#he was dying and yet he thought of her...holmes...

[katsutacle]

holmes' interlude is making me feel emotions

#helehomu agenda is so strong...i love it... #its so sweet #i know there's a lot of sussy baka elements in his interlude (usually the case with him) #but the interactions he has with people he knew in his life (jekyll and helena) and the people he knows now (casting goredolf as watson) is #so good and makes him seem far more approachable and well #human #he doesn't seem like a machine #he had people he cared about and wanted to protect #and his failure to do so is some of his greatest regrets #also it kinda puts into perspective why he was thinking about helena when in lb2 hmm? #he was dying and yet he thought of her...holmes... #apologies i'm rambling too much

[happygirl2oo2]

Every reference I could find to Sherlock's love of bees in Elementary, organized by episode number

season 1 episode 1:

Watson, walking onto the Brownstone's rooftop to find Sherlock and surprised to see beehives there next to him: "Um, did you know that honey was dripping through the ceiling?" Sherlock, sitting and looking at his beehives: "Yes. Happens sometimes." Watson: "I take it beekeeping is a hobby." Sherlock: "I'm writing a book. Practical Handbook of Bee Culture with Some Observations Upon the Segregation of the Queen. Up here. I've just started Chapter 19."

season 1 episode 5:

Sherlock, explaining how he knows someone: "We frequent the same beekeeping chat room. He has an impressive collection of Caucasians. Species of bee."

season 1 episode 7:

Watson: "There was a client back here a little while ago who was also interested in beekeeping." Edson: "Sure. You mean Sherlock."

season 1 episode 9:

*Sherlock is wearing a shirt with the writing “Bee 92” on it*

season 1 episode 12:

Sherlock: "Our six weeks together are very nearly up, Watson. In a matter of days, your room will be vacant. I'm very seriously considering turning it into one large apiary."

and

M, about Sherlock torturing him: "You figured out where you're gonna start yet?" Sherlock, looking over his table of torture devices that he brought that is shown to include a few beehives: "I have not. I had hoped to use the bees in some fashion, but then it occurred to me you might be allergic."

and

Sherlock: "Watson, what is it?" Watson: "I called your father last night. Given everything that's happened, I recommended staying on longer." Sherlock: "And?" Watson: "He agreed." Sherlock: "I suppose the apiary will have to wait."

season 1 episode 17:

Crabtree: "Delivery for you, Mr. Holmes." Sherlock: " Thank you, Crabtree, but I'm afraid I c… Oh, my God. Is that…?" Watson: "A bee in a box? Yes, it is. Fairly unimpressive as far as bribes go." Sherlock: "Not if you're an apiculturist. That's an Osmia avosetta. Solitary bee famed for building exquisite nests from flower petals. It's on the verge of extinction. Crabtree, this is exquisite. I cannot accept it. Please, tell Mr. Lydon not to contact me again."

and

[BEE BUZZING] Watson: "Hey, why do you have the box with the bee in it?" Sherlock: "We took Gerald Lydon's case." Watson: "We did?" Sherlock: "Well, frankly I couldn't say no to him. It would have felt like denying a dying man his last wish. We are taking this home, and then we are going to the genetics lab which confirmed his diagnosis."

and

Sherlock: "Close that door immediately!" Watson: "What's up? Sherlock: "I was examining the Osmia avosetta that Gerald Lydon gave me and it got loose." Watson: "Oh, so there's an almost-extinct bee flying around in here?" Sherlock: "Yes, and I would rather it didn't get out."

season 1 episode 19:

Miss Hudson, to Sherlock: "Oh, and I stacked your monographs that you wrote on your desk. I liked the one about queen bees."

season 1 episode 20:

Sherlock: "Another reason to dislike Milverton. He keeps cats." Watson, sarcastically: "Well, he should get himself a real pet, like a beehive." *Sherlock gives her a look*

and

[CELL PHONE RINGING] Sherlock, answering his phone: "Brownstone is on fire, my bees have escaped, and there is a giant comet headed for Manhattan." Watson: "Excuse me?" Sherlock: "The way the evening is going, I thought you could only be calling with more good news."

season 1 episode 21:

Sherlock: "What kind of an allergy requires a medical alert bracelet?" Watson: "Uh, anything that could bring on anaphylactic shock, certain foods, medicine, insect bites." Sherlock: " Exactly. A moment ago, I could have sworn I saw an Africanized honeybee." Watson: "How do you "Africanize" something?" Sherlock: "It's a term to describe a particularly aggressive species. It's odd to… Odd to see them here. They're not native to New York. It's almost as if someone has placed it here on a route known to be frequented by Hillary Taggart." Watson: "So you think he's planning a murder by bee?" Sherlock: "The hive will be facing southeast in dappled sunlight with minimal wind. And here they are, newly formed and flourishing. Oh, yes. And here is the food source. Someone's feeding them sugar water so they multiply even faster." Watson: "Well, it's pretty baroque way to kill someone, isn't it? I mean, cultivate bees, feed them, and then poke the hive with a stick every time Hillary Taggart runs by?" Sherlock: "Well, he might be planning to swipe her with lemongrass oil beforehand, make sure they're attracted to her. It's actually quite a tidy plan. You know, she flees, bees sting-- tragic accident." Watson: "If she's that allergic to bee stings, then she's gonna have an EpiPen." Sherlock: "Well, an EpiPen would work against one or two stings, but how effective is it gonna be against an army of bee assassins?" Watson: "If the man we are looking for is feeding these bees, he's gonna have to come here eventually." Sherlock: "Yeah. Quite soon, I'd imagine, 'cause the sugar water's getting low." Watson: "Ugh, great. So we get to stake out a hive of killer bees."

season 1 episode 24:

[Watson walks onto the brownstone's rooftop to find Sherlock sitting and looking at his beehives with a magnifying glass] Sherlock: "Do you remember the rare bee I was given for proving that Gerald Lydon had been poisoned?" Watson: "The bee in the box, sure." Sherlock: "Osmia avoseta is its own species, which means it should not be able to reproduce with other kinds of bees. And yet, nature is infinitely wily." Watson: "So box bee got another bee pregnant?" Sherlock: "Quite so. Which means, they should be reclassified as an entirely new species. First newborn of which… is about to crawl its way into sunlight." Watson: "Oh, my God." Sherlock: "As the discoverer of the species, the privilege of naming the creatures falls to me. Allow me to introduce you to Euglassa Watsonia." Watson, surprised and then touched: You named a bee after me? You named a bee after me." Sherlock: "Should be dozens more within the hour. If you'd like, I could come and get you once they're all here. Watson: "That's all right. I think I'll just watch."

season 2 episode 12:

[sherlock is shown taking a box out of his beehive]

and

Watson: "You didn't show me these letters. You hid them in a beehive."

and

[sherlock is shown taking the box back into his beehive]

season 3 episode 10:

Barbara: "Barbara Conway. I'm senior vice president of…" Sherlock: "Senior vice president of AgriNext's GMO research division. Quite the corporate monstrosity, AgriNext, hmm? In addition to your dominance in agricultural industries, there is powerful evidence to suggest that your neonicotinoid insecticides are the culprits in the ongoing bee genocide known as colony collapse disorder. Would you care to comment on that?" Barbara: "When you told my assistant you had some questions, was that just a lie to get in and harass me?" Sherlock: "Ms. Conway, are you familiar with the name Clay Dubrovensky?" Barbara: "No." Sherlock: "What about the Wutai Pingtung orchid?" Barbara: "I'm sorry. What?" Sherlock: "You are very good at feigning innocence. Perhaps it's all that lying about the bees."

season 3 episode 11:

Watson: "Can you imagine how she feels when she looks at it?" Sherlock: "I have done. Repeatedly. My name is Sherlock, and I have allowed empathetic thoughts to clutter my mind and reduce the clarity of my perception." Watson: "So you called in the bees to crowd out caring." Sherlock: "To no avail."

season 3 episode 14:

Mr. Joseph: "Mr. Holmes, thank you for agreeing to see me. We've actually met before-- sort of." Sherlock: "You're BeeBeeKing17." Mr. Joseph: "I am. (chuckles) You're a detective. I know from your posts. I have a bit of a problem…" Sherlock: "I'm gonna stop you right there, Mr. Joseph. I can't help you." Mr. Joseph: "You don't know what I'm asking." Sherlock: "I don't need to. In the four years I've frequented your Web site, I've sent you no fewer than 13 letters detailing my proposed solutions to the phenomenon known as colony collapse disorder. You have sent me exactly zero replies." Mr. Joseph: "You know how much correspondence I get?" Sherlock: "I've got no idea. I do know, however, that mine is backed by quality thinking. If you'd bothered to find that out, you wouldn't find yourself without a detective in your hour of need." Mr. Joseph: "Is there some way that I can make this up to you?" Sherlock: "I suppose, if you were to publish my theories on gamma rays as a potential solution to CCD, then I might be able to hear you out." Mr. Joseph: "Gamma rays? They… they've worked in a couple instances, but they… they don't scale as an answer. They're too dangerous. You give John Q. Beekeeper access to gamma rays, he'll melt his face off." Sherlock: "A fact I addressed in my most recent letter." Mr. Joseph: "Fine. Yeah, I'll put it on the site." Sherlock: "I also require that you change your online user name. The cheap punnery of "BeeBeeKing17" is offensive to musicians and apiarists alike. You'll make the change?" Mr. Joseph: "I guess." Sherlock: "Good. So what seems to be the problem?"

season 3 episode 20:

Sherlock (on the other line of the phone): "Watson, you still over there?" Watson: "Yes, I'm still here, because I can't go home, because of you. Why did you bring the bees in the house anyway?" Sherlock, shown to be standing in their kitchen while wearing his beekeeper suit and surrounded by bees: "Varroa mites are a pernicious threat to the colony. I intended a thorough inspection, as well as an application of baker's sugar as a preventative measure. My thoughts were concerned with colony collapse. I failed to see the more urgent threat of table collapse." Watson: "Wait a second. You're not talking about my table, are you? The one that I bought for my apartment?" Sherlock: "Two hours should be sufficient to return the hive to stasis. I'll be in touch."

season 3 episode 23 (the entire episode but especially):

Unnamed cop: "If you guys work for the USDA, why didn't you just say so?" Watson: "We don't. My partner's on a beekeeping message board with a few of their researchers. They asked us to come and have a look, since it's one of their colleagues that died."

and

Sherlock: "You might want to tell your colleague that the apiarist is not a strong suspect. Unnamed cop: "The hell she isn't. She was the only other person out here when this thing happened." Sherlock: " And as far as Watson and I have been able to discern, utterly devoid of any motive-- unlike the soulless corporate golem that is AgriNext." Unnamed cop: "You think a company did this?" Sherlock: "It wouldn't be the first time they'd harbored a killer." Watson: "He's right-- we found one there a few months ago. So what makes you think they did this?" Sherlock: "Elevated levels of Colony Collapse Disorder along the Northeast." Watson: "You putting that on AgriNext, too?" Sherlock: "Everett Keck did. His notes strongly suggest that the company's neonicotinoid pesticides are the cause." Unnamed cop: "So this guy was killed over some dead bees?" Sherlock: "A hundred million dead bees. The regional numbers are so anomalous that an international apiary summit has been convened at Garrison University to discuss the problem this week. Everett Keck's notes suggest he was willing to cut short that debate and lay the blame squarely at the feet of AgriNext."

and

Watson: "Oh… Looks like you opened up a satellite office for the Department of Agriculture in here." Sherlock: "25,000 species of bee-- always much to learn." Watson: "Well, if you're planning on picking up where Keck left off, it might be nice to solve his murder first."

and

Watson: "So you think that Keck tried to kill his boss to cover up poisoning a few bee hives?" Sherlock: "More than a few. I've come to believe that Everett Keck was not just studying Colony Collapse Disorder. Everett Keck was Colony Collapse Disorder incarnate. You might recall my recent concern over varroas in my own hives. These fears were born out of rumblings on BeeCircuit.com. Most of the talk on the spike of this season's colony death rate centered around the spread of deadly mites." Watson: "Okay, but I thought Keck was gonna prove it was pesticides. Sherlock: "That's what his note suggested. That's what he intended to report, but the data suggests that the parasites were appearing in greater than expected numbers everywhere he went." Watson: "You did all this overnight? Sherlock: "You know I outsource arithmetic to Harlan. Okay, so, that's Keck. And there are three other ASI researchers. He found more mites than the others. Many more. According to Harlan, the variance between Keck and his colleagues cannot be explained away by known confounds. The odds that Mr. Keck was not actively spreading varroa mites everywhere he went approaches one in 29,000." Watson: "So, there isn't a spike in Colony Collapse Disorder after all." Sherlock: "Every dead hive is a tragedy. But outside of one nefarious USDA field researcher, no, the CCD baseline would not be inflated at all." Watson: "Why would he do something like this?" Sherlock: "I don't know. I'm fairly certain, however, he had help. The heart attack that almost killed Calvin Barnes occurred whilst Mr. Keck was doing his rounds in Connecticut." Watson: "He had a partner." Sherlock: "We've solved one murder. Now we just have the remaining 100 million."

and

Tara Parker: "No. No way. You can't just write off a global issue because one guy went on a bee-killing spree." Sherlock: "I share your concerns about Colony Collapse Disorder writ large, I do. I have hives of my own. But your degree is in entomology, and, uh, the mathematicians have spoken."

and

Sherlock, excitingly surprised: "His Highness Sheik Nasser Al-Fayed is making an appearance?" Tara Parker: "Supposedly." Sherlock, explaining to Watson: "Nasser is an emir. He's a member of the royal family of Al Qasr in the United Arab Emirates. He's a black sheep. He's not trusted with state business, like his brothers." Griffin Parker, to which Sherlock is shown nodding in approvement: "He's also got the most expensive apiary on the planet. State-of-the-art hives." Sherlock: "He's a recluse. Rumors on BeeCircuit.com are that he never leaves his family's estate." Griffin Parker: "Well, I wouldn't, either. He has almost 1,000 species."

and

Sherlock: "I'm friendly with the moderator of BeeCircuit.com. You deleted your private messages, but he was able to dredge these off the server."

and

Sherlock: "You got away with kidnapping the sheik. You won't get away with what you did to Calvin Barnes. Or millions of bees."

season 4 episode 13:

Trent Garby: "I moved out because of you two. I couldn't take it anymore. The weird noises, the strange smells, the explosions, and the damn bees on the roof."

and

Watson: "Robert Frost said that fences make good neighbors. But maybe that's because there wasn't sound-dampening insulation back then. Since you are rebuilding anyway, we can have it installed for you as a belated housewarming gift. So a quieter home for you, and a neighbor who knows what he's getting into for us." Trent Garby: "You don't even know me." Watson: "We'd like to." Trent Garby: "All right. When I get the insurance settlement, I'll let you know." Watson, giving him a jar of honey: "This is from Sherlock. He wants you to know that bees can be good neighbors, too."

season 4 episode 23:

Bell: "We think he crossed with Krasnov, who was there to steal a barrel of pesticide. There's one missing." Watson: "Clothianidin is used to treat corn crops. I've heard Sherlock rail against the stuff. It's bad for bees. But it is good for explosives."

season 4 episode 24:

Morland, looking at Sherlock's hives: "They stay here even during winter, do they not?" Sherlock: "Excuse me?" Morland: " The bees. This is their home… rain or shine." Sherlock: "Yes, let's talk about bees, instead of the execution you just carried out in Yonkers."

season 5 episode 21:

Sherlock: "You might not know what Mr. Leroux looks like, but I assure you, those photographs of you showing my friend around will have the FBI and Interpol swarming your property like bees."

season 6 episode 8:

Kelsey: "I'm sorry if that sounds judgmental, but… judging you is kind of the whole point of this trip." Watson: "It's okay. I mean, you have to go through your process, right?" Kelsey: "Am I crazy, or did I see a bunch of beehives on your roof?"

season 6 episode 17:

Watson: "He named an inchworm after her?" Sherlock: "It’s not uncommon for scientists to name species after people they care for or admire. I named a honeybee after you. But I, of course, was honoring my work partner."

season 6 episode 18:

Sherlock: "We need to talk about what happens after I die." [cut to them now in the kitchen, with Watson holding a pile of pages] Watson, reading the title: "“The Last Will and Testament of Sherlock Holmes”?" Sherlock: "According to Mr. Horowitz, in three days' time, I am to be riddled with bullets by an unknown assailant in an unnamed part of the city. While I doubt that will happen, reading it did remind me that you should have a copy of the appropriate paperwork to ensure a smooth probate." Watson: "You didn't write all this up today." Sherlock: "No, I wrote it several years ago when we formalized our partnership. I just didn't give you a copy." Watson: "Am I reading this right? You left me everything?" Sherlock: "You're surprised?" Watson: "Uh… I guess I'm touched. Sherlock: " There are some directives in the back that you should review. Watson: "Instructions on what to do with your cerebellum? Sherlock: "Mmm. Also my bees. They will need a proper home."

season 6 episode 21:

Sherlock, walking into the room to find Watson filming a close video of his bees while playing a loud song: "Something I should know?" Watson: "Everyone got back to us while you were out. They said they would look into Agent Mallick if I gave them an up-close view of one of your beehives and put this song on repeat. I mean, I had to get movers to get it down here, but at least we did not have to humiliate ourselves this time." Sherlock: "Oh, you've been humiliated. You just don't realize it. One of the founding fathers of Everyone, StingSquat, is an admitted melissophiliac. He's aroused by bees. You just arranged a sex show with a cast of thousands."

season 7 episode 13:

Sherlock, sounding touched, after seeing that his hives are still in the brownstone after his years away: "You kept the bees." Watson: "I thought Arthur might find them interesting. Plus, the free honey.

#dude really loves his bees huh #cbs elementary #elementary #elementary sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes #sherlock and watson #joan and sherlock #joan watson #johnny lee miller #lucy lui #kitty winter #you named a bee after me #he named a bee after her #bees #save the bees

[poisonously-alluring-sev]

Snape Preference ~ Books He Recommends

Severus Snape Masterlist

Context You ask him for something good to read and he gives you a pile of books he thinks you'll enjoy. (This is excluding the obvious amount of potions and herbology books he probably has)

The Secret History by Donna Harett Under the influence of a charismatic classics professor, a group of clever, eccentric misfits at a New England college discover a way of thought and life a world away from their banal contemporaries. But their search for the transcendent leads them down a dangerous path, beyond human constructs of morality.

The Resurrectionist: The Lost Work of Dr. Spencer Black by E. B. Hudspeth

Philadelphia, the late 1870s. A city of gas lamps, cobblestone streets, and horse-drawn carriages—and home to the controversial surgeon Dr. Spencer Black. The son of a grave robber, young Dr. Black studies at Philadelphia's esteemed Academy of Medicine, where he develops an unconventional hypothesis: that the mythological beasts of legend and lore—including mermaids, minotaurs, and satyrs—were in fact humanity's evolutionary ancestors. And beyond that, he wonders: what if there was a way for humanity to reach the fuller potential these ancestors implied?

Masters Of Death by Olivie Blake

There is a game that the immortals play. There is only one rule: Don't lose.

The Maidens by Alex Michalides Edward Fosca is a murderer. Of this Mariana is certain. But Fosca is untouchable. A handsome and charismatic Greek tragedy professor at Cambridge University, Fosca is adored by staff and students alike—particularly by the members of a secret society of female students known as The Maidens.

What Moves The Dead by T. Kingfisher When Alex Easton, a retired soldier, receives word that their childhood friend Madeline Usher is dying, they race to the ancestral home of the Ushers in the remote countryside of Ruritania.

What they find there is a nightmare of fungal growths and possessed wildlife, surrounding a dark, pulsing lake. Madeline sleepwalks and speaks in strange voices at night, and her brother Roderick is consumed with a mysterious malady of the nerves.

Murder Your Employer by Rupert Holmes Who hasn't wondered for a split second what the world would be like if a person who is the object of your affliction ceased to exist? But then you've probably never heard of The McMasters Conservatory, dedicated to the consummate execution of the homicidal arts. To gain admission, a student must have an ethical reason for erasing someone who deeply deserves a fate no worse (nor better) than death. The campus of this "Poison Ivy League" college—its location unknown to even those who study there—is where you might find yourself the practice target of a classmate...and where one's mandatory graduation thesis is getting away with the perfect murder of someone whose death will make the world a much better place to live.

Botanical Curses & Poisons: The Shadow-Lives of Plants By Liz Inkwright In both history and fiction, some of the most dramatic, notorious deaths have been through poisonings. Concealed and deliberate, it's a crime that requires advance planning and that for many centuries could go virtually undetected. And yet there is a fine line between healing and killing: the difference lies only in the dosage! In Botanical Curses and Poisons, Fez Inkwright returns to folkloric and historical archives to reveal the fascinating, untold stories behind a variety of lethal plants, witching herbs, and fungi. 

Dracula by Bram Stoker Irish author Bram Stoker introduced the character of Count Dracula and provided the basis of modern vampire fiction in his 1897 novel entitled Dracula. Written as a series of letters, newspaper clippings, diary entries, and ships' logs, the story begins with lawyer Jonathan Harker journeying to meet Dracula at his remote castle to complete a real estate transaction. Harker soon discovers that he is being held prisoner, and that Dracula has a rather disquieting nocturnal life. Touching on themes such as Victorian culture, immigration, and colonialism, among others, this timeless classic is sure to keep readers on the edge of their seats! Now available as part of the Word Cloud Classics series, Dracula is a must-have addition to the libraries of all classic literature lovers.

A Deadly Education by Naomi Novik I decided that Orion Lake needed to die after the second time he saved my life.

Everyone loves Orion Lake. Everyone else, that is. Far as I'm concerned, he can keep his flashy combat magic to himself. I'm not joining his pack of adoring fans. I don't need help surviving the Scholomance, even if they do. Forget the hordes of monsters and cursed artifacts, I'm probably the most dangerous thing in the place. Just give me a chance and I'll level mountains and kill untold millions, make myself the dark queen of the world.

Hope you enjoyed this quick idea I had. Also, all of these books are amazing and I 100% recommend all of them!

#no snape hate #if you hate on this blog i will end you #safe blog #no hate #safe snape blog #snape #safe place #sev #no antis #severus snape #safe for snape #safe blog for snape #professor snape #preferences #severus snape one shot #one shot #severus snape love story #severus snape art #severussnape

[mariana-oconnor]

The Cardboard Box pt 3

OK, so this was mostly solved last part, with a few hanging threads, mainly being the motive and who the second ear belongs to. Our working theory is a man that Mary's husband thought she was having an affair with. But how that all relates to Sarah Cushing and why he sent the ears to her specifically. My best guess is she was encouraging Mary to leave him and 'befriend' this other guy in some way?

“Lestrade has got him all right,” said Holmes, glancing up at me.

Welp, that was quick. I guess no one is dying in a mysterious shipwreck this week, even though there are actual sailors involved this time.

“In accordance with the scheme which we had formed in order to test our theories” [“the ‘we’ is rather fine, Watson, is it not?”]"

Are we going to get Holmes' commentary throughout? That would be fun. Throwing shade at Lestrade here for taking partial credit for everything. Fair.

@ameliahcrowley did the research about May Day and apparently it wasn't in use as a distress signal yet at this time, which surprised me. So this ship name is just retroactively ironic, which is one of the best flavours of irony.

"I found that there was a steward on board of the name of James Browner and that he had acted during the voyage in such an extraordinary manner that the captain had been compelled to relieve him of his duties."

This guy has zero chill, which we already knew because he was going around murdering his wife and sending ears to her relatives, but he fails so completely at getting away with it, it's kind of farcical.

I guess it makes sense that he'd be a bit weird after killing his wife. But at the same time, the kind of effort it takes to cut off ears, pack them in salt and send them off to women in Croydon indicates a level of thought and planning that is clearly not evident anywhere else in his crime. So weird.

"He jumped up when he heard my business, and I had my whistle to my lips to call a couple of river police, who were round the corner, but he seemed to have no heart in him, and he held out his hands quietly enough for the darbies."

This reads as though the guy is feeling guilty or remorseful, but please see prior notes about taking the time to pack ears in salt. The remorse was a really delayed reaction, huh?

Mr Browner's understanding of what he did dawning:

"...bar a big sharp knife such as most sailors have..."

If he has a big sharp knife, why did he use a blunt one to cut the ears off? Unless the blunt just meant 'not as sharp as a scalpel', which seems an unfair benchmark of sharpness to put on a knife. Not everyone can be a scalpel.

"The affair proves, as I always thought it would, to be an extremely simple one, but I am obliged to you for assisting me in my investigation."

This isn't exactly a lie. Except it kind of is. Lestrade at least claimed to think it was just the medical students the whole time, but at the same time he called Holmes in, which seems like a weird thing to do if he was convinced it was a prank?

"I tell you I've not shut an eye in sleep since I did it, and I don't believe I ever will again until I get past all waking."

Again, this is strange to me. Like did he get through the whole posting of the ears and did the guilt set in immediately after that, or did he do that while feeling guilty? which makes no sense. I do not understand this man.

"Ay, the white lamb, she might well be surprised when she read death on a face that had seldom looked anything but love upon her before."

And this does not read like the words of someone who feels remorse. I feel like Jim Browner is a very disturbed individual. This is very creepy. Anyone who compares another person to a 'white lamb' is instantly ten times creepier than they were before. I'm already getting 'my wife drove me to it' delusional self-justification from his language.

"For Sarah Cushing loved me—that's the root of the business—she loved me until all her love turned to poisonous hate when she knew that I thought more of my wife's footmark in the mud than I did of her whole body and soul."

Oh, I did not see that coming. Although thinking back, the way her interactions with him were referred to were a bit weird. I thought it was just a Victorian flare for language coming through, but no.

I said last time that Mary needed better sisters. She really needed better sisters.

"The old one was just a good woman, the second was a devil, and the third was an angel. Sarah was thirty-three, and Mary was twenty-nine when I married."

A devil and an angel? Right, this guy has unrealistic expectations of the women in his life, I can tell you that right away. The Madonna-Whore complex called, Jim, it thinks you might have a problem.

For someone who is so guilty he can't sleep, Jim Browner is trying very hard to seem like the victim here. Dude murdered two people and cut off their ears and he's determined that it's Sarah's fault. I'm not saying she had nothing to do with it, but seems like he's having a little trouble with accountability here.

Also, her seduction of him is very... like she took hold of his hand and looked at him? That's all she did? I was expecting something more overt. Although this is the Victorian era, I guess maybe that's pretty overt by their standards? Or he misread the entire situation.

"Things went on much as before, but after a time I began to find that there was a bit of a change in Mary herself. She had always been so trusting and so innocent, but now she became queer and suspicious, wanting to know where I had been and what I had been doing, and whom my letters were from, and what I had in my pockets, and a thousand such follies."

This whole thing reads very strangely. 'so trusting and so innocent', and the pedestal he seems determined to put his wife on. It's all a little icky. He seems like a remarkably unreliable narrator.

OK, maybe it happened like he says. We have no evidence in the text contradicting him as of yet. But at the same time we only have his word for any of this and it's possible that he hit on Sarah rather than the other way around, she told Mary. OR that neither of them was hitting on each other, but they both thought the other one was hitting on them and things... spiralled.

"I can see now how she was plotting and scheming and poisoning my wife's mind against me."

If this story hadn't ended with him murdering people and mutilating their corpses, I'd be more inclined to believe him at face value, but knowing the extremes he went to, I feel like this is just massive paranoia.

"And then this Alec Fairbairn chipped in, and things became a thousand times blacker."

Ah, we finally get to the owner of the second ear. Alas, poor Alec. You were doomed by the narrative.

“‘It was only a little thing, too. I had come into the parlour unexpected, and as I walked in at the door I saw a light of welcome on my wife's face. But as she saw who it was it faded again, and she turned away with a look of disappointment."

His entire motive is based on two moments when he saw a look in a woman's eyes? Are you kidding me, Mr Browner? Are you a telepath? Can you read their minds? You have no evidence of literally anything and you just murdered people?

Maybe we're getting to the evidence. Maybe you're going to walk in on them in a compromising position, or find a love letter, or overhear a incriminating conversation. But so far all we have is 'my sister-in-law was upset I didn't enjoy her company and held my hand and made eye contact with me' (which I agree was a bit weird, but not conspiracy worthy) and 'my wife looked like she was looking forward to talking to someone who wasn't me'.

“You can do what you like,” says I, “but if Fairbairn shows his face here again I'll send you one of his ears for a keepsake.”

OK, no. You're just going straight to threats of violence. No further proof needed.

“‘Well, I don't know now whether it was pure devilry on the part of this woman, or whether she thought that she could turn me against my wife by encouraging her to misbehave.'"

The paranoia and entitlement is so strong in this one. He's completely irrational. We're all agreed on that, right? Maybe he was right about everything, but he's based all of his conclusions on...

heh...

He's based all his conclusions on vibes.

I played myself.

At least I didn't kill anyone over it.

"'How often she went I don't know, but I followed her one day, and as I broke in at the door Fairbairn got away over the back garden wall, like the cowardly skunk that he was. I swore to my wife that I would kill her if I found her in his company again, and I led her back with me, sobbing and trembling, and as white as a piece of paper.'"

This is slightly more incriminating, but given that there was a threat made to cut off the man's ears, that seems enough reason for him to run away. And death threats are never cool.

"'The thought was in my head as I turned into my own street, and at that moment a cab passed me, and there she was, sitting by the side of Fairbairn, the two chatting and laughing, with never a thought for me as I stood watching them from the footpath.'"

Honestly, at this point if she was having an affair with him I'm kind of okay with that. Mr Browner is clearly paranoid, violent and unstable. Divorce wasn't really an option for her because Victorian divorce laws were sexist and terrible, and from Browner's earlier description Fairbairn seems like a pretty cool guy. I hope she at least had fun before her husband brutally murdered her.

OK, point of Victorian etiquette, was it considered scandalous to be alone in a cab together? To me that's far less intimate than being found alone in a house together. But chatting in a cab? I suppose there isn't a chaperone, so maybe.

“‘Well, I took to my heels, and I ran after the cab. I had a heavy oak stick in my hand, and I tell you I saw red from the first; but as I ran I got cunning, too, and hung back a little to see them without being seen.'"

Either you couldn't think straight OR you could think straight enough to be cunning. You can't have it both ways. That's not how it works. EITHER you're blinded by jealousy and commit a crime of passion, OR you're thinking through your plan. My dude, you're undermining your own argument (although, as mentioned, the ear thing already did that).

They do seem to be having a very nice date. Good for them. Pity about the murderer lurking in the shadows.

And he's spending an entire day stalking them. Yeah, no, Mr Browner, we're way outside of 'blind jealous rage' murder. You hired a boat specifically to hunt them down and kill them without witnesses. This is now officially premeditated.

"'I cleaned myself up, got back to land, and joined my ship without a soul having a suspicion of what had passed. That night I made up the packet for Sarah Cushing, and next day I sent it from Belfast'."

Yeeeaaah, those are not the actions of a remorseful person.

You're just a dick.

If only she'd had good sense and just run the fuck away with Mr Fairbairn and changed her name. Genuinely, usually I'm super against infidelity in all forms, but you seem like a real piece of work. Your story is so full of inconsistencies and irrational jealousy and paranoia that I can't believe half of it.

"'I cannot shut my eyes but I see those two faces staring at me—staring at me as they stared when my boat broke through the haze. I killed them quick, but they are killing me slow; and if I have another night of it I shall be either mad or dead before morning.'"

Can confirm: you are already 'mad'. Your actions were not those of a mentally stable person. Not that that's why you did it. You clearly have problems, but loads of people deal with problems without killing people. You just suck, my dude. And honestly, zero sympathy.

'I feel super guilty about the crime I threatened to commit, then deliberately set up so as not to get caught, then followed up with acts of bodily mutilation, cover-up, and terrorising of the victim's relatives. But now I feel super guilty.'

Yeah, this whole account is just one long rant about how he's not really responsible. It was the women who drove him to it. By... talking to men and... looking at him funny.

“What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But what end? There is the great standing perennial problem to which human reason is as far from an answer as ever.”

Super philosophical at the end there Holmes. Seems like Holmes at least is taking Browner at his word about Sarah, or else the cycle doesn't really make any sense here. Even if Sarah did put events in motion, it's not really a cycle. It's just... a couple of rather horrible people being horrible to each other.

Or maybe he's referring to the death penalty?

Well, this one was weird. Given ACD's predilection for spiritualism and the afterlife, it's possible he intended the guilt plaguing Browner here to be the spirits of the people he murdered, which - given his lack of accountability throughout his own narrative - actually makes more sense. But there's no evidence of that in the text, so that's just me. But mark it down as another score on the 'supernatural Holmes universe' tally.

#Letters from Watson #Sherlock Holmes #The Cardboard Box #long post #I really tried to take everything at face value here #I just couldn't #'seldom looked on her with anything but love' rings false when you look back on it #You threatened to kill her #Browner reads as a completely unreliable narrator #Maybe Sarah was obsessed with him but we literally have nothing to support that except his word #It seems likely that his wife was emotionally involved with Fairbairn #but given what we know of him I can't really blame her

[alynnl]

Over the past few days, I started The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles case 2-4 and wrapped up the first investigation phase last night.

At first it was all fun and games. I saw the obvious reference to the Red Headed League from the original Sherlock Holmes stories and Herlock's dyed hair was so over the top for him. But Sholmes will do anything to solve the greatest dilemma (where the rent is coming from.)

But it quickly became serious and dramatic when Ryunosuke and Susato went asking about the missing prison warder, Daley Vigil. The guy was fired from his job and it happened ten years ago! And apparently his wife Evie didn't know. (But she might be lying.)

Mr. Vigil was involved in the Professor case. He was the one who was supposed to walk The Professor to the gallows.

And who else was involved?

Inspector Gregson!

And before we could find out anything else about the case of the missing warder, we hear from a very tear-eyed Gina that Gregson was shot and killed. And Barok van Zieks has been arrested for his murder.

(Gina is not the only one grieving Gregson either, all the other officers on scene are also mourning him and speaking highly of him. He was as much of a legend as Herlock Sholmes.)

But if I look at the facts, it looks like a lot of people involved in the case ten years ago are disappearing one way or another...

Dr. Courtney Sithe - Arrested and awaiting a separate murder trial after she failed to frame Professor Harebrayne for her crime.

Enoch Drebber - Arrested for being an accomplice to murder.

Odie Asman - Murdered during the Great Exhibition by Sithe and Drebber.

Daley Vigil - Missing and not found yet. He apparently tried to help a convict escape (likely Genshin Asogi) and was fired for it.

Genshin Asogi - Sentenced to death ten years ago and apparently shot after he "rose from the grave."

Considering what happened to Gregson and Van Zieks just now, I think it's safe to assume that there's a massive cover-up taking place, and a gag order isn't enough. Someone wants people permanently silenced. And Lord Stronghart has a big hand in a lot of these deaths, arrests and disappearances.

He's behind it all. I know he is.

And it's even worse when you consider that he has a pattern of bringing a prosecutor against a defendant with whom they have an axe to grind: First Barok van Zieks against Genshin Asogi and then Kazuma Asogi against Barok van Zieks, respectfully.

I feel like the Lord Chief Justice is not only pulling the strings, but happily making new ones and getting everyone to dance to his tune.

But it's hard to know why Kazuma agreed to prosecute this trial.

I thought Kazuma wanted revenge on Van Zieks for his father's execution, but if he really wanted it that badly, he could have just faced a hopeless public defender or even went forward with Van Zieks having no legal defense at all! But he doesn't do that. Instead he tells Ryunosuke what little he knows about the man he was an apprentice to, and hands him a photograph of Barok in the good old days before this decade old tragedy.

This photograph is enough for Van Zieks to finally let down his walls and accept Ryunosuke's legal counsel.

Kazuma wants to face Ryunosuke in court for...what?

The honor of a fair trial his father never got?

Playing the long game in exposing the cover up (and only trusting Ryunosuke to do it?)

For amusement??

I suppose I'll see when I get to the first part of the trial. I've never been so eager to start up a game again!

#Lynn plays video games #The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles #major spoilers #Twisted Karma and His Last Bow #TGAAC 2-4 #Barok van Zieks #Kazuma Asogi #Ryunosuke Naruhodo #Mael Stronghart #I freaking called it #I knew Van Zieks was gonna be a defendant #And Kazuma a prosecutor #But I thought Gregson was just gonna get fired #Because he allowed Ryu and company to investigate #when they didn't have official permission #instead it's something much worse #Everybody munch your fish n chips for Gregsy #And if Stronghart gets Van Zieks to confess to the Reaper deaths #it's ON SIGHT #I will fight him prison sentence be damned #Lynn gets emotional over video games #Good heavens Van Zieks is in peril!

[hergan416]

For YuuMori ask: 6, 16, 26

Yuumori Ask Game

6) Do you have a character you dislike at first but grew on you along with the development of the series?

Hmmm. I can't actually think of this happening to anyone in ynm. Louis was not my fave immediately but I certainly didn't dislike him, I just think that reading the manga better developed his character and pushed him over Albert for me -- those two were relatively tied for my attention before I finally read the manga.

There are characters I may overlooked a little more than I should have (Fred) that I now have strong head canons (read: deranged, absolutely untrue thoughts) about...

Maybe Mary? Mostly because I was sorta shipping Johnlock at that point and felt betrayed by her presence in the story and very much supported Sherlock's careful examination of her intentions? [I really should do more with yuumori johnlock -- i know its because our source material has such strong sherliam connotations but it is still SO FUNNY to me that THE Sherlock Holmes ship is considered a rarepair here]

16) What is your favorite song or soundtrack (from the anime or musicals)?

I unfortunately haven't seen the musicals yet, so I'm going to be choosing off the anime soundtrack (although El and others have shown me some songs from them and they are WONDEFUL, and I'm excited to see it at some point).

That being said.. Twisted Hearts. When I was first watching Dying Wish was SO much my favorite and I was salty at Twisted Hearts the like first 3 times I heard it for not being Dying Wish but it really really grew on me. I can't help but love it.

But all his music is just gorgeous. I ended up buying both EPs and REAL because I loved both OPs for the moriani so much, and honestly it is all a treat.

26) If [character] turns into an animal, what animal do you think she/he will be?

Hmmm I was told to choose the character and so in celebration of finally rolling him in mudae just now after months of attempting, I'll choose Albert.

So hear me out.

I think Albert is a bird with clipped wings. Now... there are a lot of kinds of birds to choose from. I don't think he's a pigeon actually, even though that may have narrative significance [imagine a homing pigeon who can't fly very far], or most common birds to clip -- like ducks, chickens, geese, or parrots and cockatoos.

I think he's something magestic, but not exotic. Perhaps a falcon? Of course a falcon wouldn't have its wings clipped by a competent falconer, but perhaps that's the irony of it? I'll go with that.

Albert just feels sad to me like that. I love him dearly, but he has that impending tragedy in his nature [and what I put him through in fic does not help].

#ask answered #eirinstiva #thank you! #long post #moriarty the patriot

[incomingalbatross]

"The Librarians and the Bleeding Crown":

"Do you think I'm gonna be good at being old? It's just, I never thought I'd get the chance! :) :)" Oh, Cass

Ah, so that's what "multi-Doctor story" meant. Multi-Librarian! Fun!

I did take a minute to wonder if it was a time-travel situation or more like that David Tennant special, but apparently it is time travel.

INCREDIBLE levels of fanboying from Flynn (which sets this apart from a multi-Doctor story ;P).

...Flynn identifies with the Library so strongly. Of course he knows all about past Librarians. They're like a family tree to him.

Ooh, this Librarian has a nemesis. That's how you know he's cool.

"Yes, Conan Doyle based his detective on me. Apparently it was supposed to be a compliment." Listen, I never believe anyone who claims to be the inspiration for Sherlock Holmes at this point. There are so many of them out there.

...But also if this man is from 130 years in the past, that should be 1887. Sherlock Holmes shouldn't EXIST yet, sir!! What do you know??

Okay, he came from August 5th, 1888, and Study in Scarlet was first published Christmas 1887 (and republished in book form in July 1888), so it is possible for him to know of Holmes if he already knows Doyle... but it's not likely for him to understand who Flynn's talking about just from the phrase "Moriarty to his Holmes." Call him out on this, Jacob, you know publication dates.

I like this guy, though. He's got a zest for life.

Eve's childhood heroes were her mom, her dad, Cinderella, and Ripley. Yeah, that tracks.

Flynn DOES tell the guy that the others are Librarians, but only when they're not there to hear. I don't know if they'd appreciate that...

...but it's also possible Flynn expected him to have a negative reaction, and was glossing the whole thing over until the trio weren't there to hear any explosions.

Flynn, probably: "Fire the others?? Yeah, sure, if I wanted to lose my Guardian and the only person left who's been around over fifteen years and very possibly the actual Library as a result. That sounds like a thing that's going to happen."

Old-age prosthetics for everyone!

"Two Librarians fought over their shared power and started a war that lasted nearly a thousand years" well it can't have been a very bad war, frankly, if it lasted all that long and the rest of history managed to go on around it. I'm just saying.

Jenkins: "Yes, but these Librarians wouldn't go to war." Tell 'im, Jenkins.

Okay, listen. Judson and Charlene are gone. Flynn and Eve are planning to fill those vacancies. They need one of the trio, minimum. And you know what? You could probably juggle roles around so the three of them weren't sharing the same office, if you really needed to. Switch one of them over to Guardian. Make one of them "officially" a Custodian—I'm sure you could use more than one, even if you had to build a new Annex as their nominal headquarters. Firing them, even in the last resort, is excessive.

Ahhhh. I was willing to accept the querulous-old-people behavior as being there for Comedy Points, but it was a trick. It wasn't actually them. That's how you use your genre as camouflage, people!

I love how they kept doing more of the Nemesis Banter until it reached the point that we, along with Flynn, realize that oh. yeah. If you have no friends, the only important person filling that role is your enemy.

NEMESES. Honestly.

...Hang on, he first met his nemesis in 1868? And we meet him in 1888? Flynn's the record-holding Librarian at ten years. What, were they nemeses for ten years before he even became a Librarian??

I want to appreciate the fact that when Flynn almost told the guy about his impending death, absolutely no one in the room moved to stop him. They support his choices, even if that includes breaking the Laws of Time.

Oh, okay. History can be rewritten. That's a game-changer!

Dying wishes are emotional blackmail. That's hitting below the belt.

#a distraction of librarians

[pickledpascal]

There's a She-Wolf in the Closet

Chapter Fourteen: You Shook Me All Night Long

Summary: After a particularly interesting dream, Sherlock investigates a particularly interesting case.

Warnings: Light smut, 18+ themes, Sherlock trying to play off his h wordness, descriptions of blood.

Word Count: 1.6k

TASWITC Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

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Sherlock breathed in heavily, letting out small, strained moans. Something he never thought he’d do in his life. For pleasurable reasons, at least. The man held onto the sheets, his head buried into the pillow in front of him. Yes, Sherlock Holmes was on his hands and knees in the middle of his own bed. “Please….” Came from Sherlock’s mouth, a foregin word on his tongue but it made the sound all the more sweet. The depth of his voice made a simple, pleading “please” mean that much more. It was a foregin emotion in this circumstance. Desperation. In times of high stress, big cases, were usually when it came to him. Not…. this.

Irene Adler may have thought she would bring Sherlock Holmes to beg for mercy, and be the first to get to him. And maybe she could. But fate was funny, it had that scenario playing with another woman in mind.

Someone much different than The Woman.

“Please what, sweetheart?” A very familiar voice to Sherlock. She pulled slightly on the man’s restraints, the ropes tightening slightly which would create bruises he would most likely cherish in the morning.

Sherlock let out a small, deep whine, “I-I-” This was hard for the detective…. In many ways. Emotionally, though, he wasn’t used to having someone else in such control over him like this.

Sex wasn’t something he’s fully experienced before and, as far as he knew, he would be the one in control. But in one fell swoop, she changed his mind. No, he would be the one begging, pleading, wanting, whining while she made him like that. It felt…. Freeing. Good, even. Like it was meant to be that way. She showed him a side of himself that he didn’t think he had.

“P-Please, M-Mistress Violet!” Yes. He’s letting go. She’s letting him let go. Sherlock let out a breathy whine as his lips released those words.

Jayden is not an inherently sexual creature, even though it was her job. But she has a better insight than anyone about what a simple experience can do to someone. She was just hoping this would be a positive outcome. And right she was….

—-------------

“Sherlock?!” John banged on his bedroom door, his voice muffled from within the four walls. Was he really not up? It was eleven am. Sherlock had to be. That would be a new record for the detective.

Speaking of, the man inside the room let out a deep breath, not realizing his face was flushed. It was a dream…. All of it? Why did it seem so vivid? Like…. Like Jayden was right there, making him feel good. Making him lose control and give it to someone else in the sweetest way possible.

Sherlock looked around his room, trying to calm himself with simple deductions but that was not working so he got dressed…. Careful of himself. He didn’t want to seem hot and bothered. Because he was surely both. Now, John was a man as well but the detective wasn’t ready to reveal himself to be sexually inclined yet. After all, the first time Sherlock was sexually active in some way was when he met Irene Adler and he didn’t do anything with her besides see her naked.

Which John saw as well so it wasn’t private anyway. Not that he wanted it to be, it was a surprise. Something he didn’t anticipate. Like his dream. He didn’t anticipate he would have it. Sherlock barely dreamt in the first place so it was shocking he had one, especially like that.

Another deep breath as the man opened the door to his room, coughing to gain John’s attention as the man took a sip of some tea he made. “There you are, thought you were dead.” He chuckled softly.

“Somehow I doubt my death will be as…. Boring as dying in my sleep.” Sherlock coughed for a moment, realizing his voice sounded much more husky than usual.

John wasn't an idiot, as much as Sherlock decided to call him so. The man's eyebrow cocked at the sound of Sherlock's voice, "You alright?" The doctor observed the detective for a moment, not missing the way Sherlock's cheeks were slightly flushed and–he realized this because of the detective's own ramblings–the way his pupils were dilated once he came out of the room, not to mention the slightly harbored breaths.

"Just fine." The detective gritted his teeth, trying to sound less irritated but failed. Sherlock could tell John was observing him and was one step away from finding out exactly why his pupils were dilated, why his skin was flushed, and why his voice was deeper than usual.

Thankfully, the doctor was not as cruel as Sherlock would be in such a situation and decided not to comment on it. "Alright, well, we have a case to get to." John said, his mind already clicking everything in place.

Sherlock nodded, coughing for a moment before he went to grab his coat and scarf. London was frigid in the winter and with the snow, the air had a certain bite to it that most everyone hated. But, for once, Sherlock was quite thankful it was cold outside. It should be able to distract him from the scene still lingering in his head.

"Please what?" The sickly sweet sound of her voice echoed in his head. Sherlock has never even heard Jayden say something similar to that in a tone so…. distracting.

Sex was something Sherlock didn't really acknowledge until Irene and after, he started to question it was something he wanted in the first place. Indifference seemed to be a struggle after The Woman arrived, naked with only some heels on. For a moment, though, the detective landed on a hard 'no.' That only lasted for a few years.

Jayden came along and messed everything up. In the best way possible. Sherlock's attraction to her was like nothing he's ever felt before. He wanted to do everything and anything with her. Whether that included sex or not was up her.

If he was honest, Sherlock wouldn't blame Jayden for not wanting anything sexual from him. It was a part of her job, it could be–was–tiring. She needed a break from it all. It was more than healthy to take a break…. From anything really. Especially if you do something for days on end.

—--------------

The crime scene was brutal. It's been a while since Sherlock has seen something this bloody. Stains of red were all over the walls, floors, and even the ceiling.

Just goes to show how good of a weapon a guitar can be when trying to kill someone.

Although, it did take some time for Sherlock to realize what the murder weapon was. The images of his dream and the sultry sound of Jayden's voice haunted his mind, distracting him from the task at hand. The man had to press his palms into the temples of his head just to get his brain to start working properly again.

"Something up with him?" Greg asked John as Sherlock began pacing around the scene, rattling off simple deductions like what Sally had for breakfast or the state of a police car to calm himself.

It was nice that Greg was concerned and so was John, but he knew the deeper meaning as to why Sherlock couldn't focus. "Yeah…. He'll be fine though." He hoped. John shrugged, keeping an eye on the detective to make sure he didn't say anything stupid just to get his mind working again.

When Sherlock did start to focus, he rattled off the deductions like they were fleeing from his mind as soon as he realized them. "Clearly a physical altercation with things being broken or askew, as well as the bruising on the woman's knuckles, head was beaten by something heavy and large…. An electric guitar judging by the size and width of the indents. Possibly something expensive like a Fender but not too flashy, perhaps in the color black…." He explained, his eyes scanning over the woman's body yet again.

It was someone she didn't know, that much was clear. Someone going to the music shop, perhaps to buy or…. Reminisce in a time where they could play. "Check inventory and see if any guitars are missing that match the description." Sherlock said, looking over at Greg who finally paid attention.

Sherlock looked to the wall of the shop, eyeing some of the guitars on the wall. It reminded him of Jayden's…. Jayden! Right, she knew her guitars from inside and out. She was able to manipulate them in ways no one else could, or, he thought only she could. The soft melodies that were played on her acoustic greatly complimented the appearance of it. A soft white with the black painted accents being chipped away after the countless times she's used it, the gloss fading away to a nice matte. It was loved. Loved for years.

But Jayden's electric guitar…. That was something that hung on the walls of her apartment, barely used unless in the mood for it. It was in immaculate condition, in the style of something more retro than anything newer. It was a light mint color with white encapsulating the strings and a wooden neck that was meant to play chords. Sherlock has never heard nor seen Jayden play it. Perhaps it was more of a trophy for her or she only played it when she felt a piece called for it. For instance, something more Rock N' Roll? Or something more like Pop? Sherlock knew she listened to an artist called Doja Cat….

Sherlock totally didn't search up the song on Google for the sole purpose of bonding…. And he totally didn't listen to any others made by her.

Totally.

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taglist (open)

@thewinterpoet2

#oc #sherlock fanfic #sherlock holmes x oc #sherlock holmes #benedict cumberbatch characters #benedict cumberbatch #john watson #greg lestrade #jayden wayne #taswitc

[the-letter-horror-lover]

Artistic Process

orphan_account

Summary:

“One must give himself completely to his art and not hold back. Throw caution to the wind. Embrace the muse. Make love to your art.” ~Harley King

Sebastian Michaelis is a reasonably successful and pretentious artist facing the harsh reality that his inspiration for painting might have left him forever. Ciel Phantomhive is a grumpy and pretentious college student facing the harsh reality of a tight budget. Ciel's using Sebastian for sex and money; but that's alright, because Sebastian's using Ciel for sex and artistic inspiration. They're both using each other, and it's fine, because it's not like the relationship is anything more than casual sex... right?

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

His newest work is giving him a headache; he has thrown his brush on the floor and cursed far too many times.

Sebastian gained fame for his first real series of paintings, collectively titled the “Hellscape” series by the art world. They depict various settings, all of which look so horrible and bleak that they can only be pictures of hell.

The series was so successful that Sebastian found himself painting much more of it than he expected, and making a lot more money than he ever dreamt of making.

He has all the money he needs to buy all the art materials he needs to paint, and a beautiful space to paint in, and the ability to travel anywhere he likes in order to find something to paint.

But he’s completely devoid of any inspiration. No ideas strike him, and his fingers don’t itch to hold brushes like they used to.

Sometimes, in the lonely hours of midnight, Sebastian worries that he’s lost his talent completely.

He debates switching to another medium—perhaps charcoal or watercolor. But he knows his strengths, and he still remembers how much he enjoyed traditional painting, so he’s decided to wait and see if something else will hit him.

The only problem with waiting is that he really can’t afford to wait much longer. His agent recently procured him a leading spot in a show in one of the biggest galleries in New York City, with the one condition that he have at least ten pieces done for it by next April.

It’s October, and Sebastian has absolutely no ideas yet.

Sebastian is sitting in his favourite Starbucks, nursing a venti hazelnut mocha and poring over a collection of Fitzgerald’s stories, when he sees the boy.

The boy has swept through the Starbucks entrance, the bells on the door jingling as if to announce his arrival. He strides over to the register and orders a large chocolate peppermint tea and a cinnamon coffee cake. The woman working the register asks him if he meant a venti, and he gives her a scornful look, telling her that he ordered a large.

He’s rude, thinks Sebastian. This thought only makes the boy more fascinating to him.

The boy pays for his order with cash, takes his cinnamon coffee cake, and immediately walks over to the other end of the counter to wait for his chocolate peppermint tea. It doesn’t come for a few minutes, and he gets impatient; he taps the counter with his pointer and middle fingers in a quick, erratic rhythm.

The boy is wearing a deep-blue sweater that is perhaps one or two sizes too large, tight black skinny jeans, and grey slip-on shoes. His hair is dyed a dark blue-grey, his skin is milk-pale, his eyes are blue.

As soon his tea arrives, the boy takes it and turns to look around the store, obviously hoping that there will be a free table. But the Starbucks is packed, and the boy looks sour.

Quickly Sebastian puts all of his stuff on the floor next to him, freeing up the chair across the table. “Excuse me,” he calls out to the boy. “This seat is free.”

The boy looks at him scornfully. “And who said I was looking for a free seat?”

Sebastian smiles, unperturbed. “Well, were you looking for a free seat?”

The boy sniffs. “It’s not like it would take Sherlock Holmes to figure it out.” He walks over, places his food on the table, plunks his satchel down on the ground next to him, and investigates the chair critically before delicately sitting down.

“Very true,” Sebastian says, feeling elated at the sight of this beautiful boy so close to him.

The boy doesn’t answer. He takes out a packet of paper and begins eyeing it with a scowl on his face, using his other hand to eat and drink.

Sebastian can’t go back to his book. He tries, but he can’t focus. Finally, he looks up and says, “What are you reading?”

The boy looks up at him in surprise, then quickly scowls again. “Why do you care?”

“Just curious,” says Sebastian. “Merely making conversation.”

The boy rolls his eyes. It’s at this moment that Sebastian realises that the boy’s eyes aren’t simply blue. One of them is the most vivid and pure shade of deep blue he’s ever seen, brought out devastatingly by the matching hue of the oversized sweater. The other one is clouded, milky.

“Of all the days to forget my headphones,” says the boy, glaring at him with that asymmetric stare. “Look, do I seem like I’m in the mood to talk?”

“No,” says Sebastian honestly.

“Then why are you talking to me?”

“Because you seem like the kind of person who’s never in the mood to talk,” Sebastian says. “And I don’t think that’s a good way to live your life.”

“Hmph,” the boy says, looking back down at his packet.

“Also, you’re incredibly cute.”

“Wha-“ the boy gasps, looking up. “I’m nineteen, not nine!”

Sebastian laughs. “You misunderstand me. When I say ‘cute’, I’m not saying I want to pinch your cheeks. I’m saying I want to press you against a wall.”

It comes out before he can stop himself. The boy turns crimson, and Sebastian prepares to be slapped.

“How old are you?” the boy says, after a pause.

“Thirty-five,” says Sebastian honestly, mentally crossing his fingers.

“Ew,” the boy says. “You’re almost twice my age.”

“That’s true,” Sebastian says with a nod.

“Creepy old man, hitting on college boys in the local Starbucks.”

“I suppose,” Sebastian admits.

The boy considers him. “Ok, give me a moment,” he says finally, cramming the rest of his coffee cake in his mouth.

“What do you mean?” asks Sebastian, watching the boy chew.

The boy swallows, wiping his lips with a napkin. “You wanna fuck me, right?”

“Very much,’ Sebastian quickly says.

The boy nods, all business. “Ok, then.” He lifts up his satchel and shoves the packet into it. “We gotta do it at your place, though. My dorm is shit.”

“Understood,” says Sebastian. “I don’t live too far from here.”

“Fuck, this is huge,” the boy says, gaping at Sebastian’s admittedly quite spacious studio apartment.

“Thank you,” Sebastian says. He could make an innuendo, but he doesn’t.

“No fucking fair,” the boy says, looking around. “How did you-“

He cuts off with a small sound of surprise as Sebastian wraps his arms around the boy’s delicate torso, pressing the boy to him so that his half-hard cock makes itself known against that slim back.

The boy stiffens momentarily before relaxing, pushing back against the hardness and huffing out a breath. “Jesus,” he says. “Getting right down to business, are we?”

“My name is Sebastian. And yours?”

“Ciel,” the boy says. “But do you really care?”

“Ciel,” Sebastian repeats, sounding the name out on his tongue as he continues to rock his hips against Ciel’s back. “Beautiful. French for ‘sky’, if I’m not mistaken?”

“You’re not mistaken,” Ciel says. “Are- are you as huge as you feel?” His voice is a cocktail of excitement, apprehension, and childish curiosity.

Sebastian leans down so he can mutter in Ciel’s ear, “Are you ready to find out?”

Ciel shudders, turns around to press his lips against Sebastian’s gently, then gives them a sharp-toothed bite. “Bring it on, old man,” he says.

Sebastian grins. Without further ado, he leans down and scoops Ciel up, throwing him over his shoulder. When he reaches his ridiculously enormous bed, he throws Ciel down on it with very little ceremony. “You’re as light as a feather.”

Ciel looks stunned, but still manages to say, “Shut up and do what I came here for.”

“Yes, my lord,” Sebastian says, slipping off Ciel's shoes and throwing them aside before he swoops down to capture Ciel’s mouth again, pressing him to the bed, placing his palms on either side of his head and shoving a knee in between his thighs.

He slips off Ciel’s sweater, throwing it off the side of the bed. Ciel’s nipples are a darkened candy pink, and Sebastian eyes them as he runs his hands up Ciel’s sides. “Are they sensitive?” he asks, placing his thumbs delicately on Ciel’s nipples.

Ciel flinches before responding with a breathy, “Y-yes.”

When Sebastian looks up at him, he’s biting his lower lip with his pearly white teeth, breathing deeply with his eyes wide and face flushed. His hips move slightly, obviously craving the friction of Sebastian’s knee.

Sebastian begins to rub Ciel’s nipples with his thumbs, pressing his knee against Ciel’s groin in a matching rhythm. With the rest of his hands he scratches gently at Ciel’s sides.

“Haaah,” says Ciel. He squirms, gripping the bedsheets and bending his knees so his feet are flat on the bed. “Oh, yeah, that’s nice…” His voice trails off, turning into little sounds of approval as he leans into Sebastian’s touch.

After a moment of this, Sebastian is bored. He moves back a bit and unbuttons Ciel’s skinny jeans, idly mouths at sharp hipbones as he unzips and pulls down the pants.

Ciel’s wearing boxer briefs, black and tight and boasting a slight erection. Immediately Sebastian moves his mouth to Ciel’s clothed cock, making sure to press his tongue firmly on the bulge, holding down Ciel’s hips to prevent the boy from squirming.

At first Ciel merely pants and gasps, but those pants and gasps soon turn into whining. “I didn’t come here for you to fucking tease, me, God, I want your dick in me.”

“Patience,” Sebastian says, moving his hands under Ciel’s ass to squeeze the cheeks and growling at how plump they are. Of course he wants nothing more than to shove himself into the boy right now, but he also wants to see how much Ciel is willing to ask for it. He puts his mouth back on Ciel’s clothed erection.

“I don’t have any fucking patience!” says Ciel, wriggling in a futile attempt to escape Sebastian’s grip. “Are you so old that it’s taking you this long to get hard?” Clearly he expected the taunt to be enough to coax Sebastian into fucking him; but as the teasing continues, he realizes it’s not going to work. “Sebastian…” he moans, stopping his struggling and going helplessly limp on the bed.

The sound of his name coming from that sweet little mouth is enough to get Sebastian painfully hard. He sits back and yanks the black briefs off, leaving Ciel naked in front of him.

He studies Ciel as if preparing to devour a meal, sitting back and eyeing every part of Ciel’s body as if inspecting every ingredient of a dish. Ciel’s body is flushed everywhere; his skin is a canvas of pink and white. His eyes are closed, his body is tense.

“Look at me,” Sebastian says softly.

Ciel does, and the moment he meets Sebastian’s hungry gaze he shudders violently, panting, a single pearl of precum appearing at the tip of his little cock. “You… you’re staring…”

“I want to devour you,” Sebastian rumbles, running his hands up Ciel’s thighs.

Ciel whines, throwing his head back and kicking his legs. “Stooop,” he says. “Just… god, Sebastian, hurry.”

“So bossy,” says Sebastian indulgently. He doesn’t waste any more time, reaching into the bedside table for lube and a condom.

“Aren’t you going to take off any of your clothes?” Ciel asks, looking up at him.

“No,” Sebastian says with a smile before leaning down and engulfing the entirety of Ciel’s erection.

Ciel whimpers, arching his back and reaching forward to grip Sebastian’s hair. “Oh, oh, oh my god…”

Sebastian hums as he uncaps the lube, rubs it on his fingers to warm it up before gently pushing a single finger at Ciel’s entrance.

“God, do it, just do it, just…” Ciel mumbles, pulling at Sebastian’s hair.

Sebastian complies, pressing into Ciel firmly, his free hand planted on that pale, slender abdomen. He makes a rumbling sound of approval at how tight and warm Ciel is, and Ciel whines in response. The whine sounds so desperate that he pops Ciel’s cock out of his mouth, not wanting the boy to come too quickly.

Slowly but surely he works Ciel open, pushing in another finger, then another. He scissors his fingers, rooting around for Ciel’s prostate.

“What are you doing?” Ciel says, tugging on Sebastian’s hair even harder, chest heaving, face flushed.

“Preparing you,” Sebastian says.

“That’s enough!” cries Ciel. “Three is enough, I- ah!” He throws his head back almost violently.

“Ah, I knew I’d find it,” Sebastian croons. “Your precious little spot…”

He begins thrusting his fingers and Ciel howls, kicking his legs frantically and pounding the sheets. “N… no! No! Don’t you dare make me come before you put your dick inside me, you bastard, don’t-“

“Patience,” says Sebastian, removing his fingers from that stretched hole and sitting back to unzip his fly, pull down his pants and boxers to his mid-thighs, and grab the condom he dropped on the bedsheets.

As soon as it’s around his cock and coated in lube, Sebastian grabs Ciel and flips him over, positioning his cock at that slick pink entrance. “Ready for me?” he says, leaning over Ciel’s back so that he’s speaking the words directly into Ciel’s ear.

Ciel twitches under him, pushing against his cock while saying, “Yes, yes, yes, yes, fuck, yes, do it, come on!”

Without another word, Sebastian pushes in. He does so slowly and steadily, and Ciel takes it. He moans, but he takes it, and Sebastian doesn’t think he’s ever been in a better ass before.

As he bottoms out, Ciel makes a strangled noise. Sebastian stills all movement, as if he were a beast trying not to scare its prey.

“Are you ok?” he says gently.

“Fuck you,” snaps Ciel.

Sebastian remains still, listening to Ciel’s pants of breath and feeling that small frame tremble and clench around him. He bites his lower lip, almost trembling himself as he patiently waits for Ciel to give him permission to move.

Finally, Ciel shudders and sighs out his body’s tension, relaxing as he chokes out, “Move.”

Sebastian lets out a grateful sigh in reply as he grips Ciel��s hips and pulls out, proceeding to push back in.

Ciel lets out a strangled noise and wiggles his hips, and Sebastian takes that as a sign to continue. He thrusts a few more times, keeping his rhythm gentle and smooth.

Ciel starts to fidget, pushing back against Sebastian’s hips, trying to get Sebastian’s dick moving inside him at a faster pace. But Sebastian’s got his hips gripped tightly, and so he has almost no control over the pace.

Sebastian smiles to himself, knowing that it won’t be too long before Ciel has to ask him to-

“What the fuck is this?” Ciel snaps, still moving his hips against Sebastian’s hands. “Are you 35 or 3500? This is pathetic. Fuck me properly or I swear to god I will put my fucking clothes on and leave- FUCK! GOD! SEBASTIAN!”

Ciel’s insolence pulls a growl out of Sebastian’s throat, and he begins slamming into Ciel’s body mercilessly.

Ciel continues to cry out, his words deteriorating into meaningless yelps and moans as Sebastian fucks him so hard his arms give out and he collapses face-first onto the bed, still moaning.

After several more thrusts, Sebastian feels himself approaching the precipice of orgasm. Reaching under Ciel’s smooth belly, he takes Ciel’s cute little cock in hand and begins pumping it.

“Ah, ah, ah, Sebastian, ah!” Ciel cries. “I’m close… I’m so close…”

“Come for me,” orders Sebastian, his tone not leaving any room for argument.

And Ciel obeys, bucking his hips and keening desperately as his come coats Sebastian’s palm, his muscles clenching around Sebastian’s cock.

“Good,” Sebastian manages to growl out before the pressure becomes too much, and he comes, hips thrusting rapidly.

As soon as he comes down from his high he pulls out, leaning back on his heels and seeing to the removal and disposal of the condom.

Ciel falls face-first on the mattress, his body limp and shuddering. After a moment, he turns over onto his back and inhales deep gulps of air through his swollen pink lips. His eyes are glazed over, his chest heaves. His spent cock is pearly with come, his nipples are still pink and peaked.

It’s a beautiful sight. Sebastian allows himself a self-congratulatory smile. He leans over to retrieve a cigarette and his beloved cat-shaped lighter.

“Smoking kills,” Ciel says hoarsely, through his pants.

Sebastian chuckles. “Thought it would take you a bit longer to regain your senses.”

“Oh, shut up,” says Ciel. He gingerly sits up, wincing and rubbing his hips. “But,” he says after a moment, “God. God. Where the fuck… where did you learn to fuck like that?”

Sebastian shrugs, taking a long drag of his cigarette. He’s somewhat surprised himself; he’s always been good at fucking, but he certainly feels as if Ciel drew out his best performance to date.

“God,” says Ciel again, flopping back onto the bed. He’s silent for a while, his peaches and cream body sprawled on the black sheets. Sebastian desperately wishes to paint him.

Suddenly, he sits up again and declares, “I’m thirsty.”

“I can get you water,” Sebastian offers, putting out his cigarette in the ashtray next to the bed and standing.

“Thanks,” says Ciel.

By the time Sebastian goes into the kitchen, pours a glass of water, and walks back, Ciel is up and hobbling over to the wall where Sebastian has hung some of his older paintings. “These are beautiful,” he says, reaching a hand out as if to touch before quickly pulling it back.

“Thank you,” Sebastian says, walking over to him. “These were the ones that I couldn’t bear to part with.” It’s odd, remembering how fond of his art he used to be.

Ciel looks at him in surprise, that big blue eye widening. “You mean that you made these?”

“This apartment didn’t pay for itself,” Sebastian says.

“This is how you made your money?” Ciel shakes his head. “Are you famous? In the art world, I mean.”

“Reasonably so,” Sebastian says modestly.

“Cool,” says Ciel. “Are you gonna give me that water?”

“My apologies,” Sebastian says, handing the glass over. He watches Ciel gulp down the water, eyes the still-cooling sweat on the boy’s delicate body, and realises that he wants to fuck again. “Will you be able to stay, have another round?”

Ciel finishes the drink and snorts. “Pervert,” he says. “Actually, if that clock on the bedside table is right, I need to go.”

“Well, that’s disappointing,” says Sebastian, watching Ciel carefully as he takes the glass back. “I wanted to hear your lovely moans again.”

“Oh my god,” Ciel blurts, slapping a hand over his face. “You can’t just say…” He sighs loudly. “Pervert.” He walks around the bed, collecting his scattered clothing and starting to dress himself. By the time he’s pulling on his sweater, Sebastian has given it up for lost.

But as he slips into his grey loafers, Ciel looks up and says, “I would be up for doing this again another day.”

Sebastian smiles. “Excellent,” he says. “Shall we agree on a time?”

Ciel nods. He thinks for a moment before saying, “Friday. Not this Friday, a week from tomorrow. 5 o’ clock, here.”

“Do I get a say?” Sebastian asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Does that work for you or not?” says Ciel bluntly.

Sebastian’s schedule is pretty sparse, so it doesn’t take him long to say, “It works for me.”

“Cool,” says Ciel. He heads towards the door and picks up his satchel. “I’ll see you then.”

He’s out the door before Sebastian can reply.

That night, Sebastian takes out his canvas and oil paints. Going straight for the blues, he covers the canvas with abstract swirls of colour. Blue is nice, he thinks.

Previously he rarely chose blue; his hellscapes were mostly composed of reds and blacks.

Perhaps it’s time for a change.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

Sebastian barely thinks about Ciel for the rest of the week.

Well, twice he finds himself masturbating to the memory of Ciel’s petite build, creamy skin, and perky ass, but that’s about it. His life, as a whole, is the same.

On Friday, the doorbell rings at 5:05 PM. As soon as Sebastian opens the door, Ciel is on him like a magnet, pulling him down by the collar of his shirt and attacking his mouth.

After a brief moment of surprise, Sebastian reciprocates the kiss and eagerly tastes that small, sweet mouth. He grows tired of stooping down fairly quickly, and scoops Ciel up, his hands on Ciel’s ass and mid-back.

Ciel squeaks as he’s lifted up, but quickly rallies; he wraps slim legs around Sebastian’s torso and slim arms around Sebastian’s neck.

Sebastian carries him to the dresser, propping him up so he’s at a high enough level for them to be face to face. Sebastian relieves Ciel of his sweater, this time a forest green, and rubs Ciel’s nipples with his thumbs. “I missed these,” he says, pinching them in emphasis, watching Ciel gasp and arch his back. “When I play with them, they become as red as cherries…”

“Cool,” Ciel says breathlessly, grabbing Sebastian’s head and pulling it towards him so they can share a heated kiss. “You better fuck me as hard as you did last time.”

Sebastian’s only response is to pull Ciel into his arms and bring him to the bedroom.

This time Sebastian pushes Ciel up against the bed frame, slamming into him in a steady rhythm until he shouts out his pleasure, his hands scrabbling for purchase against the wall, his nipples rubbing against the smooth wood of the bed frame.

“Seba… Sebastian!” yelps Ciel eventually. He sounds desperate. “I need… touch me…”

Sebastian laughs, a snarl in his throat. “I spoiled you last time,” he says. “If you’re so desperate to come, you’ll work your pretty little cock all by yourself, boy.”

Ciel lets out a whimper at the nickname, wrapping his hand around himself hurriedly. It doesn’t take long for him to come, mewling out Sebastian’s name and wiggling his little ass against Sebastian’s hips.

Sebastian feels his own climax coming, and picks up the pace until he yanks the boy onto him one last time, burying himself in Ciel’s ass and groaning loudly.

When he finishes, Sebastian begins to pull out, expecting Ciel to fall forward against the wall. But Ciel sits up and falls backward, collapsing into Sebastian’s arms. Sebastian barely catches him, almost too shocked to move.

Ciel shows no sign of getting up, and Sebastian’s legs are cramping. So he carefully uncrosses his legs, moving back to turn around and lean against the bed frame with his legs outstretched, holding Ciel against his chest. He isn’t sure what he’s doing, and it feels incredibly awkward and unfamiliar. But Ciel is panting, his slim bony back expanding and contracting against Sebastian’s chest, and it’s oddly soothing.

They stay like this for a while. Sebastian wants a cigarette, but finds himself incredibly reluctant to move.

Finally, Ciel speaks. “I’m hungry. D’you have food?”

Sebastian chuckles affectionately at his rudeness. “I can cook for you, if you like.”

Ciel wrinkles his nose. “I don’t want you to cook for me,” he says. “Can you order pizza? I like pepperoni. And I can eat a lot.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Sebastian says with a smile. Ciel squirms, and Sebastian immediately releases him, watching as he crawls to the edge of the bed and slides off.

Once he stands, Ciel looks down at the sticky drying cum on his stomach and grimaces. “Can I use your shower?”

“Sure,” says Sebastian. “Guest bedroom is across the hall, and the bathroom should be in there. There’s a few soaps.” He smiles as he continues in a more provocative tone, “I like the rosewater best, if you want my recommendation. It will feel very smooth on your skin, it has a nice fragrance, and I don’t mind the taste, either.”

“Oh my god,” says Ciel, shaking his head and flushing as he hurries into the bathroom.

Sebastian chuckles as he picks up the phone and orders a large half-pepperoni half-margeruita pizza.

He picks up his book to pass the time waiting for the pizza, but instead finds himself listening to the shower run, trying to picture Ciel soaking wet and rubbing his beautiful little body with soap (hopefully the rosewater). Sebastian would like to take up the soap and massage it into Ciel’s skin, get the boy sweet and sudsy and gasping with pleasure at his touch.

He wonders if Ciel is touching himself right now. He wonders if Ciel has touched himself during the week, thinking of Sebastian the way Sebastian has thought of him.

He realises that he still hasn’t smoked yet.

Ciel takes a long shower; by the time he walks into the living room fresh-faced and smelling of roses, the pizza box is open on the dining room table and Sebastian is lifting still-hot slices onto plates. The table has been set with cups and cloth napkins.

“Cloth napkins?” Ciel says, raising an eyebrow. “It’s pizza.”

“I prefer them,” Sebastian says, sliding a plate bearing a single slice of pepperoni pizza over to Ciel.

“Of course you do,” Ciel says, rolling his eyes as he sits down.

“Want a drink? I have water, seltzer, lemonade, or-“

“Lemonade,” says Ciel.

After pouring Ciel a glass of lemonade, Sebastian sits down to enjoy his own pizza. They eat in silence for a while.

“I looked you up,” says Ciel after finishing his second slice.

Sebastian raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I looked you up on the Internet,” Ciel elaborates, taking another bite of his pizza. “I was curious. I searched ‘Sebastian painter’.”

“And what did you find?” says Sebastian amusedly.

“You’re like… really famous in the art world,” Ciel says. “What’s up with that, Mister Michaelis?”

Sebastian snorts at Ciel’s use of his last name. “I told you that, didn’t I?”

Ciel rolls his eyes. “I feel like you understated it a bit.”

“Perhaps,” Sebastian admits. “I didn’t think it was very important.”

“Yeah, but it’s cool,” says Ciel.

“Is it really?” Sebastian says absentmindedly as he takes another bite of his pizza.

“You really don’t care, do you?” says Ciel, looking at him intensely. “At first I thought you were just being pompously modest… But you really don’t care.”

Sebastian sighs. “I used to,” he says. “It got old. Money doesn’t buy-“

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” says Ciel. “That’s a fucking lie and you know it.”

Sebastian is somewhat surprised by the outburst. “I take it that you’re having financial problems?”

Ciel huffs out a breath. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m a college student, what do you expect?”

“It’s been a long time since I was a college student,” Sebastian says.

“Ewwww, gross; you’re so old,” says Ciel, shuddering theatrically. “Anyway, I live on ramen and about fifty percent of my wardrobe has holes in it. My dorm is disgusting but I can’t afford my own place. I have to buy the general brands of shit when I shop. It’s unbearable. Money would make me a hell of a lot happier.”

“Well, I apologise if I’ve offended you,” Sebastian says courteously. “But in my own experience, I’ve become incredibly bored and woefully uninspired. I used to love painting so much, but now it feels like a chore.”

Ciel blows a raspberry. “So pick up a new hobby. You’re loaded, it’s not like you need to work to support yourself. Knit or play cribbage, or whatever the hell else old people do.”

Sebastian leans over the table, cupping Ciel’s chin and wiping tomato sauce from his cheek with a thumb. “You’re too young and unexperienced to understand,” he says fondly.

Ciel scowls, batting Sebastian’s hand away. “Suck my ass.”

“Next time, if you like,” Sebastian says lasciviously.

Ciel raises his eyebrows. “‘Next time’? Aren’t we getting ahead of ourselves?”

Realizing his blunder, Sebastian flushes slightly in embarrassment. “Perhaps. Are you saying you don’t want to do this again?”

Tilting his head, Ciel thinks for a moment. “No,” he says finally.

“No as in you don’t want to do this again, or no as in-“

“I’m not bored of you yet,” says Ciel. He finishes his pasta, takes a gulp of water, and looks up. “I hate having dinner without dessert,” he says pointedly.

Sebastian smiles. “How do you feel about homemade chocolate cake?”

“If you didn’t already fuck me, I would be letting you fuck me right now,” Ciel informs Sebastian as he licks his fork clean of chocolate in a thorough way that Sebastian very much appreciates. He’s never seen anyone enjoy a sweet this much.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Sebastian says. “You mentioned that I should get a hobby besides painting… I suppose you could call cooking and baking a hobby of mine.”

“I can’t cook or bake for shit,” Ciel says. “This may be the best cake I’ve ever had.”

“I was surprised when you accepted the cake so readily; I thought you didn’t want me to make anything for you,” says Sebastian.

Ciel shrugs. “I didn’t. But chocolate cake always wins.”

“Quite the sweet tooth you have there,” says Sebastian.

“Yeah? And so what?” Ciel says with a frown.

“Oh, nothing; I just find it cute,” says Sebastian with an indulging smile.

Ciel rolls his eyes. “Whatever floats your boat, old man.”

“Are you ever going to stop calling me old?” Sebastian says in exasperation.

“Nah,” says Ciel, scrunching up his face childishly. “Anyway, I need to go soon.”

“Oh, ok,” Sebastian says, somewhat put off by the change of subject. “So when shall I see you next?”

Ciel thinks for a moment, before saying, “Gimme your phone?”

Sebastian fetches his phone from the coffee table where he left it, and hands it to Ciel. Ciel pushes at the buttons for a moment before nodding and handing it to Sebastian. “Alright, I texted my phone. Add that number to your contacts, I’ll add yours.”

He’s acting as if I don’t know how phones work, Sebastian thinks, but all he does is nod. “Sounds good to me. And should we plan-“

“I’ll text you,” says Ciel.

When he’s gone, Sebastian puts the dishes in the dishwasher and the napkins in the laundry, closes the box of pizza and puts it in the fridge.

Then he goes into his workroom and begins work on a new piece. By the time he collapses into bed at 4 in the morning, it has started to look like a boy lying in a field of silvery roses and black grass; the boy’s one deep blue eye is the only vivid color present in the picture.

Chapter 3

Summary:

“I’m not dating him; you all know I don’t date."

Notes:

updated this weekend, just as promised! thanks for staying with me, you guys <3

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“Sebastian? Are you even listening?”

Sebastian looks up, startled from his reverie about Ciel’s inner thighs, to find all of his friends staring at him. He smiles sheepishly, saying, “I beg your pardon, I was spacing out. What were you saying, Will?”

“Honestly,” William scoffs, adjusting his glasses. “It’s as if you’re in another world.”

“We’re splitting the check, my friend,” says Agni, a helpful smile on his face.

“Classic Michaelis. Trying to get away without paying the check, are you?” Claude says spitefully.

“Ooh, Bassy, you horrible man!” says Grell, leaning on William’s shoulder and feigning a swoon. “I truly don’t understand how I ever loved you.”

Sebastian sighs, pinching his brow with one hand. “So I got distracted. Would you cut me some slack?”

He often wonders why he chooses to hang out with these people.

Agni has been his best friend since high school. The man is a genuine saint, and keeping him around makes Sebastian feel good about himself.

He met Grell in their freshman year of college. Both of them were art majors, although Grell’s medium of choice was an idiosyncratic brand of performance art that Sebastian has never really seen the appeal of. He spent most of his time dodging her romantic advances, but ended up supporting her as she went through her transition, getting into a few fights with a few transphobic assholes.

He met William at a college exhibition when the man came up to him and told him exactly what he thought of Sebastian’s paintings. “Melodramatic, but showing promise.” At first Sebastian was infuriated, but when William offered to be his agent, he realised that “melodramatic, but showing promise” was a glowing compliment from William T. Spears. And William has made him a very successful artist; the man is a genius at his job and Sebastian admires him for that. Their relationship was cemented, for better or for worse, when Grell went to one of Sebastian’s shows and immediately forgot her feelings for Sebastian in favor of William. No one was more surprised than William himself when he and Grell got engaged.

As for Claude… well. None of them are actually sure why they hang out with him. Claude is a sculptor, a creator of eerie and grotesque pieces. He isn’t quite as successful as Sebastian, but his most popular series is the spider series— depictions of wretched souls in webs, or spiders spilling out of the mouths of young children. He sort of grappled onto Sebastian at a gallery show and no one’s been bothered enough to tell him to get lost.

Anyway, together they’re a fairly volatile bunch. Sometimes Sebastian feels as if he’d rather murder them instead of spending another minute in their company; but for the most part, he takes a sort of dry amusement out of it all.

“To be honest, Bassy, you’ve seemed somewhat out of it for this entire night,” Grell says, leaning forward.

“That’s true,” Agni says with a concerned frown. “Are you all right?”

“I’m absolutely fine,” says Sebastian.

“I know what it is,” says Claude. He’s smiling lasciviously. “He’s distracted because he’s had a good fuck.”

Sebastian sighs, trying and failing to keep a similarly lascivious smile off of his own face. “Oh, get bent.”

“I still find it incredible that anyone would want to sleep with the likes of you,” William says.

“Your fiancee notwithstanding,” Sebastian shoots back, and William glares at him, speechless.

Grell giggles. “Boys, stop fighting over me! Come now, Bassy, spill! Who’s the lucky lady?”

“Or the lucky man,” adds Agni. He’s grinning widely. “I’ve been waiting for you to start dating, my friend!”

Sebastian rolls his eyes. “I’m not dating him; you all know I don’t date. I brought him home, we fucked once, it was good enough to go again. Now it’s probably going to be a regular thing.”

“That good, huh?” says Claude.

“He’s delicious,” says Sebastian, before he can help himself; Ciel’s shuddering, naked body is back in his head.

“You’re repulsive,” says William, taking off his glasses and rubbing his face.

“Awww, guys, William is getting all blushy!” Grell coos, throwing her arms around William’s shoulders. “Baby, you have got to stop being so much of a prude!”

“Unhand me,” mumbles William, his face now a bright crimson.

“Ooh, how I love it when you’re embarrassed!” Grell says, kissing all over his face. “You turn such a beautiful shade of red-”

“Do you mind?” Claude says, sounding as if he’s about to be physically ill. “I’ve just finished eating.”

Grell glares at Claude, and for a moment Sebastian thinks that he’s off the hook.

But then Agni says, “So what is he like, this lover of yours?”

Sebastian cringes. “For fuck’s sake, Agni, can you not use that word?”

“Please forgive me,” Agni says with an innocent smile. “What is he like, this person you are fucking to ignore the fact that you are advancing in age and have not yet found companionship?”

Sebastian glares at him before collecting himself and responding. “He’s… rude. Brash. Very sure of himself. Smart, biting wit… and he has such a lovely voice.”

“That does sound nice,” Claude says, sitting up slightly. “What does he look like?”

“Beautiful blue eyes, hair dyed blue-gray,” Sebastian says, falling back into his Ciel fantasies. “Short, slim build, nice posture… he’s a very noble-looking twink.”

“How delightful,” Claude says.

“Where did the two of you meet?” says Grell, leaning forward with her chin resting on her hands.

“A Starbucks,” Sebastian says.

“How romantic,” says William with a roll of his eyes. “And I suppose you took him back to your place so you could wow him with your needlessly grandiose apartment?”

“Well, that… and I wasn’t exactly about to fuck in a college dorm again,” Sebastian says without thinking. “I’m not that nostalgic for the old days.”

It takes a moment of silence for Sebastian to realize that he’s made a mistake.

“Sebastian Michaelis…” William says slowly. “Are you saying… am I understanding you correctly?”

“You’re fucking a college student!” Grell crows.

“God, I’m jealous,” says Claude.

“Disgusting,” William says. “Talk about having a midlife crisis.”

“I am not having a midlife crisis!” says Sebastian.

“Ooh, no, of course not,” Grell says pleasantly. “You’re just attempting to relive your college years with a little boy!”

“He is nineteen years old, for your information,” says Sebastian indignantly.

“Did you take his virginity?” Claude asks, his cheeks ruddy.

Sebastian glares at him. “God, no, Claude, I did not. Will you quit being so fucking creepy?”

“Please. Don’t waste your breath, Bassy,” says Grell with a giggle. “Might as well try and tell a cat not to scratch.”

“Ah, another charming third grade insult. You wound me, Grell,” says Claude dryly.

“How dare you insult my intelligence?” demands Grell, standing up suddenly. “I will have you know—“

“Anyway,” Sebastian says quickly. “I need to get back home. Would you all just drop it?”

As he walks out of the bar, beginning the fifteen minute walk back to his apartment, Agni catches up with him. “You were awfully quiet in there,” Sebastian says dryly. “That disappointed in me, huh?”

Agni puts his large, gentle hands on Sebastian’s shoulders, staring at Sebastian intensely. “I just want you to allow yourself happiness, my friend.” Then he turns and walks off in the other direction.

Sebastian bristles. “What do you mean by that?” he calls out at Agni’s retreating back. “‘Allow myself’? If I could be happy, I would be!”

Agni does not reply, and Sebastian huffs out a frustrated breath before resuming his walk home.

Three days later, he starts to get impatient, wondering when Ciel is going to call.

A week later, he starts to worry that Ciel is never going to call.

A day after that, his phone rings at midnight.

He’s in his workroom when it rings, and he hurriedly wipes paint of his hands so he can pick it up before it goes to voicemail. “Hello?”

“This is Ciel.” The voice sounds a bit lazy and slurred, but it’s definitely Ciel, alright.

Sebastian smiles. “Good evening, Ciel. How are you?”

“Kinda drunk.”

“I can tell,” Sebastian says with a chuckle.

“Only a lil’ bit, though,” says Ciel defensively. “A couple drinks at a bar.”

Sebastian frowns, finding that he doesn’t like the idea of Ciel drinking alone at a bar. “Are you with your friends?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Ciel says. “Alois ’n Lizzie ’n Sieglinde. We’re out on the town.”

“Having fun?” says Sebastian.

“No,” Ciel says bluntly. “This place sucks. I’ve already been groped by three guys and one lady.”

Sebastian feels anger rush through him. “I’m sorry about that,” he says, trying to keep his tone even. “Maybe you should leave the bar.”

“Maybe I should,” agrees Ciel. “Maybe I should… I should go… you!”

“I’m sorry?”

“Your place,” Ciel says impatiently. “I should come over. Can I come over?”

“Of course,” Sebastian says without thinking. “Of course you can come over.”

“Cooooool,” Ciel says, drawing out the word. “Y’re like… ten minutes away from here? Twenty? I dunno, I’ll figure it out.”

“Ciel, don’t walk,” says Sebastian, not trusting the boy to find his way here whilst inebriated. “Take a taxi.”

“What’re you… what?” Ciel says. “Are you serious? I don’t have the money for—“

“Don’t worry, I’ll reimburse you,” says Sebastian.

He somewhat expects Ciel to protest this, but Ciel immediately says, “Ok. Be there soon,” and hangs up the phone.

Five minutes later, Sebastian gets another call.

“I’m in the taxi. What’s your address again?”

Sebastian chuckles and relays it to Ciel, grateful that the boy has found a taxi without issue.

He hurries to clean himself up before Ciel arrives, changing clothes and spraying on a bit of cologne right as the doorbell rings.

“Hey,” he says as he opens the door. “How was the ride?”

“Bumpy,” says Ciel, scooting past Sebastian to enter the apartment. He seems a bit more sober than when he was on the phone, but there’s still a flush on his cheeks and a stumble in his step; it’s quite cute.

“How much did it cost?” Sebastian asks, reaching for his wallet on the table near the door. “I can-“

“We can talk about money later,” says Ciel, grabbing the wallet and throwing it back on the table. “Fuck me now.” Same as last time, he grabs Sebastian’s lapels and gets on his tip-toes for a kiss.

Sebastian returns the kiss for a moment, before putting his hands on Ciel’s shoulders and gently pushing him back. “Hold on,” he says. “Ciel, how drunk are you? I don’t want—“

“Oh, ew…” says Ciel. “Don’t get all lovey-dovey on me now. I’m drunk and horny, ravish me or I’m gonna leave.”

“Very well,” says Sebastian with a sigh. He throws Ciel over his shoulder, allowing himself a smile when the boy laughs raucously and feigns as if he’s going to wriggle out of Sebastian’s grip.

“You always throw me around, you brute,” says Ciel as he’s tossed onto the bed, holding out his arms and spreading his legs for Sebastian to crawl between them. When Sebastian gets close enough, Ciel wraps around him like a koala.

“I can’t help it,” murmurs Sebastian, leaning in to mouth at Ciel’s neck. “You’re so petite and yet so assertive; it takes a firm hand to pin you down.”

Ciel shivers violently, tightening his grip on Sebastian as if he’s afraid of being blown away. “You… you’re so creepy…”

“I think you like it,” says Sebastian, giving Ciel’s neck a bite and listening with satisfaction to the resulting squeak. “I also think I’m going to take off your clothes now.”

Ciel nods, relinquishing his grip on Sebastian so that he can be undressed. Once all of his clothes have been removed, Sebastian goes to kiss him again, but Ciel puts a hand over Sebastian’s mouth to stop him. “Wait,” he says.

“What is it?” says Sebastian, leaning back and hoping that Ciel hasn’t changed his mind.

Ciel drags his hand down to tug at Sebastian’s shirt. “You’re always… you’ve never take your clothes off when we’ve fucked.”

“True,” says Sebastian.

“Well… can you?” says Ciel, playing with one of Sebastian’s shirt buttons as if about to undo it.

Sebastian considers it for a moment. Truthfully, he doesn’t know exactly why he doesn’t undress during sex; it’s become such a habit that he doesn’t even think about it.

But Ciel is looking up at him with big, glossy mismatched eyes, deep and hazy blues popping against skin flushed drunken red, that succulent bottom lip bitten by ivory white teeth, and Sebastian doesn’t believe it would even be possible for him to say no to such a request.

“Very well,” he says, quickly unbuttoning his shirt and backing off the bed to hang it over the desk chair. While he’s up, he also removes his socks, pants, and underwear. “This better?” he says, turning back to Ciel with a sheepish smile.

Ciel’s eyes widen slightly, and he’s silent for a moment. Sebastian feels his cheeks warm, regrets this entire situation. There’s no way a nineteen year old boy, young and strong and gorgeous, is ever going to be enthralled by the physique of a thirty-five year old—

“Shit, you’re gorgeous,” says Ciel, sitting up slightly. “I can’t fucking believe you’ve been covering that up, all this time.”

Sebastian smiles. Of course, I had nothing to worry about. “My apologies,” he says, getting back on the bed and between Ciel’s legs. “Shall we continue?”

Ciel grins. “I grabbed this while you were changing,” he says, holding up the lube teasingly.

Sebastian preps him with one hand, placing the other hand firmly on his smooth tummy to keep him from wriggling. Ciel keeps moaning and calling his name, the alcohol apparently making him more impatient than he usually is. Finally, Sebastian can’t take it any more and grips Ciel’s shoulder as he guides his cock inside.

It takes him a few minutes, a few firm thrusts into that beautiful plump ass, before Sebastian realizes that he isn’t fucking Ciel from behind.

He always fucks from behind. Always, always. He hates having to make eye contact with partners during sex; it’s awkward, and they usually end up saying something ridiculous like ‘I love you’.

But when he meets Ciel’s eyes, it’s not awkward at all. It’s enthralling; he gets lost in blues. And when Ciel opens his mouth, he doesn’t say ‘I love you’. He says, “Why the fuck are you slowing down? Faster, Sebastian… fucking faster!”

And Sebastian complies. When he eventually comes, pushed over the edge by Ciel’s clenching body and high-pitched cries, he gets to stifle his groans by kissing Ciel deeply. It’s nice.

Ciel falls asleep in Sebastian’s bed, clearly worn out from a night of barhopping and sex. Sebastian doesn’t have the heart to wake him, also quite tired himself. Instead, he pulls the boy close to him , planning on resting for a few minutes before getting up to clean both of them off.

He ends up falling asleep, too.

Notes:

next chapter we will meet Ciel's friends :)

Chapter 4

Summary:

Hiding a little secret, were we?

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

The next morning, Sebastian is so surprised to find someone else in his bed that he nearly pushes Ciel to the floor. Thankfully, he remembers the events of last night in time, and freezes as he debates what to do next.

The boy is nestled against his front, his back against Sebastian’s chest. Sebastian has to gently shift back on the bed until he can stand up without possibly waking Ciel.

Once he does, he stands and stares at Ciel for a while, wondering what exactly his next move should be. He’s never let a hook-up stay the night before, and this whole situation frankly terrifies him.

Well, he’s going to be hungry, isn't he? Sebastian thinks suddenly. I should make food. And he can’t think of any logical argument against that.

As he’s pulling on boxers and pajama pants, he decides to make something simple, just pancakes. Nothing to give Ciel the impression that this little sleepover means anything significant. Just pancakes, and maybe eggs if there’s enough left over. And maybe…

“Wha-?”

He turns around to see Ciel sitting up in bed, blinking in confusion. “Where am I?” he mumbles.

“Good morning,” Sebastian says awkwardly. “Um, you’re in my bed.”

“Sebastian?” says Ciel, turning to face him. Suddenly, he winces and puts a hand over his face. “Fuck.”

“Hangover?” says Sebastian. “I can bring you some Advil and water.”

“Please,” says Ciel, using both hands to rub his temples.

I want to do that for him, Sebastian thinks. Massage his headaches away. He shakes off the thought, gets the Advil and brings it, along with a glass of water, to Ciel.

Ciel gulps it down. “Thanks,” he says gratefully.

“Of course,” says Sebastian. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, this isn’t the worst hangover I’ve ever had by a long shot,” says Ciel.

“Well, good,” says Sebastian. “Um, but what I meant was… are you alright with what happened?”

Ciel gives him an alarmed look. “What are you talking about?”

“You know,” Sebastian says with a shrug. “The whole ‘we had sex while you were drunk’ thing?”

“Oh, geez, you scared me,” says Ciel, putting a hand on his heart. “Nah, I’m fine. Not the first time I’ve gotten drunk and woken up in bed with someone.”

“Oh,” says Sebastian, somewhat crestfallen.

“But this is definitely better than the other times,” Ciel adds.

Sebastian smiles, suddenly in high spirits. “I’m glad to hear it,” he says. “You must be hungry. I was going to make pan-“

“No thanks,” says Ciel, tossing off the covers to reveal his naked body and stretching languidly.

Sebastian experiences a weird mixture of arousal and disappointment. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” says Ciel, finding his clothes on the bedside table and proceeding to dress. “I really have to go. Lots of work.”

“It wouldn’t take too long for me to make breakfast,” says Sebastian. He doesn’t know why he’s pushing against Ciel leaving so much; isn’t it exactly what he wants?

“I’ll grab a bagel on my way back,” says Ciel, pulling his sweater on. He heads out the door to grab his satchel and shoes, Sebastian on his tail, until he stops in his tracks and Sebastian nearly collides with him. “Shit,” he says. “No money for a bagel.”

“That’s no problem,” says Sebastian, going to the table near the door and grabbing his wallet where Ciel threw it last night. “I owe you money, remember?” He opens the wallet and, after a moment of thought, grabs a fifty dollar bill and two twenties and gives them to Ciel.

Ciel takes the money, looks at it. Looks back up at Sebastian. “This is not how much the cab costed,” he says. "Not even close."

“I know,” says Sebastian. “But… you were talking about money troubles, weren’t you? I just… I have a lot of money. You should have some of it.”

“I’m not a whore,” Ciel says.

“I know!” Sebastian says quickly. “I know that. I just…”

Ciel raises an eyebrow. “Sugar daddy, huh?”

Sebastian shrugs and smiles, relieved. “If you like.”

After a moment of consideration, Ciel solemnly says. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Happy to help,” Sebastian says. He stoops down to pick up Ciel’s bag and hand it to him. “I suppose you should get going.”

Ciel nods, slinging the bag over his shoulder. “I’ll text you?” he asks. It’s the first time he’s actually asked about meeting, instead of flatly announcing when they’ll next meet.

“Whenever you like,” says Sebastian, turning the doorknob and holding the door open, watching Ciel leave.

Ciel had somewhat hoped to sneak back into his dorm room without attracting the attention of his suite mates. But the moment he steps into the common area of their suite, he finds Lizzie on the couch, dressed in a tank top and satiny pajama shorts, lying on her stomach and surfing her laptop.

She looks up as the door shuts behind him. “Look who’s here,” she says, shutting her laptop and sitting up. “Come here, you little slut, tell me how it was.”

Ciel collapses on the couch. “God…” he says. “Fantastic. I came so hard I almost forgot my own name again.”

Lizzie sighs, shaking her head. “You’ve had such a good run, lately.”

“Yeah, right?” says Alois, suddenly appearing from behind the couch and sitting down next to him.

“Where the fuck were you?” Ciel says, starting in surprise.

“On the floor, stretching,” says Alois. “But let’s not change the subject. Stop taking all the good men, Ciel.” He deflates a little bit as he adds, “I mean, it’s not like I’d be taking them, I guess…”

Ciel pats his shoulder encouragingly. “Well…” he says slowly, fidgeting a bit. “I wasn’t going to tell you guys this, but since it’s more of a thing, now… it’s the same guy.”

“What?” say Lizzie and Alois in unison.

“The last three times I’ve gotten laid? I’ve been fucking the same guy,” says Ciel.

“Shut the fuck up,” Alois says loudly.

The door to Sieglinde’s room slams open. “People are trying to read about dinosaur cryptid theories, here!” After a moment, Sieglinde enters the main room, carefully manipulating her crutches as she makes a beeline for the couch.

“Are we going to have a problem with those dinosaur cryptids?” Lizzie asks, moving over so she can pull Sieglinde in and wrap her arms around her. “I know for a fact that you didn’t go to bed until 3:30 last night because you were too busy reading about them.” Pressing a kiss to Sieglinde’s temple, she adds, “Those pretty green eyes are gonna fall out!”

“Look who’s talking about pretty green eyes,” says Sieglinde, kissing Lizzie on the nose.

Alois sighs. “When exactly are you two going to close your open relationship, again?”

“After college,” the two women say in unison.

“Anyway, what’s all the yelling about?” says Sieglinde.

“Ciel’s got a boyfriend,” says Alois.

“I do not,” Ciel says loudly, before putting his head in his hands. “Ugh… this is why I didn’t want to tell you guys.”

Ciel often finds himself incredibly exasperated by the three of them, but he never stops being unendingly grateful that he managed to find a group of friends who love and support him.

Lizzie has been his friend since they were five, next-door neighbors until her family moved away when they were thirteen. They stayed in touch, though, and made sure to meet up whenever they could get the chance. When they both expressed interest in the same college, it proved to be an excellent chance for them to live close to each other again.

Ciel met Sieglinde when he took a semester of German in the spring of their freshman year; she was the teaching assistant. He struggled somewhat with the class, and she agreed to meet with him personally to tutor him. On one of those occasions, she met Lizzie.

This began a very tumultuous semester, during which the two women openly despised each other and attempted to use Ciel in order to make the other one angrier. This eventually culminated in the two of them realizing that they were absolutely mad for each other, and they’ve been very enthusiastically together ever since; but they still have an open relationship, still occasionally hooking up with other people, claiming that they’re too young and flirty to get tied up in one relationship. It’s very obvious that they’re going to become exclusive someday, though.

Lizzie met Alois when they were in a dance show together, and he became a member of their little squad fairly quickly. He was charming, loving, and flirty, but it was easy to see that he had some issues. Not only did he go to every party, get smashed out of his mind, and go home with the first man who was willing; he also suffered from vicious mood swings, bouncing between mania and depression, and self-harmed.

By the end of their first year of college, he was a genuine danger to his own safety, and the three of them helped him make the decision to take a year off from school. However, once he confessed to them what exactly he would be facing if he returned home to his father, they all agreed to let him live in the suite they would have in their sophomore year. Currently he’s off drugs, booze, and sex, taking his medication regularly and seeing a therapist. He’s improving, and they’re all ferociously proud of him.

It’s a nice little family, very supportive and intimate. However, that means that whenever Ciel gets a new partner, he has to get the third degree from three very energetic and nosy people; this is why he’s been putting off telling them about Sebastian.

“So, if it’s not a boyfriend, then what… you got a new fuckbuddy?” says Sieglinde.

Ciel feels his face flush. “…Yeah,” he says reluctantly.

“What’s he like?” says Lizzie.

Ciel thinks of Sebastian, and sighs. “Tall; much taller than me. Dark hair, kinda weird hairstyle, like it’s messy? But it suits him. Pale skin, reddish brown eyes. He’s… very handsome. Very fit. His dick is awesome.”

“How big?” says Alois.

“Gotta be at least 8 inches, erect.”

“Ohhh…” Alois exhales, sliding down in his seat. “I miss dick…”

“Well, what’s his personality like?” says Lizzie.

Ciel shrugs. “He’s nice enough. But also kind of like your typical perverted older guy.”

“Wait, wait. How old?” says Sieglinde.

Ciel allows himself a smirk. “Thirty-five.”

“Shut the FUCK UP, Ciel Phantomhive,” says Lizzie, smacking him on the arm.

Ciel rubs at the point of contact, wincing. “He’s rich, too,” he adds before he can stop himself. “He’s a pretty famous artist.”

“Ooh, has he given you any dreamy artsy comments?” Lizzie says eagerly.

Ciel shrugs. “Nah, we’re not like that. He says I have a tight ass, if that counts.”

“It does,” Alois says, nodding solemnly. Ciel rolls his eyes.

“What’s his name?” says Sieglinde.

“Sebastian. Sebastian Michaelis,” says Ciel, relishing how his tongue curls around the name.

Sieglinde has pulled out her phone and is now typing intently. “Ah,” she says suddenly. “Sebastian Michaelis. The Hellscape series.”

“That’s it,” says Ciel, watching as Alois and Lizzie crowd around Sieglinde to look at her phone. He feels oddly nervous, as if it’s his own art that’s being scrutinized.

“It’s alright,” Sieglinde says after a moment.

“Alright?” says Ciel. “Just alright?”

Lizzie shrugs. “Kind of moody.”

“He seems like a real downer,” Alois agrees.

“Well, I like them,” Ciel says defensively.

“Mmmm, of course you do,” says Sieglinde. “Gotta support the bae’s artwork.”

“Wha- Sieglinde!” says Ciel angrily, standing up. “We’re fucking. No strings attached. If anything, he may be my sugar daddy, but we are not dating.”

“Wait, is he giving you money?” says Lizzie.

“Yep. He gave me ninety bucks this morning,” says Ciel.

“Why would he give you money?” Sieglinde says, frowning. “He knows that you’re Ciel Phantomhive, heir to the Phantomhive family fortune, right?”

Ciel smiles smugly. “Well… I may have left that part out when I was telling him about how poor I am right now.”

Lizzie gasps. “You mean to tell me that he thinks you’re actually poor, and not just temporarily cut off from your parent’s money?”

“Maaaaybe,” says Ciel. Looking at her disapproving face, he says defensively, “Lizzie, what my dad did was totally unfair! Cutting me off so I could ‘see how the other half lives’; what bullshit!”

"You're going to inherit a multi-million dollar company when your father retires, Ciel," Lizzie says, glaring at him. "I find quite it hard to feel bad for you."

“Sebastian is giving you money because he thinks you’re genuinely poor,” says Alois, looking stunned. “And he’s great at sex. Ciel, you’re living the dream. The evil, evil dream.”

“Maybe,” says Ciel modestly.

Lizzie shakes her head. “You’re such an ass, Ciel Phantomhive. How do you expect to have a good relationship with your new boyfriend if you’re not honest with him?"

“He’s not my-“ Ciel begins indignantly, before realizing he’s being provoked.

“The lady doth protest too much,” says Sieglinde with a cackle.

Ciel scowls. “Fuck all of you. I’m gonna go shower.”

“I’ve got it,” Sebastian announces into his cell, standing in his studio and staring his newest draft of a painting.

On the other side of the phone, William sighs. “And just what exactly do you have?”

“My series. For the gallery. Will, you have to come over, you have to see—“

“I’m in the middle of taking my lunch,” says William.

“Will, it’s so cool, come on,” Sebastian whines. “You have to see, you have to see!”

“You are a five year old in an oversized body,” William informs him coldly.

“Williaaaaaam,” whines Sebastian.

William sighs again, longer this time. “Give me thirty minutes. You had better not be wasting my time, I’m on a very busy schedule.”

“Aren’t you always?” says Sebastian with a grin.

William hangs up on him.

“I don’t know the name of it, yet,” says Sebastian, as he leads William into his studio about thirty minutes later. “I only know what it’s going to look like.”

William raises an eyebrow. “Well, what is it going to look like?” he asks.

“Like… this,” Sebastian says, uncovering the painting in progress.

“A boy,” says William, surveying the painting. “And blue.”

“Works centered around this idea of the boy, surrounded by blue,” says Sebastian. “Lonesome, proud. He was suffering, so he made a deal with the devil. He’s doomed to hell and he knows it, isn’t afraid of it. And there’s still so much purity left in him, even amongst his corruption. That’s what draws the devil to him.”

#black butler fanfiction

[amyreadsandstresses]

The Parental Unit

Over the years, the fandom has created several theories as to what kind of people could have possibly raised men like Sherlock and Mycroft. And, throughout the first two seasons of the show, imaginations were let to run wild.

I have seen several of these theories; from abusive and neglectful parents, to mentally ill and/or actively addicted, or the premature -and often traumatic- death of at least one parent (sometimes a third family member, like a sibling). The focus is often given to “Mummy Holmes”, whom the Holmes Brothers refer to on more than one occasion throughout the show, unlike their father, who remains unmentioned.

Now, the mentions of Mummy are rather revealing, I think. The first time she is mentioned is in A Study in Pink, for only a brief bit of dialogue (as is often the case for whatever insight we get into the backgrounds of all the characters in the show), and is -as often- one of the many “tools” Mycroft dangles in Sherlock’s face. I always thought that bit of dialogue was an attempt to “keep Sherlock in check”, so to speak. And Sherlock’s response, I always thought, is rather interesting.

Mycroft mentions how Sherlock’s rather brusque behaviour has always upset Mummy, and Sherlock retaliates insinuating it is Mycroft who often gets on her bad side. It is also during that one conversation that we know Mummy is still alive. But we hear nothing of Mr. Holmes.

Later, in A Scandal in Belgravia, Mycroft uses Mummy against Sherlock once again. It appears a simple enough jape, an “I’ll be Mummy” while Sherlock is the petulant toddler. But, again, Sherlock reveals something that, to me, has always been charged with meaning. A quick and humorous “and that’s a whole childhood in a nutshell.”

There’s nothing on Mr. Holmes yet again, by the way.

We don’t hear of the parental unit again until series three, and before we go into that mess, I do want to explore a bit more of what we previously knew. After all, those little mentions and the dynamic between the brothers could be seen to imply that their mother is something of a sore point and easy to level against Sherlock, while Mycroft seems to have a particular tension when it comes to her. Also, the relationship between Mycroft and Sherlock appears strained from episode one, even if we grow to know them better and recognize that there truly is a lot of love there. However, Mycroft always treats (and frankly sees) Sherlock as a child he is completely responsible for, parental unit or not; meanwhile, Sherlock (let’s face it) acts like a toddler with poor manners every time his older brother is near. Some could argue that is simply a common behaviour between siblings. But I don’t think so.

As an older sister myself, I know I have never been the person who teaches my younger sibling the most primordial of her life philosophy (caring isn’t an advantage), nor am I the one who struggles for her to get dressed or behave “properly” wherever I take her. That, I think, is often more the behaviour a parent has towards their child. And that little jape about Mycroft being Mummy only seems to establish that further in my mind.

In fact, before series 3, I always thought that Mycroft had been Sherlock’s primary caregiver, and that while Mrs. Holmes was very clearly alive, she wasn’t as involved in parenting her children, even if she loved them; which is where the strain she has with Mycroft comes from. And perhaps even some of Sherlock’s outrage, especially if he is truly close to Mummy (something I never got from the older Holmes brother).

And then… the last two parts of the show… alright, let’s go.

I am amongst the dying species of individuals that don’t hate the last two series (particularly series 4), but it is very true that the genre of the show changed drastically during 3 & 4, as did the character dynamics. And amongst those is the dynamic of the Holmes Clan, specifically the role of the Parental Unit in the story. Or, more accurately, the fact that they now have one.

And I don’t like it. Here’s why.

During series 1 & 2 the Parental Unit became something of a mystery, a very clear part of what had made both Sherlock and Mycroft who they were, but without any details, all of which allowed our many theories and delightful fanfics. But, in The Empty Hearse, we see both Mummy and MR. HOLMES alive and well, and painfully common. This could have been an interesting take if we had seen the effects that two common parents would have on two very uncommon children, and then come to the conclusion that that is behind Mycroft’s extra care for Sherlock. But we don’t. We get a clever and witty mother, who is also a bit brusque (believable enough) and a rather bland father who just sits there and smiles; and they both seemed rather unbothered about the fact that their youngest just spent two years on the run while he dismantled a criminal network, sure “they’re glad all that dreadful stuff is over” but nothing more. And Holmes Father doesn’t really do anything, again. I truly don’t know if Mr. Holmes was always supposed to be there or if he was just added in so that both of Benedict’s parents could cameo on the show; I’m leaning towards the latter.

And after they fuss a bit, and Sherlock panics because he obviously cares more about his tenuous relationship with John than he does Billy Elliot (or whatever musical it was), both parents walk away. EXCEPT, we do get a little something of Mummy Holmes clearly being the only person that can truly reign Sherlock in, if only a bit. And that’s really the only part of the scene that I find relevant (other than Ben’s parents, but that’s separate to the story itself). Because we see Sherlock being soft, and relatively vulnerable with someone other than John and Mrs. Hudson. We never see Mycroft do that with anyone other than with Sherlock. In the words of the Consulting Detective, how very telling.

We see them again during His Last Vow, while celebrating Christmas along with the Watsons, and it’s all rather… underwhelming. Mycroft sasses his mother and she sasses him back, Mr. Holmes is off doing something nice, and Sherlock is plotting to drug his whole family. Probably not for the first time. Other than that, the focus rapidly shifts to Magnussen and Mary, and a delightful pair of scenes between the Holmes brothers that still squish my heart. But something I do think is clearer, is that Mummy fusses over Sherlock while she lectures Mycroft about laptops. This could be interpreted as simply over protection of her youngest, especially after he was recently hospitalized. And I did interpret it like that the first time, but now I’m not so sure, though we need to reach series 4 to clarify why.

What I do want to note is that small moment where we confirm exactly how Mycroft views Sherlock: a little boy with tears running down his cheeks that he needs to protect above anything else. In other words, his responsibility. I think you probably know where I’m going with this.

Then, series 4. Specifically, The Final Problem. Not what I expected, and a bit reaching, but I can work with it. So, here we go.

Eurus Holmes, the Other One, and one hell of a criminal. Now, I don’t want to focus on Moriarty, or the experiment itself or anything. I do want to focus on her role in Sherlock’s life and, consequently, Mycrofts. Because now we know that the older Holmes sibling has lived his entire life in fear of what Eurus could do to Sherlock, be it from afar or from the depths of the younger’s memory. And we also know that he has been trained by Uncle Rudy to be The British Government and keep Eurus in line. Just like we know he was taught to lie to his parents (and everyone, really, about what had truly happened). Because let’s remember that Mycroft was a child himself during the Victor Trevor is Redbeard debacle.

I do have one question, though. Ehem, WHERE THE HELL WERE MR AND MRS HOLMES, EXACTLY?

Eurus experiments on little Sherlock, makes him “steal from Mummy”, scared the living hell out of him, “drowns Redbeard” and, and I quote “MAKES HIM SCREAM ALL NIGHT” and the parental unit did… what, exactly? Now, this is my problem with BBC’s depiction of the Holmes parents, because they seeked to give us the explanation as to why Sherlock was who he was, and why Mycroft worried constantly, but they didn’t want to do it through the parents and so… they made them useless instead of abusive.

“Alone protects me.”

No wonder that became Sherlock’s coping mechanism after being both manipulated and abused by his sister, watching his house burn down and learning his only friend had been murdered… because Eurus wanted his attention, and no-one saw what was happening. Except for Mycroft. Now, one could argue that Eurus was too smart and could have tricked everyone, after all, she was a criminal mastermind. Only she wasn’t like that at five, was she? Oh, I’m sure she was incredibly smart, but she was still a child, and if Mummy is truly as smart as they wanted us to think, I have some trouble believing she didn’t see that there was something wrong. Because teenage Mycroft sure did. And I assume Mr. Holmes was off being nice somewhere, as that is his only character trait.

But, their failure isn’t only in the Eurus debacle while it was happening, it is also after. Sherlock forgets everything, rewrites his memories, in order to survive; and no-one did anything? No-one thought that child needed help? Because we are not led to believe he got it. All we know is that he was allowed to curl into himself, become prickly and aggressive in order to protect himself, and we know he was often mistreated by his peers (read: The Blind Banker). And the only guidance a young boy who had just experienced severe trauma received came from his teenage older brother, who was at most 14 at the time. Caring isn’t an advantage indeed.

That’s where my interpretation of her fussing over Sherlock more than she does Mycroft comes into play, because I think Mummy Holmes established a pattern of behaviour that we got to look into during His Last Vow; Sherlock got hurt, and the parental unit’s inaction didn’t make anything better. So, what if they feel guilty, particularly Mummy? And so they are soft with Sherlock as a way to make up for it, while Mycroft actually parents the younger boy and has a bit of resentment towards Mrs. and Mr. Holmes for not stepping up, perhaps ever. After all, Sherlock has a list, and Mycroft has a file.

And, to top it all off, we have Mummy’s “then he is very limited”, which, I’m sorry, but she’s got some nerve. Wasn’t it Uncle Rudy that actually incarcerated Eurus and groomed Mycroft to take over? Wasn’t it her (and Mr. Holmes, I suppose) that failed to act in defense of either of their children? Wasn't it Mycroft that took care of Sherlock and lived everyday in fear that the truth would tear his little brother appart?

I am not saying that Mycroft Holmes is in any way perfect, not at all. But I do think that this rather jigsaw version of the Parental Unit is even less so. But I suppose that what I dislike the most is how they are presented. The very common, harmless and relatively sweet Mr. and Mrs. Holmes.

Now, I am not saying that the Holmes parents are bad people either, not at all. Taking in consideration what little we know of the Canon and what can be inferred when we connect the dots, I can believe that they were well intentioned and loved their children. But I cannot believe that they were in any way competent. And am convinced that, when it counted, Mycroft played Mummy.

#sherlock bbc #ao3 writer #bbc sherlock #ao3 #sherlock holmes #sherlock #sherlock fandom #mycroft bbc #sherlock and mycroft #mr and mrs holmes #sherlock meta #is this a meta? #let's pretend it is #I made a meta

[multific]

Solve a Murder

Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Summary: You were desperate. You needed help and so, you turned to the one man in London who would be able to help.

“Mr. Holmes, I’m here to hire you to solve a murder.”

“And who’s murder would that be?”

“Mine.”

“Pardon?” asked Dr. Watson.

“It’s my step-sister. I suspect she and her husband want me dead. You see, I inherited my father’s land when she thought she would be the one to get it. And now, just the way she looks at me. She offers me drinks, way too often, I suspect she is trying to poison me. I fear for my life, and lately I haven’t been feeling well. You need to help me. Find evidence that she is plotting my death so I can go to the police.”

The two men looked at each other. 

“I knew I shouldn’t have come.” you said as you stood up, they made you feel like you were a fool, but then the Doctor spoke up making you look back at him.

“How long have you been suspecting that she is trying to poison you?”

“About a month. My dad died five months ago, I lost my mum when I was little, so he married another woman who gave him my step sister. My step mum died two years ago, or rather disappeared. Dad left everything to me in his will. And my sister was fuming, saying that she was the one to deserve it. Back that I was so sad, I didn’t even realize she said that. During the four months I was grieving, but then I started to notice things.”

“Things like?”

“Her servants bringing me food and tea, which is a nice gesture but...it’s usually after I already ate. And then I started to get sick a lot more often. I’m not one to fall sick easily. The doctor said it was just a cold, but...I know she did something. The look on her face said it all. She looked happy when I was in bed for a week. I tried asking for help, but everyone thinks I’m paranoid.”

“I believe you.” said Watson as he looked back at Sherlock who only rolled his eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s clearly only the mind of a woman, making up scenarios. Why are you really here? You are wasting my time.” his words were harsh. And they hurt. Just as the nice Doctor turned to scold his friend, you spoke up, tear running down your face.

“I hope Mr. Holmes, that you will visit my grave one day. I just wish to see your face when you realize that you were wrong.” you said as you stormed out of the house.

You felt so silly. And to think that you were extremely nervous when you decided to seek for his help. You didn’t even realize that you left your scarf at the house. 

***

You were truly helpless, you didn’t have any friends to talk to, your maids were fired by her, leaving only her trusted ones behind. You were trapped in your own house.

And you didn’t have evidence to go to the police either. Although you looked everywhere in the house for signs. But you were unable to find anything, no bottles, no poison, nothing.

The worst however was that you were gradually falling more ill, day after day.

It felt like you were dying from the inside. So, you called the doctor over.

The doctor said that your illness was due to the loss of your father. The doctor blamed depression, but you knew it wasn’t that. Not with the way your sister was smirking and smiling when she thought you weren’t watching.

One day, you felt so terrible, you couldn’t even get out of the bed. 

And from that day on, you didn’t.

You were so ill, the sun hurt your eyes and you felt useless. You just laid in bed, you weren’t even sure for how long.

You had barely any appetite. And you wondered how many days have passed.

***

“Miss Y/L/N, two gentlemen are here to talk to you. They said they brought your scarf back.” one of the maid’s said before they left, leaving the door open to let the two men in. You tried to sit up, look at least presentable, but you were too weak.

“Miss Y/L/N,” you recognized that voice, that calm and kind voice.

“Dr. Watson,” you said smiling at the man, not noticing that Sherlock was also in the room.

“You left your scarf. Don’t get me wrong, My Lady, but you look very ill.” said the doctor as he placed the cloth by your hand. You grabbed it and thanked him.

“The doctor was just here, yesterday I think. Said it’s only depression.” you said letting out a long sigh. 

“That’s ridiculous. I saw people looking more heathy on their death bed. May I examine you?” you gave him a weak nod, then you turned to Sherlock who was standing on the other side of your bed.

“Will you take my case now, or in a few days when I’m gone?” you asked looking at Sherlock. His eyes met yours.

***

Dr. Watson determined that you needed immediate care in a hospital. Although your sister argued with him, telling him that you already are in the care of a doctor. 

That day, Sherlock took your case. He clearly noticed something which he didn’t’t share at the time.

You were in the hospital for three days, and you already felt better. Every day Dr Watson would come over to talk about the case or ask questions. Although you were sure Sherlock was already close to finding evidence.

***

One day, you were finally better, so you could walk around a little. You were sitting outside, reading a book under a tree when you noticed Mr Holmes making his way over to you. 

“It was the food and the water and the tea and the cookies and everything.” said Sherlock as he sat down beside you. “You were poisoned gradually, small portions on everything you ate, and drank. The maid did it, because your sister ordered her to. Both are in custody as we speak for attempted murder.” he said, but even with your suspicions being right, you didn’t feel better.

“Thank you Mr. Holmes. I will pay you as soon as I get out of here.” you said before turning to look up the tree, watching a little bird hop from one branch to the other.

“Hmm.” you didn’t notice the look Sherlock gave you. But he noticed just how much livelier you looked. Your eyes shined, your skin shimmered in the light. You looked a lot better. “So, as I observed, you are not married. Neither am I.” he said.

You had to admit this was the worst possible way someone tried to court you. You looked at him, eyes wide.

“Pardon?”

“I’m saying that I find you quite beautiful and I would like to know you better.”

“Oh.” 

“Oh? That’s it?”

“Don’t get me wrong Mr. Holmes, I appreciate the compliment, it’s just... Your timing, Sir. I am still in hospital because my sister tried to poison me, my brother-in-law is still out there, possibly stealing everything that he can move from my home. And you are...handsome.” 

“Then, I will be back with the same proposition in a few weeks. Ms Y/L/N.” he said as he stood up and left.

You laughed a little, thinking that he was joking.

After all, what could a man like him possibly want from you?

***

It had been almost a month since you left the hospital.

You were half right about your brother-in-law. He did steal a couple of items when he left, but luckily they didn’t mean anything to you, so you were just happy that he was gone. 

You hired new staff and fired everyone. You were not sure who you could trust.

You also made sure that every food and drink was thrown out or went down the sink. You were not taking any chances. 

The fact that you only had 2 members of staff made you do some work you were not used to. You were no brat and you didn’t mind getting your hands dirty, so you helped with the cleaning where you could. 

You were working in the kitchen, cleaning the cupboards when a voice behind you made you startled. You nearly fell off the furniture as you were cleaning the very top shelves.

“Miss, Mr. Holmes is here.” 

“Thank you, Tina! Let him in, please.”

“He is here, Miss.”

This is when you finally turned around and noticed the man smiling up at you. Tina already left to get back to her duties.

“Nice to see you again, Miss Y/L/N. I must admit, every time we meet I can see a different side of yours. I have never seen a lady on the sink, cleaning the shelves.”

“Well, someone has to do it.” you said slowly climbing down. Sherlock helped you, making sure you won’t fall. “I assume you came for your payment. Give me a moment. I put it in an envelope in the library.”

You said washing your hands before heading into the library. You pulled the drawer of your father’s desk out and pulled the envelope out.

“For your speedy resolution, and for Dr. Watson’s help regarding my health, I added a bit extra. Thank you very much.” you said handing him the payment.

“I actually didn’t come for the payment, Ms. Y/L/N.” he said but you watched as he reached out to take the payment from you and slipped in into his pocket. “I’m here to keep my word. What I said in the hospital, I wish to get to know you better. You seem like a very interesting and smart woman. You realized that your sister was bad, even when everyone, including me, thought that you were delusional. I apologize for that.” you honestly didn’t know what to say. You thought he was a man who wouldn’t see you in a romantic matter. But then again, he just mentioned getting to know you.

“Maybe, you can stay over for lunch? I will cook up something nice.”

“You?”

“Yes, I am yet to hire a new cook, and in the meantime I do the cooking, my old nanny taught me a few recipes.”

“Sounds nice.”

And so, he stayed for lunch, dinner and the next day he came over again and every single day after.

He was charming, and the two of you could speak for hours about everything and anything.

Before you knew it, months, and years passed.

You certainly didn’t think that when you decided to go to Baker Street 221B to ask for help, you would find your future husband.

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~Masterlist~

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Feedback is greatly appreciated. Thank You for reading my story!~

#sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes imagines #henry cavill sherlock holmes #cavill sherlock holmes #henry cavill sherlock holmes x reader #henry cavill sherlock holmes imagine #henry cavill sherlock holmes imagines #enola holmes imagine #henry cavill characters #henry cavill characters x reader

[erule]

The frat party | t.h.

Title: The frat party

Pairing: Frat boy!Tom Holland x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1823

Warnings: frat boy Tom, angst, nakedness (nothing sexual though, no smut in this chapter), mention of sex, implied smut, cliffhanger at the end, jealous Tom, language, OC Oliver, violence (one punch), blood, plot twists.

Summary: Tom and the reader met at a frat party, but a year later they broke up because of some reason. Now, rumor has it that the reader is dating one of Tom’s friends and he gets jealous.

A/N: Hello hello, I’m back! Have you seen Tom’s recent pics in Monaco?? He looked amazing! Anyway, I don’t know why, but I just had to write a fic with frat boy!Tom, so enjoy!

If you wanna be tagged in my Tom Holland fics, just let me know in my ask box! You can also find me on AO3 and Wattpad. Feedback is always appreciated by a writer!

Main Masterlist

Tom Holland Masterlist

Peter Parker Masterlist

Chapter 1

Break up with my ex girlfriend

Frat parties. Am I right? Worst part of college life. A lot of people drink to forget about their grades and how their lives went wrong, while someone’s just hoping to have some fun with them (if you know what I mean). For the first year, I hated them with passion, but it was before I met him. At a frat party. Oh, the irony! And then, frat parties were the only chance I had to actually talk to him. It didn’t take us long enough to start dating. I think that adults tell you fairy tales to make you grow up with a hope, the hope to find your real happy ending, your true love. Well, I wasn’t used to believe in them, but the year I spent with Tom… that was close to the definition of happy ending. The problem with happy endings? They don’t tell you what happens after them. And that’s because they’re a nightmare.

“Tell me that now or you’re not gonna find me in this bed tomorrow”, he says and there’s a part of me that wants to die right here and right now. I shake my head. I don’t want to do that. Not because I don’t feel anything for him, but I’m scared that this will complicate things between us and it’s the last thing I want. “Are you serious, Y/N? You really think that saying something like that during sex doesn’t count? Calling someone on the phone means something, even if you’re drunk as Hell. So tell me what you really feel about me right now or I swear, I’m out of this room. I’m out of this kind of weird relationship that’s going on between us for years,” Tom says and the veins on his arms draw a beautiful map on his body, in which the moles are cities and his eyes are volcanoes. They’re burning, unlike my skin, that is freezing because I’m not wearing anything at the moment. Except for my shame, perhaps. My insecurities, that never leave me. Even in front of Tom.

“You don’t mean that,” I try to say, my mouth dry. But he’s insanely angry. In another situation, it would be hot.

“I do, Y/N,” he replies. I swallow. His expression softens, like he’s in pain. He comes closer to me, brushing my cheeks with his hands. My eyes are full of tears. His words feel like a prayer on my skin. “Please, tell me”.

And even if I don’t wanna do that, my hands are tied. Even if that’s a lie. I remain in silence. One second after that, he’s gone. Tom always keeps his promises, after all.

2 months before

Harrison sat down with a strange look on his face. It only meant one thing for Tom: trouble. He sighed, throwing away the third cigarette of the day. Jacob raised an eyebrow, trying to get rid of the stench of smoke with one hand.

“I thought you wanted to quit smoking,” Jacob said.

“Relax, I only smoke before finals now,” Tom said. “What’s up, mate? Come on, talk”.

Harrison raised a corner of his lips in a smirk.

“Rumor has it, that Oliver’s got a girlfriend,” he said.

“No way!” Jacob exclaimed.

“Oh, fuck me,” Tom said, laying on the grass with his hands behind his neck, glancing at a couple of girls who were passing by.

“I haven’t said the best part yet, though,” Harrison continued. Jacob urged him to speak further. “He’s gonna throw a party for his birthday and he’ll introduce her to his friends. But since we’re his friends, I was wondering why I haven’t told us anything about this gal in weeks. So I played Sherlock Holmes for a couple of hours and I found out that… we actually know this girl,” he said.

“I bet she’s someone of the campus,” Tom joked, as if it was obvious.

“I bet she’s someone’s ex girlfriend,” Jacob replied.

Harrison remained quiet, but he was smiling.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Tom said, astonished, while sitting on the grass again.

“I won!” Jacob yelled.

“Who’s she? I hooked up with…”

“Ex girlfriend, Tom. It’s not some random girl you hooked up with. She’s someone you remember very well,” Harrison said.

“So we’re talking about me, uh? Well, let’s see… is it Janine? We lasted two weeks, I wouldn’t be mad about her,” he shrugged. Harrison swallowed.

“It’s someone you would be mad about,” Jacob guessed. “And there’s just one person that you would be mad about”.

Tom’s eyes widened at the realization.

“He’s fucking dead”.

Two days after that conversation, here they were: the three of them were laying with their backs on the wall like they were sustaining it from falling down. Tom had threatened Oliver with a Dare to explain, mate?, but his answer was just an I’m sorry Tom, but she’s just your ex. I don’t have to ask for your permission. Or does this mean that you’re still not over her? So, since Tom values too much his pride, he said that he was over her and that Oliver was right, he didn’t have to ask for his permission. Oliver apologized for not telling him that before and then walked away, leaving Tom to smoke the whole pack of cigarettes. Tom was watching Oliver talking with Elizabeth, one of your friends, when he saw you and Zendaya arrive at the party. In his opinion, you were stunning. You immediately caught his gaze. You just never failed to amaze him, even after a year. His heart ached at the view, but it ached even more when you greeted Oliver. You gave him a kiss on his cheek, clenching your hand in a fist. It seemed like you were uncomfortable. So, he came up with a plan to save you.

“Wait for me here,” he said to his friends, then he walked fast to reach you. “Hey mate, happy birthday!” Tom said to Oliver, who hugged him.

“Thanks, Tom. I think that you already know Y/N, Lizzie and Z,” he said and you smiled along with your friends, even if you looked more surprised than happy.

“Of course, I do,” Tom said, looking directly at you. You looked down. “Could I please talk to Y/N? We haven’t been in touch for quite some time and I’d like to catch up with her,” he asked.

“Sure!” Oliver said, while Zendaya seemed looking at you with a concerned expression. You winked at her.

Tom made you move away from Oliver by brushing your back, walking to the next exit. He lowered his voice in order to talk with you only, speaking to your hear: “You look ravishing, darling”.

He noticed that you closed your eyes for a very long second, but you didn’t say a word about that.

“Are you here to show that you still own me or something?”

“I don’t own you, darling. You’re absolutely free to do anything you like,” he said, lighting a cigarette outside the building.

“Z said you wanted to quit smoking,” you said, furrowing your eyebrows.

“I only smoke before finals”.

“Finals were yesterday,” you replied.

“Are we here to talk about me or you? I noticed that you were uncomfortable with Oliver, but I thought that you were his girlfriend. Wouldn’t it be weird?”

You smirked.

“Oh, now I get it. You’re jealous”.

“Nah, If I’d be jealous, you would know, trust me,” Tom said, with a playful tone.

“What would you do?” You asked, curiousity eating you alive. You wanted to know so bad if he still had feelings for you.

“Don’t play with fire, darling. You’re gonna burn your pretty hands, otherwise,” he replied, running a finger over his lip. Shivers ran through your spine, but you hoped that Tom didn’t notice it.

“Don’t try to seduce me, Holland. You’re not gonna win this time,” you said, chuckling. “And for the record, we’re not dating. He’s just insistent,” you explained.

Tom looked inside and saw Oliver staring at the two of you. An idea came up into his mind and he couldn’t quite get rid of it. It was smart, but also terrifying. It was very dangerous, yet he had to try.

“We could be in a fake relationship. It could fool everyone,” he proposed.

You turned to look at him, astonished.

“Even after what happened?”

Tom’s eyes were locked with yours, but his facial muscles didn’t move at all. If he still was hurt by the reason that made you two break up, he didn’t show it to you.

“He’s coming here,” he said instead, glancing at Oliver.

“Tom, this is insane,” you kept going. “You said you couldn’t forgive me after…”

It happened all too fast. All the lights went out at the same time. Tom's lips were on yours in an instant. Everything was on fire, every inch of your body. Every cell your flash was made of exploded like a dying supernova. A moment later, someone snatched him from your hands, leaving you in the cold.

Oliver hit him. Tom laughed, nervously, but then he grabbed the collar of Oliver’s shirt and slammed him against the wall, angrily. You pounced on Tom, trying to pull him away from Oliver. At first, Tom looked at you confused, thinking that you just wanted to keep Oliver safe from him, but your eyes told him another story: you prevented him to be kicked out from the campus.

“I told you, you’d know,” he said, while wiping a trickle of blood from his mouth, pretending to be the tough guy he wasn’t.

“Guys, I think we should leave,” Jacob said, while Harrison was taking Tom away from Oliver by his arm.

“I thought we were friends, Tom,” Oliver said, an inch of hurting in his voice tone.

“That was before you came after the only thing I care about,” he said harshly. And then, he left with Harrison and Jacob.

That night, while Tom was cleaning himself of blood in the bathroom, Jacob was staring at him worried, while standing with one arm against the door jamb.

“You never told me what happened, you know, with Y/N last year. Haz doesn’t want to tell me, he thinks it’s up to you. You said that you were over her, but I don’t think you are, since what you did tonight,” he said. Tom kept wiping away the blood from his shirt, ignoring Jacob’s words. “Why have you broken up with her, Tom? It seems pretty obvious that you’re still in love with her”.

Tom gulped, while looking at himself in the mirror. He had tried to bury all of his memories deep down, but it seemed that now the demons wanted to come back and play with him once again. Maybe it had finally come the time to confront them.

When he spoke, his voice was low and hoarse: “Because she cheated on me”.

Read chapter 2 here!

#tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland smut #frat boy tom holland fanfiction #frat boy tom holland #fratboy!tom holland #frat boy tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland ff #tom holland imagine #tom holland headcanon #tom holland hc #erule's masterlist #peter parker x reader #tom holland

[maple-the-awesome]

Be Her Guard || Chapter 23

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

WARNINGS: Some strong language

Words: 2,531

Masterlist

"Well, if it isn't the Great Sherlock Holmes. Funny getting to talk to you again, isn't it? What's it been? Almost a month? Just under one?"

Sherlock's grip on the phone tightens, his blood running cold by that teasing tone in Apollo’s voice. John's practically hanging off his shoulder, the optimistic side of him hoping- no, praying- that despite his friend's stiffen appearance, he'll put both of their worries to rest by saying you're on the other end, assuring them you've somehow escaped your ex and are okay. Alas, life's never that easy.

"Where is she?" Sherlock isn't sure if he whispers or shouts the question which is ripped from his mouth before he can truly assess the situation. He doesn't have time for that. He needs to know...is he already too late?

"Wow, no manners at all, and here I was thinking the whole appeal with British men is them being gentlemen-"

"-Answer the question-"

"-Or you'll what exactly? Threaten me while enjoying a cup of tea at your flat? In that case, say whatever you want, Holmes. Don't let me step on your moment. It's not like I really care anyways. All I'd have to do is just hang up once I've heard enough of it...Oh, but I'm sure (Y/n) would be pretty disappointed then. She's been dying to hear you voice."

Sherlock presses his lips in a tight line, all his hostile thoughts towards Apollo being replaced by worry for you. He wonders if you're in the room, listening from afar. If he yells loud enough, would you hear him even through the phone?

"...Why did you call me?"

He can practically see Apollo's smirk on the other end," I just want to talk, that's all. We've known about each other for what...? Seven years? And yet within that time we've never been able to have a civil conversation with each other, in fact, if I recall correctly, the first time we met face-to-face, you broke my nose. It's always been surprising how hostile you are towards me. Sure, you don't seem like much of a people person, but I figured I'd at least be just another face in the crowd for you. It's because of (Y/n), isn't it? Why do you care so much about her?"

"...She's (Y/n). What more reason is there?" Sherlock's eyes dart to John who's quietly sneaking into the kitchen now, his own phone in hand. The detective concludes he's calling Lestrade.

"I guess that's something we can agree on then. (Y/n) is extra special, but that's not what I meant. I want to know why you still care for her when all she does is use you? Haven't you realized it yet, Holmes? It's clear she only goes to you second. She left you in London then suddenly landed back in your arms once she needed you to prove her innocence at the trial. She only returned and agreed to date you because she thinks I'm going to hurt her. Notice the trend? She's never gone to you outside of a time of need. Doesn't that drive you mad to know she only pretends to love you so that she may gain something in return?"

"You're wrong."

"Oh? And why's that?" Apollo challenges, the sound of boots clicking against a smooth surface echoing behind his voice. He's inside somewhere, but where?

"I may not be able to tell you the exact reason why (Y/n) loves me, but I know it isn't to use me as a tool. It's honest affection unlike what she gave to you. She only chose you first because you asked first, and she was nice enough to give you a fair chance in winning her heart. She only rejected me after the trial because you traumatized her. She was afraid I'd do the same thing you did to her, but (Y/n)'s stronger now and she knows she can trust someone else again. That's why she came back to me when you threated her again. She trusts I won't let any harm befall her," Sherlock sits down ever so slowly to the point that one would think he's about to sit on needles. He maintains a neutral tone with Apollo, determined to keep the conversation going for as long as he can.

"Hm, maybe you've already forgotten this, but last time I checked, she's with me, not you. You can't do shit to prevent me from doing whatever I'd like with her because you don't even know where the hell we are," he hears Apollo stop pacing and there's a long pause, one that dares Sherlock to respond, but his tongue's been caught.

Finally, Apollo speaks again, a hint of a chuckle lifting his voice," see, it doesn't matter who wins her heart, Holmes. It only matters who can outsmart the other...You know, I've always resented you during my relationship with (Y/n). I hated the way she'd talk so highly of you, favoring you over her own fiancé. My anger only grew when I saw you at her side during the trial. I've spent six whole years in prison thinking of different ways to get back at you for ruining my life, hoping that one could be good enough to capture the attention of such a famous detective like yourself.”

"Since you have the higher ground and are in such a talkative mood, why don't you finally share how you did it? Your sentence wasn't up nor were you eligible for parole yet, so how'd you get out?"

"Oh, you know...really isn't that difficult escaping prison when your uncle's the warden," he practically drags out each word for a smug effect.

"Hugh Walsh-" Sherlock kicks himself over the realization, but he isn't granted much time to dwell on it on his own.

"-Is my mom's brother-in-law. I never had a close relationship with my dad, so you could say Uncle Hu took on the role and, of course, what uncle would let his nephew rot away in prison if he can somehow prevent it? His only request was that I come up with a good plan instead of being rash. He got me out and covered it up while I went on my merry way to get (Y/n). That's when the game really began. Luckily for me, she took the bait when I sent her that letter, running right to her knight in shining armor and tying him back into this mess just as I had hoped.

"From there, I just had to keep an eye from afar until the right moment. I gotta say, it took longer than I imagined. You really weren't taking any chances with her safety, taking her everywhere you go, parading her around like a show dog...Oh, but I'm sure you had fun with it. I'm sure you savored every second of your time with her especially behind closed doors, right? For the first time, she got to be yours. I guess you could say the image of you doing as you please with my fiancée was making me impatient. Fortunately, I noticed you were getting a little too comfortable. You started taking more risks with her, so I decided to take one of my own..."

When there's another pause, Sherlock takes the bait with growing annoyance," and what was that?"

"Glad you asked. Marvin Patel, ring a bell?"

"No."

"God, you really are an emotionless machine...Man in his late sixties, dark hair, nice beard...heard he went missing after a night at the bar; last night particularly."

"...The body on Abbott Lane..."

"Bingo! I needed a way to lure you away from the missus, so I asked some random drunk if he needed a ride home, killed him in a way that would stump investigators just enough to call their hero, then dumped him on the side of the road to let the show begin. While your head was turned, I simply took my chance to get (Y/n). Of course, she put up a bit of a fight, but nothing a good hit to the head can't fix. Overall, I'd say my plan worked like a charm, wouldn't you agree?"

"And what do you plan to do now? There must be another step considering you've wasted time calling me," Sherlock hisses, his irritation with the call reaching its limit. He can hear John talking downstairs to someone signaling that Lestrade's arrived, but what good will the Yard do if Sherlock doesn't know anything new worth matter. Out of all the bullshit Apollo's spewed, nothing says where you are.

"Nothing gets pass you, or should I say, most things don't," Apollo sighs, the sound of his boots against the ground starting up again," alright, you've got me, detective. I didn't only call to brag, although, that's been the best part of this conversation. Instead, I thought it would be fair to give you a fair chance. What, like (Y/n) did for me? Isn't that what you said? It would be a shame to let our game end so easily and I'm sure poor (Y/n) is just on the edge of her seat waiting for you to find her. Can't let her down, can we?

"I want you to listen closely because I have a few 'conditions' for my hint, but I'm sure you can already guess what they are. It's the typical movie format really: come alone and don't tell anyone where you're going or why. If I so much as think you've disobeyed and have someone on your trail- and I don't care who is it, the police or your little military friend-, I'll finish what I started six years ago. Did you know that I originally planned on a murder suicide back then? I may not want to lose (Y/n), but if we're going to being torn apart anyways, I'll happily take her with me and try our chances together in a new life-"

"-I have one condition of my own," Sherlock interrupts, gaining Apollo's attention.

"Really? You're going to be a beggar in this situation?"

Sherlock's slow with his words, picking each one carefully," I merely want to talk to her...There's no point in playing this game if the prize isn't there, right?"

There's nothing on the other end, Apollo seemingly considering the request and it's worth. Meanwhile, Sherlock holds his breath, truly begging internally for him to take the chance. Maybe it won't do anything to actually help the case, but he needs to hear from you even if it's a single word.

"...S-Sherlock?" His breath hitches at the whimper of a voice which breaks the silence at last, shaking him to his core.

"Yes, it's me. I'm here, (Y/n)," he jumps to his feet, his body trembling as he speaks quickly, knowing Apollo can take this chance away at any moment," listen, I'm coming to get you, alright? There's nothing that'll stop me. J-Just remember everything I've told you, okay? We've gone over it before- what you do if you're ever kidnapped. I'll be there as soon as I can, just hang on a little longer…for me.”

"I-I love you, Sh-Sherlock..." the last words are whispered so quietly that he can barely hear them especially over Lestrade and John's voices as they enter the room, franticly looking over to him, but he never turns his attention away from the phone.

"I...I know...I'll be there soon. I promise."

He isn't sure if you heard the last part because Apollo's soon talking again, his voice melting away the detective's relief," touching stuff, gotta say. Now unless you want to keep pushing you luck, are you ready for your hint?"

Sherlock hums, eyes focused on the floor.

"We're somewhere I've dreamed of being with (Y/n) since we first fell in love. Of course, this one isn't ideal; more of somewhere you would've taken her if it hadn't been abandoned three years ago, but even with the peeling paint, I'd say it still has that traditional feel to it. If only we had (Y/n)'s lilies…Maybe you could bring her some?...You get it, Holmes?"

"...I do," he mumbles, already having the exact place in mind.

"I'll see you then, Holmes. (Y/n) is wishing you luck."

That's it. Sherlock lets his hand fall to his side with the phone still clenched in his grip, his eyes focused on the distance. He knows it's a trap. Apollo isn't even trying to hide it; he wants to get Sherlock alone and kill him as cliche as it is, but the detective doesn’t have much of a choice. He can't just ignore the hint and wait for you to miraculously knock at the door safe and sound nor can he risk bringing John which could cost your life...

"Sherlock, what did he say? Where's (Y/n)?" The doctor asks desperately, reaching for the phone in Sherlock's hand when he doesn't answer,"...here, Lestrade said they might be able to track the pings. We can narrow down Apollo's location and-"

"-That won't be necessary."

"What...?" John raises an eyebrow not only at Sherlock's words but the way he jerks the phone away, calmly walking past him towards the coat rack.

"Look, I know you like to do this stuff on your own, Sherlock, but this is a time sensitive case. If the suspect called you then that's the best lead we're going to get," Lestrade tries to reason, both men watching in surprise as Sherlock causally puts on his coat with a shake of his head.

"It wasn't Apollo on the phone, it was (Y/n). She said she's managed to get away from him, but as you can imagine, the poor girl's rather shaken up and doesn't know her way back to the flat from downtown London, so I'll be going to pick her up myself. She'll have plenty of time to tell us whatever she can about Apollo, information I'll pass over to the Yard later, however, my only priority right now is getting her home," Sherlock explains while wrapping his scarf around his neck and giving a smile to both men, one neither believe," John, I'd like you to stay here and prepare some tea for when we get back. (Y/n) will need something to calm her nerves. It may also be wise to prepare a first aid kit in case she needs medical attention-"

"-Sherlock, I know you weren't on a call with (Y/n), I'm not stupid-!" John marches forward, grabbing hold of Sherlock's arm before he can start down the stairs, but his words are caught in his throat when his friend whips around, giving a deadly glare to the shorter man.

"-I said to stay here. We'll be back by this afternoon," Sherlock rips his arm from John's grip, his words stern yet there’s something else behind them that can’t be made out. He then continues his way downstairs, calling over his shoulder," Greg, you can expect a call from me in the morning with any new details!"

John runs a hand through his hair while watching the door open and close, Sherlock official disappearing behind it and leaving the two men alone with more questions than answers,"…something's wrong."

"Yeah, no kidding...He remembered my name for once..."

NEXT CHAPTER ➡️

#sherlock x y/n #sherlock fanfic #bbc sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes #benedict cumberbatch #x reader #reader insert

[possiblyimbiassed]

The lying liars who lie

Years and years late to the party, I’ve finally gotten my hands on all the DVDs of BBC Sherlock, and I thought it would be fun to watch the extra material carefully, one piece after another, and also listen to at least some of the show makers’ commentary of the episodes. But at this point, after S4 where DVDs seemed to be a constant lying device in general, I tend to look at them with a bit more suspicious eyes...

I still love the show of course, but now that I’ve taken this deep dive into all the special features, I find them a truly hard thing to try to wrap my head around. Even this long after the fact, I’m amazed by the amount of shameless, self-congratulatory BS in the DVDs, where the people involved can’t have enough of complimenting each other and their show, while they skillfully avoid to discuss anything actually meaningful about the plot line. ;) For example, Moffat claims in the S2 DVD that “In fact, you’ll never see a more obsessively authentic version of Sherlock Holmes than this one”. But if we follow their light-hearted commentary, which basically takes the show at face value, I’d call that not just hyperbole, but an outright lie. If you want to see the ‘authentic’ stories from ACD’s work in this show, you’ll definitely need to go much deeper into the subtext and meta levels - neither of which are mentioned on these DVDs of course. Here’s my own (rather subjective) ‘review’ of the whole thing, trying to pinpoint why I view most of the commentary of the show from its own makers as an advanced art of deception. 

(My musings under the cut)

Series 1 - a wealth of extra material

First of all - as many of you probably knew already - the whole of the Unaired Pilot is added to the DVD of S1. In the extra material about the making of the series, they (Sue Vertue, Mofftiss and others) talk about what things they changed between the Pilot and ASiP, claiming that many changes were necessary improvements once they knew that they had a whole series and a lot more time at their disposal. 

Which I can perfectly understand and agree with in general. But I think what’s missing in their discussions is more interesting than what’s actually there (”Mind the gap” ;) ). Things that I would expect from the show makers when they go to the trouble of comparing the pilot version with the aired product. There’s not a word, for example, about the fact that they added both Mycroft and Moriarty to the story in ASiP - two characters who later turn out to play major roles and appear in almost every other episode until the end of TFP. Or about the choice that one of the screenwriters would play Mycroft. 

Neither do they discuss why they chose to relocate the place where Sherlock was challenged by the cabbie from 221B to Roland Kerr’s School of Further Education. Instead they focus on the details, like for example the new design of the interior of 221B.

Not to mention the fact that almost every scene in the Pilot is mirrored in ASiP (as pointed out long ago by @kateis-cakeis X), but at Angelo’s in the Pilot Sherlock follows the events with the cabbie while looking in an actual mirror. I even noticed that in the Pilot the cabbie is offering Sherlock dark-coloured bottles with the pills in them, while in ASiP those bottles are transparent, as if the cabbie is offering Sherlock to play Black or White in the chess game that he is simulating. What’s with all these mirrors, though? Not a word on the DVD... ;)

Now, even though these rather remarkable choices are neglected together with a great bunch of minor ones, I still think that the most interesting fact about all this is that they actually included the whole pilot version within this DVD, which is sold by the franchise. Why even do this, when it raises far more questions than it answers? The only logical reason I can come up with is that they’re laying out a track of little hints that anyone with a deep enough interest in the show to actually buy the DVDs can try to follow. And it seems to me that lying by omission is one of the first steps in the long line of cryptic and misleading author comments on this show. But at the same time, they clearly want the fans to have access to it all, even the abandoned version.

Moving on to Series 2, time for bigger lies 

In the extra material of this DVD Benedict himself describes how his character "faces one of his deadliest enemies in the shape of Love, and it comes in the form of Irene Adler, who is this extraordinary dominatrix [insert here a bunch of superlatives regarding Adler]...”. And then we see how Adler whips Sherlock with a riding crop (without any kind of consent, I have to add) while he’s lying on the floor, and we have Lara Pulver telling us how it was to have a go at Benedict on set. So Holmes whips dead bodies and Adler whips living; seems like a match made in hell! :))

Gatiss claims, grinning with his whole face, that “they’re clearly, absolutely made for each other”. OK, so I think we can see Sherlock being intellectually impressed by Adler, and even trying to protect her from Mycroft, and we can see John acting jealously. We can also see her being dressed and styled as a perfect, female mirror of Sherlock. But I’m still at a loss what all this has to do with love on Sherlock’s part? Especially since he’s not even responding in any fashion to her various attempts at seducing him. 

And there’s more: Paul McGuigan, the director of ASiB, claims that the scene where Sherlock has a conversation with Adler inside his Mind Palace about the crime case with the car that backfires "is a part of a kind of love story, if you like...” No, I don’t. Maybe it’s just me, but if their aim really was to convey to their audience a love story between Sherlock and The Woman, I think they failed miserably. All I see is a guy ’mansplaining’ to a clever woman how to use her brain, while she’s trying to flirt with him by expressing her admiration (to no avail, though) and make deductions at the same time. Nothing new under the sun, really. John did the same thing repeatedly in ASiP (without making own deductions) and got far more attention from Sherlock, but I’ve never heard any of the show makers call that ”a love story”. But by ’lie-splaining’ the scene with Irene to the audience, they try to manipulate us all to see it as such...

In all the direct commentary of this episode, where Steven, Mark, Sue, Benedict and Lara are present, I get the impression that every time they even touch on the relationship between Sherlock and John, they hurry to add the term “friendship” or “man love” or similar words in case they forgot them at first, avoiding even the tiniest possibility that there could be anything more going on between them. They even explain that when Irene calls them “a couple” she does not mean anything romantic. This whole approach feels almost paranoic in the midst of all the laid-back jokes and light-hearted talk about the filming. It’s as if a sort of restrictive, heteronormative filter or blanket is being constantly applied, to teach the audience the ‘no homo’ lesson of it all. And the more I listen to this, the more tiresome it becomes.

In the commentary Moffat does reveal an interesting detail, though: that the ‘Flight of the Dead’ in ASiB was inspired by a cut out scene in the Bond movie On Her Majesty's Secret Service. To me this is just one more reason to question the ‘authentic’ quality of this scene, as opposed to possibly taking place in Sherlock’s Mind Palace. But I digress... 

Listening to the commentary in general, it’s like it’s aimed to distract the attention from what’s going on at the screen rather than highlight it and try to explain their intentions. They do mention that Irene didn’t actually ‘beat’ Sherlock in the end of ASiB, but there’s no explanation of this obvious deviation from canon, where Adler does indeed fool Holmes, taking advantage of his prejudices.

The rest of the extra material of S2 is mostly about technical stuff, special effects and such, and also about filming techniques and Benedict’s delivery of fast deductions. But the part I really do love is the one where Andrew Scott talks about how much he enjoyed playing the scene where Moriarty dances before breaking into the Crown Jewels. That’s one of my favorite scenes of he whole show. :) Also, the takeaway message from this DVD is Moffat’s words at the end: 

“These are still the formative years of Sherlock Holmes, and the most important thing about this series is not that it’s updated; it’s the fact that those two men are still young and they’re still at the beginning of what they don’t yet know is gonna be a lifelong partnership”. 

And then comes Series 3... 

...and its extra material, with the most blatant attempts at deception so far, I believe. At this point Sherlock is called a “psychopath” by both the show’s characters, John’s blog, Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman as if it were true, which is a big deviation from ACD canon. That simply doesn’t happen there; while Holmes is sometimes described as eccentric, no one in the books is ever claiming that Sherlock Holmes has some kind of mental illness leaning towards cruelty and egotism - not even his enemies say this about him. In the show, however, they begin in ASiP with making him torture a dying man for information (something that is not included in the Pilot). And in S3, where they avoid discussing the reason why they turned Mary Morstan into a ruthless assassin, this major shift is glossed over by the fact that in the same episode (HLV) they also turn Sherlock into a murderer, who cold-bloodedly blows the brains out of a blackmailer for threatening to make said assassin’s crimes public. 

But without ever getting into the “why” of it all, the cast and crew seem overly happy and smiling describing these rather morbid choices as something positive; “fantastic”, "fresh and new” and "amazing” are their choice of words. Benedict claims that Mary, who has literally shot and almost killed Sherlock in HLV, is now "a new best friend of Sherlock’s”. Amanda claims that Mary “is protecting John” when she shoots Sherlock in the chest. Now they’re both psychopaths, and poor little John is forced to stomach them both because he��s addicted to danger. In Amanda’s words, Mary also “kind of gets in between the two of them, but she wants them to be together as well”.  Which is a load of BS considering that Mary tries to kill the protagonist of the story.

Lars Mikkelsen thinks it’s “such a good script” because “you’re mislead as an audience”. But he never gets the chance to expand on what the misleading actually contains, because then Mofftiss cut in to express how much they love playing with “what ifs”. As if this whole mega-budget project of a show were just a big experimental playground without any actual story to tell. 

Benedict repeats his line from HLV that Magnussen “preys on people who are different” and Moffat also says he “exploits people who are different”. Which is really confusing, considering what we can see Magnussen actually do in the show. Lady Smallwood and John Garvie are two well-established, powerful governmental politicians whom Magnussen blackmails by finding their respective pressure points. In Garvie’s case his pressure point seems to be alcohol problems in his past, but according to media he’s later arrested on charges of corruption. Lady Smallwood is blackmailed on the basis of her husband having sent compromising letters to a minor many years ago, in spite of later claiming that he thought she was older and stopped when he found out the truth. And then Magnussen is blackmailing an assassin who recently threatened to execute him but shot Sherlock Holmes instead, in order to try to get at Sherlock’s brother Mycroft, another powerful governmental figure. 

But what does media seeking out dirt on certain people in power and their families have to do with “people who are different”? Despicable as the method may be, isn’t this unfortunately how political power play usually works in our society? Or are TPTB somehow a repressed minority group now? Unless this whole “people who are different” accusation is actually about something entirely different, something that none of the show makers even cares to mention... ;)

In these DVDs, none of the involved persons is ever discussing the change of roles with regards to canon, though, or the (lack of) logics in this turn of events, or even a hint about the narrative motivation behind them. It’s all about the great Drama, the extraordinary visual effects and the aim to endlessly “surprise the audience”. Which is fine by me to a certain extent, but when this is all that’s being said, it feels extremely superficial, as if the audience is merely seen as a bunch of consumers that have to be triggered more and more by horror, special effects and cliff hangers to be able to appreciate the show. (“Warm paste” indeed, like Gatiss has later criticized some viewers of wanting...) While the "why”; the idea behind this surrealistic adaptation, made by self-proclaimed fanboys of ACD, is not even touched upon. Around this, the silence is total and therefore totally confusing.

Maybe I shouldn’t even go into Series 4...

...but why not, since I’ve already started? :) 

First of all, there’s a lot of extra material on this DVD and I particularly love the parts about the music and composing and Arwel Wyn Jones’ work with the design and build-up of John’s and Mary’s flat and the interior of 221B. Those bits are truly enjoyable. What I could live without, though, is the leading commentary that kind of instructs us, the audience, how we should interpret the show. 

Benedict is on it again on this DVD, telling us that in TST they picked up where they left off in S3 and “It’s a very happy unit of three people that then become four.” Why does he feel the need to make this statement, considering how S3 ended? Actually, if there’s anything I totally fail to see in S4, it’s happiness. The banter between the three  of them may seem entertaining for a while, but who could have a relaxed, warm relationship with someone who tried and almost succeeded to kill you less than a year ago? Without any sign of remorse? Now there’s a dark tone of discomfort and mean jokes that feels forced and not even a bit happy to me. 

But Martin tells us how excited John and Mary are about starting a family and Amanda mentions how much they’re looking forward to the baby. Again and again it’s repeated, as though trying to rub it in: “they’re in a good place, they’re a loving, married couple”. Yeah, right - a child that (judging by TSoT) wasn’t at all planned and now with an assassin for a mother... Twice we see the new parents complain that their daughter has the mark of Satan on her forehead and debate which horror movie she’s from. The clichéd hypocrisy of it all is sickening, and I’m willing to bet that it’s really meant to be. ;) 

But Gatiss chimes in, deciding for us all that the christening of Rosie is “a funny scene” and “they’re enjoying each other, enjoying being on adventures as a three”.

An interesting detail is that Gatiss also tells us that the working name of this episode was “The Adventure of the Melting power Ranger”. So this little blue guy was that important? :) And - even more interesting - is when he says: “Cake is now the code for violent death”. So how should we interpret Sherlock, John and Molly going out to have cake in TLD then, on Sherlock’s (supposed) birthday? 

These might be jokes, though, but when they tell us that Sue cries every time she sees Mary’s death I strongly believe they must be joking. How could anyone feel truly moved by this overly sentimental long monologue where far more efforts are put into reacting to Mary’s speech than saving her life? And John’s mooing like a cow, is that also moving? :)

One thing Martin says about TLD that actually disgusts me is regarding the morgue scene where John assaults Sherlock and Sherlock lets it happen: “From there, really, their relationship can only sort of rebuild, that’s the absolute worst it can get”. As if outright physical abuse would be something that makes you want to rebuild a relationship? Wow - just wow... How far can they go with this crap?

Anyway, when we finally arrive at the absurdity of TFP and Sherlock’s ‘secret sister’, everything is of course discussed as if she actually does exist on the given premises, and everything she does is ‘real’, no matter how impossible it would be in real life. The abandonment of any attempt to have the story line make logical sense is skillfully covered up by more distraction with fascinating technicalities of the film making process. This is where Gatiss makes his now almost classic statement that after Sherlock and John jump out of the window at 221B when a grenade explodes there, it’s just “Boop! And they’re fine.” 

Of course there’s no serious attempt at explaining this logically. Except perhaps Gatiss claiming that they both landed on Speedy’s awning - whatever good that would do to them, since the awning is leaning downwards, but never mind... But we never even saw that happen, did we? A great deal of time is then dedicated to show all the precautions to have Martin and Ben jumping safely at low level onto a madras supported by empty cardboard boxes.

Sian Brooke did say something interesting about Sherrinford, however, that got me thinking. She said that Eurus “wants revenge for the years and years that she has been held captive” there, isolated, and that in TFP the Holmes children are now “lab rats” and “it’s an experiment”. On a meta level, I think we can indeed see this episode - and maybe the whole show - as a kind of experiment, but maybe we, the audience, are also lab rats? Since Sherrinford is slightly shaped like a film camera (not commented in the extra material, of course), it leads my thought to all the adaptations through the years and years where Holmes and Watson have not been allowed to be together. A whole century when Sherlock Holmes has been held captive, restricted by the very same sort of heteronormative filter that all this extra material imposes; it’s like Sherrinford, isn’t it? Which gives all the more meaning to Moriarty’s arrival to the island, accompanied by Freddy Mercury’s “I want to break free”...

I think I’ll let the final words in this little exposé come from Mark Gatiss in The Writers’ Chat (my bolding):

“Moriarty is a fascinating thing in that in our sea of ongoing lies, one thing we’ve genuinely been completely consistent about is telling people he’s dead. But no-one believes it! And it’s a rather brilliant thing.”  Again - self-congratulatory statements. But instead of providing some actual evidence of the death of this character, who has kept popping up in almost every episode since his supposed demise, they think that the more a confirmed liar repeats something, the truer it gets? And the more we’re supposed to believe them? Well, all we can do is wait and see. :)

Tagging some people who might be interested: 

@raggedyblue​ @ebaeschnbliah​ @sarahthecoat​ @gosherlocked​ @lukessense​ @sagestreet​ @thepersianslipper​

My earlier meta on a similar topic (X)

#bbc sherlock dvds #Deception in BBC Sherlock

[luxwritesfanfic]

Definitely Not Your Color

In true Sherlock fashion, he shows you exactly why green isn’t his color. Or, the one where reader can read auras and Sherlock is going through it at the sight of her new friend. AU!Bucky makes an appearance because I can’t live without him. Enjoy!

Sherlock Holmes/Reader

You were stood off to the side of the crime scene recounting your conversation with the last witness of the night. There had been yet another murder and Lestrade had requested Sherlock’s help for what seemed to be a serial killer in the making. Two murders in less than a week and Sherlock was thrilled and it was easy to tell. An array of yellows and subtle oranges surrounded him, engulfed him, as he explained how vacant Scotland Yard truly could be and how quickly he had figured out the killer’s M.O. He shined like the sun, and you swore you saw tendrils of sunlight shoot off of his fingers as he analyzed every aspect of the scene before him. All confidence, he paraded around the crime scene in a way you knew so well, pointing out things that even after working with him for months that you wouldn’t of picked up on. He was happy to be working again, to be playing, no, winning the game once more. 

You were thankful no one else saw his colors like you did. Because as sure as you were that he was what they meant when they said, “let there be light!”, you were sure that others would gravitate towards him even more until it got to a point that there was so much in between the two of you that you would only be able to see his shine from between the cracks of other people.

Pulling you out of your thoughts of Sherlock and things that you couldn’t control, you turned your head at the sound of someone’s throat clearing.

“He’s seriously brilliant.” An officer who you hadn’t recognized before stood behind you, holding his cap in his hands and drumming his fingers along the rim. He looked past you to where Sherlock and John were, a laugh slipped out from under his breath. “Makes it look so easy.”

Your lips twitched at the statement, a warmth you knew too well for your liking spreading around you. If anyone else could see you, really see you, you’d surely be figured out. Sherlock Holmes was a great man, you were sure of it. He was as intelligent as they came and as handsome as the devil, and sure— sometimes he could be rude, and maybe a little ignorant, and sometimes you really wanted to slap the smirk off of his face when playing Cluedo (Because, Sherlock, it can’t be the victim!) but you wouldn’t change him. 

They told you not to stare at the sun but you couldn’t help it. You needed to see what was really there because you refused to believe that a man who couldn’t feel a thing made the world look that vivid. You were the moth and he was the flame and if that meant dying a painful death just to bask in everything that he was, so be it. Evidently, there were worse ways to die.

Stealing one last glance like you couldn’t help yourself, you shoved your notebook and pen in your purse and made your way back to your conversation.

“He really is. You’re new, right? Lestrade mentioned he had some new guys joining the force. Can’t say you didn’t have an interesting first week.” You wanted to lighten the mood as much as you could because you knew this wasn’t an easy crime to see. You still couldn’t look at the body too long yourself without feeling the black sit heavy in your stomach.

“Don’t worry ma’am, I can handle it.” As if he read your mind, he gave you a warm smile and nodded. “My father, he, uh, he was an officer as well. Started me with the bad stuff early. Said it would give me a little more character and a lot more advantage. There’s not too much that can scare me away, I don’t think.”

You returned his smile. He was a cool blue, and it matched his eyes perfectly. It looked good on him, you decided. “Good. London needs all the help that we can get. Oh- I’m Y/N, by the way! I work with Sherlock and John sometimes. I’m not a genius or a doctor but I can take damn good notes.” And at that you both laughed, as he reassured you that the boys would have nothing to study from if it wasn’t for you. In turn it made you laugh even harder when you realized he hadn’t got the chance to see Sherlock visit his Mind Palace yet, where everything you could offer him he already had.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m James, but I hardly ever use my government if I don’t have to. Please, call me Bucky.” He reached his hand out to you and shook yours, that boyish smile never leaving his lips. From behind you, you could tell subconsciously that it had gotten significantly darker. Like a light had went out. You didn’t think enough of it to turn around and investigate it.

---

You found it was easy to talk to Bucky and you had more things in common than you could have expected. He was polite and seemed to have seriously believed that you were an integral part of the team that he needed to get to know. You appreciated his kindness and how friendly he was, and it seemed like more than anything he was grateful you were giving him a chance to belong. You couldn’t figure out why.

It just so happens that from the angle you were looking, you saw Sherlock’s shoes before you saw his face. It looked like moss had grown through the concrete and saturated him so thoroughly that you thought he wouldn’t soon be able to move. It made you uneasy how sickly the green made him look. You had never seen this color on him before.

“If I knew all you were going to do was stand around and disregard everything I say, I would have brought Molly instead. She listens. Intently.” Sherlock spat and cut his eyes at you before looking to Bucky and giving him a once over before digging in. 

“Generally, they say to try again and again if you fail. I would think that wouldn’t apply to something like the police academy. Third, no... fourth times the charm as they say?” The green fog spilled out of Sherlock’s mouth and continued to cover him, wrapping so tightly around his body that you thought he might have trouble breathing. Even though you were standing a few good feet away from him, you could feel how heavy the fog had made you, and you worried for Sherlock as it encompassed him. You almost made to reach for him because you were afraid you’d lose him under all the smoke.  

“You’re a favored drop out who still lives with his mother, no, father. That’s where the drinking problem comes from I assume? One failed relationship too many and now suddenly your calling is keeping the streets clean of the people you used to run them with. Now, I know Lestrade has horrible taste when it comes to putting together a team but tell me, how did he get so lucky as to stumble across you? It can’t be the... no wait, it is because of-“

“Sherlock!” You say exasperatedly, looking at him like he’s he’s got three heads when you can’t even see the one he’s got as it is. He is solid and dark and lost in this feeling that you can’t name and he’s not him. Well, he is him, but weighed down so much by whatever he’s trying to carry through that you can’t imagine he’s acting this hateful for no reason. You refuse to believe it.

Bucky sighed and somehow still managed to twitch his lips upwards, a ghost of the grin he wore before. “Well, Mr. Holmes, you are what they say you are. Brilliant for sure. Hell, you haven’t even spoken a word to me prior and you know my life.” You were shocked to see Bucky’s reaction, most people would of blacked out on Sherlock for an outburst like that and this one definitely warranted it. “You’re right, about all of those things. I guess I’m just trying to play the best game I can with the hand I was dealt. I’m not one for feeling sorry for myself.” He straightened up and fastened his cap back on as he caught eyes with Lestrade and returned a knowing nod. 

Turning to you, Bucky grinned as if it never phased him, like he had grown used to being talked down on. The blue never left him and that made you happy. You didn’t want him to feel bad.

“Goodnight, Y/N. I look forward to speaking with you again. Mr. Holmes.” With that, he bid you both a good night and headed towards his team.

“Sherlock,” you murmured when you turned back to face him. The fog was so dark that you couldn’t make out his features anymore. You felt the fear creeping up your neck while you were trying to figure out what was so wrong with him. “What’s wrong with you? I figured you’d be happy that you practically solved the case...?” 

You saw it, he had been happy. And then you remembered his earlier comment about Molly. Maybe he wished she was here instead to celebrate his win with him.

“Listen... if this is about Molly, you know you can always ask her to tag along instead. I don’t want you to feel... obligated to invite me. She’s probably more useful in a situation like this anyway.” 

You felt yourself internally deflate as you spoke, but you were able to make out Sherlock’s face once more under the city lights. The green began to thin out. He must’ve been relieved at your confession, you thought.

Sherlock visibly tensed for a second before quickly masking it under an air of nonchalance.

“I could care less about Molly or what she’s good for. All I care about is the work and that it gets done. You know that.”

You watched as time passed and you could start seeing more of him. You realized you’d been holding your breath for some time waiting for the green to dissipate and set your detective free. Sherlock was back with you, and whatever feeling tried to take him away from you was lost now. That’s all that mattered.

And, of course, because there were still pressing matters to finish attending to, your moment with Sherlock didn’t last long. You swore something had changed within him. Something you couldn’t name just yet.

You weren’t totally quite convinced that whatever had happened between you two back there wasn’t about Molly, or some strange feeling that Sherlock was having that he’d surely never talk about. Even still you continued to follow after him wherever he asked you to go, as he still always asked you to go. 

And if he happened to stand a little closer to you the next time you worked alongside Scotland Yard, you were none the wiser.

#bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock x you #reader insert #benedict cumberbatch #benedict cumberbatch x reader #bbc sherlock fanfiction #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock imagine #sherlock #fanfic #bbc sherlock x you #bbc sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes fanfiction #fandom #ao3 #writing #luxwrites

[babylooneytoonz]

Sound of Music [Pt. 1]

Sherlock Holmes! Henry Cavill x Reader

Summary : Sherlock finds himself being curious about the occupant of the estate next to theirs, especially when all they can hear during evenings is the faint sound of the piano coming from the estate. One day, the detective inside of him decides to try and find out what's going on with the neighbours.

Warnings: none

*Please reblog if you like it, do not repost, copy or claim my work as yours.

[My Masterlist]

It was that time of the year again, at Ferndell Hall, where you could practically smell the blooming of the most exotic flowers that you couldn't put a name to; there were lilacs and chrysanthemums, gladulas and orchids that lined up until the iron metal gate of the structure. The grass was uneven and unkempt, weeds propped up almost everywhere, but that didn't bother Enola. However, as the carriage entered Ferndell Hall, carrying her two elder brothers, Mycroft and Sherlock, there was someone that was bothered by all this — Mycroft. He looked at everything in distaste, grumbling in a not-so-silent manner as to what a mess the entire place was.

The day the brothers returned, all Enola listened to was Mycroft complaining about nearly everything, ranging from the ornaments in the estate that had been broken and left unattended, to the fact that Enola didn't have a set of gloves and a hat on while she was out at the station to receive them.

"How improper!" He muttered to himself, and to Sherlock and the younger brother of the two couldn't help but pass on a cornered smirk to the youngest, silently addressing her with his eyes, asking her to just wait until this fit of their brother passed away and he got just another reason to begin cribbing about.

Back at the house, Sherlock only gave her a half amused smile, as he sunk back into one of the armchairs with a parchment of paper in his hands, a letter that belonged to their mother, in desperate attempts to find clues as to who could have taken her, or whether she left herself with a lover. Although, he didn't let Enola in on his second lingering thought.

It was almost evening, and the sun was beginning to set. Mrs. Hudson had laid out the tea cups, and was pouring the gentlemen some piping hot tea when Sherlock suddenly turned towards the window in the dining room.

"You hear that too, don't you Sherlock?" Enola regarded her brother, who had now stepped up and was already standing by the window, his tall frame covering up her entire view, "that music.. it's captivating, isn't it? I listen to it everyday." Enola stood up rather loudly, and Mycroft chastised her for it, but paying him no heed, she followed Sherlock to fix herself by his side, staring out of the window. Just next to the Ferndell Hall estate was spread out the Cableton Estate, and just last summer's, when Enola and her mother were out in the gardens trimming the shrubberies, they had heard heavy noises radiating from the abandoned estate next door.

"Looks like we've got neighbours," Enola's mother told her, and in her mind, she made a note to go and visit the neighbours but for some reason, it never came up, and now she was gone.

"Who are the occupants of the, what was the name again-- Cableton Estate?" Sherlock turned towards his sister, bringing his pipe up to his well defined lips, who just shook her head, "Never really got the chance to greet them properly."

The screws in Sherlock's minds were turning. Maybe, whoever lived in that house knew something that Enola didn't know, or had seen something that could give him a major clue as to where Eudoria Holmes actually was.

Maybe it was time to pay the neighbours a visit.

The sound of the music was much louder now, loud yet comforting to Sherlock's ears. The Cableton estate was not as big as the Ferndell Hall, but it was definitely lovely. The front lawn was well kept, the hedgerows trimmed timely, and the weeds pulled out. Massive flowers bloomed in a line, and the air smelled fresh and breathy.

Sherlock's curiousity was getting the better of him, and Enola was just being Enola, looking around, holding a massive silver plate with freshly baked goodies layered neatly inside of it as Sherlock rasped against the door.

They were greeted by an older looking woman with a kindred smile. She eyed Sherlock carefully, before turning to look at Enola, and then the baked goods in her hands, "Yes? Can I help you?" She asked, politely.

Sherlock parted his lips, but before he could speak, Enola began, "My name is Enola Holmes, and this is my brother, Sherlock," she turned towards him just for a second and regarded him through her blues before turning back again, tightly gripping the plate of goodies to her chest, "We come from Ferndell Hall. My apologies, we wanted to make a visit last summer, but circumstances weren't as such."

"Oh dear, the children would be happy to see you, come on in," the older woman stepped out of the way, and Sherlock nodded politely, waiting for her sister to be the one to enter first as it only seemed appropriate. He wondered who these children were. As if on cue, a young boy, not older than eight perhaps, darted into the hall, almost colliding into Sherlock's legs, eliciting an immediate response from the governess, "Good God, dear child, would you stop running about all over? You've got visitors? Would you let your sister know you've got visitors?"

"Well, hello there, and what might your name be?" Enola knelt down, so she was squatting on her feet, to get to the same height as the boy, "I'm Enola."

"James, James [Y/L/N]," the boy nervously replied before he turned on his tail and ran off, and Enola couldn't help hide the grin forming on her lips as she watched him disappear.

"Tea?" The older woman asked, and Sherlock nodded, running his fingers through his curls, "If that won't be much trouble?" The woman waved him off with a smile and told them she would be right back, bring the tea whilst they waited.

"And what might you be thinking, Sherlock?"

Sherlock realized he was lost in his thoughts. He wiped his palm over his face, over his well defined jaw and looked at his sister with his eyes narrowed suspiciously, "A governess, a child, but no parents."

"Don't forget the mysterious pianist, Sherlock. Besides, the governess did mention the child's sister," Enola added.

While Enola had been busy interacting with the boy, Sherlock's eyes were scanning around the hall, studying the paintings that hung on the wall. They were mostly abstract but there was something captivating about them all. Sherlock clutched Eudoria's photograph tightly in his grip, waiting for the right moment so he could ask if the neighbours had seen something odd, and could tell him something when once again, the music filled up his ears.

He didn't understand it one bit, how clouded his senses became the more he listened to it. There was something raw, something painful lurking in that music, and although Sherlock couldn't put a name to it, he could sense the anguish of the person who was behind it. It became so unbearable to him, he began walking towards the source of the music, and Enola darted after him, frowning at how strange Sherlock was suddenly acting.

He didn't have to walk much farther, for the room aligned to the hall was the source of Sherlock's torment.

She didn't look much older, perhaps a twenty two if Sherlock's deducing skills were on point. Her dark tresses were short, strange for a woman living in London in that era. She was hunched over the piano, her fingers moving like butter over the keys and Sherlock, and even Enola, couldn't help but keep staring at her. Her side was towards them, so she didn't know she was being stared at. Besides, she was too engrossed in churning out the most melancholic melody to even notice that there were visitors in the house.

Her long lashes fluttered, her head gracefully thrown back, her fingers moving over the instrument without even her having to struggle to remember the notes. It had been as if she had been playing the piano ever since she was born, but she knew that wasn't the case. Slowly, the music that she was playing began dying down, and Enola, enraptured to say the most, unknowingly took a lousy step backwards, her back hitting the cabinet, toppling a vase over and Sherlock's breathing hitched.

The woman stood up, her eyes thrown wide open as she regarded them, obviously flustered and red like a freshly harvested tomato.

"Apologies for the intrusion, and for my sister's not so graceful ways," Sherlock turned towards Enola, giving her a stern eye and she just shrugged before turning to the woman, "I must agree with my brother. Um, you see, we wanted to visit last summer but the circumstances were such.. oh nevermind, we brought you biscuits?" She bit her lip, giving the woman a child like apologetic smile, and Sherlock shook his head silently.

His mouth opened to apologize yet again but before he could even do that, the mysterious piano woman turned around, towards the other door of the parlour. She pulled it open and disappeared through it.

"I scared her off, didn't I?" Enola drawled, staring at the vacant space in front of the piano where she sat, seconds back.

"I am most certain of that," Sherlock hummed.

Sherlock hadn't felt this level of unease in a long while as he sat there, his knee bouncing up and down, his eyes fixed to that one spot of dirt on the carpet, his lips puckered into deep thinking. He knew their behaviour had been way off, and was disrespectful, yet he couldn't wonder but think what had made her run away.

Just then, footsteps sounded in the hallway just adjacent to the hall, until the figure of the governess emerged, a tray held in her hands. She laid the tea cups down and filled up the cups with piping hot tea. Following the governess, [Y/N] finally entered the hall, her arms in front of her, her fingers nervously toying with each other.

She lowered her head, just lightly before she glanced at her governess and gave her a slight look, a look that Sherlock quite didn't understand. Perplexed, he turned towards his sister for help. For a mighty detective, Sherlock Holmes was as clueless as a lamb when it came to women, and their thoughts and their actions, and she was a complete stranger. The nearest that the detective could bring himself to deduce was the fact that she had been offended by the intrusion.

It was only when the governess cleared her throat, the only sound in the parlour being that of the clinking of the silver sterling spoon against the ceramic tea cup as the [Y/N] began stirring the tea in her teacup, did Sherlock and Enola look up from their own respective teas.

"Miss [Y/L/N] appreciates the gesture, and might I add, she thinks that the biscuits were just perfectly done," the governess turned towards her and the woman gave her a half smile, half blush as she brought the cup up to her rosy lips and took a sip of it. Enola turned to her brother, and then back to her, and blinked, "thank you. The next time, I could try chocolate chip."

Sherlock cleared his throat and turned towards Enola, making her go quiet, as his fingers slid into the pocket of his pants and he pulled out Eudoria's photograph. He slightly leaned forward, his elbow resting against his knee as he threw out the photograph towards the two of them so they could take a look, "we did come with another purpose. We are trying to look for our mother Eudoria. She is missing." He threw out his hand towards [Y/N], and this time, she took the photograph from his hand and looked down at it, handing it to her governess as she gave him a confused look.

"Did you happen to see anything that you perhaps thought was remotely strange or unusual?"

Sherlock was quick to grasp the shock registering on the woman's face, making it known that she had no idea whatsoever and he sighed, slinking back against the comfort of the armchair, his hand resting on his knee. That's when he noted something, the woman lifted her hands in the air, keeping them parallel to her bosom, as she began motioning something to her governess in sign language. It was only then he realized why she hadn't spoken a word to him. It wasn't because she didn't want to, but because she couldn't.

"Unfortunately, Mr. Holmes, Miss [Y/L/N] does not have anything of importance that can help the two of you with your search. She hardly leaves the confines of Cableton Estate."

Sherlock nodded, his lips curling into the slightest of smiles as he took the photograph back, pocketing it, "Thank you for trying, Miss [Y/L/N].

[Y/N] nodded, and Sherlock noted the way her lips curved upwards, just slightly, her cheeks slightly rosy.

It was then that the governess informed her discreetly that it was time for her music lessons. Gently, she stood up, and nodded in curtsy, her head dipping just lightly as she took her leave and excused herself, slithering out if the hall from one of the mahogany doors, until she was out of sight, and the governess turned towards Sherlock, "You have questions, I suppose?"

"We don't wish to intrude," Sherlock's deep baritone went.

The governess sighed softly, flicking a glance towards the way [Y/N] had left from and she took a deep breath, "I was twenty when the [Y/L/N]s took me in as a governess for their lovely children, [Y/N] and James."

Sherlock regarded the older woman through his oceanic blue eyes, his fingers placed against his chin, as though he was deeply listening, which he was.

"Four summers back, it was a lovely afternoon, and the [Y/L/N]s were on their way to city, when they were brutally murdered. It's a miracle Miss [Y/N] survived."

Sherlock tensed, his earlier relaxed posture changing as he sat upright and glanced at Enola, before looking back at the governess again.

"Pardon me, but wasn't Miss [Y/N] an eye witness? Were the murderers not caught?"

"Unfortunately, she never spoke again. We did try our best to get her to speak, or even write but she decided against it," The governess arched herself forward, so now her voice was reduced to a mere whisper, "the police never found out who killed them, and the mystery still remains."

"The police can be.. er, incompetent but I can help if you would like?" Sherlock offered.

The governess shook her head, smiling softly, "Thank you, Mr. Holmes. I would convey that to Miss [Y/L/N] but I doubt she wants anyone to engage in this again. The last experience was not so.. pleasant for her."

Sherlock turned towards his sister, a weird set of expressions passing between the two of them, as Sherlock stood up, nodding courteously, followed by Enola who finally broke her own silence with a smile, "Thank you for having us, and apologies for er, our untimely visit."

The governess walked the two of them out until they were on their way to the Ferndell Hall once again, and Enola noted how quiet Sherlock was, all the way. As they reached the front gate, and stepped into the vicinity of their front garden, Enola turned towards his brother, her eyebrow raised slightly in jest, "You seemed fascinated by Miss [Y/L/N], Sherlock."

Sherlock's mouth opened, and he narrowed his eyes for a bit, trying to come up with the right words, but it was as if words had failed to make a presence into his mouth and his mind. He was already thinking, his thoughts revolving around a singular thought. Who murdered her parents? "I'm not fascinated by her but rather the story that stays hidden from the rest of the world, Enola."

"And what exactly do you intend to do about it, Sherlock?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Well, sister, once I find where our mother is, I'm going to offer to look into the murder of her parents."

Enola smiled, a naughty one but she dared not comment. She knew what was happening, but she wanted destiny to play out its course. Enola had a hunch, and her hunches were never mostly wrong, except perhaps for one or two. But she was confident that Sherlock was somehow captivated by the stranger that lived in the estate next to theirs, and that the whole idea of trying to find out who murdered her parents were just an illusion Sherlock's mind had formed, just to get himself another chance to be able to see her again. She didn't need to let him know that though, and she decided that it would be the best to leave things run their own course.

Over the course of the next four weeks, Enola and [Y/N] grew close. Enola found herself sneaking out often, mostly escaping from her older brother, Mycroft, to shelter with the [Y/L/N]s. Although [Y/N] never spoke, Enola began seeking solace in her music. She would sit in an armchair, right next to the piano, her elbows resting against its surface as she watched the woman play. It was a sight for her sore eyes, watching the woman crinkle her nose just lightly when her hands were so engrossed in playing the piano but a loose strand of her dark locks managed to escape from behind her ear pricking against her nose. She would let out a giggle as she watched [Y/N] scrunch her nose almost immediately, and she would have to forcefully pause with the piano, and her palm would fly up to her lips, and she would sneeze lightly.

[Y/N] found herself spending more and more time in the company of Enola. She found herself on untimely walks with the younger girl, her arm in hers, as the two of them walked in the front garden of the Ferndell Hall. Although she never spoke, there was now like a deep rooted understanding between the two of them that wasn't formed on words, but rather unsaid emotions. If it were up to [Y/N], she considered Enola a sister she never had.

This led her to have another starkly contradicting thought in her mind. If she considered Enola like her younger sister, did that mean she had to think of Sherlock as her brother figure?

That afternoon, she sat under the tree, her back resting against the bark of the tree, her hair fuzzy and all over her eyes, as she used her dainty fingers to push them away from her eyes. She was listening to Enola rant on about Mycroft, as she paced left and right, her hands on her hips. She was extremely done for, eversince Mycroft had told her about his intentions to see her in a finishing school run by Mrs. Harrison,"Breeding a proper lady, he says. Can you believe that, [Y/N]?"

That afternoon she told [Y/N] about her plans to disguise herself as a boy and leave Ferndell Hall. At first, [Y/N] protested in her own silent way, grabbing her hands and tugging them down, shaking her head but when she saw how important this was for her, and when she heard how commited she was to this idea of going away, she couldn't say no or do anything about it but to accept what she wanted to do. Thus, she wished Enola good luck, kissing her forehead, and let her leave.

After Enola left, [Y/N] found it terribly hard to concentrate on the trivial things in life. She hated spending time around her piano, she hated reading, and she hated anything that was remotely not worrying about the girl. It was only that one day, when a letter finally arrived for her, from Enola, did the nervousness that had long settled into the pit of her stomach, start washing away.

Taking the letter from her governess, she ran outside, clutching the letter to her chest, pressing it hard against it as she ran up the hill, using her hand to hold her skirt up, while the other held the letter.

Once she was sat comfortably under her tree, she rolled the letter open, and a breath of relief escaped her lips. Although Enola had not told much, the letter said that she was safe, and she was closer in her search for Eudoria. That was good enough for her to get her tension and the knots in her body and her mind to melt away to an extent. And the rest was done by Sherlock.

[Y/N] didn't realize how her running up that hill had invaded the detective's privacy. He had already been up on that hill, shielded from prying eyes as he sat under another tree, smoking his pipe. When she ran up the hill, the faint rustling and the crunching of the dried autumn leaves made his attention spike, and he lifted his blue eyes, fixing it on her.

She was beautiful, sublime, her face the colour of summer, of flowers blooming in a backyard.

Sherlock stood up silently, in a way not to scare her off. He could see her read a letter, her expressions dramatically changing, from a straight face to a smile. It had to be Enola.

"Fancy meeting you here, Miss [Y/L/N]."

[Y/N] had the clearest of faces that Sherlock could think of. She was as transparent as water, and Sherlock could read her expressions like a book. This was maybe her way of communicating, through her lips and her eyes and Sherlock felt he was mastering the art of it. She bit her lip nervously, her fingers tightening around the now crumpled parchment of paper.

"I hope I'm not intruding."

He noticed how she shook her head, her nose crinkling slightly, a bit of panic in her eyes as she quickly hid the letter away, shielding it within the heavy layers of her dress. He didn't comment on it. The truth was, he had been keeping track on Enola himself so he knew he knew much more than she did.

It's only when she shook her head and looked up at him, her doe like eyes meeting his for the first time, did he realize how his heart skipped a beat. The last time he had seen her, back at her estate, she had been withdrawn, but this woman was far from withdrawn. In fact, she looked happy to see him.

The look in her eyes was enough to tell Sherlock that she was okay with him sitting down next to her, so he did, careful to keep a good distance away from her, but they were parallel, their faces drawn to the vicinity in front of them. He wondered what was running through that beautiful mind of hers but if only she could tell him.

Sherlock and [Y/N] silently sat for the next few minutes, the silence being comfortable enough for the two of them to absorb each other's breaths. It was only when [Y/N] stood up, and nodded at Sherlock, did he realize that it was getting late. Out of courtesy, the man stood up too, his eyes falling on the letter that had, unknowingly fallen from her, and was now laying abandoned on the grass.

He bent, lifting it up and slowly, without even reading it, handed it back to her.

"Miss [Y/L/N]. Can I walk you back?"

A nod of her head and a smile on his lips, Sherlock found himself walking with her in silence, with his own smile reaching his eyes, the letter clasped to her chest.

A/N- Any feedback is welcome, and appreciated 💗.

P.s Planning to write this as an extended fic because my baby Sherlock deserves some love !

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@bitchynicole @libbymouse @petitefirecracker10 @naughty-koala07 @maan24 @pterodactylterrace

Want to be added to my Henry Cavill All Characters Masterlist? Please let me know via my ask box, DM or a comment. ✨

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