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maaarijaaa · 1 year

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Mine ❦ Sherlock Holmes Part Eighth

Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Summary: Sherlock Holmes, the most famous detective in the world. After finishing a case, he decided to visit Enola and his mother. On the first day of the visit he laid his eyes on a beauty, you

Disclaimer: I do NOT allow for my work to be translated or posted anywhere else on this app or other platforms. English is not my first language so let me know if I made any mistakes!

Words count: 1.5k

A/N: I am finally done with this story🫶🏻The prologue would be posted in a few hours to see their married life with some kids maybe👀 This part might be bad but I have tried my best❤️‍🔥

Likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated🫶🏻🫶🏻

Its been a week since you have sene each other.

A week of both of you crying, not sleeping and worst of all, not eating.

Your own father could not recognize his own daughter. He was there for you the whole time and you were thankful for that but you were still angry at him for even trying to set you up with Mycroft.

While you and Sherlock were heartbroken, Mycroft on the other hand was very happy. He knows that soon or later you will be his and your father and him would finally start a business together.

You did not know this but Mycroft was coming over to your fathers house to chat. What you also did not know is that Mycroft brought a red velvet box with him, with your engagement ring being inside of it.

What Mycroft did not know was that a little bird was watching him while he prepared the ring in his study, that little bird would be Enola who would later tell her other older brother,Sherlock, before its too late.

Mycroft gets out of his carriage and sees that your dad is waiting at him at the porch of your house.

“Nice to see you again, Mycroft” your father spoke.

“Well its been a week since I last saw you and your beautiful daughter so I thought why not visit you” Mycroft spoke.

They walked into the house and later on into your fathers study room.

“Before we talk about some business I wanted to show you something.” Mycroft spoke to your father.

“I have brought your daughter a gift and wanted to ask for your permission…”

You father first stared at the ring then Mycroft.

“To take her hand in marriage. I love her deeply.” Mycroft knew himself that it was the biggest lie he has ever told your father but, business is business.

You father was in the disbelief, he did not expect that.

“You know, she is going thru a hard time but maybe you should ask her the question, you have my permission. I want what’s best for her and I think you marrying her would be a great idea.”

While Mycroft was happy that he got your fathers permission to marry you, Enola struggles to get Sherlock out of his bed.

He was very angry at himself for hurting you.

He was not getting very much sleep or eating very much. All he could think about is you.

Your beautiful face, your soft lips that stretch into a beautiful smile whenever you lay your eyes on him and your eyes that he always found beautiful.

While Sherlock was lost in his thoughts, Enola successfully got her brother out of the bed by pushing him and Sherlock falls on the floor.

“Ouch! What was that for?” Sherlock asked his sister

“Well since you did not wanna listen to me, I had to do it the harder way!”

Before Sherlock could even say a word, Enola cut him off

“If you don’t do anything, Mycroft is going to marry Y/N!”

Sherlock’s eyes widen at what Enola just said.

“What do you mean he is going to marry her?” He asked his sister.

“He went to visit her and her father this morning and brought a ring with him!!!”

Sherlock looked at his sister before rushing off to get ready. He needed to fix this.

While getting ready he wondered why Mycroft would marry you. Mycroft had zero interest in you and then it him.

The woman that was flirting with him at the event came with Mycroft and saw her around him few times. He formed the dots and realized that it was Mycroft’s plan all along.

“That son of a bitch!” He mumbled

After getting ready, he rushed down the stairs and ran to your house.

Meanwhile you were getting ready, you heard the voice that sounded too familiar.

Mycroft.

You rolled your eyes. He just loved destroying your life at every chance he got.

You dad knocked on your bedroom door.

“Honey, are you awake?”

You quickly grabbed your robe and put it on before shouting

“Yes father, I am awake! You can come in!”

Right after you said that you see your father entering your bedroom with no other than Mycroft him self.

Your father came up to you and hugged you.

“My only daughter, you have grown into a smart and beautiful woman. I am becoming old and when my time comes there will be no one to take care of you.”

“Father, what are you talking about?” You shed a tear.

“This morning, Mycroft came up with a wonderful request.”

You looked at your father and then Mycroft who was pulling out a red velvet box and was getting on his knee. You stopped breathing at that moment.

“Today is one of the happiest days of my life. Today I came to ask your dear father to take your hand in marriage and to my surprise he agreed. So will you, my beautiful Y/N, be my wife?”

He then opened the box and reveled a beautiful ring with a diamond on it but you knew you could not accept it. Your heart still belong to Sherlock.

Just as you were about to open your mouth, you heard someone running through the door.

“Y/N!!!” Sherlock shouted.

You then ignored your father and Mycroft and ran down stairs.

There he was. He finally came for you.

You ran into his arms and kissed him passionately.

Mycroft was pissed to say at least while your dad was more confused.

“What are you doing here Sherlock?!” Mycroft asked angrily.

Sherlock pulled away from you and looked at his brother.

“I came here to see the love of my life and I also came here to make something clear. Don’t you have anything to tell, Mycroft?”

You and your father stared at Mycroft slightly confused.

“Where is your friend Vanessa by the way, is she destroying other relationships and marriages now?”

You stared at Mycroft and then you too collected the dots. This was one of Mycrofts shitty plans.

“It was one of his many plans. Enola searched your office this morning and found out that it would be easier for you to make money and become businesses partner with her father by simply marrying her. When he passes everything that he would leave for her would be given to you. You found about our relationship and decided to use ur friend, paying her to play my so called “mistress” so that you could end us, but you know what?”

Just then, Sherlock put his arm around your waist and pulled you to his chest.

“Even if you tried it a million times, you would not succeed because my love for her and her love for me is stronger.”

Just then, Mycroft leaves the house, throwing a tantrum outside your house.

Sherlock pulls you close and presses a soft kiss on your lips.

“What now?” You asked him

“Well, do you want to get married. I don’t have a ring with me so I can not really propose you in a traditional way but..”

Sherlock could not finish the sentence since you cut him off with a kiss and said

“Being your life would be the best thing that has ever happened in my life.” You said while pressing your foreheads together.

You then turned around around and saw your father smiling

“I am sorry I wanted to do what’s best for you. And you Sherlock, have my full permission to marry my daughter.”

You and Sherlock looked at each other, smiling before kissing again.

You could not wait to get married….

Tag list requests are closed since there are just too many requests❤️ turn on you notifications to get notified🫶🏻

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rumble-bee-art · 23 days

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What do you mean role playing, Mobius? We’re simply abiding local wardrobe traditions, everything else is simply a coincidence (including the choice of the hats)

#lokius #loki #mobius #mobius m mobius #loki series #loki season 2 #loki x mobius #loki fanart #lokius fanart #my art #artist on tumblr #they are on a mission and Loki really takes it to heart to be as aesthetic as possible #I think as a theater queer themselves Loki would appreciate Sherlock Holmes greatly

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 month

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Unraveled 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A curious man wanders into your dress shop with a lot of questions.

Characters: Sherlock Holmes (Cavill)

Note: I hope you all enjoy this random idea.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

One hand guides the fabric as the other turns the wheel. Your work is slow but steady, every stitch perfect, every seam precise. Your fare may be modest and your product simple, but its quality cannot be contested. Your labour as yourself is honest and plain.

The noise of the machine is your only company. The one-room shop nestled behind the butcher’s rarely sees a customer through its door. Instead, the orders are sent from the factories, returned with the printed adverts you disperse outside their doors. The writs are sent along with an envelope of pence and shilling and you complete each with equal diligence before sending them back bundled in paper and twine.

The operation isn’t especially fruitful but the profit is enough to subsist. Enough to guarantee your independence; a small apartment just above and a pot of stew to last you through each week. This humble existence is preferable to any marriage you’ve witnessed.

The letters from your sisters reaffirm your spinster’s fate. You’d rather a hand wheel and a needle than a brood and broken back. A husband seems to provide several jobs at once, you’ll happily settle for one.

As your hands work from memory and your head wanders from tedium, the bell above the door gives a single sharp toll. You ease the wheel to a halt and leave the seam unfinished. You peer up above the black iron machine, reminding yourself to fix your hunch as a client enters. You can’t but wonder if he may have come to the wrong shop.

By his attire, he is a class above the factory women who require gray skirts and simple stays. His waistcoat is embroidered and his jacket is pressed and clean. He is tall, locks part tidily so his curls lay gracefully. His face is fresh-shaven, square jaw with a cleft, and shoulders broad and strong. He does not share the same sinewy gauntness as the labourers with the coal-dusted noses.

He carries a fine leather bag. Another clue to his status. His shoes, another. Polished and without creases.

You stand to greet him, “good afternoon, sir. Might I help you with something?”

His answer is not prompt. He takes in the finished dresses hung by the east wall and turns to examine the rolls of wool and cotton. At last, he returns his attention to you.

“Afternoon,” his deep timbre fills the small space, “you are the dressmaker.”

It isn’t a question, but you answer, “I am.”

He narrows his eyes as he approaches your desk, the sole fixture in the space. From without, the shop is just as bare. The blackened windows offer not insight into the business, its only suggestion the sign hung above the door, though the paint requires a fresh coat.

“And the shop owner?”

“That is me as well, sir,” you assert. The presumption is not uncommon.

“Ah,” he accepts your explanation without comment, “so, you will have sewn this.”

He puts his bag on the desk, nearly knocking your shears from the corner. You try not to flinch as they teeter near the edge and he pulls open the top of the leather bag. He pulls out a swath of grey. You recognise it and he rolls the cuff to show your initials sewn within.

“Sir,” you say precariously, “is there some issue with it? Is it your wife’s dress?”

“Wife? No, no,” he dismisses, feeling the fabric between his fingers, “rather I am in search of the dress’s owner. The initial must belong to them, yes? So you would have a name for the buyer.”

“Mm, no, those are mine,” you point at the letters, “as it is my handiwork.”

“That makes sense,” he frowns in disappointment. “So you wouldn’t know who would wear it?”

You rub your chapped lips together. You find your tongue sliding over them often when you work, turning them raw with the habit. The man’s lips are rosy and smooth, as well-kempt as the rest of him. He is no factory worker’s husband.

“I might… would you take it out?” You ask.

He obliges as you pluck up the metal cylinder from your desk and unfurl the tape measure from within. He shakes out the dress, holding it by the shoulders to reveal salt stains along the skirts and unleashing a dingy smell in the shop. You wiggle your nose at the stench but worse roils in from the butcher’s on hot days.

You take the measure of the sleeves and the waist, then to the hem. You scribble the numbers on a scrap and take that to compare with your ledger. The measurements are in now way defining but might narrow it down. He keeps the dress aloft and you return to him to check the thread along the seams. A few months ago, you changed the thickness as the factory workers complained of splits under the arms.

“Hm, it is a recent purchase,” you assure him and return to the ledge.

He lowers the dress and approaches. You snap the book closed and turn your face up to consider him once more, “why do you need to know, if it is not your wife?”

“You are very discerning,” he remarks as he folds the dress and drapes it over his bag, “I’m certain then you can surmise the woman who wore this dress did not meet a kind fate.” He tugs up the hem and shows a tear trimmed in scarlet, the colour not obvious from a distance. “Holmes, Sherlock Holmes. I’m a detective and I’m trying to identify a poor woman found not far from here. I believe it is in your own interest that I discover her assailant.”

“I cannot say for certain which she is,” you turn over the scrap and re-open the ledger. You write down three names which match the measurements and hold the paper out to him. He takes it, his thick fingertips brushing yours. “Those are the ones which align with the dress.”

“Mm,” he hums as he tucks the paper into his chest pocket, “and your name? I couldn’t make it out on the sign.”

You recite your name flatly, “it isn’t on the sign.”

“It requires new paint,” he admonishes, “I could hardly find you.”

“I am aware,” you reply. “Thank you for noting.”

He’s quiet, “being a detective, however, I did indeed put together the clues.”

Is he making a joke? You cannot tell. He folds up the dress completely and puts it back in the leather bag. The smell persists.

“What are you prices?” He asks abruptly.

“Sir, I sew dresses for factory women, sometimes a few communion pieces, but I’m afraid I don’t do much suit work.”

“My sister requires a dress,” he sniffs, “as simple as it is, I can see your work is fine.”

“I have only wools and cottons,” you counter.

“Do you always turn away business?” He challenges.

“I wasn’t, sir, I’m only clarifying what I currently do. My prices are set for those fabrics,” you explain.

“I will pay for the muslin and velvet,” he waves his hand staunchly, “you will be paid for your labour. Can you sew with more than wool and cotton?”

“I can, sir, but you could find a ready-made dress in a market boutique if the dress is required promptly.”

“I can afford the time and coin,” he insists. “You are not a talented advertiser, are you?”

You’re taken aback by his bluntness. Often, his ilk have that demeanour. It’s why you’d rather the factory workers and the fish sellers’ wives.

“I suppose not,” you agree, “I would need measurements before I begin. You may send the numbers along with the fabric, then. And I would require a style. Perhaps your sister is a purveyor of fashion magazines?”

“I will send a messenger,” he shrugs. “Thank you for your time. I shan't get in your way any longer.”

“Good day, sir.”

“Good day to you,” he takes the bag from your desk and the shears fall to the floor with a clatter.

You skirt around to grab them as he bends and swipes them up first. You recoil as he closes the blades with a snap. He examines them before placing them back on the desk.

“Apologies,” he says, “and miss,” he looks at you, “take to heart what I’ve told you today. Keep away from the allies and perhaps you may consider locking your door.”

“Thank you, sir, your concern is appreciated.”

“Rather you might just keep those close, eh,” he points to the shears and his cheek dimples.

Again, you can’t be certain of his humour. You keep a placid expression, neither smiling nor scowling. He clears his throat and runs his hand down his jacket, gripping the lapel.

“Very well then, I’ll be off.”

He turns on his heel and marches to the door. You stay by the desk as the bell rings with his departure. Once the door closes, you cross the shop. You turn the lock into place, his foreboding lingering with the stale scent of dirty water.

🪡

Despite the unusual visit, your days roll on like a hand on a clock. The thought of the woman’s tragic fate looms like a shadow but fades. You have too much stitching to do to fret over that man and his ominous words. You assume his interest in your work thereafter was wholly feigned as he does not return.

That day, you pass off six parcels to Eustace, the driver who takes them down to the stacks to hand off to the floor bosses who will parse them out to the women they’ve been cut for. You pay him his toll before he climbs back into the seat of his cart, his horse kicking impatiently.

“Excuse me, sir,” another driver clops up along the other side of the street, a narrow squeeze between the slanting buildings. “I’m in search of a dressmaker. I believe the store is tucked behind the butcher’s and…” the man’s voice drifts off as his eyes flit to the meat sellers marquee.

“Right here, good sir,” Eustace responds, “wouldn’t ya know, she’s right here.”

You lift your chin to see past the cart and spy the driver. He removes his cap as his gaze meets yours. Eustache dips his chin as he adjusts his own hat and snaps his old mare into a canter. As you're left alone with the carriage driver, a vehicle rather lofty for a block like this, you fold your hands behind you.

“Sir, you hardly look in need of a work woman’s dress,” you say.

“Miss,” he ties the reins off and jumps down from his seat, “I am sent for you, not a dress.”

“For me?” You echo.

“Mr. Holmes has sent,” he crosses the muck and nearly slips. “He said he made an appointment for a seamstress.”

“An appointment? I wasn’t informed of the time,” you rebuff. “I’ve a shop to run, orders paid for. I can’t simply leave.”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Holmes made mention of a fee,” the man feels around his striped coat, “he said a deposit would be needed.”

He takes out a brown envelope and hands it over. You take it, a small weight within. You look at the driver before you pull back the flap and peek inside. A large gold sovereign sits in the corner of the paper; a whole pound. That’s at least three days work.

You hold your breath, trying to maintain some composure. If that’s the deposit, what is he offering for the rest? You slip out the folded paper within, a page torn from a fashion journal. The dress is elegant if not extravagant. You don’t often do off-the-shoulder or ruffles like that but it isn’t beyond your skill.

You fold the flap closed again and lift your chin to face the driver, “I must lock up, you see?”

“Take your time, miss,” he says kindly. “Mr. Holmes isn’t expecting you to hurry.”

“Thank you, sir,” you bow your head and turn away.

You measure your steps along the facade of the butcher’s shop and curl around to the alleyway. You let yourself into your shop and tuck the envelope into your apron pocket. You take your sewing bag from under the desk and shake off the dust. You don’t often have reason to use it.

You open it up and pack away your shears, a measuring tape, pins with a cushion, your notebook, and a few other bits and bobs. Just in case. You grab a role of linen from against the wall. It’s heavy but you can manage.

You take the key from your desk drawer and switch off the overhead light. You lock the door and continue back out to the street. The driver puffs smoke from a pipe as he waits.

“Miss, allow me,” he snuffs out the pipe and puts it in his pocket. He nears and reaches for the roll of linen.

“It’s quite alright, sir,” you say.

“I insist, miss, can’t have a lady doing all that,” he takes it, not forcefully, and you let him.

As he goes to the carriage and opens the door, you give pause. You don’t know if you should be so easily swayed on a gold coin. Mr. Holmes hadn’t been entirely pleasant and you do prefer your simple work. Still, you can hardly turn your nose up at a pound. Not with the summer fizzling to a finale.

You lift your skirts and cross the street to the open carriage, “sir, might I have a name?”

“Gavin,” he answers, “and I have yours. Mr. Holmes made sure of it.”

“Yes, very good,” you say as you approach, another sliver of doubt trickling through. Mr. Holmes claimed to be a detective but is that really the reason he was strolling around with a dead woman’s dress? You gulp and look at Gavin then the carriage, “might I keep the window open?”

“Surely you can,” he agrees amiably. “Mr. Holmes lives quite a ways, shouldn’t mind the air. I’ll be certain to stay away from the stacks.”

“Thank you, sir,” you accept his proffered hand and he helps you up into the carriage.

You settle on the bench as the door shuts and you open the window from within. You lean back, your hand grasping the top of your bag. You unclasp it as you feel Gavin climb up on the driver’s seat. You dip your hand inside and clutch your long shears.

You don’t forget all of what Mr. Holmes said.

#sherlock holmes #enola holmes #dark sherlock holmes #dark!sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #unraveled

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sneez · 4 months

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my lord of autism

#discworld #havelock vetinari #artwork #i have read. A Lot of discworld this year #i just finished the watch series so im moving on to moist next. very excited for moist #anyway i love 100% of the characters but vetinari is probably my favourite hes a massive bitch i love him #other characters who are my favourites include sybil angua carrot and constable visit. and vimes but he goes without saying #also vetinari is about as close to canonically acearo and autistic as a character has been since sherlock holmes which means da world 2 me #i was talking about this yesterday but i think him and holmes would get along. steepling their fingers at each other #i have a lot of thoughts about vetinari but i cant really express any of them i just rotate him in my head often #i hope you are all doing well my friends and that you are enjoying the end of the year :D i luv you

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meep-meep-richie · 4 months

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he really went from being Sherlock Holmes to being John Watson

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itstheimpossibledream · 1 year

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Big

Pairing :Henry Cavill x reader

Warning: Daddy!DomHenry, Smut, Oral, Size Kink

Everything below the cut is NSFW I won’t lie.

Summary : Henry loves how big he looks in comparison to you.

“On your knees.” he commands calmly. You bring yourself to the floor as he unzips his pants. He brings himself out of his underwear practically slapping you in the face as it springs free.

“Sorry.” he chuckles, fumbling to hold himself down.You laugh at the juxtaposition of his handsome face and figure, that exudes this constantly flustered personality. You know he loves seeing his size next to you.He caresses your cheek softly, then replaces his hand with his cock. You look up at him, eyes wide and innocent.

“Open your mouth.” his voice is stern while he gently slaps himself against your face.

“You look so fucking cute like this.” he can tell his compliment perks you up and he does not stop there.

“Come now, open that pretty little mouth for daddy.” he says, tapping his member on your lips. A bit of his precum leaks onto you and he uses the tip of his cock to spread it across your lips. The sigh that leaves his body makes your heart skip. And when you part your lips slightly, he presses down with his thumb popping himself into your mouth. Your eyes widen a bit at the surprise of the expanse he takes up ,practically engaging your gag reflex.

“Fuck that’s good babe.” he says grabbing your hair, angling your face further up so he simply fits straight into your throat. “Mmmm.good girl. Take me just like that.” he praises. You can feel your insides light up at that positive response and can’t help yourself from feeling your pussy juices drip down your leg. He extends his arm down to you, and when you move to take it he lifts you up, swinging you over his shoulder, to the bed.He sets you down much gentler than you had expected.

“Open your legs baby” he coos while hovering over you. You try to squeeze them tighter, almost embarrassed by how much you were leaking all over his bed but, he works one strong hand in between the middle of your upper thighs and spreads them before you get the chance to continue your protest.

“It’s to big” you protest but,he hushes you. Slowly he pushes into you, deeper and deeper, letting out a low growl once he finally finds himself fully inside.

“That’s it darling, make space for me.” he whispers. You can’t stop the noises that escape your lips as he ruts into you,complementing and praising you the whole way.

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sygneth · 13 days

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I was laid by the heels for ten days, and Trevor used to come in to inquire after me. At first it was only a minute's chat, but soon his visits lengthened, and before the end of the term we were close friends.

There's more! Chapter 1: part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6 Masterpost (Index) AO3

Consistent art style? Never heard of her.

#i'm just being lazy with my art lately and this style is so much quicker #my art #sherlock holmes #acd holmes #victor trevor #canon holmes #sherlock holmes fanart #uh so. it may accidentally turn into a small series of comics #i didn't plan it but we will see how it goes #i have at least two or three scenes more in my mind....#lmao i just realised it may not be obvious but it's trevor who says “it would be an honour” btw #holmes collage adventures

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drawsmaddy · 7 months

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[ID: A digital illustration of Dr John Watson and Sherlock Holmes from the Granada Television Sherlock Holmes series. The illustration is based on a screencap from The Solitary Cyclist. Watson stands holding a bowl with one hand and tending to an injury on Holmes' forehead with the other as Holmes sits in front of him. Holmes looks pleased with himself and Watson looks slightly grumpy. End description.]

Ended up rewatching a lot of Granada Holmes episodes after rewatching the Sherlock Holmes episode of Star Trek TNG and now here we are

#granada holmes #sherlock holmes #john watson #dr john watson #my art #the granada series will probably always be my favourite sherlock holmes adaption #and now im tempted to go reread some of the stories

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huntd0wn · 6 months

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#hannigram #lokius #destiel #johnlock #hannibal nbc #loki series #sherlock holmes #john watson #crowly x aziraphale #good omemes #crowley #david tennant #michael sheen

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galaxythreads · 2 years

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CBS elementary is absolutely bonkers, okay?

Sherlock crashes Joan's car in the first episode. This is never addressed again.

Sherlock goads Joan into an illegal autopsy after he kept doing it wrong

One time Sherlock comes home with a human head and has no idea where he got it

Moriarty has a daughter who is kidnapped. Sherlock and Joan have to rescue her. With Moriarty.

Moriarty kills someone who tries to assassinate Joan and then sends her a letter basically equaling out to “only me kill you <3″

Joan beats up a cop in a boxing ring. Then she annoys Joan again so Joan prepares for round #2.

Joan shaves Sherlock's head on purpose. At his request. He is bald or almost bald for several episodes.

Someone mocks Sherlock and Joan asks the man "what's the hardest you've ever been hit?”

Joan threatens to stab Sherlock in the thigh with a push-pin if he doesn’t pay attention to a meeting (she has the push pin the whole scene in her hand)

Sherlock and Joan take down an entire drug gang in like a weekend.

Sherlock goads Gregson into marrying his girlfriend for insurance.

They keep roosters for like four episodes because Sherlock is trying to teach them to get along

Lestrade takes a helicopter to go down the block

“I’m Gay” “I am not” “No that’s my name. But I am actually gay, so it saves time.” “How efficient.”

Sherlock becomes friends with a serial killer

Sherlock and Joan need help with a case so they go visit a detective in stolen antiquities who demands their help with a SEPERATE case that Sherlock solves in ten seconds

“Tell me you didn’t start that fire” “I didn’t start that fire”

Sherlock’s solution to dealing with annoying neighbors is to start sculpting bushes with a chainsaw

In order to stop Marcus from assaulting someone, Sherlock assaults them first

Joan gets attacked by a serial killer and when Sherlock looks at her with big puppy eyes of apology she tells him that she’ll break his rib if he apologizes

One of Marcus’ professors refuses to teach Marcus because of a grudge they hold against Sherlock

“I’ve been robbed. How offensive.”

A LOT of people Joan knew get murdered (this is weird now that I’m thinking about it, I can think of at least three people)

Mycroft and Joan dated

“Her first hidden body, you must be so proud.” “You’re jesting, but I am.”

“You don’t know I play the violin?” “Until last week I didn’t know you ate food.”

Sherlock gets into a disagreement with his father and his solution to dealing with his frustration is to squeeze an entire honey jar down the drain

Joan publishes a book detailing Sherlock’s life SOLEY for revenge after Reichenbach

No one can understand Sherlock’s texting except for Joan, who used the fact he WASN’T talking like a teenager to realize he’d been kidnapped

“It’s the orange high lighter, it always brings bad luck.”

Joan dyes her hair blonde to deal with a personal crises

Joan and Sherlock lie under oath about breaking into people’s houses because they “heard puppies and babies under distress”

“Holmes and Watson are tracking down some sort of Holmes and Watson thing.”

Joan’s adoption lawyer lies about failing to notify her of meetings and Sherlock gets a king involved

Joan meets her sister because her sister runs an illegal poker game

Clyde. Just. Clyde

Joan’s mother tells her that she thinks Joan’s brother is having an affair and when Joan vents her frustration about this, Sherlock tells her she can (and should) cut off her family

The first half of season three is basically Joan and Sherlock mentoring/parenting Kitty

Sherlock was SO CONFIDENT that his father wouldn’t show up to the meeting that he hired an actor to stand-in for his father (and he was right)

A consistent running gag of the series is Sherlock waking up Joan in new and strange ways

“Uncle Detective” “My child is not calling you detective.”

“What does the moon landing have to do with someone trying to kill your father?” “Nothing. Or everything.”

#elementary #marcus bell #joan watson #sherlock holmes #tommy gregson #captain gregson #i love this series so much #cbs #cbs elementary

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maaarijaaa · 1 year

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We meet again ✿ Sherlock Holmes

Sherlock Holmes x Detective!Reader

Requested by: Anonymous

Summary: After your father stepped down as a detective, you decided to take over and got on your first case. What you did not expect is a letter standing on your front porch from a person you wanted to leave in the past…

Warning: smut, nsfw 18+, murder

A/N: Hello everyone! I have not written a smut in a long time so if this is bad just let me know. English is not my first language, so let me know if I made any mistakes. I do not allow for my work to be posted or translated on this or any other platform. 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Ever since you were little you were introduced to the world of the detectives. Your father was a detective him self and was also, your biggest role model.

You two have traveled all around the world to solve cases together. You were his little Nancy Drew.

As years went by your father became old and decided to step down, meaning that you would have to take over his job. You were excited at first, until you got on your first case.

There has been a murder in a neighborhood not that far from yours. The person who was murdered was a young woman, probably in her late 20s. Her body was found by her sister who came home late at night that day. Her sister owns one of the most popular bookshops in town and that day, the bookshop held a small event, celebrating the success of a new book that was recently published by a writer that was from the town. The book became really popular not just in your town, but also across the country so they had a reason to celebrate.

Her sister sent you a letter asking you if you could solve the murder and you agreed.

Solving murder cases were not your thing since your father never allowed you to help him whenever he was asked to solve a murder.

But your father has stepped down, and now you are the one in charge so you have to try your best.

The woman’s sister invited you over to their house so you could investigate.

The living room where her body was found looked pretty normal to you and did not see anything suspicious.

“Was your sister at the event too?” You asked the woman.

She looked at you for a few seconds before she spoke. She was still in shock after finding her sister’s body so you understood why she took her time.

“She was, but only for a short amount of time. She said that she was not feeling well and wanted to go home. I told her that we can go together since its dark and could be dangerous but she did not want me to leave since she that the event was important to me. After a hour or two I kinda felt that something was wrong and was scarred that something might have happened to her so I left to see if she was doing okay. I was first relieved to see that the lights were on but that quickly changed when I saw her lying lifeless on the ground.”

You noted every detail before asking her other questions.

“Did she act differently at the event? Was she maybe scared or maybe uncomfortable?”

The woman took her time since she tried to remember the way her sister acted.

“What I remember is that she was a little bit scared, like she saw a ghost or something but I brushed it off since she was often scared or shy whenever she was crowded by the people. What surprised me the most is that she requested to walk home alone at such late hours. She never went out when it was dark unless there was someone with her, but I thought that she was brave enough to alone so I let her. I also saw that she was walking fast, like as if she was running from someone.”

You noted every important detail about the night.

You asked the woman if she had any scars. Anything that would prove that she was murdered.

She told you that she had bruises on her body, mostly on her neck. She also told you that police and doctors believe that the killer held their hands on her neck until her last breath. There were a few scars that were caused by a sharp object that could have been a knife or other things like glass.

That’s everything she knew since they are still trying to find the cause of death before she is laid to rest.

You went around the house to see if the killer left something or dropped something. You found nothing.

Her sister let you search in her room.

You checked everywhere until you opened a box that was hidden under her bed. The box was full of letters.

All the letters she has received were from a guy named Connor Smith.

Most of them were love letters where he declared his love to her, until you opened the letter that were sent to her only a moth before she was killed.

You could definitely see that his love turned into obsession. He told her that she will always belong to him. That he was the only man she was allowed to love. He also wrote her that she should stop seeing the man she was out with once, which meant that he was probably stalking her.

You exited the room so that you could talk to her sister.

“Do you know if a man named Connor Smith was at the event?”

The woman looked at you with a weird look on her face.

“Yes, Connor used to work at the bookshop until two weeks ago. I invited him since he help us a lot with the bookshop.”

You noted that down.

“Did you maybe see him around your sister that night?”

“I am just asking because he sent your sisters some letters so I need to know. Was Connor around your sister that night?”

“Yes he actually was. They talked about something and maybe a half an hour or so she asked if she could go home since she did not feel well.”

You noted that down too and told her that you will come back in a few days. You also told her that she should tell you if she found something suspicious or any new clues.

You thanked her for inviting you over and left her home.

After leaving their home, you stopped at the local marked and bought some groceries since your dad requested it in the morning before you left.

You brought everything that your father requested and left. When you arrived to your house, you saw that there was a letter at the door.

Ever since you got this case, people would not stop asking you about it. They wanted to know everything. You have received letter from people in town who wanted to be part of the case. You even received letters from the local newspaper with dozens of questions.

Who did it? What clues did you find? Any suspects?

All you wanted was to be left alone and solve this case in peace.

Before you opened the letter, you stored the groceries that you brought and made your father some lunch since he was starving. Poor man.

Leaving your father to eat in peace, you went to your room and opened the letter.

I heard that you just got your first case

If you need any help, I am there for you

S.H

You instantly rolled your eyes when you saw who sent you the letter.

Sherlock Holmes, one of the most successful and most popular detectives in the world. He was smart and intelligent, knew several languages and every case he got, was solved.

But you knew Sherlock way before he even became a detective.

You two used to be lovers until he became a detective and made it his priority.

You did not care at first. You were happy that he was doing something that he loves.

Until, he started to travel around the world to solve cases.

During that time you would miss him a lot and wrote him letters daily. He never responded to one of them.

After he came back from Spain, solving a case that involved kidnapping, he admitted cheating on you with other woman so he could get some information out of her since she was one of the main suspects.

He told you that it meant nothing to him but you did not believe him, so you left him.

And after five years of no contact, he sends you a letter saying that he will help you with the case. What an idiot, you thought.

You ignored his letter and went off with your day.

You went down to the town center to visit your favorite cafe, hoping that you could relax and read the notes you took while visiting the victim’s sister.

You sat down at your favorite spot, outside since it was a nice day and the sun was shining, and ordered some coffee and your favorite cookies.

You were so lost in the notes you took that you did not notice the person standing behind you.

“Well, we meet again sweetheart.” He spoke softly

That made you jump since you did not know that he was behind you. You even realized that others were staring at you.

Turning around to see the figure behind you, you could not help but to roll your eyes again.

It was Sherlock.

He took the seat next to yours and sat down, meanwhile you started reading your notes again, ignoring Sherlock

A few seconds went by before he spoke again.

“Are you going to ignore me again”

You did not say anything as you still read your notes.

“Did you receive my letter” he spoke

You looked up at him

“I did” you spoke back

“I meant everything I wrote in the letter. I am willing to help you with the case if you just let me…” He could not even finish the sentence because you cut him off.

“I do not need your help. I am capable of solving it alone.” You spoke harshly

Sherlock understood why you were like this since he has hurt you a lot, but he really wants to help you.

The lady who works at the cafe, came with you order.

You were about to pay her, but Sherlock was faster.

He payed your order and ordered some coffee too. The lady noted down Sherlocks order and left.

“What do you know about the case?” He asked you.

You knew that he will not give up so you just answered him.

“Well I visited her sister today. She is terrified and wants answers to why could someone do this to her sister. I asked her a few questions about that night. She told me that her sister did act weird and that she was scarred. She described it as she has seen a ghost. She later on leaves the event at around midnight, saying that she does not feel well. Her sister feels like something is wrong and goes home to check up on her only to find her dead in the living room. Her body has both bruises and scars. Most of the bruises were on her neck and doctors and the police believe that the killer killed her by pressing their hands on her neck until her last breath. The cuts were caused by a sharp object. Could have been a knife or glass but I did not find anything suspicious until I checked her room where I found letters from a man named Connor Smith. He has sent her too many love letters over the years. The last letters she received from him was a month ago. In the letters, it said that she should stay away from the man that she was seeing because he did not deserve her. I suspect that Connor was stalking her too, but I can not say that its clear that he did. I asked her sister if Connor was at the event, which she said that he was and that they had a conversation. Shortly after their conversation, her sister came up to her, asking her if she could go home since she did not feel well.”

“So, this Connor is the…” Sherlock spoke before you cut him off.

“Is the main suspect, but I need to find the name of the other guy she was seeing. He could also be a suspect or may know something we don’t.”

Sherlock nodded as he listens to you.

“What are your plans now for the case?” He asks

“Well, they are still checking for a cause of death, but the main theory of the death cause is that the killer killed her by chocking her very hard until she took her last breath. I wanted to hear if they have found something in her body since she said that she was not feeling well. Could be because she was talking to Connor, but it could also be that she was..” You spoke, but to your surprise, Sherlock cut you off.

“Poisoned” he spoke

“That’s one of my theories, but I could be wrong.”

“At this point everything is possible.” He spoke before asking you more questions about the case.

“Do you know where Connor lives?” Just then, the lady comes out with Sherlocks order and he pays.

“Well, no but he used to work at the bookshop where the event was being held at so they probably know.”

Sherlock nodded and then drank his coffee. Then you realized that your coffee and food is still untouched so you take a bite of cookies and drink some coffee too before you speak again.

“We have not seen each other for five years and then you all of a sudden send me a letter where you will gladly help me with my first case. Why?!”

Sherlock looked at you for a moment before he spoke.

“The truth is that I wanna make it up to you and helping you with your first case would be my honor. I know that was an idiot for doing the things back then, and regret doing it. I regret hurting you and most of all, I regret leaving you.”

At that moment you told your self “he does not mean it”, but then you saw that his eyes are filled with tears that are threatening to spill.

“I don’t know if I can forgive your for hurting me back then, but what I know for sure is that we can try again, but…as friends for now.” You spoke while looking at him

“I understand but could I at least help you with the case?” He asked as a smile began to form on his face. You chuckled since you could not take him seriously.

“Fine, I would be needing some help.” You said while chuckling.

Both of you finished your drinks and you shared your cookies with Sherlock before standing up and leaving.

You walked around town and talked about each others lives.

He told you about the amazing places he visited while solving cases.

From Paris to Moscow, and even Cape Town. He told you that he can bring you with him when he travels again.

You smiled at that, already imagining the places you two could visit, but that imagination was cut short when you told yourself that you have moved on and wanted to stay as friends.

Well, so you thought.

You walked together for what seemed like hours, but it was only 10 minutes.

You two found yourself standing on Sherlocks porch.

Sherlock opened the door and yelled “Hello!?” to see if anybody was home, but it was dead silent.

“Well turns out we are alone” he said while turning to look at you.

You gulped hard, since the last time you were alone with him in his house was when you had your huge fight with him because of his affairs. You ended things with him and stormed out. You have been there to visit Enola and her mother but you were never there when Sherlock was back.

You headed towards his office to focus more on the case.

You went through the notes you took, to see if you can at least solve something. What bothered you the most was that you did not know the name of the other guy she was seeing.

It would have been much easier to know since he could tell his side of the story, but right now he is on the list of the main suspects.

“How are we going to find the guy she was seeing if don’t know his name or have any description of him?” He asked

“I don’t know but I think its best for us to investigate and see if Connor is behind her death. Besides, the news have spread around town, so he is going to come forward sooner or later.”

“You are probably right” He sighed

During the time you spend in his office, you would often notice that his hand would often brush yours or your waist. You did not mind at first but he kept on going so you decided to confront him.

You pulled away from him and yelled “Alright Sherlock, ever since I got here, you would not stop touching me!!! So if you don’t have anything better to do then I think that I should leave!!”

You were about to exit his office when he suddenly pulled you into a kiss. You really hated yourself at that moment since you gave in.

He pulled away and looked into your eyes before he spoke.

“These past years without you have been hell and everyday I hate myself even more for hurting you and don’t think I could ever forgive myself for making my work my priority and doing all those disgusting tings I did that hurt you. I think about you, I dream about you every damn night and I love you…more than anything in this world.”

You looked at him with tears in your eyes, and did not know what to say.

Sherlock later on took you to his bedroom without pulling his lips from yours. He laid you down on the bed before pulling away from you to take his shirt off. He then helped you get out of your corset and rest of the dress. He finally took his pants, along with his underwear. He then laid on top of you and began kissing your neck.

“May I??” He asked for your permission. You have done this while you were still lovers but it was a long time ago so it was the only right thing to do.

“Yes” You blurted out.

He slowly lined himself on your entrance and began thrusting. You both began moaning softly while he kept a slow pace since you needed some time to get used to his size.

“Fuck, it feels so good” He said.

You could not form any words at the moment because of the pleasure.

Sherlock later on sped up the pace and you were a moaning mess.

“You okay sugar?” He asked while thrusting into you.

“Yes! It just feels soo goood!” You said.

Both of you reached your limit and were out of breath.

“Did you really mean everything you said?” You asked.

“Every word. Do you think that we can try again?” He asked

You were skeptical about that but you had other plans.

“Well first of all, it would take some time for me to trust you again so you would have to prove it. Second of all, yes we can but as friends for now until I know that I can trust you again.”

Both of you looked at each other and smiled. He came on top of you again and gave you one last kiss before you both doze off.

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kat-kalamity · 6 days

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rewatching bbc sherlock save me

rewatching bbc sherlock

save me rewatching bbc sherlock

#kat stfu #bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock fandom #sherlock bbc #sherlock #sherlock series

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princessaxoxo · 7 months

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Strangers to lovers Part 2

A/N: this is now a multiple-part series.

Sherlock x reader

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

Warnings: 18+ Only, cussing, angst, kissing

Word Count: 2k+

4 years later...

Dressed in your finest clothes with your suitcase in hand, you were ready to head to your family's home for a few days. The train was running a few minutes behind schedule today. Peaking your body and head forward a little, you saw the train before you heard the horn.

You happily stepped back, waiting for the train to come to a stop. You’ve wanted to get away for a while, and you knew spending time with your family would give you some relief. A smile was plastered on your face from the excitement.

People started to unload: parents with their children, lovers hand in hand, and many more.

You bent down to pick up your suitcase and started for the entryway to get on, but stopped once you saw him, Sherlock.

The smile you held dropped from your face. He got off with his brother, Mycroft, both of them talking and then looking around as if they were waiting to meet someone.

You took notice of who they were looking for—of course, Enola.

You took notice of how that relieved you; it made you feel better that it wasn’t another woman. It upset you that you still cared and that you still got jealous; you didn't want to, and you thought it had left, but seeing him again made you show how you still did.

Enola and you had kept in touch but weren’t as close anymore. The both of you would meet for lunch now and then.

Standing there, seeing them talk, you wanted to walk away; you needed to, but you were stuck and couldn't move. It was as if your feet were glued to the concrete. And then, with no warning, Mycroft noticed you, his eyes landing on you, and you knew you looked like a deer caught in headlights; your eyes bulged out.

You weren't breathing; you turned in a hurry before Enola and Sherlock turned to see that Mycroft noticed you.

Secretly hoping he didn’t realize it was you and that they wouldn't be able to tell from your back.

You were cursing the heels you decided to wear; you couldn’t walk fast enough as you were trying to push past multiple people, but you were failing.

All you could do was hope; they couldn’t tell it was you.

Sherlock looked at his brother, noticing Mycroft had turned his attention away. “What is it?"

He looked over at Sherlock. “Hm, your old lady friend was just here. I do have to say, she looked much better."

Sherlock gave a confused face, old lady friend. He thought. Who had he been speaking of?

Mycroft noticed his brother's turmoil. He rolled his eyes. “The one you always ran around with.” Mycroft looked at Enola and said, “She babysitted Enola."

Sherlock realized who he was speaking of now, and he turned his head in search of you, his eyes moving around the crowd of people. You were dressed differently, but he was able to tell it was you just from your backside.

He wanted to know why you were here—were you waiting for someone, maybe a lover?

He knew he had no right to be possessive over you, especially since he left you.

Enola tugged on him and said, “Come along; the carriage is waiting.” Sherlock nodded his head. But he took one look back; however, you were already gone.

“I’ll invite y/n over tomorrow for lunch,” Enola said with a big smile. Sherlock's stomach dropped at the thought. He was sure you would yell at him or hit him. And he wanted to have a conversation with you in private, but it felt too early.

Both Mycroft and Enola stared at Sherlock, waiting for his reaction. “Sound’s great. Can’t wait”

You rushed back home, slamming your door once you reached inside. You felt stupid; why did you rush away? You were over him. You decided a long time ago that you wouldn't allow him to upset you. But here you were, running away from him.

You put your hand on your forehead and started to hysterically laugh at yourself.

After you stopped, you wrote to your family to tell them you couldn’t make it. The excuse was horrible, and to make matters worse, a lie. You despised lying.

The next day, you dropped the letter off, and Enola found you: "Y/N, you must come to lunch with me at my home.” You were unsure of how to answer, "I don't think." Enola cut you off, making sure you weren't able to say no. "Great, I'll see you at 1."

You were left speechless as she left; of course, Enola would be able to find you. And get you to come to her house.

On the carriage ride to Enola’s house, you gave yourself a pep talk. You would only stay for lunch, maybe an hour? And then leave. And you certainly wouldn’t let Sherlock get under your skin; you just wouldn't pay any attention to him.

The home looked the same—more aged than the last time you were here four years ago.

You weren't alone for long before you could take another step. Enola was in front of you, pushing you to the dining room.

You expected to see Sherlock, maybe even Mycroft. But they were nowhere to be seen. “Sit, sit,” Enola excitedly said. “I have some biscuits for us," she said, pushing the tray full of desserts toward you.

Enola and you talked for what felt like hours.

She smiled at you. “I like this change.” She looked at you up and down. You turned your head in confusion about her comment; you hadn't thought you changed that much; you dressed differently; you were more socially acceptable; but that was all.

“Your style but attitude as well.”

You laughed at Enola but thanked her.

Soon after you heard multiple footsteps enter, you turned your head on instinct. As soon as you saw him, your laughter faded. “I do have to say, you look like a lady.” A dig from Mycroft was expected.

You rolled your eyes. “Pleased to see you as well, Mycroft,” you said with a small fake smile.

Sherlock didn't say a word, and neither did you. But the way he looked at you said a thousand. “I enjoyed this Enola. Thank you for the desserts and for making my afternoon. I’m afraid I must go."

“NO! Sorry, would you mind staying with Enola? Me and Mycroft just need a couple of more minutes.”

You were stunned when he shouted, but you agreed to stay with her.

Most of the time, you were in your head, not paying attention to her like you should’ve. All you could think of was Sherlock. You needed to talk to him; it was eating you alive.

Once you heard his office door shut and Mycroft leave, you told Enola that you’d be back soon and headed toward Sherlock's office.

Sherlock heard his door open and shut again. “Need something else, Mycroft?”, He didn’t receive a response.

So he turned his head and saw you standing against the door, speechless.

He coughed, "Y/N, how may I help you?” Sherlock was having a hard time looking at you.

"You... you actually can’t help me at all," you said, and he raised his face.

“After I say this, I am going to leave, and you won’t see me again; you don’t deserve to see me again."

He swallowed, getting ready for what you were going to say. Sherlock knew he deserved every insult and every hurtful word you would give him.

“You left me. You left me with only a letter; I couldn't believe that you didn't tell me in person. I waited for you all night. Once I saw the sun rising, I knew you were indeed a coward. A coward who didn't love me. A person who loves you wouldn't have done what you did."

Tears started to brim.

“I saw a life with you. And I thought.. " you sarcastically, let out a chuckle. “I thought you saw one with me too. But I realized I was just another fling to you.” You shook your head at him. “But just answer me: why would you let our relationship bloom just for you to let it go without a problem?"

Sherlock stared at you wide-eyed. “I am first and foremost a detective; I have always been that and never said otherwise. And I admit, I regret and have regretted the way I left you. You deserved more than that. But I loved you, and I still do. With every part of my being.” Sherlock patted his chest, where his heart was. “I couldn't let you go, not after that night. That night, you became mine. I knew what would happen, but I didn’t care. I was selfish. I am a very selfish man when it comes to you. There are things I regret, but I don’t regret keeping you to myself. And I never will.”

Sherlock walked towards you.

Your eyes stayed on him. “Thank you. I’ll take my leave now."

But your feet didn’t move; you were stuck in your place by his eyes that were blazing within.

“Okay, take your leave,” he said, and you nodded your head. Sherlock took notice that you weren't moving, reached behind you, and opened the door.

As your eyes didn't leave him, they spoke a thousand words you couldn’t say to him. Sherlock clenched his jaw, waiting for your next move to see if you would leave.

He slammed the door shut and grabbed you by your face, kissing you with passion. He pressed his body against yours. "Sherlock,” you whispered.

He didn't want you to speak; he wanted to kiss you. He never wanted to stop kissing you. He feared that if he did, you would leave and he wouldn't see you again, just as you said earlier.

You knew what was going to happen if you stayed; you were deciding what you should do.

“y/n, stay with me. please. I don’t want to lose you.”

You took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I have to go. If I stay, I’ll be the one who ends up hurting again.” You backed away from him and left. You said your goodbyes to Enola and tried to rush home.

Sherlock caught you outside. “Fuck, please stay. I’m begging.” He got down on his knees and hugged the lower part of your body. “I thought of you as someone who would never hurt me, but you did. You can’t just say sorry and beg me and think that’ll make up for your actions."

A tear fell from your eye, and Sherlock rose to his feet. “Are you going to forgive me?”

You put your hand on his cheek. “You need to earn my forgiveness."

He ran his hand through his head of curls. And shook his head continuously. “Let me at least see you home”, “No, you stay, and I’ll go. Have a good night, Sherlock.”

As you returned home, you were torn.

You wanted to forgive him, and he had you so close to letting that happen. You wanted to stay with him and forget the past. The other part of you was happy that you left; he needed to stir, and he needed to be without you.

Sherlock had many sleepless nights, but this one was the worst of all. All he thought of was you. His hands didn’t leave his hair, countlessly running them through and tugging on his stands. He started thinking of what he could do to earn your forgiveness. To get you back within his reach.

He hadn’t realized how long he had stayed up until he left his office and saw the morning sun. With the bright rays burning his eyes, he shielded himself from the sun.

Sherlock sat at the table, staring off into nothingness.

He heard a voice. “What are you going to do about her?"

Sherlock looked behind him and saw Mycroft. “That lady you seem to be interested in, what are you going to do?"

Sherlock only had one answer.

“Anything.”

Part 3

#henry cavill smut #henry cavill #first post #sherlock holmes #angst #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x you #henry cavill sherlock holmes #sherlock fanfic #sherlock fandom #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x reader #mini series

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 18 days

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Unraveled 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A curious man wanders into your dress shop with a lot of questions.

Characters: Sherlock Holmes (Cavill)

Note: thanks for waiting on this one.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The carriage stops outside a brick building. A walk-up in Marleybone, just along Upper Baker Street. An address you couldn’t even dream of living near, let alone within. You peer up at the facade, the orange brick unstained by the coal and smoke of the backstreets.

Gavin appears to open the door and sets a step down before you can emerge. He offers his hand gallantly and you let him assist you down to the road. You thank him as you peer up at the arched front door of 221b.

“You need only knock, miss,” Gavin goes to pat the horse’s haunch as it kicks. “Ask for Mr. Holmes, he is expecting you.”

You grip your bag tight and set your chin. You might not belong but only you are troubled by it. You climb the steps alongside the iron rail and lift the heavy knocker mounted on the thick wooden door. It’s clang rattles even you.

You wait, both hands on the handles of the bag. Gavin appears behind you with the rolls of fabric, breathless as he struggles to keep them from touching the ground. You return your attention to the door as it opens.

“Hello, I’m looking for Mr.--”

“Holmes,” the very man you’re seeking stands before you, “forgive me, my housekeeper... resigned.”

“Not to worry, sir,” you assure him.

“Come in,” he backs up, gesturing you within with his large hand. “And how was your journey? I hope you didn’t come upon any scoundrels.”

“Only upon her destination, sir,” Gavin japes as he steps in behind you.

“Eh,” Holmes tilts his head at the driver, “allow me.”

Holmes takes the rolls of fabric from Gavin. He hugs them effortlessly in on arm as he faces you again, dismissing the driver with no more than a nod. You stand rigidly by the wall, hesitant to go any further. The door closes and the click makes you flinch.

“Allow me to show you around,” Holmes offers, looming in the tight space of the entryway.

“I need only see your sister,” you insist.

“Ah, yes, Enola, you will, but it only polite to get you acquainted with the space,” he rebuffs.

“With respect, sir, I’ve come out of my way and without warning to this appointment. More work does await me at my shop,” you squeeze the leather handles until they squeak, “it is a lovely home, I’m sure, but I’ve come upon business, haven’t I?”

“Yes, but it wouldn’t take very long,” he counters, “yet, if you’d rather keep this formal, by all means, I will take you to my sister.”

“Thank you, sir.”

You bite down, wondering if perhaps you were more curt than you should be. The apartment is rather far from your neighbourhood and the travel time alone will impose upon your ongoing commissions. You don’t expect he considered that. He does seem the type to command rather than ask.

He directs you to the stairs, just across from the door, and waves you onward. He follows as your skirts brush the top of your boots with each step. The wallpaper is tightly decorated with framed newspapers and portraits, cluttered together but not garishly so.

You get to the top and he advises you to go left. You obey as he keeps pace.

“Did you... discover what led to that woman’s fate? Or who she was?” You ask as you take measured steps.

He isn’t demure as he walks next to you, crowded against you as his broad figure allows for little space, “sadly, yes and no. Not her name. Only that she was a factory woman. I won’t say much on the matter as it is ongoing and confidentiality is a part of my contract, I would only gird you to keep your doors locked and yourself alert.”

You chew on his answer. It makes you nervous. You know the woman was found close to your shop and home. The news has been whispered for blocks.

“I will be sure to hede your advice,” you say.

You walk past a door as he stops to knock on it. You spin back, skirts swirling around you, and he glances at you as he plants his hand on the door frame. There is activity from within, scratching and creaking. He sighs and stands straight as he slides his hand down the pillar. He raps with his knuckles again.

“Enola,” he booms through, his voice shaking you. “I told you to be ready.”

You hear furious footsteps and the lock flicks back with similar furor. It opens and a young woman with a slumping bun greets Mr. Holmes. Strands fall loose from the clip and her blouse is half untucked as her sleeves are rolled to her elbows. She has a long oval face, flushed as she shows her teeth.

“I told you, I’m busy--”

“Not so busy that you would waste this good woman’s time,” Holmes insists, “she traveled all this way. We discussed this.”

She flutters her lashes and huffs. Her eyes flit over to you and she softens her expression, “if her time is wasted, it is hardly my fault.”

“Hm,” he hums flatly, “isn’t it? It wasn’t I who fed your dresses to the furnace.”

She smiles, a smug look that pinches her cheeks, “I was cold.”

“Sister,” he warns dangerously, crossing his arms, his breadth wider than ever.

“You know what, I welcome her company. Much preferable to your own,” the woman sneers and turns her shoulder to her brother, “come on, then. Suppose I need a dress for the banquet.”

You inch forward. A flare of resent burns in you at the position Mr. Holmes has put you in. Plainly, this appointment was not upon his sister’s behest. She holds the door for you and her brother exhales deeply.

“All you need do is stand still, I’m certain you can handle that, sister,” he rebukes, “do let me know when you are finished and I will call the carriage.”

“Thank you,” you utter without looking at him. He sets the rolls just inside the door and backs up to watch you.

You enter the bedroom and find it cluttered and cramped. There are books in stacks with more littered around the bottom. A dried-up paint palette and an easel draped over with several jackets and unpaired stockings. There is a four-post bed with scrambled covers and a canopy twisted around the poles. Vials upon vials line shelves and an inkwell stands uncapped over untidy sheets of paper.

“Very well,” the woman shuts the door, “I am Enola, the famous detective’s ne’er do well sister and you are the seamstress who will make me a peacock.”

You stare at her and swallow tightly. You offer your name before you begin, “I’ve only come upon his request--”

“Ah, yes, I’m certain you have. He’s still trying to make a lady of me. I see through his guise, though he doesn’t think it. He underestimates me, see. He lies but I will go along for I will more easily avoid his snare if I do.”

You nod and narrow your eyes. The wealthy can always afford to be so eccentric. You don’t think any woman you know would view a new dress as such a curse. She is young, she cannot know.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll only take your measurements,” you offer, “I can always fit upon the dress form.”

“Do what you must,” she sighs, “shall I strip down?”

You put your bag on a chair as she unbuttons her blouse, “not-- if you--” You look up at her as she reveals a corset and reaches to undo her skirt. You focus on your bag and scoop out your measuring tape.

You approach her as her skirt heaps at her feet. She is tall, her legs on long, her figure lithe. You begin your work silently. She raises her arms as you request and puts them back down.

“Suppose if I wasn’t here, I might’ve become a dressmaker. I always enjoyed stitching,” she muses as you scribble down each number, “it seems lonely work. Quiet work.”

“It’s work,” you say as you take out the envelope and unfold the page to examine the dress again. You hold it up and glance past it at Enola.

“May I see that?” She asks but doesn’t await an answer before she snatches the paper. “Oh, is this really what he chose? No, no, no, this won’t do. I want my shoulders covered.”

You slip the envelope back in your bag, “it is only what I was given. If you prefer adjustments, it is your dress.”

“Yes, my dress and my body,” she crumples the paper and tosses it onto the rug.

You close up your notebook and go to the rolls of fabric, “would it be too much for me to do some piecework?”

“If you insist,” she pouts.

You take out your scissors and turn your back to her. She isn’t rude, per se, but you’re not in the habit of associating with this sort of clientele. You get numbers on a sheet and you sew. A living form is not quite your forte.

-🪡

When you finish, you can sense Enola’s agitated impatience. You don’t blame her. It’s plain she didn’t want the dress or your visit. It is more so upon the shoulders of her brother. Mr. Holmes. You’re similarly irked that he would put you in this position.

Enola is already fiddling with some instrument before you can go. You emerge and pull the door shut after you. You stand in the hallway, bag at the crook of your elbow as you hug the fabric. You move with hampered steps towards the stairs. As the top creaks beneath your weight, your name is called from further down the hallway.

“Ah, are you set then?” Mr. Holmes asks as he stops just outside a door, “I was thinking, to make up for your efforts, you might want to stay for tea.”

You look down at your armful and back to him, “that’s very generous, but--”

“I believe I paid an adequate fee for the appointment,” he strides slowly towards you, “but I am open to a barter if it was not sufficient.”

You feel the heavy sovereign tucked into your jacket. You crook your lips and raise your chin, “no sir, it will do for today and the making of the dress. The fabric... I don’t have any as rich as the style requested.”

“Another service I may require of you. If you wouldn’t mind to select the material, I would be happy to reimburse the expense.”

“Would there be a colour? A fabric preferred? Velvet? Satin? Chiffon?” You prompt, “I solely work in cotton and wool, as I forewarned.”

“Perhaps we might find a fabric seller at Covent Garden? You could accompany me on my next sojourn--”

“I don’t know if I would have the time. I could write down some fabrics which would suit the silhouette we agreed upon,” you offer.

“Mmm,” he hums, “you are rather professional. How about tea, then? Melinda from across the road sent some mutton over.”

“The hour should see me back to my shop,” you shift your bag.

“You are fastidious,” he stops before you and puts a hand on the fabric, “please, allow me, you are overburdened.”

“I’m--”

You can’t argue as he takes the fabric from you. You let him have it if only to avoid disaster you lean back on your heel. He angles the rolls under his arm easily and grins. A curl strays down his forehead.

“I suppose you are right, given recent events, it would be best to see you home before the evening sets,” he says, “I would gladly see you home safe, miss.”

He is overly polite, or perhaps you aren’t used to it. It is his home, he supplied the carriage, and he has paid generously. It makes each denial feel trite.

“If you must, but I would be just fine on my own comportment,” you accept.

“It isn’t any fuss, I will fetch a jacket and the driver,” he extends his arm past you, “after you.”

You spin on your heel and face the staircase. You descend with your hand on the railing. As you come to the bottom, you wander towards the entry way and take in the fineness of the decor. Is much more becoming than your slanted rooms.

Mr. Holmes places the rolls just beside the door and takes a jacket from the rack. He pulls it on and tells you to wait before he disappears outside. You linger as you are, sliding your bag down to your hands.

When he returns, he reaches within to retrieve the fabric first. “Gavin is bringing up the carriage,” he declares and offers his free arm, “shall we?”

You consider him. You wouldn’t want to be unkind. You step through the door, pulling it shut as you accept his bent arm, your hand in the crook. He accompanies you down the narrow steps, each step crowded by his.

Gavin appears in the driver’s seat and reins the horse to a halt. The beast looks miserable. Mr. Holmes escorts you to the door and releases you to open it. He helps you with a strong hand and you sit within with your bag on your lap. He shoves the fabric in ahead of him, his head bowed as he fits through the small door.

He closes it with a snap and settles on the bench on the other side of you. You stare across at the cotton, expecting he’d have taken that seat instead. His leg is on your skirt.

You keep your hands on your bag. He knocks on the ceiling and the carriage rumbles into motion. You rock with it along the street, silent as you wring the leather handles.

“I hope my sister did not cause too much stress. I know she can be a lot but she’s old enough now. She should start behaving as a lady,” he spreads a large hand across his thigh. “Perhaps, once she finds a husband, that will be easier.”

You nod, uncertain of a proper response.

“Not to mean... I don’t mean to assume, I am known however for my observations, and I have concluded you are not married,” he continues, “I gather if it were the case, you might not have a shop to sew in.”

“Suppose not,” you reply dully.

“It is only to say that my opinion of my sister isn’t general. A woman such as yourself is admirable.”

“A spinster?” You supply.

“I didn’t--”

“I’ve chosen not to marry, that is true. I am not bothered by that fact,” you say, “isn’t that what you deal in, detective, facts?”

“Fair,” he shifts on the bench, “but not everyone can detach emotion from facts.”

“And why should I be emotional about that fact? I am much more happier than any woman could be with a husband,” you stare at the opposite wall of the carriage. “And I will assume, sir, as I am no detective, that you have neither taken to the altar.”

He curls the fingers on his left hand, “I have not.”

“And I’m certain you enjoy your bachelor lifestyle in your grand apartment,” you return, “while my own is not so extravagant, I find solace in it. On that, I think you might understand me.”

He takes a breath and lets it out with a thoughtful hum, “I suppose we are similar in some way.”

#sherlock holmes #dark sherlock holmes #dark!sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #unraveled #enola holmes #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series

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