Don’t you know how to knock?” you yell at him, when you finally covered yourself.

“Unimportant. I need your assistance.” He answered.

“My assistance? What for and why can’t John do it?” you ask confused.

“Because he told me to, and I quote: ‘Fuck off’.”

“Then you really did bother him.” You answer with a chuckle. But deep down your heart is hammering in your chest, not knowing if he saw what you have been hiding so well over the past years. He couldn’t find out, he shouldn’t know. You couldn’t tell him either. He already thought that everyone besides him was an idiot, that would make you an even bigger one in his eyes. And he wouldn’t take you serious anymore after he found out. When it happened and why wouldn’t matter to him.

It’s not like he never tried to deduce why you were wearing long sleeves all the time, but you just put it off by saying you just got cold pretty easily. You never thought that he believed it, but just thought that maybe he would have a wrong idea, like maybe an embarrassing tattoo, that you just wanted to hide, because you had to hide it for work anyway. Something along those lines.

“How about you let me get dressed, and then I will help you.” You say and look at him.

“Great, get ready and meet me on the roof.”

“The roof?”

“Yes, now hurry. We are wasting precious time.” He said, already hurrying out of your room. You huff your hair out of your face and get up to get dressed. Maybe you should just tell him, you thought. Considering, he probably saw it and will most likely tell you on the roof in a few minutes, you might as well get it over with and hope for the best.

You got dressed but instead of a long sleeve shirt, you put on a tank top and a sweater over it. You take a deep breath before you leave your room and make your way up towards the roof. You arrive and Sherlock is sitting in the middle with all kinds of things sprawled out on the ground.

“Sherlock…” you start, but he immediately interrupts you.

“Finally you are here, took you long enough.” He says not even looking up at you.

“Before we start, I want to tell you something.” You start again and you didn’t know if you were sweating out of nervousness or because it was even hotter on the roof than inside.

“Make it quick, we don’t have time for this.” he said.

“Okay, well I wanted to tell you the real reason, why I’m always wearing long sleeve clothes.” You say, starting to take off your sweater. But before you could continue, he just dismissively waved a hand towards you and started talking again.

“I know I know because of your scars on your forearms, knew it from the moment we met, let’s move on.”

You stand there in shock with your mouth wide open. He knew? All this time? Then why did he always try to deduce you, just last week he tried it again.

“Wh-… What?” you ask in disbelieve. He exhales and finally looks up to you, but as soon as he sees your face his expression changes and he stands up from the ground.

“You knew all this time and still acted like you didn’t know?” you ask him and look him in the eyes, you were shocked beyond believe and couldn’t understand that he never mentioned it. But what surprised you even more in this moment was him coming over to you and laying the back of your hands in his, to take a look at the scars. He gently moved his thumb over them and then looks back up at you.

“I didn’t want to pressure you into telling me you had these. Or the story behind them. You were clearly trying to hide them for a reason and you were finally someone able to keep up with me, I didn’t want to scare you away by deducing these in public.”

“Since when do you ever think of someone else?” you ask with a slight smile, astonished at his confession and the look of sincere in his eyes. You have never seen him concerned, or show any emotion for that matter. So you were really taken off guard at that moment.

“You should never hide these, they are basically your battle scars. You made it, you overcame it. Whatever you were dealing with that caused you to do this to yourself, you overcame it and you lived on and you are here. You fought it and these are the battle scars to show you that you won.” He said and you just couldn’t believe your ears. The great Sherlock Holmes, talking to you about the scars on your arms in a way that you have never even considered.

“Are you going to get philosophic now? Mycroft mentioned that you would have been able to become one.” You smile at him, he chuckles and shakes his head.

“I just want you to know, that if you ever feel like doing this again, come to me first.” He said and just then you realized that your heart was beating so fast in your chest since he touched you. He cared for you, he didn’t think you would be an idiot, but he cared and wanted you to be yourself around him and not hide your past. It did hold you back, always being worried he would see them. It took a weight of your shoulders and you felt like you could finally breath again after a long time.

“Thank you, Sherlock. You don’t know how much this means to me.” You say and wrap your arms around his neck and hug him. He hesitates of course, but not as long as he usually would, until he hugs you back, tighter than he has ever done.

“So tell me what you need my assistance for.” You say as you pull back and the two of you get to work immediately. The sweater on the floor long forgotten.

#sherlock x reader #Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock #sherlock fanfic #imagine Sherlock

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yourdistinguishedglitterwife · 6 years

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Sherlock x Reader An English Thanksgiving

You had only lived in London for a few months, working in St. Bart’s mortuary. You loved working there, and the frequent visits from the handsome Sherlock Holmes. He would barge in unannounced demanding a brain or a jar of eyeballs, and you were only too happy to comply, knowing that if you gave him what he wanted, he would keep coming back.

It was the second week of November, and you were starting to miss home, feeling nostalgic because of the upcoming holidays. You missed your family like crazy, but you couldn’t afford the trip there for Thanksgiving, just to turn around and fly back the next day in order to be at work. But you did have the actual day of Thanksgiving off, and you planned on having a small traditional day. There was nothing you loved more than turkey and your dad’s famous creamed corn and mac and cheese. You may be spending this holiday alone, but you would be spending it in style.

Your mind back on the work in front of you, you are working on a drug report for a recently departed politician, which is weird that they would have you doing this since you are fresh out of med school, you come to the conclusion that he hadn’t drugged himself when the door slammed open and a deep voice says “He didn’t kill himself, someone drugged him.”

Sherlock.

“I know,” you say. “But who?”

Sherlock looks you in the eye. “His wife.”

Looking astonished, you ask, “How do you know?” Still unused to the way he worked.

“Turn him over.” After you flip the man on the table Sherlock says, “Exactly as I suspected! Was he found in his home?”

“Yes,” you answer.

“And tell me, Y/N, was he in his bedroom?”

“No, he was found in a guestroom. But what does that have to do with his wife killing him?”

“He was having an affair, Y/N.” Sherlock shakes his head. “He’s not a very nice man, but he was very powerful. He was with his lover when his wife came home, but he was not privey to the fact that she was home. She walked in the room intending to go to the linen closet to get something and caught him with the housemaid.”

“And so she killed him.” Shaking your head you ask, “You got all that from his back?”

“Look here,” he points to a small scratch, “clearly made by a woman, though not the wife because she always has polish on, and if it were her there would be bits of polish found on him, yes?”

“Right,” you say.

“There’s your proof,” Sherlock says. “Oh, and the maid was fired and hasn’t been heard from since.”

“What do you suppose happened to her?” You ask.

Sherlock shrugs. “Don’t know.”

Silence fills the mortuary. Not entirely unawkard. You finish making marks on the drug report and cover the man up. Turns out, if Sherlock is right, this politician was dirty, probably in more ways than one.

You put the man back in the container and start cleaning up, all the while you feel Sherlock’ s eyes following you. A bit unnerved you slow down. Finally finished cleaning the table, you turn toward him. “What did you come here for this time, sherlock?”

He was leaning back against one of the lab tables with his arms crossed. “Nothing, really, just bored and wanted to see if there was an interesting case. But the best you’ve got is a three, and I won’t take anything lower…”

“Than a seven,” you finish. “Yes, I know. You’ve said.”

Silence once again.

“Sherlock, I was wondering if you’d like to come over to my apartment next week for dinner. I know it isn’t celebrated here, but I’ll be by myself for Thanksgiving, and I don’t really know anyone, and I don’t want to be alone on the holiday…” You know you’re rambling, but you can’t help it. Your heart is pounding, you’ve just asked Sherlock to your place.

Silence. Then…

“When?”

“Thursday at 5?”

“Okay.” Sherlock uncrosses both his arms and his ankles and walks over to you. “I wouldn’t want to be alone either.”

“Really?” You ask. “You don’t really strike me as a holiday kind of guy.”

“But I wouldn’t want to be alone at an event that’s important to me, and this is clearly important to you.” He says. “I’m assuming you would normally celebrate with family and friends, but you’re not even in your home country. You want a friend.”

He stands closer to you.

“Yeah.” You can’t say much more because of the emotions about missing your family, mixed with the delicious scent of Sherlock.

Unaware that a tear had fallen on your cheek, you are surprised when Sherlock catches it with his thumb.

“Please, don’t cry.” He says. “I’m here.”

He takes your hands in his, and you can no longer take it. You fall into him and sob.

Oh, great, you think. Im a big blubbering mess. At least you aren’t wearing make-up.

The tears subside as quickly as they came, though you still hold on to Sherlock. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, Y/N.” He says.

You feel him kiss the top of your head in affection. You pull back.

“Thanks.” You say. Then catch sight of yourself in a small mirror on a table. “I look like a mess.”

Sherlock is silent. “What is it?” You ask.

“You aren’t a mess.” He says, once again taking your hands, and kissing them. “Y/N, your beautiful.”

You feel you already red cheeks grow warmer. No one has ever done that to you before. You duck your head in embarrassment, but he lifts it gently with his finger.

“I’ll be at your flat at 5 on Thursday.” He bends down and kisses your cheek. “I’ll bring the wine.” And with that he leaves.

You press you hand to your cheek where he just kissed you, and watch him exit. Your heart is hammering in your chest so loudly that you fear you may wake the dead on the room.

“Get it together, Y/N. Don’t be silly. It didn’t mean anything.” But little did you know, that Sherlock had plans for the two of you, plans that you had only dreamed about.

Two Years Later

“When do you suppose John and Mary will be here?” You ask looking out the window watching for them.

Sherlock comes to stand behind you. “Why? Can’t wait to tell them the news Y/N?” He smirks while putting his arms around you. He rests his hand on your still flat, but not for much longer, stomach.

“Please. You’re just as eager as I am, dear.” You reach back and pat his cheek. A smile spreads across you face as you see John and Mary approaching the flat with little Rosie in their arms.

You go to open the door, but Sherlock pulls you back and kisses you. You smile. You life here in London is full. Yes you miss America and your family, but now your married to Sherlock and soon there would be a new member to the Holmes’ family. And you couldn’t possibly be any happier.

#sherlock #sherlock holmes #john watson #mary watson #warstan

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imterriblypleased-blog · 7 years

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Sherlock X Reader Self harm fic (REQUESTED)

Request: Hello, i have a request :))) Sherlock, Fem reader - The reader and Sherlock meet on a case where she was hired by the police to photograph a body (shes a professional photographer or something), she's very shy and barely speaks. She and Sherlock are left alone for a few moments and he see's that she has many old, white self harm scars and confronts her about it, and then deduces the rest of her life story including the self harm, anxiety, abuse, Ect; (the rest is up to you!) Thank you! x

Warnings: TRIGGER WARNING. Mentions of self harm, abuse, eating disorders and cancer.

A/N: This is SOOOOOO long! i got carried away whoopsss. I drifted a little from the original request (sorry anon lmao). This is like a, Father/ daughterish thing? no incest!! I didn't even mean it to be like hey, daddy sherlock?? ANyywayy. word count - 2063. ENJOY.

From the time it took me to kneel down next to the dead body associated with the case I was hired to solve, I’d already deduced all I could about the situation, and knew all I needed to know. I stood up again, taking off my gloves and handing them to john whilst looking straight ahead at detective inspector.

“wrong” I said simply, heading towards the door, ready to leave.

“What on earth do you mean wrong, what do I have to be wrong about” Whined DI, confused and clearly annoyed at my bizarre accusation and satisfied smirk.

I spun around on my feet. “Murder, not suicide. Are you even trying?” I huff, turning back around.

“Explain yourself Sherlock” “This case is identical to tens of others we’ve dealt with, all signs lead to suicide.”

I sigh, take a deep breath, turn back around, and begin. “This man was rich. He has a wife and three kids that live interstate. His wife thinks he’s in the country for a business trip but this was clearly planned for an affair. He was shot on the right side of his head despite being left handed – ruling out suicide. This was a planned attack. He knew he was being targeted. He attempted to flee the country but he was found before he had the chance.” I pause for a mere moment, engaging the reaction of all three people in the room. - three? From the corner of my eye I briefly spot a young girl standing in the corner of the room, retracting herself as much as possible into the small corner of the wall, listening hesitantly, yet intently. Head tilted slightly towards the floor not directly looking at anybody. She held a camera and had a name tag dangling from her neck. belonging to the local police department. She must have been hired to photograph the dead body for evidence. In the few short seconds it took me to notice the presence of the small girl I managed made out the name on her badge – Brianna Christian. A total of 3 seconds later, after also noticing the dumb found expression on my colleagues faces, I continue speaking.

“The apartment we’re standing in is on the 15th floor and the most expensive room in the building, the suit he is currently wearing is high brand and tailored judging by the delicate black stitching tracing both cuffs of his sleeves. Theres a photo of a woman and three small children on his bedside table that has been turned to face the wall, that along with aroma of perfume and the smell of burnt candles indicate affair. As for him being left handed –“

I take a breath. And begin walking towards the lounge area.

“The plate on the coffee table has the knife on top positioned on the left, all coasters and mugs are placed to the left on his chair. Over on his desk he has his business phone towards the right and a pad and pen on the left so he can take notes with his left hand whilst on the phone. Shall I go on?”

Nobody spoke, only stared.

“There’s a newly packed suitcase half slid beneath his bed and his passport is underneath his pillow. He was planning to leave. He realized that he was out of time to he locked both doors and assumed his safety judging by the height of his room but was horribly incorrect as his balcony window was smashed, judging from the size of the shards, from the outside. He was promptly shot, had the gun placed in his hand and ultimately fell victim to a framed suicide attempt.”

“Now if you’ll all be so kind, this young woman has a job to do and we’re clearly in her way” I say gesturing to the little lady in the corner, obviously too shy to announce her presence herself. The once pair of silent men, most likely attempting to digest the information I had just handed them, began to hurriedly apologizing, their voices overlapping and racing out of the room, probably feeling guilty for not noticing her waiting patiently for such a long time. Brianna’s head shot up at the mention of her presence and her eyes dart around the room, anywhere but into anyone’s gaze, she raises her hand, scratching the back of her head and mumbling a quiet, ‘Take your time. There’s no rush.’ Her head jolts to the side, almost like a twitch as she speaks. A nervous tick.

Both men exit the room but I stay in the exact same position. Staring timidly yet gently at the young girl. Deducing her. She has long dark brown hair pulled back into two braids that are only an inch or two off meeting her hips. She’s wearing makeup, but not enough to hide the dark freckles dancing over her nose and upper cheeks. Her eyelashes are artificially darkened and her eyes are accented with a subtle flick of eyeliner. Topped off a with a nude colored lipstick and a small silver nose ring on her left nostril. She’s wearing a black pair of overalls with a tight denim skirt rather than shorts at the bottom – appropriate for the hot summer weather. Underneath her dress she is wearing a tight maroon shirt with sleeves so long they pass the knuckle of her thumb. A black denim jacket tied around her waist and black Boots on her feet. If I had to guess, Id say she’s 17 years of age.

She squirms under my gaze, her cheeks becoming red as she busily looks down and mindlessly fiddles with her camera.

“So you’re a photographer then?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“M - Yep”, I notice her head twitch again. She smiles politely and looks at the ground.

“well don’t mind me.” I say slightly louder, which I notice startles her. “I’ll just need to look around a little more, don’t let me distract you”. I smile.

She nods and kneels beside the body, capturing the wound on his head. I look over from my position on the book shelf and notice her let go of her camera, letting in dangle by her chest. Yank her sleeve to cover her hand, and begin to clean the screen with the fabric over her fingers. As she does this, I catch a glimpse of her left forearm and notice what appear to be bumps and lumps of sort, raised and molded in the fabric of her newly tightened sleeve. Moments later she releases her sleeves from the grip in her hand the bumps disappear back into the thickened piece of clothing. Self harm.

From then on, my deductions become serious and it isn’t until she quietly announces the completion of her task that I confront her.

“Where do you live?” I ask. Staring her directly in the eye, watching for glimpses of false truth in her answer.

“I – I live on Flude street. With my parents” She stutters, head twitching yet again. Lies. “why?” She questions – Her first voluntary word of the evening.

“Where do you really live?” My voice is soft yet stern. Caring, with a hint of determination. She looks at the ground.

Without taking her eyes off the dark blue carpet, she mumbles. “Smiths street orphanage.” Regular nervous tick in play. My heart sinks. But I don’t flinch, just continue to star gently. After a short pause I slowly approach her, standing slightly closer then needed, and looking down upon her - purely to test a theory. When she automatically leans backward slightly and her head flinches every so discreetly. It is confirmed. I slowly reach out my hand and take a hold of her left. Maintaining soothing eye contact as to reassure her that she should not be afraid. I gently roll up her sleeve to reveal dare I say hundreds, of raised white lines decorating her olive skin from the very tip of her wrists to right beneath her elbow. The scars were of varying size, from very thin to alarmingly wide, some had obviously been stitched, judging by the small dotted scars on either side of the larger of the marks.

For the first time in a long time, Sherlock had to physically pause and absorb information before continuing.

“Brianna Christian, Crippling social anxiety and paranoia, - “I begin.

Still staring at the carpet, not daring to consider my eyes, I feel her tense under my grip. Beginning to tick, in the absence of needed to speak. But taking my words never the less.

“You’ve recently overcome major depression, possibly bi-polar disorder, yet still battling with an eating disorder, bulimia and possibly anorexia. Your mother passed away, likely from cancer and your father is an unfit parent. You were put into an orphanage after he was sent to prison for abuse in the house hold, you, being one of the victims.”

I speak with clearly and with confidence.

“The camera was a gift from your mother, all you have left of her. You’re working with the law because it makes you feel protected, invincible as if no one can hurt you – you feel as though you need to help others due to underlying guilt associated with the abuse your mother endured before she passed away“

For the first time, Brianna looked up into my eyes and I’m suddenly aware of her tears and I feel the sudden need to comfort her in the same way a father would. She opens her mouth to speak, and my heart skips a beat in anticipation.

“how” she says simply. Her voice weak and quiet. Tick still present.

“You shake your head when you speak, a nervous tic that becomes present only when your anxiety is at its peak which has happened to be every word you’ve spoken since you’ve arrived. You don’t look at people in the eye and instead at the walls or at the ground. Your sleeve, When you pulled it tight I could see remnants of scarring, a result of self harm due to suffering from depression, major depression judging by the severity of your wounds. Although your scars on your arms have faded fully, the scars on your knuckles have not, they’re not fresh scars, at least 4 months old, therefore – recently recovered. Anger associated depression leads me to believe you also had bipolar disorder. I can tell that you’re amid an eating problem because your hands tremor, just slightly, in moments of concentration right before you capture a photograph, most likely as a result of malnourishment. All your nails are painted perfectly red in exception to your pointer and middle finger on you right hand, indicating purging and therefore bulimia, this along with your current weight which is observably under average, and certainly unhealthy tells me anorexia as well. The necklace you’re wearing is a locket, it is closed with r.i.p L. Christian engraved in cursive on the front, assuming from the pattern that that is a woman’s initial. On your ankle just above the top of your boot you have a tattoo of a yellow ribbon, the ribbon is the symbol for cancer and yellow means you’ve lost somebody to it. And taking from your current living situation and the engraving on you necklace I can assume it was your mother. You flinch when you’re approached and your natural bodily stance is inverted and vulnerable, basic signs of abuse as a child. Since you’re in a care facility one can assume that your father has either died or is in possession of the government for what I deduce is the abuse of you and your mother.”

“Your camera has the same initials engraved as the necklace followed by a heart, it is an old model, you don’t want to get rid of it because it is special to you, a birthday present”

She says nothing. Only falling to the ground and whimpering quietly in shock. I drop with her, cradling her in my arms. I knew in this moment that this would not be the first time I comfort this girl. I will help her through this. And she will be loved.

John and I adopted Brianna Christian that very night, and made sure, and she never felt anything less than perfect every again.

(lmao some sneaky Johnlock there….I COULDN’T HELP IT)

#self harm #self harm fanfic #sherlock #john watson #eating disorder #anxiety #self harm scars #anorexia #bullimia #dad sherlock #parent sherlock #deduce

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imaginedilestrade · 7 years

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An Saol Idir Linn

A/N: SO MANY FEELINGS 😭

———————— Chapter 6 ————

You woke up the next morning and made Greg some breakfast, taking it up to his room you lightly chapped on the door and opened it. You could see him physically jump from sheer fright at seeing you, he almost forgot you were in the house.

“Sorry,” you lightly murmured “I…uh made you some breakfast!” you smiled and placed the tray on his lap. “I know you like toast with half a jar of jam on it because I’ve seen you eat it before. Not like I’ve been creeping! Like from observation-but I don’t like constantly stare at you! Oh god I probably sound like a creep now right?” You rambled on.

Greg shook his head, lightly chuckling “No you don’t. That’s very sweet of you Y/N”. He looked up and found his eyes meeting yours, a genuine smile spread over his face before he tore his gaze away from yours and looked to the tray you placed on his lap.

“I’m,” you pointed to the door with your thumbs “I’m going to clean up the mess I made in the kitchen” you smiled and left Greg to eat his breakfast in peace. It felt nice having someone around the house. It felt as if things were…normal again. You smiled to yourself and began to wash the dishes, Greg came down about ten minutes later and you took his empty plate.

“You don’t have to wash it, you made it” he tried to take over washing the dishes but you shooed him away. Greg leaned his back against the counter top and folded his arms, watching you contently as you scrubbed the plate “I’m off today do you want to watch a movie or something?”.

You stopped washing and your eyes flickered up to Greg “Well I’m meeting Molly in about an hour at hers for a coffee but I should be back around one or two in the afternoon. I hope you don’t mind me saying but do you really want to hang out with a dead girl?” You asked and Greg noticed a hint of sadness in your voice.

Greg felt his heart ache a little as your eyes sadly drooped down to the sink. “Yes I would,” Greg spoke up and your head snapped back up “I would like to hang out with you because you are undoubtedly the most…unique… person I’ve ever met”. He told you and you couldn’t help but smile “And I’m not just saying that cause your dead”.

You burst out laughing and nodded your head “Alright, you’ve twisted my arm but I should get going” you looked at the clock “I’ll be back soon” you sent Greg a grin before getting ready to leave. Greg went upstairs to shower and you left.

You walked to Molly’s and were welcomed into her flat with open arms and about a thousand questions about what happened when she left. She made some tea and you sat perched on a stool on the other side of her “It sounds like he took it reasonably well” Molly passed you the cup and you took a sip.

“Yeah, it seems like it. He’s a very understanding and lovely guy…” You trailed off and smiled to yourself. Molly noticed but decided not to say anything.

“What do you think it’s going to be like living with him now he knows you exist?” Molly asked.

You shrugged a shoulder “I really don’t know, we’ll just have to see how it pans out but I think we should be alright”. You spent a few hours with Molly chatting away before going home. You opened the door and re-appeared spooking Greg who was walking passed you at the time. “Oh god I’m sorry!” You rushed up to Greg who was clutching onto his chest, you tried your best not to laugh at Greg’s shocked expression.

“It’s alright,” he sent you a reassuring smile “How was coffee with Molly?” He asked.

“It was good! Have you picked a movie?” You asked and walked into the living room with Greg hot in your heels.

“Well….uh actually I’ve been-”

“What is this?” you cut him off when your eyes latched onto sheets of paper sprawled around the living room. Your voice was trembling and the water that was residing inside you churned like the sea in the middle of an unruly storm.

“I’ve been looking into your case and-”

“I don’t want to be a case” You cut him off again, slowly approaching the papers “I’m not a case Greg I’m a per-” you stopped yourself, not quite sure how to word it “I don’t know what I am but I know I’m not writing on a piece of paper waiting to be solved.” A tear slipped down your cheek and Greg flooded with guilt at your tone. It was unbelievably somber, it sent chills up his spine.

“I’m sorry” he attempted to approach you but you defensively put up your hands and stumbled back.

“No, no I need to…” You let out a sigh and disappeared. Greg let out a groan and placed his head in his hands filling with guilt and dread that he’d pushed you away.

“Y/N please come back I’m sorry!” He cried. You watched him staring into space, he wouldn’t know where you were. You walked straight passed him and dragged yourself up to the bathroom, crashing your back against the side and bringing your knees to your chest and cried into them.

Greg collected the papers and tossed them into a bag, shredding some into thousands of pieces. He froze when he heard your sobs and rushed to where the noise was coming from. Greg found you on the floor, your sobs echoing throughout the bathroom and Greg kneeled by your side “I’m so sorry Y/N I didn’t mean to-”

You cut him off “It’s okay…it doesn’t matter”

“Yes it does!” He unintentionally raised his voice a little “It does because I upset you”. You peeled your head away from your knees and looked at him with watery eyes. Greg let out a low sigh and opened his arms for you, you scooted over a little and he tightly wrapped them around you placing his chin on your head as you both sat there in silence.

“I’m sorry” Greg quietly whispered out.

You sat back a little to look at him “It’s alright, I forgive you” you sent him a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes “Life is too short to hold grudges…” You trailed off and your smile fell slightly. Greg frowned and decided to make you a cup of tea.

You both made your way downstairs and you sat down at the dining table while Greg made the tea. You muttered a ‘thanks’ as he passed you the cup he was still looking at you with sympathetic eyes. “Don’t look at me like that, Greg. I’ve accepted your apology, we can move on” you smiled. Greg nodded and sat down across from you, his view was blocked slightly from the flower placed in the middle. You pulled the flower towards you, noticing how poorly it was looking “Everything dies Greg,” you told him brushing your hands against the wilting petals “Even the most beautiful things”.

Greg wasn’t looking at the flower when you said that.

He was looking at you.

———————— Tags: (Let me know if you’d like to be tagged/untagged!)

@adorablebadger @musingsofophelia @damnitman-jamlocked-inthetardis @daydreamer0307 @emeliethetimelady @cutie1365 @princesspeach212 @imayjustbejamesmoriarty @holmes-maev @rikkachloechan @lock-sherlock @katie27hp @wcsteland @itsintothegreatbeyondstuff

#imaginedilestrade #an Saol Idir Linn #greg lestrade #greg lestrade imagine #lestrade x reader #greg lestrade x reader #ghost!au #molly hooper

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marta-bee · 7 years

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Saw a homeless man outside the bodega as I was walking home tonight, and so I had to write the thing. Everything really is Johnlock.

******************

John supposed London would be full of them, in either century: men without a bed, rough-shaven and with that certain growl in their stomach. Their more respectable brethren would be there, too, he knew. Army-doctors, say, returned to England after they’d out-lived their utility abroad, playing at dice and cards, losing more than they could afford; or maybe just making slow work of the bread-and-apple they’d bought as they stood in the alleys watching the world go by. Anything if it put off returning to the best rooms they could afford on her Majesty’s largesse. Which John could well imagine would be depressing indeed; or rather, didn’t have to.

Really, London was London, and the wheel would ever go round and round.

Some of them men might be play-acting. No class of characters, real or fictional, could be without its less reputable examples. Out-of-work ostlers caught slouching outside the church, offered a coin for their troubles; or the Neville St. Clairs, much missed by wife and child, but still preferring the jail-cell to what a good wash would reveal. Shame on him, but his shame, and no excuse to leave the rest to their squalor.

He imagines them, tells their stories to Rosie as she coos around her rattle in the old second bedroom in Baker Street, weaves them into the accounts he writes down later, when she finally drifts off to sleep. Longhand; he likes the feel of the fine stationery under his fingers, damn it, the simplicity of a fine pen resting between thumb and pointer, and because a computer password stands little enough chance against Sherlock’s curiosity in any event. Some of them will stay consigned to the margins, the penniless and nameless boys who always seemed at hand when his Holmes needed them. (Always Holmes; the distance a shield against the hope lurking behind the written word.) Or his Isa Whitney, if he’d run through his wallet and the opium-den master had turned him out into the street where he belonged.

John stops himself short at that thought, keeps himself from remembering a lankier, younger consulting detective, how he’d been tossed out into Montague Street after one too many experiments went badly; how he’d probably been tossed out more than once, when he shot the rent up his arms. He won’t think about that. He won’t think, either, about Hilton Cubbitt, after his pride made him a prisoner in his own estate, refusing to be run off by so many dancing-men scrawled along the brickwork. Or Violet Smith, after that Woodley’s advances left her so ill at ease in her employer’s home. He won’t imagine her skin crawling as she stripped down in her rooms, scrubs at her skin as if it would wash off the stain of his gaze from across the hedge.

They were hardly the sort John’s own enlightened time would call the social workers for, but John – who had spent six weeks sleeping on Lestrade’s couch after the incident in Magnussen’s office, equally because it was convenient to the clinic and Sherlock’s hospital-room and because he couldn’t quite make himself sleep in the same postal code as Mary, not after that – John knew that subtler form of homelessness entirely too well, thank you very much.

So he wedged the cot in beside his old bed, and spent Saturdays (cases permitting) down at New Belvedere House, lending a helping hand and a ready ear. He looked, and he saw, as much as his own battered mind could manage. And there was tea, really so much tea: at St. Bart’s over tests on liver enzyme activity, and in New Scotland Yard as Dimmock and Gregson took their statements. (Because really, boys, do you have any idea the paperwork when you actually break through a padlock…. ? ) And later, much later, when the dreams woke him and Sherlock wordlessly placed the mug and biscuit in his hand and whispered something about sugar as a cure for shock: there was tea then, too.

And if (when) Sherlock placed a tentative hand, really just a brush of knuckles against each other in silent reminder that I am here, and you are here, too, with me?

Well. It wasn’t home, quite, it wasn’t the hope he kept so far at bay in the stories threatening to flay him open from sternum to coccyx, lay his heart open to Sherlock’s too-keen sight. But it was closer, and would be closer still tomorrow and the week after. It would do for a start.

#sh #johnlock ficlet #johnlock #doyle #bbc sherlock #i like to think this makes sense without knowledge of the specific stories referenced #but at the end of the day i am a bit of a geek #tw: homelessness

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all-fandoms-fiction · 7 years

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I’m Here (Sherlock x reader) fluff

I wasn’t sure how this would end up like and to be honest I didn’t think I’d be into making this but once I started I kinda couldn’t stop and the story almost wrote itself! I loved making this which surprised me.

Based on this request: Maybe a Sherlock x reader just after TRF and Sherlock just came back to 221B to his girlfriend (who still lives there) and she cries when he's back and he just holds her and hugs her and Kisses ! On ! Top ! Of ! Her ! Head ! and fluff so much fluff (Idec what you do with this but this was the first thing I could think of as a plot, feel free to even change the readers gender/make it neutral)

It had been two years. Not that you had been counting days going by, but you were constantly keeping in mind how long it had been since you last saw him. Your mind wouldn’t let go of the events that haunted you even if you tried to block all memories and feelings that dwelled inside of you. Waking up for the first months were hard. You barely slept and when you did you woke up by feeling suffocated, your heart ached and head dizzy. Day after day it became less of a struggle to shut down the panic that woke you up but the clock went on. It was like you were starring a bad drama movie where every day was shot with the day numbered on the right corner of the screen. The days how long he’d been gone.

You had moved out for the first three months, barely even calling Mrs. Hudson who was worried about you more than you wanted to admit to yourself. You assured her you would pay the rent but that you would also be back when you were ready. Then when you were Mrs. Hudson was very melancholic towards you. She was happy for you were back home but also worried you couldn’t take it to be around the house.

You had went through an internal fight would you want Mrs. Hudson to clear the remains of the old residents belongings from mostly the living room. It took you time, the time you put through your moving. You didn’t want to forget him, but you also didn’t want to be reminded how he was gone. Entirely. You decided to suggest Mrs. Hudson to put away all the paper work and some of his personal items such as the skull and so on, but not to get rid of anything. You would dig into all those files and old cases when you would be ready.

The day you moved in was a cloudy and dry day. The weather felt suffocating, signaling there would be rain coming in next few days and that it would last long. You were actually glad the sunny days were over but then again hated the possibility of needing to fortify inside for the rainy season. You didn’t look forward to shut yourself in the flat you feared to visit for so long.

When the cab pulled over, your gaze fell on the dark blue door. The golden numbers on the door and the knocker made your stomach turn. Even on the outside you could feel the effect of what the house had on you. You took a long breath and stepped out of the car. In time you were out Mrs. Hudson had slipped through the door and with a sad smile and wet eyes at the sight of you she came down the stairs and enveloped you to a warm hug.

You didn’t have much with you back then, most of your stuff had been left behind in Baker Street when you left and untouched. Only one bag with you. It had some clothes in there but that was mostly it since you already had a toothbrush and so on laying around the flat Mrs. Hudson rented.

Mrs. Hudson barely left your side that day, or the whole week to be exact. She was probably trying to minimize the possibility of you breaking down even though it did happen every time she wasn’t there. She of course insisted to do all the groceries for the first month you had moved back in and you were sure to show her your gratitude. You spent time with her. You didn’t much spent time in your part of the house, constantly visiting her apartment. You watched tv, drank tea, talked and just sat in silence. At times you felt like a burden. An old lady being your only company and every day following on her tail if she did anything. But Mrs. Hudson never complained. She did at times ask you to call or visit John Watson, also having occasional rage quits of how the man never called or visited her or the two of you. You, just like John, declined visiting him. You thought it to be too much for you.

When you were hanging in your flat, Mrs. Hudson now and then coming over to make you tea or cooking for you, you usually found yourself sitting on his chair. You could feel your heart crushing and it became hard to breathe at times. You also wondered to his bedroom, which was one of the places you had forbid Mrs. Hudson to never enter. It was regular for you to sit on his bed, only at the edge, trying to leave as little of your own sent in his room. Though you couldn’t keep it up long. You cried most of the time visiting the room and then waking up, curled up on his bed and hands tightly gripping the blanket. It became your safe heaven. A place you would enter when you felt bad or when you couldn’t sleep. There you could. Every time you went in and closed your eyes, your nostrils filled with the sent of his lulled you to sleep faster than even sleeping pills could. The first time Mrs. Hudson surprised you for sleeping in his bed she didn’t say anything. She only smiled sadly at your sleeping form and left the room as quietly as she had entered. She never questioned you when at mornings you came from his bedroom, sometimes even wearing his robe. You would eat breakfast together in silence.

Those two years had started to go faster when you had made peace with your mind. With the fact he was gone and you were moving on. You were living in the house where he used to be with you. But he wouldn’t be back. And you had become one with that fact. Or as much as you were able to.

Like every other morning you were making tea. Mrs. Hudson was out, probably in the store, you didn’t actually depend on her that much anymore which made you a little nonchalant of her absence. You were actually reminding every one of him, as you wore his long robes, your hair always a mess and barely leaving the flat. You also weren’t a clean person. Making as much of a mess as he used to, but it made the place look like it was supposed to look like.

You pulled the curtains aside in mornings, but when it was getting dark out you closed them. You never kept lights on the living room, leaving it dim or light by the daylight creeping in from the narrow windows. Now the room was under the light that shone from out side, it made the room look alive. It looked like someone lived there, but it didn’t look like he lived there. Not anymore. Not for a long time.

You stood next to his table which was even now filled with papers and you would be lying if you told anyone you knew exactly what was on those papers and notebooks that were spread on the wooden table. You had a cup of tea in your hands, your thumb caressing the porcelain surface of the cup, your mind slipping away to unimportant things.

You were struggling against closing the curtains. Mrs. Hudson always complained how dark it was around in the apartment and how you needed to go out and see the outside world. This was your compromise with her, keeping the blinds away but still refusing going out.

The door opened. You heard Mrs. Hudson start to get up the stairs in a rush. You closed your eyes in irritated manner, rolling your eyes under your lids. You sighed aloud and without turning you called for your landlady over your shoulder: ”No need to hurry, I’m not going anywhere as you know.”

The sound stopped. Mrs. Hudson had surely made her stop at the top of the stairs, under the door way and making no sound. Your patient already wearing thin you were about to snap at her when you heard a voice. A voice that called your name. The deep, man like voice, something that made you want to remember something. It was that sound that made your mind stop. It froze. You couldn’t compute what was going on, how you knew that voice. Something told you you weren’t supposed to remember. You turned.

It was going through a memory, a very alive looking memory. Like you were in future where you could dive into your memories like in Harry Potter. So alive looking.

A suffocated gasp left your lips. It echoed in slow motion in the air, your hands flying over your mouth, the tea cup falling on the floor and shattering, the tea splattering around and wetting the carpet. You didn’t need time to take in the sight in front of you, as his looks and appearance rushed into you like you hadn’t been through a day with out him. His almost raven like curly hair messy as always, slightly shorter than before, wearing his long coat, blue scarf and the collar of the coat covering his neck along side with the scarf. His skin was pale as ever, eyes incredibly clear and beautiful, open. He looked almost as shocked as you. He was breathing heavily, his lips apart and eyes taking in your form. He was about to say something, a smile trying to find it’s way on his lips, but that is when your sight became blurry. With a cry of ”It can’t be you.” your legs gave in and you were collapsing on the floor, on the pieces of glass but you fell on strong supportive hands. Your knees were bent, but didn’t hit the floor thanks to your savior. He took your whole form in his arms, holding you close to his chest while you cried.

”It’s not really you.” You sobbed in a heart breaking voice. You felt him shake, but you denied he was crying. He couldn’t be there. You had gone mad. You had lost yourself even if you had been doing so great lately. Maybe it was because of wearing his clothes and sleeping in his room you had started to hallucinate. You could hear him trying to convince you he was really there, answering to your suspicions and doubts of your well being.

”I’m here. It’s really me, (Y/n)” He muttered in your hair. You wrapped your hands around his waist and held onto him tight, never stopping from crying. Sherlock pulled you on the couch, his right hand in your hair and his lips on your hair line. He kept assuring you he was really there and kissed your temple now and then. You could hear from his voice he was as emotional as you were by now.

”Sherlock-” Your voice broke in the start of your sentence, Sherlock hushed you and pulled you even closer to him.

”It’s okay. I’m here.” It was all he said for the next twenty minutes. He held you close to his chest and kept kissing your scalp as you didn’t dare to face him. He never attempted on pushing you away or forcing you to look at him, but you knew he would need to see your face sooner rather than later and you wanted it too, but not sure your sanity could take it you kept your face hidden.

When your crying came to a stop, dry sobs and sniffles heard from you, you dared to move your face but only to face the wall. Your right ear was on top of Sherlock’s chest and you listened to his heart beating. You wanted to stay there for till the end. You could very well die there and be happy.

You felt Sherlock move slightly and because of a reflect you turned to face him, worried he’d leave. He had only moved his head down to look at you and now he fully saw you. Your face was red, eyes dry, but to him it was enough you were there. In his arms. Finally in his reach.

He kissed the top of your head repeatedly, kept his hold on you and let you lay on top of him for as long as you wanted and as long as he needed. He had missed you as much as you had missed him, he wouldn’t deny that. He didn’t want to loosen his hold on you, he needed you to be there for just a little longer. And that is where the two of you stayed. You lay on top of him until you fell asleep and the two of you slept there for an hour, holding each other very closely.

#sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #john watson #Mrs. hudson #bbc #bbc sherlock #all-fandoms-fiction #gif not mine

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honeypiehotchner · 5 years

Text

Deception -- part eleven

Oh hi. I’m back. With more fluff xx.

There’s a new fish and chip shop I’ve been wanting to try out. Is 7 good?

I smile down at the message. John and I have been briefly texting since yesterday afternoon, and it’s taken him almost twenty-four hours to officially ask me out.

7 is good :)

Is a smiley face too much? I never know and I don’t think I’ll ever know. I haven’t flirted with someone in a very long time.

See you then :)

Hm. It must not have been too much, then, if he sent one back. Is that even how this works? I don’t even know what to wear. If it’s a fish and chip shop, then maybe not a dress. I’m tired of dresses, anyway. Maybe I can get away with not wearing them as often if I’m going to be seeing him as not-my-patient now. I can use the excuse that I’m more relaxed and not working.

I don’t know what I’m doing. What am I doing?

What am I doing? Have I seriously forgotten I’m supposed to be on an undercover mission? That I know his best friend is still alive even though he thinks he’s dead and gone? My God, I’ve gone mad. If Sherlock ever finds out, I’m doomed.

Oh God.

Mycroft.

Forget Sherlock, he’ll get over himself if I tell him to – I’ve told him to countless times before. But Mycroft. Mycroft is going to have my head if he ever finds out about this, and he will. Soon enough. I’ll be thoroughly surprised if it takes him until tomorrow to find out.

I’m a lunatic. An actual lunatic. I’ve seriously gone mental.

It’s five o’clock now. I’ve got two hours to find something to wear before John shows up at my doorstep. And I know he’ll be here right at seven. He’s extremely punctual, that man. Dare I say it’s one of the things I like most about him.

Okay, focus. An outfit. Preferably not a dress. But also, not sweatpants. Would he care if I wore sweatpants? That would be one way to tell if a guy really likes you, I suppose. Wear sweatpants on the first date.

I’m losing my mind.

I push all of the dresses in my closet to one side, getting a physical barrier between “work” clothes and what might be considered a date outfit.

Aren’t date outfits just regular outfits? Just worn on a date? Or is that too simplified?

Or do people overcomplicate dates and date culture? I think that’s more like it.

Regardless, I pull out a red top to go with my jeans, and a long, black cardigan to throw over my shoulders. Simple enough.

I keep my watch on, figuring at the very least I’d still wear it, and I’ve kind of gotten used to having it on. It’s nice to check your watch for the time instead of checking your phone and getting lost in notifications.

I glance at myself in the mirror. This outfit is good enough, I feel. And wearing sneakers is a nice change from my heels. I love heels, don’t get me wrong, but not with this outfit.

It’s almost six now. It took me almost an entire hour to find an outfit because I’m so scattered. Isn’t that a sign?

If it is, I’m ignoring it.

I plop myself down on the couch in my living room, stretching out to try to rid my body of some nervous energy. I don’t need to be jumping like a scared cat when I’m out with John because I’m not scared. Nervous, maybe, but not scared.

My phone rings from beside me, which does cause me to jump and swear under my breath as I reach for it, blindly answering the call. “Hello?”

“Dr. Stewart.”

Fuck. “Mycroft. It’s been a while.”

“It has indeed,” he sounds less than pleased. “What might you be up to?”

He already knows. Of course he does. I probably sound so guilty. “Look, I can explain.”

“Explain what?”

My eyes widen. “Wait.”

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing…nothing’s going on.” I mouth shit to the couch pillows as I stand, deciding to pace the floor. “What are you up to?”

“Well, I was calling to tell you the international business has been settled and that I’d like to see you in my office tomorrow afternoon for an update.” He pauses. “But now something tells me I need an update from you now.”

“Okay, here’s your update: Everything is going good.”

“Is that it?”

“Why would there be anything else?”

“Why do you sound so defensive?”

“I’m not.”

He sighs heavily. “Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Tell me what’s going on. I’d rather you tell me now before I have to find out from someone else.”

I scrunch up my nose. “Don’t say it like that.”

“For God’s sake, what is the matter with you?”

“Nothing!” I cry. “Nothing’s the matter with me!”

He’s silent for a moment. I have never dug myself this far into a hole before and I have no idea how to get myself out of it. I close my eyes, chewing on my lower lip as I wait for him to reply. To say something.

“Why is John Watson outside your house?”

“What?” I hiss, practically bolting to the door. I slowly glance through the window, immediately pressing my back up against the front door. It’s barely six o’clock! “Shit.”

“What is going on?”

“Okay, fine!” I yell. “We’re going on a date!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Listen,” I pinch the bridge of my nose, keeping my voice low in case John decides to walk up. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d be furious and because… It’s personal, okay?”

“This isn’t supposed to be personal, Agent Stewart, you are compromising the mission!”

“Forget the damn mission!” I snap. “Forget it, alright? I don’t care about it anymore. I’m not his therapist anymore.”

“So what, you’re his girlfriend now?”

“For fuck’s sake, no,” I shake my head. “Can we just talk about it later?”

“Tomorrow. Noon. My office.”

“I’ll let you know if I can make it,” I reply, and I end the call as soon as I finish my sentence, leaving him no room to argue with me.

Girlfriend, I nearly scoff aloud. How primary school. I can’t believe the word girlfriend even came out of Mycroft’s mouth just then. What an ass.

I turn my phone on silent before putting it in my back pocket. I smooth my hands over my hair and down my cardigan, taking a deep breath.

The doorbell rings.

And I jump clear into the air, a frightened squeak coming out of my mouth as soon as I do.

A mess. I’m a damn mess.

I pull the door open to reveal John, a nervous smile playing at his lips. “I saw you jump. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t,” I chuckle. “I saw you out here I just didn’t know if you were going to ring the doorbell first or if I was going to have to call you in.”

“Sorry about that,” he shifts awkwardly on his feet. “I know I’m an hour early.”

“And I’m ready an hour early,” I smile. “Let me just grab my purse.”

I disappear off into my bedroom, returning with my purse to see John has come inside and shut the door. He’s looking around as if he’s never seen this place before in his life, which causes me to stop in my tracks and give him a strange look.

“It’s the same house, you know.”

He looks at me, an embarrassed blush creeping onto his cheeks at being caught. “I know. It just seems…different.”

“When you’re not here as a patient, I know,” I nod. “It does feel different to have you here not as my patient.”

“Is it bad?”

“I said it was different,” I reply. “Not bad.”

“Okay,” he smiles, relief practically pouring off of him.

“So, where is this fish and chip shop you’ve been dying to try?”

“Just down the road, actually.” He holds the door open for me as we walk through.

“Down the road?” I question once we hit the sidewalk and begin walking. “Where?”

“Next to the shop that I walked you to your car in the rain from,” he smiles fondly, and it’s contagious, seeping onto my face almost immediately. “I pass by it all the time but I never go in.”

“Well, I am honored to embark on this new adventure with you.”

He smiles at me (I don’t know that he’s stopped smiling since we started walking), like he wasn’t expecting me to say that at all. “You are something, you know that?”

“Thank you?” I tilt my head. “Was that a compliment?”

He nods. “Very much so.”

“Hey John?”

“Yes?”

“It won’t kill you to hold my hand.”

His eyebrows raise in surprise.

“What?” I laugh, taking (for lack of a better phrase) matters into my own hands as I grab his, practically wrapping myself around his arm. “When a woman purposefully keeps her hand free and continuously bumps her arm with yours, it means, hold my damn hand.”

He laughs loudly then, our shoulders bumping into one another, like his laughter messes with his balance. “Thank you for the translation. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good,” I grin, looking back in front of us.

“Out of curiosity,” he begins. “What might a woman do when she wants you to kiss her?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I shrug, pausing in my steps to catch his attention. I turn my body to face his, my hand still in his grip. “She might look at you and say kiss me already, you fool.”

John smiles, but he doesn’t move at all.

I nearly roll my eyes. “Do I need to say it again?”

“No,” he says quietly, shaking his head. “I’m just admiring the view.”

“Well, you’ve definitely got the charming part down.”

“Do I?”

“I just said you do, I’m not saying it again.”

A gust of wind blows by us in the true movie magic fashion, and my hair blows right into my face. He lets go of my hand to smooth my hair back, tucking it neatly behind my ears, his hands lingering there.

It feels like forever before he finally kisses me. And maybe it’s because I’ve thought about kissing him for so long. And he’s thought about it, too.

Despite that, I don’t think any amount of thinking about it could’ve prepared me for how tender and loving John Watson’s kisses feel. When he cradles my face, thumbs brushing my skin softly, lips gently soothing mine. It has my knees nearly buckling, my head swimming, my heart racing.

All of it feels so right. So perfect and so calm. So safe.

And when he pulls back to look into my eyes, it feels natural.

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