#sherlock doesn’t make tea

[consultjohnwatson]

Have you and Sherlock made up (as in you apologized and he made tea for you)?

@consult-sherlockholmes never makes me tea. And if he does, you should smell it before drinking it.

#sherlock doesn’t make tea #he likes to complain to me though #about that he wants tea #that i should make tea #or ask mrs hudson to make tea #but then #when i do make tea #he complains again for not making it #just right #so there #tea tea tea tea tea #when he makes my tea it’s probably poisoned #john watson #sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock bbc #bbc sherlock #johnlock #john replies #tjlc #221b #john watson replies

[calaisreno]

Yes and No

“Do you love her?”

It had taken them less than thirty minutes to go from the Rizla game to just asking each other random questions. The only celebrities that Sherlock knew were nineteenth-century chemists and twentieth-century criminals, which had more or less spoiled the game, and Sherlock had declared it pointless.

Then he suggested Yes or No, which at least required some deductive reasoning, and John agreed. But Sherlock was very good at this game, having deduced nearly everything about John in the first days of their acquaintance. Without asking any question, he deduced that John would choose violin, a human liver, Mrs Hudson’s nephew, and Sherlock’s old mouse-coloured dressing gown.

John gives up. “Fine. What don’t you know about me?”

Do you love her is a real question, he gathers— from the look on Sherlock’s face, which is serious and a bit sad.

The answer, which should be yes, of course I love her, instead comes out, “I’m marrying her.”

“People marry for reasons other than—“ Sherlock stops, appearing to realise he is going in a direction that can only lead to bad feelings. “Sorry, not a fair question. Better: When did you know that you loved her?”

He remembers grief. The intense pain of the days after he saw Sherlock die on the sidewalk in front of Barts. There are few details he can recall after that moment. It was as if the pain had receded just enough to let him breathe, and a kind of grey fog had descended. Pain, then sorrow.

Somewhere during the sorrow part, Mary had appeared. She may have been there sooner, but he hadn’t noticed. At some point he became aware of her bringing him coffee, talking to him, urging him to come out for lunch. Always there, cheerfully bullying him back into life. Eventually he noticed that he wasn’t quite as sad, and that she was rather pretty.

But the pain was still there, a tender spot in his memory, and most days he still felt defeated. Mary helped, though, and he thought that if she stayed, everything would be easier. He didn’t need to explain; she understood. He could keep the memories at bay when she was around.

By then he was having sex with her. He didn’t remember exactly how that had begun. Maybe it was a pity fuck one night when he’d had too much to drink. He woke up in her bed hungover, waiting for the darkness to descend like a weight on his chest, and she was there, making him a cup of tea, urging him to have some toast, sweetly solicitous and not accepting any excuses.

Does he love her?

Sherlock is still looking at him, the question in his eyes.

“She was there when I needed someone,” he says. “I just knew.”

He’d known that morning that he needed to move on, to leave what had happened in the past and live his life. And there she was.

“Your turn,” Sherlock says.

John thinks of all the things he’s ever wanted to know about Sherlock, but has never asked because it has never seemed a good time. Sherlock has a way of warding off questions with just a look. An armour that does not allow anyone in, not even John. He’s wondered about a lot of things, but asking has never been an option. Sherlock never has to ask; he simply deduces. John is terrible at deductions, as Sherlock often reminds him.

“Have you ever been in love?”

Sherlock doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. Twice.”

“That was a yes-no question, so I get follow-up. So, the first. Who was he?”

Sherlock smiles. “You’re assuming it was a man.”

“Wasn’t it? I thought… you’re… erm…”

“Gay? Yes, I am.”

“You loved a man,” John says. Obviously.

“Well, a boy. I was twelve. I suppose it wasn’t love so much as infatuation and hormones. His name was Victor. I never told him until I met him again at uni.” He gives John one of those looks that makes him feel like he is being x-rayed. “Have you ever kissed a man?”

“I’m not gay,” he says at once. “I mean, why would I kiss a man if I knew I wasn’t gay?”

“Follow-up question, then. When did you know you were not gay?”

John’s mouth may have been open for a bit. It’s an odd question. Everybody knows they’re straight until something happens and they know they’re not. Isn’t that the way it works? “I just knew. When did you know you were gay?”

“When I was twelve. I was at a stupid birthday party my mother made me attend, and we were playing Forfeit. I was asked a question I didn’t like to answer and took the forfeit. Up until then the penalties were stupid things like singing a song or doing a dance, but this time it was kissing a girl. The girl was willing, and I was curious, so I agreed. That was when I realised girls weren’t my cup of tea, so to speak. I wanted to kiss Victor.”

John says nothing, though it’s his turn. He remembers a similar party, a boy who wanted to kiss him, and feeling terrified that his parents would find out if he did. Harry had just come out, and he was trying very hard to make up for all of her shortcomings.

Sherlock asks, “How do you know you’re not gay if you’ve never kissed a man?”

“I’ve kissed lots of women,” he replies. “I don’t need to kiss a man to know I’m not gay.”

Sherlock shrugs. “I assumed that I was like everyone else, that some day I would meet the right girl, get married, and have children. That was how it was supposed to work, and I thought there was something wrong with me because I didn’t like girls that way. All my fantasies were about boys, but I thought I would eventually be attracted to girls as I got older. That kiss told me I would never love a woman.”

“You think I should kiss a man just to see if I’m a bit gay?” He laughs.

“It’s your forfeit, for not having an answer.”

“I’m not going to kiss some random bloke just because you—“

“Not a random bloke. Me. Kiss me.”

This is dangerous ground. Somewhere in his libido lies something that he’s thought about. Maybe he’s even fantasised about kissing a man. Having sex with a man. Just a lark, maybe. Don’t lots of men go through that? It doesn’t mean anything.

But, Sherlock. He lived with him for a year and a half, and they’d been friends. And he grieved when Sherlock died. Not grieved like a friend. He’d lost friends before, and this was nothing like those losses. Pain, darkness, unending regret. Even after Mary, some of that darkness remained. Moments when he remembered something Sherlock had said or done, a stab of pain. If it hadn’t been for Mary—

And it came to him. Mary was balm for his wounds. She brought him back from the edge. He is grateful to her. But gratitude isn’t love. Being in such pain for so long, and then a bit of light— that isn’t love, it’s relief. He’s seen patients in physical pain become almost giddy when given a dose of something that takes their agony away, not even enough to make them high. Relief feels like intoxication when pain has gone on so long.

If it hadn’t been for Mary, he would have understood what he’d only begun to see. She helped him, saved him even. But she was a distraction from the pain, not a cure.

He glances at Sherlock, who is pulling back, looking like he wishes he hadn’t just asked for a kiss. Maybe he’ll make a joke about their game, move them towards goodnight, goodbye, see you at the wedding.

“Yes,” he says. It’s an answer to everything— regret, grief, sorrow, love. It’s an apology for not seeing sooner, for the night at the Landmark, for his anger and cruel rejection of the man he has loved for years. “Kiss me.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Sherlock is right. The kiss tells John things he’s tried hard to forget. It tells him that has loved men before, but called it friendship, that he has wanted to touch men and kiss them, and called it lust, or fantasy, or a phase that all men go through. Women attract him too, and he grabbed onto heterosexuality like a life-raft because he was afraid of the alternative. His sister and his father, yelling. Harry thrown out of the house. His father, looking at him, saying not you too. Never you, my boy.

The kiss tells him that has already met the love of his life.

“I need to call Mary,” he says when they break away.

Sherlock looks sad. He nods. “Of course.”

“One more question,” John says. “Who was the second person you loved?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” he says. “I’m about to call my fiancee and break our engagement just days before the wedding because I’m in love with my best friend. So please, answer the question.”

Sherlock’s face does something John has never seen. It crumples and tears fill his eyes, and then he’s laughing and crying and not able to speak.

John kisses him again.

Author note: This is an old ficlet, from Trifles, posted here.

#my fics #johnlock #bbc sherlock #stag night #sign of three #fixit fic

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

I can’t get you off my mind

I knew Mrs. Hudson was wrong when she told me marriage changes people. 

Not my John, I thought.

How wrong I was.  

Seen in hindsight; has it been three months already, she was right. I should have known that. After all, she was more of an expert on relationships than me. What did I have to show for? My only relationship, if you didn’t count family, had been with John. He was the only one who could fit that term. 

I told Mrs. Hudson that Mary would be reasonable when I needed John on a case. Her response baffled me. 

“Don’t ever use that word and her name in the same sentence, Sherlock. They don’t match. At all.”

Then she huffed and clenched her jaw tight, unwilling to explain herself. So, I’d turned to Mycroft. If anyone knew what was going on, it was him.

“Brother mine,” he said quietly when I came forth with my request about John’s wife. 

“Don’t patronise me, Mycroft,” I snapped. “Just tell me what’s going on. Is John safe?”

“Why would you ask…” Mycroft began, but something about my appearance stopped him from whatever nonsense he was going to utter. 

He sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. Neither were good signs. 

“She’s an assassin with a prize on her head. We have her under surveillance. I suspect she’ll attempt to flee any day to escape,” Mycroft told me. 

My brain buzzed, analysed, and calculated in quick succession, but in vain. All I could think of was John, unknowing, unsafe, and the baby.

“Mary isn’t pregnant, Sherlock,” Mycroft said. 

“Excuse me?” Were you ever going to tell me any of this?” I asked furiously.

*** 

It’s over now. John’s personal Armageddon. His wife gone when he woke. A letter explaining nothing. The fake pregnancy belly was the final nail in the coffin. I tried to reach out to him, but he was so angry. Thought I’d known all along. He didn’t want to listen to reason. I didn’t blame him. I still don’t. 

Again, it’s Mrs. Hudson’s words putting things in motion.

“Are you just going to let it slide? He needs you, Sherlock! You are his best friend, his entire world. Save him, dear, and yourself. Ask him to come home.”

“He is home,” I protest. 

The look she gives me, makes me feel like a five-year old again. She doesn’t pester me further, but it’s enough. I fetch my laptop and start to write an email. The most important one I’ve ever written.

Dear, John

Believe me when I say I didn’t know anything about Mary or the baby until the day before she left. I would’ve told you if I knew. I was terrified when Mycroft told me, and I couldn’t bear the thought of you being unsafe and unknowing. My plan was to tell you the day you woke up without her, but by then it was too late. 

I don’t blame you for not believing me, John. After all, I’ve lied to you about severe things in the past. If you want to talk, we can. Whenever you want. I’m just a text away. And if you can’t bear the thought of staying where you live; know that you’re always welcome at Baker Street. It was your home, and it’s empty without you. 

We’re not good with words, John. Not these kinds, anyway, but don’t let our friendship end like this. I want you in my life, in my home, our home. I can’t get you off my mind, John. I never could. Please, consider coming back. 

If you don’t answer this email, text, phone or come to Baker Street, I’ll understand, but I hope you’ll do at least one of those things. To let me know where we stand. 

SH

***

I’m mentally exhausted after I’ve sent the email, and go to bed, sleeping like the dead for almost ten hours. When I’ve showered and had some tea and toast, I take out my violin and play all of John’s favourites. 

This can’t be how it ends; I think when I lower the violin and bow. After I’ve placed the instrument back in its case, I hear a sound. I’d been so lost in my own head and haven’t been paying attention to my surroundings. And why would I? I’ve lived alone for months, but now I sense a presence. 

I turn, slowly, alert, and there he is, in his chair, looking at me with eyes filled with unshed tears. Any second now they will trickle down his cheeks. In an instant I’m kneeling in front of him, letting my hands rest on his knees. 

“John, is everything okay? Are you…”

“I’m okay, Sherlock. Just…”

His voice his hoarse. I can tell this isn’t the first time he’s been crying today. Something catches my eye just inside the door. John’s duffle bag. I jerk my head back to look at him.

“John?”

“I’m coming home, Sherlock. For good,” he says and manages to smile while he’s crying. 

***

So, this is how it ends. With a pair of broken hearts that are going to be mended. We only have to give it some time, and we will get there. Together.

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @sabsi221b @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitchworld @raina-at @helloliriels @peanitbear @topsyturvy-turtely

#flash fiction friday #sherlock fandom #sherlock #john watson #mrs hudson #mycroft holmes #sherlock fanfic #bbc sherlock #johnlock #FFF234 #how it ends

[meetinginsamarra]

Fanfics I Really Liked in January 2024

So. Since I keep a list of what I´ve read anyway (there´s always a list), I will rec all the fics I´ve wholly enjoyed on a monthly basis. Old and new, canon or AU, big or small authors, long or short but nearly always Johnlock (-ish).

carrying up his morning tea by darcylindbergh

After Mrs Hudson's death, Sherlock is lonelier and more depressed than ever. Before she passed, she made Sherlock promise to reach out to an estranged John whom Sherlock has not seen or spoken to in two years. JOhn still does not know what happened dring the hiatus and Sherlock still does not know Rosie.

Very sad at the beginning, the fic slowly but surely lets them finally heal.

Full Mount by ArwaMachine @arwamachine

After Sherlock returns from the dead, John finds himself inexplicably angry all the time. So he joins a Mixed Martial Arts gym. As John joins in on underground no-holds-barred brawls, situations arise that just might force John to face what is really going on underneath all the rage.

Fighting frees the mind and makes room for revelations.

A Midnight Clear by khorazir @khorazir

It’s Christmas Eve, and Sherlock is working because he doesn’t need Christmas or even company. Until a series of strange encounters on his way back to Baker Street makes him reconsider.

Lovely fic that lets SHerlock contemplate life and what is really important to him.

Locked Room by Calais_Reno @calaisreno

John wakes up in a locked room, unable to remember how he got here. The last thing he remembers is his hands covered in blood, trying to keep a soldier from dying. His roommate also seems to be suffering from amnesia, and has decided that John is a delusion.

Suspenseful premise and a cool twist!

Nothing Gold Can Stay and Lying in Winter and A Moment Still Ajar by Raina_at @raina-at

There are so many occasions when John could have said something but didn't. And didn't and didn't until the reader really wants to kick John (or throttle the author) and then - finally - he does. Then the reader wants to high-five John (and kiss the author).

3 fics, best to be read in order.

#my fanfic recs #fanfics I really liked in January 2024

[heliads]

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

'my mind isn't yours' - enola holmes

masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Miller? Was that you I heard?”

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

“Hey! Get back here!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frown. “Don’t call me stupid.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You look at her cautiously. “Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

enola tag list: @mayfieldss

all tags list: @wordsarelife

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

[sherlocksoft]

Soft Sherlock Headcanons

Sherlock Holmes x reader fluff and comfort

Masterlist

Authors notes: I’ve been a Sherlock Holmes fan for years upon years, but this is the first time I’ve written him. It’s written with any Sherlock in mind but I’ve been particularly taken with Henry Cavill recently

Warnings: mildly sexually suggestive at the end, tobacco mention

Sherlock kisses you with fierce passion when he gets a spark of inspiration and is momentarily excited about a breakthrough in a case. He’s vanished the next moment, already ten steps ahead of where he was a moment ago, but his soft lips and the traces of his strong hands gripping your cheeks leaves your head spinning

When he’s struggling with a piece of the puzzle, he needs you just as much. Although he often requires silence in these moments, solitude isn’t always preferable. He will occasionally pull you to him and guide you to lay on his chest in complete silence, the pattern of your breathing and the weight of you against him soothing him endlessly as his mind works overtime

Melts when you make notes on his ramblings so he can revisit thoughts he would have otherwise discarded. You know this because his mouth fleetingly curls into a smile and he exhales slowly before resuming his usual pace

You’ll catch him watching you on occasion, when he’s supposed to be breaking some code or other and you think he’s still working on it, but actually he finished with that half an hour ago and, curiosity sated, has been gazing at you lovingly since

Nuzzles into your neck when he actually makes it to bed, your warmth and scent calming him immeasurably. He never realises how touch starved he is until his mind isn’t occupied with riddles and mysteries and your body feels so soft against his

His scent varies depending on where he’s been investigating, which tobacco he’s used, what he’s experimented with in his makeshift lab, and whether he’s been dressing in disguise. But there are always staple scents underpinning his aroma; white musk, honey and something smoky with a slightly bitter twist of ink

When he’s bored, he will find ways to occupy himself with you whilst trying his hardest not to appear needy. It always fails, however, and usually ends up with you both tangled together on the little sofa, whispering sweet nothings, giggling and kissing like lovesick teenagers

When he’s feeling sentimental, he calls you his Little Problem, because despite being far from problematic to him, he’s endlessly fascinated with you

Never believes you when you tell him he’s handsome, particularly when he’s been wearing pyjamas for three days and hasn’t bothered to comb his hair, but your extra little touches and kisses go a long way to convincing him that at least you believe it to be true

When he’s finding a social situation tricky, he surreptitiously grasps your hand in his. No one else can see, but the reassurance of your fingers squeezing his back makes his breath even out and his heart slow down

Adores the tender moments of domesticity that you share. They’re all too rare with his erratic schedule, but you bring him tea in a morning when he doesn’t want to get out of bed, or lovingly help him dress with gentle fingers carefully buttoning up his shirt, or smooth his hair down with a smile at his soft, natural curls, and he practically swoons

Always having being a fan of A Touch of The Dramatic™, he’s a hopeless romantic when he has the energy to pour into spoiling you, pulling out all the stops to make you feel special and loved. He knows that his work can make you feel lonely sometimes, so he likes to balance that out when he can with his attention solely focussed on you for a while

After a particularly taxing case, he loves nothing more than to hibernate with you. It starts with a hot bath, laying together in the silky water for hours as blissful silence washes over him, counteracting the overload of his previously racing mind

When he gathers enough energy, he whispers in a low grumble, ‘I’ll always come back to you, darling. You know that, don’t you? No matter where a case takes me, I’ll always return.’

Then, if you encourage him, he will join you for a meal before bed, where he can finally sleep soundly, relaxed in your arms — but not before spending a few more hours relishing in your touch (and your reaction to his)

#sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes headcanons #sherlock holmes fluff #sherlock holmes comfort #soft sherlock holmes #henry cavill sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes #victorian sherlock #any sherlock #sherlocksoft writes

[lykaonimagines]

Safe Place - Sherlock (BBC) x Reader

So I was watching a random Sherlock video, and noticed I never realized how many times he gets slapped/punched/hit in the face (there were a lot in the video). Then this idea just sorta popped into my head. 

Paring: Sherlock Holmes (BBC) x F!Reader

Word Count: 2,009

Description: During an argument over one of Sherlock’s experiments, Y/N realizes some events in his life have impacted him more than he usually let on.

Other Things: Mild angst to fluff. 

Warnings: Some swearing. Mentions of prior violence. Arguing. PTSD related to violence. Mildly suggestive at the end.  

Masterlist

(Gif doesn’t belong to me)

“Seriously Sherlock I thought we’d came to an agreement that you’d do these experiments in the flat downstairs!” Y/N snaps angrily as she looks around the ruin of their kitchen. Shattered glass and porcelain galore, everything scattered from its place after the explosion, and a layer of suspicious looking goo coating nearly every surface. 

“It wasn’t meant to explode,” the detective insists, picking up the can opener that proceeds to slip from his hands and breaks apart as it hits the ground. “… I will fix that.” 

“It’s not like I’m telling you that you can’t do your experiments. We’re paying double rent so you can have that whole damn flat down there to do this,” She continues before tossing a broken bit of a plate in her hand into the bin beside her. “I told you I wouldn’t live here if you kept doing this kind of thing, I don’t want to live like this.” 

“It was one time!” He crosses his arms and purses his lips tightly. “We can easily fix the kitchen.”

“That’s not the point!” She yells spinning back toward him, rolling her eyes as she notices a splotch of the goo on his cheek. 

“The point is if you’d done this where you were supposed to, we wouldn’t have to fix the kitchen!” She snaps, moving her hand quickly toward his face to wipe away the annoying substance, pausing mid-air as he flinches away.

Both of them stare uneasily at her hand hovering in the air before she slowly lets it drop back down to her side, “Did you… think I was going to hit you?” 

His eyes skitter away from hers quickly, a look of shame flashing across his face before he forces it to go blank once again. 

“Sherlock,” she insists. “Why did you think I was about to hit you?”

“Based on previous data, when someone is that upset with me it’s a rather common reaction,” he states roughly, his eyes trained on the floor. 

“Please look at me,” she says softly as she takes a tentative step toward him. 

He takes in a sharp breath before his eyes flicker back to hers. 

“I wasn’t going to hit you.”

“What were you doing then? I highly doubt you wanted to caress my face while shouting at me.”

“You’ve got some of that stuff on your face, I was going to wipe it off. I don’t know how dangerous this is, but most things you work with wouldn’t be great to have on your skin for an extended period of time I’d imagine.”

“I- yes. It would be better to remove. Yes.”

“I’m never going to hit you Sherlock. I promise you that. No matter how mad I get at you, I wouldn’t ever do that to you.” 

“Don’t make a promise you can’t keep,” he mutters softly, looking away from her gaze again. “I seem to always find a way to bring about that reaction in people.” 

“I can tell you I’m upset with you in words. Or if you do something that awful, by leaving.”

“I’d rather you slap me than leave,” he responds hoarsely. 

“How about we just try to work things out before it gets to a level that bad?” 

He nods stiffly as she turns away and rummages through a drawer, pulling out a tea towel and wetting it in the sink. Stepping back over to him she slowly places her hand on the clean side of his face, and gently wipes away the substance on the other.  

Dropping the towel on the counter, she turns back to cup both his cheeks and look into his eyes for a moment, “How about we go get you cleaned up? This suit didn’t make it out unscathed either.” 

“It would be better to clean the kitchen before-” he begins before her lips press gently to his to silence him. 

“Shower now, kitchen later. We’ll just order out tonight and deal with that in the morning together alright?”

His brow furrows as he studies her face, “Why?”

“It’s been a long day, and now I just want some time with you.” 

His eyes search hers intently before nodding, allowing her to take his hand and lead him toward the bathroom. 

Pulling him into the small room, she reaches out to slip his suit jacket from his shoulders and looks it over with a hum, “We should probably get this dry cleaned. Is it alright to sit until the morning?”

“It should be,” he agrees quietly, glancing down at her hands as they get to work unbuttoning his shirt. “You don’t have to undress me.”

“Do you not want me to?” She asks, her hands pausing. 

He shakes his head briefly, “You can continue.”

She finishes with his buttons and slides his shirt off his frame. Her hands slowly trail down his torso, and rest on the hem of his trousers. 

Leaning up into him, she presses a kiss to his lips as she makes quick work of the button and zip, dragging all the fabric down as she breaks the kiss, “You get in there, I’ll be in there in a minute.” 

“You don’t want me to undress you first?” He asks with a quirked eyebrow, kicking his trousers away before leaning casually against the wall. 

“I’ll manage this time, I’ll take a raincheck on that though,” she smirks and reaches out to pat his cheek. “I just need to grab something from the bedroom, you get in and start cleaning that crap off you.” 

“If you insist,” he shrugs and turns toward the shower as she grabs his discarded clothes and heads into their shared bedroom. 

Leaving his clothes near the door, she strips her own off then goes to her bedside table. Digging through the contents she contemplates two packages in her hands. Finally deciding on one, she heads back into the bathroom to the sound of the shower. 

She opens the package, and tosses the contents around the shower curtain before slipping in behind Sherlock. 

“What is that?” He asks staring down at the purple fizzing blob sitting above the drain. 

“Aromatherapy shower bomb, lavender scented. Thought it would be nice,” she answers as he switches their positions to lean her back into the water. 

His hands run gently through her hair as the water trails down her body, letting out a sigh at his touch. 

“We haven’t done this in awhile,” he comments as he picks up her shampoo, squeezing some in his hands before reaching to lather it into her hair. “It’s nice.” 

“I’ve missed it,” she admits, relaxing into his hands. “We should do this more when you can.” 

“We will,” he agrees and tilts her head back to begin rinsing the soap out. “If you’ve wanted this more often you should have asked.”

“Do you really think I’m going to interrupt your experiments or call you up on a case to ask you to come home and shower with me?” She teases, cracking one eye open to look at him. 

“If you had stated it was something you wanted more of from me prior to that, I would have made myself more available for it,” he states with a frown. “If you have needs, you have to tell me. You know I don’t know-”

“Sherlock,” she says softly, grabbing his forearms and swapping their positions to get him back under the water. “It’s simply a want, that I hadn’t even put that much thought into until now. Don’t worry about that. Now tilt your head, I need to make sure you don’t have any of the stuff in your hair.”

Nodding, he lowers his head dutifully as her fingers run through his curls. 

“Looks like you got lucky,” she says after a moment, reaching for his shampoo bottle. “None got into your hair, or it came out easily under the water already." 

Making quick work of it, she shampoos his hair and rinses it out before sliding in closer to him to wrap her arms around his waist.

Pressing his forehead to her shoulder as her hands drift up his back, he speaks quietly, “Would you just leave? If I made you upset to that degree, you would walk out without a word?”

“The only way I would do that is if you did something truly awful. Something I’d trust you not to do. Otherwise there would be a discussion of some kind.” 

“Such as?”

“Well, deliberately hurting me or cheating would be pretty high on that list I suppose.”

“I would never,” he hisses against her, his form tensing. 

“I know,” she whispers and kisses his shoulder. “I was just trying to say that I won’t ever put my hands on you like that, I’d sooner leave. But I think we can have a discussion and talk out most things and not have to worry about either of those things if you’re willing to work with me.” 

They stand quietly in one another’s embrace for a few minutes, Sherlock slightly swaying them under the water. 

“I will do my experiments in the downstairs flat from now on,” he says breaking the silence. “I had no good reason for not having done that today. You were right.” 

“Thank you, though I’m sorry I got that angry and yelled. That wasn’t called for.”

“Debatable,” he chuckles and turns his head to press his lips to the side of her neck. “One could argue it was quite called for.” 

“I don’t want us to be like that though. I just…” She trails off and traces her fingertips up his spine. 

“Be like what?” He presses. 

“You shouldn’t have to worry that doing or saying something could result in being shouted at or hit. At least not in our home. You put yourself in danger on a regular basis. Dealing with people who respond to you with ridicule or anger. I don’t want to say that it’s fine for you to do anything since I still want to live in a comfortable house for me too, but I don’t want you to ever think that it will result in that. You should be comfortable here too. I want you to feel safe when you’re home.” 

“I do,” he responds softly, clearing his throat. “I feel safe with you.”

Reaching behind him, she switches the shower off and squeezes him tightly, “We’re each going to do some things the other doesn’t like, but we’re each other’s safe place right?” 

“Am I your safe place?” He asks as he releases her, turning quickly to hide his face as he pulls open the shower curtain. “I can’t imagine myself being that for anyone.” 

Y/N chuckles and steps out of the shower, grabbing a fluffy towel and turning to press it to Sherlock’s torso. Looking up into his eyes with a soft smile, “While you may drive me crazy sometimes and say some careless things, I know my heart is safe with you. You’d never deliberately hurt me. And you’ve already proven the extents you’d go to keep me safe. Relatively certain that no matter where I am, you’d somehow find me if I needed you, you’re the great Sherlock Holmes after all.”

The corner of his mouth twitches up as his hands grip her hips and pull her in closer until just the towel separates them, “That’s a promise.”

“Hm?”

“That I will protect you. I will always save you should you require it. Even if you decide one day you don’t want this between us anymore, I will be there if you need me.” 

“Irrelevant,” she smirks as he raises an eyebrow. “I’m never not going to want this, so that part of the statement while sweet, is unnecessary.”

“Careful,” he says lowly, his lips by her ear. “Keep saying such sweet words yourself and I might believe them.” 

“Then believe them,” she responds, looping her arms around his neck and letting the towel fall to their feet. “Now take me to our bed Mr. Holmes.” 

----

Sherlock Taglist: @stephenstrangeaddictions​  @strangeions  @asgardianprincess1050  @rbymoon  @elisa20beth  @black-and-white1  @gaitwae​ @azu21​ @mirikusashes​ @bubsonnobx​ @yuu-chan-is-still-a-student12​ @catsr0pia @strangelockd​​​​

If you want to be tagged in any future Sherlock stuff let me know or fill out the taglist form on my channel navigation/masterlist. 💙

#Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock bbc #sherlock x y/n #sherlock holmes x y/n #benedict cumberbatch #fanfiction

[poetsconstellation]

What I think each poet would do during Halloween

Neil

Ate halloween cookies for breakfast (he brought them because he can’t cook shit)

Was constantly talking about how excited he was for trick or treating

Put a fake spider in Todd’s bed

Pranked Nolan with glitter (it was Charlie’s idea, but when he heard the words ‘prank’ and ‘Nolan’ he was immediately sold)

In his free periods, he read and acted out Macbeth with Todd (Todd was just supportive because he is too shy to act)

He drew ghosts in Todd’s hand

His costume was either Sherlock and Lupin (matching with Todd of course) or uncle Whitman

He trick or treated every house he saw

He came back with a bucket full of candy and a frog

Todd

Stole one of Neil’s cookies

He put an orange sweater on after classes

He drank pumpkin-spice tea

Meeks, Pitts and Todd carved pumpkins together

He probably fell into a rabbit hole of poems about witches

His costume was either matching with Neil or Charlie Brown from peanuts

He only went trick or treating with the poets because he was promised caramel flavoured chocolate

He thought the frog was cute, but would never admit that

Charlie

He pranked each and everyone of the poets + Nolan

Could only talk about those pranks months after the day because “you should have seen your face! You were so scared!”

He interrupted Cameron’s study so many times that he threatened to fight him if he didn’t stop

He didn’t stop

Cameron was too scared to fight him

His costume was just his normal clothes. But when anyone asked him about it, he would just open his shirt to reveal a big drawing of a red lighting and say he was dressed up as Nuwanda

Dared Neil to catch a frog without his hands

Knox

Was invited to a party by Chris, but left in the middle of the night because “it was too boring” (in reality, he just wanted to be with the poets instead of a bunch of drunk people)

Spent his free time pranking people with Charlie

Until Charlie pranked him

Then he realized how bad he felt for the others

And they all pranked Charlie

Dressed up as superman

Named the frog Freddie

Meeks

Spent most of his school day studying with Cameron

As soon as his classes were over he and Pitts (and eventually the rest of the poets) pranked Charlie with a machine they invented

Had the brilliant idea of making a Goldberg machine with the pumpkin he carved

The pumpkin exploded

His and Pitts’s dorm has been smelling like toasted pumpkin ever since

He went as a robot for Halloween

Offered to make a house for Freddie

Pitts

Made bets with the poets to see who could get Cameron to get up faster

Knox won because he got into the room and yelled “I LOST YOUR TRIG ANNOTATIONS”

Cameron got up in less than a second

When Pitts got to his room from a study session, it smelled like toasted pumpkin

To this day, he is too scared to ask why

Helped Meeks with his robot costume, but didn’t have time to prepare his, so he improvised and went as a ghost

Convinced all the poets that it would be better for Freddie if he lived at the lake

Cameron

Doesn’t celebrate Halloween, so it was just a normal day for him

Except the pranks the poets pulled on him

Which made him loose at least 1 hour worth of study

Didn’t think it was a good idea to go trick or treating, so he didn’t go

He studied instead

Never knew about Freddie

#dead poets society #dps fandom #dps #dps boys #dead poets fandom #dead poets aesthetic #dead poets headcanons #neil perry #todd anderson #charlie dalton #steven meeks #Pitts #seizing that fucking day #seize the day #carpe diem #mr keating #anderperry #knox overstreet #knarlie #mitts #neil and todd #gay

[panic-in-the-multiverse]

Being Sherlock Holmes protege/child

Pairings: Sherlock Holmes x teen!reader (slight John Watson x teen!reader, slight Greg Lestrade x teen!reader)

Imagine: Sherlock taking a liking to you and decides that he wants you as his protege

Warnings: mention of struggling with school idk what else

A/N so as always my works are gn!reader so that anyone can read them and idk this idea just came to me might write and actual fic about it (sorry if it might be messy, haven’t reread it after I wrote it)

I love Sherlock <3 that’s it that’s my actual comment

So you somehow caught Sherlock’s attention weather it be that you are smart as him or not doesn’t really matter, you caught his attention

It was at a crime scene in which you helped Lestrade a lot in the case until he contacted Sherlock, when Sherlock got there he noticed how you helped him get to the answer, or more like you knew the answer which turned out to be correct. Having known much about this crime and the people involved helped you a lot to solve it.

Sherlock who as usual tried to deduce everyone tried to deduce you and noticed that he couldn’t, or he got it all wrong, it made him more curious about you

So Sherlock decided out of nowhere that he liked you, he saw potential in you and wanted to take you in, so that’s what he did

If you were an orphan he got accepted to foster you, but if you aren’t then he needed your parents approval, which he got (with a bit of help from Lestrade and Mycroft)

The first week living with Sherlock was filled with him trying to figure out things about you. In doing that he did actually notice all your bad habits.

He noticed how you were stressed about school a lot, how you struggled with school, which he thought weird as outside of school you were damn smart but as soon as it came to school all went to shit

So he started (without himself knowing) slowly to help you with your school work, he’d say random facts that you would actually need to your assignments in which you wrote down. He helped you a lot that way and when he noticed he still continued, because he noticed you never asked for help. You were a lot less stressed over school because of his help.

After a few weeks he started to notice how you would make sure that he took care of himself but you wouldn’t take care of yourself, so he started to tell you to eat something, to drink, to sleep, like you always told him

The first case he took you to was the first time you ever saw Sherlock get “scolded” though neither you or Sherlock took any mind to Lestrade telling him of for bringing a teenager to a crime scene, you wanted to be there to help so what was the problem?

Let’s not forget that both you and Sherlock are greatly annoyed by Anderson and Donovan because if anyone where to ask the two of you then they are both bloody idiots who doesn’t know a shit, and they do call you both names in which are not to your liking

Changing topic a bit Sherlock always wants to hear what you have to say about a crime scene

Everyone getting worried by your antics of throwing yourself in danger most of the time to help Sherlock who is in trouble

Mycroft actually liking you, hence why he protected you as much as he tries to protect Sherlock

This was all before John, but when John came into the picture everyone started to notice how much Sherlock had influenced you and they didn’t quite know if it was good or bad

John noticed how he now had to take care of two children in which one was a teenager and one an actual adult, but both acted as children and neither could take care of themselves

Stealing Sherlock coat whenever you miss him

“John I can’t find it” Sherlock yelled out lowly as not to wake you as he knew you were asleep

John walked into the living room with a mug of tea in his hand as he yawned tiredly, it was way to early for this “What are you looking for”

“My coat!” John heard the panic start to seep through Sherlock at the mention of his coat being gone.

“Why are you whispering”

“Y/N is asleep, I don’t want to wake them”

John who knew that you did in fact steal Sherlock’s coats from time to time sighed at those words. John took a sip of his tea before he walked over to your door opening it to show Sherlock your sleeping form.

That’s when Sherlock saw his coat draped around your body, the very same coat he had been looking for. You were cuddled up inside it the warmth keeping you warm as well as the familiar smell of Sherlock in which had comforted you into sleep helping with your previous worried state.

John had left the door leaving only Sherlock who stared at you. He sighed, closed the door and went and got another coat from his room. He’d let you have his favorite coat for now. Unknowingly to him a soft small smile had etched itself onto his lips as he thought about the fact that you felt safe around him, after all that’s why you took his coat.

He gave you a coat that looked like his after that

Neither you or Sherlock would ever admit it but you did see him as a sort of father figure and he saw you as his child in some sort of way

#x reader #x teen #x teen!reader #x you #Sherlock Holmes #sherlock holmes x you #Sherlock Holmes x reader #Sherlock x reader #Sherlock Holmes x teen!reader #Sherlock Holmes x teen #sherlock holmes x child!reader #john watson x reader #John Watson x teen!reader #Mycroft x teen!reader #Moriarty x teen!reader #Lestrade x teen!reader #Sherlock fanfic #platonic fanfiction

[raina-at]

Breakfast in Bed

Sherlock re-arranges the scones on the tray and pulls the cozy more firmly over the teapot. He adds a jar of his home-made marmalade and a small dollop of clotted cream.

Then he gently pushes the door to their bedroom open and sets the tray down on the nightstand. He opens the curtains to let the sunlight in and watches as John slowly wakes up.

“What time is it?” John mutters as he squints at Sherlock through half-open eyes.

“A bit after three.”

John groans. “Great. A week of nightshifts and my sleep schedule is fucked.”

“I tried to wake you earlier, but you were out like a light.”

“Yeah, I was completely exhausted this morning, the shift was a nightmare,” John says as he slowly sits up. That’s when he notices the tray. “What’s all this then?” 

Sherlock shrugs, suddenly embarrassed, suddenly one hundred percent convinced that John will think this is stupid, that John will expect something else on this day. “Breakfast in bed, John, obviously,” he says, keeping his tone offhand and nonchalant, even slightly dismissive, to hide his uncertainty.

“Well, let’s have some, then,” John says as he reaches for the scones. “Still warm, brilliant.”

Sherlock sits down and pours tea for both of them.

John drinks his tea and closes his eyes in obvious appreciation as the caffeine seems to turn him into a more fully functional human being.

“Not that I’m complaining in the least,” he says, eyes still closed, leaning comfortably against the headrest, “but what’s the occasion?”

Sherlock blinks at John, surprised. “Surely you can’t possibly be serious.”

John opens his eyes and frowns at Sherlock over his coffee cup. “I’m sorry, my brain’s not quite online yet. I’m missing something glaringly obvious, aren’t I?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Sherlock mutters, all nervousness forgotten in his irritation that John doesn’t seem to be aware of the towering significance of today. 

“Be nice,” John chides him, tapping his toes against Sherlock’s shins. “So, it’s not your birthday, or mine,. Excellent scones, by the way,” he muses between sips of tea and bites of scones, “it’s not Christmas or Easter. Neither of us has won anything or been promoted or something, and you’re far, far too calm for a marriage proposal.  Also, I’m pretty sure neither of us is pregnant. So, what have I missed?”

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Think, John. What day is it today? I know it’s hard, but think.”

John casually flips him off. “Git. What’s so special about September 22nd?”

“It’s our bloody anniversary, for heaven’s sake!” Sherlock all but yells, truly annoyed now. “Today’s the day we first met!”

“No, our anniversary is December 16th,” John says, gesturing at Sherlock with a half-eaten scone. “That was the day of the Bake-Off final when you asked me for dinner.”

Sherlock opens his mouth to argue, but he realises that John has a point. They weren’t technically anything other than fuckbuddies before that. Of course, Sherlock was arse over teakettle in love with John before that, but still, technically, John is right.  Partially. “That’s a very arbitrary date to pick,” Sherlock argues. “Just because that’s the day I asked you to dinner doesn’t mean we weren’t in a relationship before that.”

John sighs and puts down his scone. He takes Sherlock’s hands in his and looks at him with a sort of serious, exasperated affection. “Sherlock. Love. That’s the day you let me in. That’s the day you decided you wanted me in your life. That’s the day you chose me. So fuck, yes, I’m going to count that day as special,” he says, pulling Sherlock into a sweet, sticky kiss.

Sherlock’s irritation melts with John’s lovely words and he falls into the kiss head-first. He puts the tray aside and climbs into John’s lap for a proper snog.

“Fine,” he finally mutters against John’s lips. “Fine. You make a good point.”

“You make a good point, too,” John says, smiling at Sherlock, open and fond. “The day we met was highly significant as well.”

“You know why I picked today?” Sherlock asks, drawing back a bit to look at John, who’s rumpled and still a bit bleary-eyed and yet the most beautiful sight Sherlock has ever seen.

“Why?” John asks, running a gentle thumb over Sherlock’s cheekbone.

“Because a part of me was sure about you right away. Right the very second we met, when you sponged off me to get the good workstations. I knew right then and there that you’re extraordinary.”

“And then you left me to dangle for three months as the rest of you caught up to your gut instinct, is that it?” John asks, but it’s clear he’s teasing.

But he’s bang on the money, and he knows it, too. “Pretty much,” Sherlock admits.

“I have a compromise suggestion,” John says, pulling Sherlock in again. “This is our breakfast anniversary,” he says, pressing a soft kiss against his lips. “And the December one is our dinner anniversary.”

“Deal,” Sherlock says, catching John’s smiling lips for a lingering kiss.

Have some more soppy, happy Bakers. For the prompt Breakfast by @notjustamumj

I have no idea who's done it already and who's already been tagged, so I'm tagging some people: @jrow @keirgreeneyes @khorazir @inevitably-johnlocked @thetimemoves @catlock-holmes @totallysilvergirl

#johnlock #bbc sherlock #johnlock fic #my fic #bakers with benefits #notjustamom may prompts #breakfast #tooth-rotting fluff

[uvmantaray]

JOHNLOCK HEADCANONS P.2

Living together -edition

• Sherlock doesn’t turn on the lights, like ever. He wakes up, goes to the dark kitchen to make tea and then sits in the dark living room to drink it.

Sometimes John doesn’t hear him getting up, and nearly has a heart attack when he puts on the lights and Sherlock is just sitting there.

• John gets frustrated when Sherlock leaves stuff all over the place. Sherlock thinks everything just should be where they are easily accessible.

• John does the laundry, because Sherlock would probably wash his black clothes in the same load as John’s (not black) sweaters.

• They will occasionally sleep in the living room, Sherlock in his chair and John on the couch.

Sherlock does experiments late and thinks John fell asleep due to keeping company for him, so he sleeps downstairs too, to be fair.

John thinks Sherlock falls asleep due to doing experiments until it’s really late, and sleeps on the couch so Sherlock doesn’t have to be alone.

(They don’t realise what the other is doing)

(Idiots in love)

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

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[fallingyams]

sherliam soulmate AU

(originally posted to my twitter as an idea ramble, now expanded into an actual snippet, I guess)

A universe wherein the initials of your soulmate are written across your wrist. Not everyone has a soulmate - some are born with empty wrists. Others simply choose to ignore them, especially in genteel circles where marriages were often determined by wealth and connections, rather than love.

---

For the longest time, William had paid no heed to the initials that branded his wrist. He refused to accept the power imbalances of society. He refused to accept Louis’ illness. He refused to accept this broken world as it was.

Rejecting the soulmate that fate had decided for him was simply another item on the list. 

A small part of him had once adored the idea of having a soulmate, someone out there being a perfect match for him. Growing up on the streets and hopping from orphanage to orphanage, however, had left him disillusioned early on. What if his soulmate turned out to be a corrupt noble? Someone as strong willed as he was could never be asked to give up his morals for something as flimsy as love.

Besides, getting attached would only lead to future hurt when he engulfed this society in the flames of justice and retribution.

Surely nobody would want the devil for their soulmate.

---

Of course, everything changes when he meets Sherlock Holmes aboard the Noahtic. For the first time, William finds himself stunned and thrilled to face an adversary who teeters just a bit too close to discovering the truth behind Enders.

A rather rough-mannered man who was able to spot his love for Mathematics a mile away. A competent detective who sees straight to the heart of matters and suspects that more is at play than a mere murder borne from a moment’s passion.

William’s wrist itches and he finds himself subconsciously tracing fingers over the S.H. hidden under the fabric of his sleeve more than once.

He takes a gamble and reveals his name to the other, at the end of the whole ordeal on the Noahtic, but there is no recognition in Sherlock’s eyes.

It is one of two possibilities, then.

The first being that William is simply mistaken, and Sherlock Holmes sharing the same initials as his soulmate is pure happenstance.

The second possibility, which William strongly suspects, is that Sherlock has his birth initials, instead of this identity that he’s assumed. Without any way of confirming this, however, William decides the matter not worth looking into.

It’s for the better that Sherlock doesn’t find out, anyway.

---

William deliberates long and hard over this, but decides to be selfish this one last time and encloses the two birth certificates in the envelope along with his letter to the detective. 

His inner turmoil may be all for naught if Sherlock decides to burn the envelope in its entirety, but a small voice that he’s never been able to quash desires for him to be seen this once.

He doesn’t want to be a god, nor does he want to be the devil. He’s been William James Moriarty for as long as the plan has needed him to be.

But just this once... 

He’d like for his soulmate to see him for who he is.

A simple man with strong convictions. A mathematician who loves his field and molding young minds who will be the future of this country. Someone who runs late for lectures and makes bawdy jokes with students and would love for nothing more than a peaceful afternoon with a cup of tea.

He’s already at death’s door.

He’s ready to hand the invitation to his executioner.

---

It doesn’t take more than a brief glimpse at the birth certificate for Sherlock to make the connection with the initials on his wrist.

He takes off cursing and swearing at the sheer stupidity of his soulmate who is throwing himself headlong at death and prays that he’s not too late to save him.

Not very much later, he gets his confirmation when he reaches out to grab Liam as he falls, his sleeve riding up to reveal the S.H. printed across his wrist in his own unintelligible scrawl.

Sherlock yells and pleads and screams himself hoarse, begging Liam to reconsider the path he’s chosen.

He’s finally found his other half - someone who matches him on an intellectual level, who challenges him and creates interesting puzzles. Someone who beats him at his own game and teases him right back with that flippant smile - like hell he’s about to give the other man up.

---

William smiles as Sherlock traces the initials on his wrist even as he sinks his grip further into William’s arm.

The pressure hurts, of course, but it’s pushed to the back of his mind as his thoughts cloud over and his heart is briefly so, so full at the other’s acceptance of him.

It’s nice, imagining a future with Sherlock. A soulmate who understands the deepest parts of him, has seen his sins and transgressions and decided to love him regardless.

Just this is enough for him.

William knows he can’t indulge his selfishness for much longer. The splintering bridge cannot possibly support the both of them.

He will not doom his beloved to death with him.

(He hopes that Sherlock can forgive him for condemning him to loneliness - perhaps knowing and losing a soulmate was the most cruel thing he could have done to the other)

“It’s my loss, Sherly.”

He lets himself fall.

He never expected that he’d find someone who would want him for a soulmate. Leave it to this man to defy all expectations.

---

He certainly never expected Sherlock to jump after him either.

Of course, his detective would never cease to surprise him, even in this.

“Let’s live on.”

#sherliam #yuukoku no moriarty #moriarty the patriot #william james moriarty #sherlock holmes (mtp) #soulmates #my writing #the yams are writing #I did this instead of working #pretty self indulgent #i do not choose the angst #the angst chooses me

[sherlocks-blanket]

Cold case

Sherlock holmes x reader

A\N: This was really fun to write! But have to mention, that this time , it wasn't really beta read. Sooo if they happen to be mistakes I'm really sorry.

Warnings: None

Words: 1k

Gif not mine

“Sherlock you shouldn’t work in that condition!” you scowled at the detective with your hands on your hips. Trying to reason with him could be really a pain at times… Especially, when he doesn’t take care of himself, like now when he’s ill.

“I’m completely capable of w-“ his face furrowed, as he let out a sneeze.

You handed him with a sigh the tissue box which he accepted, but knowing how stubborn he could be; he likely wouldn’t give up so fast. You crossed your arms with a frown. “I told you; that you shouldn’t run after the murderer in the cold rain, but you’ll never listen… So, please listen now, and just rest; you can work again, when you’re recovered.”

Sherlock groaned and dropped his head back on the pillow in silent defeat.

“Good that we settled that. I’ll make you some tea and soup now. Also if you need something just call.”

Sherlock watched as you left the room, leaving the door only with a slight gap open.

Being bedridden could be a pain for the detective, meaning no cases to work on which comes with boredom he despised. But it would be the least of his problem as a pounding pain started to spread, from the back of his head; his eyes wandered on the side where he saw a glass of water and some painkillers you most likely left there, since you knew how he suffers from headaches when he’s… sick as much he doesn’t wanted to admit it…

Sherlock sat up with a grumble and reached for the medication which he gulped down with the water, before he laid back down.

In the kitchen you poured hot water in a cup leaving it now to rest, just as you grasped a pot, so you could prepare the soup; you heard someone haste up the stairs. Wondering who was the one rushing inside, you turned around and your gaze landed on the ex-army doctor.

“Oh, hello John!” you greeted and laid the pot on the stove. “I’m glad you here.”

John’s eyes scanned around the flat, most likely looking for his friend. “Where’s Sherlock?”

Just before you opened your mouth to respond a sneeze echoed from the bedroom where Sherlock was in. It answered the question for John.

“I see… Should I take a look at him?”

“I even insist, maybe he’ll listen more to you with you being a doctor…” you replied and pointed towards the mug with the tea. “Could you also bring him that, if you would be so kind?”

With a nod John took the cup and headed towards the bedroom, knocking first before he entered his friends space. The veteran found Sherlock laying on the bed, and he looked definitely sick with his red nose, and a thin layer of sweat covering his forehead, most likely from a forming fever. That Sherlock wrote him that he needed to come for a case, and that he wanted to work in this condition was beyond him…

“Hello John. Did you saw my message?”

“Gods sake… You really wanted to work on the case while ill?” John raised an eyebrow and laid the hot beverage on the night table.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, first you, and now John… telling him he can’t work while ‘sick’. “I’m feeling good enough to work, so… can you hand me the files… please?”

John crossed his arms and a soft sigh left his lips. “You need to rest, doc’s order! And I’ll tell Greg you won’t work on cases for now. Just take it easy and rest.”

With that being said John left without another word being exchanged, as he closed the door behind him; he left Sherlock once again alone.

The detective crossed his arms with a pout. Resting… Not even criminals rest. Right now there were crimes happening and he? He was just laying in his bed without something to do…

****

It felt like a eternity when the door opened again, hearing soft steps approaching him; his gaze wandered to you. Sherlock saw you were carrying a tray in you hands with a steaming bowl on it, your face in a frown noticing the full mug with the tea from earlier, which was cold by now.

With a sigh you switched the cup with the bowl. “Sherlock… you haven’t touched your tea… Would you at least eat something?”

“Not hungry..” he replied and faced the ceiling again. He couldn’t smell it let alone wouldn’t he taste anything with how stuffed his nose was.

You crossed your arms across your chest. “I know you want to work on cases but even John told you that you need rest and eating a soup adds also for a quick recovery. So please eat, even if it’s a tiny bit… would you do it for me, please?”

A smile of victory spread on your lips, as Sherlock sat up with a low grumble and took the bowl without further complains. You watched him silently take spoon, after spoon, till he put it aside; half of it eaten. Pleased from the result, you wanted to take the dishes back to the kitchen but just as you wanted to step towards the door; you got pulled on the bed from Sherlock.

“Please stay..”

You couldn’t say no when you stared at him, seeing those puppy eyes begging you to stay.“I hope you don’t make me sick.” You chuckled and just as you laid back beside him, he rested his head on your chest.

“Then it would be my turn to care for you.” He replied closing his eyes and eased into your touch, when your fingers glided gently through his dark curls.

As much how grumpy he could be when he’s ill, you loved every moment like these, when he showed his soft side as well. You pressed your lips on top of his head for a kiss, pulling back, when you felt how hot he was. “You’re burning…”

He hummed as respond, too tired to respond correctly.

You smiled and continued to caress him, watching when his breathing slowed, as he slowly drift off to sleep. You didn’t care if you get sick in the end, when this moment is far more valuable.

#sherlock x reader #sherlock bbc #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock x y/n #sherlock x you #bbc sherlock #sherlock fanfic #sherlock holmes fanfiction #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock reader insert #sherlockbbc

[lisbeth-kk]

December moments

Prompts used in this chapter: bored - bad weather

The little snow London’s been bestowed with is replaced with heavy rain and vicious gusts of wind. Both men in 221B are sulking quite a bit and nothing seems to tickle their fancy.

December 29

Sherlock doesn’t normally care about what kind of weather it is. There’s after all nothing he can do about the matter, but today the constant sound of raindrops hitting the windows with increasing intensity, makes him tense and bad tempered. 

He’s bored but can’t seem to muster the strength to do anything about it. His sock index is in impeccable order, there are no more experiments to perform, since John’s forbidden him to ruin the Christmas jumper Hudders gifted Sherlock last year. It’s itchy and slightly too short for his long arms and torso, but too big for John’s smaller frame. 

Why John’s so stubborn about Sherlock’s proposal to put the item to good use in an interesting experiment, Sherlock can’t fathom. Then again, John has a strange kind of sentiment for knitted jumpers, whether they fit their owner or not. 

Speaking of. John comes stomping up the stairs after his daring excursion to Tesco’s to get them milk, bread and eggs. Sherlock deduces from the first steps that John’s in a bad mood too. He can get ridiculously sulky when the weather is like it is now.

He uses the doorway leading directly into the kitchen, probably to avoid the floor in the sitting room from getting soaked. Sherlock can hear John muttering curses under his breath, and for some odd reason this lightens his own mood a tiny bit.  

“I’m taking a shower, and no shenanigans from you trying to brighten my mood. I need to be grumpy for a bit longer,” John informs him in a clipped voice, and doesn’t even wait for Sherlock to reply. 

Sherlock’s mood improves even further by this statement. Other people might’ve reacted with irritation or anger at such an outburst, but Sherlock’s above most people’s reactions. He knows that John’s behaviour has nothing to do with him, and after his shower he’ll probably be in a better mood. 

Four and a half minutes later, John walks into the kitchen freshly showered and Sherlock hands him a cup of tea. This small gesture loosens the visible tension in John’s shoulders and his eyes look fondly up at Sherlock. 

“Thanks, love. Just what I needed,” John says and squeezes Sherlock’s bicep. 

“Good. Are we finished sulking for today?” Sherlock inquires innocently. 

John laughs, as Sherlock predicted, and just like that the day is bright, despite the weather, and when John puts on a Bond film, Sherlock doesn’t even roll his eyes, but snuggles closer to John and wallows in his fiancé’s proximity. 

Read it on AO3

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#christmas ficlet prompts #sherlock fandom #sherlock #john watson #johnlock #sherlock fanfic #bbc sherlock #ao3 fanfic #december moments #respite in december

[anonymousewrites]

A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 3) Chapter Six

Father Figure! Sherlock Holmes x Teen! Reader

Chapter Six: Wedding Preparations

Summary: Sherlock and (Y/N) mentally prepare themselves for Mary and John's wedding.

            (Y/N) was laying on the couch with a lollipop in their mouth in perfect silence. Sherlock was pacing back and forth while periodically typing on the computer. (Y/N) had a book propped up next to them and periodically flipped through it.

            The door to 221B burst open suddenly, and Lestrade ran in with a whole host of armed men. (Y/N) raised their head and furrowed their brow in confusion.

            “Sherlock, what’s the matter?!” cried Lestrade.

            “Gary! You’re here,” said Sherlock. “How do you write a best man speech?”

            (Y/N) sighed.

            Lestrade stared in shock and anger.

l

            “Dad, did you really have to call Lestrade?” asked (Y/N) after they managed to get the officers and a furious Lestrade out of the apartment.

            “I was having trouble,” said Sherlock.

            “Just look up best men speeches,” said (Y/N). “Copy that.”

            “I want to make it good for John,” admitted Sherlock.

            (Y/N) cocked their head. “John asked you to be his best man. He knows you’ll be terrible at a speech. He doesn’t care.” They considered. “Not enough to choose someone else.”

            Sherlock groaned. “I hate this sentiment stuff.”

            “Weddings are full of it,” said (Y/N). They twirled their lollipop in between their fingers. “I’m just going to amuse myself figuring out the drama between guests.”

            Sherlock closed the computer and picked up music pages. “I have been composing for the wedding, however.”

            “That’s why John keeps you around,” said (Y/N).

            Sherlock smiled slightly at the joke.

            “Oh, are you making music for the wedding?” said Mrs. Hudson, walking into the room. “That’s sweet, Sherlock.”

            “Why are you here?” asked Sherlock.

            “I’m bringing you your morning tea. You’re usually asleep,” said Mrs. Hudson.

            “You bring me tea in the morning?” said Sherlock, blinking.

            Mrs. Hudson chuckled. “Where’d you think it came from?”

            “I don’t know. I just thought it sort of happened,” said Sherlock.

            (Y/N) smiled in amusement.

            “Your mother has a lot to answer for,” tutted Mrs. Hudson, but she handed him a cup.

            “Mm, I know. I have a list,” said Sherlock. “Mycroft has a file.”

            “Do you want some, (Y/N)?” asked Mrs. Hudson.

            “I’m okay,” said (Y/N).

            “Don’t forget to eat,” she said before leaving the room.

            (Y/N) hummed noncommittedly.

            “Are you eating?” said Sherlock, looking up from his work.

            (Y/N) thought carefully. “…Yes.”

            “Proper amount at regular intervals?” said Sherlock.

            (Y/N) decided to go back to their book.

            Sherlock narrowed his eyes and made a mental note to monitor more carefully now that he was back. He couldn’t have his kid not taking care of themself.

l

            Still, after all the drama and troubles (and a crazy stag party for John from Sherlock and bribery for some relatives that needed to be reigned in), the wedding arrived. At least they had time for tea, peace, and quiet before the whole thing began.

            “So, it’s the big day, then!” exclaimed Mrs. Hudson.

            “Two people who currently live together are about to attend church, have a party, go on a short holiday, and then carry on living together. What’s big about that?” said Sherlock.

            “It changes people, marriage,” said Mrs. Hudson.

            (Y/N) furrowed their brow. “How could it do that?”

            “It just does. It changes you as a person in ways you couldn’t imagine,” said Mrs. Hudson.

            “As does lethal injection,” remarked Sherlock, and (Y/N) chuckled lightly.

            “My best friend, Margaret, she was my chief bridesmaid. We were going to be best friends forever, we always said that, but I hardly saw her after,” sighed Mrs. Hudson.

            “Weren’t you and your husband a bit busy with a drug cartel?” remarked (Y/N).

            “I had no idea he was involved in anything,” said Mrs. Hudson firmly, walking out of the room to get ready for the wedding.

            “She definitely made sure to get her share of money,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            “There’s a reason we tolerate her,” said Sherlock fondly.

            “Would you ever get married?” asked (Y/N).

            “What do you mean? For a case? Yes,” said Sherlock. “And then divorce when it isn’t necessary.”

            “I know that,” said (Y/N). “I’m talking about really marrying. For ‘love’ and all of that.”

            Sherlock looked at them. “I’m like you. I find sentimentality very difficult in the romantic sense.”

            “ ‘Only the deepest love with induce me into matrimony,’ ” quoted (Y/N). “Understandable.”

            “Pride and Prejudice,” identified Sherlock.

            (Y/N) nodded and looked at Sherlock. “If you did get married, would you…leave me? I know some people don’t want to be with people with kids, and I’m not even legally yours.”

            “You’re my kid,” said Sherlock firmly. “And you come first.” He leaned back and took a sip of his tea. “Besides, I’d have to find someone to put up with me if I wanted to marry.”

            “The odds are not in your favor,” said (Y/N), but they were smiling again.

l

            (Y/N) stood to the side in black slacks, a black tie, and a purple button-down. They smiled as the church bells pealed and Mary and John, finally married, posed with their groomsmen (including Sherlock) and bridesmaids.

            “Congratulations!” said the photographer, lifting his camera. “Okay, hold it here—I wanna get another shot of the newlyweds.”

            “(Y/N), come on,” said John, waving them up.

            (Y/N) was surprised, but John and Mary motioned for them again. They were a part of John and Sherlock’s little found family. They deserved to be included. (Y/N) walked up, and they stood beside Sherlock and smiled for the picture.

            “Okay—three, two, one, cheese!” said the photographer.

            Throughout the rest of the celebration as the sun set, the photographer continued to capture the moment. John, Sherlock, and Lestrade got a photo together with a pageboy, (Y/N) and Sherlock were together, (Y/N) trying to sneak away and getting caught by John, and a variety of others. Janine, the Maid of Honor, and Sherlock even got one as she walked up to him.

            “The famous Mr. Holmes,” she exclaimed. “And you must be (Y/N). I’m very pleased to meet you.” She leaned over towards Sherlock as the photo was taken. “But no sex, okay?”

            (Y/N) made a grossed-out face, and Sherlock raised his eyebrows in confusion. “Um, sorry?” he said.

            Janine just smiled and laughed. “Calm down, I’m only messing. Bridesmaid, Best Man…it’s a bit traditional.”

            Ew, thought (Y/N). They decidedly didn’t like how Janine looked at their dad.

            “If that’s the sort of thing you’re looking for, the man over there in the blue is your best bet,” said Sherlock, nodding to another table.

            “Recently divorced doctor with a ginger cat, a barn conversion, and a history of erectile dysfunction,” said (Y/N), observing the man for a moment. “Actually, probably not that good.”

            “More than you expected?” said Sherlock. (Y/N) shrugged in response.

            “Mr. Holmes, (Y/N)…You’re going to be incredibly useful.” Janine smiled and walked away.

            “Weird,” said (Y/N).

            “She was attracted to me,” said Sherlock. “Some people have strange approaches.”

            “Yeah. Weird,” said (Y/N). They looked around and saw Mary and John outside the venue, greeting people. “We should make sure our…arrangements worked out.”

            Sherlock nodded, and the pair walked out to support their friends.

            “Hello, lovely to meet you,” said Mary with a tired smile as another of John’s relatives shook her hand.

            “You look beautiful, Mary,” they said before moving on.

            “Save me,” murmured John, obviously exhausted with all the people and just wanting to celebrate his marriage with his wife.

            “You signed up for this,” said (Y/N) brightly as a man in a weird purple tie walked up.

            “David!” exclaimed Mary, going to hug him.

            David leaned away and laughed nervously. He opted to just pat her arms awkwardly. “Mary. Congratulations. You look, um, very nice.” He shook John’s hand. “John, congratulations. You’re a lucky man.”

            “Thank you,” said John.

            “David, this is (Y/N) and Sherlock,” said Mary, smiling.

            “Um, yeah. We’ve, um, we’ve met,” said David awkwardly.

A few days ago…

            David sat in the client chair of 221B while Sherlock sat across from him in his armchair and (Y/N) lounged on the couch.

            “So, what exactly are my duties as an usher?” asked David.

            Sherlock folded his hands. “Let’s talk about Mary, first.”

            “Sorry, what?” said David, glancing between the pair.

            “You went out with her for two years,” said (Y/N) matter-of-factly.

            “A-Ages ago. We’re just good friends now,” said David nervously.

            (Y/N) rolled over and sat up. They cocked their head, and David flinched at the little smirk and calculating look in their eyes. Sherlock was simultaneously proud of the reaction they got from him and worried that (Y/N) was a bit too good at intimidation.

            (Moriarty, screamed his head, and Sherlock smothered that voice. He had greatly disturbed the relationship between Sherlock and (Y/N), and Sherlock refused to let it continue).

            “Whenever she tweets, you respond within five minutes regardless of time or location, so you have her on text alert,” said (Y/N). “That’s a lot of attention you’re giving her.” David shifted uncomfortably.

            “In all of your Facebook pictures of the happy couple, Mary takes center frame while John is always partly or entirely excluded,” said Sherlock.

            “You two can’t assume from that I’ve still got some kind of interest in Mary,” chuckled David awkwardly.

            “You volunteered to be a ‘shoulder to cry on’ three times.” (Y/N) leaned forward, and David swallowed nervously. “Do you have anything you can defend yourself with?” He was silent, and (Y/N) tsked.

            Sherlock made a note. “I think from now on we’ll downgrade you to ‘casual acquaintance.’ No more than three planned social encounters a year, always in John’s presence,” he said decidedly. He looked at David intently. “We have your contact details.”

            “We’ll be monitoring,” said (Y/N), smiling sharply.

            David looked at them with wide, frightened eyes. “They’re right about you two. You two are bloody psychopaths.”

            “I’m a high-functioning sociopath,” said Sherlock.

            “I’m autistic,” said (Y/N).

            “And we have your number,” said Sherlock, grinning.

            David let out a nervous breath, got up, and made a hasty, nervous exit.

Present…

            David made some nervous noise and quickly went indoors. Satisfied, Sherlock and (Y/N) watched Mary and John greet more people.

            The ringbearer, a young boy, arrived at the front of the line and smiled.

            Mary smiled brightly. “Hello, Archie!”

            He ignored her and ran straight to Sherlock to hug his legs. Sherlock looked down awkwardly and patted his head. “Mm, yes, well done in the service, Archie.”

            Archie’s mother smiled. “He’s really come out of his shell. I don’t know how you did it.”

            (Y/N) and Sherlock exchanged glances.

A few days ago…

            Sherlock and (Y/N) faced archie on the client chair.

            “Basically, it’s a cute smile to the bride’s side, cute smile to the groom’s side, then the rings,” said Sherlock.

            “No,” said Archie instantly.

            “And you have to wear the outfit,” said Sherlock.

            “No.”

            “You really do have to wear the outfit,” said (Y/N).

            “What for?” said Archie obstinately.

            “Grown-ups seem to like all that stuff,” said (Y/N).

            “Why?” asked Archie. He and (Y/N) looked at Sherlock.

            He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll ask one.”

            “You two are detectives,” said Archie slowly.

            “Yep,” said Sherlock.

            “Have you solved any murders?” asked Archie.

            “Sure. Loads,” said Sherlock, and (Y/N) nodded.

            “Can I see?” asked Archie.

            (Y/N) looked at Sherlock and shrugged. He nodded. “Yeah, alright.” He opened the computer to show pictures.

            “What’s all that stuff in his eye?” asked Archie.

            “Maggots,” said (Y/N).

            “Cool!” exclaimed Archie.

Present…

            “He said you had some pictures for him as a treat,” continued Archie’s mother.

            “Er, yes, if he’s good,” said Sherlock awkwardly.

            “Beheadings,” said Archie eagerly.

            “Lovely little village,” lied Sherlock when he saw Archie’s mother’s expression.

            She looked confused but walked inside with Archie. Mary and John turned to Sherlock and (Y/N). Mary had an expression of confusion, and John narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

            (Y/N) and Sherlock pretended to look innocent.

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#a study of the heart and brain #x reader #x gn reader #gn reader #x nb reader #nb reader #x teen reader #x teen!reader #sherlock x teen!reader #sherlock x teen reader #teen reader #teen!reader #sherlock fanfic #sherlock & co #sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #parentlock #father figure #found family trope #found family

[shiinata-library]

Not on the first date

Relationships: John Watson x Fem!Reader

Content: fluff, a little assault but John is here for you

Summary: “Imagine John Watson protecting you because you are the next target on a case they are working on, but then he falls in love with you” from here @thefandomimagine + fake dating

On AO3

Note: What am I doing in this fandom…? Sorry if I write inconsistencies. It's been a long time since I watched the series and maybe John will look a bit like Bilbo.

One rainy afternoon, you went to drink tea at 221b baker street with Mrs Hudson, a long friend of your mother. Apparently, she had forgotten her shawl the last time she came to your mother’s house, and you had to bring it back.

Expect that after the tea, Mrs Hudson asked you to follow her outside her home. Despite your curiosity, you preferred to remain quiet. She led you to the top of the stairs in the same building. 

At her first knock on the door, nobody replied. The second time, they heard someone moving, and when she was about to knock a third time, the door opened suddenly.

 “Good afternoon, Mrs Hudson,” said a tall man that you recognise as Sherlock Holmes according to Mrs Hudson’s descriptions she already said about him. “Now is not a good time.”

 “I’m sure you have a little time for me,” she said with a lot of hope in her voice.

The old woman seemed to know how Sherlock was working since he let her enter. She beckoned you to follow her into what looked like a living room despite the clutter. While you were observing the place, the man didn't hesitate to look at you from head to toe before turning back to Mrs Hudson.

 “Sherlock, my dear, this young lady received a lot of menacing letters for months and nobody helped her. I have known her since she was a baby and I don’t want her to be hurt, or worse. Can you do something about it?”

 “Not interested,” he said honestly, shrugging. “It’s the police's job. Surely her ex-boyfriend.”

At the end of Sherlock’s sentence, another man walked in the living room from a corridor at the back of the room. He smiled at the sight of the old woman.

 “Good afternoon, Mrs Hudson,” he said with a smile before noticing you and nodding. “Good afternoon.”

You replied in the same cold tone he used for you while he sounded warmly with Mrs Hudson. Then, the blonde man resumed as he walked next to Sherlock.

 “Do you want some tea?” he asked with a smile.

 “No, thank you John,” Mrs Hudson replied politely. “We are not here for tea. I came with a case for Sherlock.”

At her answer, John looked attentively at you. His eyes weren’t as piercing as Sherlock, but they troubled you even so; strangely more than Sherlock. When the old woman resumed, his attention left you.

 “Please Sherlock, the police won’t help her and you know it,” she said, starting to lose her patience.

 “She doesn’t want help.”

Sherlock’s voice was exaggeratedly tired. He quickly earned a frown look by John, making him understand he was rude. But Sherlock didn’t care about it. Then, maybe it was because of Mrs Hudson’s look or maybe it was the idea of making her upset, be that as it may, he went back on his answer.

 “Very well, please sit down on that chair and explain everything quickly to us.”

Sherlock elegantly sat on an armchair and showed you a chair. John also sat down, noticing that you stayed where you were, as he looked at the chair, then to Sherlock. A long sigh escaped your lips before you talk.

 “He is right. I don’t need help.”

Your voice was cold, more tired than upset. You knew Mrs Hudson was doing this for you, but you didn’t need it. The letters would end at some point or another. 

 “Did you wait for me to accept just to refuse? No. Forget it, I already know the answer,” Sherlock took offence. “Just sit down and talk.”

 “I’m sorry,” you said as you couldn’t help but smile before his attitude. “No need to waste your time with me. It’s just some death threat letter. I’m sure I’m not the only one to receive some of them. My mother panicked and told Mrs Hudson.”

 ”My dear,” the old woman started as she walked close to you, stroking your upper arm. “I have never received any. This is not normal. Let’s talk to them about it.”

The discussion was going nowhere. Sherlock was clearly seeing you didn’t want to be here, but now he accepted it for Mrs Hudson, he didn’t want to give up. As for the old woman, she wouldn’t let you leave without you talking to them.

 “What about some tea?” John said while nobody listened to him as he stood up and walked to the kitchen.

You followed him with your eyes, a light smile on your lips. This man seemed to be used to this kind of thing. When he came back with two cups of tea, he gave one to the now upset woman and Sherlock who were augmenting together. They took it as if it was absolutely normal and continued to speak, like you were here.

Then, John came back from the kitchen once again with two cups of tea, one for you and one for him. A smile lit up his face as you accepted the cup with a shy thank you. You would be lying if you said that this man didn't leave you indifferent, but you hadn't come for that, right? You had only come to return a shawl by the way…

 “So, menacing letters?” John tried with a timid smile, unable to hide that he wanted you to know more about them.

 “Yeah, nothing serious. I think,” you replied as you sipped your tea. “M. Holmes must be right. It's surely my ex.”

 ”Why don't you believe that?” Sherlock asked as he walked to you and John while Mrs Hudsbon only looked at you.

 ”Well, my ex is not a bad person. I know he wouldn’t do that.”

 ”Another ex?” John asked, raising an eyebrow.

 ”Come on, John. She only had one long relationship that ended a few months ago. So, what is written in the letters?”

John frowned but said nothing, leaving you to answer him. While you were looking at your tea, Mrs Hudson joined you and stroked your upper arm again to encourage you.

 ”Well, it’s just letters with simple sentences like ‘You shouldn’t talk to him with such a cute smile’, or ‘The friend you saw you yesterday doesn’t deserve you’, or hm, ‘Stop wearing that dress or I would have no choice but to make it disappear with you’.”

Then, the silence made your eyes raise to them. Sherlock seemed to think, abandoning you to walk in a circle in the middle of the living room. Mrs Hudson smiled at you, stroking your back. John was looking at you with a serious glare. It was almost scary. When he noticed you started to be troubled, he looked at Sherlock as if he was talking to him by telepathy.

 ”Do you keep smiling outside or at work?” Sherlock asked, not stopping his circle.

 ”Yes,” you chucked despite the situation, your eyes turning to Sherlock, then coming back to John as if something about him calmed you.

 ”Do you continue to see your friend mentioned in the letter?”

 ”Yes, sometimes. He was talking about a colleague with whom I just go for a drink when we need to relax after work.”

 ”Do you still wear that dress?” he asked, turning toward you as if he already knew the answer.

A few seconds of silence raised the tension in the room. Even Mrs Hudson stopped stroking your back. You nervously looked at him. He was too serious for this kind of case, right?

 ”No,” you eventually answered. “I didn't want to provoke him…”

 ”Oh, dear,” the old woman sighed in a compassionate voice. “You should tell me sooner.”

 ”It’ll pass,” you smiled, shrugging. “It’s just a dress.”

John was about to say something as he put his tea on the table but Sherlock spoke first.

 ”It won’t. Wear that dress, go on a date, and the harasser will show up in no time.”

 ”Absolutely not, Sherlock!” John said in such a hard tone that you jumped. “He sent her death threat letters. He could be anyone. It’s too dangerous and you know it! ”

 ”It’s the fastest way,” Sherlock affirmed.

 ”What if he tried to kill me?” you asked, surprising John with your nonchalant behaviour. “Can’t we just let him or her, I don’t even know, forget me?”

 ”Did he forget you after all those months? No,” Sherlock confirmed it as if he was the harasser himself. “So, wear that dress and go on a date with John, he will protect you if you need it.”

 ”Wait, what?” John could only say at first, freezing his eyes on Sherlock. 

 ”Take her out for dinner and wait for her harasser to appear. A Saturday night would be good. Are you free next Saturday?”

 ”I’m not–” John started before Sherlock cut him off.

 ”Not you.”

Sherlock was waiting for your answer while you were still trying to understand everything he had said. This man talked too fast! They all looked at you impatiently.

 ”Yes, I’m free but–”

 ”Perfect! John, take her wherever you want, then take her home. That's it. You don’t need me anymore. I need to go now.”

In a few seconds, he took his coat and left the flat, leaving John with a face of incomprehension until you laughed.

 ”Sorry, dear. He is always like that,” Mrs Hudson tried to comfort you. 

 ”It’s alright. He’s fun,” you continued to laugh before calming and turning to John. “Don’t worry about it. I will manage it on my own. Enjoy your Saturday night like you planned it.”

Despite your reassuring tone, John didn’t smile. He looked at you seriously, then took his phone from his trousers.

 ”No, we’ll do as Sherlock said, even if it’s dangerous. Can I have your phone number… And your name? Oh god, we didn’t even introduce each other. I’m Dr John Watson,” he said with an embarrassed cute smile, holding out his hand.

 ”Oh, hm, I’m just Y/n Y/l/n,” you said, unable to hide your surprise knowing he was a doctor, as you checked his hand. “Are you sure about Saturday, because I can–”

 ”I’m sure,” he confirmed, still smiling until he realised he hadn't let go of your hand yet. “I’m, hm. If Sherlock told us to do that, we should do it.”

 ”You seem to have a lot of trust in him,” you smiled. “Well, alright. Let's plan a fake date during the week. I hope I won’t bore you too much.”

Hearing him laughing at your joke reassured you. The first impression of him was cold, but he seemed more kind than you thought. After exchanging your numbers, you went back home, trying to convince yourself it will just be a fake date to find your harasser. But no one has forbidden you to enjoy it, right?

.

During the week, John sent you several messages. At first, it was just to choose a restaurant together, then you both planned a whole afternoon together with a temporary exhibition in a museum and maybe going to watch a film if you have time. 

 ”John? Are you listening to us?” Sherlock sighed as they were in a murder scene while Inspector Lestrade was explaining what he knew. 

 ”Yes. Hm, no. I’m listening now,” John said as he put his phone away with a smile.

 ”I called you for ten minutes.”

 ”Oh, sorry. I was, hm, busy.”

 ”You’ll see her in two days. I’m sure she can wait half an hour before you answer her.”

John didn’t need to tell him, it was so easy for Sherlock to understand who he was texting. John avoided his glaze still smiling as he tried to focus now on the case even though he was still thinking of you. 

..

You missed not wearing that dress. It was one of your favourites and it was very comfortable. With comfortable shoes since you will go to an exhibition, you left your flat to join John who was waiting for you outside. 

Before opening the front door of your building, you checked your letterbox and found a new threatening letter as you used to receive: “I don’t know who you’re texting every day but you should stop it. Don't even think about dating it.” 

When you left the building, you looked around. John joined you with a smile, but he quickly noticed something was wrong. It was too bad because his smile was the best thing to forget what you just read. After explaining the new letter, you tried to smile, hoping that fake date won’t be too dangerous for you or for John.

 ”It’s a lovely dress indeed,” he gently said, making you blush and laugh with his exaggerated tone. “When we’ll find who is behind all those letters, you can wear it more often.”

 ”I hope so,” you shyly started, tucking a strand behind your ear. “Ready for our fake date?”

 ”Absolutely!” he confirmed it with a nod, reminding himself it wasn’t a real date.

Dating Dr John Watson was fun and interesting. Between his anecdotes with Sherlock, his remarks during the exhibition and his casual conversations, you didn't have time to be bored. The afternoon passed more quickly than you realised, as the dinner in a simple and cosy restaurant.

Despite trying to convince yourself it was a fake date, you had a good time with him and when he walked you to your place, you couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Of course, you didn’t show it, continuing to smile and laugh until you arrived in front of your building. Forgetting everything about the letters, John brought you out of your waking dream.

 ”Finally, nobody showed up,” he said, trying to look discreetly around. “Maybe it’s not a stalker. Just someone who sends letters. In truth, I’m glad nothing happened.”

I don’t want to see you hurt, almost escaped from his lips as his eyes came back to you with a smile. Now, you were both thinking the same thing: What should we do now?

Sherlock didn’t tell you what to do after that, or what if the letters’ writer didn’t show. 

 ”I hope he won’t try to kill me tomorrow morning,” you said in a laugh, trying to lighten the mood despite John remaining serious.

 ”Maybe we could try…”

John avoided your gaze as if he was to say something horrible. You give him time to speak again but he seems lost in thought.

 ”Do you want to provoke the harasser?” you said after understanding what he thought. “A kiss?”

His eyes immediately came back to yours, making you blush by their intensity. If only he was kissing you for another reason…

As he looked up and down several times from your lips to your eyes, you decided to do it yourself. As you slipped your hand on his cold cheek, you stepped toward him and kissed him softly, savouring his lips when you could. They were cold but so soft.

It was impossible to hide your embarrassment after that, so you avoided his eyes with a chuckle as you stepped away.

 ”Usually, I don’t kiss on the first date,” you joked, making John laugh too.

 ”Too bad, because it was sweet.”

John’s thoughts went out on their own and his cheeks turned very red when your eyes widened toward him. If you both didn’t hear the steps next to you, he could have said something, but it was too late. A tall man stopped next to you, looking at you with a furious expression. 

 ”Alex?” you asked, recognising the man who was working at the same place as you. “What are you doing here?”

You barely ended your question that John stepped quickly between you and the man. Nevertheless, he didn't react quickly enough. 

The knife Alex was holding had already hit John before he could stop it. Then, in a few moves too quick for you, he made him drop the knife and tackle him to the ground. Once he was holding him firmly and sure he wasn’t trying anything, he asked you to call the police.

.

After the police’s intervention which you had to go to the police station and back, John wanted to walk you home again. It was now late, but he left you no choice. So once you were in front of your building again, you didn’t smile anymore.

 ”I’m so sorry for what happened,” you sighed as you were rummaging in your bag for your keys. “I was stupidly hoping this won’t happen but…”

 ”It’s absolutely not your fault,” John said with a smile, trying to comfort you even though he didn’t know how to do it.

 ”At least, we’re not injured. It could be worse,” you finally laughed as you looked at him.

Your eyes eventually arrived on his jacket, at his upper arm. There was an opening, and your hand moved faster than your mind. As you touched his jacket now opened with a big opening, you gasped.

 ”Oh no, I'm sorry. I didn't see that his knife had cut your jacket. I'll pay you back.”

 ”It’s nothing. My job was to protect you, so I prefer it was that rather than you.”

Why was he so nice? Alright, how could you stay in contact with this man? 

When you were trying to find a reason to see him again, you realised his jacket that you were still touching was strange. You looked better at it and John winced a little.

 ”Don’t tell me he also cut your arm with his knife?” you exclaimed, your voice echoing in the empty night street. “You should tell me! Oh, I can let you leave like that. Follow me home, we'll disinfect it.”

Maybe John should remind you he was a doctor, but the opportunity to spend more time with you was impossible to refuse. He followed you inside your small but cosy home and in a quick time, you were both sitting on your couch. After he removed his jacket, he also removed a side of his shirt, showing a not so deep cut. 

You silently cleaned his wound and took care of it while John was looking at you. If you weren’t as much focused on his arm as you were, you could notice how his eyes were already full of love for you while you both knew each other for just a week. It was unthinkable, but his heart was beating on his own every time you were doing something for him; smiling at him, looking at him, speaking to him, even sending a message to him. 

Then, his hand raised up as he tried to swallow his saliva with difficulty. As you finished your bandage on his arm, you felt his fingers slipping on your cheek, stroking it gently. As you raised your head, a smile eventually appeared on your lips, warming John’s heart even more.

 ”Do you want to kiss me for real this time?” you asked, hoping you correctly understood him.

 ”Yes, please!” he hurried to say as if you could come back to your proposal.

Leaning to you, his lips easily found yours. This time you had the time to taste them. They were so delicious, warm, and soft. You could stay like this for hours.

When John put his other hand on your waist and he felt your warmth, he wanted to deepen the kiss but his phone rang for a short time. Too curious to know who was texting him at this hour, he stopped the kiss, looked at you with an apologetic, cute smile and took his phone. After reading the message, he put his hand under his chin and read it again.

 ”Is there a problem?” you asked, worried.

 ”No, it’s, hm. It’s Sherlock,” he laughed, finally looking at you. “He told me to stop kissing you and go home because he has solved our current case.”

Now, John wasn’t the only one to laugh. You had quickly understood his friend was special but you also found him fun, especially when you saw all the faces John did when he talked about him.

 ”Now that I think about it, I was surprised that he proposed this fake date…” Jon sighed, still smiling, understanding only now Sherlock did it on purpose.

 ”How about doing the opposite of what he asks for a short while?” you asked with a mischievous smile. “And then, join him, of course.”

John didn’t hesitate to drop his phone and kissed again, pulling you against him. Something in him wanted to stay like this with you, but at the same time he knew Sherlock was waiting for him. Reluctantly, he slowly detached his lips from yours and pressed his forehead against yours with a smile.

 ”No kiss on the first date, hm?”

 ”It seems I can make an exception for you.”

John chucked before kissing you once again. Then, in a hurry, he got dressed back. He walked to your door while he promised you a new date when his case will be done. A real date, this time.

#sherlock bbc #john watson x reader #john watson #martin freeman #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff