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delicate-moon-princess · 2 years

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Exactly What You Need

Exactly What You Need

Summary: It seems Sherlock understands your needs better than you do.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, unprotected p in v, rough sex, outdoor sex, size kink, breeding kink, slight ass worship? (Sherlock just has such a nice ass what can I say?), old timey views on sex, brief mention of body changing during and after pregancy- Let me know if I forgot anything!

Word Count: 3k

Any typos are my own.

A/N: This was a request from anon for some size kink with Sherlock. But I accidentally deleted the ask from my inbox.😭 I hope you see this, anon! Sorry it took a while, I just wanted to make this perfect for you.💖 Please let me know what you think.

Your favorite place to sit was on the lap of your newly wedded husband. His warmth enveloped you completely. You sat cradled in his lap like a doll, the back of your head rested on his chest. As he loomed behind you like a predator, you could feel his breath brush over the top of your hair.

Despite his intimidating statue, you knew Sherlock would never harm you. He had always been gentle and romantic when it came to you. Just like today, he planned a perfect picnic under the old oak tree that adorned the estate.

The two of you reclined against the tree’s strong trunk, taking in the beautiful summer day. Sherlock was reading a novel as you rested your eyes. His hands absentmindedly rubbed your arms and shoulders, occasionally taking a break to turn the page.

As always, his gentle caressing began to set your body ablaze. The heat from his palms caused goosebumps to rise on your skin. You knew he felt them as he hummed.

“Are you cold, darling?” He asked you softly, looking away from his novel to gaze at you.

You turned your head to look at him, smiling bashfully as you shook your head quickly.

“N-No, I’m alright.”

“Hm. If you say so.” He nodded, not looking convinced as he turned his attention back to the book. You caught the corner of his lip twitching, almost smirking.

As he looked away, you bit your lip. He continued stroking your arm, making it even harder to relax. You tried to suppress your urges, letting out a soft sigh.

You’d been wanting him all day. You couldn’t remember a time you had yearned so intensely. Lunch had taken your mind off your desire, but now that he was so close and touching you so tenderly, it was harder to ignore.

Your eyes rolled back when he squeezed your shoulder, having to stifle a moan. You couldn’t help but squirm. Moisture started to build between your legs, damping your bloomers. A grimace flashed on your face from the uncomfortable sensation.

Sherlock must have decided to ignore your wiggling. You braved a quick peek back at your husband. He was still not looking at you. So, you felt confident enough to let your hips roll once more. There was a vague pressure on your clit when you rubbed your legs together.

A shiver ran through you from the bottom of your spine. You leaned your head back against his shoulder, squirming unconsciously to chase the feeling. Images of Sherlock filled your mind.

The sight of his nude body, shoulders spread wide and huge chest covered in soft hair. His biceps bulged. You could barely get your arms around the man because his abdomen was so thick and muscular. You fantasized about the feeling of his weight on top of you as he thrusted his big, thick cock in and out of you.

He was a giant in every way possible.

Another harsh tremble ripped through you. You tensed when you heard him close the book. The soft thud made your snap eyes open. You knew you were caught now.

“My, my. Aren’t you a wiggly little thing today?” He observed, lifting his eyes to you.

His smirk was evident when you hesitantly looked back at him. Those eyes you fall in love with were full of mischief. He dropped the novel to place both his hands on your shoulders. He gave them a squeeze, causing you to hiccup. He chuckled, knowing exactly what his actions were doing to you.

“I… I’m sorry.” You whispered, ashamed of yourself.

Your yearning was wanton. You should not be grinding against this man like a sinful whore, even if he is your husband. This sort of thing belongs in your shared bed, not out in the open where anyone can stumble along and see you.

Before you could lower your head in embarrassment, his fingers gripped your chin. Your eyes met again, and his hand left your chin to hold your cheek in his palm. His thumb stroked your bottom lip.

“Darling, what have I told you about being ashamed of your desire?” He could already read you like a book, despite the short time you’ve been married. After all, he was a detective.

“That I should never feel guilty about my desire.” You managed to whisper, knowing he expected an answer.

“And?” He pressed you to continue, slowly leaning down to press his lips against your shoulder. You gasped.

“A-And that all my urges are completely natural.” You breathed out as he peppered kisses all along your shoulder and neck.

“And who will always take care of these urges you have?” He murmured.

“You will.” You whispered, his curls tickling your cheek as he lathered your flesh with affection.

“Because?”

You gulped, “Because you are my husband.”

“Yes. And it is my husbandly duty to fulfill every need or want you might have.” He inhaled against your hair, taking in a big whiff of your scent.

“And I know exactly what you need right now.” He growled against your neck. The sound was almost menacing. It still ignited a fire deep in your gut.

You yelped loudly when you were suddenly flipped around and pinned to the blanket on which you had your picnic. He quickly hovered over you. Any sunlight beaming down on you from between the leaves on the tree was eclipsed by his enormous physique.

How did a man of his size move so fast? More so, how did he toss you around like nothing but a sack of potatoes. And why did you love it so much?

Your heart began to beat faster in your chest. All you could do was stare up at him in a daze, his manhandling of you only made you that much more aroused. You laid under him as he grinned, his eyes dangerous as he began to lift your skirts.

Your eyes widened when you felt this, tensing up. You hiccuped as you lifted your hands to his chest to stop him.

“Sherlock!” You whispered frantically. “O-Out here?”

You took a look around at the great outdoors that surrounded you and your husband. Never had you made love with him outside the comfort of your home. It was rare that you did it outside your bed. He did, however, manage to seduce you in other rooms a few times. His study, the kitchen, even once in the bath. Oh that was delightful. The memory caused you to leak into your underthings.

The detective watched as you bit your lip again. He grinned, nodding. You shivered when his fingers played with the hem of your dress and danced along the flesh of your ankles.

“Yes, here. What’s wrong, darling? Don’t you want me to make love to you?” He cocked his head, smirking playfully.

“I want you more than anything.” You whispered, blushing as you looked at his chest.

“Then we shall do it here. Though ‘making love’ would not be the best term for what I’m about to do to you.” He chuckled.

You shivered. Oh.

“My dear, we will rut like beasts. It’s really only fitting I take you while outdoors like this. It makes me feel that much more… animalistic.” He growled after pausing to think of the right word to use. You clenched your legs together, whining for him now.

Never had you seen him be so primal. You were thoroughly enjoying it, however. And you wanted even more.

“Please, Sherlock. I need it.” You finally admitted defeat with your desire.

He grinned as he watched you submit to your passion, he continued in lifting your skirts. His tongue came out to lick his lips. As he sought to expose you, you studied his features. His expression was one of hunger. He was starving for your body.

He tugged off your bloomers after he bunched your dress up around your middle. You jumped and whimpered when you felt the cool breeze upon your warm cunt. A deep growl rumbled inside Sherlock’s chest as he looked down at the sight between your legs.

“Look at you...” He murmured under his breath as he gazed at your wet flower. He licked his lips, taking a look at the beauty before him. His gaze made you squirm.

You watched him quickly get to work undoing the buttons of his trousers. You licked your lips at the bulge in his pants, knowing soon you’d get to see your husband’s lovely cock. He pulled out his length, stroking it a few times as you stared at him intently. His thumb rubbed against his leaking tip. The sight made you whimper.

Sherlock’s chuckle snapped you out of it. You turned red, caught ogling his magnificent manhood. He grinned, bending down to kiss you deeply.

He kept his lips on yours as he spread your legs wider so he could fit between them. You felt him rub the tip of his cock up and down your slit, moaning at the sensation.

“You are absolutely soaked, my darling. I wonder if I could just…” He trailed off, catching you off guard when he sank into you in one smooth thrust.

You gasped loudly, the delicious stretch of his length breaching your hole made your brain go haywire. There was always a little bit of a sting whenever he entered, but it mixed delightfully with the irresistible fullness you felt when he was completely inside you. Your eyes rolled back and you let out a moan.

“A-Ah…” That was all you could whimper as you tilted your head back, driving your nails into his clothed biceps.

“Shh, shh my sweet darling. It’s alright. This is what you’ve been begging for.” He shushed you softly, his hand coming up to touch your face.

Quickly, you turned your head to nuzzle his palm. His huge hand almost engulfed your entire face. With your eyes closed, you peppered heated little kisses along his skin. He hummed at the sweet affection, nuzzling your temple as he still rested inside you. You just needed a moment, that’s all.

“Your body was begging me to stretch it… to fill it with my cock. Oh, I know.” He cooed a little when you let out a soft hiccup. His vulgar language made your delicate walls pulsate around him, squeezing his cock even tighter. He grunted sharply.

“It’s a tight fit, isn’t it, love? An awfully big peg for such a tiny hole.” He snarled a little and straightened his spine so that he was fully stretched out above you.

With your height difference, your head only reached his chest. You leaned in quickly to bury your face in his vest. His handkerchief was still in his breast pocket. It smelled faintly of orange and clove from the cologne he dabbed on it earlier. Underneath the spicy sweet scent, a hint of tobacco lingered from the pipe he’d smoked before lunch.

When the smell of him entered your nose, you let out a groan and unconsciously clenched around him. It seemed like every little thing was making you ache for him. You were certain you had never been this needy in your life. He moaned when you squeezed him, tilting his head back for a moment.

“Oh yes, you’re ready for it…Prepare yourself, darling. Hold onto me.” He warned you, his voice deep.

Sherlock growled, bucking his hips. When the tip of his cock brushed against your sensitive cervix, you let out a soft cry. Wrapping your arms and legs around him, your mouth dropped open in a breathy moan. You clung to the enormous detective, knowing he was about to give you the plowing of a lifetime.

He propped himself up on his forearms and began thrusting at a brutal pace. You were sobbing into his chest with each piston of his hips, biting his vest to try and silence yourself. Even if your estate was a little ways outside town, your sounds were likely to attract anyone close by.

“Don’t you dare muffle yourself. I want anyone or anything lurking nearby to hear you scream as I take my beautiful wife.” He slowed his hips for a moment to murmur to you.

A snarl vibrated in his chest before he pushed back inside you and rested. A choked little whimper fell out of your mouth when he somehow managed to thrust deeper inside you. He grunted and panted like a beast. His trousers had slipped lower on his hips, exposing the top of his firm buttocks.

Your hands reached down to dig your nails into one of his cheeks, attempting to squeeze him closer. It wasn’t enough, you needed more of him. You needed all of him. Your second hand sank further into his trousers to hold his other cheek, allowing you to fully grasp his ass.

Sherlock moaned as your hands pressed into his bum, causing his muscles to spasm. You took the time to admire the plump cheeks that you always stole peeks at. Each time you caught a glimpse of his wonderful behind, you felt compelled to squeeze it.

However, it never felt appropriate to do so. Until now, that is. This felt like a perfect time to hold your husband’s ass. You massaged the firm muscles he had, occasionally squeezing. You even raised your hips in an attempt to presuade him to keep fucking you.

A deep chuckle left his lips. Sherlock almost sounded predatory.

“You dirty little minx. Yes, I know exactly what you need.” He repeated his words from before, sucking in a breath before he resumed his previous aggressive thrusting.

Each time he rammed his cock inside you, he would somehow nuzzle himself farther into your poor cunt, elicating loud and needy sobs from your mouth. The wind was knocked out of you with each thrust of his hips. The both of you groaned in unison.

It felt like he was in your guts by now, his manhood making itself known as it delved into your body roughly. Both the dull pain and overwhelming pleasure brought tears to your eyes. Your tears made a wet patch on his rustled shirt.

It hurt so good. But you needed more.

Sherlock bent back down to look into your eyes, your cheeks soaked. You had no idea what you wanted, you just knew that whatever it was- you needed it badly. The ache inside you had not been eased, and you knew one orgasm would not cut it.

Your desire ran deeper than a wonderful climax. You wanted to feel him inside you for as long as you could after he was finished fucking you. Hopefully the weight of him rested comfortably in your womb for a very long time.

“Please! I-I…” You hiccuped, cut off by his surprisingly soft hushing. You pleaded with him to take the ache away. If he knew what you needed, why wasn’t he helping?

Despite his gentle comforting, his hips never stopped slamming into you. You felt his hand cup your cheek as you wailed in pleasure, your eyes pinched shut. His thumb wiping a tear away made you open them, gazing up at your husband as he fucked you.

“I’m preparing you to take me, my love.” He grunted, his curls falling in his eyes. “To take me entirely. To take my seed. It’s what you’ve been begging for all along, darling. Your fertile womb is just pulsating with the desire to be bred by me.”

You hiccuped when he said that. Is that what you’ve been yearning for? To be bred by this man? By the way your cunt clenched down onto him, the answer was yes.

With his forehead pressed against yours, the detective let out a growl. It was becoming increasingly hard to concentrate as your body burned with desire. Desire to have your husband’s seed planted in your body. You were becoming impatient now that you understood what you wanted.

You squeezed his ass again, urging him to quicken his pace even more. The sooner you were swollen with his brood, the better. A raspy chuckle escaped him, giving you just what you wanted as he plowed you even harder.

“Yes. I will give you exactly what you need. My seed will take root inside you, where my child will grow large and heavy in your womb. Each day that you carry my spawn will be a reminder of who you belong to.” He hissed in your ear, never ceasing his pounding.

You gripped him tighter, gasping as his deft fingers rubbed circles on your clit. A cry left you, clawing at his flesh as he groaned. It only made you wetter, his cock making a squelching noise as he rocked in and out of you.

“Then, after you give birth to my strong and healthy son, I will fill you up again. And again. U-Until your body cannot take anymore.” Sherlock’s voice began to shake, you knew he was close.

The constant pressure on your nub was making your vision fuzzy. His words made it too much to go on. With one more thrust, you tumbled over the edge. Your cunt clamped down onto his throbbing cock. Sobbing, you held onto him tightly.

Sherlock groaned loudly and tossed his head back. Buried all the way inside you, he released his thick seed against your cervix. It was hot, which only fuelled your orgasm even more. You gasped, his spunk never seeming to end as he pumped you completely full.

The two of you rutted against one another, chasing your highs before you floated down together. Sherlock’s breath hit your skin as he planted languid kisses along your neck, both of you panting.

“The feeling of my children will live on in your womb forever, my love. I will leave your body with my mark; my pups.” He growled softly, his voice still thick from desire.

You felt a shiver run through you. If his offspring were similar in size to him, you knew you would never forget what it felt like to carry and birth the next generation of Holmes. Giving him a strong legacy will undoubtedly take a toll on your body.

And you wouldn’t want it any other way.

A/N: Sorry if my breeding kink overpowered the size kink. 😅 Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed.

Taglist: @sunshine-with-daisy @leigh70 @islacharlotte @lysarria @kebabgirl67 @pandaxnienke Credits: Divider- @firefly-graphics

#sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock x reader #henry!sherlock holmes x reader #henry!sherlock x reader #sherlock fanfic #sherlock imagine #henry cavill fic #henry cavill characters #henry!sherlock

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fool-who-dreams · 2 years

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unintentional mystery

Summary - The mysterious Sherlock Holmes has unintentionally been keeping his biggest secret from everyone: you.

"John!" Sherlock called urgently from the dining room. "John!" He continued insistently as he fixed his scarf around his neck. "John!" He yelled once more, this time knocking on the bathroom door.

"For Pete's sake, what are you doing at my house, how did you get in!" The bathroom door swung open, revealing an angry John wrapped in shower towels.

"Key's anger the doormat. Oldest trick in the playbook. You told me about it."

"I never told you where my key was!"

"Not with your words." Sherlock rolled his eyes knowingly. "Can we go now? The truth awaits."

"A new case? Alright, give me five minutes and-" John sighed, hurrying to his bedroom.

"I'll meet you there." Sherlock shouted, leaving the house.

"Fascinating. Isn't it?" Sherlock asked John, leaning closer to the crime scene.

"A gutted corpse? Not really." John replied. And to think he was so close to becoming Sherlock Holmes' roommate. At the very last minute, though, John had found a cheap comfortable place just around the corner. Nothing stopped Sherlock from involving John in his every move.

Seeing him in the distance, you and your colleague Greg approached the familiar faces. "Mr Holmes, you have arrived." Lestrade pointed out.

"Clever deduction Inspector, what gave it away?" He replied wittily.

"Pleasant, as always." You remarked sarcastically.

"Shut up y/n, you couldn't bear this job without me."

"Mr. Watson," You chimed in, ignoring the curly-haired detective. "pleased to finally meet you. Sherlock has said loads of wonderful things about you." You revealed, stretching your hand towards John.

He shook your hand, quite puzzled. "He is capable of that?"

"Well, not really...it's more that he hasn't affronted you as much as he usually does to people. It's as far as it goes, I'd be proud if I were you." You smiled, amused. "I am y/n, I'm the coroner affiliated with this case." You explained to the former doctor. "Oh, and try to solve it within a couple hours dear, would you?" You asked Sherlock, slowly stroking his covered arm.

"Nonsense! Take your time Sherlock, we all are having such a great time. Aren't we?" Lestrade winked at you, to which you had to keep yourself from making a disgusted face. He wasn't a bad man, he just wasn't your man. You nodded, fake smiling to your colleague before turning to Sherlock.

"Hurry." You almost threatened.

"Why? Got plans?" He asked, almost annoyed. 'Maybe even jealous' John thought.

"Not really. But-"

"Then you won't mind joining me for dinner." He cut you off wittily. "We'll raise a toast to my ability to solve a case of this complexity in just 'a couple of hours'." He proposed, still not taking his eyes off the scene.

'Okay, wait. Is Sherlock actually- flirting?' John thought again.

"Ask me again when you've cracked this." You replied with a smirk. You turned around, starting to walk away, when the genius' voice had you stopped in your tracks.

"It was his wife. After stealing his wedding ring, she must've sold it. Probably online. The one he's wearing is not authentic, and the tie is undone, which means he wasn't actually coming back from work but rather, given the lipstick stain, from an encounter with his mistress. The woman must've found out. It's a jealousy crime." Sherlock said in one breath. "Care to join me now?" He asked with a satisfied smirk, actually looking straight into your eyes for the first time since he had arrived.

"How could I refuse?" You chuckled.

"Well, well...it appears this is my lucky day." Sherlock commented, pulling you in by the waist to stamp a kiss on your lips. You felt your cheeks getting warmer, and a smile creeping onto your face.

"I'll see you at home." You pecked him again before catching up to Lestrade and the rest of the team.

"Okay." John tried to keep his composure, but miserably failed. "What is going on here?" "I thought I had been clear enough. A jealousy crime. Although money was evidently involved in-" "Not that! Why did you kiss Y/N? And why was she kay with it?"

"Well John, don't you kiss your wife?" He asked, starting to walk away.

"A wife?!" John asked in disbelief. "What's next? I'll find out you have kids? A mistress?"

"Oh no" Sherlock chuckled. "If I had a mistress, I probably would have ended up like him by now." Sherlock replied, pointing back at the victim of the case he had just solved.

"Will you advice me a nice place for today's dinner?" Sherlock added. "I need something special for our second anniversary."

"YOU'VE BEEN MARRIED TWO YEARS?!"

#sherlock imagine #bbc sherlock #john watson #sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock x reader #benedict cumberbatch #martin freeman

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mycrofts-gunbrella · 3 years

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Caring is the Greatest Advantage- Mycroft Holmes x Reader (Part 11)

A/N- Okay so this is just a short 2k fill in chapter! It’s kinda cute and kinda sad but it was too long to add to the last chapter, and it doesn’t fit in with the theme of the next chapter (though it sets it up quite nicely!). The next chapter is likely going to be a bit angsty but I promise it’ll have a rewarding ending to it! I hope to have it written and up sooner rather than later but, until then, enjoy this little piece.

Word Count- 2028

The ten minute drive from Baker Street to the Natural History Museum went by in a flash- most of it being spent by Mycroft giving you a mental tour of the building's various rooms and the 'most appropriate route to take'. Though it did also take a minute or two for you to convince him to not get everybody kicked out for a private visit, no matter how many people were there.. Admittedly, you hadn't been to the museum for 6 years or so now- after living so long in London it feels less of a luxury being only round the corner from it- but walking through the doors made you feel like a child again. Entry to the museum was free, but that didn't mean you didn't see Mycroft swiftly pushing a few notes into the donation bin at the front before guiding you forwards. Glancing up, you eyed the blue whale skeleton that hung from the ceiling and frowned. Mycroft caught your look and spoke up.

"Ah yes, Hope has been a relatively recent addition to the museum. She was found dead on an Irish beach back in 1891. It's a rather beautiful marvel to gaze upon, though, large as she is, she doesn't quite fill the hole in my heart that was left after my beloved Dippy was removed." Your eyes scanned the skeleton of the large mammal once more before looking back at Mycroft. "I did try to convince the board to keep the diplodocus somewhere but all attempts were futile. There's only so much force you can put into such a topic without exposing yourself as-"

"As a man who loves dinosaur bones more than he loves people?" Mycroft shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed.

"The very thing." Lifting your arm, you rested your hand at the crook of Mycroft's elbow to encourage him to move on.

"When we get home and have dinner we can raise a toast in Dippy's honour.. but for now, my mind's been taken over by that huge statue of Darwin." And the pair of you headed off, your hand very much staying place at Mycroft's arm as you wandered through the rooms- Mycroft more than willing to reel off facts about every deceased animal of history and, more often than not, even impressing the workers with his spiel of facts. Though you were very much enjoying wandering aimlessly through the room of human evolution, you most definitely noticed the pull from the man beside you as he was eager to reach his beloved dino-pals. As you turned the corner into the slightly darkened dinosaur room, you tripped over your feet slightly as you felt Mycroft stop in his tracks, his eyes wide and taking everything in. He looked as happy as a boy at Christmas and, quite frankly, it was adorable. You nudged him slightly when he still didn't move. "You okay?"

"Sorry, it just seems as though, no matter how many times I come here, it always feels like the first." He had shaken his head as though to bring his thoughts back to focus before taking a few steps into the gallery and leading you over to the skeletal remains of a Baryonyx. "The name Baryonyx roughly translates to 'Heavy Claw' from the Ancient Greek's 'Barys' meaning heavy and 'onyx' being claw or talon." He spoke, his voice smooth and relaxed as his fingers brushed over the board that announced the name of the creature within the glass. "It was also an excellent swimmer which it would use to its advantage while hunting." You listened to his every word as he spoke, grinning as he excitedly told you how many teeth it had and it's preferred techniques for capturing food before he moved you onto the next one.

"Oh these beauties have always been my favourite." You almost whispered, taking in the sight of the huge triceratops skull. You barely noticed Mycroft's hand shift from his pocket until you felt the heat of his palm against the small of your back, fingers squeezing slightly by your hip as he spoke.

"Mine too. Sherlock used to say they were boring and that we might as well have gone to the zoo to look at rhinos. He ended up spending 5 months trying to prove that the rhinos were descendants from the triceratops and then avoided me for 3 weeks when he realised there was no connection at all."

"That sounds about right. Though I can't imagine Sherlock enjoying it here very much anyway.." Mycroft began to guide you to a small bench just off the side to sit down, still giving you the view of the beautiful dinosaur bones.

"He didn't. When we were much younger he would kick off until Mummy and Father would tell us it's time to go and I had to go with them.. Then as we got a little older and Sherlock properly found his legs, he would simply run from the doors round to the science museum. Of course mummy and father had to follow him as he was so young, but one time I decided to stay here. They didn't realise I hadn't followed them until it was time to go home 5 hours later." Mycroft spoke quietly.

"Found his legs? That's at, what, four? Five? How young were you?"

"I was 9 the first time, I think." Now, Mycroft, you don't just 'think'; you know. Your hand moved to rest above his own on his knee, brushing your thumb fondly over his knuckles. "But it isn't all bad. Some of my best days as a child were spent here, and a lot of the staff were very kind and would teach me extra facts that weren't displayed. There was one gentleman who even gave me his own copies of some books that they had here. I'd wander the whole museum in time but I always found myself back here on this bench just.. watching. This room felt more like home than my very house sometimes. It was the room where I could escape the real world and find peace. Eventually Mummy, Father and Sherlock stopped bothering with the visits because Sherlock found the science museum boring after he'd prove them wrong on something each time, but I'd still pop back in on occasion without them.. Coming to think about it, I've never actually brought anybody here with me at all." You squeezed at his fingers and settled back into the bench.

"Well I am incredibly glad that I found out about your little interest, and I feel even more honoured that you let me come here with you." You beamed. And it was the truth. Evidently, this little museum meant much more to Mycroft than you could have ever imagined and it warmed your heart to know that he trusted you to see him nerd out over some bones.

"Eventually I used this very building as the scaffolding to build my mind palace. My files on Sherlock, very appropriately, are nestled in the human biology room. But most people's information is either stored in the entrance, where Dippy remains over Hope, might I add, or in a few of the rooms I find less interesting.." You didn't have to ask to know he was referencing 'that room with all the bloody rocks'. "I love most of the galleries too much to taint them with information on people that aren't important. The likes of Gregory and Doctor Watson now reside in Hintze Hall as the years have passed." His eyes remained focused in front of him, unblinking, as though he was wandering the very halls at that moment.

"And where.. where are my files?" You had to ask, really. Since he was on the subject anyway. "If you've put them in the marine reptiles room when you know I'm terrified of the ocean I shall never forgive you." Mycroft's hand flipped beneath yours so the pads of your fingers brushed before he blinked and looked over to you, a small smile on his face.

"Here." Oh. Well that's.. something. You shifted to give him a quick kiss on his cheek, knowing he wasn't overly fond of PDA and tugged him to stand.

"And on that note, I think we should go and grab some lunch before you make me cry in front of the dinosaurs."

---

After lunch, you both spent a few more hours walking from room to room (and of course circling round to the dinosaur gallery again) before you decided to call it a day at 4pm. Before departing, you headed towards the toilets that happened to be beside the little gift shop and you had a browse while Mycroft was occupied. Grinning, you picked up a deep blue plush triceratops and stroked a finger across its back. It was just small enough that, after purchasing, you could hide the little guy in the loose fabric of the sweatshirt you wore, acting innocent as you waited back outside near the wall. After going to the bathroom yourself, the pair of you headed outside where a car was waiting for you. Sliding in the back seat, you couldn't contain your little gift anymore.

"Surprise!" You laughed, producing the small toy from under your clothes and into the hands of the man beside you. He studied it briefly before beginning to laugh himself as he reached into his inner pocket and handed you the matching dinosaur, though purple in colour. "God, we're such children aren't we?" You noted as you swapped plushie companions, each of you brushing a finger on its nose as though it were a small pet. "I daren't think what your colleagues would say if they knew you were now the proud owner of a baby triceratops teddy that's.." You glanced at the tag. "..Suitable for children aged 12 months plus!"

"Probably nothing as bad as if they realised said triceratops was going to take proud placement on my desk at home." He beamed. "Thank you, this really does mean a great deal to me." You knew he wasn't just talking about the toy that rolled around his long fingers and you shifted to rest your head lightly on his shoulder.

"We can come back any time. I, for one, know I'll never get bored of looking through the galleries.. Or I'll never get bored of watching you light up as we walk through said galleries. Either or works, really." He hummed in response, his emotions slightly overwhelmed from the day and its revelations into his past. "Plus there were about 10 other little dinos in the shop and I've always been one to want a full collection.. so, if we pace ourselves, that's at least 10 more trips."

"13.. Although that could be tripled if we take the colour variations into account."

"Oh, of course! Can't half-arse a collection or it's just pointless."

"I concur."

"That's settled then. Almost 40 more trips to finish off our collection.. And thennnn we can move onto the figurines." Mycroft let out a laugh beside you and tilted to rest his head atop yours for the remainder of the journey home.

---

The evening between you was shared over a meal (where, as promised, a small toast was made to the memory of Sir Dippy) before Mycroft sat to finish the papers for Greg. Eventually you collapsed into bed at a relatively reasonable time, groaning at the throbbing in your legs from the day's adventure before finally slipping into rest.

---

The next day passed relatively quickly. The morning was spent visiting Greg in his office to drop off the papers before the pair of you took a small stroll through the streets of London. Eventually, Mycroft and yourself even got a text message from Sherlock giving a (albeit half-arsed) apology for his behaviour the day before and the rest of the day was spent in bliss. That was until exactly 17 minutes after you got back home when Mycroft's mobile began to ring. He swallowed deeply, showing you the caller ID of the person he had been dreading to speak to post-Eurus and answering.

"Ah, yes.. Hello, Mummy."

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princess-of-inarizaki · 3 years

Note

hello ! if ur requests are currently open, can i get headcanons / scenario of inarizakis manager having a celeb crush (like finn wolfhard, louis partridge ALSO if u can, can u please make the celeb crush louis patridge ? im kinda desperate for sum louis x reader scenarios lawl) and they let them simp for him cuz it's just a crush right ? right, what they don't know is that manager-chan has made some attempts for him (their celeb crush) to notice them and they have successfully made him notice them bc manager chan is such a charm, so what will be their reactions if they see manager chan holding hands with the celeb crush that they didn't worry ab ? thank u in advance if u do it ! but it's fine if ur requests aren't open,, i just didn't see any posts ab ur requests being closed hehe also sorry if i did this wrong 😭 this is my first time requesting sumthn 😭😭

Louis Patridge x Inarizaki manager

Oh my goshhh hi bb. I'm so glad I was your first :D (yes, initially, requests were closed, unfortunately) but this was literally such a good one, I couldn't resist writing it. (I'm in love with Louis Patridge too, bubs)

Also, just a tip (if you're gonna request on anon, make sure you follow me, or have my profile saved because tumblr doesn't give you a notification when I've answered you 🥺🥺)

🦋; Inarizaki manager (reader) x Louis Patridge (celeb crush) x Inarizaki vbc ,, triggers: none!!

“Guys. DID YOU WATCH ENOLA HOLMES?” your breathless face was red due to fact that you've ran a long way, obviously to tell them this.

Atsumu and Osamu nodded in unison, “Yea, that Millie Bobbi Brown chick acted prett' well”

Suna rolled his eyes. “Hated it. Only watched it for Superman, though.”

Kita shrugged, walked up to you, and shook his head as he smoothed your hair down (the stray curls obviously came undone as you were running). “I don't watch fictious movies, y/n-san. Was it good?”

Eyes sparkling, you nodded. “It was more than good. Besides, that actor, Louis Patridge? The guy who plays Lord Tewkesbury? I think I'm in love with him.” a dream-like look glazed over your eyes as you stared at your phone wallpaper wistfully.

Suddenly, the bell rang, jolting you back to reality. “Oh that's right, I need to go to class now.”, and with that, you left six very stunned boys in the gym.

“I wonder what'll be of her crush on that' actor?” asked Atsumu with a smirk. Don't be fooled though, behind the easygoing exterior, he was the most concerned of the lot (and the most jealous).

“Yer' overthinking it. They live oceans apart, and he plays movies on the big screen.” drawled Osamu.

“Yeah, I'm sure one of us still has more chance with her than him, she's actually met us, after all.” chirped Akagi, with a positive note. He was determined to win you over, and a celeb crush didn't deter him in any way.

Suna nodded, whilst Kita and Aran exchanged looks. “It's important to be supportive of her though. Albeit it being merely a schoolgirl crush, this could mean a lot to her.” said Kita, and his tone invited no further disagreement.

Back at home that evening, thoughts of the handsome brown haired boy could not leave your mind, and you logged onto Instagram, hoping to see if he had posted any updates.

He had, and it was a selfie of himself, with his tousled hair in all its "I-just-got-out-of-bed" glory. Damn, this man was sexy.

Smiling, you typed out a comment. “No offense, but if being adorable was a crime, you'd have fine written all over you ˃ᴗ˂ ”. Yes, it was dorky, and cheesy all in one. But why not? He might not ever read it anyways, as your comment got swept underneath the hundreds of others that came after it.

Sighing, you settled down to study, with thoughts about the comment and Louis pushed out of your mind.

Meanwhile, as Louis scrolled through his comments, a single one caught his eye. She used a pickup line (how adorable) which caused his cheeks to redden. Tentatively, he surveyed her profile, before feeling the familiar sensation of having a crush, wash over him.

She was gorgeous, and although he knew he shouldn't stalk random pretty girls over the internet, he couldn't help himself. Her pictures showed her to be the manager of a club of some sort, and she was almost always posing with a teammate. A male, teammate.

But damn, that smile. Even if he felt a small pit of unfounded jealousy at the guys, her smile was enough to distract him from anything.

His fingers hovered over the "follow back" button, before he finally gave in to temptation by following her, commenting, and putting his phone away quickly, suddenly feeling like a schoolboy all over again.

That morning, before school, you could barely believe the notifications waiting for you on your phone.

"louispatridge_ is following you"

"louispatridge_ commented: nah, if anyone's fine, it's gotta be you ˃ᴗ˂ "

Of course, after having seven mini panic attacks, and fawning over him, you set out to tell your boys at the volleyball club the good news.

And all you could think about on the way there was how Louis Patridge somehow noticed you. It was unbelievable, and somehow turned your insides to jelly.

As soon as you reached the gym, you flung yourself on Atsumu, engulfing him in a hug. “Guys I'm so happy” you managed to choke out.

Atsumu obviously enjoyed holding you, and he gently wrapped his arms around you to feel your heart beating quickly

“To what do we owe the pleasure of seeing you this early, y/n?” joked Aran.

Wordlessly, you dug into your pocket and pulled out your phone. “He thinks I'm fine. Fine means hot right? I mean, I used it meaning hot. Because he is hot. And he thinks the same of me, that's gotta be good? And the emoticon. He used the same one, he's so cu—”

But you were interrupted out of your whisper-babble by the boys' shocked faces. He noticed her? This fast? “I'm so happy for you, y/n” said Akagi cheerfully, but internally he was demotivated and sad at the prospect of you dating the young star.

Suna looked at you thoughtfully and ruffled your hair. “That's my girl. She's just as amazing and capable as those girls on the silver screen.” and although it pained him to say this, he just wanted to share your happiness.

The twins were withdrawn, and Kita congratulated you, whilst obviously feeling a bit regretful for dismissing it as a "schoolgirl crush".

In general, the boys were upset, but not surprised. If you had them all collectively whipped for you, why not a movie star?

After kissing Suna's cheek and waving the rest of the boys off, you skipped all the way to homeroom, excited to share the news with your friends.

Silence followed your absence as Aran shrugged. “So are we gonna acknowledge the elephant in the room?”

Atsumu pouted and glared at them all. “Why did he have to notice her? Was it her profile picture? I've always asked her to change it, she looks way too attractive.”

Osamu nodded and jutted his bottom lip. “I mean, we think she's the most beautiful girl in the world, and apparently other guys do too.”

“Oh God make it stop” whispered Suna. “I wish she'd just stay ours. I don't mind competing with you guys, I'm obviously better, but that actor dude? No chance.”

“We'll be supportive” reaffirmed Kita. “Above all, she's out friend and we do not own her. If this makes her happy, we won't ruin it.”. Akagi and Aran were quiet.

Ever since that day, you and Louis have been slowly but steadily growing closer and falling harder for each other.

He tried his luck by texting you, and although you were shy and tentative at first, getting to know the real him was refreshing.

And you really did like him. He was intelligent, adorable, and realistic. The two of you spent your time from dusk till' dawn talking, whether on call or on text.

And no one could deny the blossoming chemistry between yourself and Louis. He was a gentleman in every way, and his honeyed words stuck in your heart, finding its way to be replayed every time you felt down.

The boys slowly saw you drifting away. And when you weren't, it was always "Louis this—" or “Louis said—” and frankly their hearts couldn't take it anymore. It was time to give up, and love you as a friend instead.

But immersed in his attention you barely even noticed.

One day, Louis called you as you were heading home after practice. “y/n! Love, guess what?”

“aw bubs, just tell me. I hate guessing. Mostly because I suck at it.”

You could hear him chuckle on the other side of the line as he softly whispered “I'm coming to Japan on the ninth!”

“Wait, Louis. Today's the ninth.”

“I know. So are you gonna come to that bubble tea place you won't shut up about, or must I come get you?”

“You're joking”

“I'm not. I've wanted to surprise you, and I swear it was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. Which includes getting kicked by a horse on set, but nevermind about that, y/n, I want to see you, so get your arse here.”

“Coming, Lord Tewkesbury”

“I might have a kink.”

You blushed bright red at his words. “shut up oh my gosh, I'll be there.”

Louis ended the call with a small smile on his face. He knew how easily flustered you were with him and he loved it. It was just another thing on the list of all the reasons why Louis Patridge adored you to hell and back.

The whole way to the shop, your heart was pounding. So you'd finally get to meet the guy you've been dreaming about ever since you laid eyes on him in a movie.

Ever since those late night phone calls and early morning texts made your heart race and eyes sparkle with wonder.

You were finally meeting him.

The familiar sweet smell of the tea washed over you, and a familiar face waited for you at the entrance. His brown eyes looked gorgeous in the sun and his hair was tousled exactly the way you once saw in a selfie.

Wasting no time, you ran to him, pulling him to a hug. He laughed and caught you in his arms, holding you closer as your legs wrapped around his waist. No words were exchanged, just touches. There were too many words said already.

After pulling away, he gently stroked his thumb through your features. Tucking a strand aside, ruffling your hair. His hands ached to touch you, and now, finally, he could.

“You're such a dork.” was all you could whisper, afraid speaking loudly would break the spell.

“Your dork. All yours.”

“Louis!” your voice went an octave higher as the familiar warm sensation came over your cheeks, painting them a delicate pink.

“Oh God, I've always wanted to see you blush. How can you be so adorable?? Oh God.”

You whined in protest, but frankly, you were too happy to be around him to care much at all.

Tipping your chin to face him, Louis Patridge did the one thing he dreamt of doing, ever since he stalked through your Instagram profile one fateful morning.

He kissed you.

And wouldn't you know it? You kissed him back. It was warm, comforting, and everything you thought it'd be.

Meanwhile, the boys had finished cleaning up the gym, and started heading home.

“Hey guys, do you wanna go grab some bubble tea?” asked Aran. The prospect of food, or sweet things always cheered up the boys, and after a day of particularly grueling practice, it was no surprise they agreed at once.

You however, were comfortably nestled next to Louis as you swapped stories. Your hands never left each other, though. He kept stroking your palm, just to remind himself you were here, right next to him.

“So how's the volleyball club, Mrs. manager?”

“Mrs? Do I look like I'm married?” to which Louis responded with a shrug and wink.

Coincidentally, the Inarizaki boys entered the shop at that very moment, freezing in their tracks after seeing you in a booth with Louis.

“Psst. Guys. Loverboy's here.”

“Should we say hello?”

“I might cry if they kiss” whimpered Akagi.

“We need to say hello, it's the right thing to do.” said Kita sensibly, as he walked up to the two of you. “Hello y/n-san, Louis-san.” said Kita with a slight nod.

Happily, you rose from your seat and hugged the captain, thanking him for saying hi, as you introduced him to Louis.

Soon, the other boys came around and one by one, introduced themselves as well. Honestly speaking, they were jealous. How could they possibly get over someone like you? Someone as spectacular and beautiful as you? But when they saw you face shining with radiance as you smiled at Louis, and the way his hands never left yours, they understood.

And they wanted you to be happy. That was the most important thing, above all else for the both of them.

“I love you, manager-chan.”

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sea-side-scribbles · 3 years

Text

Fanfiction: Sympathy For A Downer

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22737214/chapters/68223810

Chapter 40

The next morning, Norbert was shaken awake, much too ungently for his taste. "Norrie", his lover whispered softly, so he figured he didn't miss anything important, because the other boy would've been more strictly in that case. He sluggishly turned arount to look at the clock, figured that it was way too early in the morning to stand up, moaned and curled himself back into the blanket. "Norrie, hey," Morrie hissed louder and shook him again. "I know you're awake." "I wasn't," Norbert murmurned grumpily. "Why do you hate sleep so much?" Morrie crouched closer to him and whispered into his ear: "Today it's our day off." It meant they didn't have a concert tonight. It was actually another good reason to sleep in, Norbert thought.

"So let's stay in bed," he proposed with already closed eyes. Morrie fell silent after that and for a while Norbert thought he considered the idea. But then he said: "I thought we go out for a walk. It looks like it's gonna be a lovely day." Norbert opened his eyes again but didn't move yet. "Sure. Just get some more sleep in advance, okay?" Now Morrie moaned loudly. "You know they won't leave us alone when they see us outside in the middle of the day!" Sluggishly, Norbert pondered. "You think so?" "Of course I think so!", Morrie urged him. "You must've noticed how they follow us! Fans, reporters, critics...all that rabble! Run after us, stare at us, fancy themselves invisible...I want none of that!"

Norbert turned to Morrie while he let out his rant and watched him closely. It was unlikely for his lover to get into such a fret, but it confirmed what Norbert was thinking for a while now. Morrie was the one who had the hardest time getting used to their new life. Everything bothered him, not the concerts, but everything else. "We are interesting now. That's a good sign," he tried, but Morrie countered: "Nonsense, they don't care about us, all they want is a big story! If they cared, they wouldn't ask such shitty questions! As if anyone would want to read about my underwear!" "Right, that's only my business," Norbert said and smiled at him. "They frantically search for something to write, and everything they come up with is this utter rubbish! I hope not all our fans are such idiots!" Norbert sat up. There was no chance of sleeping anyway.

"You know, If there's something you want them to write, you should tell them. After all, they pick up everything you say, so you can lead them a bit," he explained calmly. "I don't want to tell them anything", Morrie hissed. "At least not today. God, you're thick as a brick this morning." Norbert shrank a few inches and fell quiet. Morrie silenced too and they continued to sit on the bed without anyone moving.

"I'm sorry...I shouldn't have yelled at you...", Morrie broke their silence. "I'm just so...confused about all this...I just want to spend time with you, without all the fuss." Norbert lifted his head, closed in and rested his head on Morrie's shoulder. "It's okay...I'm sorry I didn't cotton on right away. I was tired." Morrie's hand stroked his cheek. "Of course...", he whispered, carefully fondling his lover. "Would you still go out with me?" "Sure," Norbert whispered and poked him into the side. "I'll get the leash." "Oh, I thought I'll trust you this time." They chuckled. Morrie cupped Norbert's head and turned him around to face him. "You're so cute, Norrie", he sighed. "You're my sunshine. I never want to ruin your mood again." "Morrie, I love you. You can't ruin my mood at all." After some eagerly kisses they finally left the bed.

Walking through the empty corridors of their hotel, Morrie already ejoyed the calm and quiet. Moments like these were precious. When they stepped out into the fresh morning air, Norbert took a deep breath and stretched himself. His fatique had vanished and he was looking forward to some quality time. "Where are we going?", he asked, curiously looking around. They currently lived in Lud's Holm, the district that was known for it's elaborate beautification, with colorful facades and carefully selected plants decorating windows and gardens. Even the streets were painted in bright colors at some places.

"As far away as possible," Morrie urged him. "Out of the town." Norbert gave him a confused look. "How do you plan to get over the bridge?" "Not that far away, dummy. I mean the coast or something." "Oh, right...sure..." He looked around, furrowing his brows. "Do you know where the station is?" "Follow me." Morrie led the way at a quick pace, to get off the street fast. Norbert followed and they soon reached the entrance to the underground. It seemed that nobody was following them when they went into the tunnel. They also met nobody at the platform. Approaching the ticket office, Morrie said: "Leave the talking to me, okay? And keep a low profile." "Alright, alright." Norbert fell back behind him.

When Morrie asked for two tickets to the farthest station, the salesman was curious. "What do you want in that godforsaken place?" "You know, watching birds," Morrie said in all seriousness. "Oh, really?" "Yeah, there are the most interesting specimen out there, you'd be astounded." He held out the coins and the man took them, not without eyeing him suspiciously, and then Norbert. "Hey,...I think I've seen you before." Norbert made an innocent face. "Me?...Well, it's not the first time I'm buying tickets here so..." "No, not like that," the man interrupted him. "I mean...on TV. Yeah, now I remember." "No, no, you must be mistaken. He was never on TV, I would know that," Morrie tried to wave him off. Norbert was eagerly nodding behind him. "Can we have our tickets now, please?"

The salesman wasn't satisfyed yet. He pointed at Morrie. "You've been there, too." "Pardon?" "You two, you're from this band..." He must've noticed their expressions, because he changed the tone: "Hey, don't worry. You can go wherever you want, it's none of my business. But you can't fool me." He said the last words with a self-contented grin. "Alright, if it's none of your business, you can let us pass, right?", Morrie urged him again. "Oh, sure." Finally, he handed out the tickets . "Bon voyage!" Morrie only made a face and went. Then he had to turn around again to see that Norbert was still standing there and talking to the man.

"We're only careful, you know, we keep being recognised and followed around," he explained. "I'll be as silent as a grave," the salesman assured him. They bandied some more nice words before they finally parted. "What was that supposed to be?", Morrie asked when they met again. "You know we're in a hurry." "Doesn't hurt to be a bit nicer. He recognised us - so what? Didn't make him bite our heads off." "What did you tell him?" "Nothing. Do you take me for an idiot again?" Morrie gave a loud sigh and shook his head. "No."

In silence, they waited for the train that seemed to be extra late today. Morrie kept his distance to Norbert, not because he was angry at him, but because he was afraid they would look suspicious if they stood closely together. This feeling was growing stronger since people had started to watch them. He instead watched other men who traveled together, had a chat, and observed their behaviour. The fact that he saw so many of them could've calmed him down, told him that him and Norbert didn't look any special in public. But that one question kept pestering him, if it was visible that they were different, that their glimpses and smiles and shoulder pats had another meaning. That was why he avoided Norbert now, he only peeked at him from time to time.

Norbert assumed that his lover was under stress and needed comfort as soon as possible. But even he thought that hugging him right there on the platform was a bad idea. So he had to wait and resign to his fate for now. However, he noticed that Morrie gave him a shy look from time to time. When their eyes suddenly met, Norbert used the opportunity to wink at him. Morrie's heart missed a beat at that and he almost turned as red as a beetroot. 'Heaven's sake, Norrie', he thought to himself while his heart was pounding wildly. Finally, the damn train arrived.

Inside, Norbert sat down right next to him. "Hold on, my love, we're almost there.", he whispered to him, quietly enough that no one else could hear him. Morrie nodded. Still, he said: "It's gonna be a long ride." "Maybe not. The train is moving fast, you see, we'll be there in no time. Don't worry", Norbert let his soft voice soothe Morrie, who wished he could be as optimistic as his lover. But in fact, the ride would be over eventually, so he tried to comfort himself with that. Shortly after, it bothered him how the train was trudging from station to station and more people entered. It didn't take long until someone sat down nearby and Morrie had the unsettling feeling that he stared at him.

"Don't look," he hissed at Norbert who was about to turn to the suspicious passenger. "He's watching us," he explained quietly. "Perhaps we're lucky and he doesn't remember who we are." "Morrie, come on, he doesn't even look at us." "Don't look," he hissed again with emphasis. "Okay...just calm down. I bet he's not interested." Promptly, the man left his seat and approached them. Norbert saw how Morrie froze and turned to the man who probably only wanted to ask where the train was going.

"I'm sorry, aren't you Nick Lightbearer and Morrie Memento? You look just like them, you know...", he instead asked and Norbert, because lying hadn't worked, decided to say the truth. "You've got us there. Right, Morrie?" "Indeed," Morrie said without showing any feelings. Except maybe that he wished to be very far away. "Oh, man." The passenger, who looked like a fan, became excited. "Seeing you here, it's just..." Shortly, he was out of words. "Could you give me a signature, so I can prove that I've seen you?" He held out a piece of paper. "Sure," Norbert said and brought out a pen he was recently keeping for occasions like these. "What's your name?" Norbert eyed the passenger. "Oh, my name is John...and my wife's name is Martha...could you mention her too? She'll freak out." Norbert wrote in curved letters "For Martha and John", noted the date and signed just as neatly, before he gave the page to Morrie. Morrie's signature was a bit more cornered, but still as neat.

While they were busy giving the autograph, they didn't notice that more people gathered around them, curious about what was going on. It didn't take long until a female voice gasped: "Oh my god, it's Nick Lightbearer and Morrie Memento!" The crowd came closer, battering the two musicians with questions. Norbert managed to give the page back to John, before the others edged him away. Then he tried to quieten them down. "Hey, there, calm down, everyone. One after the other, we can't talk to so many people at once..." Suddenly, Morrie pulled him under the seat. "What are you doing?", Norbert asked his lover who was crouching next to him. "Did you drop something?" "Don't ask, just follow me." While crawling, he noticed that it was the only way to get past the crowd of fans, that was beginning to follow them. "Quick, to the door," Morrie demanded and they ran as fast as they could. They were lucky, because the door already opened to welcome them to a new station. More people went in, and they squeezed through them. This way they escaped from their fans. In a dirty, empty hallway they caught their breath.

"That was close," Norbert gasped. He added in a more amused way: "They didn't want us to leave at all." "It's getting worse," Morrie said less amused. "And we're still five stations away. How are we supposed to get there?" "With the next train?" "You want to take that risk again? If they get us in one train, they can get us in the other." "What if we politely ask them to leave us alone? They are only normal people after all." "Norbert!," Morrie said firmly. Then he took a breath. "I don't want to be seen at all." "Well," Norbert thought about it. Walking all the way thought the town was also out of the question.

Pondering, his gaze wandered around the hallway, until he suddenly found a door. "Hey, what about that?" He gestured towards it. "Workers use that to follow the track." Morrie sceptically eyed the door. "If so, then it's only allowed for workers." "But Morrie, this is an emergency. We have no other choice." "And how are we supposed to get in there?" Norbert tried the doorknob first, but of course it was locked. "You don't happen to use hair pins, don't you?", he asked Morrie. "No, not even tie pins." "What a shame. There must be another way. The workers carry the keys with them, right?" "I think so, but they aren't here right now." Norbert started to walk along the way, searching. Morrie followed. "And even if we meet one of them, they won't give us a key."

Suddenly, Norbert came to a halt. He examined a pipe that ran along the wall. It looked very clapped-out. "What happens, if...", he muttered. A second later he kicked the pipe with all the strength he had. It broke, and the motilene that bursted out damaged it even more. "Are you crazy?", Morrie shouted against the noise that the dying pipe produced, but Norbert put a finger on his lips and shoved him further. They hid in a corner and Norbert eyed the hallway, waiting. "What do you expect from this?", his lover hissed. "Sssh, just wait and see." Soon, they heard voices and three workers appeared, loudly cussing and complaining, looking at the mess. "A motilene pipe, again!" "I told that stupid department a thousand times now, that stuff is eating through the metal. But those bloody surveyors insist it's all peachy. Damn office-sitters! I never see them down here and fixing this shit!"

During all their tirades, Norbert crawled out of this hideout to reach out for the keys that were dangling from one of the men's belt. Morrie watched in shock how one of them them apruptly turned around and found Norbert. Then all of them looked at him. He quickly got up, wiped the dirt from his suit and said casually: "Good day gentlemen...I've heard the noise and I thought...uh...you might need some help." They continued their staring. "No? Uh...okay, so I'll be on my way..." He set himself in motion, praying that also Morrie would find a way around them, when one of them said: "Wait a minute. Aren't you Nick Lightbearer?" As if it was the cue, Norbert threw himself into a pose. "Yeah, man, that's me. Why do you ask?" Then also the others became interested. The damaged pipe was forgotten, and Norbert had to listen to a lot of stories and answer their questions, until they remembered what they were there for. Norbert would've walked back to their hiding spot, if he hadn't seen Morrie on the other side of the hallway, waving at him.

"What a flop," he muttered when they were together again. His eyes widened when Morrie held out the keys to him. "Don't make me do that again," he said quietly. "We don't even know if the right key is among them." "Morrie, you're amazing!", Norbert blurted out and the other boy turned pink while he shrugged. They tried one key after the other and the fourth one actually worked. As a reward, they were greeted by an even smaller and dirtier tunnel that was dimly lit, but didn't ruin Norbert's mood at all. "Freedom, we're coming!", he said strutting into the tunnel. A rather doubtful Morrie accompanied him. "I hope so." "If not, we still had fun, didn't we?", Norbert countered. "And best of all, we're alone here." With one arm, he pulled Morrie closer to give him a smooch on the cheek. Morrie lost all inhibitions and deeply kissed him back. "Thank you," he then said. "I feel much better now." "Me too." Norbert beamed at him. "Let's go, pretty boy, the coast is waiting."

It was rather tiresome to walk past all five stations. The wish to get out grew bigger in Morrie's guts. The darkness and the smell supported it. Thinking of their comfortable hotel room, he wondered if it had been a mistake to go outside. Then he remembered their trips in the past, their old life in that empty house, and thought there had to be a way to get it back. He needed it. And he would find out if Norbert needed it too.

When he was already wondering if they had missed the exit and wandered all the way thought the canal under Britannia Bridge, they reached the door to their destination. Of course it was locked, too. Norbert tried the same key and it worked again. Quietly, he opened a tiny crack and peered outside, before he signified Morrie that everything was alright. "Finally," Morrie sighed, stepping out into the hallway. On the way to the exit they didn't meet anyone, but on the last few steps to freedom Norbert said: "Wait..." and walked back down. "Where are you going?", Morrie forced himself to stay calm. "Just go ahead, I'll be there in a minute," was the weird answer, before Norbert walked around a corner.

Morrie shortly hesitated, then he hurried after him. Around the corner, he searched for Norbert, but couldn't find him. His heart skipped a beat, when he pictured the most drastic scenes in his head. Norbert threatened, kidnapped, hurt...Breathing heavily, he told himself to calm down. If he ran away head over heels, Norbert wouldn't find him. So he walked back to where he came from, very slowly, up the stairs and placed himself in front of the exit. He was presented a panorama that he couldn't have imagined any more beautiful. It was exactly what he needed. This and Norbert. Where was he? Why did he have to go? He jumped when he heard a loud gasp right next to him. His lover appeared, out of the blue. "That was worth it," he commented the sight with wide eyes. "What did you do?" "I don't know about you, but I'm hungry, that's why I got us sandwiches. I couldn't get coffee, but at least some lemonade." He lifted up a bag that was carrying their picnic and Morrie didn't know if he wanted to kiss or punch him. "Of course you risked everything for that!" "You don't have to eat anything, but I will."

They continued to squabble while walking away, but when they had left the station and all signs of that noisy town behind them they soon stopped. At the coast they rested on a rock, since they had been walking a long way already. Then Morrie was glad that Norbert had brought some food, and all they needed to do was relaxing and watching the waves roll. After eating up, Morrie laid his head on Norbert's shoulder and closed his eyes. "Are you sleeping?", Norbert asked him after he hadn't moved for a while. "Almost," he sighed. Norbert kissed his forehead. "This is exactly what I wanted. This solitude, only you and me..." Norbert leaned his head on Morrie's. "Yeah...it's beautiful."

"Norrie, can't we life somewhere else other than these noisy hotels?" "Don't tell me you want to pitch a tent out here." Norbert was half joking, half worried. "No...But didnt Virgil say we could live in a house one day? I'm sure we have enough money now to give our old home a beautification? I miss it." "These old rooms?" "No, they would be new, and they would be ours. And we could protect them, so fans and reporters can't bother us anymore. Wouldn't that be nice?" "Everyone would know where we live." "They know that now, too. They only need to look up where our tour is going and search the best hotels there. There aren't too many options." Norbert had to agree with that. "And in our own house, we would have no uninvited guests. What do you think?"

Norbert had mixed feelings. He'd love to spend time with Morrie whenever he wanted, without anyone bothering them. But he had to admit he liked the luxuious life in a hotel. He didn't know if he could go back to an ordinary home after this. No service, no buffets, no bars, no one interrupting his daily routine to tell him how much he adored Nick Lightbearer... The others wouldn't give it up so easily. They enjoyed their new life to the fullest, without regrets. That was something Norbert envied them for. "We have to ask the others," he only said, while he watched the waves crash against the shore, loudly rushing, not caring about anything around them. Norbert wished he could be more like the waves.

#we happy few #wehappyfew #whf #whfnick #whf nick #nick lightbearer #morrie memento #nickxmorrie #fanfiction

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portals-to-a-new-world · 4 years

Text

Fetish

Who?: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

What?: Based on Fetish by Selena Gomez

Word count: (excluding lyrics) 633

Warnings: Mild Smut

A/N: I would like to wish a very very special happy early birthday to @bakerstreethound, my friend and confidant. As I’m sure everyone knows, I’ve never written for Mr.Holmes before so I can only hope that this is not too OOC. I love you Ace, and I hope your birthday is gonna be amazing! 💜💜💜💜💜💜

Take it or leave it Baby take it or leave it But I know you won't leave it 'Cause I know that you need it Unh, look in the mirror When I look in the mirror Baby I see it clearer Why you wanna be nearer

I'm not surprised I sympathize, ah I can't deny Your appetite, ah

You got a fetish for my love I push you out and you come right back Don't see a point in blaming you If I were you, I'd do me too

Sherlock Holmes was not an easy man to catch the eye of. Yet, you’d somehow managed it. You had brought the great detective to his knees. Well. Almost. You smirked as you continued to apply your makeup in preparation for that night. It was inevitable, really. You were just another addiction for him. No matter how many times he tried to say you were finished, he’d be right back on your doorstep a week later, begging to be let back in. That’s what you were waiting for now, as you gazed at your stunning reflection in the mirror. You’d had another fight earlier that week, about a case or something or other. Honestly, it didn’t matter what it was about. He’d never be able to resist you.

Reaching your limit Say you're reaching your limit Going over your limit But I know you can't quit it Something about me Got you hooked on my body Take you over and under and twisted up like origami

I'm not surprised I sympathize, ah I can't deny Your appetite, ah

You got a fetish for my love I push you out and you come right back Don't see a point in blaming you If I were you, I'd do me too

The doorbell rang right as you finished swiping a deep crimson lipstick across your lips, bringing a smirk to them. You gave one final check of your appearance before heading to the door, ensuring that it was perfect. You sauntered over to the door, with a fake smile plastered on your face.

“Jim- oh. Hello Sherlock. Something I can help you with?” You said, letting your face fall as you saw him and fighting the urge to grin smugly at the way his face contorted in anger. “I was just waiting for my date to come and pick me up, so whatever it is, do me a favor and be quick about it.”

“Stop it.” He growled. You raised an eyebrow and cocked your hip out, subtly emphasizing the slit in your dress.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, stop it. You’re not going out. You’re just trying to bait me-”

“Whether or not I’m going out is none of your business, Holmes. You made it quite clear you were done with me, so unless you’ve changed your mind and realized you need me.” You gestured him away as you finished, but he just crossed his arms and stepped up another step.

The way you walk, the way you talk I blame you 'cause it's all your fault Ya playin' hard, don't turn me off Ya acting hard, but I know you soft You my fetish, I'm so with it All these rumors bein' spreaded Might as well go 'head and whip it 'Cause they sayin' we already did it Call on Gucci if you ever need and I'll be South Beach in the drop top gleamin' Water diamonds, Aquafina Just need you in a blue bikini

Sherlock stood on her front step once again, hating himself all the more for coming back. He hated how much he needed her. So much that he was willing to risk his reputation just to show up at her door. They had fought earlier in the week about this very thing, him needing to keep their relationship secret. Some tabloids had some photos of them together, and he’d wanted to take a break, but (Y/n) was having none of it. “It’s all or nothing with me sherlock. You don’t get to pick and choose when you’re with me.” He scoffed at the memory. This whole relationship started off as just a mutual release for them, and it turning into more had been entirely against his will. He didn’t understand why he was so drawn to the woman. Not even Irene Adler had had such a pull on him. (Y/n) would have been insufferable if she knew just how much he needed her. Then again, maybe she did. She was always kicking him out or leaving and then waiting for him to follow her. He dropped his hand from where it had been hovering over the doorbell. “She’s using you,” Some part of his brain said. “Who cares?” Said another. He’d been standing on the street for 5 minutes at that point, and he needed to make a decision. He growled and reached back up to punch the doorbell.

You got a fetish for my love I push you out and you come right back Don't see a point in blaming you If I were you, I'd do me too

Once again, you found yourself on top of the world’s only consulting detective, bristling as he squirmed and begged beneath you. “Come on now, Mr. Holmes. I know you can do better than that. What’s my name?”

“(Y/n)!” He growled breathlessly. You grinned and stroked a finger across his cheek in praise before you reached down and guided yourself onto his straining length.

“There’s my good boy,”

#sherlock holmes x reader #smut

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warriorofdragons · 4 years

Text

Costume Contest

This is a limón ;)

You watch Kandomere finish buttoning his vest and then throw his coat over his shoulder, “How do I look?”

You smile and bite your lip, “Delicious as usual, Darling,” you coo as you step towards him and run your hands up his torso.

He smiles and tosses his coat onto the bed and grips your hips and he leans towards your ear, “You’re not trying to seduce me are you?” he asks in a low voice.

Your left hand moves down to his crotch and you stroke him and he sighs into your ear, “Whatever would give you that idea, Dear?”

He kisses and nibbles your ear gently, “Quite bold of a witch like you trying to seduce an honest man like myself,” he continues, as his right hand starts to bunch up the fabric of your dress.

You lean towards his ear and lick up to the tip slowly, eliciting a shuddering gasp from your elf. His hand meets your thigh finally and slides up over your stockings and finds the lace edges of the front of your thong. You sigh into his ear as he caresses you through the smooth satin and you do the same with him. His left hand moves to part your hair from your neck and he kisses you tenderly. You both stand there for a moment having forgotten what you were both supposed to be doing.

As he leans back to press his lips to yours, you catch sight of the clock in between kisses.

“Kandomere,” you mutter.

He kisses you again and pulls back briefly, “Yes?”

“Won’t we be late?” you ask kissing him again, he hums against your mouth and then pulls back slowly and stares at the clock.

He sighs, “Yes, we will, but we can still make it in plenty of time,” he says turning back to you with a smile.

You nod and release him and look towards the bathroom, “Just give me a minute to freshen up, we wouldn’t want everyone to know what we’ve been up to,” you whisper turning back to him.

He leans towards you and his lips ghost over yours, “Wouldn’t we though?”

“Not if we want to have some time alone in your office, Sir,” you whisper.

His arm wraps around your waist firmly and he stares deeply into your eyes for a moment before eagerly pressing his lips to yours and you eagerly return the gesture.

When you step out of the car you grab a hold of your boyfriend’s hand and he escorts you into the building and up the elevator. And upon walking into the main room you smile wide as two familiar faces greet you.

You hug Hernández first and then McTavish.

“I love your costumes! You two look so cute together!” Hernández exclaims, “Although I don’t know what you’re supposed to be?” she questions staring at Kandomere askance.

“A witch hunter,” Kandomere states.

Both of their eyes widen in recognition.

“That’s such a great couples costume!” McTavish exclaims.

You’re dressed in a long, black dress with long sleeves, complete with petticoats and heeled boots. And Kandomere is dressed in a light grey, three-piece suit with a white dress shirt.

Kandomere had wanted your costumes to be as accurate as possible, although the two of you did take some liberties with your designs and you added a plain, black pointed hat, and lace to the edges of your sleeves and dress, as well as gave yourself a decent neckline.

While Kandomere had chosen not to include a hat so as not to mess with his hair.

Your clothing was even made out of linen…well most of it anyways….

Gwen is dressed as a 1920s flapper with her hair pulled up into a bun, and a white, faux fur draped over her shoulders and pearls with a red dress with tassels.

Gabriela is dressed in a leather jacket with a dark grey shirt and jeans and fake fangs, and red eye contact lens with a few fake drops of blood going down her chin.

“There’s no way you two won’t win the costume contest,” Hernández says with a smirk.

“I’m hoping we might,” Kandomere says wrapping an arm around you.

“Ah there you are! You’re late!” Saerthon scolds.

You all stare over at the rest of Kandomere’s coworkers and move to join them.

You look at Kandomere and mouth the words ‘told you.’

He rolls his eyes and presses a kiss to your cheek and then discreetly whispers in your ear, “And we’ll be late getting home too.”

You smile and then turn your attention to the party as Saerthon hosts a game of trivia about Halloween.

“And is a pumpkin a fruit or a vegetable?” Saerthon asks.

“A vegetable?” Murphy asks confused by the question.

“No, it’s a fruit,” Arathir corrects.

“Wrong and correct,” Saerthon says pointing at Murphy and then at Arathir.

Kandomere finds Montehugh and guides you over to him to stand next to him.

“Hey, Boss, Happy Halloween,” Montehugh says.

“Happy Almost Halloween, unfortunately it’s one of our busiest days of the year,” Kandomere remarks.

“Yeah,” Montehugh says with a chuckle, “People really need to leave dark magic alone, but especially on nights like Halloween.”

Montehugh is dressed pretty much the same as usual but he does have a brown, fuzzy ear headband on his head and patches of fake fur on his hands.

Ah a wolfman then.

You then stare over at Saerthon who is dressed up as an ancient elven scholar, in what you presume to be a painstaking recreation that cost a few grand. And Agents Murphy and Arathir are dressed as Sherlock Holmes and Watson, and you can’t help but smile at the wooden pipe with bubbles coming out of it in Murphy’s mouth.

“Correct!” Saerthon exclaims as another question is answered, “And we have our winners for the trivia contest!” Saerthon announces as he brings out a trophy and a basket of goodies filled with cheeses. He hands it off to the team that won and then everyone falls back into the routine of idle conversation.

A lot of people still recognize you and greet you both and then you catch up with Hernández, and McTavish, and Montehugh for the better part of thirty minutes.

Until Saerthon walks over to you and Kandomere, “If you don’t mind me interrupting what is it you two are dressed as?”

“We’re a witch and witch hunter,” Kandomere says wrapping an arm around you.

He looks between you both and chuckles, “Splendid! That is, that is quite clever. Not completely historically accurate but I digress, we’ll be voting for best costume soon so don’t forget to cast a vote,” Saerthon adds as he wanders off again.

The two of you grab a few snacks from the table of food set out and quietly make your way down the hall towards Kandomere’s office. You polish off your snacks and Kandomere pulls out the key to his office and gives you a seductive look.

It’s been a while since you’ve had office sex and you’re eager to fuck Kandomere on the desk again.

He kisses you a few times and starts to unlock the door.

“Where are you two off to?” a voice asks.

You freeze and Kandomere turns around in annoyance.

You purse your lips and glance behind you at Saerthon, who’s walking down the hall towards you both.

“I’m just getting something from my office,” Kandomere says.

“This is an office party, you’re supposed to party now come on before you miss this too,” Saerthon scolds.

Kandomere sighs and locks his door again and the two of you head, arm and arm back towards the party.

Once there you write down a name on a piece of paper and place it in a cauldron, and then Saerthon shakes it up and pulls out a piece of paper.

His eyebrows raise in surprise, “Well, it seems we have two winners.”

And then he calls out your’s and Kandomere’s names.

Surprised you both approach to claim your prize and trophy that says ‘best costume’ on it and another basket filled with handmade soaps, some bubble bath, and a little unicorn plushie with a ribbon wrapped around it.

Kandomere takes it from him and you pick up one of the soaps and sniff it and hum at the pleasant aroma. They’re not overpowering in the slightest and you’re actually excited to get to use them. Kandomere takes out the unicorn plushie and boops the unicorn’s nose against yours and you smile. You both continue to hang around the party for another fifteen minutes, but it’s becoming clear that you’re not going to get another opportunity to head for Kandomere’s office so you give up and decide to go home for the evening.

After you finally get home you set the basket of soaps on the bathroom counter and then walk back into your bedroom. You smile when you see Kandomere has placed your trophy on the dresser.

“I didn’t think we’d Both win the contest,” you say.

He chuckles, “Neither did I, but I still wish we had gotten some time alone,” he says wrapping an arm around you and puling your body close to his.

You smile and kiss him.

As you pull back you brush your hands over his suit, “That doesn’t mean we can’t still enjoy our ‘costumes,’” you say softly.

He smiles wide, “I’ve been eager to take that off you all night,” he whispers.

“Then take it off, Darling,” you whisper.

He lifts the hat off of your head and sets it on the dresser, “Gladly,” he whispers before his lips find yours.

Your fingers find his vest buttons and while you undo them he shrugs out of his jacket. When the last button is undone, he pulls it off of him as well as you start to slip your fingers through the knots in his tie next. His lips leave yours as he kneels down and you pull of his tie, and he stares up at you and lifts one of your legs over his shoulder.

His right hand gently trails down your leg and to your high heel, “Let’s get rid of these shall we?”

He undoes your heel strap and slips your shoe off and you let out a sigh.

“Better?” he asks softly.

You nod, “Much.”

He rubs your foot gingerly and then runs his hand across your leg, gently massaging you and then presses a kiss to your stocking covered thigh before lowering your leg and repeating the same process with your left leg.

Once he’s done, he stands and pulls both of his shoes off as well and tosses them aside. Kandomere then wraps his arms around you and moves towards you and you walk backwards until your back touches a wall.

He presses his body against yours and his lips meet yours.

You smile against his mouth as he bunches up the fabric of your dress and petticoats and you gasp as his fingers begin to dance across the fabric of your panties. Your hands run across him and find his dress shirt buttons and undo them, and then you pull apart his shirt and you break apart from his lips to kiss his chest.

You find one of his nipples and suck on it, and he grumbles in pleasure.

With one of your hands you grip his back and scratch lightly.

Then you move to his other nipple and he starts to slip your panties off.

You kiss up his neck and bite tenderly and then kiss his jaw while cupping his face.

He lifts your right leg and you wrap it around him and when he lifts your left leg, you hop into his arms and he adjusts you so he can hold you against the wall. He reaches down with one hand to undo his belt and you intentionally make it difficult for him by kissing him and then licking his right ear. Kandomere lets out a shuddering groan and you hear his pants hit the floor finally. You pull back and smile at him and rub your feet against the bare part of his ass.

“I really love it when you wear thongs for me,” you coo biting your lip.

You run your hands across his chest and under his shirt and he slips off one sleeve at a time. You catch a strap from his thong with your toes from your right foot and start to slide it down.

He pulls down the other side and then lowers you a little.

Kandomere grasps his dick in his hand and lifts it up to rest the underside of it against your clit. He then holds onto you with both of his hands under your ass and you start to rub yourself against him.

You tilt your head back and moan softly.

“Do you like that?” he asks.

“You know I do,” you say as he moves with you.

You wrap an arm around his shoulders and pull him towards you and his lips find yours. He then kisses your neck and you pull the fabric down as he kisses down to your breasts and he latches onto one and you moan.

He pushes against you in his fervor and you hit the wall at an awkward angle.

“Ow,” you mutter.

He detaches from your nipple and looks up at you, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you say, “But on second thought can we move to the bed?”

“Of course,” he says and gently lowers you to the floor.

You slip your dress over your head and remove your petticoats and Kandomere undoes your corset for you and you’re left wearing nothing but your stockings. You climb onto the bed as Kandomere relieves himself of his pants and socks and goes to the dresser to pick out a condom.

You lie back against the pillows and spread your legs wide and watch the elf.

Kandomere stares over at you as he pulls a condom out of the drawer.

He exhales slowly and then he glances at your hat on the dresser.

He glances back over at you and smiles and picks it up, “Could you wear this for me?”

You sit up, “Sure, but I’ll have to be on top.”

“That’s perfect considering witches ride broomsticks,” Kandomere says.

“Well, this witch is going to ride your dick,” you giggle.

You move to the side as Kandomere lies down in your place and starts to unwrap the condom. You take the hat from him and set it on top of your head and then grasp his dick in your hand.

He’s immediately distracted by you and stares at you.

You make eye contact and lower yourself to lick up the entire length of him.

He opens his mouth and gasps.

Then you lick the tip of him and then insert him into your mouth and suck.

He closes his eyes and groans.

You release him after a moment and kiss all along him and up to his stomach.

Then you lightly play with the dark blue hair on his abdomen, “I adore your happy trail.”

You lightly grasp his pubic hair next and then sit up finally and rest yourself on his thighs and wait for him expectantly. He remembers the condom in his hand and unwraps it and slides it on. You lift yourself up and over him and his hands grip your thighs as you gently dip his tip in and out of you.

You then slowly settle down on top of him and close your eyes and let out a sigh.

Kandomere always fills you up so nicely.

You circle your hips as his hands massage your thighs and then you gently lift up and slowly start to ride him. His hands move to your hips, and you open your eyes to stare at your elf, and how utterly in awe of you he is.

You smile and rest your hands on his chest and he takes one of your hands in his and brings it to his lips. Kandomere then rubs up and down your arms and you pick up the pace. You start riding him harder and harder and you have to hold on to your hat to keep it from falling off.

“I’m getting close, how about you?” you pant heavily.

Sweat is pouring down his face and body, “I’m almost there,” he breathes.

You nod and continue to ride the elf.

“If you could just…AHHHH!” he exclaims as you begin to ride him as hard as you can, “FUCK! Like that!” he shouts.

You place both of your hands on his chest and the hat falls off as you push Kandomere over the edge.

“OH! AMOR!” he moans.

You cry out as well as you cum right after him and clutch tightly around him.

You slow down as you come down and then you fall forward onto his chest.

You both breathe heavily and you can feel Kandomere bury his fingers in your hair.

“Fuck, Amor, you’re so good,” he breathes.

You huff a little and lift your head to smile at him.

“So are you,” you pant.

You recover enough to lift off of him and then you lay down on your side next to him, and he pulls you closer to him and you rest your head on his shoulder.

You both are quiet as you try to catch your breath.

“I’m spent,” you say.

Kandomere laughs, “Me too, usually I feel like going another round.”

“I know, but this first one was too good,” you whine.

“Don’t worry there’s always tomorrow morning,” he says.

You yawn, “You get to be on top tomorrow.”

He lets out a chuckle and you snuggle closer to him.

And the two of you bask in the warmth of your lovemaking.

#kandomere #kandomere x reader #bright netflix

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5-seconds-of-asses · 4 years

Text

faith >> sherlock shortstory

Title: faith

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Original Female Character, (a tiny bit at the end) Sherlock Holmes x John Watson

Warnings: Character Death, Mention of self harm

Summary: in which sherlock learns what faith is. or rather who.

A/N: So this is a weird little AU that I wrote when season 4 first came out. I kinda shipped Sherlock and “Faith” a little. I can’t really tell you why, I just felt like they had a cool connection (I mean we all now know where that came from haha). Anyway, what you need to know before you start reading is this: Sherlock has rented Backer Street on his own and is busy taking cases when Faith suddenly stumbles into his life. She really is Faith, not Eurus, and she has a weirdly good effect on Sherlock. Enjoy!

_____

"I'm Faith Smith," she said.

Sherlock didn't hear her. He was too busy staring at her. Looking at her without looking through her.

There was something about her. Sherlock couldn't quite say what it was (and he was incredibly annoyed by that), but she drew his interest. She seemed so lonely, and yet so at peace with it.

Some time later the detective realized that Faith reminded him of himself. But he needed a while to get there.

***

"I like stars," Faiths blue-green eyes were fixated on the shining dots in the sky.

Sherlock huffed disdainfully and rolled his eyes. "Why are humans always so fascinated by such primitive things? Stars are just balls of gas in the sky"

Faith smiled. Sherlock blinked in confusion - he had expected her to be hurt by his words. Finally, Faith took her eyes from the stars and looked at him. "Those primitive things you talk about have the ability, to give us hope, Sherlock. Confidence. Faith"

The detective with the dark curls blinked in bewilderment. "And how does that work? How can a shining dot in the sky give you the illusion of hope?"

Faith took his hand and forced him to sit beside her on the bench. "Look at them. Don't think"

"I don't think--"

"You aren't supposed to. Just look. Let your eyes do the work, Sherlock. Let the rest of you be relaxed"

With a deep, dramatic sigh, like only Sherlock Holmes could manage, he did as he was told and tried to look at the balls of gas without a second thought.

It was silent.

Some time later, Sherlock felt he had lost track of time. Hours could have passed (though the sun wasn't- dammit, no thinking) when Sherlock started smiling. Maybe the stars weren't so bad. They seemed nice.

Almost peaceful.

Faith smiled as she looked at the detective.

Almost peaceful.

***

Nobody was sure where Faith had come from. Mrs Hudson just shrugged when Sherlock asked and she told him, that Faith was suddenly standing in the door frame one afternoon. Sherlock could find neither reason nor proof for a lie.

Molly seemed to know her (Faith sometimes visited him when he was inspecting bodies - whenever she did, the women exchanged meaningful looks), but no matter how many times he asked, Molly wouldn't tell him how. It drove him mad. But he needed the two of them - Mollys help and friendship and Faiths company, which he was too used to by now - and so he didn't even have the option to be angry at them for not telling him.

For some reason, Lestrade refused to give out any information about Faith. Though, Sherlock doubted he even had any to begin with. It was really frustrating. In the end, Sherlock gave up.

Faith always said that some mysteries better stayed unsolved. Apparently, that included her.

***

"Faith"

"Hmm?"

"Give me the weapon"

A pair of blue-green eyes blinked with little surprise. "I don't think so, Sherlock"

"Don't think. Just give me the gun"

A slim smile appeared on Faiths lips as she recognized her own words. She almost refused to hand out the weapon.

But then Sherlock whispered, "Please", in the softest voice he could manage. She looked into his eyes. It was only a short moment of weakness, but the detective's blue eyes were filled with panic and plea. Her heart skipped a painfully long beat.

Faith opened her bag, took out a small gun and handed it to Sherlock. He stood up and threw it into the River Thames. The two of them sat on the bench in silence, after that, and looked at the stars. Sherlock took Faith's hand. Faith smiled quietly to herself.

They didn't talk about it again.

***

One day, a man showed up in the laboratory of the hospital while Sherlock was analyzing samples with the microscope. He asked for Faith. Sherlock shot him only a short glance before going back to his analysis.

It wasn't hard to see that he was an ex-boyfriend of some sort. He was tall, in his mid-thirties, had blond hair and blue eyes and a cool, slow voice.

He didn't know who Sherlock was, or that he had any connection to Faith, or he wouldn't have acted as calm as he did. He was an aggressive person - his eyes flickered back and fourth in an unsettled manner, he bit his lower lip nervously and the shadow of an angry frown never left his forehead. His knuckles were wounded, most likely from a confrontation with another person or from punching something out of anger. The surface of the skin was damaged, almost like it had burst, which made Sherlock guess it had been a wall.

"I don't know anyone named Faith," he lied, without even batting as much as an eyelash, not looking up from his microscope while doing so.

"But I was told that she came here often," the man stepped closer.

"Who said you could come in?," finally, Sherlock looked at the man. He huffed and flushed - a mix of anger and embarrassment.

"Your information must be wrong. As long as she doesn't work here, she can't come in here. Does she work here?"

The man shook his head silently.

"Then you can go now," Sherlock had to bite back a spiteful grin as he turned back to his microscope on the table behind him.

His head as red as a tomato, the man left the lab. He didn't come back.

***

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm"

"Did somebody ask for me in the lab?"

"Why?," Sherlock took his eyes from the stars slowly and instead looked at the petite woman beside him.

"It's just... Molly... Molly mentioned something," Faith shrugged and left her sentence to linger in the air, almost like a dark shadow.

"A man showed up. Asked for you. Thought he could just come into the lab. I sent him away, told him that no one can come in if they don't work there, including you, and I also said that I didn't know you," Sherlock paused for a short moment and felt concern rise within him, "or should I not have done that?"

"No. I mean, yes. It was good that you did that. Thanks"

Faith smiled. She took his hand. He looked at the stars.

They didn't talk about it again.

***

One evening, Sherlock took longer for one of his consulting cases with the police than he had thought he would (it wasn't his fault - he couldn't have counted in the possibility of the supposed victim showing up alive and well).

Faith waited patiently for the detective; she sat in the kitchen, drank warm tea from a carefully inspected and as not harmful determined cup and hummed to herself quietly.

When the door opened, her face lightened up notably; then Mrs Hudson entered the room and Faiths smile faded just the slightest bit.

"Oh, I'm sorry, dear. Sherlock isn't there yet," Mrs Hudson smiled warmly and looked at the seat in front of Faith with questioning eyes. She nodded, blinking softly and nipping at her tea.

"You know," Mrs Hudson smiled, "I don't know where you came from, Faith, or who sent you, but you're a blessing. You saved him. I've known Sherlock from a long, long time. And the past few weeks, he had been looking very lost to me"

Faith blinked curiously and sat up a bit straighter. "Lost?"

"Lost. As if he didn't know where he started and certainly not where he had to go," Mrs Hudson smiled; she seemed sad. "Since you're here he isn't like that anymore. He found his way. He just doesn't quite know it yet"

Faith wanted to ask; she wanted to ask where Sherlock's way led and how he found it, because in this moment the landlady seemed omniscient. But the detective with the dark curls entered the room right then, blinking and looking almost perplexed

"Hello, Sherlock" Faith stood up to greet him.

"Hello Faith," his deep voice was warm and his eyes gleamed sharply as he took her hand and squeezed it. They remained like that for a moment. When they let go of each other, Mrs Hudson was gone.

Faith only understood that she was Sherlock's way when it was already too late.

And it wasn't until she left him that Sherlock understood - he had also lost his way.

***

"Faith?"

"Hmm?"

"Faith," the petite woman looked at detective with surprise. His usually so confident voice had lost every last bit of its steadiness.

Sherlock refused to take his glance from the stars. He knew that Faith was looking at him, but he couldn't look into her eyes.

"You have to stop"

"Stop what?"

"Faith," Sherlocks voice had a warning undertone. They both knew what he meant. Faith bit her lower lip anxiously. "Sherlock... that's... difficult"

"No. Faith. Stop hurting yourself. It's easy"

As the tiny petite woman looked at him, she could see the whole universe in Sherlock's eyes. There was only infinity. And Faith started crying, because she was so awfully lost in his infinity.

She cried, because she didn't understand that she was the only constant in his infinity.

But Sherlock wrapped his arms around her, stroking her back, and his hug gave Faith a little support. A little safety. A little... faith.

***

Faiths blue-green eyes widened with excitement as they discovered the snowflakes.

"It's snowing!," she shouted and jumped to her feet dizzily. Sherlock blinked in confusion, but Faith was too busy laughing to notice it.

"It's snowing, Sherlock!," the excitement didn't leave her voice as she turned around to the detective.

He nodded slowly.

"It's snowing, Sherlock. It's snowing," she repeated. By now she was whispering, soft and delighted and hopeful.

"My way," Sherlock muttered and blinked, because finally, he understood.

"What?," Faith looked at him with childish confusion, her forehead slightly wrinkled, her lips still pulled into a warm smile.

The detective shook his head and returned her smile. He stood, took Faiths hand and pulled her into a tight hug as their lean bodies shivered against each other.

"My way," Sherlock mumbled to himself. He had understood.

***

Sherlock Holmes was excited. Normally, Sherlock Holmes was never excited.

But normally, Sherlock Holmes didn't care about stars or snowflakes either. Or about women (or men, for that matter).

Faith had changed him a lot, and that was okay.

And now he was excited: not the "oh-this-case-is-gonna-be-good-one" kind of excited, but the anxious, shaky, nervous kind of excited.

Whether one wants to believe it or not, it was probably the first time since his childhood that he felt this very human emotion. And the cause was, once again Faith.

The two of them spent almost every night together on the bench in front of the Thames. Mostly silent, but sometimes filled with quiet whispers about their day, or about how bright the stars were shining that particular night.

Sometimes Faith visited him in the lab or waited for him in his flat, so that they could start off their late night excursion together; but they never had a... date.

Molly helped him realize that it was important. He still didn't quite understand why, and he didn't quite understand how Faiths mind worked, either, but by now, he knew her. Which was why he understood that Faith probably wanted to go on a date. A real one.

And even if he didn't want to admit it - he wanted a real date, too.

***

When Faith didn't show up that evening and didn't cancel either, Sherlock knew that something was wrong.

He texted her and he called, but there was no answer from Faith. For inexplicable reasons, Sherlock couldn't be as calm and productive as he usually was. His normally so clear thoughts were disturbed by sheer panic.

As Sherlock exited the cab, his heart stopped for one moment. The all too well known police tape cut off the house Faith lived in from the other ones.

Sherlock Holmes ran. He ran and ran and he felt like with every second passing, he was being carried away from Faith a little more.

***

Faith Smith was a special child. Her mind, so delicate and fragile, couldn't bear all that it was exposed to. She took pills, and a whole, colorful mix of them.

Those pills, that reassured her accountability and kept her alive, it was them, that in the end, took her life. A miscalculation, a slight overdose and a little wine were enough to kill her.

Faith Smith died on a cold winter evening in her flat. In her last moments, her blue-grey eyes grasped the falling snow through a window.

"His way," Faith mumbled to herself. She finally understood.

***

Sherlock Holmes didn't cry. Not until the day he thought his faith lost, and never again after that.

He couldn't bear to look at the stars anymore, because how could they give him hope, when Faith was missing?

He couldn't go out when it snowed anymore, because how could he be happy about the snow when Faith's big, child-like eyes were missing to admire it?

The worst thing was that Sherlock could never be sure.

Did she want to die?

The question didn't leave him, ever. He hated himself for that, day for day, that he couldn't be sure - that apparently, he didn't know Faith, after all. Or at least not well enough.

Sherlock Holmes lost his faith, and with it, everything about him that was still human.

Faith Smith left behind a heap of shards. She had never wanted to leave. She just wished Sherlock knew that.

***

Many months passed. Sherlock Holmes never left his flat anymore when it was snowing.

But one day, when he was sitting at the window, he could watch a small, limping man fight his way through another snowstorm. The door bell rang.

Heavily, the detective rose to his feet and opened it. The man he had just watched from the window was now smiling, full of uncertainty and holding out his hand.

"I'm John Watson," he said.

Sherlock didn't hear him. He was too busy staring at him.

#sherlock #sherlock season 4 #john watson #johnlock #sherlock holmes #molly hooper #faith smith #short story #character death #mycroft holmes #greg lestrade #the lying detective #lovestory

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simplyclockwork · 4 years

Note

Hey! If you're still taking prompts, could you write a thing where Sherlock and John are married but sherlock is a serial killer and john doesn't know and angst? I know ive been asking a lot of you and you're busy with your fics, but i love your writing so much! it's completely cool if you put this off or dont write it, i wont mind! thanks!

I finally filled this prompt! Sorry it’s short, but I’ll likely write more and make this a multi-chapter fic, so just gonna post this for now.

@bilbon-socket hope this is a suitable fill for the prompt!

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

Four years of marriage and John thought he knew him. Believed he was as familiar with the person his husband was as he was of himself.

Confidence is a strange thing. You never realize how fragile it is until something tears at the foundations.

Sherlock was always strange. It was who he was, part and parcel of the genius who swept John off his feet right from day one. Sherlock was a madman, a bloody, brilliant sociopath, a wicked, East-bound whirlwind of energy and thrumming, burning focus. John loved him. Loved every senseless, outlandish thought that man conceived. Even when Sherlock drove him up the wall, threatening to topple their world with his own careless apathy, John loved him.

Time and again, they pulled through. Overcame. Overlooked. Forgave and forgot.

Until they didn't.

The day before their fourth anniversary, John's foundations were shaken. Toppled. Desecrated and destroyed, leaving behind dust and ash, the taste of blood in his mouth.

(Read the rest below the page break)

He woke to sunlight and twisted sheets, a repetition of years gone by. Stretched out a hand and brushed Sherlock's warm back, fingers trailing over the solid ridge of his bent spine where the detective lay curled into himself, legs tangled with John's.

"Morning," John breathed, sitting up with a crick in his neck and love in his throat as he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Sherlock's bare shoulder. "Sleep well?"

Sherlock's response, a low, thrumming hum, was muffled by his face pushing into the pillow. John's soft laugh ruffled dark curls, and the detective wriggled his rear back against John's stomach.

At his body's first stirrings, John dropped a heavy groan into Sherlock's neck, stroking hands over his sides, breath wet and warm as he mouthed over Sherlock's jaw. When he slid his fingers down to Sherlock's chin, making to turn his face and find his mouth, a loud knock at the sitting room door startled them both. Sherlock jolted against his chest as John sat up, body tense.

"Mrs. Hudson must have let someone in," Sherlock murmured, eyes grey and cloudy as they looked at one another. John saw his own thoughts reflected in those miasmatic irises, both wondering who would knock in such an aggressive fashion if Mrs. Hudson knew them well enough to let them up the stairs.

The knocking repeated. Forceful, harder, a persistent staccato rhythm against the old wood.

"Sherlock!"

The voice was edged with desperation, and familiar to both their ears. They looked at one another, Sherlock lifting a brow.

"Lestrade?" he said, frowning as John slipped off the bed, pulling on shorts and a housecoat.

"Must be urgent." Tossing Sherlock's robe at him, John patted the curve of his arse. "Come on, get up. Let's see what he wants."

Leaving Sherlock to dress and compose himself, John padded down the hall, bare feet whispering over the wood floor. When he opened the door, his welcoming smile dropped off his face, lips parting as he took in the group of officers clustered on the landing.

"Lestrade, what—?" John's words dwindled, dissipating in the tense, charged air as the DI pushed his way into the flat. Donovan and Anderson followed on his heels, with several other vaguely familiar officers.

"Where is he, John?" Lestrade's hollow voice made the half-formed thoughts in John's head scatter, leaving behind the dull thudding beginning of a headache in his temples.

"Sherlock?" John glanced down the hall. "He's getting dressed, should be out in a second…" his eyes flicked over Lestrade's hard face, over the tense, wary postures of the others, and his breath caught in his throat. "Is something wrong? Is Sherlock in danger?"

The look Lestrade shot his way was sharp steel, his eyes softening minutely at John's evident confusion.

"You don't know, do you?" he asked, the words incredulous, ragged with an underlying edge of pity and apology. The tone made John shift, body bracing for impact as his mind raced, digging for explanations.

"I—what are you—"

"Lestrade?"

The deep voice emerged from the hall, John's head jerking up as Sherlock stepped into the sitting room. Lestrade's shoulders twitched back, chin rising as the officers with him shuffled, uncomfortable but controlled.

John's eyes flickered to Donovan and Anderson, who both appeared uneasy but resolute. Looking back to Sherlock, he found a dark, shuttered expression on his paling face.

"So," Sherlock began, arms rising before falling to his sides with a resigned air. "You figured it out."

Lestrade's mouth twisted, a grim expression that spoke of little joy. "Yeah, we did. It took…it took us too long, but we got there. In the end." The words emerged tight and strangled, and John stared between the two men, panic rising in his chest.

"What's going on?" he demanded, hands twitching into fists. Neither looked at him, the DI and consulting detective locked in a hard stare.

"Are you going to make this difficult?" Lestrade asked, soft. His hand hovered at his side, Sherlock's sharp eyes following the movement. He glanced at John before turning back to the DI.

"No," he replied, almost a whisper. "No, I won't."

"Good." Lestrade stepped forward, pulling a set of handcuffs from his belt. When Sherlock turned, meek and compliant, to offer his hands behind his back, John's stomach plummeted.

"What the fuck—" he snarled, taking a step forward, every inch of his body tensed. "—do you think you're doing?!"

"Don't interfere, John," Lestrade said, quiet voice strained, his face tense with stress.

"Like hell I won't!" John snapped his arm back as hands grabbed at his shoulders, catching Anderson in the chest with his elbow. The man stumbled back with a groan as John moved toward Sherlock and the DI, hands reaching for the handcuffs. Lestrade raised his head, shooting him an uneasy look, but it was Sherlock who broke through the red fog blurring John's vision.

"John," he said, calm and restrained. Only a low tremour of tension betrayed his turmoil, tightening the skin at the corners of his eyes. "Don't."

John fell still, caught awkwardly in place as his foot slammed to the floor, the impact jarring through his body. Hands landed on his shoulders and arms, restraining him with hesitant force. But it was no longer necessary, the initial fury draining away as he stared at Sherlock. At his husband. The man he thought of as the love of his life.

Blood rushed in his ears, a dull roar, as Lestrade read Sherlock his rights.

"Sherlock Holmes, you are under arrest for suspected murder."

The bottom of John's stomach dropped away, a hollow ache filling his chest as the words washed over him, and Lestrade went on.

"You do not have to say anything. But, it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence."

"I—you can't," John protested weakly, knees beginning to shake. "You can't arrest him for something he didn't do."

Sherlock lifted his head, looking over at the man quivering in the grip of several officers. At the stalwart soldier. The man who had always stood at his side, even here, even now.

The man who had never known the truth.

"John," Sherlock said, repeating the name. "I'm sorry, John."

If not for the hands holding his shoulders and arms, John would have collapsed. His legs gave way, and he slowly slumped to his knees, disbelief pouring from his open mouth as he shook his head.

"No, Sherlock—I—Sherlock?"

The detective could only stare back at him, a pained expression twisting his sharp features. With his hands cuffed behind him, Lestrade's fingers locked around his forearm, Sherlock's lips parted, empty and frozen. He shook his head, and something sharp and icy ripped through John's chest.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock repeated, and John felt the world tilt as his foundations were ripped away.

#sherlock #johnlock #fic #fan fiction #prompt #prompt fill #angst #serial killer sherlock #dark! sherlock

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the-prince-of-professors · 4 years

Text

💖🎉 Happy Birthday @tremendousdetectivetheorist !!

I’ve written something silly for you, and... I started this yesterday, and at first I only intended to write that part that we have been talking about for ages; but somehow it turned into something more so, uh... you will get the second part tomorrow! (Also, I really need to go to bed now because I have work tomorrow, so I’m sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes or typos etc. If you want to, I’ll post it to AO3 later when it’s edited! I just wanted you to get it today 😄)

It was half-past four, and the sun was already beginning to set, when a carriage stopped in front of the London townhouse. It was a townhouse like so many others you have seen before—the luxurious, elegant kind, with the meticulously planted garden in front, the polished brass clap on the polished black door, and the crystal chandelier hinting through the large bay windows of the ground floor; the kind of house you might stop to admire, or otherwise pass without a second thought. From the carriage stepped two men: and if I say now, that we are in the London of the 1890s, and that one of the gentlemen is carrying a notebook in his breast pocket, and the other is in the habit of carrying a magnifying glass, and that there is some urgent business in the form of crime prevention that has called the two to this particular house, I hardly think I need to introduce them by name.

Holmes swiftly walked up the gravel path, took the stairs in three steps—but stopped with his walking-stick raised for a knock, and instead touched the door gently with his long fingers. As Watson came up behind him, he was looking the door up and down, with a soft smile playing on his lips.

“Holmes?”

“Ah, sorry Watson,” he said, still with the same expression. “I lost myself in memories for a moment—it’s been so long, still looks the same…”

“You’ve been here before?” It was the first the doctor had heard of it.

But Holmes only smiled, and finally gave the door a rapid knock. It opened almost instantly, and they were welcomed by a man in servant’s clothes, with dark hair and stern brown eyes. He must have been in his twenties—early thirties, perhaps—but his stone-set features and his unyielding posture gave the impression of a mature and respectable mind.

“My master is in the morning room,” he said.

He showed them the way to a delicately furnished room, where the last rays of daylight streamed in between lavender coloured curtains over a grand piano, by which a young man sat tapping aimlessly on the keys. He looked up as they entered.

“Mr Holmes and Dr Watson,” the valet announced, and left the room.

The young man rose immediately.

“Lord Webster, I presume,” said Holmes.

“Mr Holmes!” he exclaimed, walking up to him and clasping his hand. “You don’t know how grateful I am that you have come. Dr Watson, most obliged.”

“We came as soon as we could,” said Watson. “Your message sounded most urgent.”

“Oh it is—it is!” exclaimed the man.

He was a fair fellow, medium build and soft in complexion, with freckles on his cheeks and strawberry blonde locks falling around his face. His eyes were a gentle, pale blue, though constantly sparkling with whatever emotion dominated him at the current moment. Now he threw his slender hands in the air, and sank down upon a red velvety chair.

“I hope you will understand, gentlemen,” he said pleadingly, “that I have done nothing wrong here. It is vengence, pure vengence, for something that I never promised, and something that could never be.”

“I am sure we will understand,” said Holmes, “once you have explained the problem to us. I am afraid your message did not reveal much.”

“I could not!” exclaimed Webster. “It is a most delicate problem, and I hope no one has been made aware of you coming here. Mr Holmes…” the young man straightened his back, took a deep breath, and continued in a tone of importance, “I am being blackmailed.”

“I see,” said Holmes after a short silence. “That is most unfortunate.”

“Can you help me?”

“My dear Webster, until I have heard the details of this affair, I can promise nothing but that I will try my very best.”

“That is all I ask.”

“In that case—”

Holmes fell silent as the dark-haired valet entered with a bouquet of flowers, which he proceeded to place in a vase upon the piano. Holmes looked questionably on Webster; but the young Lord only smiled and waved dismissively.

“Oh, you may discuss anything in front of Stevens. I trust him like the back of my hand.”

Stevens looked up for a brief moment, uttered a well placed “Sir,” then continued with the arrangement.

“Very well,” Holmes continued, with some carefully concealed amusement. “Then pray, tell us—to begin with—to whom you owe this… inconvenience.”

“Why, to HER of course,” Webster exclaimed, rising to his feet in indignancy.

Holmes looked with some confusion upon his angry countenance—his eyes wide, and the delicate nostrils flaring like a horse’s—and asked:

“Her?”

“Yes, of course—HER!”

“I’m sorry, Lord Webster—am I supposed to know who this woman is?”

“Oh, Mr Holmes,” Webster continued, at once abandoning every trace of anger for a posture of absolute misery. His face grew soft; his eyes searched the ceiling as if looking for an answer among the hidden stars above; and, forgetting the chair, he danced across the room the few steps necessary to reach a luxurious divan, and with a heavy sigh flung himself on it. “Is there not always such a woman, in every love story worth its name?” he concluded, touching his hand to his forehead.

“You… can surely not be talking about a woman you love?” Holmes said, consulting Watson with a quick look, who frowned in agreement.

“The woman I love?!” Webster sat up. “Of course not! Had it been the woman I love, it would not have been a HER, it would have been—”

He paused for a second, gazing into the distance; then made a gracious gesture with one hand, as if letting his fingers dance over the keys of a piano.

“—a her,” said he then, with the softest tone of voice.

“I see,” Holmes said slowly. “And this woman…”

“She wants to marry me!”

“My condolences.”

“Thank you. It would not have been so bad, only she will simply not let go of the idea.”

“I see.”

“A little intrigue never hurt anyone—a little flirtation and a bit of rejection here and there is good for moral—and for one’s health, I believe—but this has gone too far!”

“And now she has turned to blackmail, unless you agree to the proposal.”

Webster hung his head. Stevens, having finished with the flowers, swiftly stepped up to his master’s side. Without a single change of expression in his stern face, he picked up a blanket from the side of the divan and placed it carefully over Webster’s shoulders, then said:

“Shall I bring the tea now, Sir; or would your Lordship rather wait until the next mood swing?”

“Now, Stevens, would be good. Thank you,” Webster replied with a wave of the hand, and Stevens exited immediately.

Watson looked after him with some curiosity; but Holmes’ eyes were fast upon the client.

“Now, what is this woman’s name, if you may be so kind.”

Webster rubbed his eyes a little, and drew the blanket closer around him.

“Such a rock, through all of this—such a rock,” he murmured.

“Her name?” Holmes asked again, taking a step closer, and Webster looked up with a dazed expression.

“What?”

“Her name, Webster!”

“Oh! Mrs. Chaillard—might even be a Lady, now that I think about it. She has been married so many times, one has a hard time keeping up.”

“And you have known her a long time?”

“Oh, known or known… she was certainly around here a long time ago—but I was merely a boy back then. I had not seen her for ages, until she decided to appear in our part of society again.”

“She has been away, then?”

“All over Europe. Has friends all over the place. Money, art, estate in Italy, travelled here and there, married and widowed, and married again… oh, you know the type.”

“Certainly.”

“I’ve only been as far as Brighton—”

“Worthing, my Lordship,” Stevens corrected as he entered with a tray.

“Thank you, Stevens, that’s kind of you. I don’t know what she thinks we should have in common! But that’s neither here nor there.”

“Yes, I do believe it is time we get to the point,” Holmes said patiently. “We now know the who and the why, and it is now the what—what is it that she has on you, Lord Webster?”

At this the young man went quiet, acquiring a genuine glimpse of sorrow in his blue eye. He slowly rose, and walked over to the table where the arrangement of flowers stood in its crystal vase.

“It is,” he said with his back turned, “a very delicate matter, and a very bad situation, I’m afraid.”

“You will find we are very discreet.”

“A very, very, delicate matter.”

“I assure you,” Watson said gently, “that whatever you say will stay between the three of us—provided no one will come to harm due to our silence.”

“Oh, your silence is most important,” Webster shook his head, “and I swear it will do nothing but good.”

“Then you have nothing to fear.”

“Alright,” he sighed, looking up at last.

He looked both gentlemen in the eye firmly before he continued:

“She has come over some… letters…”

“Letters?”

“And a photograph.”

“Photograph.”

“Yes.”

“It’s contents?”

Webster frowned, for a moment turning his eyes on the table where Stevens was in the process of laying out tea and cakes. Then he turned the other way, and let his fingers rest on the single red rose in the arrangement. He stroke its petals slowly, as if only half aware he was doing it.

“Sensitive—very sensitive,” he said.

“You really must be more specific than so, my boy.”

Picking up the rose, as if for comfort, he turned his eyes back on his consultants with the shade of a smile.

“It is a lover, is it not?” said Watson kindly, and Webster nodded.

“It is essential, I’m afraid, that you tell us who it is,” said Holmes.

Webster put the rose to his nose in contemplation, bumping it slowly against it a couple of times.

“Tea is served, my Lord,” said Stevens, in a tone one could imagine to be a little gentler than before. He stood looking at his master intentely, like a soldier waiting for orders.

“Thank you, Stevens,” Webster said again, but this time with the same warmth as if the valet had offered to carry out his last dying wish, and not simply served tea for his guests.

Stevens gave a small nod, turned on his heel, and left the room again.

“Now,” said Watson, “we really wish you would tell us—”

But Holmes interrupted.

“Ah,” he said, with a newly lit glimpse in his steel eye. “Of course… is it not so?”

Webster, who had followed Stevens with his eyes as he left, now met Holmes’ eye with a look of surprise, and then of submission. Anxiously, he put a bunch of the red petals between his teeth, and nodded. Watson looked from one to the other.

“But a photograph?” Holmes continued. “That is very indescreet of you—both of you.”

“Oh, it is all my fault!” Webster exclaimed. “It was back when it was all new, all… butterflies, and hopes for the future… I’m sure you know what it’s like, Mr Holmes? I only wanted what everyone else so openly are allowed to have; and it was only supposed to be for us, only a token, a memory of our promise to each other; and he knew better, of course, but simply did not want to let me down.”

“He?” said Watson.

“I quite understand,” said Holmes kindly.

“Stevens?” whispered Watson.

“And the letters?” Holmes continued.

“Nothing obscene,” Webster said, sinking down upon the divan again, “only words of love and devotion… but certainly enough for a conviction.”

And he buried his face in his hands. For a moment only the ticking of the clock broke the silence. Then Holmes spoke again.

“And you are absolutely certain,” he said, “that this woman is in possession of these items.”

“Certain!” Webster looked up. “She made sure I was! She showed them to me when I was there earlier today, waved them in front of my face—and then put them in her safe, impossible to get to.”

“Impossible…” Holmes murmured thoughtfully. “And when,” said he then, “does she intend to play her card and set your ruin in motion?”

“Holmes,” said Watson reproachfully, as Webster started.

“I’m sorry,” Holmes said, “but if I understand correctly, time is of the essence here. Otherwise you would not have called on us so hastily—is it not true, Webster?”

“Tomorrow,” the young man moaned. “She is to come here tomorrow morning, and if I don’t comply, she will go to the press the very same day.”

“Then we have all the facts!” Holmes exclaimed. “Unless there is something you have left out?”

“No, no, Mr Holmes, I have told you everything.”

“I thought so. Then we must begin our operation.”

Webster’s head jerked up.

“You can help me then?”

“I believe so. Or, rather, I believe I know someone who can.” Holmes smirked, giving Watson a look of confidence. “I need to send a telegram right away, and then perhaps if your Stevens will be so kind as to write down the address of the lady for me.”

“Of course.”

Holmes smiled, then turned to Watson and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Stay with him, until his valet returns.” Then, leaning closer, he whispered, “after that, meet me in the conservatory—under the second palm tree on the left.”

“Second on the left?”

“Yes, Watson,” he smiled; “the usual palm tree.”

And he left the room without further ceremony. Watson stared after him for a moment, perplexed; then he went to sit down beside the young Lord, who now had a look of perfect disbelief upon his face.

“Your Mr Holmes is certainly very peculiar,” he said, and turned to Watson. “Has he really found a solution so quickly?”

“I believe he has,” said Watson. “You may trust Mr Holmes, in any case, to do everything in his power to save your reputation.”

Webster sighed.

“It is not so much my reputation… though one is very fond of it, of course. No, Dr Watson, it is that of the man I love—yes, love! oh I don’t believe I have said that to another living soul, except to him—that I’m afraid for… and for his very life, too. I wouldn’t mind so much going to prison for love—after all, is there a nobler reason? It is romantic, albeit in a morbid sort of way… Something like the knights of old, one might imagine… Oh, but for our love to be the very reason for tearing us apart! To destroy this life of ours? To cause him harm? I could not live with it.”

His tearful eyes met Watson’s, and he continued with much affection:

“He really is the warmest of souls, you know; with the kindest of hearts. Most people don’t see him as such—I know that, but it is easy to forget once you have learnt to see that special glimpse in his eye: the one that tells you of the friend, of the lover. But, oh,” he laughed suddenly, putting his hand on Watson’s and giving it a pat, “I don’t need to tell you that, do I? I must admit I was nervous about sharing our story with you and Mr Holmes; but now that I have seen you together—”

Watson was about to answer; but at that moment, Stevens entered the room, and the young Lord’s attention was quickly diverted to matters of his own heart.

To be continued

#happy birthday #i don't know how to tag this #honestly i'm not sure where this came from but i think it will make sense in the terms of inside jokes and... other things #(perhaps not to anyone else though i don't know x)#and there are probably a lot of edits that need to be made but like i said #that can be done later #i hope it brightens your day!#*birthday hugs*

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ithinkthereforiamfandom · 5 years

Text

Cupid AU WIP

EDIT: This piece is now Finished. AO3

I'll be doing a Beta read/Edit for a friend this weekend so I'll be fairly busy. Alright, *deep breath* below is the 1st 2K of my current WIP. I'm a bit intimidated by what I've taken on TBH. I currently have over 5K with an established beginning (see below the cut I tried to insert) and I've got the end set as well, I know the journey to get there, it just looks Huge ATM. In short I'm looking for attention *perishes of embarrassment*, a little validation, just feeling Smol atm and need a bit of help plz.

[MORE]

John Watson trudged through the park, Not enjoying his down time at all but he was on his way to a meeting with Mike Stamford so hopefully things would improve soon. People thought of Cupid as some chubby baby with a bow and arrows but Cupids did more than just bring couples together. Love worked a shit load harder than just igniting the odd soul mate spark. Love healed, comforted, inspired, guarded… and Cupids where the guides and guardians of Love regardless of what form it took. Also John was bored… He wasn’t like Mike who trained Cupids at the hospital where hearts broke, they died, and new heart were born, all needing Love in some form. John was a BattleCupid when hearts were at war there, for the sake of Love, stood John Watson and it had nearly cost him a wing but he loved the work. It was his life. He had just returned from Afghanistan were his chances had been few but vital. The kindness shown to local children by soldiers missing their own beloved kids, the love a soldier feels when adopting a stray kitten… John was proud of those ones. He’d taken work as a field surgeon so that when hearts ended his presence wouldn’t be questioned. All hearts had to leave with love.

John felt an ache in his injured shoulder, the bullet had fucked things up and the therapy for the arm still took the wind out of him. Worse still was his wing. The bullet had ripped through bone, muscle, and tendons but it shouldn’t have been able to shatter his wing. It shouldn’t have been able to touch it. The damage had mystified the MediCupids back home and the phrase “caring was not an advantage” had actually passed his own lips. He suppressed a shudder because those hurt him too… had he been too close, had he bonded too strongly, deeply with his team. John scowled at the pavement as he considered his lost men. He had been their Captain and their doctor he was supposed to be close to them. And James, James Sholto's disgrace and his complete withdrawal from the world and even from John had done it’s own damage but he shook off the depressing thoughts before they could spread. He had loved his CO, against good advice and almost against his will. But the damage was done and now he just had to deal with it.

Mike sat on the bench waiting for John, he rustled his immaterial wings, excited to introduce him to his next potential charge. He knew the BattleCupid had been injured and while Cupids didn’t fly, a wing out of commission was uncomfortable, Cupid wings weren’t for flight they were emotion. Wing beats could blow away foul moods, wings could delicately shiver up joy, and feathers could slowly stroke smoldering lust to Passion’s blaze. He explained all this ad-nauseam to his recruits when they found they couldn’t fly and would stir up a hysterical crowd trying. As each student knew, having made the choice, a soul could become a Cupid and help others for the span of one human life time but Only every three hundred years then it was back to the reincarnation pool. They would know all about their own kind only from the time of their arrival and would keep that knowledge just for the life cycle or the burden would grow too great. Poor John was not even half way through his service and his retirement looked likely. Hopefully this next post would lift his mood...

“It’s an interesting case John.” “I’m a BattleCupid Mike, just because I got shot doesn’t make me a baby sitter, how at war can one man be. It’ll be a few weeks of couple’s therapy and he will have her back, right as rain.” “John.” Mike said patiently for the third time. “He’s at war. His heart is at war with his mind and his body. His soul is shutting down John. He is trying desperately not to let himself feel, let alone be loved. He’s just out of rehab, uppers so his heart has physically been under strain and there’s been so much nonsense from his childhood.” Mike pursed his lips. “Mike how bad can it be?” John chuckled at the strained look, it didn’t suit the GuideCupid who was an endless fount of patience and of course Love. “He’s Mycroft Holmes’ brother.” John and Mike exchanged a look. Mycroft Holmes had waged a quiet campaign against Cupids in the government, claiming their emotional focus was illogical and ill suited to serious work. Very few people knew of Cupids as they blended in well but Love Save the man or woman who was caught out by Mycroft because they always lost credibility. “So, not a babysitter then?” “No John not a babysitter but there’s a heart that needs to be saved. Okay?”

…

It was the first 24 hours and John was reevaluating his mission. He’d seen Sherlock disregard people’s feelings and insult those who clearly cared about him, for Love's Sake the only person he seemed affectionate with was his landlady and no wonder, she was a Cupid too. Close to the end of her life cycle but John had felt her shake her wings in delight when Sherlock had brought him through the door and she’d offered him a cuppa Cupid to Cupid, just this once. Mycroft had also got hold of him but the man wasn’t as daunting as others claimed, not when you’ve lived in a war zone for half your life. He had stated his loyalty to his charge and his intentions to heal Sherlock’s heart before walking away from the pompous ass slowly sending drifts of peace behind him. He was unsure how effective his injured wing was but the confrontation had happened and at least that was over with.

…

Sherlock studied his new flatmate, clearly a Cupid like Mrs Hudson but was John on assignment or just looking for a place to stay. Sherlock’s mind coiled in on itself, he didn’t need fixing and Mrs Hudson had been the only one he had let help him, when he had just come back from rehab and had felt so overwhelmingly lonely. The heart support she had given him, the connection she had forged wrapping him in rarely manifested wings had hurt but he had been able to breath again after a few hours. She had loved him like a mother and the memory still made his eyes burn before he could shove it back down. John however just trotted about seeming quite content or was Sherlock the content one to have the army doctor beside him and always just one pace behind him when he raced through London. Sherlock suspected that John might be causing his contentment and he couldn’t figure out why it bothered him so much that John might be here on assignment, might not actually just be here for him. The state and position of John’s wings would tell him so he snuck off to his room for the sonar scanner he had doctored, it was all a question of frequencies and his field tests had been successful so far. The sonar’s pulse shifted the molecules in the wings from the invisible frequency of Feelings to the frequencies of visible light. There were at least seven other Cupids in the area apart from Mike Stamford and his Hudders. The scan seemed to have some noticeable affect on the subject but John was distracted by preparing supper, just a quick check.

John was enjoying meal prep, the Army had fed him for so long he’d forgotten how much he enjoyed the process of simply preparing a meal. A wave of anticipation washed over his wings from the passage behind him before he gave a startled yelp of pain as his injured wing stung suddenly. John turned to see Sherlock staring at him in dismay, the bastard has forced his wings to manifest! The wrecked plumage of John’s injured left wing was suddenly on display! John was furious, tucking his wings quickly against his back he winced as the reflexive movement caused a sharp twinge. “That scan was inconclusive John, your injury made you move your wings before I could study their position.” John took a deep breath and reminded himself that Love was patient and kind so he avoided Sherlock’s nose and teeth when he punched him in the face, again flinching as muscles flexed across his back, bloody manifest wings, it hurt and slowed his healing too. So he watched Sherlock think his actions through as he faded his wings back to the frequencies of Feelings.

“I’m sorry John. The other subjects had shown no signs of pain but your injury clearly…” Sherlock trailed off as he began to feel, being socked in the face by a Cupid apparently carried more weight than just a fist. Some of John’s pain and embarrassment… no Shame, John was ashamed of this improbable injury and Sherlock felt it through the lingering energy of the blow. Sherlock watched white wings sag and fade as he processed what his flatemate had been feeling; contentment, joy, pleasure… John hadn’t cooked in a long time and was enjoying preparing their meal until Sherlock had hurt him with the sonar scanner and ruined it. Shame, Empathetic shame he realized burned Sherlock’s cheeks and ears. “I really am sorry John. I got a bit of your You, feelings in the punch… I just wanted to be sure if you were here because you wanted to or if this was just an assignment.”

John glared at the git he’d saddled himself with but it couldn’t last, Sherlock looked so sad and a little in shock. “Of course I’m here on assignment Sherlock but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be here. I can choose you know and I chose this. How did you do that any way and needless to say if you ever do that again I’ll kill you in your sleep.” The two shared a shaky smile before Sherlock handed the unit over. It had been carefully calibrated to function in the frequencies of Feelings. There looked to be miles of complex wiring so he reached in delicately and pulled out a handful of it, once, twice before putting the unit down the table and turning to his stricken charge. “This exposes us, Cupids. Sherlock Mycroft knows about Cupids and I imagine he warned you of them?” Sherlock nodded still a bit dumbstruck by John’s actions. “Mycroft is known among us as being heavily prejudiced, he’s made quite a few people’s lives difficult and destroyed the careers of Cupids because he doesn’t think they can function in any responsible roles. He knows about me and I think the only reason I’m still here is because I stood up to him. He must be used to the GuideCupids and the novices at the hospital.” John gave a rueful grin but Sherlock’s face lit up.

“You stood up to my brother, he must have been irate or very impressed. Were you dropped off outside by Mycroft’s car?” “No, I left and caught a taxi.” “Impressed then, had you irritated him he would have had the driver drop you off at the door to keep an eye on you. Impressing him results in a bit of shock for my dear brother. Always knocks him off his busy bodying for a few minutes.” Sherlock was chagrined as he collected his destroyed device. “I know my brother’s opinions John I was always careful to test it on people walking alone.” “It’s an amazing feat of ingenuity Sherlock but it’s just not okay. Did you ever test it on Mrs Hudson?” Sherlock felt his gut clench. “John!” but he couldn’t quite find the words.

John breathed a sigh of relief at Sherlock’s appalled expression. Clearly he had more respect for the elderly lady than he did strangers and John opened his mouth to say something but just wasn’t sure what. They both stood with mouths full of teeth in the kitchen for an endless moment before Sherlock moved to sit down. John returned to making dinner and could feel the pressure of Sherlock’s anxiety but waited for him to talk. While he slowly added ingredients to the pot Sherlock explained his drug addiction, the rehab, and Mrs Hudson’s hours of heart 1st aid on his first night in Baker street. John nodded quietly, still stirring as Sherlock seemed determined to explain himself to the table top and not look at him. “I’m glad she was here, sorry I couldn’t be here sooner. She’s retired as I’m sure you already know. Retirees aren’t as strong as active Cupids but they provide guidance and form the Council. Our governing body” Sherlock nodded at the table again and John slid a bowl of soup into his line of sight.

“Is this a Cupid thing? Feeding me.” “Not really, this is more of an actual doctor thing. You’re underweight and the whole no food on cases idea baffles me to be honest. It’s pea soup, eat it.” “Before it eats me I suppose" The quizzical look John gave him told Sherlock that John was not exaggerating, he must have spent half his life in a war zone to not know Harry Potter but the soup was good and Sherlock had to acknowledge that he was more willing to eat John’s cooking than his own. His cooking was still Uni dorm room food but John cooked like he meant it… John cooked with love! Sherlock spooned down soup as he considered John’s damaged wing and Mrs Hudson’s retirement. He could ask the latter about the former. She was on this Council and John’s senior, who better to provide guidance in helping a her own. Feeling quite clever he scraped his bowl clean before showing the evidence of his finished meal to John and returning to the couch to plan his approach.

John grinned at Sherlock’s empty bowl, he had no idea how the ritual had started, maybe it was their endless focus on evidence and proofs but whenever Sherlock finished a meal John would be presented with his empty dish as if for an inspection. He was glad Sherlock seemed occupied as he needed to see to his wing, upstairs, in his room, far away from curious geniuses.

@mofftissfan @sarahthecoat @loveismyrevolution @riorothbates @underestimatemethatwillbefun @anotherwellkeptsecret @benaddictedandsherlocked @johnlockismyreligion @almosttomorocco @superwholocklmt @strangeps3lyricsmuffin @chinike @loves-to-read-fanfic @sillystring111 @ben-locked @jobooksncoffee @johnlockunicorn @chained-to-the-mirror @thinkanddoodle-batch @melmey-fanfics @the-persian-slipper @melsesowieso @morgendaemmerung89 @shiplocks-of-love @pri1982 @kitten-kin @221b-gone-feels

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thebeethathums · 5 years

Text

Observers - 46

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Warning: 18+ THIS IS A LEMON. Please skip if you are not comfortable, prefer not to read, or are not of age.

A/N: I’m sorry it took a hot minute y’all. I struggled. Again if this isn’t your scene please just skip. There are no important plot points here.

All writing is below the cut on this one so no one is unintentionally pulled in.

After basking in the feeling for a moment, Sherlock’s lips strayed along your jawline in the same soft kisses as before, brushing along your skin lightly in between soft, warm panting breaths. His fingers slid from your cheeks and trailed down to hesitantly trace the edge of your bra in a silent request for permission to explore the soft flesh underneath. You quietly hummed an approval as your eyes fluttered closed, knowing he would understand, and his fingers followed the band to the clasp. He struggled with it a bit and you only barely stifled a giggle, abruptly realizing he’d probably never done anything like this before. The clasp ultimately relented to his deft fingers and the fabric loosened as you let out a soft hum, the straps starting to slide down your shoulders. He suddenly paused, lips just below your ear, “Are you-”

“Yes.”

“May I-”

You let out a whine, patience for his sudden hesitation almost nonexistent, “Obviously.”

He chuckled, the deep rumbling noise of it sending a pang of need through you as his lips returned to their previous task and his fingers tugged your bra entirely away from your body. You slid your hands up his arms, one finding his cheek as the other tangled into his hair, pulling him gently back to your lips in a deep, encouraging kiss. You wanted him focused on the moment and it seemed the best way to do that was to distract his mind with physical contact and appeal to his more primal instincts

Once he seemed caught up in the kiss, your hands dropped to take his, squeezing softly before moving them back to your heated skin just over your rapidly beating heart. He got the hint and eagerly found the now bare skin of your breasts under his fingertips in soft strokes, exploring the new territory with careful curiosity. He caught your lips in short kisses between heavy pants, just barely parting from you for air as he made note of your reactions to every experimental touch- how your breath caught in your throat when the pad of his thumb dragged lightly over the raised peak of your nipple, the soft hum when he cupped one breast and gave it a gentle squeeze, the way you shifted on your feet to rub your thighs together with a small whine.

When his fingers brushed lower, against the underside of your breast, you tensed and pulled away from him to take his hands in yours. You knew from the look on his face he was trying to read you but didn’t give him the chance, placing a hand on his heart and pushing lightly so he stepped back into the wall. His shoulders hit it and before he could fully process anything you caught his lips again, pressing yourself against him on tiptoes. The soft groan that left him was like music to your ears, your lips slipping from his as your palm found the apparent bulge in his trousers and caused his balance to falter. You let out a breathless giggle when he slumped a bit against the wall, his face shifting more to your height, and then you quickly pressed kisses down his chest, sinking to your knees.

You had a theory to prove.

Sherlock’s mind was following his body… in truth, it was his own fault as he’d allowed it to- and now he couldn’t reign it back in to figure out why you had pulled away from his touch before. He tried but your palm against him, and now what you were doing with your lips as you approached the rim of his trousers, demanded his full attention. You gently nuzzled your nose against the marble skin of his abdomen, leaving light kisses on it until it disappeared under his trousers. Letting your nose brush lightly against his covered hardness, you breathed in his scent deeply and then brought your fingers up to unbutton them. He shifted a little nervously, the air of confidence he’d had just moments before dissipating as you ran your fingers down his hips to push away both his trousers and boxers.

Your eyes widened when they landed on the length of his cock, already erect and awaiting your attention, and you knew he noticed, a smug grin spreading across his face when you glanced up at him- arrogant bastard. Deciding to punish him for his continuous ego while also pushing him to refocus, you planted a kiss on his hip bone and trailed your tongue across to the other side to kiss there as well, dipping tauntingly down into the flesh just above his throbbing length on your way. He groaned frustratedly, clenching his hands into fists as you smirked against his skin contently, “Problem, Sherlock?”

Sherlock’s eyes met yours, noting your pupils were blown wide with desire, and his tongue flicked out to lick his lower lip slowly. The sweet sound of his name falling your lips alone was enough to send his mind into a more primal overdrive but he didn’t respond. Your thumb stroked absentmindedly at his thigh, giving him a moment to catch his breath, and then he silently nodded that you could continue, the small quick of a smirk on his lips feeling almost like a challenge to you.

When you shifted to wrap your fingers around him and stroke his shaft slowly, he gulped thickly and wondered if he bit off more than he can chew, heart racing as you seemed to blessedly give him time to get a feel for the sensation. After a moment, you gave the tip an experimental lick, swirling your tongue around it, and you could practically feel his teeth gritting as he held back the sound it no doubt would have caused, his nerves entirely melting away to be replaced with need and impatience.

You wanted to hear that sound

Every sound out of the man so far had been need-inspiringly deep and beautiful and you felt you were missing out on this particular one in the worst way. Glancing up at him, you abruptly wrapped your lips around him and took as much of his length in your mouth as you could, swishing your tongue along the underside of it, and immediately got the response you wanted- a soaring musical shout.

Pleased, you hummed around him before hollowing your cheeks to work your mouth along his length a few times, taking it slow to not overwhelm him. Sherlock trembled under your touch, the delightful heat of your lips and tongue around him not something he could have ever anticipated or accurately imagined, and his fingers found their way into your hair seemingly of their own volition. He let out a deep moan and involuntarily bucked his hips when you took him a bit further into your mouth, his tip grazing the back of your throat with the action. You abruptly stopped before you could get carried away with enjoying him, giving one last slow pull with your tongue flicking teasingly across the tip as it left your lips. He let out a breathless whine, head falling back against the wall as you lightly traced your fingers along his slick shaft, “(F/n)… Please.”

You grinned, theory proven, and looked up at him with mock innocence, “What was that?”

He growled, huskily gritting out, “Please, don’t stop.”

You pulled him down to you in response- not a hard feat as his balance was already unsteady- and wrapped your arms around his neck as you settled between his legs, nuzzling your nose against his, “I told you I could make you beg for mercy.”

Sherlock was impatient, already wanting more as he captured your lips with his and murmured into them, “I’ve never been so glad to be completely and utterly wrong.”

His fingers demandingly tugged at the belt loop of your jeans so they slid lower on your hips, and you giggled softly, shifting to lie back into the floor behind you. He didn’t let the space between you grow even an inch, following your movement so he loomed over you with one hand pressed against the floor to keep his weight off you while the other pushed a bit more insistently at your jeans. They relented slowly, loose enough on you to slide down your hips without too much struggle, and you lifted a little to help him get them off, nothing underneath. You kicked them away entirely and wove your fingers into his hair, pulling him back into a lustful kiss as he settled between your legs and his free hand pulled your leg up to his hip. He made a small noise in the back of his throat as the sensitive skin of his throbbing cock pressed against your slick core, his skin crashing against yours in a small desperate buck that settled him between your achingly wet folds. The action caused his tip to brush over the little nub hidden between them in a way that made you arch up to him with a shiver as a jolt of skin-tingling pleasure shot through you.

He broke the kiss to take in a ragged breath, unprepared for that sensation, and you took the opportunity to examine his face. Your fingers itched to draw him like this- his eyes closed, brow furrowed in concentration, lips gently parted as he took in short panting breaths, his cheeks flushed an almost boyish pink. After a steadying moment, his eyes flicked open to immediately find yours. You searched for something in them when they did, fingers moving to stroke his cheekbones, and he wondered what exactly it was you were looking for. He mirrored your search and came up with no answer, allowing you to continue delving into the depths of his eyes; the normally brilliant blues and greys of his gaze were clouded with lust, making them dark and hazy, but underneath it was something else… that look you could never define.

As difficult as it was for him with his length nestled in your warm folds, he waited for your signal, sensing there was something important happening in your mind. You came to a decision and leaned up to hesitantly graze your lips against his in the simplest of kisses but the rush of feeling it gave him was like a tsunami crashing over a tiny island in a lonely sea. The world seemed to disappear as he gently returned it and then rested his forehead on yours, impatience momentarily forgotten as he let out a content hum and a warm tingling sensation spread over him beginning deep in his chest.

You broke the moment to kiss him more forcefully, stroking your fingers through his hair and then down his spine as your nails dragged roughly across his skin and you arched up into him in a silent plea for him to continue. He stole the gasp from your lips with his as he shifted his hips back to push into you slowly and carefully, having regained a bit of his sense through the haze of pleasure. He moved from your lips to chew at his own, relishing the new sensation of your wet heat wrapped snugly around him, and you pressed your nose into his flushed cheek, panting softly against his skin. It had been a long time since anyone had been so gentle with you and you let out a pleased hum as his tip bumped against your deepest point, enjoying the slight stretch and full feeling. He shifted to buck against you much too soon and you couldn’t stop a soft whimper from escaping in response to the quick, harsh movement. His eyes to snapped open as he lifted away from your shoulder to look down at you, huskily thrumming, “Not good?”

You grinned at the genuine concern in his face before wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him down to you, leaving a light, fleeting kiss against his lips as you softly explained, “You’re a bit more than I’m used to, love. Just need to adjust... Take it slow.”

He rested his forehead against yours for a long moment and then hesitantly flexed his hips to pull out of you to the tip before slowly slipping back into your soft walls with a low baritone moan. You gasped breathlessly, your head falling back against the floor as ripples of pleasure surged up your body, the motion stroking places you didn’t even think reachable. He repeated the movement, pleased with your reaction and unable to quell his own growing need, and easily picked up a slow but steady pace of filling you completely with his length.

His free hand began to wander down your side, ghosting across your skin as he dipped down to kiss you, and you gently tugged at his hair in a plea for more. He willingly obliged, startling you a little when he lifted you to sit back on his heels so he could have better control without the risk of trapping you under his weight. Settling into the new position, you quickly wound your arms around his neck and his hands fell to your hips just as you gave them a small swirl, pressing yourself more firmly down on him. He lost whatever control he had left, gripping your hips tightly as he desperately bucked up into you with new speed, the change rewarded with the feeling of you moaning out his name against his neck in approval as your walls tightened around him.

It had been a while since you’d done anything like this and he was by far the most impressive man you’d ever been with, so it was no surprise when the bundle of nerves at your core quickly made itself known, tightening dangerously each time he fit himself against you. You raked your fingers across his back as his deep moans mingled in harmony with yours an octave above and when he hit that blissful spot that made the world so beautifully colorful as it spun, you cried out, “Oh! There!”

You swore you felt him smirk into your shoulder before he gave a succession of deep thrusts, all of them hitting that spot with such force that you felt like the spinning would be permanent and your muscles tensed to tighten drastically around him. You couldn’t help but cry out as pleasure washed over you and you could hear that he was narrating much the same sensation in deep groans, your tightly wound nerves rapidly rushing toward their breaking point- a good thing too because Sherlock wasn’t going to be able to last much longer.

Through the haze you could feel him growling, trying to hold back the inevitable, and you pulled him to you in a grateful kiss just as you went careening over the edge. The pleasure burst from within you, rapidly radiating through your body to your fingers and toes as you broke the kiss and buried your face against his neck. His name left your lips like a desperate prayer, your body tensing around him as your fingernails dug harshly into his back and your toes curled. He let out of small surprised huff, the smooth lilt of your voice crying his name triggering his own release, and his head fell back as he breathed out your name in a series of halting moans in sync with his final thrusts. He relished the intense feeling, burying his nose in your neck with a small whimper, and then flopped down to the floor with you on top of him, completely and utterly spent.

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lilith-lovett · 5 years

Text

Found Families - Home is Where the Hart is - Chapter Two

Here is the second chapter. I hope you are enjoying the series so far and continue to support this series. Thank you to all those who have liked and reblogged.

Masterlist

Summary: Logan first encounter with a mysterious individual who seems to good to be genuine.

Word Count: 3425

Warnings: Child abuse, sensory overload, panic attack, self-deprecation. If there are any more please let me know and I will add it.

Glancing upwards Logan met the gaze of a young man. Alone, unusual in itself but his appearance was even more so. A tall, well-rounded yet surprising youthful appearing man with a head of unruly sunshine yellow curls which bounced with each lively step but what baffled Logan was the array of stationary protruding from his hair. He failed to comprehend how someone could present themselves to the world without so much as a thought to their outer appearance. His confusion must have displayed across his face as the stranger’s tan complexion dotted with freckles covering almost every visible area of skin flushed a scarlet hue under Logan’s intense gaze, making an attempt to flatten his curls for them only to spring back to their former position a moment later. A few stray ringlets falling over wide almost child like cerulean coloured eyes, hid behind equally as large circular framed glasses magnifying his eyes further.Despite his boyish facial features, he dressed as if he were much older adorning a light blue collared polo shirt with - to Logan’s dismay - the first two buttons undone, a light grey cardigan wrapped casually around his shoulders seemingly without a purpose and a pair of ill-fitting khaki coloured trousers with what appeared to be a stain above the right knee. The man approached conscientiously, a blindingly white yet kind and gentle smile appearing on his face, unlike the typical fabricated sickly sweet yet simultaneously condescending smiles he had witnessed hundreds of times before. It was a smile Logan wanted to trust but couldn’t bring himself to.

“Hiya kiddo, whatya reading there,” He exclaimed energetically gesturing to the book in Logan’s hands. A habit of Logan’s, analysing any new people he encountered to determine their intentions and any information he deemed relevant or worthy of note-taking for future purposes, exactly what he was doing to this particular stranger. From his youthful appearance and sunny disposition, he hypothesised that he was a first time potential guardian unsure of the type of child so considered all option though would eventually settle for a newborn or young toddler, the most desirable children. Logan was rarely ever wrong in his deductions

Logan, hoping the repel the stranger as swiftly and efficiently as possible simply held up his book so that the man could view the front cover before returning to reading it. Without speaking a word assuming that his ‘rudeness’ would deter him from attempting to continue conversing with him but the man merely smiled a genuine smile and knelt down in front of the armchair Logan occupied, much to his shock but still he never said a word yet struggling not to sneak a glimpse at this rather perplexing stranger.

“Sherlock Holmes I hear it’s an excellent read not that I would know I’m not much of a reader myself, English was not my strong suit in school,” The man chuckled to himself crease lines forming at the corners of his eyes. Why was he talking to him? After he had been so rude to him Logan didn’t understand. Was it out of pity? Sympathy? Or something else entirely could Logan allow himself to believe that it was sincere, that he was an honest man with pure intentions. No, he couldn’t indulge in the unfaithful construct of hope as it would bring about nothing but heart ache for himself in the end. Nevertheless, he listened. “Would you mind telling me about it?”.

Logan expression immediately brightened as he gazed wide-eyed at the man. After the completion of each book Miss Maggie gifted him, the two would spend hours discussing every plot line and minor detail of the story relaying virtually the entirety of the novel to each other how they interpreted it. It became a cherished occasion of Logan’s and one he exceedingly enjoyed. Given a topic he found fascinating he could talk about it for hours on end, talking about information he’d discovered, posing questions he had still yet to answer, presenting theory after theory while his brain mulled over possible explanations.

“Of course, it is an incredible story Sherlock Holmes is a extraordinary detective and my personal favourite character,” Logan rambled animatedly going off on a tangent, disclosing his own personal thoughts and opinions on the novel so far as well as several plot details and potential answers to the enigmas posed gesturing passionately as he spoke not noticing the satisfied grin which spread across the young man’s face.

Suddenly, Logan halted catching himself mid sentence biting down in his tongue in an effort to prevent any more words for exiting, compelling his mouth shut with his hand. Sinking his owned perfectly trimmed fingernails into the fresh indentures in his cheeks. It was a bad habit of his rambling and one he was severely punished for, it was vital that he broke it. Children are to be seen not heard. He sank his nails deeper into his skin, revelling in the pain it brought yet it wasn’t enough to drown out the painful nasty words ringing throughout his head drowning out all of his rational and logical thinking filling the space with nothing but negativity, darkness and deafening white noise. He squeezed his eyes shut as pressure built up behind them. a throbbing pain gradually worsening as he tightened his grip on his face attempting to force his emotions back down inside of him.

“Hey kiddo, are you alright?” The man asked his soothing voice laced with concern but Logan could barely hear it. He was positioned in front of Logan now, his hands tentatively reaching out towards him before he retracted them abruptly not wishing to panic him any more than he already was. “I’m going to move your hands now okay,”. He spoke softly as if he were speaking to a frightened animal as he stretched a hand out taking Logan’s wrist - he made no move to jerk away from his touch - removing it from his face leaving behind angry red indentures which would require much more than a cold compress to conceal. “You’re okay, you’re safe,”. He repeated like a mantra. To Logan surprise he found himself not loathing the skin on skin contact with this stranger as he did to most. Physical contact when unwarranted felt as if his skin was burning from the inside out but yet the warm hands on his cool skin felt somewhat comforting as did his words of affirmation alleviating much of his previous distress allowing the cruel words to dissipate.

“Oh thank god, hey kiddo are you alright,” The man sighed in relief as Logan opened his eyes, regaining his physical composure but only momentarily as the sudden return to the real world brought about the sharp almost painful commotion from the common room. Feeling like broken glass within his head, clamping his hands over his ears in attempt to shut out the wretched noise now reverberating against his skull only worsening his headache. Suddenly aware of every sensation on his skin, his glasses on his nose, his collar tight against his throat, the restriction of his clothes against his body. Every distinct sound, the playful shrieks comparable to nails on a chalkboard, his own now accelerated breathing which only caused him to start hyperventilating. He felt as if sound itself was suffocating him which he knew wasn’t at all possible as sound was not a physical being that could cause asphyxiation. All while the artificial lighting overhead fired beams of harsh white lights directly into his eyes despite his efforts to prevent it. It was too much. Everything was too much.

Due to his current distress Logan failed to notice the man repositioning himself around him, his lips moving in an attempts to gain his attention to no avail but yet he persisted. Logan sensed a weight placed upon him and once Logan could bring himself to open his eyes he saw a pile of books situated in his lap acting as a grounding method, initially an unpleasant one but yet it gave him something else to focus on rather than the overwhelming sensations surrounding him. His breathing slowed though only marginally. Next, another weight was placed around his shoulders, distracting him once again as the feather soft fabric stroked his cheek. Glancing towards the young man he noticed the grey cardigan absent from his shoulders where it had previous been discovering it now wrapped around his shoulders, he immediately flushed a vibrant scarlet embarrassed by his episode especially in front of a complete and utter stranger but he couldn’t deny his tactics were working. He slowly returned to himself as the world came back into focus, unclenching his fists he traced his fingertips across the smooth leather bound book which sat on top of the pile still in Logan’s lap gaining further control and attachment to his body once again.

“You did really good I barely had to help at all but the pressure did seem to help, are you alright now kiddo?” The young man asked relief washing over his expression as his shoulders eased and a content smile appeared on his face. He didn’t seem in any way panicked or unnerved by Logan’s abrupt overload like Logan expected, he appeared to have either experience or an understanding of the process of an sensory overload and the steps to help someone going through one which came as an even greater surprise. The young man peered at Logan his head cocked to one side still expecting an answer to which Logan only nodded hoping it would suffice not trusting his own voice.

“Good, well is there somewhere else you would prefer to go kiddo it’s still pretty noisy in here,” The young man suggested eyes briefly scanning the bustling common room before returning his gaze to Logan who immediately nodded desperate to escape to torturous chamber of play. Setting the books aside apart from his own he led the young man out of the common room winding between children and adults alike who never paid him a second thought allowing the man to construct an excuse for their departure and into the quiet room.

Logan frequently visited the quiet room whenever he desired some solitude away from the boisterous children and noisy matron, as it remained relatively unused the perfectly place for Logan to receive some well-needed privacy where he could read in peace. Despite it’s lack of life and character, the monochrome colour scheme was quite relaxing and proved to be beneficial during his rare moments of upset. Logan settled himself against the wall of the barren room his gaze fixed on the ceiling beginning one of his rituals, counting the individual cracks having formed in the ceiling over the years before returning his attention to his novel expecting the young man to retreat back to the common room but he instead he squatted in front of Logan, that familiar gentle smile stretched across his lips.

“Do you come here often?” He asked no hint of mockery in his voice only pure curiosity.

“I guess,” Logan muttered hesitantly, glancing over his book at the man’s unchanging expression.

“He speaks,” He exclaimed clapping his hands together in excitement. Logan hadn’t realised the words had slipped out until the young man expressed his joy in hearing them. “So who gave you the book, they much be important to you,”.

“A friend, it was a gift for my birthday,” Logan said keeping her voice monotoned and his answers short and to the point, he was already breaking several of his own rules so maybe if this stranger got a glimpse of his less than favourable personality he would realise his mistake in approaching him in the first place.

“It’s your birthday!” He said abruptly, Logan cursed himself for flinching at the suddenness which unfortunately didn’t escape the young man’s notice. “Sorry I got a little excited, how old are you?”.

“Tw…” Logan hesitated biting his tongue. Did he trust this stranger enough to disclose his true age? If his disengagement, rudeness and emotional outburst earlier didn’t deter him enough his age would be deciding factor, it had happened millions of times before metaphorically of course. Nobody wanted an older child. They came with to much baggage, to many problems. Did he want to destroy whatever connection they had already built? “I’m twelve,” He discovered he didn’t care.

“Happy birthday, I do hope me talking to you hasn’t imposed on your day,” He said fidgeting anxiously with the rope bracelet tied on his right wrist. An action which perplexed Logan, the young man’s company was unusual but not unpleasant. Why would he be he worried about Logan’s feelings?

“No!” Logan snapped a little more harshly than he intended recoiling into himself as soon as the word left his lips.

“I’m glad,” He said a brilliant smile reappearing on his face before glancing down at his watch his brow furrowing slightly as he did. “Well it looks like I’ll have to be leaving soon I don’t want the matrons thinking I’ve kidnapped you now do we and the kids will be wondering where I am,”. Kids? He had kids. So, Logan’s hypotheses were incorrect it seems.

“Kids?” Logan inquired cocking his head to one side, his book forgotten by his side.

“Yup this isn’t my first rodeo, I have three boys at home Roman’s twelve, Virgil’s ten and Declan is two,” He explained his face beaming with pride as he spoke fondly about his children Logan felt his a tug at his heart. He clearly loved his kids who Logan assumed he’d adopted in the past which came as a greater surprise. Logan didn’t know how to respond he seemed to have an wonderful family and Logan’s intrusion would only cause problems, he always did. This new knowledge festered in the pit of his stomach as the conversation faded into silence.

“Hey kiddo,” The young man eventually broke the increasingly awkward silence “Would you mind if I came to visit you tomorrow?” Logan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Was it a joke? All orchestrated by Madame Claire in another attempt to torture him. But none of it seemed plausible, his voice held no malice or scorn only genuine care and emotion something which Logan had never received from anyone before.

“What about your partner?” Logan asked using the gender neutral term so not to assume the nature of his relationship, his shoulders drooping marginally as he did. He had come alone but yet that did not mean he was not in a relationship and what would they think of someone like Logan?

“Partner?”He repeated a puzzled expression appearing his face. “Oh I don’t have a partner it’s only me and my kids but I wouldn’t have it any other way,”. That fact put Logan’s mind more at ease as if one weight had been lifted from his shoulders but yet he still held a heavy load.

“I apologise for assuming so,” Logan said smoothing out some of the crumpled pages of his book.

“Don’t worry about it kiddo, so would you mind me visiting again tomorrow?” He asked once again with what appeared to be a hopeful expression across his face.

“Do what you want,” Logan replied somewhat coldly forcing his eyes back onto his book he had long ago abandoned.

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow then…” He paused mulling over a thought for a moment. “Oh silly me I forgot I don’t even know your name and you don’t know mine, my name is Patton,” the man Patton stretched a hand out towards Logan who found himself reaching his own out to grasp it though not wincing at the contact as he typically did but revelling in its warmth and once it ended he longed for it again. No, human touch was simply trivial and unnecessary. He did not require it for survival so he did not need it, it had hurt him in the past and one meaningless handshake would not change that.

“My name is Logan,” Logan said his voice flat and robotic refusing to allow any of his true emotions to slip through his cold outer exterior, if Patton noticed this change he didn’t mention it only smiling confusing Logan even further.

“Nice to meet you Logan, I will see you again tomorrow that is a promise,” Patton said before standing and taking his leave pausing turning back to Logan bursting into a fit of giggles. “Um kiddo mind if I get my cardigan back?”. Pointing towards the grey cardigan still encircling Logan’s shoulders, Logan’s face flushed a scarlet hue and he thrusted the garment towards Patton refusing to meet his eyes out of embarrassment. Patton now with his cardigan once again placed around his shoulders waved before exiting leaving Logan with many, many conflicting emotions.

What a strange man, Patton was. A man Logan struggled to understand. A man whose presence was comforting in a way most others were not, a man who made flimsy superficial words like promises become almost believable. And this man wanted to talk to Logan, he couldn’t quite believe it himself. But yet his daydreaming had to come to an end as the Open day would be ending soon and by then his absence would surely become known, so he with his book in hand made the journey back to the dreaded common room. Adults were still vacating the building when Logan returned, slipping in without drawing any attention to himself, few children’s faces were lit up as if it were Christmas day others displayed only frustration and disappointment and one little girl in floods of tears. Once the adults departed and the Open day officially concluded, Logan joined the other children in cleaning the disorderly play room until everything was returned to its correct place once again as they did everyday, forming a line while the matrons assessed the end product and once determined good enough they were dismissed for an afternoon snack before dinner but just as Logan prepared to leave eager to tell Miss Maggie of his encounter with Patton Madame Claire stood in his path an evil glint in her eye and a malicious smile on her painted lips.

“You are coming with me dear Logan,” Madame Claire sneered seizing hold of his wrist in such a way he could not escape without causing injury to himself so had no other choice than to stagger along behind her as she dragged him to her office, knowing what was coming next despite not knowing the reason for the punishment he knew Madame Claire didn’t require a reason to target him. “I believe you need to be taught another lesson,”. Those words brought about many repressed memories of similar situations and the crippling fear that came along with them. It was happening all over again and he was powerless to stop it.

Now stood in front of Madame Claire’s office evident from the gold painted name plate stating it, the trembling had set in the uncontrollable quivering of his fingertips pleased Madame Claire greatly. Upon opening the door Logan was jerked forward into he office where he would receive his punishment the door slamming shut trapping him inside.

Tag List (work in progress)

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If you want to be added to the tag list please do not hesitate to ask.

#sander sides au #sander sides #logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #deceit sanders #thomas sanders #Adoption AU #tw child abuse #tw sensory overload #tw panic attack #tw self deprecation #Found Familes #Home is Where the Hart is #My writing #my fics

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imperial-martian · 5 years

Text

Simple Insecurities {Mycroft Holmes x Reader}

Mycroft x Wife! Reader

Angst/Fluff

(Insecurities)

•—•

You walked home, a box of red velvet cupcakes in your hand, 2 missing from the container. The walk was quiet, except for your whistling, however, it was peaceful. The pavement was slightly damp from the rain this morning, but the sun had come out and dried most of the pavement. You only had a few more blacks away until you reached your manor, the Holmes Manor in other words.

Your lemon yellow sweater clung to your body as the sun beat down on you. You wore a simple sweater with black jeans and black boots, a casual outfit since you had the day off, usually you wore only formal clothing. However, it was one of your very rare days off and you decided to go out to a bakery before Mycroft came home.

Mycroft had seemed to be very stressed lately, and although you let it slide because of how demanding his job was, he had started to get snippy. Usually, you would go to comfort him, but Mycroft wouldn’t let you, always pushing you farther away and going to his office to work. So, you figured the only way to cheer your husband up would be to but him one of his favorite desserts.

Now, you walked up the steps of the manor and to the front door. Entering the home after you unlocked it, you looked around. Noticing Mycroft’s umbrella hanging on a hook you realized he was home and went to look for him.

Walking in the direction of your husband's office, you stopped at the slightly opened door and knocked entering it slowly. Seeing your husband hunched over his desk, flipping over the papers which piled up on them, you sighed. Walking over to the front of his desk, and placing the cupcakes upon it, a soft smile on your face.

“Evening, Myc,” you greeted, walking around his desk.

Mycroft looked up at you, his eyes showing the lack of sleep he had been getting. He gave you a small smile, clearly forced, and turned back to his papers.

You sighed, resting your hands on Mycroft’s shoulder’s and standing behind him before placing a kiss on his cheek.

“I brought you some cupcakes from the bakery not too far from here,” you said, a smile brightening your face. “Sorry there are a few missing, I couldn’t help myself,” you replied, a small; soft giggle leaving your lips.

Mycroft looked up at you observing you shortly, then glancing at the cupcakes on his desk. A quiet scoff left his lips as he noticed the two empty spaces.

Tilting your head to the side, you looked at Mycroft confused. “What’s wrong Mycroft?” You asked, referring to his scoff.

He looked up at you quickly and responded. “I’m just not surprised there are some missing,” he explained, continuing his work.

“Why because they taste so great?” You asked, a short laugh escaping your lips.

Mycroft shook his head looking at the papers. “No, Y/N, because it’s you,” he replied, his tone sharp and cold.

Your smiled faded as you looked at him from the door frame you now stood at. “Mycroft,” you started quietly, “what are you implying?” You asked, having a guess to what it was, however, doubting Mycroft would bring that up.

A sigh left Mycroft’s lips as he tapped his pen on his desk. “I’m implying your weight, Y/N, more so of why you should lose it. Eating the cupcakes simply showed me that you are no longer trying to lose the weight you so much wanted to, although you really should,” Mycroft explained causing tears to brim in your eyes. “I’m afraid if you gain 2 more pounds you’ll be over the scale of weight you need to be for your height and age,” Mycroft continued.

A sob escaped your lips as you looked at Mycroft completely and utterly shocked. He knew that you hated your weight, he knew you were trying to improve at it, he knew you were doing well too. He knew how proud you were of yourself when you lost 17 pounds in a few months. Most importantly he knew how much you hated yourself, mainly your body, before you lost your weight.

He had told you that it didn’t matter to him, that he was insecure himself. You made a promise to each other that you’d never make fun of each other for such a thing. You told him how fit you thought he was and how it didn’t matter to you at all. He, in return, told you how it was pointless if you to hate yourself because you were gorgeous to him. Yet, here he was, sitting with his legs under the desk, his eyes focused on the papers in front of him, his pen in hand. His waistcoat unbuttoned, his blazer not even on, and his hair slightly messy due to stress. Here he was pushing all of your weak spots in a matter of minutes.

So, upon hearing the sob escape your lips Mycroft looked up, his straight face soon showing a frown. He looked into your eyes and saw the hurt that made it through them, the pain in them. He saw how easily he had hurt you, broken you almost, as if you were porcelain. Guilt flashed in his eyes as he saw you standing in front of his door, tears streaming down your face and your hand covering your mouth to choke back a sob.

Mycroft bolted up, his chair scratching against the bottom of the wooden floor. He went to walk over to you, however, you ran out of the room, going to head out of the manor and outside.

“Y/N! I never meant to say those words. I didn’t mean to hurt you!” Mycroft shouted after you from his office, but you were already at the front door. Heading the door slam shut, Mycroft grabbed his blazer, throwing it on as he went to follow you. He knew where you’d be.

It had gotten slightly darker since the last time you were out, about 15 or so minutes ago, and the air seemed to become nippier. However, you paid no mind to it and simply ran out to the tree you always went to, the same one which you and Mycroft shared your first kiss, and the same one which, even now, brought you comfort.

Approaching the tree, you leaned your back against it, sitting on the grassy floor. You hugged your arms around your body, hoping that if anybody passed by they couldn’t see your stomach. All your insecurities came rushing back to you as you cried harder thinking about it, the tears clouding your vision.

Mycroft jogged in the direction of the tree, knowing you’d go to it. Seeing you there, crying, and crying because of him, ached his heart. The sobs which left your mouth had shaken your whole body, and Mycroft now questioned if he deserved you after what he had said to you, what he vowed that he’d never do.

Slowly he walked over to you, taking his blazer off as guilt rose in his chest. “Y/N,” he whispered sitting beside you and wrapping his blazer around your shaking form.

You recognized his voice and no matter how much you wanted to leave, you couldn’t find the strength to. Instead, you simply gave in and leaned onto Mycroft as he wrapped his arms securely around.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whispered the guilt again showing in his eyes as he felt your small; fragile form shake with a violent sob.

“I’m not fat, am I Mycroft? I’m not gaining weight? You won’t stop loving me if I do, will you Mycroft?” You asked in between sobs as you cling onto his waistcoat, the material clenching in your fists.

“God no, Y/N!” Mycroft exclaimed. “God no,” he replied quieter. “I will never stop loving you, and I had never meant what I said. Never,” he responded, gripping you just slightly tighter. He kissed the top of your head, murmuring an apology over and over again.

You looked up at him once he moved his head away, looking into his dull blue eyes, your e/c ones filled with tears.

Mycroft pulled out his pocket square, wiping the tears from your face and looking at you with such guilt. Leaning down he kissed your trembling lips, his hold on your waist tightening, pushing you closer to his chest.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he apologized, resting his forehead on your own when he broke apart.

You sighed closing your eyes. “It’s alright Mycroft, I know you’ve been stressed,” you said, sniffling lightly.

Mycroft shook his head, lifting it away from yours, and putting his hand in your hair, stroking it softly. You rested your head against Mycroft’s chest as he spoke. “It isn’t alright Y/N. Just because I’m stressed doesn’t make it so what I said was alright, because it wasn’t. It wasn’t even the truth, in reality, it was the biggest lie. You’re beautiful, my dear, and what I say, no matter how angry or stressed I am, will never change that,” he said, kissing your hair softly.

You took in Mycroft’s words and sighed, your body relaxing against the taller man. Mycroft unwrapped his arms around you, moving to stand up and brush himself off. Once he had done that he held out a hand for you to take. Taking that hand he pulled you up, putting the blazer on you properly so that your arms went through the sleeves.

You looked up at the sky, noticing how dark it had gotten. A little squeal escaped your lips as you felt yourself being lifted off of the ground. Looking up at Mycroft from the bridal hold he had you in, you looked at him quizzically, however, Mycroft didn’t look down at you, and instead head to the manor, which was only a few minutes walk away.

That night Mycroft had taken the rest of the day off, and the next day he had cut it so that he only worked for a few hours so that he could pick you up from work. He had locked his office up for the hours he spent with you. The two of you read, you read to him and vice versa, you both had watched movies, cuddled, and he gave you many apology kisses.

You knew Mycroft loved you, no matter how often the Ice Man in him showed you otherwise.

#mycroft holmes #mycroft #holmes #mycroft holmes oneshots #bbc sherlock #bbc mycroft #mycroft x reader #mycroft holmes x reader #x reader #fluff #angst #angstyfluff

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thebeautyofdisorder · 5 years

Text

Did You Miss Me? Adlock One-Shot, Rated M

Just in case the whole ‘links in posts make your shit invisible’ issue is still present, I’ll post directly to tumblr as well. Because why not? Here there be s-mut-tastic Adlock. Written over four years ago, and post Series 3 but Pre-Abominable Bride.

Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)

Pairing: Adlock (Sherlock Holmes/Irene Adler)

Rating: At least Mature, probably Explicit

Summary: Shameless and mostly plot-less smut. One-Shot. After the events of His Last Vow, Irene is already waiting for Sherlock at 221B. This was written before The Abominable Bride was released so it's only canon compliant so far as the end of series 3. Any other details, minimal as they are, were based purely on speculation at the time.

Read below or if you’d prefer an AO3 link, I’ve posted it in a previous post on my blog. Also have ff.net if you’re feeling nostalgic. Ask and ye shall receive. The tags on AO3 do warn of obvious sexual content and minor but present knife play.

Irene Adler was perched on his chair, hair loose, down, and slightly curled, his red dressing gown wrapped around her figure this time, the threat of whether or not she was naked underneath it unable to be ascertained from the naked eye at the position she was currently in. She tapped her uncharacteristically plain nails on the arm of the chair, lost in thought, only to be rescued from it by the turn of the key in the door and the stepping in of 'The Man.'

She licked her blood-red lips (the one indulgence she had been unable to forsake and thus, permitted herself, from her 'old life') before a small smirk tugged at her lips as his eyes fell into hers, and she murmured coyly, "Thought I'd save you the phone call, dear. I do feel for your 'phone anxiety.'" She teased him lightly, coming to a stand finally and taking a step or two towards him.

Sherlock drank her in with a combination of more or less equal parts delight and dread, neither of which showed through fully on his face. Mostly what came through, perhaps to his chagrin, was just a bounty of relief.

"No complications in arriving, I hope?" He murmured with a quirk of his brow, slowly gliding towards her as well, by instinct more than thought. He didn't ask how she knew to come - not relevant nor surprising. "Weren't followed or harassed, or even vehemently stared at?" His lips barely twitched.

She bit her bottom lip coquettishly, staring at him up through her thick, made-up eyelashes as she took another step towards him and glided a hand up his chest, carefully avoiding the area of his bullet wound before coming up to drag it along his left cheekbone.

"Not until now...." She husked gently. "I'm very good at staying incognito when I need to be... Especially if it means getting to my lover faster..." She winked, knowing his distaste for the term, though lovers in the Elizabethan sense, they most certainly were, if not more.

He pulled a face and made a bit of a rumble of discontent from his throat, over-dramatising his distaste accordingly.

"Don't make me more ill, I just spent all afternoon with my brother," he teased, though his hand was almost absentmindedly playing over the curve of her hip in his dressing gown, stroking the edges of his fingernails over the lightly striped fabric, but only just. "Granted it was coming to agreement on how I don't have to go get myself killed in Eastern Europe, so I suppose it was productive..."

She nodded slowly, leaning up on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck as she pressed her lips to his 'chastely'- titillatingly before pulling back quickly to take a step back and slap him hard across his cheek.

"Don't you ever allow yourself to get shot and almost die on me, ever again, do you hear me, Sherlock Holmes? If a woman ever does hold a pistol to you again, it will be me --though the context may be questionable ...." She softened on the last word, the same hand that gave the blow now coming up to soothe the sting.

"Sorry, darling... Delayed reaction from my little hospital visit…”

His eyes were sharp as he stared down at her, but not in a particularly vicious way, his jaw tensing in a brief tick of annoyance. He didn't protest. Instead, his arm shot out and ensnared her waist, yanking her body against his and nearly off of her bare feet, in retort for her assault.

"Fair enough, Miss Adler, I'll vye for immortality if you'll join me," he challenged dryly, angling his head down at her.

She cracked a smile, a dark but gentle chuckle following after it as she weaved her arms around his neck and knocked per pelvis against his.

"Mmm, gladly, Mr Holmes. Think of all the 'dinners' we could have....." She purred, her fingers tangling in his hair slowly, nails scraping along his scalp.

He barely managed to bite back a groan. Damn woman knew his weaknesses. Luckily, it was mutual. He stroked a hand up and across her torso, across her chest leisurely, and up lightly to her throat. He spun on his heel and walked her backward, til her back pressed against the wall.

"I believe infinity might actually bore us," he observed darkly, his other hand stroking down her hip, bunching the fabric of his dressing gown in his hand as he went.

She gasped in appreciation as he pressed her against the wall slowly, her eyes darkening and her grip on his locks tightening as he sparked her arousal further.

"Mm, perhaps... Though I don't think I could ever tire of... you ." She flirted sentimentally, though one hand had come down to grip his loins over his trousers as she uttered the last word, making it clear the ‘true’ direction of the compliment.

A sharp intake of breath notwithstanding, his eyes merely narrowed at her as he pulled the dressing gown to the side, his hand gripping the bare flesh of her thigh with a sort of carnal relief. His hand stroked the creamy expanse of skin for a moment before hiking it up to his hip, fitting himself against her far more snugly in the process.

"You are probably the only human being I could fathom not boring me after a century...you'd be too in danger of boring yourself," he murmured, now a breath away from her lips.

She arched her neck back softly, a small moan escaping her throat as he 'manhandled' her and his own arousal met hers, though sadly obstructed by his clothing.

"Mm, likewise, I'm sure." She replied tartly, tugging the dressing gown all the way down and off her torso to expose her breasts to him finally, waiting a moment to drink in his reaction.

"Tell me, Sherlock dear, how long has been since we last 'ate?' " She asked him in instigation.

His eyes zeroed in on her chest, dark and searing, and his free hand came up to stroke over the curve of her left breast, indulgently. He narrowed his eyes in playful consideration before glancing back up.

"One year, five months, two weeks, and three days," he rumbled as he ducked his head to take the bud of her nipple into his mouth, running his tongue over it as he applied suction.

"Mmmahh!" Irene gave him a breathy moan, an echo of his text alert from days past, as his mouth accosts her breast, much to her appreciation and delight. "Mm, I do adore your addiction to precision and retaining facts...." She husked, as her hands, both now, tangled in his hair further, allowing them both to enjoy his actions for a few moments before she pulled his head back roughly, eyeing him darkly as she placed her foot against his hip suddenly and kicked him back.

"However, I also adore your 'selective patience,' emphasis on 'selective.'" She chided him, untying the dressing gown and letting it pool completely at her feet before she turned on her heel and padded her way to the kitchen. She ran a finger along the middle table, only pausing as her eyes spotted his microscope and smiled to herself before glancing back at him, coy and conspiring. She then turned back and leaned down to gaze into it, her bent over, bare arse, purposefully holding a place of prominence in his eyesight.

He rolled his eyes and quietly groaned to himself at her playing the coquette. Again. He was well acquainted with her tendency to play with her meals, so to speak, and he would've been more shocked had she been impatient enough to make this simple. Wrong woman , he mused in resignation as he followed her fleeing steps towards the kitchen, only to halt, at her stance.

"See anything that interests you?" He rasped wryly once he'd recovered from his mouth going dry, walking up behind her cautiously. There wasn't much of technical intrigue in there, only some samples from his last case, but she was looking quite... Intently .

Irene grinned like the Cheshire Cat as she felt his figure come up behind her, though, apparently, refusing to make any direct contact yet . She adjusted the focus of the microscope shifting her weight from her right hip to her left as she leaned back slightly, arse pressing against his arousal which left them in a very suggestive position as she feigned to act like she needed the leverage to 'see' the slide more properly.

"AB+.... One of the rarest blood types there is... Hmm, was this the victim's or the perpetrator's, Mr Holmes?" She asked, 'matter-of-factly' as she continued to examine the blood slide, her buttocks flanking his erection and starting to grind on him ever so faintly.

His jaw slacked as the sensation of her friction against his groin joined the highly intriguing fact she was identifying blood types in his microscope coincided into one large wave of arousal that sent a shudder down his spine. His hands made contact with her hips, fingers flexing with her subtle movement.

"The uh...victim's," he rumbled distractedly, his right hand moving to trace up the curve of her spine. "The distinction of the blood was what made the perpetrator obvious...small traces under the fingernails..." He continued, pressing himself forward as he bent to brush his lips up the trek which his hand just made.

Her bare flesh got goose pimples at his touch and then even more so at as she felt his lips echoing his touch along her spine.She took a moment to close her eyes, inhaling and exhaling slowly as she willed the wetness that was eagerly gathering between her thighs, shifting her weight back to her right foot in a subtly effort to provide some sort of 'scratch' to her growing 'itch.'

"T-That makes sense...." She stammered slightly, the only other physical indication that she was utterly and totally affected by him, right now. She righted herself, coming to her full height, as petite as that was, to lean her back against his chest momentarily before she bucked her arse backwards to force him back so that she could cross around the table to pluck a banana from a bundle he had apparently bought out of some impulse or need for potassium for some 'experiment.' She leaned against the counter, crossing her ankles as she eyed him lustfully, peeling the banana slowly, deftly, suggestively before finally asking--now under full 'control' once more.

"So.... Sherlock , 'impress a girl....' How long did it take you to figure out that last case, hmm?" She 'challenged' lightly, knowing the man got hard and off on nothing more than his own--or her own--intellect mixed with sexual content.

His eyes narrowed, dark and growing more desperate by the moment, especially once he'd seen her obvious distraction. She was losing focus, in there somewhere.

"About as quickly as I could gather all the components," he murmured, taking a couple steps towards her. "After I'd seen the blood type, I knew it was a possible red flag, so in theory it was rather immediate. Once the suspects were narrowed down, it became a process of elimination. All I needed was the opportunity to examine them," he explained in a low rhythmic tone, in tune with his steps as he crossed the room. "In short, the case was closed, more or less, in three days."

She watched him carefully, tossing the peel aside and before she brought the head of the fruit to her mouth, tongue darting out to circle the tip of it before she bobbed her head down and around the fruit before she bit the head off and started to chew it as she gazed at him darkly.

"Mmm, now that's my kind of man..." She purred playfully, echoing lost words before swallowing finally.

He watched her little 'show' with wide exasperated eyes, his chest rising and falling in time with his faintly labored breathing. His steps continued towards her, forcing himself to keep a steady pace and not rush up to her. Unnecessary and a clear sign of desperation. When he came toe to toe with her he didn't stop, pressing forward with an arm on either side of her form, essentially trapping her between his chest and the counter.

He didn't speak, merely angled his head and forcefully captured her lips with his, knowing she'd have a smart retort for anything he'd have to say. He didn't give her the chance.

She responded by returning the pressure of his lips with her own and tossing the banana aside as her hands came up his chest to cup his face tightly, thrusting her tongue into his mouth forcefully. He may have the dominant position physically, but she wasn't about to let him have it orally, as well. She growled as her teeth clashed with his, her actions becoming more primitive with each passing second.

His hands rushed from the counter to her hips, needing some purchase on her anatomy as she had so clearly taken her own. It gave him the ability to press her back into the counter, taking his height to his advantage to try to regain some control. He straightened his back and angled his head down, attempting to match her force at the least, as he now could press down and into her mouth with his tongue. Once he felt he'd thoroughly attempted to make his point, his grip on her hips tightened as he lifted her weight onto the counter, concurrently pulling back only far enough to breathe.

"Been awhile, Miss Adler?" He rumbled in a breathless taunt, unable to resist drawing attention to her rather telling aggression despite the hypocrisy, as he pressed himself between her dangling legs.

She allowed him to lift her and assert his 'leadership' in their little foreplay scene, cracking a sly smile at his remark and it's sanctimoniousness, the distinguishable 'tenting' of his trousers condemning him outright.

"Apparently so, Mr Holmes. At least ' someone' in this room isn't ashamed to say he missed me..." She teased him darkly, as she removed her right hand from his cheek to reach behind her subtly to a kitchen knife left out on the counter slowly, gripping it's handle carefully as she held his gaze with a steady, coy one of her own.

His eyes widened only briefly on instinct, before they narrowed purposefully, eyebrow lifting faintly. He had little to no worry for his life in her presence, truly. His extremities were only a minimal percentage higher.

"I missed you," he confirmed only a tad wryly, hoping the uncharacteristic, however true, response might just throw her off her game a tad. Which game she was playing, though, remained to be seen.

She cocked her head slowly, his frank and strangely honest response so easily given automatically making her a bit suspicious, though the sincerity of his look softened her gaze and she 'rewarded' him with small smile before whispering, "And I missed you, too."

She then dragged her index finger down his cheek and lips and down his neck before gripping his shirt tightly and tugging it towards her, thus pulling it away from his body, before she brought the knife from behind her back and quickly, and deftly cut each button from it's thread to reveal his bare chest behind the fabric.

"You're even more charming out of your clothes, dear, care to say that last sentence again...?" She bit her bottom lip and grinned wickedly as she drew the tip of the knife down the centre of his chest, pausing where his trousers began and the beginnings of the auburn hairs of his 'happy trail' began.

He scowled at her for a moment before his face contorted into a different sort of expression all together, feeling the beginnings of adrenaline threatening his bloodstream as she drug the blade southward. She did have a penchant for knowing his intrigues . Though instead of snatching the knife from her, as was his first instinct, or even listening to her request, he just glanced down with purposeful annoyance at his ruined shirt and sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth thoughtfully.

"I suppose I deserve that from Paris," he snarked lowly, recalling an incident with him rather deliberately ripping what was apparently a rather expensive dress.

She chuckled once before narrowing her eyes at his as she applied a dash of pressure with the knife as she retorted in mock annoyance, " Quite . That dress was a bloody McQueen..." She reminded him before bringing the knife down to the bulge in his trousers, dragging the tip along his obvious length titillatingly as she licked her lips.

"Mmm.... To think, there was once a time when I'd rather have castrated you completely than merely arouse you with my own 'sword....'" She winked in self-amusement before continuing, "Thankfully, however, that attitude towards you really only lasted that one night..." She murmured, referencing the night he threw her to the dogs, in the shape of his elder brother, a bit of 'ammunition' she like to employ every once in a while, if only just to then prove his more than evident feelings towards her by always then following it up with the reminder of how he very quickly remedied that little blunder.

He swallowed, he hoped subtly, and attempted to even his breathing, meeting her eyes in challenge. Oh, he knew exactly what she was insinuating, she did like to rub that in. But he chose the more blunt road for a response.

"I think we're both rather thankful for that, this instant," he drawled, still feeling the tip of a knife exactly where a man least wants to feel one. Assuming, of course, he was decidedly 'normal' and wasn't just a tad amused at the obviously empty threat.

She smirked and glanced down at the knife, circling the outline of his member's head lightly before removing it from the area completely, murmuring a hit of agreement as she did so. She brought it up and wielded it in front of him as she momentarily debated how to proceed with it, if at all before a slightly twisted but, nevertheless, arousing idea sparked in her mind.

Without any explanation or warning, she grabbed his right hand from her hip and held it open before pricking the tip of his pointer finger until a small thread of blood began to ooze out. She then did the same to her right index finger, glancing at him briefly before setting the knife down to bring the accosted hand with her other up to her mouth. She locked eyes with him heavily as she ran her tongue up his digit, lapping up his most human, and 'sacred' bodily fluid into her mouth to 'digest' and mix with her own before sucking on it rather suggestively, her tongue circling the cut before applying pressure to clot the flow of the blood.

As she did this she brought her own lightly bleeding digit up to his mouth, waiting for him to accept and perform, this 'self-ordained lover's ritual,' from his own free will, raising a single brow as her only attempt to 'challenge' him into it.

He watched her with a strange sort of nearly-perplexed fascination, before his eyes lulled, turning heavy-lidded with arousal as her tongue stroked over the length of his finger, insinuation more than obvious. Then without rhyme or reason, the unspoken and fairly unspecified significance was returned as he dipped his mouth over her seeping digit. His tongue swirled over the wound itself with deliberate dexterity to counter her own, relishing the coppery taste no matter the oddness of the circumstance. It was an unbridled extension of her which made it no more off limits to him than any of her other bodily fluids.

He sucked the tip of her finger into his mouth fully, before biting down lightly just below where she'd split the skin, as he pulled it from his mouth.

She let out a moan of utter eroticism as he bit down and sucked the blood from her finger before abandoning it. Her eyes, too, were heavy and full with lust and desire at their little exchange and she stared into his eyes as she echoed his action, dislodging his finger from her mouth, only to glance down at the bit of blood still on it before painting her lips with it and rubbing them together as one would with lipstick.

"I think I much prefer this shade to the one in my purse... Might have to take a bottle back with me...." She husked lowly, swallowing the contents of his digit finally as she continued to gaze at him daringly, her implication both clear and slightly ambiguous.

His eyes locked to her mouth, lips twitching at her action and the implication that came with it. He drew his finger back from her grasp, the dull sting nearly impossible to distinguish through the rest of the blood gushing through his veins. He perhaps waited a few seconds before his hand gripped the back of her neck harshly and pulled her forward, sucking the taste of his own lifeblood from her lips with a hunger that he wouldn't have fathomed rational. His other hand had shifted itself from her hip to gripping her inner thigh, pressing it further away from its companion so he could press as flush against her as the counter would allow.

Her hands flew to his chest, running her nails up his bare skin before exploring his pectoral muscles and nipples as she hungrily returned his kiss with just as much force and expression. She moaned into his mouth,- a moan of sheer want and need for him, and only him, to fill her up once more; to satisfy her once more; to 'make love'--as sentimental a phrase it was--once more, before she wrapped her legs around his waist to hug his groin against hers, needing some sort of friction against her throbbing nub, lest she go mad from desire.

He groaned at the contact, low and rumbling in the back of his throat, bucking his hips against her centre thoughtlessly, at both their detriment. He recovered quickly, letting go of her entirely to pull the tattered remains of his shirt off of his arms, yanking it from his trousers and letting it fall to the floor, all without hardly breaking from her mouth. He ripped open his belt in a frenzy, and unzipped his trousers for the sake of relief from how tight they'd become, but otherwise left them in place, instead turning his attention back to her.

His left hand wrapped around her waist, urging her to the very edge of the counter while his right was urging up her inner thigh. He didn't waste much of his or her time, immediately pressing a thumb to her clit just to hear her sharp intake of breath at the sudden contact after leaving it wanting.

"Ahhhhh..." She exhaled upon inhaling pointedly, nipping his bottom lip in automatic response to his assault. She pulled back and stared up at him, her right hand ghost in down his chest before gripping his length over his pants and squeezing faintly, as she purred, "You know, Sherlock, we've never 'christened' your flat... Let alone your bed... Well, I have...but your cock is much preferable to my hand...." She winked at her 'confession,' before biting her bottom lip seductively.

The moment her statement clicked was most assuredly visible on his face, much less the faint growl that she could probably feel reverberating through his chest. He tilted his hips into her grip, even as his two fingers began to tease her rather soaked entrance, pressing on either side but not moving towards it.

"You're a very bad woman," he remarked almost casually, as though it were a fact he were recalling as opposed to a direct accusation. His thumb began to shift back and forth. "But you are quite correct..."

She gyrated her hips in a desperate attempt to manipulate his touch. She whimpered softly, an action she was slowly, and secretly, growing more accustomed to enjoying as her hand around him tugged his cock in silent retribution.

"And you are a very bad man." She hissed. "Besides, dear, we both know that image, and fact, is making you even harder as we speak... Why else do you think I insisted on showering before we 'chatted' about the mobile...?" She pressed.

He didn't give her the satisfaction of a direct response, confirming the obvious, though the pained desire was probably clear on his face. Instead he merely plunged both of his teasing fingers inside of her suddenly, successfully dropping the focus from his arousal and nailing it clearly on her own. He crooked them knowingly, raising his brows.

"An excuse to steal my clothing?" He teased in a strained murmur, his other hand making its way north, brushing over her breast and across her collarbone to grip the side of her neck.

She groaned in appreciation her kegel muscles flexing around his fingers as added testimony to her 'thanks.'

"That, too." She rebutted finally, her hand dipping under the waistband of his pants to grip his cock directly, thumb padding over his tip before she reached further south and massaged his testicals, something she had discovered to be very effective with him. Apparently, his hair follicles weren't the only unusually, overly-sensitive nerves in his body, even as far as the male reproductive system went.

"If I wanted fingers, Mr Holmes, I'd just do it myself, again ." She half-teased/half-jested clippedly.

His lips parted in a low moan at her new focus, arching up on his toes almost without thought to encourage her actions. He refocused on her quickly though, despite his laboured breathing, bringing his fingers out before delving them back in deeper than he knew she was capable of, just for spite, satisfying his own selfish wants more than anything. Slowly pulling them out in earnest, his thumb nail grazing her clit in parting.

He brought those fingers to his lips, sucking her flavour from them, his eyes locking on hers in preemptive warning. Savoring her response for only a moment, as he let the digits slide from his mouth, his hand quickly latched onto the slender wrist that was still on the inside of his pants, yanking it free to give him the freedom to crouch in front of her, hands moving to stroke up her thighs.

A shudder swept down the back of her spine as she watched him taste her juices, pupils dilating even further at the arousing, not to mention flattering , sight.

Her breath caught in her throat, however, as she watched him kneel in front of her, her mind suddenly realising what it was exactly he was planning on doing. He hadn't done that since the time before last--Paris being far more frenzied and rushed.

"Eating out , then are we?" She couldn't help but joke, though her voice was shaky and more than a little unsteady, as she brought her hands to curl in his locks lightly.

His lips were brushing her inner thigh tauntingly as he murmured in response, "You are in my kitchen," biting into the flesh briefly before his arm curled around her hip, angling her pelvis towards the edge of the counter so it was as exposed as could be without her falling, giving her one long swipe of his tongue from her entrance up to her nub. He repeated the action, darting inside of her briefly along the way.

"It would be wrong not to partake," he rumbled against her before his lips latched onto her clit, sucking it into his mouth as his tongue dashed against it.

She let out a series of successive moans and gasps, her back arching as she jutted her hips forward at each lap and suckle of his tongue and mouth. Her fingers tightened in his hair and she exhaled slowly, trying to gather herself before responding jaggedly, "Well, who am I to argue with that logic...." She gasped again and let out a soft whimper.

"Fuck, you are skilled at that.... Almost as good as I am...." She couldn't help but compliment him, despite knowing how even more it would inflate his bloody ego, the successive years of holding his 'V-Card' only making his sudden gift for the act all the more impressive and annoying.

Hearing her make those bloody infuriatingly distracting noises was doing nothing for his ability to ignore his own arousal, and his hands tightened on her thighs in response. He growled as he fucked her with his tongue rather greedily, his amusement that she was actually going out of her way to praise his ability almost drowned in his focus. Almost.

"I'd love to know how you'd be able to compare," he pulled back enough to quirk a brow tauntingly at her lack of logic, his lips twitching up into a brief smirk as he nipped at her once more before he stood to his feet between her legs, eyes just smug enough to be noticeable, which was less than his norm at times, already tugging his trousers from his hips.

She quirked a pointed brow at him as her eyes narrowed, a single hand reaching up to grab his chin violently as she replied with mild acidity, "Don't even think about suggesting having a threesome, Sherlock. I don't share well.... Besides, I'd hate to show you up..." She winked teasingly before pushing his chin back to help him get his damned trousers off.

"Now for fuck's sake, dear , will you PLEASE fuck me?" She half hissed/half begged.

"Would scarce know with who," he drawled rather tellingly, he realized a bit too late, as he stepped out of the pants and trousers now pooled at his feet. He had yet to find another woman who could inspire in him what she could. If it was worth anything, his little faux-relationship with Janine just exemplified that in his mind. He couldn't even fathom taking anyone else but her into his bed, just as before her he couldn't fathom hardly anyone at all. But he dismissed that rather sentimental thought process as soon as his bare flesh met hers. He let out a brief groan as his cock pressed between her legs, no longer impeded by his clothing.

"Though it occurs to me you may just be begging," he roughly mused, despite the fact his left hand had grasped her hip hard enough to bruise, and his right was already grasping his cock in hand, quite ready to do her bidding.

She grunted at his first statement, as she wrapped her hands around his neck in preparation to mount him, nails digging into it's nape in silent response.

She raised her eyes at his latter comment, however, before narrowing them significantly as she dug her heels into the top of his arse to jut him forward, thus successfully forcing their loins to 'greet' each other 'palm to palm.'

"I could argue the same case about your physicality, Mr Holmes. Would you like me to? Or would you rather we concede and admit we both are begging for it and get closer to the part where I sheath that throbbing cock of yours..." She quirked a brow, and making sure the stress the two, more, graphic words to 'influence' his answer.

"Touché," he rumbled unevenly, jaw flexing at the intimate contact. He managed to fight her legs' grasp long enough to pull back and grip his cock once again, his hand on her hip shifting back and under her arse for angle and leverage as his tip finally pressed to her entrance.

"Though you've got to admire the irony," he quipped, intent on getting the last word, just as his hips bucked forward and he began to quickly press into the familiar heat of her, exhaling in a hiss at his perhaps faulty decision to nearly ‘sheath’ himself in one go. Patience was never his virtue.

She was about to roll her eyes and let out a reluctant chuckle when his sudden, and full , thrust into her caught her slightly off guard, causing her eyes to widen and a sharp gasp to issue from the back of her throat.

She winced as he filled her, his girth always a tad painful on the first few thrusts. She grunted and and pulled back to glance down at him in mock disapproval before murmuring, "....Perhaps the only-- ow --good thing about our yearly rendezvous is that-- ahh --every time manages to feel like the... first....." She muttered as she wrapped her legs around his waist and regripped before hoisting her chest up and against his, putting all her weight on his form now.

Sherlock had nearly put himself into shock--nearly--but was regaining the ability to function as quickly as he was able. He took a shuddering breath, getting re-accustomed to the tight heat encompassing him, as she was apt to point out, he nearly always had to do. Pro or con to their unique status, he was never sure.

"Apologies," he murmured as his head ducked and rested into the crook of her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin before he began kissing and nipping at the skin by way of distracting her from the apparent discomfort.

She arched her neck to allow him greater access, hands pushing down on his shoulders to hoist herself up a bit so that she could slam down again, knowing that once she was fully slicked up and the ball was rolling, so to say, the slight discomfort quickly gave way to pleasure.

She moaned at his kisses and even found herself smiling privately at his 'apology,' an abundance of subconscious sentiment clearly at the root of it. She lifted his head up to look him in the eye as she replied with amused seriousness, "No need to do so, dear. Your ability to be, irritatingly , above average in all the necessary areas of life is just one of the many reasons why I hate you." She reminded him between heavy breaths.

' Hate ,' of course, standing in for the word she really meant. The word that she knew he knew she meant. They had come to confess their feelings in this twistedly ironic way a few meetings back, as they were parting ways. Each adopting that preferred word to it's sister that the rest of the mundane world seemed so obsessed with employing. Besides, this way, they each, technically, had an out. Could always deny--'on paper,' at least. The look in her eye, however, and the sincerity of her voice, would damn her for all eternity, however.

Funny thing was, though, when it came to ' The Man,' she didn't actually give a damn about that old pride.

He caught onto her obvious intent as quickly as he caught her weight, her quick will to begin in combination to her clear sentiment almost catching him off guard. But as opposed to playing the deer in the headlights, his lips twitched into a dazed if present smirk and he pressed her weight against the counter again for leverage as he urged her up and the thrust back upward to meet her as she dropped.

"And I very much..." He thrust upward once again, quirking a brow. "... Despise you," he replied darkly, keeping a lightness to the statement as best he could manage, lest the sentimentality they were so seeking to avoid, decide to kick in.

Her lips merely twitched at his reply before his thrust overcame her and she let out a rather vocal cry of a moan, her fingernails scraping up his back as she rode a rather sudden wave of mounting pleasure and warmth that was making its way from her core to her outer extremities.

She glared down at him in utter infatuation and (self-) annoyance before barking out a shaky, "B-bedroom. Now. N-need. More ..."

He didn't need any further encouragement, lifting her up with his arms under her arse and angling his weight, he stalked the short distance to the hall and kicked open his door with no hesitation, even at the worrisome creak. He'd fix it later .

He hiked a knee onto the bed before dropping her weight onto it, barely retracting from her before he was on her again, arms on the mattress on either side of her head plunging back into her with an appreciative curse. The angle was much more satisfactory.

Irene spread her legs as widely as she could as soon as her back hit the bed, greeting his first thrusts in this new position and place with as much reception as she could give him. Her hands flew out and tangled in the duvet cover, knuckles whitening as she let out a series of whines and 'oh’s’ without immediate presence of thought.

"How...thin...are...the...walls?" She gasped in ecstasy, as she brought her right leg up to hook around his neck to provide him with even more room for depth, and also silently informing him of her compliance to don the 'submissive' role-- for now .

"Thick," he rumbled breathlessly, using her acquiescence to his advantage as he plunged further with an appreciative groan, ducking his head as he rocked forward, banging the headboard against the wall.

"But...perhaps not thick enough," he husked with a certain amount of amusement in his eyes, arching onto his knees to thrust forward with a curve of his hips, deliberately trying to wring another moan from her for emphasis.

She could tell what he wanted and was trying to get out of her, to which she more than happily gave him, and then some, crying out in an almost uncharacteristically 'sex kitten' fashion, " Ohh, Mr Holmes....!" followed by a few grunts and panting breaths as she wriggled beneath him. Her other leg coming up to throw over his shoulder as her head turned frantically to the side to bit into the pillow, a desperate attempt on her part to stifle her cries and whimpers of pleasures lest he be too pleased with himself.

For, to be sure, despite the rather, 'porn-star-esque' response she was currently giving him--and one she hadn't much used with him, if ever, before--Irene Adler was no faker, at least, when it came to her personal, love life. Her response was utterly--even if embarrassingly so to her--organic. She only hoped the base, male, primitive mindset that he clearly had a little bit of would respond to these novel and 'conventional' reactions--if only because they were novel for her .

She also was bound and determined to seek revenge in a few moments. No man would make her whimper like that and finish on top. Not even Sherlock Holmes , she mused decidedly.

Her response merely spurred him on, for even under duress he could at the least read her for genuineness and she was fighting it now with a will, feeling another shock of pleasure strike him as he watched her reckless abandon. His focus staggered briefly, but he growled his way through a moan and thrust forward more quickly, feeling himself seek out those sounds now that she'd granted them. He leaned more upright, gripping her leg where it draped over his shoulder and nipping and licking up the expanse of it he could reach.

" Mmm... Sherlock....!" She whined at his nips, the toes of her accosted leg curling in his hair as she arched her back up, to meet his thrusts.

She allowed him a few more self-gratifying thrusts to which she returned with girlish moans and whimpers before, suddenly, bringing her right foot from his shoulder and halting his movement by planting her foot squarely in the centre of his chest. She sat up, placing her weight on her elbows as she glared at him evenly before pushing him back with a grunt and and moving to her knees to face him dead on.

A hint of a smiled played on her lips as she raised her right brow slowly, running a hand up his chest before tangling it in his curls to yank his head backwards and up violently. She pressed her form against his and leaned up to hiss into his ear, "My turn, darling..." only to hook her leg around his as she twisted and pushed his figure back and down onto the bed, crawling on top of him to pin him against the bed in an act of dominance and possession.

"Can't let you 'boys' have all the fun," she purred into his ear before sitting back slightly to run her slit along his length and tease his pulsating tip with her inviting warmth wickedly.

��He growled out a groan of surprise and aroused fury, even though he knew she was likely to play her card eventually. She had an annoying habit of lulling him into false security before striking. Infuriating woman. But she did stay true to her point and skillset he couldn't help but notice. She knew exactly what he 'liked' -- a challenge.

She was sending sparks through his nervous system with his teasing, causing his hips to buck and his leg muscles to twitch. His hands flew to her hips, digging in hard in an attempt to end her torment, but all he succeeded in was increasing her friction, and he scowled helplessly. He could overpower her, but the fight was seldom worth it, or so he assured himself.

Irene chuckled darkly, leering down at him lasciviously as she shifted her weight to her knees to lift her pelvis up and off of him completely, proving that no contact was even worse than then the ghostings of it.

She then ran her hands up her thighs and hips, ripping his own off to grope herself, alone and unaided, toying with his clearly, 'regular,' male porn preference, as she employed the 'usual actions'--hands gliding up her waist to circle the sides of her breasts and swirl around her taut nipples, teasing herself and him by avoiding them for a bit.

She pouted down at him, biting her bottom lip sensual before husking softly, "Oh, Mr Holmes , did you really think I was going to indulge your base, male fantasy for the entire time?" She circled her areolas before pinching and twisting her nipples suddenly letting out a whiney moan as she looked down at him in erotic amusement.

"Don't get me wrong, Sherlock , I'll be your little slut, porn-star girl any day of the week...any way you want me...any fantasy you wish to play out...I'll even be your slave, if you fancy... But, just keep in mind, dear...." She began to warn gently, leaning down over him slowly as she slipped a hand between them to grip his length tightly, before continuing, "...Every time you make me whimper and moan and whine and beg like a little girl who needs more--which you do quite well, much to my chagrin, grant you--" She grumbled lightly, licking her lips as she winked, before finishing with, "...I'll make you do the same-- twice over ." She hissed against his lobe, slamming herself down and around him as deeply as the angle would allow on her last words.

He threw his head back with something not dissimilar from a roar, his hands clawing at her waist and his teeth clenching as he fought the throbbing ache shooting down his spine at the sudden move. Fighting to catch his breath, he finally gripped her hips again tightly and bucked up, in an attempt to counter her, but it hardly stood up to the challenge.

"Lucky for me...have no need of slavery," he managed in a ragged, breathless rumble, having nothing to fear of that retribution at least. Who would ever want to tame this glorious, albeit evil, creature he couldn't say, but it would strain credulity to attempt.

She grunted in approval of his statement as she leaned down to capture his lips with her own, nipping and biting them with a ferocity of a lioness in heat as she lifted and slammed her pelvic floor down against his, grinding it in place as she squeezed her walls around him with each go before abandoning his mouth to lean her weight back onto her centre--fully upright as he was sheathed at a full, and deep, ninety degree angle.

She let out a subtle moan as she gyrated her hips in a circular motion, hitting each cardinal direction of her walls as she dragged her nails down his chest.

"Mmm.... You remind me of my first horse, Mr Holmes. I was quite the equestrian. Dear me did he have a foul temper and was about as haughty as spoiled prince. But he was magnificent and quite the beast. 16.1 hands...about as tall as you.... However....I think I much prefer this mount..." She teased in self-amusement, as she began bob up and down on him in this new position.

He found his body was following her lead of its own accord, bracing into her movements with a counter-rhythm no matter his inner rebellion. He was fighting to keep his focus as she see seemed more than determined to rip it from him, and his eyes narrowed at her in challenge.

"I suppose that's...a compliment," he ground out with obvious force, his hands starting to roam upward for distraction -- both hers and his own -- and cupped her breasts roughly, squeezing and trapping the bud of her nipples between his fingers.

She exhaled a soft hissing sound as he groped her breasts, leaning into his pinches as she steadied her weight forward again, her hands splayed on his pectoral muscles as she began lifted and dropped herself around him faster and harder, beginning to feel herself lose control as the wave of climax climbed higher and higher, threatening to crash her on his shores any second.

" Fuck ...I'm so close....Come with me, Sherlock..." She whimpered softly, her dominatrix persona forgotten in this sudden, heightened state of ecstasy with him.

He growled in wordless agreement, unsure his tongue was even capable of forming them at the moment. She had a unique talent for driving him speechless that no one else had managed to possess, no more exemplified than at this very moment. He bridged his hips into her last few thrusts for the sake of it, giving her more stimulation for entirely selfish reasons, he was afraid. It drove him to bursting just as he felt her tightening around him.

His groan was guttural and throat ripping and his lower abdomen clenched nearly to the point of pain as he finally let the wire snap, hands flying back to her hips, digging in and holding her tightly in earnest. He found himself leaning upward beneath her, as though the force of it pulled him from the pillows.

Irene let out a guttural cry of sheer euphoria bliss as she felt him buck and come within her, her walls clenching around violently and successively, as if squeezing every last drop of him from his load was some unconscious goal of her womb.

She threw her head back as another wave suddenly arrested her once more, a sharp whimper of appreciation escaping her throat before it was replaced by her weighty pants. She fell forward against him as she fought to catch her laboured breaths slowly.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, barely able to feel her hands so overcome with pins and needles were they, before resting her forehead against his finally.

She listened to their heaving inhales and exhales, their breathing power somehow syncing along with the beating of their hearts. She was tempted to roll her eyes and make some ‘disgusted comment,’ but decided to endorse the moment, for who knew when they’d be so joined again. With Jim back, the danger was ineffable once more.

His body slowly relaxed, and his eyes fluttered closed, feeling heavy and numb as he sank into the pillows once more, but her weight against him still felt heated and tingling. He found himself running his hands up the curves of her back subconsciously as their panting breaths mingled, her warmth bringing the feeling back into him. There were very few times Sherlock was ever relaxed, outside of the force of severe exhaustion, but she always managed it, even if briefly.

"Do we always follow near-death experiences with nearly killing each other," he managed to quietly joke in a deep, if strained murmur, lips twitching faintly.

She let out a half laugh, pulling back gently to ask out of want of clarification, “Firstly, I’d hardly call sex ‘killing each other,’ dear, quite the opposite, if I do say so myself. However, I will grant you that our means to the end differ significantly from the average pedestrian. But, we are not ‘the commonwealth,’ are we?” She winked before leaning down to nibble his lip playfully.

“But I will grant you, the near-death thing seems to be, an annoying and unfortunate, set-up….” She sighed almost wearily, a soft sadness ending her tone before she added gingerly, “Perhaps, one day, it won’t be the necessary ‘aphrodisiac….’” She murmured wistfully, her index finger circling an obtuse pattern on his chest, not wanting him to remove himself from her just yet.

He hummed slightly in appreciation at her touch, as well as in thought, his hand still tracing up her spine, in odd swirls and angles.

"Seems 'motivation' is more appropriate. We hardly need aphrodisiacs..." He murmured in correction, with a faint hint of a smirk, though it was also a tad melancholy. "It typically takes one of us nearly being shot or decapitated to drive us across whichever continent divides us," he added in consideration. "And there is that pesky 'death' status we keep falling into."

She leaned forward resting her elbows on his chest as she gently, and slowly allowed him to slip out of her before settling back down above his nether regions, resting her chin on his sternum as she replied drolly, “I meant it as metaphor, you cad….Believe you me, I’m more than aware at our ability to make any and every word, look, situation, and context highly….. adult .”

She leaned pressed a kiss to his skin before glancing up at him once more to add, “...Mmm, I suppose one of us being alive on paper again might actually make things easier in the future… The double ghost was getting a bit absurd… Let’s not recall the horrendous blonde, bob cut wig I had to don just to get into the bloody Ritz in Paris…” She shuddered in hyperbolised repugnance.

"Not the most flattering," he winced playfully, making a rumble of disapproval in his throat. "Though that idiotic suit wasn't my finest hour," he added honestly and for fairness, rolling his eyes faintly. His hand settled on the small of her back, in a nearly casual manner.

"Though, yes. At least one of us being legally present is quite helpful..." He stated in agreement, lips turning up at the thought. "At least we're not both scattering about the map."

She laughed softly, “Yes, double breasted suits should be left in the 80s never to be seen or heard from again. And do try to stay alive, this time round, all right? For my ‘appetite's’ sake, if nothing more.” She grinned, leaning up nip his nose playfully before rolling over on her back and stretching as she yawned faintly.

“Mmm, I did miss your bed… Besides the one in my flat in Belgravia, I think yours is the most comfortable and arousing bed I’ve ever had the pleasure of sleeping in, shame you don’t indulge in the act.” She couldn’t help but jibe him coyly, nipping his shoulder just for the sheer thrill of it. She was feeling very frisky and, well, Christ, happy .

He quirked a brow, but didn't question her excitement, quite frankly feeling a similarity. He gave her a teasing bit of a shrug, turning over on his side to loom over her slightly in an oddly quick motion in terms of his relaxed state.

"Clearly you've remedied that, on a few different levels," he husked near her ear rather obtusely.

Irene shivered softly as his breath hit her ear, sending goose pimples down her back. She leaned into him, frontside pressing against his as she toyed with his light chest hairs before murmuring in feigned innocence, "Oh please, I only drugged you the one time, and I'm sure you needed the rest... And it's not my fault the only time you are able to sleep on your own natural, biological accord is upon having mind-blowing orgasms at 'my hand...'" She winked as she glanced up at him quickly, hoping to see some amusement cross his face. She did love being one of the few people that could make him laugh and indulge his, albeit narrow, sense of humour--that wasn't vile or at anyone else's expense--except, perhaps, his own. Which, in itself, was a feet of Everest proportions with his egotistical personality.

He chuckled briefly at her rather true-ish statement, rolling his eyes fondly. "Sleep is an elusive bitch at times, yes. Outside of drugs and injury, I typically need something to tire my mind and that's a rare accomplishment...relaxing it's even rarer." It was meant, however oddly, as a compliment, his fingers tapping out a rather subconsciously complex pattern on the skin of her side.

She chuckled softly, burrowing her face into his chest as she took a deep inhale, indulging in the natural scent of him and those divine pheromones that he gave off.

“Mmm, thank you, dear, I’m flattered, once again..” She murmured into his chest softly.

"Don't be," he murmured in a playful mockery of irritation, half-arsed at that, harkening back to his first response to his so-called flattery. It always sounded like foolish denial, and he played on it now, even as he let out a quiet rumble of appreciation at her moving closer, throwing his arm around her thoughtlessly. He indulged the sensation for a moment before shifting back a tad.

"I'll be right back," he said simply into her ear, brushing his lips against it faintly, figuring his destination would be rather obvious as he reluctantly pulled himself from the sheets to stand to his feet, and pad towards the door.

She hummed in appreciation at his sentimental ‘loo-parting,’ at one point utterly unfeasible that he would ever adopt such ‘sweetheart’ acts of behaviour with her. Like with most other things, however, he always managed to surprise her with his uncanny ability to evolve, even if it was to his minor ‘self-stated’ chagrin.

She rolled over on her stomach as he left, tilting her head to the left to appreciate the view his exit so gratuitously gave her.

Once he was gone, however, she let out a melancholy sigh, glancing at the digital clock which glared at her the early morning time disdainfully. It was odd, the way she suddenly felt unwanted, or that she was out of place, at his, now that their coupling had finished. Although, to be fair, they never had only ‘dined’ one time--it usually at least hit the four or five mark, if not higher. Yet, out of some deep-rooted fear or anxiety she had the distinct feeling that to spend the night with him here , in 221b Baker Street, was somehow indicative of some ‘serious step’ in their ‘relationship’--whatever terms, labels, titles, and regulations that that term held with regards to them. Spending the night in all of their previous rendezvous was more than assumed, as they had always spent the night in some hotel or secretive meeting place. But now that they were back on English soil, and especially, his, personal soil she was not about to risk heartache at assuming, and assuming wrong, tonight.

That being the case she, reluctantly, sat up, stretched and made her way down the hallway to the bag she had left on the couch, grabbing a pair of black jeans, leather ankle boots, and a black cashmere V-neck top, along with her lace undergarments, before padding back to his room to begin to change and figure out her next ‘moves.’

He made his way back to the room fairly quickly, out of instinctive anxiety, and it seemed once again he wasn't wrong. He would've liked to have been, for once. He stood silently for a moment, watching her back as she moved to fasten her bra, and only then did he quietly stalk up behind her. His hand over taking hers and unclasping it beneath her fingers once again, he pressed her shoulder to turn her around to face him, urging her to let him remove the lace from her arms.

"Get back into my bed," he said simply as a vaguely sardonic command, his very typical 'Sherlock Holmes' attitude returning, if briefly, with a challenging tilt of his head. "If for no other purpose, I have every intention of picking your brain in the morning."

She locked eyes with him, a silent exchange flashing between then before a small, relieved smile tugged at her lips and she glanced down, blushing ever so lightly at her silly ‘female’ train of thought. He was a far better man than that, and they had come too far together now to still be playing the game , at least, the high-stakes emotional one--that was all settled now, more or less, apparently. The sexual, mental one--well, that was always in play, to be sure.

“Clever boy. You passed ‘The Test…’” She teased him lightly, more teasing herself , however, in vocally acknowledging her corrected, unnecessary actions.

Once her bra was off and safely on the floor, where it belonged, she wrapped her arms around his neck, a sultry haze beginning to cloud over her eyes, before grinding her pelvis against his as she challenged darkly, “Now then, Mr Holmes, how about breaking our previous record…?”

His lips turned up into a wicked, knowing sort of smile. She was of course calling her own bluff, and he was more than happy to let her, one of his hands easily bracing the back of her skull as he practically lifted her off of her feet into a seething kiss, partially even out of gratitude for her continued presence. One wouldn't think they'd been perfectly satisfied not too many minutes before, but that was, he supposed the nature of suppressing oneself to an annual coupling...or, a few. Especially with them, it seemed.

He had to wonder when exactly they'd managed to be considered oddly monogamous, at least on her end. It had never been an issue in his mind, but when she began bluntly insinuating she'd been bottling for his sake, he had always wondered. He'd never had the nerve to ask, or perhaps he just would rather not have known. But he was obscurely thankful for it regardless. He didn't have to look too far past her unbridled appetite to see the proof, or they'd never have managed to christen the rest of his flat, and manage to sleep in between, over the next 14 hours.

#adlock #the adlock yacht #my writing #sherlock smut #irene adler #lemon

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