#enola holmes x reader

[heliads]

Okay so here come the Enola Holmes requests; hear me out, Tewksbury best friends to lovers where the reader makes things out of paper and tries to teach Tewksbury how to make paper flowers when he asks. He SUCKS at it, but he's head over heels for her and so he spends hours alone practicing and he makes her this cute bouquet out of newspaper and maybe it has like a little love confession note or something in it idk idk but my brain is in overdrive rn

YES this idea is literally the cutest thing ever to me, hope i did it justice!

masterlist

Tewkesbury doesn’t know that he’s lost until he sees her. It’s been too long since he’s been able to get away like this, trade off the drama of the House of Lords and every rule he’s expected to follow for the actual thrills of life. It may be his destiny to grow so deeply entrenched in politics that he stops seeing the difference between his working life and the rest of his waking one, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

Needless to say, the second he was able to skive off another day spent around the members of Parliament, Tewkesbury did so with a flourish. He could think of nothing better than tracking down his best friend and spending the rest of the weekend annoying her without pause, but now that he’s actually here, he finds himself coming up short. It was supposed to be nothing out of the ordinary, these couple of days away, but yet when Tewkesbury stares at the girl who’s been like a sister all of these years, he suddenly wishes that connection would disappear in his head forever.

The problem is that the girl who looks up at him with a smile when she sees him looks different somehow, as if spending a mere month or two out of her company has been enough to completely rewrite Tewkesbury’s entire mental picture of her. Do her eyes always shine like that when she sees him, or is that new? Has he always wanted to smile like mad whenever they’re together, or is that the lingering affection of some new affliction Tewkesbury doesn’t think he could name if he tried?

It shakes him to the core, this sudden feeling. One moment, he’s rounding the corner to meet up with a friend, just that, and then he’s looking at this girl and all he can think about is that he never wants to leave her side again. Politics can go to hell without him. Tewkesbury only has an excuse to leave the government buildings for this weekend, but he wishes it could be forever.

He doesn’t have all of eternity to ponder this, though. Y/N L/N races up to him when their eyes meet, and then he’s standing before her, breathless and wondering how on earth he is supposed to go about as if nothing has changed when he’s pretty sure that every possible thing has.

Y/N, however, seems utterly devoid of the miraculous transformation currently wreaking havoc in between Tewkesbury’s ribs. “It’s wonderful to see you,” she beams, “I was beginning to think that you’d gone ahead and moved into the Palace of Westminster forever. I haven’t seen you in years.”

Tewkesbury finds it within himself to scoff at this blatant lie. “That’s absurd. I saw you not seven weeks ago.”

Y/N arches a disbelieving brow. “Yes, seven weeks ago. That’s a perfectly ordinary time to go without visiting your best friend even once, you traitor.”

Tewkesbury clasps a hand to his heart, feigning hurt. “Cruel. I have never once been a traitor to you.”

He doesn’t know that he could, now. He can’t imagine a world in which he is not following her around, either in endless loops around the London streets or in constant cycles of daydreams in which Tewkesbury is able to put an actual name to the emotions currently driving him mad.

Y/N grins. “I’m glad to hear it. I was worried for a second there, you know.”

“No you weren’t,” Tewkesbury laughs.

“Perhaps not,” Y/N says with an elaborate shrug, “but I like to keep you on your toes. It makes for a more dramatic weekend if we’re both slinging accusations left and right.”

“Not as fun, though,” he argues.

Y/N concedes this point through a solemn nod. “No, not as fun. I’ve never had to worry about fun with you, though.”

She looks up at him with a smile, and Tewkesbury thinks that his heart might explode out of his chest. He wants to say something, needs to say something, but all he can manage is–

“You know what would be fun? If you showed me how to make those paper crafts. I know you can do it, I’ve seen you make tons of stuff from paper before. It’s really cool, and I missed seeing you do it. I missed–”

He cuts off the hopeless flood of words before he can say something incriminating like that he missed her, but Tewkesbury gets the feeling that he’s already said too much. Also too little at the same time; Y/N promises him that they’ll get to make the paper shapes as requested, but he swears her face drops a little, like she could sense that there was something Tewkesbury was trying to say but just couldn’t manage. He wants to try again, but the words choke up his throat and he can’t get out a single syllable.

Instead, he contents himself with watching Y/N as they walk, how the sun dapples her skin with endless patterns of gold. He watches as they leave the streets as well, once they head for Y/N’s house down the block. Tewkesbury pushes the door open; it’s always been more of his home than any other corner or annex of his family place. This is where he feels at peace, and although he’s always thought that was just what came with finding a friend like Y/N, he’s starting to think that it could be more. That maybe they could be more.

It is a false hope, however, and one that will only serve to make him bleed, to rob the happiness from his chest whenever Tewkesbury looks over and sees Y/N. They are friends, compatriots, brethren in a war that all young children grown old must face at some point. Never have they been closer, and never has he wished that they could be closer still.

He’s caught staring as they head up the stairs, and he looks away hastily although the damage is done. Y/N laughs at the blush forming on his cheeks. Although Tewkesbury reacts by habit and shoves her with an outstretched, playful arm, he can’t seem to stop his hand from lingering there on her shoulder, fingers reaching as if to pluck some sort of love out of her through willpower alone.

He finds it not, though, and is forced to stay satisfied with smiling to himself and wondering if the rest of his life will be like this, just watching and hoping for a happy ending that may never come his way. Tewkesbury has always wanted something he could never have:  a world outside of family rules, a universe that did not want him controlled, and now, worst of all, a love that should have stayed platonic. It is the cut that aches the most.

The moment is good, though. Y/N has always had this most peculiar skill when it comes to paper crafts, and Tewkesbury regards her now through lowered eyes. Her hands flit around the cut shapes, slicing off delicate corners and creasing folds until a simple note becomes a prancing pony, a soaring bird about to take flight around the room.

Tewkesbury shakes his head after she produces yet another paper marvel. “I don’t know how you do it,” he protests, “Show me, can’t you? Let’s make a flower or something.”

“Flowers have always been your favorite, haven’t they?” Y/N comments. She does as requested, although what are lovely narcissi and tulips in her hands turn into sadly wilted clumps of paper in his.

Tewkesbury just can’t figure out how she does it. Even after that particular day ends, he finds himself sitting in his room surrounded by heaps of useless folds, trying and failing to emulate her easy way with the paper crafts. One would think that Tewkesbury, with his lifetime of knowledge about every facet of flora there is to know, would be able to reproduce his beloved plants in paper form, but here you would be surprised.

Tewkesbury labors for hours, days even, but his progress is slow and totally frustrating. Y/N catches him at it a few times and laughs at him. The sound, so sharp it stings, carves a smile on Tewkesbury’s face even when he’s almost been driven to the point of madness by the infuriatingly unrealistic paper flowers.

He insists that Y/N show him a few more times, of course, but Tewkesbury can’t seem to pick up a single thing. Maybe that’s because he’s not really hearing but looking at his professor. The sunlight clings to her like a child, playing at her hair in ways that only golden beams can get away with in proper society. Despite Y/N’s protests that he really is getting better, Tewkesbury only thinks he’s getting better at one thing and one thing alone:  falling harder for her.

Soon enough, he finds that he cannot go a day, cannot even draw a breath, without thinking about how much he loves Y/N. His room is dizzy and chaotic, the paper flowers piling up in the corners and spilling out of waste paper baskets. Tewkesbury’s hands are nicked by all the paper cuts he’s given himself by accident, and he finds his fingers keep twitching by his sides to run through the familiar folds and patterns as he goes by his days.

At some point, Tewkesbury looks up and realizes that he’s done it, mastered the things. They’re nothing compared to Y/N’s magic with them, of course, but they do the trick for now. An idea comes to him, and Tewkesbury carefully makes one pristine paper flower after another, all the types he knows by heart and some he has to consult in his books, too, just to get the right varieties.

Y/N is surprised when he presents them to her at first, this newsprint bouquet. Her eyes are enchanted and rove up and down the folded petals, the cut stems.

“You did all of this?” She asks, voice tinged with excitement.

Tewkesbury laughs. “You don’t have to seem so surprised. I was bound to get it at some point, you know.”

Y/N flashes him a grin in between her admirations of the paper flowers. “I never doubted you for a second, I swear it.”

He believes her, he always has. How is it that Tewkesbury can see straight through politicians and their lies, but yet find himself stumbling over Y/N’s every word? Every ounce of critical thought leaves his head in a blessed whirlpool the second she smiles at him. It is a problem that Tewkesbury refuses to solve.

A voice calls from behind him; Tewkesbury wasn’t able to stay for long today, only long enough to press the paper bouquet into Y/N’s hands and make her swear to look at it before he’s dashing back to the House of Lords again for the day’s work.

He doesn’t have to stay to make sure she’ll investigate, nor to discover what she finds. Soon enough, Y/N will be glancing over the paper creases and realize that not all of the flowers are made of newsprint. Some are made of notes, notes to her, notes that are at last able to explain all that Tewkesbury couldn’t put into words if he tried.

It’s a story about how a boy fell in love with a girl, how Tewkesbury is so lost on Y/N that he can’t think straight. Unable to help himself, he’s cataloged the flowers he’s made for her; camellias for longing, jasmine for sweet love, goldenrod so he’ll have luck in this, begonias so that even if she doesn’t feel the same way, he can at least thank her for all of the memories they made in the past years.

It might be the bravest thing he’s ever done. In truth, when Tewkesbury steps out of the reaches of Parliament for the day, he doesn’t know what to expect. In all his endless plotting and scheming about how to do this, he was never able to accurately sum up how Y/N might respond.

In the end, she surprises him. Tewkesbury enters the streets of London and there she is, waiting for him with a smile on her face unlike anything he’s ever seen before. Tewkesbury has prided himself on being able to place each one of her smiles in his memory, rank them on how happy she truly is, and this one blows all of the others away.

He walks to her, and they meet in the middle somewhere, both bursting with hopes finally answered.

“I love you too,” she says, “more than anything. More than you love me, I think.”

“Doubtful,” Tewkesbury replies, “I don’t think it’s possible for anyone to love more than I love you.”

She laughs. “I look forward to proving you wrong on that point.”

He looks forward to it, too. There are few things in life that can be described as going perfectly, but this, this is it. This is perfection itself, him and her and the glorious world stretching out around them. Nothing could be better.

requested by @thatfangirl42, i hope you enjoy!

enola holmes tag list: empty for now!

#tewkesbury #tewkesbury imagines #tewkesbury x reader #tewkesbury oneshot #enola holmes #enola holmes imagines #enola holmes x reader #enola holmes oneshot #enola holmes tewkesbury #enola holmes tewkesbury x reader #enola holmes tewkesbury oneshot

[tommiruewrites]

tewkesbury hc's !!

a/n: some of my random (and somewhat self-indulgent) flower boy headcanons after watching enola holmes 2! enjoy :)

requested: yes | no

requests: open | closed

request rules here

remember to like, comment, and reblog to support my writing <3

❀ loves the combination of chocolate and orange

❀ just loves citrus in general

❀ favorite color is purple, second favorite blue, third yellow

❀ knows an insane amount about plants and will sometimes randomly spew out a random fact

❀ the two of you are walking down the street, chatting about topics not at all related to nature, and all of a sudden, he's like, "did you know-" {proceeds to tell you the most insanely obscure plant fact ever about a flower you've never even heard of}

❀ loves animals

❀ and he's always so proud of himself for knowing it too

❀ random plant facts are also his go-to conversation starters

❀ is extremely clumsy and constantly knocks things over, trips over his own feet, etc. but all of a sudden, all the clumsiness leaves his body when dancing or fencing ?? he has beef with coordination idk

❀ his favorite flower is the one that reminds him the most of you

❀ he knows the meaning and symbolism of every flower, so he always has a reason or message with each on he gives you

❀ he also looooves poetry

❀ not afraid to pour his heart out to you poetically

❀ but only once you've been close a while, in the beginning he's a hot, awkward mess, tripping over his words left and right

❀ he does much better writing out his feelings at the start

❀ hides poetic notes in your flower bouquets, or leaves pressed flowers in your letters

❀ extremely dramatic

❀ the type of dramatic to claim he's on the brink of death after getting a single paper cut

❀ in fact, he's so dramatic that when little things happen to you, he overreacts for you. what a gentleman

❀ definitely a hopeless romantic 

❀ extremely good with kids

❀ slightly afraid of the dark

❀ his favorites are deer and horses, but he also just loves birds

❀ was a late bloomer when it came to walking, but started talking super early as a baby (it just makes sense okay)

❀ sometimes dances around in his room, alone, pretending he's dancing with you

❀ also practices romantic things to say to you in the mirror

❀ has super fancy-dancy penmanship and makes it look effortless

❀ really likes art, specifically romanticism style paintings

❀ plays the piano beautifully 

❀ also understands latin and is fluent in french because he's fancy

❀ very easily entertained

❀ also has a very short attention span for most things and gets distracted easily

❀ main love language is words of affirmation, followed closely by gift giving and acts of service

❀ loves his hair being played with

❀ owns a journal where he logs each day

❀ absolutely loves jam

❀ avid lover of jasmine tea and green tea

❀ also puts a ridiculous amount of honey in it

❀ oddly afraid of frogs and toads

thats all i can think of for now, hope you enjoyed that. 

side not, posted this on 11/11 at 11:11 my time bc im so cool like that. you're welcome.

#enola holmes #enola 2 #holmes #enola x tewkesbury #enola holmes x reader #viscount tewksbury #enola holmes 2 #lord tewksbury #viscount tewkesbury marquess of basilwether #tewkesbury imagine #tewkesbury x reader #tewkesbury fluff #tewkesbury headcanon #tewkesbury hc #tewkesbury #tewksbury #tewksbury x reader #requests open

[shy-blue-blossom]

Dahlia

Sherlock Holmes

The sun shone through the window as a bride got ready for her big day. She smiled at her mother and Enola who were helping her. They returned her smile with their own before they stepped back and admired her.

"You look amazing my dear."

"I agree," Enola said as she nodded. "How my brother managed to get you to fall for him though, I do not know." She jested smirking at the bride.

"You delight me, Enola," The bride smiled as she replied. "I imagine how your brother will think this when you find a young gentleman." Enolna got a smirk from her this time.

"I suppose we just have to wait and see where life takes us."

"Now ladies, it is time for Enola to find her seat and y/n to find her father," Y/n's mother said as she smiled at the duo.

They both made their way out of the room with y/n's mother in front. Enola kissed y/n on the cheek before she headed to her seat. Y/n got a kiss, on the cheek, from her mother before she too went to her seat. She turned to her father and noticed he had some flowers in his hands.

"Sherlock asked me to pass them to you, so you could add them to your bouquet," Her father told her before she could say anything. "He said you would know what they mean,"

"I do," Y/n smiled as she took them and placed them into her wedding bouquet.

"You still have time to run," Her father added jokingly with a smile as he watched her rearrange her whole bouquet. Y/n laughed as she finished and smiled at him. "Okay, It is good I like Sherlock then."

She took her father's arm as the doors opened and walked down the aisle to the next chapter of her life.

Sherlock turned when the doors opened and smiled when he saw y/n. His smile grew when he noticed she added the dahlia's to her bouquet.

"To our everlasting love," Y/n whispered to him as the priest began the ceremony.

"To commit all myself and love to you," Sherlock replied as he held her hand.

Enola giggled when she noticed the new addition and thought it suited their union.

The end.

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

Language of Flowers

Masterlist

#enola holmes #reader #x reader #henry cavil sherlock #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes #enola holmes x reader #dahlia #language of flowers

[astraeaalstroemeria]

1989 (Taylor's Version) Special

In the honor of the album, I will be taking character requests for each songs. BUT once the character is on a song, requesting a different character to the same song is a no-no. (To know which characters I write for, check my main masterlist.)

Rules & Navigation | Main Masterlist

INSPIRED BY: @ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes

REMINDER: Please always check my R & N whether you are reading a work of mine or requesting in order to properly understand my rules. Thank you! Happy Reading!

Welcome to New York - Dick Grayson (request)

Blank Space - Remus Lupin (request)

Style - James Potter (request)

Out of the Woods - Regulus Black (request)

All You Had To Do Was Stay - Xavier Thorpe (request)

Shake It Off - Klaus Hargreeves (by astraea)

I Wish You Would - Jason Todd (request)

Bad Blood - Tyler Galpin (request)

Wildest Dreams - Regulus Black (request)

How You Get The Girl - Sirius Black (request)

This Love - Sirius Black (request)

I Know Places - Regulus Black (request)

Clean - Sirius Black (request)

Wonderland - Jason Todd (request)

You Are In Love - Remus Lupin (request)

New Romantics - Remus Lupin (request)

“Slut!” (FTV) - Dick Grayson (request)

Say Don't Go (FTV) - Kaz Brekker (request)

Now That We Don't Talk (FTV) - (blank)

Suburban Legends (FTV) - (blank)

Is It Over Now? (FTV) - Dick Grayson (request)

Requests are open for this special !

#regulus black x reader #tyler galpin x reader #sirius black x reader #wednesday addams x reader #xavier thrope x reader #enid sinclair x reader #remus lupin x reader #james potter x reader #peter pettigrew x reader #lily evans x reader #marlene mckinnon x reader #astraeaalstroemeria #1989 tv special by astraea #five hargreaves x reader #ben hargreeves x reader #dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #harry hook x reader #carlos de vil x reader #enola holmes x reader #tewksbury x reader #tv specials by astraea #percy jackson x reader #luke castellan x reader #anthony bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x reader #simon basset x reader #gilbert blythe x reader

[book-place]

The Thing About Love

Warnings: none (I think), let me know if I missed any :)

Pairings: Tewksbury x sister reader

Request: So, what about being Tewksbury's younger sister and teasing him about Enola??

Request by: @creative-girl

*not my gif*

Summary: It was really just a simple inquiry, but then again, your brother always was dramatic

A/N: I’m literally obsessed with Enola Holmes

Please don’t plagiarize my work, you may reblog if you like but I’m asking that you don’t steal my hard work

“Brother,” You announced, striding into the sitting room, “I need to talk to you about love.”

Tewksbury’s head snapped up at that, “You’re not in love are you?” His eyes widened in horror at the thought.

You rolled your eyes impatiently, plopping down in a chair across from him, “No, of course not,” A sly smirk made its way onto your face, “But you are…”

He sputtered on air for a moment before choking out, “And wherever did you hear a thing like that?”

You shrugged, proudly stating, “I heard some of the maids whispering about it.”

A huff escaped from his lips as he tried to go back to whatever book he was reading, “It is none of their business, and nor is it yours.”

Your smirk widened as you leaned forward in your seat, “Does Miss Enola Holmes know that you love her?”

He snapped his book shut and glared at you, standing up, “That is none of your concern.” He was really starting to grow annoyed, something you loved to do to him.

You leaned back with a giggle, putting a hand over your mouth, “Oh, alright, don’t get all angry with me.” A snicker escaped your lips.

Groaning playfully, you skipped after him as he stomped out of the room, clearly leaving to try and get some peace and quiet.

“What happens in my life is not for you to know, especially not… that.” He threw a glare at you from over his shoulder.

Dramatically, you threw a hand over your heart, “Oh, how you wound me, brother!”

An idea sparked in your head as you both entered the gardens, him sitting down against a tree and opening his book once again, and a mischievous smirk took over your features.

You quickly shook it off and put your acting skills to the test, timidly walking over to your brother as you rubbed your hand up and down one of your arms.

“Brother?” You called out hesitantly, head trained to the ground, but eyes glancing up at him.

He turned his head up and opened his mouth to snap at you once more, but closed it when he saw the state you were in, “What is it?” He softened slightly.

It took every bit of willpower you had not to laugh at how geniuses your plan was.

“I… I really did want to ask you about love.” You replied, making sure to turn red a little bit at your words, “There’s… this boy.”

Once again, his book was slammed shut and he was on his feet quicker than you could blink.

“A boy?” He demanded, eyes holding a different kind of rage than you had ever seen before, “Who?”

You sighed dreamily for extra effect as you looked up to the sky, “Oh, just this boy I met at the market the other day. He really is the most wonderful boy I have ever met.”

“Who?” He seethed again, knuckles turning white from where he was gripping his book. Then, he began murmuring to himself, “Why, when I get my hands on him-“

That was when it became too much, you burst out in laughter, doubling over in the most un-ladylike fashion, even snorting a little bit.

“Oh, my!” You exclaimed, reaching up to wipe a tear, “You really should have seen your face, brother, I could hardly have hoped for such a reaction!”

He stood frozen for a moment before he realized you were making the whole thing up and he scowled, crossing his arms over his chest and beginning to once again sulk away.

“Oh, come now, brother!” You called after him in between giggles, “You must admit, that was comical!”

“It most certainly was not!” He snapped back.

You grinned and hurried along after him, “So, tell me more about you and Enola.”

Detectives 🕵️- none yet

#platonic #platonic imagine #x reader #teen reader #enola holmes x reader #enola holmes fanfic #tewksbury x reader #tewksbury x sister reader #elona holmes x reader platonic #sister reader

[scarthefangirl]

Every step of the way

Sherlock Holmes x wife!reader

Request: Discovering that, after already more than ten years of marriage, she expects their first child.

Warnings: none

Story type: blurb

A/N: okay I'm not that proud of this but yk, it was requested. Its a cute idea I just don't think I did it justice

Masterlist | REQUESTS OPEN

Once you were sure, you started crying. Not a pretty 'few tears down your cheeks' cry, a full on sob. It had been ten years of trying. Ten. And it finally worked.

He was out on a case so I had time to mentally prepare myself for telling him. I knew he’d be happy, but it was still nerve racking. I found myself picking at the skin of my lip anxiously. 

It was two days before he arrived home, and he got home late. I knew he was exhausted but I on the other hand felt exhilarated. 

“How was the case?” I asked.

“It closed up pretty simply,” He answered. “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” 

“There’s something making you nervous.” He exclaimed. Gosh, the struggle of marrying a detective. 

“No, I’m okay.” Why was I lying? I wanted to tell him.

“You’ve been picking at your lip, you do that when you’re nervous. And you normally rush me to get to sleep because of my exhaustion.” He told me. I looked at the ground, unable to match his concerned, yet firm, gaze.

“I have something to tell you. It’s good news.” 

“What is it darling?” 

“I’m pregnant.” I now looked up at his face. I saw the shock be washed over with joy.

“That’s great!” He exclaimed happily.

“I know!” He pulled me into his arms and held me against him. I felt tears rolling down my face, happy tears.

“I’m going to be here, every step of the way.” He hugged me tighter.

~

#Sherlock Holmes #sherlock holmes imagine #enola holmes #enola 2 #enola and sherlock #enola holmes imagine #enola holmes fanfic #enola holmes x reader #henry cavill

[jamiedc-they-them]

Being Enola Holmes' sibling:

You've always been the quieter one out of the two.

Your mother worked with you on that, trying to help you find ways to communicate if you didn't want to talk. She was happy to help.

You were less of a fighter than Enola was. More creatively gifted.

Still, your sister and you could - and would - communicate through only a stare or a look.

She always tried to keep you involved in what she was doing.

Your mother saw your interest in the word 'they' in books. You would refer to people like that without even thinking.

You would immediately correct yourself however as if you had made a mistake.

"Do you want to be referred to that way, Y/N?" Your mother asked. And, as much as you shook your head, she knew you better than that.

So, without thinking, your mother and your sister would. Even if you seemed to pause, or flinch at it.

As Enola and you road to the station, she would mention you to...well, the audience, "and then there is my sibling, Y/N. Which I think is a scrumptious name. However...they have been more withdrawn lately. It worries me, truth be told."

Still, your mother goes missing. It feels like a part of you is gone too. Your peace has been disturbed.

Enola, despite your protests, sticks up for you against your brothers and Miss Harrison. With both the pronouns and how they are treating you both.

When she gets slapped for her disobedience, you feel terrible.

You aren't wild children, just children who have been abandoned by your mother.

You were never one for abiding by all social rules. You made your own. You especially, it was one of the many things your sister admired about you.

You and Enola stick together. Going to the tree together. You don't need to talk, just each other's company is enough.

Your creativity comes into play as you help solve the first puzzle that your mother left behind.

"Brilliant deduction, Y/N!"

She's always been your biggest supporter.

So, off the two of you go. Breaking the rules once again, dressing how you shouldn't.

Enola sees a light in your eyes. And she couldn't be happier.

You both run into Tewksbury. He, correctly, identifies you both as not boys.

"Why isn't --"

"Arent they," Enola corrects.

"Sorry?"

"They."

"...Right. Of course, sorry. Why aren't...they, talking?"

"Maybe they don't want to waste their voice talking to someone like you," Enola says, looking at you and seeing your discomfort at this moment, and leaving with you.

However, as he said to you that people were after him, when a man passes you and enters your previous place of residence on the train, you can guess why.

You tap Enola on the shoulder, pointing back to where you were.

"No. Please, can we just move on? He's not worth it."

You shake your head, going back. Enola, always having your back, follows. Even if she doesn't like this idea.

You both help Tewksbury and run to the edge of the train.

Together, the three of you jump to escape.

Enola looks to you, first to check on you - but you are just cleaning yourself off as best you can, but also to show her exasperation at Tewksbury never shutting up.

"I wish you would be like, Y/N. Honestly."

Tewksbury, however, continues to talk. He asks you who you are, and who you actually are. Why you've run away. Where you are going.

As Enola continues to get frustrated with him, you put your eyes on the flowers and nature around you, instead.

The pair stop as they realise you aren't following them. Enola looks with a smile, while Tewksbury looks confused. You pick out a flower and put it in your shirt pocket. He tells you a bit about it, you nod, a light in your eyes as you learn more about the flower.

Then, excitedly, you jog past them, gesturing for them to follow. The pair do.

You've found a good place to camp.

Using what your mother taught you, you both set it up.

Not interested in getting to know your new traveling companion, you go to sleep first.

"Why --"

"Sh!" Enola whispers, gesturing to you.

Tewksbury nods, "why don't they talk?" he asks, more gently, this time, "and...they? It doesn't seem to fit."

"It does for them," she says, firmly, "as for the talking part, it's just never been something they've ever done."

"Don't you find that...odd?" he's not sure how to word it in a way that doesn't sound mean.

Enola, however, seems to understand it. She shrugs, "not really. It's just been who they are. I've never known them any other way, really."

"Are you not worried that...other people might see them that way?"

Enola looks to the fire, shrugging again. This time a sag to her shoulders, "I don't think the world would be that kind to me, either."

"Me neither," Tewksbury admits.

Enola looks at him with a smile, maybe he's not so bad after all.

The next day, you notice, Enola is more happy. She has a spring in her step. Finally, you all make it to London.

As you bit farwell to Tewksbury, with Enola him and having some banter about names, it's just the pair of you now.

You nudge her. She nudges you back, "shut up."

You raise your hands, before signing, "I didn't say anything."

She just chuckles, leading you both into the city.

It's...big. And scary. And loud.

You take Enola's hand and squeeze it.

She holds it the whole time, making sure you know she's with you.

You make to the clothes shop.

"Sorry," you sign to her as you enter the store, finally releasing her hand.

"It's alright," she reassures, "it's a lot for me too."

While Enola finds her clothes easily, you are more of a trouble.

You go through each one carefully, checking the fabric and colour.

Despite your mother being missing, Enola lets you take all the time you need. You got the mirror countless times, before finally settling.

"I knew you'd like that one," she says.

You get to work on the letters to try find the next hint to finding your mother. That leads you to a friend, then to a place filled with explosives and other not-so-nice things.

As Enola leaves, you are dragged back by the man from the train.

He dunks your head underwater, bringing you up and asking about Tewksbury, "not speaking, eh?" he says, shoving your head underwater again.

You wish he knew the irony.

Still, while not being as good at fighting as Enola, you get out of his grip and run. Your sister finds you, stopping you as you catch your breath, "what's wrong? what happened?"

She gets her answer as the man comes around the corner. She puts you behind her.

She goes in for the fight. As you freeze.

She gets thrown against the wall, but as she recovers, she gives you a wink. She's got this.

She gives the same to the man, before getting back into the fight.

You then look back to the warehouse. The dynamite. You can use that as...an escape. Somehow, you haven't really thought that far ahead.

As if reading your mind, Enola lures him with the fight to a different one, as you go to the other.

You light the fuse.

Then. BOOM.

With the fireworks going off, you sprint out, Enola joining you as the two of you escape.

Later, you dry yourself off as Enola sits by the fireplace, trying to repair her stabbed dress.

You sit by her, "are you ok?"

She looks to you with a smile, "I'm ok."

You nod, but your smile isn't true. You look to the fire, guilt eating up at you.

Enola looks to you after a moment of silence, "you saved us, Y/N," she says, as if reading your mind, "maybe I am," ok, it's not getting creepy, "it is."

You chuckle. You silently, but still, it's a chuckle.

"I mean it," she waits until you look at her before she continues, "you did save us. You survived him, and bought us the time we needed. You did that."

You smile a true one this time. Yes, you did.

Enola's smile grows at this.

You both agree to save Tewksbury.

The two of you continue on your investigation. Dressing up as a grieving family.

It hurts Enola to have to use the wrong pronouns with you. But, you understand it's for a cover.

Still, it reminds you of the oppressive world you live in.

You let Enola climb up the treehouse, scared of heights yourself. But also because she'd be quicker.

You meet Tewksbury Grandmother, who calls you an 'odd little thing' at you not talking, only pointing up as she asks where your sister is.

Finally, you find him selling flowers. You give him your flower. He spins it, before looking at you thankfully, knowing what it means: you're on his side. Maybe even friends.

You take him back to where you and Enola are staying, but are interrupted by Lestrade.

You and Enola hold the door back. She tells him to run --

Then she looks to you, "you too, Y/N."

You shake your head. No way. You're not leaving your sister. Your best friend.

"Please," she begs, the door once again budging, "I need you to do this for me. I need you to be safe, ok? You can trust Tewksbury. Even if he is a stupid boy," she looks to the boy who is by the window. She sends him a silent request. One he nods at.

She looks back at you one more time, "I'll be sent to a school, that's all that will happen to me. I can't have that happen to you. You need to change the world with that mind of yours, Y/N. Please, please go."

While not wanting to, you do go.

Tewksbury is...well, to be honest, he's lost.

Both in where to go now, but also how to help you.

You're crying. But your facial expression hasn't changed. It's as if, although you're moving, you're frozen in time.

"It will be ok. We'll get through this," he hopes. But even he isn't sure.

"Where...do you know of anywhere we can go?" he asks.

After all, you are both only two frightened children, on the run from god knows how many people.

It takes a bit, but you end up going back to the campsite you made when you first got off the train.

Your face has changed now, going into one of stubbornness. You nudge him, gesturing if he has something to write on. He does, bringing out a crumpled bit of paper and pen. You write on it, giving it to him. Using the firelight, he reads it: "We can't leave her. It's not in our family's blood to just leave."

"I don't mean to be rude, but it does seem to be. With your...mother and brothers," he tries to say it as gently as he can.

You, however, shake your head. He gives you the tools again, and your scribble something else down, this time more harshly.

"Well, I'm going to change that," the words say.

He looks back at you, "how?" he asks.

He sees a spark in your eye.

He knows you have a plan.

Enola gets a box. Opening it, she holds back her scream as you jump out of it.

"Y/N?" she asks, in disbelief.

You nod, doing a little 'ta-da' pose.

She hugs you, tight.

"Oh, I never thought I'd see you again!" she says, cheered up now, as you both spin.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, quietly.

"Saving you," you sign.

"Y/N...I can't leave," she says, defeated.

You tap her on the shoulder, simply pointing from the box to her.

"Oh. Oh, you genius!" She says, giving you another hug. Hurriedly, she gets in.

People who catch you dragging her out, get tired of your sign language. While it stings, it does help get them out of the way.

Once out, you escape on Miss Harrison's bike.

You all go to the estate, ready to end this.

You are, once again, ambushed by the man from the train.

Enola shoves you into cover, trying to fight the man off. She is thrown on the floor.

Looking to Tewksbury, his target, and the armour you see around you, you nudge him, pointing to it and then back to him. When he goes to question what you mean, you run out of cover, letting out a whistle, gaining the other man's attention. He fires at you, just missing.

Enola, however, sees him reloading, and uses her jujitsu move on him to take him down.

Tewksbury's grandmother then comes out with a shotgun. Before either of you can react, Tewksbury is shot, hitting the floor. Enola cries out his name as you both run to him. She has tears running down her face, you are worried, but you are also praying.

Thankfully, that time you bought Tewksbury pays off as much as it did for Enola, he had used some armour from the suits to protect himself.

"You can thank Y/N for my survival," he says, sending a thankful look your way. You give him a smile and a hand squeeze.

As Enola and you help him up, you all knock your heads together.

You're all ok.

Your mother reveals herself to you after you both say goodbye to Tewksbury.

She hugs you both, "oh, my children. How you have grown."

"Y/N saved us more times than I can count."

"I knew they would."

"It took some encouraging."

"As anything does."

You tap them both, making them turn to you, "they are right here," you sign. They chuckle but also notice how you're using your pronouns now.

After having to say goodbye to your mother again, the two of you go out into the streets of London.

"Together?" your sister asks you, holding out her hand to you.

You nod, taking her hand.

You have your sister and yourself.

You know who you are now.

Just as she does.

Because your futures are up to you.

PART 2

#enola holmes imagine #enola holmes x reader #platonic enola holmes #enola holmes

[aubeystawby]

my halloween 2023 fic bingo!

Posting this relatively early so I can write everything in time for October!

You can find my list of who I write for here! - I'll write for any of the fandoms on this list! I couldn't link my fandom list for some reason, but you can find it through my pinned post!

Send in an ask/message/comment/just tell me however works for you, which character(s) you want a fic for with a certain prompt! You can also include what you specifically might want me to write with that prompt in your request! 💛

Once a prompt has been claimed, I won't accept any other requests for that specific prompt (But you can change your request to a different prompt if this is the case!). You are also free to send in more than one request! 💛

Below is a list of the prompts, and I will update this list as requests come in so you know which prompts are still free!

funeral home

haunted — george karim

trick or treating

makeup — nick nelson & charlie spring

ghost(s) — anthony lockwood

poison apple

midnight

vampire — juan ruiz

cemetery

murder — juan ruiz

witch — eugene ottinger

matching costumes — platonic crowley & aziraphale

halloween party — rich goranski

connection — connor murphy

cabin in the woods — miles morales

eternity — rich goranski

#abbott elementary x reader #agent carter x reader #a series of unfortunate events x reader #barbie x reader #bbc ghosts x reader #brooklyn nine nine x reader #enola holmes x reader #ever after high x reader #derry girls x reader #descendants x reader #divergent x reader #good omens x reader #grease x reader #rise of the pink ladies x reader #heathers x reader #into the spider verse x reader #across the spider verse x reader #little women x reader #lockwood & co x reader #marvel x reader #mean girls x reader #monster high x reader #newsies x reader #heartstopper x reader #ride the cyclone x reader #shadow and bone x reader #starkid x reader #stranger things x reader #ted lasso x reader #the afterparty x reader

[fbfh]

You are the GOD of writing yearning. It’s always so palpable and I’m always left blushing. Romantic or Sexual, it doesn’t matter. You’re literally in my top 5 favorite tumblr blogs.

AWWWWWW BABES!!!!!!!!!!!! WAILING SCREAMING SOBBING!!!!!!!! <3333333

Listen Tewkesbury is my current brain rot (stage 5 and chronic) and he is the god of experiencing yearning!!!!!! Match made in heaven!!!!!!!! perfect opportunity to drop some Tewkes yearning for you quotes!!!!

pov tewkes and you finally end up in a heated love confession bc he's been waking up in a cold sweat at night craving your touch and your adorable obliviousness is finally about to make him fuckin snap

"I wish they would retract my status as an eligible bachelor in the society pages, but I more so wish that you would be the one to rescind that title for me."

"There is nowhere far enough for you to run that could remove you from my thoughts, an there is no length too great that I should not follow."

"You plague my mind. You consume my every thought. Every moment, waking and asleep, I ache for you."

"I am coming unone, I am unraveling at the mere thought of you! Each moment I spend in your presence is another moment spent wishing for you to consume my very being!"

#drabbles #tewkesbury #lord tewkesbury #viscount tewkesbury marquess of basilwether #viscount tewkesbury #tewkesbury x reader #tewkesbury drabbles #enola holmes #enola holmes drabbles #enola holmes x reader

[fortythree-or-43]

This is Kinda random, but if anyone wants an editor or a proofreader I'll do that for free. I'm trying to figure out what interests me and I recently have a lot of free time.

Anyways that was super random, but DM if your interested or want more info.

(I'm not a minor btw)

#wednesday addams x reader #fuyumi x reader #x reader #anyone x reader #alex dunphy x reader #bianca barclay x reader #elinor fairmont x reader #enola holmes x reader #heather chandler x reader #helen sharpe x reader #katie holt x reader #larissa weems x reader #lauren bloom x reader #mrs mayberry x reader #octavia goetia x reader #pepa madrigal x reader #pidge gunderson x reader #regina george x reader #dolores x reader #enid x reader #kate x emaline #luisa x reader #harry potter girls x reader #millie x reader #verosika x reader #writing #writers on tumblr #writers and poets #anyone #just a random thing

[heliads]

Enola Holmes x sibling!reader who isn’t as smart as Enola and feels inadequate because of it; and gets hurt on a case and worries Enola?

'my mind isn't yours' - enola holmes

masterlist

To be a Holmes is to be beyond anything or anyone else. No one in your family would ever say this aloud, of course; it didn’t need to be said, and all of your direct blood relations knew better than to say things that weren’t needed. You have your mind for the long, extensive, impractical thoughts, but spoken words are meant to be heard and pondered over for generations. A Holmes does not need to state their supposed victory over their neighbours. It is simply known and celebrated in the glorious expanse of their own private intellect.

Sometimes, though, again in the quiet confines of your mind, you wonder if this divine knowledge skipped a beat when it came to you. You may be a Holmes in blood and legal right, but that doesn’t mean you think like them. Sometimes, it feels a bit like being an outsider in your own family, watching Sherlock and Enola race off on proverbial puzzles while you sit back and try to pick up the pieces they’ve already put together.

You try not to let it get to you, but it’s hard not to feel some sort of inferior. You’re a clever student in your own right, but clever alone does not a Holmes make. You’re supposed to be a genius like your brother or a prodigy like your sister, but instead you just feel like you. Y/N Holmes, not a screwup in any sense but worse than that to some– completely, utterly normal. Base level. Right in the middle of the pack if a little bit above.

To a Holmes, though, mediocrity is a mortal sin. Sherlock and Enola seem leagues out of your reach. Since Enola is closest to you in age, you feel the sharp stab of that comparison with extra burn. She excels even despite the extra burden of being a young woman in this world of yours, but you could never burst the bubble and go shooting far beyond the stars like her.

You’ve never brought up any of this to either Enola or Sherlock, of course, but there’s no reason to do so. You have no doubt that they both realized your inadequacies compared to them far early on. Why comment on something that’s so obvious? Every time you’re working on a case together and they both figure out the twist in the plot ages before you, you can feel that deep cut slice open afresh. You don’t have to be a complete genius, you were never planning on becoming a mastermind academic anyway, but goodness knows you really want to feel like something compared to them.

It aches away, but what can you do? With your mother off doing who knows what, Sherlock and Enola are the closest you have to family. You have your friends, of course, but they don’t understand what it is to be a Holmes, even if you don’t entirely feel like one all the time either. To put it simply, it’s your siblings or nothing sometimes, and goodness knows there’s an awful lot of aching in nothingness even when the only alternative makes you feel terrible about yourself too.

And thus you find a way to sit on the outskirts of the case discussion and puzzle solving sessions anyway. Maybe you can’t always be the first to untangle the riddles, but you can be the first to offer up a cup of tea, and sometimes there’s something they’ve overlooked in their grand hurry to get to the finish line that you can point out and feel useful for along the way. It’s not awful, no, not in the slightest. You just wish it could be a little better as well.

You’re reminded of this little agony whenever they stumble upon a new case, which, as luck would have it, happened recently. Mysterious ransom notes are popping up all over town. Some group of strangers is threatening the top businesses around, demanding cash and gold in exchange for being left alone. No one was really taking the notes seriously until a small bank ignored the messages and had their establishment robbed before being burnt to the ground.

Now, the case has been turned over to the Holmes’ possession. Well, it’s been given to Sherlock and Enola, to be precise. They’ve been kind enough to allow you to join their inner circle while they try to puzzle the whole thing out, but you swear there’s this unspoken agreement that they’ll be the ones finding the solution, not you. It’s not like they’d ever bar you from speaking, they just know that you won’t have anything new to say that they hadn’t already come up with.

You sit silently, watching them go back and forth. Sherlock and Enola get lost in their own world at times like this, forgetting there’s even a country or universe outside of their feverish planning. At the end of an hour’s time, though, they’ve decided that the criminals must be hidden somewhere near an abandoned railway station near the southern end of the city, and that their main modus operandi involves bribing secretaries in each building to anonymously drop off the notes, then clue them into easy ways to get into the businesses without getting caught.

More importantly, this group of thieves has managed to get their hands on a master ring of keys to the city through bribing an overworked and embittered assistant of the chief inspector. So long as these crooks have that key ring, they’ll be able to let themselves into whatever building they please, and the demands will just keep worsening until the entire city has been wrung dry.

An idea is occurring to you. You may not have been able to figure out the clues quite as easily as Sherlock and Enola, but you can still be helpful. While they’re haggling over how exactly to move forward, an idea is already occurring to you. You take after your mother in one important manner:  you are a person of action. When you are given direction, you follow it exactly. And, when you come across a situation in need of a physical solution, you take charge and get the job down. Adrenaline is your best friend, followed quickly by good balance and good coordination. This, at last, is where you can step in.

Sherlock and Enola are too busy with their plotting to notice when you sneak out of Sherlock’s flat and creep into the city. You’ve got an hour or two until nightfall, which means it’s the perfect time to strike. These robbers will have day jobs and places to be. There’s a reason all of the attacks happened at night, it’s because these people had to keep up pretenses until they could break into the businesses under the cover of darkness.

That means you’ll have a very short window of time in which to find their hideout and grab the master key ring before they come back. You don’t doubt that the key ring will be in their foxhole near the abandoned railway station; they can’t exactly risk bringing it back to any of their respective flats and having it found out by the maids or neighbours.

You stealthily make your way over to the abandoned railway station. The sun is setting much faster than you’d like, so much for taking your time to thoroughly scout out the place. Then again, that doesn’t much matter. What’s most important is getting that key ring and getting out, then seeing the looks on Sherlock and Enola’s faces when they realize you’ve saved the day.

It is this thought of victory that propels you into the station house. You stalk down the dusty corridors, checking in rooms and peering in the drawers of desks. Most everything here seems long abandoned, but there’s one room at the far end of the hall that seems most frequently used, at least judging by the smears of fresh mud outside the door. 

After pausing to listen carefully in case of approaching footsteps, you quickly try the doorknob and are surprised to find it opens easily. These guys were so sure of themselves that they didn’t even bother to lock the door. You try a few drawers in the desk in the center of the room, and you grin in silent victory when you find the key ring sitting in one of them, covered halfway by a stack of folders labeled with the names of various buildings in the city.

You grab the key ring and the folders as well, just in case extra evidence is needed. Just as you’re straightening up, though, you hear sounds echoing through the dusty hallways. You panic, quickly closing the desk drawers and heading for the door. You won’t have time to run, though; you can see a silhouette in the corridor, right outside the door.

Instead, you flatten yourself to the wall right next to the door. Moments after you get into position, the door flies open and a man steps inside. Brow furrowed, he calls out a name, likely one of his compatriots.

“Miller? Was that you I heard?”

The second he’s clear of the door, you immediately scurry back outside. You do your best to be quiet, but the man whips around.

“Hey! Get back here!”

You’re not all that inclined to follow instructions, especially when doing so would likely bring great danger onto yourself, so you hurl yourself out into the corridor, dashing down the dusty floor in a mad sprint. The man immediately gives chase. He almost catches up to you by the end of the hallway, but a series of quick turns give you a chance to put more distance between the two of you again.

All that’s left between you and the freedom of the outside air is a wide, rickety staircase. You go up the stairs as quickly as you can. Risking a glance behind you so you can tell how close the man is behind you, your eyes widen when you realize he’s pulled out a knife. You’re almost to the top, so close, but the man lunges at you in an attempt to slow you down and you feel a hot pain as the knife cuts through your sleeve and slices your arm. It’s not a deep cut, or you don’t think so, at least, but it’s the extra incentive you need to push yourself to the top of the staircase and out into the open.

Immediately, you’re greeted with loud shouting. For a moment, you panic, and then you realize it’s the inspector with his men. “You’re alright,” one of them tells you, “Stand aside so we can put the thief under arrest.”

You nod, taking a hasty sidestep so you won’t get in their way. The robber comes up just seconds after you, but upon seeing the police, he immediately starts sprinting down the abandoned railway. The inspector and his men give chase, and you watch them go shouting down into the gloomy distance.

You’re not alone for long. Sherlock comes up to you, shaking his head. “That was an absurd move to pull. Give me the key ring and folders, I’ve got to get this to the inspector as soon as possible.”

You want to protest that you should be the one handing over the evidence since you went to so much trouble to get it, but one firm look from Sherlock reminds you of how much trouble you’re probably in for pulling a stunt like this and you quickly hand over the materials. He starts walking back towards the city proper, trading out his spot by your side with your sister.

Enola. Great. She looks furious. “Just what were you thinking?” She asks incredulously. “That was ridiculously stupid. And look, you’re bleeding. This is awful.”

You frown. “Don’t call me stupid.”

“I’m not calling you stupid, just the idea to break into the robbers’ hideaway,” she clarifies. “I mean, why on Earth would you feel compelled to do this?”

Looking at the tortured expression on her face makes the last of your confidence bleed away. The whole point of retrieving the key ring was so your siblings would finally feel like you might be one of their equals, but now they’re even more convinced of your bad decision-making skills. This was precisely the opposite of what was supposed to happen.

“Well, that’s the thing,” you say desperately. “If I can’t be the smart one, if I can’t be the one making all the clever plans and figuring out the loopholes like you and Sherlock, at least I can be the brave one. At least that’s something right I can do.”

Enola’s face slackens. “What are you talking about?”

You laugh bitterly. “I’m sure you’ve figured it out by now. Come on, you can crack cases and solve puzzles in your sleep but you can’t understand your own sibling? I’m not like you two. I’m not as smart as you and Sherlock, and I hate that.”

Enola shakes her head. “I’ve never thought that in my entire life. We’re both chatterboxes, obviously, but just because you weren’t talking as much as either of us didn’t mean I thought you weren’t as smart. I just assumed you were doing your thinking in your head instead of out loud, which was what I was supposed to be doing, anyway.”

You look at her cautiously. “Really?”

“Really,” she promises. “Y/N, the thought had never so much as occurred to me. I’m so sorry, I wish I had realized you felt this way sooner. You’re my sibling. Of course I hold you in the greatest regards. I mean, I never would have been brave enough to march into the thieves’ hideout like that on my own, not without several hours of planning to make myself better about it. You up and decided it just like that. I was so impressed with the whole affair, only I was so worried about you that I forgot to tell you.”

You smile at her. “I’m glad you think so, Enola.”

“Well, of course I do,” she says exasperatedly. “What else would I think about? Now come on, we’ve got to get that arm of yours bandaged. Maybe I’ll see about getting the paper to put something in about you being a local hero while I’m at it, too. It would be quite deserved.”

You laugh. “That’s more than I was expecting, to be sure. I’ll settle for knowing that you’re proud.”

“That, of course, is already decided,” Enola declares, and starts to lead you back into town. Watching the sun set overhead, you think that this little rescue mission of yours went quite according to plan indeed. Perhaps you’ll have to stage another one fairly soon.

enola tag list: @mayfieldss

all tags list: @wordsarelife

#enola holmes #enola holmes imagines #enola holmes x reader #enola holmes oneshot #platonic enola holmes #enola holmes x sister reader #enola #enola imagines #enola x reader #enola oneshot

[cas-kingdom]

Ok… Don’t judge quality since I still feel horrible, but Sherlock and “Don’t start something you can’t finish”?

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” Enola warned you with a piercing look that Sherlock fancied only the two of you could convey and understand.

You shot a particular look back, one that spoke a thousand words at once without you even needing to open your mouth. “Oh,” you said with a hint of amusement, “I’m perfectly capable of finishing this Aren’t I, Sherlock?”

“The truth of it often keeps me up at night,” Sherlock admitted with a mock sigh. He sat back in his seat and let a small smile tug at his lips as you suddenly looked victorious in many ways other than your obviously self-satisfied smirk.

“Well, then,” Enola said, smoothing the skirt of her dress as she crossed one leg over the other, “go ahead.”

The carriage ride from London to the Holmes’ holiday home in the Cotswolds made for excellent intellectual games, the three of you had decided. While Enola enjoyed the activities which catered to her genetic predisposition for crime-solving and decoding, something Sherlock was all too happy to partake in, you preferred putting your mind to good use within the world of literary heroes and riddle-solving, something Sherlock seemed happier to partake in, much to Enola’s exasperation. Though there was very little time in age between you and Enola, your differences, mostly how much your mental stimulation benefitted from opposing things, often amazed your brothers, Mycroft included. 

You had an hour or so left in the carriage, and you had sat dutifully through an anagram game Enola liked to play, but you had turned the tables now, insisting Shakespeare make his entrance. Enola knew you adored Shakespeare’s work and could quote many of his plays, but she also knew that Sherlock was much the same, albeit more experienced. She doubted you could best your brother in a game of wits such as this, but then, she had been away from her siblings for some time, living alone in London and finding her own path, and thus was mostly unaware of the bond you and Sherlock had revitalised between you. 

“You start,” you said, directing your question at Sherlock, who turned to gaze out the window, humming under his breath.

“‘Frailty, thy name is woman’,” he began confidently, looking back to you. Your eyes narrowed slightly in competition.

“Hamlet. ‘Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.’”

“The Tempest. ‘If music be the food of love play on’.”

It continued as such, both of you shooting Shakespearean quotes at each other and answering with the play it had come from. You seemed to have forgotten Enola was there, instead staring pointedly at each other, attempting to reign the champion.

Enola busied herself staring out the window, which was in fact nothing short of boring, until the competition behind her took a spin. You had turned swiftly to tossing Shakespearean insults at each other, something she figured happened a lot, considering how adept you seemed to be at it.

She was pushed a little unceremoniously into the side of the carriage as you were pulled towards Sherlock, his hands suddenly—uncharacteristically, if Enola had anything to say for it, though, again, she seemed to not be privy to your relationship over the past year or so—tickling. You still spewed your insults, shooting them out your mouth alongside your uproarious laughter, and Enola, despite her raised brows and gaping mouth, couldn’t help but smile.

“Thank God Mycroft isn’t here,” was all she could say.

Enola Masterpost

send me the first sentence of a fanfic and i’ll write the next five, except i don’t know when to stop writing so i guarantee there’ll be more than five

#enola holmes #enola #sherlock holmes #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #enola holmes x reader #enola x reader #enola x sherlock #sherlock x enola #reader #reader fic #sister reader #sister!reader #teen reader #teen!reader #mine #baby fic #drabble

[shy-blue-blossom]

Snapdragon

Sherlock Holmes

It was only by chance that Sherlock and y/n crossed paths with one another. Eudoria had asked her to stop by the house to check on Enola. Sending a letter once she had vanished which arrived the night before Sherlock and Mycroft had made their way to Ferndell. She set off to Ferndell the next morning.

It was late morning by the time her train got to the station and noon when her carriage arrived at Ferndell. Y/n was about to knock on the door and announce herself when she spotted Enola sitting in a tree. Deciding to say hello to Mrs Lane later, she made her way to Enola.

"Enola," She called to her when she was close not noticing a gentleman sitting by the foot of the tree. "What are you doing up there?"

"Y/n!" Enola called out her name before making her way out of the tree and running up to her. "What are you doing here?" Enola pulled her into a hug.

"Your mother sent a letter. She asked me to check up on you," Y/n explained as she pulled away from the hug. "Has she gone on a trip?"

"Eh. Yes," Enola said as she nodded her head. "Did she leave any clues with you by any chance?"

"I'm afraid the only thing I got was the letter to check on you," Y/n said as she shook her head before tilting her head to the side. "Are you here alone?"

"No, my brothers are here," Enola reassured her before looking to the foot of the tree. "If you would excuse me, I shall let Mrs Lane know you are here." She ran towards the house before y/n could say anything else to her.

Y/n watched Enola run back before a voice attracted her attention. She turned to see a tall man standing by the tree and noticed he was holding some snapdragons in hand, which were growing not far from them.

"I take it you are one of the brothers?" Y/n asked as she watched him walk towards her. "I am Y/n L/n."

"Sherlock Holmes," Introduced himself as he stopped, standing before y/n and handed her the snapdragons.

"Ah, the detective," She said as she took the flowers. She looked at them, then back up at Sherlock. "How should I convey the message of the snapdragons?"

"I'm just being courteous," was the reply that Sherlock gave as a smirk began to creep onto his face.

"That is very kind of you," Y/n said as she took one out of the small bouquet and placed it in his chest pocket. "To thank you for your hospitality."

"Should it not be the gentleman thanking his hostess?" Sherlock questioned after he watched her.

Y/n smiled at him before she turned and made her way to the house. She did not see Sherlock smile behind her before he caught up and started a conversation about how she knew what the snapdragon meant. Neither noticed three sets of eyes as they watched them from the house.

The end.

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

Language of Flowers

Masterlist

#x reader #reader #enola holmes #sherlock henry cavil #sherlock holmes #Sherlock Holmes x reader #henry cavil sherlock #enola holmes x reader #snapdragon #language of flowers

[oceanblueeyesoul]

hi there could you write some hcs for Enola Holmes with a baker s/o please ?

Hi Emma dear, I really hope you like this!

Enola Holmes dating a baker s/o headcanons

She would love to bake with you, because it reminds her of science but without chemicals; just ingredients and a sweet foods to taste afterwards.

When it comes trying to solve a baking mystery, she will always bring you along with her and stay by your side at all times.

She would love to try to make many different foods for you because she is always curious about baking but her mother would overload her with books and anagrams to solve until she met you, of course.

She is so glad that she has someone like you who makes her happier and glowing than when she's with you.

#enola holmes dating headcanons #enola holmes x reader #oceanblueeyesoul #enola holmes

[book-place]

Rainstorms

Warnings: slight injuries, let me know if I missed any :)

Pairings: Sherlock Holmes x sister reader

Request: I would love an Enola Holmes Sherlock/sister!reader of some kind. Something comforting, like the reader getting lost on the way home and Sherlock finding her and making sure she gets home safe. I’m a sucker for brother-sister tropes. :D

Requested by: Anon

*not my gif*

Summary: A sudden storm hits, and you can’t find your way home

A/N: I wanted this to be better, but whatever

Please don’t plagiarize my work, you may reblog if you like but I’m asking that you don’t steal my hard work

It wasn’t supposed to rain. The newspapers had specifically stated that the weather would be absolutely perfect with hardly a cloud in the sky for the next week or so.

Worst case scenario, there would be a tiny drizzle at one point, not the torrential downpour that you were currently stumbling your way through.

Sherlock had been hesitant enough to allow you to walk from school back home- and it was only two streets away- so you could only imagine the kind of heart attack he would be having if he were there with you right now.

Despite that fact though, you longed for him to be with you in that moment as you wrapped your arms around yourself to try and preserve body heat that had long since vanished.

Over the last three days, your elder brother had been wrapped up in a case that he was so close to cracking, that he didn’t even have time to walk you home from school.

It wasn’t like he didn’t want to- of course he did- but the authorities were breathing down his neck for this case, hardly even letting the man get a couple mere hours of sleep a night.

It was raining so heavily at this point, that you could hardly see a foot in front of your own face, and the bricks that paved the sidewalk had become so slippery that you had to unravel one of your arms from around you and use it to steady yourself on the side of a nearby building.

Panic began to flood into your body faster than the rain had filled the streets and your breathing began to pick up to an abnormal pace, causing you to try and take deep, gasping breaths that left you sputtering from rain being dragged into your gaping mouth.

You had no idea where you were. You had no idea what was going on. The only sounds that filled your ears were the harsh slapping of rain on brick.

All of your senses were clogged by the rain, rain, rain, rain, rain-

As you continued to try and trek forward in hopes of finding home, your right foot slipped off to the side while all your weight was put into it, causing you to go tumbling to the ground.

Dully, you felt the stinging sensation on your palms from impact with the ground, but quickly huddled up against yourself and lent back against the wall, dropping your head into your lap.

Only two streets away, Sherlock’s attention was diverted from the papers in front of him for the first time in hours by the feel of something wet against his cheek.

His head lifted from his desk and a silent curse left his lips when he realized it was raining and his window had been left open.

He hurried to close it, but froze as soon as it was latched back into place. You hadn’t yet returned from school and you should have at least ten minutes ago.

With slightly panic-filled eyes, he took in the scene of the outside, with vendors' tables blowing every which way and the rain beating down like a merciless drum.

Without wasting another second, he practically flew to the door and hurriedly shrugged on his coat before quickly swiping an umbrella and rushing outside.

As soon as the door opened, he was forced to tighten his grip on the umbrella in fear of it blowing away in the strong winds.

“Y/n?” He began to call in a frenzy.

You were only nine years old and he had been stupid enough to allow you to travel the dangerous streets of London all by yourself because he couldn’t take five minutes out of his day to ensure that you were safe.

“Y/n?” Hardly any people were out in the storm, most having sought out shelter by then, and for the first time in a long time, Sherlock Holmes was truly becoming terrified.

Anything could have happened to you during or even before the storm, and he would hold himself responsible for the rest of his life if that were the case.

“Y/n!”

Your ears perked up at the sound. It seemed so far away, so soft, like the light at the end of a very long tunnel.

For a moment, you had thought you made it up, until it sounded again, “Y/n?”

You were finally able to lift your head from your knees, and there, like a knight in soaked armor, stood your brother, staring down at you with wide eyes as his chest heaved up and down in pants, like he had run a marathon to get to you.

“Sherlock?” You asked shakily, teeth rattling from the cold.

“Oh, Y/n,” He breathed out, immediately crouching down and scooping you up into his arms. He had long since lost the umbrella, or he would have flung it to the side without a care.

Though his shirt was drenched through like yours, his chest somehow still held a warmth that you automatically nestled into as he picked up his pace to get the two of you back home.

When you finally did get back, he kicked the door shut behind him and hurried over to the couch near the fire, gently resting you on there before scrambling around to try and find some blankets to cover you with.

By the time your chills had eventually subsided, your brother was sitting on the table in front of you, eyes worriedly raking over your body over and over again.

“Sherlock-“

“I am so sorry,” He interrupted you. And though you were young, you were taken aback, because your brother never apologized. He would always make up things in a different way, like buying you candy or making you your favorite food, “I never should have let you walk home all by yourself.”

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead, “I promise, I will never put my cases before your own needs again.”

Without thinking much of it, you threw the blankets aside and leapt towards your brother with outstretched arms, him catching you with ease, “It’s okay,” You whispered into the clothing of his shoulder.

He shook his head stubbornly, pulling away slightly so you could look him in the eyes, “I never meant to do that.”

“I know,” You replied, smiling softly at him.

He smiled back, relaxing slightly when he finally came to terms with the fact that you were no longer in danger, “Come on,” He said, lifting you up and spinning you around a little so that giggles escaped your lips, “Let’s go make some warm food.”

Detectives 🕵️‍♂️- @your-local-questioning-agender @popfishjr @spadecentral @gengen64

#platonic #platonic imagine #x reader #child reader #enola holmes x child reader #enola holmes fanfic #enola holmes x reader platonic #enola holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x sister reader #sherlock holmes x child reader #sherlock holmes x reader platonic #henry sherlock

[rainforest-daisies]

snowed in(v.2)

Character: viscount Tewksbury x fem!reader

Prompt: “So we’re snowed in..?”

TW: nothing that I know of!

A/n: FOR MY POOKIE NAMED SOFEE<3

“Darling…I’m sorry..” Tewksbury said with a sigh, staring out the windows at the inches of snow covering the ground. The cold had been slowly seeping into your home, yet he seemed to not mind staying home with you.

You on the other hand, we’re quite disappointed. The annual Christmas ball had been cancelled due to the harsh weather, the attendees being urged to stay put in their homes. You even bought the most magnificent dress you had ever seen, you were sure he would have loved to see you in it.

“Could I make it up to you in any way?” He made his way back to the center of the living room, and sitting in the sofa seat next to you. He rested his hand lightly on top of yours, looking at your saddened face.

“I should be making it up to you…we spent so much on that dress…you worked so hard for the plans to simply be spoiled!” You shrugged your shoulders in annoyance to the weather.

Then, he had an idea.

“Go put the dress on, darling.” He lifted himself off of the seat, and rushed to the phonograph, and placing a record down onto it. You couldn’t see, but it was one of your most cherished records. He knew every way to lift your spirits, and he was willing to try them all.

You were somehow able to lace the backing yourself. with many efforts, but it got laced none the less. The ruffle was slightly itchy on your skin, but nothing you couldn’t tune out. You glanced in your vanity mirror, fixing every imperfection that was in your skirt. Every wrinkle, every twist of fabric, every loose thread.

As you emerged from your shared bedroom, the tail of your deep burgundy dress trailing behind you. You lifted the sides, allowing yourself to walk. Stopping at the entryway of the sitting room, hearing a familiar song echo throughout the large home.

He glanced up from his sketch pad(as he had recently taken up drawing, you were his muse), he watched you slowly approached him. His pupils were slightly dilated, he was truly in love. He had realized it many times before, but this was certainly one of the many. Your heels clicked against the hardwood, and stopped once you reached the rug. By then, you were standing in front of him. The sketch being long forgotten by now, he slid it onto the coffee table and stood.

“Why hello there…m’lady…” he slightly bowed with a large grin on his face, taking your hand in his once again, and kissing your knuckles. You let out a small chuckle, and he responded with one as well. The record skipped, and to your dismay, it made Tewksbury pull away, and flip it. As a new song started, he reached back for you. His hands were guided to your waist, gently pulling you closer to his chest. You could smell his cologne, it smelt like honeysuckle. His hair was slicked back with a sort of gummy gel, with a few strands that had fallen out during the earlier day. His eyes looked tired, like they usually do at this hour of the night.

These things only seemed to catch your eye at this moment, when you were both so intimately close. His eyes never left yours as you danced, every time you would almost miss a step, a small smile would appear on his face.

Time somehow slowed during that dance, and yet the night went faster than you could blink. You would never be fully sure what was going through his head, but you knew that he loved you.

He loves you.

#viscount tewksbury #viscount tewksbury x reader #tewksbury x reader #lord tewksbury #enola holmes #enola holmes x reader #netflix #oneshot #writers #shitpost #fluff