#mycroft x read | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

princessaxoxo · 7 months

Text

Strangers to Lovers Part 1

Originally thought of as a one-shot but decided to make it a two-part series.

A/N: This is no longer a two-part, there will be multiple parts.

Sherlock x reader

Summary: Being Enola’s sitter was an adventure, but not as much as falling for her brother, Sherlock.

Warnings: NSFW, 18 Only, sex (p in v), cussing, masturbation (f receiving)

If I’m missing any please let me know.

Word Count: 2k+

When Enola was younger, her mother sought you out to take care of her. You accepted gleefully. Meeting Enola for the first time was unlike any other; at the ripe age of eight, she was a daredevil, a venturesome young lady.

After spending most of your time with her, you soon met her brothers, Sherlock and Mycroft. Sherlock was charming but reserved. Mycroft was shrewd and practical.

You are able to read people without fault. It was easy to tell Mycroft wasn’t fond of you. Sherlock wasn’t so easy; he kept a blank expression around you. The difference was that he put in the time and effort to talk and get to you.

Little did you know, he was very fond of you; you were constantly on his mind.

He couldn’t help but analyze every part of you—the way you licked your lips, how you scrunched your eyebrows together when you got confused, the lines on your face from how much you smiled.

When you weren't paying attention, he let his eyes roam downward, noticing how your breasts looked when you breathed in, your delicate fingers, and the beauty of your legs that he wanted to kiss.

It wasn't ethical, but he couldn't care less.

You often found yourself thinking about him as well; you would let your eyes linger on him longer than allowed, especially for a lady.

Especially late at night like now, you were wondering what would happen if the two of you found yourselves in a room alone.

You closed your eyes, imagining him, his curly brown hair, his blue eyes, and that smirk he would occasionally show. Slowly brush your fingers between your thighs, thinking they are his.

As you started to picture his eyes that were looking up at you as he placed kisses between your thighs, you pulled down your panties.

You soon found your clit, making small circles. "Mhm,” a small moan left your lips. Moving your fingers down, you entered two of your fingers, moving them in and out.

You started to pick up your pace. “Oh, Sherlock," you let slip out, still imagining him.

Your pussy squeezed around your fingers, arching your back and moaning his name embarrassingly. You opened your eyes, your brain still in a haze from your orgasm, but he still hadn’t left your mind.

Trying to keep up with Enola was tricky; she kept you on your toes. Her excitement always made your day. At the moment, she was hiding; that was the game of the day. Hide and seek: her version was far more difficult.

She would leave small clues, making you think you’re on the right track, but it’s quite the opposite.

Walking around the house, you were checking each room thoroughly. A door at the end of the hall was already open; you checked inside, noticing it appeared empty.

“Enola, Enola, sweetie, where are you?” You walked into the room, searching as if you were a detective. You saw a desk, which she could easily hide under. Walking around it, you bent down to check.

But, of course, no luck.

“What are you looking for?” You accidentally hit your head, and his voice made you jump.

"Ow!” you winced, rubbing your head to ease the throbbing pain. Sherlock walked over to you, offering his hand.

“Enola is hiding; I’m looking for her. I saw the door was open, so I decided to check.”

He nodded his head. “Would you like some help? I have an idea of where she could be."

“Yes, she doesn't make it easy,” you chuckled awkwardly, looking down, your heart pounding out of your chest.

He put his thumb underneath your chin, making you look at him. “Let’s go”

You followed him, finding Enola hiding in a closed-off room.

She had a laughing fit, making fun of you for taking so long and having to involve her older brother to help. Enola left the room, leaving only you and Sherlock. You started to follow her, but Sherlock stopped you.

“Let me make sure you’re okay; you hit your head hard.”

He took you back to his office, guiding you down on his leather loveseat. He started checking you for a concussion and then brought you a cold pack for the small bump that was forming on your scalp.

He sat next to you, making you stiff. “Thank you for helping me,” you said, looking over at him. “It’s my pleasure, y/f/n."

It was getting dark out; you had to leave, but you wanted to stay here with him. “I should go home; it’s almost night out."

Sherlock didn’t want that to happen; his question could go wrong. But he wanted you to himself, if only for tonight.

“Would you want to stay for the night? I would be delighted to keep you company.”

You were taken aback by his question. Your answer was yes, but nothing came out. His facial expression turned worrisome. “Don’t worry about it”, "Yes,” you said eagerly, hoping he didn’t take notice. “Yes, I would be happy to stay.”

You showed a calm facade, but that’s not how you were feeling.

He began to show you his work and what interested him. “Do you wish for a drink?”, He was pouring himself one. "No, thank you; I don’t drink,” you said with a small smile.

Your eyes were scanning his wall, which had a map covering it with small dots placed in certain places.

He stood next to you, drink in hand, watching you concentrate on his work.

You turned to look at him, and you smiled. “Yes?” You were unsure of why he was looking at you in such a way. But then he lowered his head and kissed you.

After he kissed you, your eyes widened in surprise. But that surprise soon turned into enjoyment.

You cupped his face while he placed his hand on your lower back. He tried to set down his drink with his eyes closed, but it fell and shattered on the floor. Neither of you faltered from the enchanting kiss.

He pushed you backward, lifting and placing you on top of his desk. Your thoughts were running wild; was this really going to happen? Your questions were answered when he roamed his large hands under your dress. treading lightly, his hands hovering once they reached closer to your core.

He wanted this; he had imagined it countless times in his head. But he couldn’t go rough with you like he wanted; this wasn't normal, and this shouldn’t be happening since the two of you weren't married. And a woman like you? He thought, wasn’t someone you just fucked and then left in the morning? That was not you.

You hated that he was going slow; he was starting to pull away, but an instinct in you grabbed him by his hips and pulled him forward harder.

“I want this, Sherlock; don’t be gentle with me. I want you."

Hearing you say those words broke Sherlock's facade. He snapped, locking your legs tightly around his waist as he walked the both of you over to his leather couch. He laid you down, hovering above you, teasing you with his mouth.

He stood up, removing his bowtie, followed by his vest and white shirt. His chest, his chest—you couldn’t wait to roam your hands up and down his hairy chest. You let a moan out just by the look of him; he got on top of you, recklessly ripping your own clothes off.

He took a long look at you, salivating. He needed to get inside of you.

His kisses were sloppy with need, as were yours. You were getting wetter by the second, and yet he hadn’t really touched you. “Touch me, please."

He snacked his hands down to your clit, rubbing circles while kissing and sucking on your neck. You held his head, moaning his name. He left my neck and came face-to-face with me. “You want me inside of you? Do you want my cock to fill your pussy?”

“Please, yes, I need you."

Removing his pants eagerly, he lined his cock up, smoothly coaxing his cock in my wetness, before deeply entering slowly at first, then removing before entering again faster each time.

Your nails are scratching at his back, making him grunt in your ear. “Your pussy is so tight around me; it feels so fucking good.”

You wanted him deeper in you; you wanted to feel every inch of him. "I want to feel all of you.

He thrust his hips rougher this time, your back arched, and that gave him a chance to put his arm underneath you to change positions. Now, sitting up right, you are on his lap, riding him. He helped you with his hands on your hips, guiding you to bounce up and down.

“God, you are memorizing.”

His eyes were rolling to the back of his head as he closed them. “Just like that, baby,” he grabbed a hold of your breasts, squeezing them gently and rubbing your nipples, making them erect and pleasurable going through you.

His curly hair covered his face, brushing back just as he grabbed the back of your neck, forcing you forward. His tongue danced with yours, so far down your throat that you sucked on it.

His lips were soft; they had you memorized in a daze, moaning into his mouth. You felt yourself coming.

“Sherlock, fill me up with your seed."

“You want my seed? Want to feel it dripping down your thighs?"

"Yes, please, yes. I’m cumming on your cock."

You pulsated around him, your thighs shaking, and you saw stars in your vision as you came on his cock.

He stopped his movements, his nails digging into your skin as he groaned aloud, his head falling forward onto your chest. Both of you were heaving, trying to regain your breathing.

The smell of sex radiating in the room and the glistening sweat off of your and Sherlock’s bodies made this moment intimate. One you hadn't shared with another.

After the night you and Sherlock shared in his office, the both of you fell deeply in love. Sharing every passing moment with one another. And when the both of you weren't together, you were thinking about each other.

He told you countless stories about his endeavors, what he’s done, and the kinds of cases he’s received and solved.

Enola was so happy; she thought of you as a sister already, but now she couldn’t contain her excitement about how the both of you would end up being family.

You pretended not to notice at times the way Sherlock would stare at you; he would admire you from afar, from your side profile, any time he got the chance.

You were certain that nothing would break the two of you apart or that he would break your heart.

So you thought...

One day, out of the blue, Sherlock didn't meet you at the time planned; you were at his house, waiting for him to come home.

You were taken by surprise when you heard a person knock at his door, and you went to open it. A postman handed you a letter and left abruptly. You shut the door and sat down. It was signed with your name.

Opening the letter, you started to read what it said.

You read the letter over and over again until you couldn’t anymore.

This couldn’t be true, you thought; he couldn’t have left you.

He loved you. No, no, he loves you. So this couldn’t be the end.

You waited all night to hear the front door open. To hear his voice call out for you, but by the time you saw the sun rising, you knew he had left. He was gone. You fell to the ground with an uncontrollable sob. The tears never ended. You began to hyperventilate; it felt as if your oxygen was cut off.

You were at home as your tears started to stop; now you felt your blood boil.

He is a coward.

He couldn't even face you; had he that little respect for you?

A person who loves you does not treat you in such a way.

Your face was red, and your eyes weren’t brimming with sadness anymore but with anger.

You weren't going to let him hurt you in this way again. He wouldn't get the chance.

But everyone does have a weakness... He happens to be yours, and you his.

Part 2

#henry cavill #first post #fluff #henry cavill smut #sherlock holmes #smutty #sherlock fanfic #sherlock fandom #sherlock x reader #henry cavill sherlock holmes #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x reader #enola holmes #strangers to lovers #sherlock holmes smut #sherlock holmes x you

786 notes · View notes

cinebration · 1 year

Text

What Purpose? (Sherlock Holmes x Reader) [Request]

hellooo, if you taking requests, you could do sherlock holmes (of enola holmes) x reader fic inspired by theo sharpe and eloise bridgerton?? I’d Sherlock to be very in love with the reader, and tells her something like: when I read something new or interesting or provoking, it is you who crosses my mind. It is you I would like to speak with about those thoughts and so I am wondering if you might also have thoughts of me when you think.—Requested by @kelloggs-world

I slightly modified the quote. I hope you don’t mind!

Warnings: Mycroft

Gif Source: henrycavilledits

“The society papers say you’re cavorting with Lady Thornton’s personal maid,” Mycroft noted dryly, one eyebrow arching in ill-disguised disdain. “A maid, Sherlock, really.”

“A companion.”

“A glorified maid, then.”

Sherlock snapped the newspaper shut and fixed his brother with a stare. “Do you know anything about her?”

“Yes, the heiress to the modest trapping fortune not dominated by Astor. Which makes it all the more disgraceful that she is an old lady’s maid.”

“If her official title were to change to lady’s companion, would that appease you?” Sherlock shook his head. “I forgot to whom I was speaking.”

Mycroft sniffed and plucked up his snifter of brandy. “Really, Sherlock, what purpose does this woman serve?”

Sherlock straightened in his seat, spine dangerously rigid.

Mycroft snorted. “Every person and every thing serves a purpose, Sherlock. So what good does this woman do? I can’t imagine it’s much.”

The words slipped out through clenched teeth, barbed. “She does more than you.”

A brusque laugh tumbled out of his brother. “I highly doubt that, Sherlock. Our own sister isn’t comparable to either of us, and at least she comes from the source.”

Shoving himself out of his seat, Sherlock straightened his suit jacket and shot a glare in Mycroft’s direction. “Enola is more than a match for you, Mycroft. That’s why you failed to bend her to your will.”

A livid flush crept up Mycroft’s neck and into his cheeks. “If I recall, you stepped in as her guardian.”

“Consider that, brother. She convinced me against you.” Sherlock flashed an insincere smile. “More than your match.”

“Here I thought Enola was the problem, scurrying around town like some low-bred urchin, yet I hear you are cavorting with nothing better than a maid.” A sneer curled Mycroft’s lips. “My God, the pair of you. I don’t know why I even bother!”

“No one asked you to bother, Mycroft.”

Sherlock strode for the door, refraining from snapping a goodbye.

“She can’t be worth much,” Mycroft called after him. “Even if she did throw you a bone by sending you on that murder investigation!”

Teeth grinding, Sherlock all but slammed the door shut. Anger radiated in unexpected waves through him, his frustration tantamount to whenever an investigation thwarted him unnecessarily. He couldn’t understand why Mycroft’s words stuck within him. Though his brother was insufferable, most if not all of his barbs passed through Sherlock without so much as an abrasive touch. That he should so infuriate him confused Sherlock as much as it riled up his ire.

Sheets of rain poured down on the city, drowning all light in gray. Hansoms darted down the cobblestone streets, streaming water in their wake, impossible to flag down. The pavement was nearly empty, everyone huddled someplace out of the deluge.

In his haste, Sherlock had forgotten his umbrella. Turning his coat collar up and shoving his hands deep in his pockets, he cut across the street, dodging a hansom he heard before he saw, and stormed in the direction of his flat. The stinging cold of the rain beating into his face and running rivulets beneath his shirt did nothing to cool him of his anger.

“It wasn’t just the murder,” he hissed between his teeth, hands balling into fists in his pockets. Although the death of your last living relative had proven an intricate and thorny case, one that had taken twelve day to solve, it wasn’t as though you were a treasure trove of such cases. In the months since the investigation’s resolution, you had not required Sherlock’s services again.

Lady Thornton, however, had used them in a theft case shortly after Sherlock solved your case, causing you both to cross paths again. Sherlock had taken the time to interview you regarding the theft and any information you might know. As with your own case, you presented facts and evidence in a logical, rational manner, offering up details that surprised Sherlock and gave a glimpse into your perceptiveness, leaving an indelible impression on him.

The theft was resolved in less than two days. Yet Sherlock had returned again to Lady Thornton’s estate to see you. He had recognized a sharp mind desperate to be seen and engaged, and despite himself, he decided he was the man to do it.

The old woman acted as chaperone, but the shrewd and experienced Lady Thornton recognized what was unfolding before even the faintest hint of it brushed either Sherlock’s or your mind. Melding into the shadows as much as possible, a smirk playing on her lips, Lady Thornton contented herself with providing only the barest level of propriety for the sake of the papers, allowing you and Sherlock as much privacy as she could.

Sherlock had found you eager to discuss all manner of subjects. He brought books for you to devour in days so that there was new topics of discourse the next time you met. Your voracious appetite for knowledge and conversation—proper conversation, not the societal niceties that amounted to nothing but superficiality—secretly delighted Sherlock, such that he took great care to select the most interesting of texts to deliver to your door.

What purpose did you serve? The question tasted vile on Sherlock’s tongue, though he hadn’t been the one to ask it. Like a wound, he returned to it again and again, suffering the indignity of it. Did a person have to serve?

As he turned down one street, then the next, he found himself contemplating it. Loathe to admit it, he realized that Mycroft had something akin to a point. Neither Holmes brother wasted time on anyone without reason. For Mycroft, it was blackmail and state secrets, government and high-society connections; for Sherlock, anything to do with a case.

Therefore, why did he spend so much time with you?

The thought spun so quickly through his mind that he grew dizzy with it, pausing to lean against a lamppost. The answer was there, just beyond his reach, and any attempt to grasp it made him ill, the world tilting beneath his feet.

They carried him through the rain until they found a cab unloading an elderly couple. Sherlock flagged the driver and hopped into the hansom, the carriage dipping low beneath his formidable frame. He had to bribe the driver several extra quid to ensure the man drove him out to the estate.

When they arrived, he paid the man and refrained from asking him to stay. Lady Thornton would never allow him to return home in such weather, not without sending him off in her own carriage. Seeing as she wouldn’t subject her own driver to such inclement conditions, Sherlock would be stuck there until the weather cleared.

The staff recognizing him, they let him enter and stripped him of his soaking overcoat and jacket.

“I believe the former master of the house,” the butler informed him in crisp tones, “had trousers you could use.”

“I can dry before the fire,” Sherlock assured him.

He paced in front of the crackling flames for what seemed like an eternity while he waited for you to arrive. When the door opened softly, it took all his self-control to avoid spinning sharply to face you.

“You’ll catch your death, Sherlock, getting caught in the rain like that!”

Suppressing the faint upward twitch of his lips, Sherlock slowly turned to you. The anger at Mycroft’s words melted as he peered into your face.

“What is it?” you asked, reaching up to touch your cheek self-consciously.

“Nothing. I merely…” Sherlock frowned, casting about for words that suddenly eluded him. “Do you believe that every individual in one’s life must serve a purpose?”

Eyebrows arching, you chuffed a quiet laugh. “My, has the weather made you maudlin?”

“No, it isn’t…my brother made an insinuation, and I thought it worth asking you your opinion on the matter.”

Head cocking to the side, you scrutinized Sherlock’s features. “What sort of insinuation?”

“Well…” Sherlock laughed, shook his head. “Mycroft is uncannily skilled at insinuating more than one thing with few words. It would take hours to parse everything he means from what little he says.”

“You are stuck here until the weather improves, so we have the time to spare.”

Sherlock met your gaze, your eyes sincere and curious. Struck suddenly with the urge to fidget, he turned back toward the fireplace and leaned against the mantle, his soaked trousers and collar slowly drying.

“I think,” you answered carefully, “that whom we choose to spend our time with speaks to their importance in our lives.”

Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at you.

“For Lady Thornton, my purpose is to be a companion. She may compensate me for it, but I would be her companion for free, because I enjoy spending time with her. Her purpose for me, if it matters to know, is as mentor and friend. That is sufficient.”

The words sunk into Sherlock’s thoughts, quieting them. The flames popped behind him, crackling as the logs shifted.

“Mycroft asked me what purpose you served,” he heard himself say. “He doesn’t understand why I spend my time with you.”

Your throat moved as you swallowed reflexively, your gaze dropping away from his. “Frankly, I’m inclined to agree with him. I don’t understand why you spend your time with me.”

Sherlock frowned, his chest tight. Were there words to explain why? He considered it for several moments, his heart an uneven metronome in his ribs.

“When I read something new or interesting or provoking,” he began, the words passing softly over his lips, “it is you who crosses my mind. It is you I would like to speak with about those thoughts. So I come here and I share them, and I enjoy hearing your replies.”

You glanced up at him, your gaze sharp and hesitant simultaneously.

“And I find myself wondering…” He swallowed thickly, the words on his tongue as if they had waited his whole life to be there, his thoughts roiling in confusion but the conviction that this was right, inevitable, felt firmly in his deepest self. “I am wondering if you might also have thoughts of me when you think.”

Your lips trembled, caught between a smile and panic, triumph and anxiety. Pressing your fingers against them, you inhaled sharply and attempted again, this time managing to speak. “I think of you often, Sherlock. How could I not?”

Something sharp buried itself in his chest, but the feeling was not altogether unpleasant. Sucking in a breath, he gripped the mantle with both hands, knuckles white with the pressure. He didn’t know how to proceed, the confession having worn out any social manner he had been forced to learn.

Gently clearing your throat, you offered, “So when next you see your brother, tell him the purpose I serve is…as your other self, as you are my other self.”

Your hand touched him lightly on the elbow. Shifting, Sherlock watched your hand slide down the length of his forearm, fingers gently entwining with his. The touch sent shivers through his arm and down his spine, startling him with their strength.

“He will never understand that,” he managed to say, his voice thick.

“Then we should pity him.”

Meeting your gaze, Sherlock laughed, unable to let the sharp ha! stay buried. You smiled, flashing teeth in a beautiful face. He hadn’t realized you were so beautiful…or perhaps you had been beautiful all along, and it had taken all this time for him to see it.

#Sherlock Holmes x Reader #Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock Holmes imagine #Henry Cavill x Reader #Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill imagine #Cavill!Holmes #Henry!Sherlock #Enola Holmes 2 #Enola Holmes #requests

1K notes · View notes

angelltheninth · 1 year

Note

William, Louis, Albert, Sherlock, Moran, James, Mycroft and their favorite spots to kiss you at?

Oh! I misunderstood the first time I read it lol, ok no problem Anon!

Pairing: William, Louis, Albert, Sherlock, Moran, James, Mycroft x Reader

Tags: fluff, established relationship, making out, slight groping/fondling, teasing, neck kisses, shoulder kisses

A/N: They all make me swoon so hard!

William likes to kiss you in the living room while the two of you are relaxing after a long day. It's one of the spots he allows himself to be the most vulnerable at. He doesn't particularly care if someone were to walk in and see the two of you, he will give you a kiss regardless.

Louis will kiss you in passing in between chores that he does. He keeps busy a lot during the day so it's really the only time he can kiss you, other then mission and meetings and of course during your alone time at night before you go to sleep.

Albert kisses you only behind closed doors. Well he can kiss your hand during a social event but the real kisses are for you to witness only. He's the kind of man who can get pretty carried away when kissing you and he'd rather not contribute to the inevitable gossip.

Sherlock either kisses you in his office or his bedroom. Any other place and you're more then likely get interrupted by someone. He can't have that, not when he's too busy leaving hickyes and marks down your neck as you squirm against him.

Moran doesn't care where he's kissing you as long as he's kissing you. Everyone knows not to approach and try to pull anything when he's around. He'll kiss you anywhere his lips can reach and hold you against him while cupping your ass to let everyone know that you're his.

James will pull you into a kiss anywhere to surprise you and see you blush and be flustered. He likes being the gentleman of course but he can't deny that you look cute when you're walking hand in hand and he leans over to kiss you, much to the disgruntled gasps and murmurs of the people around you.

Mycroft will kiss you as soon as he comes home from work. No matter where he finds you he'll wrap his arms around you from behind and kiss your neck and shoulder until you're gasping and asking for more.

1K notes · View notes

temporaryrose200 · 8 months

Note

Hello I just read one of your stories and I absolutely love your writing style. Is it ok if I request a short story of William James Moriarty x reader who is the youngest sister of Sherlock Holmes?

✩You’re something✩

✟pairing: William James Moriarty x Fem Reader

✟genre: Fluff?

✟warning:Not proof read

✟One-Short

✟fandom: Moriarty The Patriot

✟summary: Being a Holmes was tough, there was so much to live up to. But a special somebody helps you through it. Reminding you that you were someone.

✟a/n: None

Being the young sibling of the Holmes brothers wasn’t easily. Constantly being in their shadows, remembering every time when you would introduce yourself people would constantly asking if your brothers were Sherlock and Mycroft. It’s was annoying being the forgotten Holmes child. But there was one person who made you feel like the most special woman in the world. William James Moriarty. A charming man who knew exactly how to treat a woman.

The day you met was when you were going to met up with your brother Sherlock. Two of you arranged to met up with one another at a cafe and when you got there, you were met with a charming young man. Greeting your brother, you pulled up a nearby chair and sat yourself down on it. “Liam” Sherlock started, turning to his friend, a genuine smile forming on your brother face. “This my younger sister Y/N” he introduced, signalling towards your awkward and nervous form from have the spot light be put on you.

‘Liam’ gazed up at you, crimson eyes focusing intensely on you. Getting yourself ready from him to say something like: “ I didn’t know the Holmes brothers ha and sister” or something along those lines. But what you got instead was something you would never expect. The blonde haired man grinned fondly at you, strangely making all your worries melt away. “You wrote ‘Twist Of The Heart’ right.” Shock ran through your body at the mention of you old book, something you had wrote about 4 years ago. No publishing company wanted to take you because you were a woman, except one. Sadly the book was a failure and the future books you had in store were thrown away. But now hearing someone mention you not just as Sherlock’s sister but as your own person was a breath of fresh air. “It was an incredible piece of literature about unrequited love. Shame that you stopped writing.” It was odd heading someone talk so highly about you. But here you are be praised.

Fidgeting around with your hands, trying thinking of an appropriate response. But your brain was blank, and you were at a loss for words. You'd never been in this sort of situation before. "A-Ahh..." you stuttered out, feeling you throat tighten. “Thank you Mr Liam”

A chuckle rumbled from the man's chest as he shook his head. “My name is actually William James Moriarty”, he said to me with a smile.

Hearing the familiar name made your heart jump in your chest and you had to take a deep breath before you could speak again. "Moriarty?" You asked him, unable to keep the surprise out of your voice. “You mean!” The man nodded. You were so shocked that it took you several seconds to react but when you did, your face flush in embarrassment. How could you not recognise him! But most importantly, he read your book! “I’m so sorry!”

And that’s how a new friendship was formed. William and you continued to met up at nearby cafes or his house.Two of you had a lot in common and he so easily to talk to. Sherlock was starting to become jealous at how much William and you were hanging out. Your brother would say that you were stealing his friend, which you found quite adorable but don’t tell Sherlock that.

William helped you with gaining your confidence back and even with creating a new book. The story was a second part from your first book. This time the girl finds love with someone she never thought she’d fall for. Ironically though you fell hard for the noble man. It felt as if fate had brought him into your life. He was the perfect man, sweet, caring and oh so handsome. He made you feel so much emotions. You were head over heels in love, but did he love you? You were a nobody compared to your brothers. Just some washed up wannabe author. William was a nobleman, he would never fall for you. Right…?

#moriarty the patriot #yuukuko no moriarty #moriarty the patriot x reader #yuukuko no moriarty x reader #x reader #william james moriarty #william moriarty #william james moriarty x reader #william moriarty x reader #sherlock holmes #⚰️

236 notes · View notes

sacchxrine05 · 2 months

Text

Yuumori Characters as Disney Princesses (cus I’m bored :))

I’m gonna preface this by saying that some of these you’re just gonna have to trust me on cus I chose them just from pure vibes alone and went from there. I also haven’t re-read/watched Yuumori in a while nor have I watched any Disney movies as of late so again, just trust me bro lmao. I came up with most of these at 2am so sorry in advance.

Also, if someone has already done this, I’m sorry and I hope my choices aren’t just the same lmao.

Liam - Aurora/Sleeping Beauty

So this one is mostly just cus they both ended up sleeping for a long ass time lmao. Liam was in a coma after the fall for x months and Aurora was cursed to an eternal sleep unless her true love kissed her awake (we won’t talk about the horrors of the original fairytale, I’ve tried to blank that out of my memory tyvm). They’re also both blondes…uh huh. Aurora doesn’t have much personality that I can remember other than being an animal lover and a good singer so…that’s just all I have lmao. I also just think Liam would make a very cute Sleeping Beauty lmao.

Albert - Jasmine

I did consider giving Albert Rapunzel cus of the whole locked away in a tower thing, but outside of that and having shitty mothers (Mother Gothel wasn’t even Rapunzel’s real mother but still) there isn’t much similarity personality wise? Idk. I picked Jasmine just cus they both come from rich families yet have no patience for other rich people. Jasmine also disguised herself and went into the town/city to pretend she was a normal person and that feels kinda Albert-ish? They’re also both smart and sarcastic so Y’know.

Louis - Cinderella

This one feels kinda obvious lmao. Both were raised by awful rich people who treated them like a servant, both were orphans and both tended to the upkeep of their homes. I do think Louis has more of a backbone than Cinderella, especially towards the end of Part 1 of the manga. Also again: both are blondes lmao.

Moran - Merida

So…this one is mostly vibes but also not. I think Moran has a similar wild streak to Merida and accidentally turning a loved one into a bear because he didn’t watch his wording when asking a witch for a spell sounds like something Moran might do? Bear (hah) in mind I haven’t re-read Yuumori in a while so I may be wrong on that. Also I guess bows and arrows were the guns before guns were invented so…so there’s that lmao.

Bonde - Mulan

Feels like another obvious one? They both disguised their genders to achieve a goal (although I did interpret James to be a trans man whereas Mulan wasn’t rly? Cus she went back to presenting as female after the war so idk). They’re also both pretty outspoken and don’t care for the roles society has put them in as women and actively break that stigma (Mulan by going to war and James by often dressing as men even before he transitioned). Idk I just like this one lmao.

Fred - Snow White

Again, this is mostly vibes. I’m pretty sure Snow White is the youngest of the Disney Princesses at 14 (Don’t quote me on that cus I could be wrong), so I feel like that parallels Fred being the youngest of the Crime Gang. Snow White also has a connection to animals which can also connect to Fred’s love of cats and nature in general as he does most (all?) of the gardening. I think they’re both pretty quiet and shy and that’s all I really have lmao.

Mycroft - Megara

Okay, okay, relax, I know Megara isn’t an official Disney Princess (she SHOULD be, but whatever), but she’s the only one I could really see as being similar to Mycroft? Ya’ll are really just gonna have to trust me on this one lmao. I just think they’re both pretty independent and cynical and sarcastic and just…I really don’t know the vibes just fit, I can’t explain it.

Sherlock - Ariel

OKAY👏HEAR👏ME👏OUT. This is the only one I’m 100% confident on BSJDNKFS. They both have a niche obsession that they collect items from, Ariel with humans and Sherlock with Mysteries/Crime. They both make massive life changes for the man they love (a man which, by the way, they barely knew lmao), Ariel in becoming human and Sherlock by leaving his life, family & friends behind to live with Liam in New York. They also almost died to achieve this, Sherl from leaping off a goddamn bridge to save Liam and Ariel by her deal with Ursula. IT WORKS, I’M TELLING YOU.

That’s all I have, I was gonna do other characters but I just hit a brick wall with it lmao. (I considered John to be either Tiana or Belle, but I’ll leave that up to you 👀)

If you made it this far thank you for listening to my bullshit lmao.

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #sherlock holmes #william james moriarty #albert james moriarty #louis james moriarty #sebastian moran #james bonde #fred porlock #mycroft holmes #sherliam

122 notes · View notes

himegureisu · 1 month

Text

1 | the Woman

Summary: Mrs. Mycroft Holmes. Yes. You. Most people didn't know you existed. In these years, that's about to change.

A/N: This is the new version. This can be read as a gender-neutral person. However, the pairing remains Mycroft Holmes/Female Reader throughout the story. Season 1 scenes are entirely domestic Mycroft Holmes x Reader. This scene begins at home after Season 1 Episode 1: A Study in Pink. I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: There are innuendos at the end of every chapter.

Gaining weight again?

Losing it, in fact.

—————————— 🔎——————————

His stomach was pudgy. It has always been that way since he was a child. Any and every attempt at losing it was an arduous road he refused to take any longer other than the occasional jog on a treadmill at your insistence.

Could he lose it? Yes, however, the effort required to do so was significant in that he would rather accomplish several tasks of import than appease the opinion of others and his vanity.

“Mycroft?”

Your soft inquiring voice breaks through his thoughts. His attention redirected, from the mirror to the sight of you by the threshold from the hall.

“What are you doing in front of the mirror?” you ask, walking over, to stand by his side.

“Sherlock has mocked my weight again,” he sighed, patting the fat on his stomach. “I should be used to it by now, however…”

It was a sore spot from time immemorial. One his brother didn’t hesitate to pick on almost every time they saw each other.

“Are you not bothered by my weight?” he asks, you shake your head: a no, as he faces you, “Truly?”

“Mycroft Holmes, I didn’t care about your weight before we married. I certainly do not care for it much now,” you say as you cup your hands on his cheeks in all seriousness, “I’d rather you eat and overindulge in meals than skip them. It means you’re taking care of yourself. Your job is already stressful and Sherlock being reckless is the literal cherry on top. If partaking in an extra slice of cake can soothe your frayed nerves, then be my guest. However, do save a piece for me, and then we’ll find a way to lose the calories together.“

Your hands trail from his face to his body, noting every curve and contour to memory. He may not be society’s ideal man but you love every part of him. Even those parts that he hates.

“You are incomparable, my dear.” his voice wavered, as he leaned down to rest his forehead on yours. “Thank you,”

“I love you just the way you are, Mycroft,” you whispered, brushing a quick gentle kiss on his lips, “Don’t you ever doubt that,”

To Mycroft, your words were the only ones that truly mattered. Your acceptance and love are a balm to his insecurities and fears. He never thought that he’d ever experience such unconditional love from anyone except his parents. However, it seems that the world has granted him the privilege of being loved by you.

“Would you like to join me in our bedroom, my dear?” he suggested. His eyes twinkled mischievously in the evening light. “I thought of a way to lose those calories,”

“Oh, do tell then,”

“I’d rather show,”

NEXT >>

#mycroft holmes #bbc mycroft #bbc mycroft holmes #mycroft holmes x reader #mycroft x reader #bbc sherlock #xreader #mycroft holmes x you #mycroft x you #bbc mycroft holmes x you #bbc mycroft x you

56 notes · View notes

inevitably-johnlocked · 2 months

Note

hi my dearest

any fics that are based on a movie? or good alternative meeting ones?

Hi Lovely!

I've got a TONNE of Movie-inspired fics! What a grand excuse to post the next part of my Crossovers list! Hope you enjoy all of these!! I've also gone through my MFL list to pad out this list a bit more, hee hee.

If anyone has some more to add that isn't on one of my numerous movie / TV-related lists, please do!

And finally, I actually ALSO had WiPs on this list but I had to remove them because Tumblr has a link limit, so if you guys want me to post a separate 2.5 list with those on it, just let me know! I've about 20 MORE fics I could add here :P

MOVIE / BOOK / TV CROSSOVERS and FUSIONS Pt 2

See also:

Crossovers & Fusions Pt 1

Crossovers & Fusions Pt 1.5 (MFL)

Fairy Tales and Fantasy

TV, Movies, and Books AU (Fantasy Pt. 2)

Wonderful Life AU

Sherlock / Hannibal Crossovers

Science Fiction / Fantasy

Urban / Modern Fantasy

Disney-esque Fics

Moulin Rouge AU

TV Show AU

Sherlock x Good Omens Crossovers (Updated Apr 2022)

Hogwarts / Wizarding World AU (MFLs) (Potterlock)

BOOKMARKS

In The End by whitchry9 (K+, 9,677 w., 17 Ch. || Memento Fusion || Amnesia, Growing Old, Hurt / Comfort, Friendship, Heavy Angst) – When a brain injury leaves Sherlock unable to make new memories, John wonders how Sherlock will cope, and what it will mean for The Work and their life. Because after all, how can you live if you can't feel time passing?

Domestic Matters by ohlooktheresabee (M, 29,404 w., 6 Ch. || Fantasy AU || First Meetings, Developing Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Domestic Fluff, BAMF Sherlock, BAMF John, Idiots in Love, Misunderstandings, Supernatural Elements, Implied / Referenced Child Abuse, Elf Sherlock, Human/Elf Politics, Emotional Abuse, Possessive Sherlock, Anxious Sherlock, Buddy Greg) – All flatmates need to work out domestic matters between them - who does the dishes, who takes out the rubbish, how often does the carpet need to be vacuumed - these are part and parcel of sharing a living space together. However, when you’re an elf and your flatmate is going to be a human you just met, this rather complicates things…Very loosely inspired by 'The Elves and The Shoemaker' by The Brothers Grimm.

Out There by DiscordantWords (T, 131,695 w., 10 Ch. || X-Files Fusion || Past Soldier John, Panic Attacks, POV Alternating Present Tense, Anxious John, Canon Adjacent, Deductions, Obsessive Sherlock,, Travelling, Sherlock’s Family, Jealous Sherlock, Mind Palace John, Awkward Flirting, Batting Cage, Kidnapped/Abducted John, Semi-Reverse Reichenbach, Worried/Anxious Sherlock, Hospital, Slow Burn, UST, Case Fic, Government Conspiracy, Aliens, UFOs, Mutants, Mutual Pining, First Kiss, Coma John, Forehead Touching, Hand Holding, Drinking/Bars, Past Jolto) – FBI Special Agent John Watson, medical doctor and army veteran, is assigned to assist eccentric genius Sherlock Holmes with paranormal investigations on the X-Files project.

MARKED FOR LATER

Asteroidea by etothepii (T, 1,769 w., 1 Ch. || His Dark Materials Fusion || Daemon Sherlock) – In the pocket of his trousers, next to his phone, Mycroft carries the standard-issue steel capsule meant for protecting arthropod daemons. When people ask about it, he smiles and tells them she's not fond of the light, or of people other than himself. This is a lie. [TRANSLATION: Русский] Part 1 of Asteroidea

Have we met before? by avalanching effect (G, 2,013 w., 1 Ch. || Sherlock and Co. Crossover || Crack / Humour, Holding Hands, Banter, POV John) – "Uhm, we got an anonymous tip about some suspicious activity that would be happening in Regent's park today, thank you anonymous tip giver. It said— actually I don't know what it said, it was sent directly to Sherlock and he won't let me read it."

Rider on the Storm by swabloo (G, 3,715 w., 1 Ch. || Alex Rider Crossover || BAMF John) – Sometimes he thinks about turning to Sherlock and saying, 'look, my name isn't actually John,' and telling him about how he's been living off adrenaline since he was fourteen.

The Unexpected Threat by J_Baillier (T, 4,283 w., 1 Ch. || Military AU / Pacific Rim Fusion || Established Relationship, Medical Conditions, Coronaviruses, Doctor John, Bratty Sherlock, Romance, Science Fiction, Futuristic Medicine, Ghost Drifting AKA Telepathy, Medical Hurt/Comfort, Sexual Healing) – The kaiju are not the only threat to the security and well-being of the staff of PPDC's Chard's Rift base. It's the year 2050, and a coronavirus epidemic sweeping the planet has reached The Azores. Part 4 of the At The Edge of Our Hope

lionheart by dreamweavernyx (G, 4,851 w., 1 Ch. || Harry Potter Crossover || Character Study, Friendship) – Some days, Molly finds her eyes straying to that drawer in her desk, the one holding a slim piece of wood and the memories of a life she's left behind.

Queer Eye: Johnlock Edition by fellshish (T, 5,799 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Queer Eye Fusion || Post S4, Humour, Angst with Happy Ending, Reality TV, First Kiss, Love Confessions) – John is Not Gay, Sherlock is Married to his Work. It’s been years and years, and Molly is fed up with her clueless friends. She nominates John for the new season of Netflix’s ‘Queer Eye’, and asks the Fab Five to not only renew his closet, but drag the man out of it.

Friend by esama (G, 7,909 w., 1 Ch. || Harry Potter Crossover || Character Death, Kid Fic) – Sherlock finds the skull when he's five.

Every Atom of This Summer on My Tongue by 221b_careful_what_you_wish_for (M, 9,524 w., 5 Ch. || 1980’s / Call Me By Your Name Fusion || Summer Romance, Desire, Pining, Angst With Happy Ending, POV Sherlock, Sexual Experimentation, Masturbation, Emotional Sex, Sensuality, 1980s Italy) – While vacationing at his family’s villa on the Italian coast, 18-year-old Sherlock finds himself attracted to John Watson, an older American graduate student working on his first novel. They fall into a passionate affair, desperately wishing their languid afternoons and sultry summer nights would never end.(Inspired by the novel 'Call Me By Your Name.' You don't need to have read the book or seen the film to enjoy this.)

All Is Fine by Iwantthatcoat (T, 11,063 w., 7 Ch. || Zoolander Crossover || Agender / Nonbinary Sherlock, Occasional Transphobic Language) – Sherlock's on a case...undercover at an exclusive fashion show as a model. That's right... he's giving it his All. Pop stars are dying, and there's one common thread...a scarlet thread of murder running through the colourless skein of life, and it's our duty to unravel it, and isolate it, and...make a really nice garment out of it.

Takes Two To Tango by phqyd_roar (E, 12,956 w., 6 Ch. || Whiskey Tango Foxtrot Crossover || Sherlock/Iain & Johnlock || Post S4 Fix It, Jealous John, Whirlwind Romance, Fluff and Angst, Dirty Talk, Bottom Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Alternate Ending) – Just when Sherlock Holmes is beginning to think his relationship with John Watson will never recover from all its ups and downs, he meets Iain MacKelpie, freelance photographer back from Afghanistan, who looks exactly like John Watson.

Better Call Sherlock by Gregorovitch (M, 13,032 w., 4 Ch. || Better Call Saul Crossover || Established Relationship, Case Fic, Legal Drama, Implied Sex, Happy Ending) – Sherlock and John are assigned a case in Albuquerque, New Mexico this time. Shenanigans ensue, with lots of chicanery.

The Adventure of Downton Abbey by PlaidAdder (T, 13,427 w., 1 Ch. || ACD Canon / Downton Abby Crossover || Undercover for a Case, Case Fic) – Desperate to free her husband from prison, Anna Smith Bates tracks down Holmes in the country retreat he shares with Dr. Watson and persuades him to come out of retirement and investigate the death of Vera Bates. Holmes visits Downton Abbey under an assumed identity, with Watson in disguise as his valet. Working together again helps them cope with a recent trauma that severely tested their longstanding relationship--and also allows them to uncover a solution consistent with and yet so much more satisfying than the one used on the actual show.

Scream! by johnwatso (E, 15,250 w., 8 Ch. || Scream Crossover || Post S4, Horror / Slasher, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Case Fic, Minor Character Death, Copycat Killer, Three Garridebs Moment) – An unknown number starts calling Sherlock and asking questions about horror movies. John is pretty sure it's a serial killer.

The Sinking Of The Titanic: Sixty Years Later by flawedamythyst (T, 15,340 w., 1 Ch. || Historical Titanic Fusion || John POV, Deaths) – John Watson is interviewed for a documentary being made for the sixtieth anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic. The story he tells is not the one the interviewer was expecting.

Sanctuary by a_different_equation (E, 15,437 w., 7 Ch. || Medieval AU / Canterbury Tales Fusion || Blacksmith Sherlock, Guard John, Secret Relationship, Dom Sherlock, Sub John, Porn With Plot, Rimming, Blow Jobs, Anal, BAMF Female Characters) – England, 1230: John Watson is an ex-soldier who works as the head of the guards in his hometown. Sherlock Holmes, the local blacksmith, is his secret.

Over Cloud and Under Cloud by khorazir (T, 16,477 w., 3 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Cabin Pressure Crossover || Post-TRF, Angst, Humour, Pre-Slash, Pining) – After his Fall, Sherlock travels the world to destroy what remains of James Moriarty's criminal empire. When things don't go according to plan and he finds himself in desperate need of a discreet means of travel, cue MJN Air... Part 1 of the Over/Under series

The Hopes and Fears of all the Years by Joaquinbumblebee24 (T, 16,567 w., 11 Ch. || House MD Crossover || UAP Divergence, Illness, Medical Inaccuracies, Alternating POVs, POV House, POV John, Medical Professionals, Developing Relationship, Flashbacks, Sports References, Neurology/Neuroscience) – 27 years ago, House became the father of Sherlock Holmes. 27 years later, every father's worst nightmare came true when Sherlock's roommate, John Watson, called in the middle of the night to inform House that his son was ill.

It's About Time, Don't You Think by WaywardSpark (M, 17,113 w., 4 Ch. || About Time Fusion || Time Traveller John, Romantic Comedy, Magical Realism, Bars and Pubs, Pining John, Background Case) – If you were to ask Sherlock Holmes where he and John Watson met for the first time, he would confidently be able to tell you Lab room 2, St Bart's Hospital, London, 29th of January 2010 at 11:47 in the morning. For John Watson, it's an entirely different story.

In Arduis Fidelis by Raliena (T, 18,628 w., 10 Ch. || GI Joe Crossover || Captivity, Surgery, BAMF John, John “Three Continents” Watson, POV John Watson, Prisoner of War, Cobra - Freeform, soldier John, John-centric, Doctor John Watson, John is a Very Good Doctor, Violence) – Once upon a time John was a Soldier and a Doctor. And he was known John or Doc or Doctor. But things change. And he *earned* his right to the name “Three Continents Watson”. Part 1 of the Three Continents Watson series

Hinder-Them Holmes by breathesomeday (T, 19,485 w., 1 Ch. || Wreck-It Ralph Fusion / Gaming AU || Angst, Fluff) – “My name is Sherlock Holmes and I’m a bad guy.”

Until the End of my Days by chervilspotatoes (M, 20,272 w., 20 Ch. || Merlin Crossover / Medieval Magical AU || Sorcerer Sherlock, Prince John, Pining Sherlock, Developing Relationship, Teenlock, Servant Sherlock, BAMF Sherlock, BAMF John, Heroic Sherlock, Misunderstandings, Alternating POV, Protective Greg, Love Confessions, Soul Bond / Mates, Happy Ending) – Sherlock learns to embrace his destiny as Prince John's protector, but soon realizes he is in love with the unavailable prince. However, this knowledge does not stop him from staying by John's side as John becomes king and faces unforeseen circumstances.

If I had a boat I would sail to you by Sunnyrea (E, 20,576 w., 1 Ch. || Titanic Fusion) – John is completely different and special from anyone Sherlock would normally come in contact with - no talk of money and hidden family secrets, no surface, superfluous conversations and blatant lies. John was the most honest person in less than five minutes Sherlock has ever met. He wants to know everything else there is to know about John Watson.

I wake up and I wake up and you're still dead by thisprettywren (M, 24,226 w., 1 Ch. || Memento Fusion AU || Amnesia, Timelines, Case Fic) – Sherlock isn't the only one who's lost.

Lost At Sea by orphan_account (T, 24,445 w., 11 Ch. || Titanic Crossover || Johnlock and Adlock) – John Watson boards Titanic looking for a new life, free from all those terrible things he's seen and done. Sherlock Holmes boards Titanic reluctant, bound to a woman he does not want. Two souls, bathing in the stars forever, lost at sea.

hurry home by augustbird (E, 25,606 w., 1 Ch. || Skyfall / Bond Fusion || Sherlock as Q, John as 007) – When John is recruited into the MI6 to track down a security leak, he didn’t expect it to get this out of hand. At least he has Sherlock Holmes. Skyfall fusion. Sequel to us against.

The Man in the Crimson Cloak by Aelaer (T, 25,968 w., 6 Ch. || Dr. Strange Crossover || Post-S1 / Post Avengers Endgame, No Johnlock, Action / Adventure, POV Sherlock, Dimension Travel, BAMF Strange, BAMF Sherlock, Bratty Sherlock) – Sherlock’s terribly ordinary and outright dull day turns into something well beyond his wildest dreams when a most interesting stranger enters his flat. Part 3 of the Adventures Throughout the Multiverse series

A Visit To The Doctor by flawedamythyst (T, 28,318 w., 1 Ch. || ACD/BBC Crossover || Time Travel, Hollywood Physics) – When Watson gets ill, Holmes goes to extraordinary lengths to get him well again.

The Unsinkable Ship by drjohnhwatson (NR, 36,758 w., 5 Ch. || ACD Canon Holmes Titanic Fusion || Retirement, Established Relationship, Historical References) – Holmes and Watson board Titanic for her maiden voyage.

Keeping It Loki by AtlinMerrick (E, 39,016 w., 11 Ch. || MCU Crossover || Loki/Sherlock and Johnlock, Oral Sex, Banter, Storytelling, Dream Sex, Wet Dream, Anal, Sexy Talk, Domestics) – Look, it was a dream god damn it. It was just a sexy, toe-curling, kinky, cock-hardening, *wet* dream. Yet it didn't matter how many times John told Sherlock that, Sherlock got all red-faced and stalked out of the sitting room, and then stalked back with his mouth open but stalked off again without actually saying anything. Yes, well John Watson knew precisely what to do about that.

A Lost Heart - An Empty Home by Raliena (T, 41,183 w., 21 Ch. || GI Joe Fusion || TEH / Post-TFP, Mystery, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Three Continents Watson, Violence, BAMF John, Soldier John, Sherlock-centric) – Nearly three years have passed since Sherlock jumped, and now he comes home to finish what he started. He wants to finish with John by his side. But that may not be as simple as he first thought. Part 3 of Three Continents Watson

The Baker Street House by qalets (T, 42,046 w., 13 Ch. || Lake House Fusion || Mollstrade, Alternate Timelines, Time Travel, Epistolary, Case Fic, Slow Burn, Pining, Mutual Pining, Emotional Constipation, London) – At the end of his tenancy in a flat in Baker Street Dr John Watson starts a tentative correspondence with the previous tenant: a Mr Sherlock Holmes. But Sherlock only just moved in. Together, while two years apart, they begin to fall for each other through letters, while life, and cases, continue around them.

Here We Go Again by disfictional (E, 46,687 w., 10 Ch. || Mama Mia-Inspired Fusion || Post-S4, Older Rosie, Alternating POV, Reunion, Retirement, Case Fic, Mutual Pining, Coming Out, Parentlock, Weddings, Fluff and Angst) – Ransacking some old trunks, Rosie Watson finds her father's old journal filled with remnants of a blog he used to keep about his association with Sherlock Holmes. In an attempt to meet the man who had a profound impact on her early years, Rosie invites the long-estranged detective to her wedding under false pretences.

Whirlwind by DiscordantWords (M, 50,640 w., 10 Ch. || WiP || Twister Fusion || Bad Weather, Storm Chasing, Post Break Up, Reunions, Non-Linear Narrative, Mutual Pining, Angst with Happy Ending) – New job, new truck, new fiancée... John Watson, former storm chaser, has settled into a comfortable new life. There's only one problem: John's already married. And the the divorce papers he's been sending to his former partner, Sherlock Holmes, keep going missing. So with his fiancée Mary by his side, John reluctantly makes a trip to see him in the hopes of finalizing their divorce once and for all. But John arrives in the midst of a very active storm season, and Sherlock very clearly hasn’t let go of the past. Against his better judgement, John finds himself talked into riding along after one last storm.

The Lost Duke by SelfSameLine (M, 51,395 w., 13 Ch. || Anastasia Fusion || Romance, Kidlock, Royalty, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers) – "We’re looking for him.” John pointed up the stairs to the portrait hanging proudly against the wall. It was blackened and torn in places, but two faces, one of a pretty woman and one of a dark haired boy remained unmarred, staring blankly out into the night.The boy’s eyebrows knitted together. “A royal?” Lestrade huffed. “The lost duke, yes. Haven’t you heard of him?”

If He Be Worthy by AndyHood (T, 58,110 w, 18 Ch. || Avengers / MCU Crossover || Friendship, Adventure) – In the aftermath of the alien invasion of London, Coulson's team is set out to retrieve a man, a man that had picked up Thor's hammer. John Watson hadn't meant to get mixed up in the alien invasion only intending to repay a favor. He had only been surveying the damage done by the aliens when he had tripped on a hammer, he didn't know the significance of being able to pick it up.

Il Traviato by kedgeree (E, 68,809 w., 18 Ch. || Pretty Woman Fusion || Romance, Prostitution, Case Fic, False Identity, First Kiss/Time) – A down-on-his-luck ex-soldier meets a wealthy businessman in need of a short-term companion. [TRANSLATION: 中文-普通话國語]

Real Time by Callie4180 (T, 74,935 w., 25 Ch. || 24 Fusion || Creepy Moriarty, Violence, BAMF Mrs Hudson, Suggestions of Torture, Biochemist Sherlock, Bodyguard John) – The world is under the threat of a biological weapon, and a brilliant biochemist needs protection. His own life is a mess, and he doesn't know who he can trust. He's going to have to be at his best every moment if he's going to survive. This is going to be the longest day of John Watson's life.

So Grant Us All a Change of Heart by ArwaMachine (E, 83,276 w., 5 Ch. || Christmas Carol Fusion || T6T Compliant, Pining, Angst with Happy Ending, Smut, Temporary Character Death, Drug Use / Reference, Suicide) – It’s Christmastime at Baker Street, but things are far from festive. Mary is dead, John and Sherlock’s friendship is all but ruined, and Sherlock has become a right dick about everything. More convinced than ever that sentiment is objectively useless, Sherlock needs a little paranormal intervention to see the error of his ways or else run the risk of losing all that is important to him.

I Am a Camera by mom2boys (T, 89,929 w., 36 Ch. || Enola Holmes Crossover || Developing Relationship, WW2 / Spanish Civil War, Weimar Germany, Period-Typical Homophobia, Nazi Germany, Fascism, Promiscuity, Espionage, BAMF John, Closeted John, Angst With Happy Ending) – So begins John H. Watson's Great Work. It is the story of two men who meet just before the tide of war and fascism sweeps across Europe and the world. Circumstances will separate them, but the arc of history is long and bends towards love.

The Hollow Ones by antietamfalls (M, 100,244 w., 23 Ch. || Walking Dead Fusion || Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Slow Build, Emotional Constipation, Protective John, Hurt/Comfort) – The dead walk. Mangled corpses of the deceased rise and mindlessly feast upon the flesh of the living. John wakes up, alone and confused, into the remnants of a city gone mad. He will search for answers. He will find Sherlock at any cost. And he will learn that the living are far more dangerous than the dead.

Metamorphosis by KtwoNtwo (T, 101,597 w., 29 w., || James Bond / Skyfall Fusion / Werewolf AU || Post-Skyfall, Werewolf Bond, Werewolf Q, Case Fic, Slow Build, Q is a Holmes) – “Other duties as assigned” takes on a whole new meaning when James Bond returns from a mission and finds himself juggling his 00 status, preternatural politics and having to act as pack leader to a newly created werewolf. Part 1 of The Government Pack

Keep the Car Running by earlgreytea68 (M, 125,124 w., 31 Ch. || Inception Fusion || Tags to Be Added) – If Mycroft Holmes lived in a world where people could steal information from the subconsciouses of others, tell me he wouldn't be all over that when he had Moriarty in custody. Part 1 of KtCR

The Dragon's Spell Series by ImpossibleElement (M, 280,698 w. across 4 works || Descendants Fusion || Alternating POV, Heroes & Villains, Humour, Romance, Mystery, Drama, Slow Burn, Teenlock, Dragons, Dubious Sherlock) – In a world where magic is obsolete and the villains have been trapped inside an island without it; one young man will have a chance to change everything for himself and everyone else. For better or for worse. Definitely for worse.

Wild About Harry Series by PlaidAdder (T, 397,189 w. across 9 works || Doctor Who Crossover || Harry/Clara and Johnlock, Post-TRF, Canon Compliant, Dancing, Case Fics, Morning After, Teamwork, Drug Use, , Christmas, Alcoholism, Fix It Fics, Alternating POVs, Established Relationships) – This started as a post-Reichenbach fic and turned into a series in which Harry Watson is a repeating character. John and Sherlock get together in the first story ("Empty Houses") and thereafter it's either developing relationship or established relationship. Most of this is case fic and long, but there are a few shorter ones.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #crossovers and fusion fics #crossover fics #fusion fics #long post #marked for later fics

72 notes · View notes

frost-queen · 10 months

Text

Outmatched //Part 9 (Reader!Holmes x Anthony Bridgerton)

Forever tag: @missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve,

@queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly, @denkisclown, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @october-leaves, @m-rae23,@kazbekkarluvbot, @freyathehuntress,

@kneelforloki, @mamaj-right, @queensgirl718, @abaker74, @thescooby-gang, @readers-posts, @randomstory56, @aureolinb, @fictional-hooman,

@nyenye, @loliakeoghan23, @heyheyheyggg, @aizawash0e, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @novas-dreamworld, @preciousbabypeter, @magical-spit, @heyheyheyggg, studioreader, @wonderlandfandomkingdom

Summary: When old habits resurface has it doomed everything? Perhaps one is never meant to touch love? Appearing as none can handle the task on their own, a set of schemes have come into place. Read part 1 & part 2 & part 3 & part 4 & part 5 & part 6 & part 7 & part 8 & part 10

Your hands pulled instantly away from him, stumbling a bit back. Slightly shaking your head you saw how Lord Hill’s face stood with confusion. – “Miss Y/n.” – Lord Hill started while you bumped with your back to someone else. You slightly turned, holding your hand up as an apology. Lord Hill kept coming closer, offering you his hand again. No more. Fully turning around you took a run for it. Pushing a way through the crowd. Sherlock grabbed Mycroft by the suit, pulling him along. – “Go that way round!” – he ordered pushing his brother in a direction.

“Wha… Sherlock?” – Mycroft said bumping against a man. Sherlock pointed firm in the direction he needed to go. – “Mycroft!” – Sherlock rose his voice, pointing even firmer. Mycroft nodded shakily, pushing his way through. – “Out of the way!” – he ordered separating a couple to get through. Sherlock went his way, squeezing through the crowd to get to you before you’d head out. You were making your escape to the outdoors.

A flash of lighting making you freeze for a second. Looking over your shoulder, you caught a glimpse of Lord Hill. Shaking your head, you didn’t want to be tangled up in this. You pushed through, making your way across. If it rained it didn’t matter. If lightning struck you, it might end your agony and you’d be blissful about it. This was the very reason you detested the social season.

If you could’ve gone back in time, you would’ve prevented your younger self from agreeing on behalf of your brother. No matter how much you loved him, you should’ve remained headstrong. If only Mycroft wasn’t so cold hearted. If only he dared himself to be vulnerable, he might find happiness or love. If only Sherlock wasn’t so sophisticated. If only he found pleasure in engaging more with others. If only he wasn’t so complicated talented. He’d might find someone too that could keep him company.

Someone equally matched with his wits and brains. Someone who would understand that he needs time of his own. Finding comfort in it. Security. If only your brothers were better, it wouldn’t have to fall all upon your shoulders. Squeezing yourself through a couple, you were haunted by it all. Tears captive in the corner of your eyes. Vision turning glossy, making you blink rapidly to see clearer. You reached the large, windowed doors leading to the gardens.

Grabbing the handle you opened them. Panting loud as the smell of rain whiffed through the open crack. A firm hand pressed itself onto the glass, shutting the windowed door shut before you could fully open it. Startling you. – “Sherlock let me open this door.” – you called out, fussing at the handle. The hand kept the door from moving.

“I cannot.” – a response came, only it didn’t sound as your brother. Blinking surprised you slowly turned your head to the side. Eyes widening at Lord Anthony Bridgerton. His breathing loud, staring rather serious at you. – “My lord…” – you said breathless, caught in his gaze. He took a step closer to you, lowering his hand onto the handle. His intense gaze taking a hold of you. – “Do not do this…” – he whispered, gaze lowering onto you, resting briefly on your lips.

You lifted your chin up, taking a stance of stubborn proudness. – “Why not? What concern am I to you?” – you asked him. His gaze flashing up to your eyes once more. He stared bewildered at you, flung back to his nightmares. The nightmares he had after he had found you in the rain all alone. Sprained ankle. Broken perhaps he thought at the point. The smell of rain so distinct in his mind. The terror swirling around him as he feared the worst. His hand trembled gripped on the handle.

He opened his mouth wanting to rant out words, not the kindest when his pride held him back. He sucked in a breath, turning his head, fighting every urge to scold you. Scold you for being so reckless and taunting his heart. For it can only take so much. – “Am I to expect an answer or do you lack the capacity to be honest with yourself?” – you responded with a little bit of disrespect. Anthony tensed his jaw, opening the door. The cold breeze and sound of rain welcoming.

“Do proceed then!” – he answered loudly, gesturing at the outdoors. – “Forget I was ever caring.” – he outed. – “If you might overlook your own pride, you might have noticed it.” – he ended with a sarcastic smile. – “Caring?” – you said in disbelieve. – “Forgive me my lord but am I to mistake insults for care?” – you replied full of wit back. – “If I am not mistaken you were the first to insult me!” – he reminded you off. – “Only because you were conceited.” – You spoke back, shutting the windowed door to keep the cold out.

Anthony puffed loud. – “Conceited!” – he replied at the brink of losing his mind. – “Take a look in the mirror Miss Y/n.” – he said coldly moving his head up and down on you. You were shocked. – “Thank you for explaining so fully!” – you said back. Anthony and you turned away from each other. Facing away from him, you looked to the side, peeking over your shoulder. A sadness falling over you.

How you didn’t mean all that, but your pride was one to stand in the way. Anthony looked up, slowly lowering his head, gaze casted down. Pride what a vicious thing. If only you could see how much he truly cared. If only he was brave enough to say it. He took in a deep breath, almost thinking about apologizing. Shaking his head, he ignored the matter of his own feelings. He took off, leaving you alone.

Moving your arms over each other, you sulked in pity. – “Y/n!” – lifting your head a bit up, you saw your brothers come near. Sherlock wrapped his arms tight around you. – “You are alright.” – he said out of breath. – “For a moment we thought you were going to do something foolish.” – Mycroft pitched in. – “Perhaps I already did.” – you answered looking pitiful at the ground. – “Sister?” – Sherlock said tilting your chin up for you to look at him. He wanted to look at you. To understand what you meant.

He could always read so much in your eyes; they were like an open book to him. You casted your head aside, not wanting to look at him. – “I messed up…” – you said, lip quivering. A loud sob emerged from inside you as your face fell into your hands. Quietly crying at your own demise. Sherlock wrapped an arm around you, soothing you. Mycroft looked uneasy around. Seeing how you caught some attention of unwanted see-ers. Mycroft snapped his finger at Sherlock for attention.

“We leave for home.” – he made clear, stroking his moustache. Sherlock agreed, escorting you out of the ballroom. The carriage ride home was silent. Not one daring to start the conversation. At your return home, father was rather perplex as to why you had returned so early. Mycroft shook his head, letting him know to drop the matter.

You took the stairs up without a word. Both your brothers giving each other a concerning look. In your nightwear you sat by the window, silk shawl around your arms for comfort. Your mothers silk shawl. There was a gentle knock on the door. – “Go away.” – you said softly not in the mood for any company, yet the door opened anyways. – “You know how stubborn I am.” – Mycroft said popping his head in. – “A simple go away doesn’t do the matter.” – he added with a chuckle, closing the door behind him. You were a bit surprised to find Mycroft entering your room.

It was out of character. If you expected anyone to enter it would be father…or Sherlock, but never Mycroft. He took in a deep breath, watching your room from afar. Moving a bit up, you made room for your brother to come and sit down. He walked over, sitting down by your side. He stared out of the window for a moment. Setting his words right as everything was always calculated with him. Each and every word with precision.

When he looked at you, the words lingering on his tongue vanished into thin air at the sight of mother’s shawl. He smiled saddened, reaching out to feel the fabric on his fingers. – “Mother’s shawl.” – he said brought back to so many sweet memories with her. Despite being a difficult child to show affection, he did very much love her. You smiled faintly back at him. Mycroft exhaled deep, looking up to the ceiling. Whatever pre-calculated words he had in his mind were gone.

“What happened?” – he asked thinking of how mother would approach this. You looked with tears in your eyes at him, trying to keep smiling. He noticed how close you were to breaking apart. – “Let us say I am my worst own enemy.” – you told him doing your very best not to cry. Mycroft took a deep breath, moving his arm around you. Pulling you closer so that you could lay your head on his shoulder.

“That indeed we are.” – he responded, rubbing his jaw against your hair. The door opened slightly revealing a saddened Sherlock. Mycroft sighed loud, waving him over. Sherlock shut the door behind him, coming over. He sat down on the other side of Mycroft. Sherlock moved his arms around Mycroft and so on around you as well.

“We are a broken family… aren’t we?” – you asked staring in front of you. Mycroft looked up, laying his other arm over Sherlock. All too afraid to answer the question, but knowing deep down it might be true. Outside the rain clattered against the window, washing away any stains.

The next morning you were playing chess with Sherlock. – “It is your turn.” – you said looking up to your brother standing with his back to you. Thinking. He hummed confused, turning his posture. He barely glanced at the board as he made his move, taking a pawn of you. He then returned to his brooding. You observed the board closely, thinking of every possible way. If you did this, he might do that. Biting your lip, you weren’t sure what next move you should use. – “Try your horse.” – Sherlock said without looking. – “I can think for myself.” – you answered bothered.

Yet you took the horse, setting it down. – “What are you even thinking off? Your turn.” – you said. Sherlock approached the board once more moving his tower side-ways. – “Your turn.” – he answered smirking. You sighed loud when he stepped away once more. You were observing the board once more, thinking off what to do next. – “You might want to keep an eye on your king.” – you heard him say, annoying you. You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. – “Then simply play chess with yourself!” – you announced.

It was after all kind of what he was doing already. Sherlock sighed once, pulling his chair back to sit down. – “You think too little.” – he told you, moving your pawn in your turn. – “You too much.” – you responded as he moved his queen across the board. – “Check.” – he called out pleasantly. You got up, scraping your chair back over the floor. – “Good the game is finished then!” – you responded. – “Far from sister, you can still…” – Sherlock answered but you wouldn’t have ears for it.

Anthony sighed deep sitting rather lowly in his armchair. Sulking in his own misery. Violet was watching him while drinking her tea. Anthony sighed again as she couldn’t take it anymore. She set her cup of tea down, getting up. She gave a kick against his legs for him to sit up straighter. Anthony obeyed, sitting up straighter with confusion. – “I think you’ve wallowed in self-pity enough now Anthony!” – she called out. – “I have not!” – he answered rather childish. – “That is enough!” – Violet shouted, losing her temper. – “I am going to be very clear with you Anthony and I want you to listen!” – Violet spoke loudly making Benedict press his lips together in delight.

Eloise tapped him on the shoulder, coming to sit near him. – “Mother is about to scold Anthony.” – Benedict whispered to her. – “Now that is a sight I would love to see.” – she responded in a hushed tone. – “If you do not start acting up right now, you will lose all your chances at happiness.” – her firm gaze staring back at him. Her expression softened upon seeing him turn inwards. – “You deserve to be happy… do not deny yourself from it. Please for your dear mama…” – Violet came sitting on the edge of the armchair, wrapping an arm around him.

“You are good enough… but you must fight for it Anthony… nothing comes when you stand and wait. You must find the courage to speak up and fight for what you love, for that is true bravery.” – Anthony looked up to her with tears in his eyes, nodding. They hugged as Benedict and Eloise were rather unsatisfied. – “Dissapointing.” – Eloise puffed out.

The wind rippled over the water in the pond. Leaves gently dancing with the flow of the breeze. You stood by the pond admiring the waterlilies. A frog hopped on a leaf making you smile. Hearing some rumor behind you, you turned to look. By the trees stood Anthony Bridgerton. He noticed you as well, making you both look ashamed away. – “Go on then.” – Sherlock whispered to himself from afar. – “Go to him sister.” – he muttered out, gesturing with a little push. – “Anthony… do so…” – Violet said standing not far from Sherlock.

He hadn’t noticed her yet, too focused on you. – “Yes… yes… good sister.” – he mumbled to himself seeing you take slight advantages into approaching him. – “Good Anthony… now go.” – Violet spoke urging her son from afar to do so. Sherlock and Violet watched how both of you attempted to come near yet given up. Shaking your heads, you both turned away, dismissing the matter. Sherlock groaned loud in frustration.

Violet sighing deep. It was then that they acknowledged each other. Slowly turning to each other. Violet came nearer as did Sherlock. – “It appears Lord Holmes… we’ll have to assist a bit in the matter.” – she told him. – “It appears so Lady Bridgerton.” – Sherlock responded. Violet sighed. – “It won’t be easy… my son…” – she sighed again. – “My sister too…” – he answered with a sigh of his own.

Both looked at each other and laughed. Sherlock offered her his arm as she took it. – “Say Lady Bridgerton, what schemes do you have in mind?” – he asked. Violet smiled delighted. – “I have plenty of idea’s to force the opportunity on those two.” – she told him. – “Good.” – Sherlock responded. – “For I am counting on this union formed by love.” – Sherlock continued.

“It is so obvious.” – Violet said as Sherlock accompanied her on a stroll. – “It appears the only two unable to see the love for one another are themselves.” – Sherlock nodded agreeing firmly. – “Shall we begin planning?” – Sherlock proposed as it appears the only way to bring you closer is by the hand of a gentle assistance.

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

Read more of my fic’s on my Masterlists!

177 notes · View notes

freckles-things · 1 year

Text

Stolen Love // BBC Sherlock

Summary: Not having seen your boyfriend for some days, you head over to his flat with Chinese take away and left with a broken heart. [Happy ending]

Requested by: @talialea05 (I hope it is what you had in mind)

Pairing: BBC Sherlock x fem!reader

Warnings: broken heart, complicated relationships, subject of cheating, swearing

---

Sherlock and Y/N had been dating for a few months now. Both of you hadn’t really been looking for a relationship, especially Sherlock, but here you were. Sherlock had struggled with his feelings at first, not being used to being ruled by emotions. He too had accepted it in the end, and he had to admit that he enjoyed being with you quite a lot. John also repeatedly told him, both of you really, that the relationship had changed Sherlock for the better. Not that he needed changing, in your opinion. Yes, he was direct and brash and downright rude sometimes, but never intentionally cruel. He cared about people and justice and could be gentle and soft if he wanted to be.

Your relationship so far had consisted of ups and downs, just like any other one. At the moment you definitely were in a down-phase. You hadn’t seen Sherlock in days, and he had neither answered your calls nor your texts. You had texted John, who told you that they currently were working on a demanding and top-secret case brought to them by Mycroft. There had been a few times when Sherlock had been so focused on a case that he had forgotten you during the day. Back then, he had at least texted you a few times a day, whenever there was a short lull in his work, letting you know that he was still busy, and he had paid attention to make sure that you would see each other every other day. Yes, those dates had often consisted of you helping with the case or relaxing at Baker Street while Sherlock was sifting through evidence trying to connect clues, but that had been more than alright with you. You had often spent the evenings on the couch reading or telling Sherlock about the newest things happening in your life, him listening and commenting while he was jotting things down or looking things up. You had been content, you knew what kind of man he was before you had entered a relationship with him. You didn’t expect him to change. And you didn’t want him to. You enjoyed watching him work far too much for that.

Now, after nearly a week, you yearned to see him, even if it was just for a few minutes. You had texted John, asking if there were at the flat, which he confirmed. Buying some dinner at the Chinese restaurant you three preferred, you were looking forward to having dinner with both of them. Even if Sherlock would be preoccupied, John never failed to entertain you with his sarcastic comments.

Finally reaching 221 Baker Street, you knocked on the door waiting for Mrs. Hudson to answer you, which she did promptly. She hugged you, as always, and commented on how good it was to see you again. After a quick chat you made your way upstairs to Sherlock’s flat. You opened the door not bothering to knock, taking a few steps into the flat before freezing.

Sherlock and John weren’t alone. A woman was sitting in Sherlock’s armchair. She was gorgeous, almost flawless and seemed to be quite content in the situation. What caught your attention though, was the fact that she was wearing Sherlock’s robe. And if anything, Sherlock was quite peculiar over his robe. Even you weren’t allowed to wear it. That woman was currently wrapped up in it. Your mind drew a blank trying to explain the situation. Maybe she’d been drenched in something? But even then, they had towels and could have lent her a shirt and a pair of pants.

You put down the takeaway and took a few more steps towards the living room, listening to the conversation they were currently having.

“Well handsome, I’m not sure that plan will work. They might be too dazzled by those cheekbones”, the woman said lowly, leaning forward so her cleavage was on full display. You noticed Sherlock shifting slightly, crossing his legs.

“The likelihood of that happening is ridiculously low. We might as well go on with the current plan, as you well know.” His voice was the same as always, not betraying a single emotion. The woman hummed in agreement.

“You know, Mr. Holmes. I always liked detective stories. And detectives.” By now she was leaning even farther towards Sherlock, her hand wandering over the ankle of the crossed over leg, caressing further up his leg. You really didn’t want to see this and most of all you didn’t want to see how your boyfriend didn’t interfere with another woman touching him.

“Consulting Detective. The only one in the world.” You could clearly hear the pride in his voice. Was he trying to impress her?

“Let’s have dinner”, she stated. Even John had noticed that she was flirting and seemingly didn’t seem to care either since he didn’t interject and only made an amused comment over Sherlock’s eating habits.

You felt your stomach drop, taking a few clumsy steps back from the scene in front of you. How neither of them noticed you presence eluded you, but drove home the point of how enraptured your usual very attentive boyfriend was by the woman sitting opposite him. If the woman was part of the important case, it was no wonder that Sherlock hadn’t answered you. She was beautiful, direct, and intelligent and Sherlock was clearly taken by her.

Well then, the relationship wasn’t in a down-phase anymore. It was over. You turned around without announcing your presence, making your way out of the flat and back onto the street, stomping to the next tube station to get home. You felt numb and tried to concentrate on anything but the recent events. If there was one thing that you really didn’t need, it was a breakdown on the tube. Only once the door to your flat closed behind you, did you feel the tears gathering in your eyes and streaming down your face. You had known that Sherlock would sooner or later grow bored of you. He was brilliant, a force to be reckoned with and you were, well, ordinary. You couldn’t always keep up with his thoughts or his logic and preferred a quieter style of life. Of course you would grow to be a bother to him at some point. You just had hoped that this would happen later rather than sooner. And you had hoped that he would have had the decency to end your relationship properly instead of just ignoring you until you got the point.

Growing angry, you fished your phone out of your pocket and sending exactly one text before blocking Sherlock’s number: We’re done. Enjoy dinner.

---

It had taken Sherlock three days to realize that he wasn’t as unaffected by your massage as he had thought.

At first, he hadn’t understood what you meant and ignored the message. That was until both he and John accompanied The Woman to the door, and he spotted the bag of takeaway standing by the door to the living room. You must have been here. How had he not noticed you coming in? Now that he knew, he could smell the heady scent of your perfume lingering in the air. John looked equally surprised when he noticed the food. After The Woman had disappeared, he tried to contact you, but immediately got the message that your number wasn’t available.

“She must have seen Irene flirt with you, Sherlock. And you didn’t quite gave off the impression of being averse to it”, John commented once he understood the situation.

“Flirting?”, Sherlock questioned confusedly. John shook his head and smiled at his cluelessness.

“Quite obviously, Sherlock. I’ve never seen anyone flirt so openly. So, what are you going to do about Y/N?”

“Nothing”, he shrugged. It must have been obvious to you that he hadn’t reciprocated her flirting – at least that was what Sherlock though. And if you couldn’t trust him, then so be it. He had better things to do than to chase after a jealous woman.

“Nothing? Sherlock, you can’t let that poor girl wander around, thinking that you were flirting with other women behind her back.”

“Well, she should know better and trust me.”

“You can be an utter bastard sometimes; do you know that? That girl hasn’t heard from you in a week and comes here with dinner just to see another woman flirting with you. Of course she comes to the wrong conclusion. Look, Sherlock, both of you have bloomed in your relationship. You can’t just let that slip away.” John had grown frustrated by his friend’s blasé attitude. He knew that the two of you hadn’t said it yet, but it had been clear for anybody that the two of you were head over heels in love with each other. He didn’t understand how Sherlock could just let this slip past his grasp.

“I don’t have the time to chase after jealous women, John”, was Sherlock’s clipped response before he disappeared into his bedroom. He didn’t need you after all. He had survived years without a single relationship, so why should he bother. It didn’t make a difference, right?

Well, it did. He had caught himself talking to you on a few different occasions, without you being there. Thankfully, John had been away in those instances, otherwise he wouldn’t have heard the end of it. The one time he had wanted to make tea on his own, and yes, he was perfectly capable of that, the only tea he could find was your favourite. He hadn’t even known that they had it at the flat. Walking the streets of London, every flower shop suddenly seemed to display your favourites and the cake you loved, and would always buy a slice of if you ever saw it, was advertised everywhere. His thoughts were more and more occupied with you, to the point where he couldn’t properly focus on his cases. It was ridiculous, really. He didn’t understand why he was this affected by the situation. Even Gavin had noticed that something was off and had ordered him to rest for a few days before coming back for new cases.

It took him another two days until he decided to try and text you, asking you to talk. The message didn’t go through. So, you had still blocked him. He wasn’t quite sure how to interpret that. Did you want him to reach out so he could try to explain, or did you want to be left alone? He could admit that he wanted to try and tell you what had really happened. A chance to explain the situation you had observed. He had never been good with his feelings, he didn’t always understand them, but after a week and a few not-so-subtle hints from John, he could admit that he missed you. That it hurt that you weren’t there with him. He needed to talk with you. And if he couldn’t reach out like this, then he would have to go and find you.

---

You had spent the last week crying and feeling sorry for yourself. You had predictably heard nothing from Sherlock. Ignoring the voice in your head that reminded you that you had blocked him, you went in search of some chocolate. You were sure that he could reach you if he really wanted to. Wallowing in self pity wasn’t a solution though. You had given yourself the week to cry and be sad about it, all with the clear intention that this would be it and that you would be over him afterwards. Too bad that your heart didn’t quite agree with the plan. No matter how much you wanted to deny it, you couldn’t. You loved Sherlock and your broken heart wouldn’t just go away because you wanted it to. You wanted Sherlock too, but you simply weren’t going to get what you wanted to have.

Grabbing your chocolate and your freshly brewed coffee, you made your way to the living room. Once you had stepped over the threshold, you froze. There was a very familiar figure sitting on your sofa.

“How the fuck did you get in here?” you asked in absolute surprise before you remembered the current situation between you.

“Get out, Sherlock. I don’t want to see you.” You set your things down on the table and waited expectantly for him to move without looking at him. He didn’t though.

“You should change your locks. They were way too easy to pick, didn’t even take me 30 seconds”, his voice sounded the same as always. The deep baritone not giving anything away.

“Get out.” You repeated yourself. How could he even sit there calmly, as if nothing had happened?

“I thought we could talk, Y/N”

“Well, you thought wrong. And now get the hell out of my flat, Sherlock.” He still didn’t budge. How dare he break into your home and then refuse to leave. The audacity made you fume, and you took a deep breath. Exploding at him wouldn’t solve anything.

“Y/N, don’t be unreasonable”, ha admonished. Well, that did it.

“Unreasonable? Who the bloody hell do you think you are to invade my home like this and then disregard my wishes? You’re an arrogant bastard, Sherlock. Leave me alone!” He still didn’t react, which made your anger grow. He was just sitting there and blinking at you. Well, only one solution left then. Without saying anything else you turned around and slipped into your shoes which were standing in the hallway, moving to grab your jacket. You felt absolutely foolish leaving your own flat, but if he wouldn’t leave then you had to. You were just about to grab your keys when a large hand grabbed your wrist.

“Don’t leave, Y/N. Please, let me explain.”

��There’s nothing to explain, Sherlock”, your voice sounded utterly defeated, and you felt Sherlock shift behind you at the sound of it.

“Please, Y/N. Just give me five minutes.” Maybe it was the fact that he had said please two times in a row, a word which he usually never used, or maybe your exhaustion won, but you agreed. Winding your wrist out of his grasp, you moved back to the living room, taking a seat in the armchair and waited until Sherlock had followed.

“Five minutes”, you agreed, waiting for him to begin his explanation while studiously avoiding to look at him or his general direction.

“I didn’t realise she was flirting with me, Y/N.” You couldn’t help the scoff that escaped your lips. That was an utterly ridiculous excuse. Did he honestly expect you to believe that?

“I realise that it sounds like a lame excuse. But I really didn’t notice until John explained it to me. I… I have no experience with relationships. No one ever stuck around long enough for that, none ever has accepted me enough to want to be in a relationship with me. John explained how it must have looked. Me not answering your texts and then the situation with Irene. I swear that there is nothing between us. I didn’t accept her dinner invitation. I never do.” So, obviously there had been more than one invitation. You didn’t know how to feel about this revelation. How long had he worked on the case for that to be possible?

You didn’t quite look at him while saying your piece. There was no response from Sherlock, which made you swallow hard. Taking a deep breath, you prepared to lay your feelings bare in the hopes to get your closure.

“She was flirting with you, Sherlock. She had her hands all over you, touching you and inviting you for dinner. You didn’t say anything, even John didn’t say anything about it. You didn’t even tell me that you were working a case. I got to know that from John. And when I come over with the intention of making your evening a little easier by bringing food, you’re not only sitting across a woman that shamelessly flirts with you, but she was also wearing your bathrobe. The one even I am not allowed to touch because you’ve got some weird attachment to it. What was I supposed to think, Sherlock? You don’t just let other people touch you like that if you’re not interested. And I’ve never seen you letting anyone touch you voluntarily except for John and Mrs. H.“

“I’m not stupid, Sherlock. I knew that one day, sooner or later, you would lose interest in me. You’re brilliant and extraordinary and no one really can keep up with you, least of all I. Why would you be interested in some ordinary person? And that’s alright. I was prepared for that. But I expected you to be honest and to not just string me along for entertainment or some sick form of amusement”, your voice was quiet and wobbled precariously as you tried to hold back your tears.

This however got a response out of the consulting detective. He closed the distance between you with two large steps, kneeling on the floor in front of you and gently grasping your hands before you could even blink. His large hands encased yours and kept on holding them when you tried to wiggle them free.

“Are you sure? I would understand if you’d prefer her over me. She’s beautiful and intelligent.” His well-protected heart broke at your words. How could you think that he would ever want anyone else if he could have you. You were perfect to him. Exactly what he needed and wanted, and he would never give you up.

“Love, I would never do that. If anything, the last week has shown me how much I need you in my life. I missed you, Y/N. I couldn’t think and everything reminded me of you. I don’t want to lose you. I realize that my reaction to Irene Adler wasn’t the best and that I hurt your feelings with the way I behaved. I promise that I will try to do better. My understanding of emotions is minuscule at best, and I cannot promise that I’ll never make a mistake again. But I don’t want Irene Adler. How could I, when I have you in my life?”, he said in the softest voice you’d ever heard from him. He searched for your eyes, and you met them for a split second. It was enough to see the regret on his face and the earnestness with which he promised to do better. It wasn’t quite enough yet.

“I don’t want anyone but you, Y/N. I didn’t answer your texts because I didn’t realise you weren’t there. I talked to you every evening, running through the case. And I didn't give my bathrobe to her, John did. I asked her to put on something else, but John warned me that she would just not wear anything at all. And I didn't want that. And the last week I caught myself talking to you as well, but there was no answer because you weren’t there. I missed the chatter while I was going through the evidence. Graham even sent me home because I couldn’t focus on the case. You make me a better person, Y/N. And I realised that I can’t live without you anymore. You're kind and always see the good in people. Wherever you are, you bring sunshine. And you are more intelligent than you realize, love. Your input on my cases has helped me a great deal and I can’t imagine anyone else I would rather discuss a case with.”

His warm hands framed your face, gently tilting it up a little. Your eyes met and you were mesmerized by the emotions swimming in his usually cold gaze. There were dark shadows under his eyes that proved that he hadn’t slept well in the past few days, despite not having any cases.

“You are beautiful, love. Inside and out. And it pains me that you don’t see it yourself. I will spend the rest of my life proving it if you will have me.” You slowly leaned your forehead against his broad chest, your shoulders drooping in defeat. How on earth were you supposed to resist that man? Maybe your reaction had been a little harsh and you should have waited for an explanation. It might have saved you both from a week full of heartache.

“I’m sorry, too. I might have overreacted when I saw you together and should have given you a chance to explain. I should have trusted you. Maybe we could talk about boundaries and what we expect of each other some time, so we can be on the same page? Will you forgive me?” You practically whispered your words, but you were sure Sherlock picked them up with no effort.

His strong arms wrapped themselves around your back, pulling you even closer to him. His face buried itself against your neck, and soft lips pressed a slow kiss against your jaw.

“Only if you’ll forgive one stupid, self-absorbed detective as well.” His words forced a wet laugh out off you, your hands grabbing onto the front of his coat and taking a deep breath of his well-known scent.

“I don’t think I could stay mad at you, even if I wanted to. I do love you far too much for that.” Once the words had left your mouth, you froze. Neither of you had said the words until now and you hadn’t intended to let them slip out.

Sherlock’s hand moved up to the back of your head, gently moving it so he could see your face again.

“I’m glad to know we’re of one mind then, love”, he whispered against your lips, before closing the small distance between you. You closed your eyes, the stress of the last week lifting off your shoulders as Sherlock kissed you gently.

You stayed in his arms for hours, not wanting to let go. Sherlock didn’t fare any better, pressing your body against his, his mind finally at ease when he felt your weight settle against him. Both of you would undoubtedly make mistakes again, just like everyone else did. But with a relationship built on trust and communication, you would overcome those as well.

-----------

If you spot any mistakes please let me know!

#bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock x reader #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes #sherlock imagine #sherlock x y/n #sherlock x you #sherlock reader insert #tw cheating #tw swearing

789 notes · View notes

girl-next-door-writes · 11 months

Text

You Don't Have To Convince Me

Characters: Mycroft Holmes x reader

Summary: Mycroft’s second year of university is quite eventful, and there is nobody else he would rather have spent it with.

Word Count: 2912 words

Prompt: Fluff. Best friends. Roommates. Blurted out confession. Falling asleep on them.

A/N: @royalydamned and @savvy-devine666 both had similar requests, so I merged them to create this bit of fluff, and it made my heart very happy. This on kinda got away from me if I’m being totally honest and ended up being three times longer than anticipated, so please reblog if you like it.

Placing the last of his boxes onto his bed, Mycroft straightened up and surveyed his new room for the year. This would do nicely. Definitely better than the cramped first year building which was situated outside the college walls. This room was much more what he had thought of when he had first applied to Oxford. The beautiful ornate stonework of the leaden windows which looked out onto the courtyard would provide the perfect light for studying. The simply exquisite fireplace with its original blue tiles could hold a multitude of books on its mantle. He smiled to himself as he spotted the door to his very own ensuite, no more shared bathroom!

The soft knock on his doorframe had him turning his head, his smile only growing when he saw who it was had interrupted him.

“I wasn’t even the highest up on the ballot this year, can you imagine what sort of rooms those guys got?” You asked with a bright smile as you folded your arms across your chest and leaned against the doorframe.

“Well, they most likely are not finding they have to share a vestibule with their neighbour.”

“Oh, yes, because sharing this small space right here, with me, that would make your stunning view almost unbearable.”

“It does take the shine off it somewhat, but I will soldier on.”

“I bet you will. Just letting you know, I’m putting my umbrella stand out here. Feel free to use it.”

“I will, thank you.”

“Right, well, I’m going to unpack a little before dinner. I can’t believe they made the first dinner back a formal one! I’m not even sure which box I’ve shoved my robes in.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched you go, a warmth in his chest that he couldn’t quite explain. He had missed you over the summer, and to find you were now practically roommates gave him high hopes for this year, such a contrast to his last.

The unlikely friendship between the two of you had come about because you had decided it would. His first term at Oxford had been truly miserable; the accommodation was basic, the food even more so, having to share his space with strangers, many of whom had no concept of cleanliness or hygiene, his courses were elementary, although many of his peers appeared to struggle to keep up. Mycroft had found himself as lonely and bored as he had at school, leading him to spend his time alone, something which you had noticed around late October.

He had been sitting in the cloisters, sheltered from the wind as he read, reluctant to return to the halls of residence and the chaos that would bring. You had sat down beside him, not even asked, just sat there. Curiosity eventually got the better of him, and he had looked up only to find you smiling sweetly. You had introduced yourself to him and immediately began talking about the architecture that surrounded you both. The information was rudimentary, obviously what you had picked up from your campus tour, but he found himself hanging on your every word. From that moment on, you seemed to appear by his side, and after a few weeks, Mycroft had found himself seeking you out too. A strange sort of friendship, but it worked. You were his best friend. His best friend who, he had realised over the summer, he was hopelessly in love with.

Spending time with you was so easy. Although you would often offer him an excuse to be in his presence, he had never really needed one. You didn’t have to sell him on spending his time with you. In fact, that was probably one of the only things he never needed convincing of. Just sitting quietly with you as you both read, or as he read and you talked about anything that came to your mind, that was more than enough for Mycroft. He cherished it, and so he knew he would never risk losing you by expressing his growing desire to be more than your best friend.

“MYCROFT! THERE’S A SPIDER!” Your shriek had him shaking his head fondly as he made his way to your room, prepared to save you from the errant arachnid.

Bundled up against the chilly April wind, the two of you wandered through the grounds. The idea had been to get some fresh air. This was an idea that both of you were now regretting as the sky above grew grey, filling with foreboding clouds. So much for the joys of Spring. The thought that it was more likely to snow at this time of year than December entered his mind, but he decided to keep that to himself. Despite the poor weather, he had you all to himself out here and he wanted to hold onto that a little longer.

As you made your way along Addison’s Walk, Mycroft felt the silence between you was rather loaded. That had been happening more often, what had once been a pleasant, peaceful quiet had now become thick with all the things he tried not to let escape him. In an attempt to diffuse the situation, he endeavored to make small talk.

“C.S. Lewis wrote Chanson d’Aventure about this walk.” He said stiffly as he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets in a bid to negate the urge to reach for your hand.

“That knowledge would indeed be more impressive if I didn’t also know about the plaque by the Holywell Ford gate that tells you that. Although you probably have known that fact since you were three.” You teased with a soft smile, glancing up at him as his cheeks flushed slightly.

“Okay, well…” He stopped and looked out over the meadow, eyes searching. “…ah, there. You see those purple flowers over there?”

“The ones that look like drooped tulips?” You asked, moving to his side and following his gaze. For a moment, Mycroft could neither deny nor confirm your question as you had now successfully invaded his personal space, and his brain seemed to lose half its IQ points.

“Erm, yeah. Yeah.” He nodded, no longer looking out at the flowers.

“What about them?” You asked, always interested in whatever fact your friend wanted to impart.

“Oh, erm, they are called Fritillaria meleagris, or snakes head. They are incredibly rare, and they have been growing here in this meadow for over 200 years. If you get up close then you can see they have this beautiful pattern, like the scales of a snake.”

“Hence the name.”

“Yes, rather.” He smiled. You never told him to stop showing off, or that he was boring. You rather seemed to enjoy his breadth of knowledge, even if most would deem it useless.

“Probably best not to pick a whole bunch then.”

“I suspect that might get you into trouble.”

“Well, if I am going to get into trouble, I would want it to be for something much more fun than picking flowers. I mean, they are pretty, but they aren’t my favourites.”

“I am aware.” Mycroft hummed, having committed any and all facts about you to memory.

“I have no idea how you fit it all into that brilliant mind of yours. I swear, when we are old and grey and in a nursing home, you will still be able to tell me what I was wearing the first day we met.” You chuckled, looping your arm through his as you began to walk back towards Buckingham Court.

“Would you not think that strange? Creepy, even? If out of the blue, I told you something like that?” Curiosity and nerves tinged the edge of his voice as the two of you fell into step. He was used to people being repulsed by his manner, his mind, him in general. Yet, here you were, not trying to change him or fix him in any way, just happy with who he was. Still, he couldn’t quiet the noises in his head, the voices of the past telling him he was weird, peculiar, not right.

“I think it’s rather impressive. I mean, to be honest, you could tell me I was wearing almost anything, and I’d probably agree because I have no clue what I was wearing on the day we met. I think you could tell me a different thing each time.” Your laughter hung in the air like a beautiful melody that he longed to cling to.

“Blue denim jeans which were too baggy for you, rolled up at the cuffs, an oversized grey knitted jumper with pink lines across the bottom that hung off your shoulder and showed the white t-shirt you had on underneath, and white trainers with scuffmarks on the toes from where you kick them off. Your hair was in your face, and you had a blue bic biro in your mouth.” The memory was engrained in his mind, the way you had smiled around that pen before removing it from your lips and launching into talking as if you had simply been paused mid conversation.

“See. That sounds like something I would wear but I can’t say for sure you’re right. I’ve just got to trust you, Mycroft Holmes.” You shrugged, totally non-plussed by his revelation, an action that made his heart race. You saw who he really was and didn’t run away screaming, how could he ever find the words to tell you how much you meant to him?

“I still can’t believe you got tickets for this! They are like gold dust.” You grinned at him as you took your seat on the blanket.

“Well, we do get first dibs, I believe that is the term.” Mycroft smiled as he sat beside you, leaving a respectable distance between the two of you, a distance you wasted no time in irradicating.

“I know, but the Magdalen film night is one of the social events of the year! I wanted to come last year but tickets were all gone so fast.”

“And that’s why I ensured we got some this year.” He didn’t feel the need to tell you that he had practically bribed everyone who had any influence to make certain you could join the other students on the lawn and watch a film on a large makeshift screen.

The film wasn’t one Mycroft had any deep desire to watch, but sitting with you, on a blanket on the lawn, as the last warm rays of the summer sun set and gave way to a stelliferous sky, that was something he could tolerate a below par film for. Anything to make you happy. Mycroft had realised that he was much better at compromise, but only when it came to you.

He had to admit, the organization of the event was excellent, and he was glad that he had brought enough cushions to ensure you were comfortable. At some point, he had lost the thread of the film, too distracted by the weight of your body pressed against his as you leaned on him. Your head rested against his shoulder so perfectly it was as if it was molded to be right there and he slowly gave in to the desire to rest his cheek on the top of your head, his eyes fluttering closed as he held his breath.

The evening began to cool, and he found you snuggling into him a little more, seeking out his heat to fight the goosebumps erupting on your bare skin. Shifting slightly, he picked up his discarded jacket and draped it over your shoulders, his fingers lingering on your upper arm before returning to the blanket as a joist to prop you both up. Despite being surrounded by people, this felt incredibly intimate, even more so when you let out a soft, sleepy sigh and laid your head more against his chest.

The film eventually came to an end, but the mixture of fresh air and long days studying had resulted in you dozing off at some point, your arm resting around his waist and nose pressed to his chest. Mycroft was at an absolute loss for what to do, uncertain of the etiquette in such circumstances. He was aware of people noticing his predicament, met with knowing smirks as he fought the urge to tell them that this wasn’t what they thought, desperate to protect your reputation.

Deciding that the only course of action was to wake you, he gently brushed the hair back from your face and leaned down to speak softly.

“Darling, the film has finished.” He tried, but there was no response from you at all. “You really would be much better sleeping in a bed, my dear. I cannot imagine that I am that comfortable.”

“hmmmm.” You sighed softly, nuzzling into him as you stretched a little.

“I would have offered to carry you, but sadly I am unable to carry both you and all the cushions and blanket. A failing, I know, but sadly I am sorely lacking in these situations.”

“You need a hand, mate?” One of the rowing club had wandered over and Mycroft immediately felt even more inadequate. “Your other half seems to be deep in a REM cycle. How about you carry them, and I’ll grab the blanket and stuff?”

“Thank you.” Mycroft managed a tight smile, he did not wish to correct the boys mistake for two reasons, the first was that it sent a heat through him hearing someone else refer to the two of you as a couple, and the second was the concern that if he admitted you were not his, then perhaps this attractive young man would take you from his arms.

As he walked towards your halls, he felt you nuzzle into him, your warm breath fanning across his skin, and just for a second he could have sworn your lips brushed across his neck, an act that almost caused him to drop you. Surely it had been a sleepy accident, not intended. There was no way you could see him as more than a friend. Right?

“I don’t see why we have to move rooms every year. It seems like unnecessary upheaval if you ask me.” You huffed as you sat down heavily on his bed, surveying the many boxes that were stacked around his room.

“Perhaps your new room will be even better than your current one.” Mycroft reasoned, leaning against his desk.

“Not possible. My room this year is perfect. I don’t want to move to Mallory Court. Why can’t we stay right here?” You pouted, your brow furrowing in a way Mycroft couldn’t help but think was adorable. “I mean, I’ve got to lug all my stuff into storage and then all the way to Mallory! At least you get to stay here in Buckingham.”

“I still have to move my things into storage and then back out. One might argue that my moving things is more pointless than you moving things.” He tried to make the situation light even though the thought of residing so far from you twisted his stomach. You had been so close all year and now…

“You’ll come visit me, right?”

“You do realise you are not moving to another city, just another courtyard. It is a five-minute walk at most.” He chuckled.

“Yeah! A whole five minutes!” You said dramatically. “What if I need you?”

“Well, if you need me, then I will be right there. You’ll just have to give me five minutes.”

“Are you sure you need your own room? Can I not convince you to come live in my wardrobe?”

“Darling, as much as the idea of living in a wardrobe is intriguing, we both know just how much you cram into your wardrobe. I fear there is simply not room for me in there as well.”

“You will miss me though, right?” You looked up at him and his knees felt weak as he gripped the edge of the desk. “You won’t go spending all your time with your new neighbours?”

“I will not miss you, because we will still see each other all the time. I promise.” He said softly as you got up and made your way over to him. Your arms wrapped around his middle, and you placed your head on his chest, hugging him in a way that felt familiar and new all at once, despite the increased frequency of such interactions between you.

“God, I love you.” He murmured into your hair. It wasn’t until he felt you stiffen that he realised his inner monologue had escaped his lips. His eyes widened and he looked down to find you looking at him curiously.

“I- Just to clarify, for my own clarification really, were you saying that to God? Because I didn’t think you were a deeply religious person. OR was that about me? And IF it was about me, was it like ‘I love you, like a sister’ or… or was it more like ‘I love you so much that the thought of being parted makes it hard to breathe’?”

His mouth opened and closed a few times, his vast vocabulary failing him at such a crucial juncture. You must have seen something in his eyes though, because you took a deep, determined breath.

“Because, if I am being honest, at the risk of completely fucking this up and you leaving for the summer and never wanting to see me again, I am really hoping it’s the latter, because I think that I have actually been very much in love with you since first year.”

“Really?” he spluttered, not quite believing this was real.

“Shit. I’ve really fucked this up haven’t I? Sorry. Pretend I didn’t just say all that and we can go pack up our rooms and have-“ Your rant was interrupted by Mycroft’s lips pressing against yours.

As far as first kisses go, it wasn’t perfect. Although he was technically aware of how these things were done, his inexperience was very evident, but that didn’t matter in that moment as he felt you melt into him. When you did finally pull back to catch your breath, you both had goofy smiles on your lips.

“It was most certainly the ‘I love you so much I cannot imagine my life without you in it,’ kind of I love you. The ‘I am not sure how much studying I am going to be able to get done next year because all I want to do is kiss you,’ kind of I love you. Just for clarification.” He smirked, earning a light smack to his chest as you chuckled.

“This moment, this one right now, it’s one you will absolutely tell me about in that nursing home. You’d better be adding it to the list.”

“Oh, trust me, my dear, it is forever committed to my memory.” He hummed as you nuzzled his nose before leaning in for another of many kisses.

#Mycroft Holmes #Mycroft Holmes x reader #Mycroft x reader #gndw fic

152 notes · View notes

starr-251 · 4 months

Text

My Yuumori ships and their dynamics:

Sherliam (Sherlock Holmes x William James Moriarty):

Dancing in the kitchen. Baking together. Waking up, grasping at the sheets, searching for one another. Reading books together. Kissing each other's scars. Never acknowledging the dependence. Kissing each other goodbye before work. "Why do you always kiss my left eye?" "It's the part of you I buried on the Thames." "And over the gravestone you built an empire. Your empire."

Alcroft (Albert James Moriarty x Mycroft Holmes):

Knowing smiles over a glass of wine. Sharing paperwork. Late night office meetings. Holding hands in private but not making eye contact in public. Candlelight dinners. Expensive gifts. Flower bouquets every single day. "We should be more careful about this." "We could." "I don't want to." "Me neither. More wine?"

MoranQ (Sebastian Moran x Von Herder):

Chatting about guns. Flirty banter. Tired sighs after a long day. Being each other's safe haven. Guiding each other in a new world. Too much touching when they shouldn't, and no touches when they could. "You're so pretty without the blindfold. You should take it off more." "No one has seen me but you. It should be this way." "Is this what you want?" "No one can stomach me but you."

Loucroft (Louis James Moriarty x Mycroft Holmes):

Hushed whispers. Overwhelming guilt. Too many tears, not enough smiles. Sharing a bed to keep away nightmares. No one will ever know. Kisses get in the way of work, so they don't happen. Too platonic to be a romance, too romantic to be a friendship. "They would be disappointed in us." "Yes. Do you wish to stop?" "I wish I knew how to. You're my only light now."

Bondran (James Bonde x Sebastian Moran):

Shooting contests. Bragging to each other. Over flirting in public. Hands constantly on each other, minds constantly somewhere else. Never an actual relationship, never an actual fling. Being in love with the same person. "You still think he doesn't love you?" "I know he doesn't." "Why?" "He loves you." "I wish I could love you." "I wish I could love you too. Now, pass me a cigarette before I cry."

Herdran (Von Herder x James Bonde):

One-sided feelings. Rambling about interests. Five minutes feel like an eternity without them. Five hours feel short with them. Scoldings and arguments over constant mistakes. Being self-destructive together. Sharing their love for material things, never talking about imaterial love. "You've been talking for two hours, you know?" "Heavens, it's been so long? Sorry for bothering you." "Do not. I quite enjoy your voice." "I am flattered by the compliment, but as I was saying-"

Irelock/Jaylock (James Bonde x Sherlock Holmes):

Each other's one that got away. Would've, could've, should've. Doomed from the start. Love was never present, destiny was. What if. It ended before the start. A silent scream of love in a sea of hate. Maybe, maybe, maybe. No, not at all. "We could have been great." "We never had the chance. We'll never have it again." "Still, I wonder..." "I do too."

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #albert james moriarty #william james moriarty #louis james moriarty #sebastian moran #james bonde #mycroft holmes #von herder #sherliam #alcroft #bondran #herdran #moranq #loucroft #irelock #jaylock

45 notes · View notes

jwnchstr · 1 year

Text

THE LOVE LETTER | sherlock holmes

Title: The Love Letter | sherlock holmes

Pairings: Henry Cavill!Sherlock Holmes x Y/n!Reader

Word count: 3.4k

Summary: In which, Enola found her brother's love letter.

“Dear Scherlock,”

Enola hasn’t finished the whole letter and yet she already pulls a face, disgusted with the sender. It’s not because of a thought of her favourite brother having a partner. If anything, she would be the happiest person on Earth seeing Sherlock standing with a woman—a remarkable woman—beside him.

But, out of the many outstanding, smart, remarkable women in this century, why must this woman Sherlock choose? Who did this woman think Sherlock is? A German?

“By the time you’re reading this letter, I might not be in England anymore. And I should’ve told you this a few days ago, but nowhere seemed the right time.

“But then again, when is the right time when it comes to me and us...”

Enola wonders how long is a few days ago. Has it only been a few days? Well, she would like to think that it’s only been a few days since Sherlock received the love letter. But judging by the faded ink, she thinks it must be three weeks the least.

And the hole at the centre, and the rips at the edges give Enola an impression that Sherlock must have been rereading the letter since the day he received it. With that case, Enola wonders how much his brother likes this woman, how much this woman means to him.

She wonders if she knew this woman because let’s face it—since Enola knows Sherlock, she never not know Sherlock’s lovers. Call it a perk of being an inspired detective. She might learn one or two tricks to spy on her brother from her brother himself and she’s guilty to pull the tricks on her own brother.

Enola continues reading the letter out loud even though she is well aware that she could be caught by Sherlock at any moment seeming that she is, indeed, in Sherlock’s apartment. (One of the places where she enters and leaves anytime she’d like.)

Enola could feel this woman’s frustration with Sherlock through the letter. Glad that she’s not the only person who feels like it. Even being his sister is frustrating.

Everything is a no, for instance. Like “No, I don’t need your help.” Or “No, you can’t stay.” Or “No. Just no.” And then there are times when he acts like he loves you yet says the opposite. It’s frustrating to make Sherlock opens up upon something. Just anything.

Enola guessed, he is the same in romance.

“I just wanted to let you know that I—”

“That’s enough now, Enola.”

Sherlock, out of nowhere, without warning, snatches the love letter from his sister’s delicate hands, leaving her agape in shock.

“I suggest you leave before I call Mycroft to make you leave,” Sherlock threatens while refolding the letter and carefully slips it into the pocket of the same vest he wore to sleep last night, securing it as if it’s the most vulnerable thing in the world.

Ignoring her brother, Enola says, “Would you care to tell me—”

“And for the thousandth times, Enola, stop touching my belongings!” Sherlock turns around and starts making his way towards the living room, where he works most of the times, before turning back around to face Enola.

Enola frowns. “What?”

Squinting his eyes at his sister, Sherlock says, “How did you get in?”

“How did I get in?”

“Into my apartment. How did you get into my apartment? Did you steal my spare keys? Ah, wait. No. Don’t answer. I don’t think I want to hear it.” Sherlock sighs before making 180 degrees turn and gets back to his desk.

Her eyes trail after her brother’s figure before he stops in front of his desk and sighs and runs his hands through his face and hair.

“God...” he whispers to himself.

Enola observes Sherlock’s living room. To her, there’s nothing wrong with it. There are still papers on the floor though on a stack rather than scattering all over. His working desk is neater unlike last night where there were unwashed coffee mugs here and there. His journaling pens are inside their holder—right here they belong.

“It was all a mess, Sherlock. And I was bored while waiting for you to wake up so I helped a little.” Enola shrugs rather than coward away. “Plus, now you can work without difficulty.”

“Work without difficulty? I almost had everything figured out, organised to its timeline.” Sherlock wants to shout but it’s impossible with Enola’s innocent doe eyes staring back at him. “This is… this is why I never invited anyone into my apartment. Now, leave before I—”

“Oh, don’t play that Mycroft card on me, Sherlock.” Enola puts a finger up to warn her brother. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me about that letter.”

Sherlock hung his hands on his waist. Annoyance is creeping inside him. “What about that letter?”

“Who sent you that letter?”

Sherlock shrugs. His face barely showed any emotions when he answers, “I don’t know.”

Enola narrows her eyes at her brother. It’s still hard to read Sherlock’s facial expression but she knows he is lying to her right now. “Do I know her?”

“Either you know her or not, that’s none of your business. Now, before I use a force on you, I suggest you leave.”

Enola smiles mischievously, crossing her arms on her chest. “Is it? Well, let me tell you what, brother. Whomever that girl is, I really think you can get a smarter woman because who the hell misspells Sherlock ‘Scherlock’?”

Something inside Sherlock twists. His eyes darkens as he looks into Enola’s eyes. “Hey. Don’t talk about her like that.”

“So you know her?” Enola’s face lights up as if she’s on the verge of getting the answer she wants. “And if you know her, than I must know her, too! Or is she someone new?” Enola beams.

A random curse escapes Sherlock’s mouth.

“Oh, come on, brother! Tell me! I swear I won’t tell mother and Mycroft about her.”

“Really? You would do that?” Sherlock doesn’t fully trust Enola despite her being his little sister, despite how she knew every woman he spent the time with or had a relationship with.

Hell, Enola even saved him from bad relationships on several occasions. But, regarding the current topic, not everything needs to be told, isn’t it? Even when she claims that she won’t spill anything to their mother—the woman whom she freakily closed with. And he knows that there’s nothing good coming out when Enola and Eudora together.

However, like Enola said over a few months before, that there’s nothing wrong in admitting that he could use a friend. Being constantly on the run, solving puzzles, fighting people, can get lonely. And seeming that the only friend he has now is Enola, there’s nothing wrong in confiding her, is it?

Sherlock finally let out a heavy sigh. Defeated? Maybe. How could he not when Enola is giving that innocent, puppy-dog eyes to him? That bright smile, curiosity in those similar dark brown eyes? Sherlock envies her sometimes. She seems to know nothing except laughing even though they’re under a difficult situation. So much reminds him their mother.

“It’s… Y/n.”

“Y/n?” Enola raises her eyebrows, confused for a split second.

She doesn’t believe her brother because she didn’t think it would be her to send a letter with a misspell, to be honest. Because the Y/n that Enola knew is clever and precise in her works. There’s no way she could misspell a name or a phrase especially when it comes to Sherlock.

Enola stares at her bother for a few seconds longer, waiting for him to tell her that he was joking. And maybe even an explanation, but nothing came. And Enola starts to try to read her brother’s facial expression.

First, Enola notices how serious he looks. But isn’t that how his face looks like all the time? Then, there is a tell on his face. One that means that Y/n purposely misspelled Sherlock’s name and that Sherlock knew it and he didn’t try to correct her because... that’s the only way for him to know that it’s Y/n.

Seriously, come to think of it, that was a brilliant way to communicate so neither of them get caught by enemies.

“Oh. Y/n.”

“Now, that you got your answer—” Sherlock closes the distance between him and Enola. He doesn’t have to put extra energy on her when he pushes her by the arm because her weight is nothing to be compared to his size, but it could be a struggle when she is pushing against him.

“But what does she want? Where is she now? When did you get that letter? It said—”

“No. you’re not getting anything else.”

Enola tries her best to fight her brother’s strength, but seems to no avail. The more she fights, the more she loses, and the more she’s tired. So instead, she let Sherlock leads her towards the front door of his apartment.

“Sherlock, please! I need to know that she’s okay. Are—Are you meeting her? I’d like to meet her. You know I missed her! I missed playing problems solving together. And—urgh—I would like to invite her to be on my team.”

“To be on your team?” Sherlock laughs sarcastically at Enola.

Why does she think that it’s a good idea to drag Y/n into this detective-spiralling world? And where did that idea come from?

Y/n isn’t a detective herself. She is a daughter to a duke and a pioneer—a brilliant pioneer and gambler, he must say. Her charm would melt every man in the room and her wit would make every man in the opposite chair to give up everything before the game even started. He was one of her victims. However, the harder he pulls away from her, the closer he gets. Now, here he is.

“I thought you said she was stupid.”

“But that—”

Before Enola could finish her sentence, Sherlock closes the door at her face with a loud bang. He intended to leave Enola hanging, but that loud bang, though. That was not intentional.

Y/n is mad at him. Sherlock knows that. And he will let her stay mad at him because he knows he was wrong. And he will let her stay mad him for as long as she wants even if only that would make the letters keep coming.

But, no matter how much Y/n has been writing for him, she never sent a letter twice in one week. Meanwhile she had explained how marvellous her voyage had been, another letter came only a day after Sherlock received the last one.

Sherlock didn’t think how crazy it would be to cross the ocean under one night for Y/n to meet him in England. Perhaps, he has lost his mind as well, but when Y/n says she wants to see him, Sherlock drops everything and instantly decides he will, too.

Sherlock may seem calm on the outside. After all, he is a detective. He cannot show any less emotion on his face or he would be the one in danger. But only God knows how nervous he feels inside when he sees Y/n’s beautiful figure (even though only from behind), waiting in her new dress (at least, the one Sherlock hasn’t seen she worn before), under the big tree.

After all these years, out of the many extravagant, nice places they have in England and yet Y/n chose a place where they had their first meet.

If Enola knew how much he had been practicing a reunion speech for Y/n, not only that young girl will mock him for the rest of his life. But she will make sure their mother knew how weak her middle son is despite being the most grudged-looking. And not only that Eudora will laugh at him for that, but will also treat him as if he is a baby. Not like that never happened before, but he definitely doesn’t want that to happen again.

“Y/n,” Sherlock greets the apple of his eyes.

When she turns around like a slow-motion, Sherlock feels the world stops. He lost every word. That reunion speech he had been mentally practicing disappears. It seems that he cannot do anything except stare at her.

It’s only been a few weeks, but she is already looking different. Sherlock isn’t sure if it’s the make-up that is making her looking more mature than the last time they met, or the way she pulls her hair into a neat bun, but either way, she looks prettier. Vibrant. Sherlock doesn’t know why he hasn’t asked Y/n a picture that he could keep in his coat watch.

“Hello, Sherlock,” Y/n greets him back. Her voice melodious. It sounds like she is singing in his ears. That snickers at the end of her lips. Oh, how much he missed those lips. “What, you’re speechless now, Mister Holmes? If I didn’t know you any better, I would think that you think I’m ugly.”

Yeah, it’s weird that Sherlock is speechless in front of a woman while he never have done so before... before he met Y/n. And he’d met a lot of women in his life before and even after Y/n left, but none of them were as beautifully confident as Y/n. It’s scary especially how she could drive Sherlock, a great and flawless detective, crazy and weak. But it’s also sexy as hell.

Sherlock licks his lower lip. Smoothing the front of his coat and clears his throat. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Y/n smirks. “Though I would love to hear you plead for forgiveness after those times you left me without any goodbyes.”

“I—I thought you’re in Spain.” Great. Now he’s stuttering.

“Oh, I thought you never read my letters,” Y/n teases.

It’s her defence mechanism that she had learned over years of spending so much time around people with titles, who think that they know more than somebody else, who think that they can get anything they want with a snap of their fingers.

“Y/n, I’m—”

“Sorry?” Y/n laughs. “After so many letters I sent and you only replied one? I have to be honest with you, Sherlock, I don’t know why I’m even here to see you. Perhaps, I missed your face. Perhaps, I’m here only to see my own heart breaks… again.”

“I never meant to treat you that way.”

“I could say I never meant to tell you I love you in those letters, ignored the one you decided to reply, and agreed with my father’s decision to marry me with another man in Spain.”

Y/n had done many things that could leave Sherlock heartbroken (that night when she beat him at poker, that day when she told him she had a date, that evening when Enola brought her to his apartment with blood pooling her dress, that day when she told him she was leaving). But to hear her to marry someone other than him makes his heart scattering to pieces.

“I could be pregnant with his child by now, Sherlock, and you still hadn’t replied my letters.”

“Y/n, I swear to you, I want to—”

“Is that why you wanted to see me? To tell me that you wanted to reply letters, but barely had enough time to do so?” Y/n makes a sound coming from her nose and shakes his head. “Write one alphabet if one second was the only time you have and I would still appreciate it and keep it with me everywhere I go.”

His heart blossoms with the thought Y/n bringing his love letter everywhere she goes. They can’t be together at most times, constantly feeling half a heart, but if a love letter makes them whole again. If only Y/n knew how he has been bringing that one letter with him everywhere he goes…

“But you didn’t reply my letters so, of course, I tried to forget you. And when you replied, asked to see me at a place where we first met and had an ideal date...” Y/n trails off, chuckling to herself at how crazy her life has been. “Your word. Not mine.”

Sherlock doesn’t need her to remind him that because he remembers everything that happened that day. He remembers how he felt before he asked her if she would like to have a date with him. In fact, it was similar to the one he is feeling right now.

He used to not believe in true love. But if what he is feeling right now was the sign, maybe he will have to believe it. Eventually.

Still tongue-tied, head in the cloud seeing Y/n for the first time after weeks, Sherlock tries to register what she had been delivering: One is about how she wants Sherlock to plead for forgiveness for all those times he left her without even seeing her first. One is about how she was expected to marry a man of her father’s choice. In between these, his mind suddenly takes him back to when he saw how sweet Y/n had been with Enola.

Then, she talks about how he had replied one of her letters that leads her to see him here. And—

Hold on a second—

Now, Sherlock must admit that he was drunk several times, here and there, especially when the case gets really tough with no leads. Also when he misses her so much that he can’t handle his emotion, but never in his drunkest mind that he would reply Y/n’s letter. No matter how keen he is because he thought Y/n would be safer that way.

Now he wonders...

“Y/n—”

“No. Don’t stop me,” Y/n slaps her hand in the air in front of his face. Indeed, she was in the middle of talking about how she had to run away from her own wedding, to get back to England and to be near Sherlock. “I’ve been saving this story for you to listen so that you know how you were at a massive lost.”

“I’m sure I have plenty of times to hear that story in the future,” Sherlock says, “but I need to know—that letter you said you received. You said it was from me?”

“How could have you forgotten the letter that you wrote yourself?” Y/n’s heart breaks with the thought of Sherlock writing the letter to other women.

“Tell me what does it say in that letter, my dear.”

Y/n feels her face heart when she hears Sherlock calling him with a pet name that he barely uses. She wished she knew why.

“Was it intended to be sent to someone else? Another women women perhaps?”

The end of Sherlock’s lips twitches with the thought of Y/n being jealous. And as much as he likes seeing that on her face, with a little argument about how she’s not the slightest bit of jealous, it’s not the time.

“Please. Y/n. That letter. Tell me.”

Y/n sighs, knowing that she won’t win this time. “It says, ‘Afternoon, December 24. Meet me at a place where we had our first date. I have something to tell you’.”

“Did you have that letter with you?”

“Why is it so impor—”

“Y/n.”

Y/n reads Sherlock for a few seconds before she takes the letter out from her purse and hands it to him. Indeed, she brought the letter with her. Brought it all the way home from Spain. And she’s not humiliated by it.

Suddenly, Sherlock laughs.

Y/n looks at Sherlock as if he had lost his mind. “Would you care tell me what’s happening? Why are you suddenly asking me about that letter? Why are you suddenly laughing? Sherlock?!”

“Oh, Y/n, how stupid can we be.” Sherlock is smiling, one so big that is showing his teeth and makes Y/n’s heart flutters. “Darling, I think we’ve been set up.”

“You’re saying you didn’t even want to see me in the first place? That me being here, running away from my own wedding, has been a useless effort?” Y/n doesn’t know what to feel. She thought she finally could hear everything Sherlock didn’t tell in the letters he didn’t reply. After what she had been through, Sherlock is telling her that he didn’t even want to see her?

“No, sweetheart, no.” Sherlock shakes his head.

Three pet names in one day, after months of not seeing other, after years of drawing the line? Sherlock must be out of his mind.

“You’re overthinking, my love—”

Four.

“—I’m just saying that someone set us up to meet here.”

“Who could—”

“Enola,” both of you say once that particular, mischievous young woman, cross both of your minds.

#sherlock holmes #henry cavill #enola holmes #detective #sherlock x you #sherlock holmes x reader #netflix #sherlock fandom #henry cavill sherlock holmes #millie #harry potter #bellatrix

317 notes · View notes