#sherlock holmes x teen!reader

[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

[anonymousewrites]

A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 3) Prologue

Father Figure! Sherlock Holmes x Teen! Reader

Prologue: Difficult Loss

Summary: (Y/N) is dealing with the aftermath of losing Sherlock.

Mouse Note: Welcome to A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 3)! Very angsty beginning, I know, but it didn't exactly end that well. I hope everyone enjoys this, please feel free to comment (It gets me to keep writing and I always respond). I can't wait to see what everyone thinks. I've worked very hard on this! So, without further ado, let's go!

            Two years. Two years of going on autopilot. Two years of loneliness. Two years with Sherlock.

            (Y/N) was…not doing well.

            If someone asked them, they’d refuse to respond, but if pressed, (Y/N) would assure everyone (coldly) that they were just fine. Anyone close to them knew that was a giant lie.

            Mrs. Hudson could speak of how (Y/N) refused to eat whenever their loneliness got too strong. Even their beloved lollipops were abandoned and thrown in the trash. She saw them curl up in Sherlock’s armchair and just stare into space, lost in their memories as they ached for Sherlock to come back to them. She knew they had resisted washing their sweater for quite some time, and when it had come out smelling of detergent, (Y/N) had nearly burst into tears as it suddenly felt so foreign, like the last remnants of Sherlock had been destroyed.

            Mycroft could speak of how he let (Y/N) go on cases (supervised and ensured to not be dangerous at all) but saw nothing but mechanical work. They would solve the cases, but there was no…spirit. There was none of the energy they had when they worked with Sherlock. It was like they were on autopilot. And they only spoke when Lestrade prompted them. There was no desire to show off. In fact, (Y/N) had reverted to who they had been without Sherlock. Insecure. Unsure of themself. Unsure of everyone around them.

            John could speak of that better than anyone. He had lingered for so long in 221B, but (Y/N) hadn’t liked it. They were unsure of his presence, the lack of Sherlock being too much. It was too much for John, too. He couldn’t stay in the flat. And (Y/N) hadn’t protested. It was like they were waiting for him to leave, too. Like Sherlock.

            And he had. He had met Mary. He had fallen in love with Mary. He was ready to marry Mary. He had hoped (Y/N) would like her and they’d start finding more people to trust (or anyone to trust). But they hadn’t. They had acknowledged Mary, but they were so unsure of people. It wasn’t that they disliked her—John knew what (Y/N) was like with people they didn’t like—but they just couldn’t let themself get close. They couldn’t get past losing Sherlock. Without him…

            (Y/N) was empty.

            And everyone around them knew it.

            However, there was one thing (Y/N) kept to themself. They visited Sherlock’s grave. They knew he’d remind them that such sentimentality was silly, and they should be moving on to greater things. But they couldn’t, and since Sherlock was dead, (Y/N) didn’t have him to tell them to stop visiting his grave.

            So they kept going. They’d talk about their cases. They made sure they solved each one just to make sure they had successes to share with Sherlock. They had to make him proud. But still…

            “I miss you,” whispered (Y/N), curling up in front of his grave with his old purple sweater pulled around them. “I miss you so much.”

            (Y/N) missed their dad.

Taglist:

@stilesstilinskiforlife-blog

@im-making-an-effort

@ilse235

@schrodingers-intelligence

@awsedrftgyhujikol

@lxserthxngzzz

@forever1313

@mentallyunstablemanlover

#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 #sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock fanfic #father figure #found family trope #found family #sherlock fandom

[cas-kingdom]

Ok… Don’t judge quality since I still feel horrible, but Sherlock and “Don’t start something you can’t finish”?

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” Enola warned you with a piercing look that Sherlock fancied only the two of you could convey and understand.

You shot a particular look back, one that spoke a thousand words at once without you even needing to open your mouth. “Oh,” you said with a hint of amusement, “I’m perfectly capable of finishing this Aren’t I, Sherlock?”

“The truth of it often keeps me up at night,” Sherlock admitted with a mock sigh. He sat back in his seat and let a small smile tug at his lips as you suddenly looked victorious in many ways other than your obviously self-satisfied smirk.

“Well, then,” Enola said, smoothing the skirt of her dress as she crossed one leg over the other, “go ahead.”

The carriage ride from London to the Holmes’ holiday home in the Cotswolds made for excellent intellectual games, the three of you had decided. While Enola enjoyed the activities which catered to her genetic predisposition for crime-solving and decoding, something Sherlock was all too happy to partake in, you preferred putting your mind to good use within the world of literary heroes and riddle-solving, something Sherlock seemed happier to partake in, much to Enola’s exasperation. Though there was very little time in age between you and Enola, your differences, mostly how much your mental stimulation benefitted from opposing things, often amazed your brothers, Mycroft included. 

You had an hour or so left in the carriage, and you had sat dutifully through an anagram game Enola liked to play, but you had turned the tables now, insisting Shakespeare make his entrance. Enola knew you adored Shakespeare’s work and could quote many of his plays, but she also knew that Sherlock was much the same, albeit more experienced. She doubted you could best your brother in a game of wits such as this, but then, she had been away from her siblings for some time, living alone in London and finding her own path, and thus was mostly unaware of the bond you and Sherlock had revitalised between you. 

“You start,” you said, directing your question at Sherlock, who turned to gaze out the window, humming under his breath.

“‘Frailty, thy name is woman’,” he began confidently, looking back to you. Your eyes narrowed slightly in competition.

“Hamlet. ‘Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.’”

“The Tempest. ‘If music be the food of love play on’.”

It continued as such, both of you shooting Shakespearean quotes at each other and answering with the play it had come from. You seemed to have forgotten Enola was there, instead staring pointedly at each other, attempting to reign the champion.

Enola busied herself staring out the window, which was in fact nothing short of boring, until the competition behind her took a spin. You had turned swiftly to tossing Shakespearean insults at each other, something she figured happened a lot, considering how adept you seemed to be at it.

She was pushed a little unceremoniously into the side of the carriage as you were pulled towards Sherlock, his hands suddenly—uncharacteristically, if Enola had anything to say for it, though, again, she seemed to not be privy to your relationship over the past year or so—tickling. You still spewed your insults, shooting them out your mouth alongside your uproarious laughter, and Enola, despite her raised brows and gaping mouth, couldn’t help but smile.

“Thank God Mycroft isn’t here,” was all she could say.

Enola Masterpost

send me the first sentence of a fanfic and i’ll write the next five, except i don’t know when to stop writing so i guarantee there’ll be more than five

#enola holmes #enola #sherlock holmes #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #enola holmes x reader #enola x reader #enola x sherlock #sherlock x enola #reader #reader fic #sister reader #sister!reader #teen reader #teen!reader #mine #baby fic #drabble

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

The Same Page part 2

Here it is! Did anyone ask for it? Not really, but I wanted to write it anyway. Enjoy!

Same Page Masterlist:

Warnings: ANGST

No words were exchanged between the Holmes’ brothers as they waited for you to wake up. They had nothing to say. All that occupied their minds currently was you, and words weren’t needed to discuss the condition you were in.

Bad things often go without saying.

Sherlock wasn’t used to looking to Mycroft for answers or help, but the moment you started to stir, his eyes turned to his big brother’s with an almost panicked expression. After all, he didn’t know how to take care of you in your current condition, and Mycroft had spent two years doing it.

“Mycroft?” Your voice was thick with sleep, and your muffled tone had an air of confusion to it as Sherlock felt you squeeze his arm.

“Hello Y/N,” Mycroft answered before Sherlock could correct you. “I’m here.”

“I had another one,” you whimpered. “Sher…he…was there. I didn’t want to wake up. It was so real.”

“I know it was, honey. Open your eyes.” Mycroft told you hesitantly.

You slowly pushed yourself into a sitting position, rubbing your eyes and blinking them open slowly. When your eyes landed on Sherlock’s, your mouth dropped open slightly, and you reached both of your hands out and gripped onto him.

“It was real?” You breathed, tears brimming in your eyes. Your eyes flitted over to Mycroft to make sure he was there, before whipping back to Sherlock, as though you were afraid he would disappear if you looked away too long.

“It’s real. I’m back, N/N.”

Mycroft watched his siblings silently. He hadn’t heard Sherlock call you by your nickname since you were around three. He also wasn’t used to seeing Sherlock allow you to hug him like you were now, and he couldn’t even remember the last time Sherlock reciprocated the affection.

But then again, over the last two years he had seen many sides to his siblings that he wasn’t used to, most of them for the worse. It was nice to see the better for a change.

“Why did you leave me?” Your frail body was shaking with sobs as you gripped onto your big brother as though he was the only thing holding you to the world.

“I’m sorry,” Mycroft could swear that Sherlock’s eyes were glistening as he held you tightly to him. “I’m so sorry. I’m here now, I’m here.”

You pulled away slightly from Sherlock, your fingers still clamped onto his shirt, and Mycroft’s heart leapt into his throat when your eyes turned to him. He knew that look all too well. Your lip was quivering, and your wide eyes held a fragility that he would never get used to, like a glass mid-way through shattering. You looked at him like he was the only thing in the world holding you together. The only thing you could trust. The only one who could fix you.

But he didn’t know how to fix you. He didn’t know how to pick up the pieces that were so broken, it was as if you had fallen with Sherlock.

“Awake?” You were holding your breath, every bit of sanity left in you reliant on the words that would come out of your oldest brother.

“Yes, yes you’re awake sweetheart.”

Mycroft breathed a sigh of relief when your attention turned back to Sherlock.

Your eyes studied him carefully, as though you were waiting for him to shatter into a million pieces in front of you.

After an agonizing silence, Sherlock spoke. “Moriarty’s men were watching you. If you didn’t react as though I was dead, they would’ve killed you, and me, and-“

“Stop.” Your voice was louder than usual, stronger. “I don’t care why.”

Sherlock swallowed hard past the lump in his throat. “Are you angry?” He was trying to find some emotion in you, anything to give him hope that his little sister was somewhere in this broken figure in his arms.

“No.” You blinked. “Yes…maybe.” Your shaking body seemed to collapse into his arms. “Not now, I don’t think. I can’t now, I just want you here.”

Sherlock held your near-limp form closely, breathing a sigh of relief. He knew there would be plenty of anger to go around later, from you, from Mrs Hudson, certainly from John. But for now you were just relieved to have your big brother back, and Sherlock would enjoy it while it lasted.

He wasn’t sure how long all of you stayed like that, suspended in a strange sense of contentment.

Mycroft was the one to break the silence, looking at his watch and leaning in to speak softly to his little sister.

“Y/N, it’s getting late. You should try to get something to eat and drink.”

“Not hungry.” You mumbled into Sherlock’s shirt. Sherlock twisted, pulling you away from him despite your soft cry of protest.

“Mycroft is right.” Mycroft barely resisted the strong urge to gloat at this statement from his little brother. “I’ll come with you, I promise.”

Sherlock wasn’t used to agreeing with Mycroft, but they had both promised to stay on the same page when it came to you, and he certainly wanted you to eat.

You slowly slipped off the bed, your fingers never once loosening their grip on Sherlock’s now-wrinkled shirt. He didn’t complain, simply following you off the bed and keeping one arm around your shoulders.

Your eyes turned to Mycroft and you nodded your consent at his proposal.

“Do you feel strong enough for the stairs?”

You took a hesitant step forward, and Sherlock felt you lurch, unbalanced on your feet. He tightened his grip on your shoulders, effectively holding you up as you shook your head in answer to Mycroft’s question.

“Would you like me to help you downstairs?” Mycroft asked gently, opening his arms to allow you access.

Sherlock watched his siblings’ little exchange, trying to suspend his feelings of disbelief. Mycroft spoke to you so gently, asking you about every next step he took. His confidence spoke of a familiarity to this situation, and Sherlock wondered how many times Mycroft had had to help you through the smallest of daily tasks.

You seemed torn for a moment, your eyes going back and forth between Sherlock and Mycroft. Sherlock struggled to understand your hesitation, before he came to the most logical conclusion.

Your familiarity with Mycroft’s help in all tasks was tempting and comforting, but you couldn’t bring yourself to release your hold on Sherlock.

Mycroft seemed to read your train of thought as well.

“It’s alright, we can both help you. Would that be alright?”

In answer, you removed one hand from Sherlock’s shirt and gripped onto Mycroft’s outstretched arm. Mycroft smiled softly at you, and together the Holmes’ brothers held you up as you walked down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Mycroft lifted you onto a stool at his kitchen counter, and Sherlock dutifully remained by your side so that you could keep your grip on him.

Sherlock felt like an intruder on some intimate moment every time that Mycroft spoke to you, so gentle and reassuring was his tone.

“Would you like to pick out your dinner?”

A nod. Sherlock wasn’t used to seeing you silent for so long.

“Alright, good. What would you like?”

In answer, you held up an M in sign language, and Mycroft smiled at you.

“Mac and cheese, I’ll be right back.”

After Mycroft had disappeared into the kitchen, a strange silence fell over the two youngest Holmes. You didn’t seem comfortable enough to speak, and Sherlock couldn’t seem to find anything to say.

You tugged on Sherlock’s arm, and he looked down to watch you lay his hand on your lap and play with his fingers between your own. He smiled. You used to do that a lot as a little girl, whenever he was nearby and you were incredibly bored with the “grown up conversation” around you.

“I missed you.” Sherlock whispered. You looked at him with an unreadable expression before turning your attention back on your intertwined hands.

Sherlock sighed. How was he supposed to talk to you? He had had a hard enough time with that before all this. You were the only Holmes sibling that seemed to take after your parents, leaving Sherlock and Mycroft at a loss when it came to finding common interests with you.

Mycroft seemed to have settled into a role in the last two years as caregiver, but this was all so new for Sherlock that he didn’t know where he fit in.

Not long after, Mycroft returned with a steaming bowl that he placed in front of you. You hesitated, unwilling to release your grip on Sherlock. Mycroft leaned down to better look into your eyes.

“It’s alright, you can let go. He won’t go anywhere, I promise.”

Hesitantly, hands shaking, you released your grip on your big brother in exchange for a grip on the fork in front of you.

“Good girl,” Mycroft smiled faintly.

You ate in silence, and after a short time you pushed the bowl away from you, eliciting a slight frown from Mycroft.

“Y/N, please eat some more.”

You shook your head, not daring to look Mycroft in the eye as he let out a frustrated sigh. He nudged Sherlock out of the way and stood fully in front of you, gently tilting your chin up to force you to look at him.

“Please, for me?”

You took two or three more bites before pushing the bowl away and shaking your head. Mycroft sighed and, to Sherlock’s surprise, pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

“It’s alright, that’s enough. Thank you.”

“Sherlock.” It was the first word Sherlock had heard you speak in over two hours, and Mycroft responded instantly, stepping away from you to allow Sherlock to get closer.

Sherlock stepped forward and allowed you to once again fall into his arms. He couldn’t remember the last time he had held you this much in a single day.

For the first time since he had caught sight of you in Mycroft’s cameras, Sherlock’s mind drifted to other things.

John. John still didn’t know that he was alive, and Sherlock was itching to tell him. He communicated this to Mycroft by simply mouthing ‘John’ over your shoulder. Mycroft’s face took on a resolute, almost solemn expression, and he placed a hand on your shoulder, pulling you away from Sherlock.

“Sweetheart, Sherlock needs to leave for a couple of hours, alright?”

Your reaction was about as Sherlock had expected.

Your entire body went rigid, and you twisted instantly out of Mycroft’s grasp, gripping onto Sherlock’s arms with all of your strength.

“No, no don’t go!” Your wails struck Sherlock to his core, but he knew he couldn’t just stay by your side forever.

“I have to tell John, Y/N. He still doesn’t know,” he attempted to reason with you, but your cries didn’t stop, neither did your grip loosen.”

“Don’t leave, stay, you have to stay!”

“Hey, look at me, alright?” Sherlock pulled his wristwatch off and placed it into your hands. “See? I’ll be back by 9:30, ok? I promise I will, I promise.”

These reassurances were also to no effect.

“Don’t go, Sherlock don’t!”

Sherlock looked to Mycroft for help, something both men found uncomfortable. Mycroft took your small hands in his, and pried you away from Sherlock, not even flinching as you fought him with all your strength.

“No, Sherlock no!”

Sherlock felt that there was no choice now but to turn his back and leave.

“Sherlock, don’t leave me!”

He would never admit to anyone, even himself, that those were tears dripping down his cheeks as your cries echoed behind him.

#sherlock #sherlock fandom #i am sherlocked #sherlockbbc #sherlock x reader #sherlock x y/n #sherlock holmes #sherlock x you #sherlock fanfic #sherlock x teen reader #sherlock x sister #sherlock x little sister #sherlock x sister reader #mycroft imagine #mycroft holmes #sherlock and mycroft #mycroft x you #big brother mycroft #mycroft fanfic #mycroft x reader #mycroft bbc #mycroft x sister reader

[french-vanilla-in-the-clouds]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐮𝐬 𝐃𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞

𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓! 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: It's Y/N's first day of the autumn term, but things seem bleak when she can't find her class. It's only when she meets an eccentric student, that the real tests begin...

Dark academia vibes... Sherlock in his university days... fluff!

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

Y/N glanced down at the campus map and gulped at the intricate pathways painted along the frayed paper. She scanned her finger over dozens of marked buldings, but couldn't distinguish between their uniformity. With only fifteen minutes left before the start of class, Y/N was feeling anxious as she searched for the East building's location.

She took one last look at her map before tossing it into her book bag. "I guess I'll do some exploring," she muttered nervously. "I'm bound to find my class in passing, right?" Y/N clutched the strap of her bag and walked between the masses of students bustling around her.

The university held an air of drama with its faded stone walls and branching ivy. Each college building stood tall amongst sturdy oak trees and shrubs.The semester's autumn weather served as the perfect backdrop for the academic stage. A damp wind carried the scent of heather and late blooming sage.

Y/N took deep breaths as she hurried along the student walkway. Her watch read three minutes until the start of class. She ran across the university's grassplot in one last desperate attempt to find the East building, but her search was fruitless.

"Damn!" she cried out in frustration. A look at the time told her that classes had commenced, and she would miss introductions. Y/N stomped towards a bench shaded beneath a tree and sat down with a huff. A young man was seated at the opposite end of the bench, but hardly stirred from behind his book.

"There go my marks for attendance!" Y/N exclaimed, tossing her book bag to the side. The Professor would surely detract points for tardiness. She was furious at herself for being so careless, and hated the anxious ache in her chest.

"Kindly keep all further laments to yourself," said a voice, impatiently. "I much prefer silence to the grovelling of a stranger's misfortunes."

Y/N frowned and turned to face the young man sitting to her right. He was still reading his book, though it was surely him that had spoken. A black pair of reading glasses dipped neatly on the crook of his nose, and sharp, blue eyes peeked from behind them. His hair was tousled and damp from the morning drizzle, a few delicate curls still plastered against his forehead. He wore crisp, toned garments, and had a simple tie hanging loosely from his neck. He was charming, and for a moment, Y/N forgot to answer back to his crude remarks.

The young man touched his index finger to the tip of his tongue and flipped a page of his book. His eyes never left the text.  "You're staring," he mused.

Y/N coughed guiltily, and sat up straight. "Listen," she said. "I've had a rough morning, so I really don't have the patience to deal with your hostility. I'm sorry if I disturbed you, but please leave me alone."

The young man scowled and removed his eye glasses before turning to Y/N. "Leave you alone? If I recall correctly, it was you who sat on my bench!"

"I didn't realize that you owned a portion of the university's public seating," Y/N scoffed. "Fine, have it your way. Keep the bench!" She snatched her book bag and stood up, upset by the morning's turn of events.

She had only taken a few steps when she heard the student sigh behind her. "Forgive me," he said. "It wasn't my intention to upset you further. Getting lost on campus and missing your first class of the autumn term is bad enough without my nagging. Don't take it personally, I find most people irritating, so it really wasn't an attack on your character, specifically."

Y/N stopped in her tracks. She looked back at the young man on the bench. "Excuse me?" she asked in wonder.

He furrowed his brows, annoyed. "Didn't you hear what I said? I hate repeating myself, so if it's another apology that you're searching for-"

"No, of course not," she cut in. "I just don't understand how you know so much about my situation." She raised a brow. "Have you been spying on me?"

The student gaped. "How curious," he muttered. "This university is an institution founded on the principles of intellect and critical reflection, yet everyone in attendance refuses to use their brain. To answer your question, I've only just met you, so surveillance can be discounted. I don't know these things about you so much as I've observed them. It's simple, really."

Y/N walked back to the bench and took a seat. All thoughts of missing class had vanished as the young stranger captured her attention. "Tell me how you did it," she asked eagerly. She extended a hand and smiled. "My name is Y/N by the way."

He stared at the gesture curiously before leaning forwards to shake. He puffed with pride at Y/N's sudden interest in his deductions and granted her a hesitant half smile. "Sherlock," he said. "The name is Sherlock Holmes."

He shifted his legs awkwardly as Y/N stared at him expectantly. "Most people are put off by my observations," he said.

"Does that make me special?"

Sherlock grinned. "According to the other students I've had the displeasure of conversing with, that would make you a freak. Welcome to the club." 

"Oh, I understand!" Y/N laughed. "You're the campus outcast, aren't you? The odd one out, always a step ahead of the herd?"

He pressed his lips together, amused. "In a manner of speaking, yes."

"So tell me, Sherlock. Shouldn't you be in class?"

"I'm expected to be, that's true. But I'm busy at the moment."

"Busy? Doing what?"

He quirked a brow. "Do you really want to know?"

Y/N met his gaze. She wanted to feign disinterest, but her curiosity betrayed her. Sherlock Holmes was an enigma, and she was fascinated by his subtle charm.

She leaned in close and whispered, "I really want to know."

Sherlock grinned. "Walk with me?" He stood up and gestured for Y/N to follow. As she was collecting her books, he turned to her. "If you're still looking for your Philosophy class, that's its building just up ahead," he said, gesturing towards an old stone tower. "We wouldn't want your professor to dock marks now, would we?"

Y/N stared up at it. Suddenly, class seemed so far away. She glanced at Sherlock waiting just a few steps away. He studied her carefully, his hands tucked into his pockets.

She considered leaving him, and attending class like she was supposed to, when a thought crossed her mind...

She had never told him that she was searching for a philosophy class, specifically.

Y/N took a breath and joined Sherlock on the walkway. "I think class can wait, just this once," she told him, hiding a smile.

"Very well," he said cooly. Y/N could tell he was pleased, but was holding back.

"So," she said. "You were going to tell me about yourself?"

Sherlock straightened his coat. "Ah yes, that's right." He turned to her and quirked his brows.

"Tell me, how do you feel about solving mysteries?"

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

Yoohoo!! Read Dear Jealousy!

This fic was inspired by my first day on campus *cries*

NOT SO FUN STORY: I just finished my second year of uni, but have been taking online classes since 2020 - SINCE HIGHSCHOOL - so had never stepped foot on campus. Well, when the day finally came to ACTUALLY attend class, I WAS SCARED. My brother went to the same uni a few years back, so he walked me to my room #. I remember he hugged me at the door and told me good luck, but I just wouldn't let go. I was so nervous that I was down for a forever hug, until he was like "dude, it'll be okay..." Anyway, it wasn't so bad, soooo yay!!! The real pain was finding the meet-up spot for my brother to drive me back home. I got lost for a solid 40ish minutes. It totally sucked. I ended up following a bunch of honey bee Advertisements back to the car...

Yeah so, getting lost on campus is the worst experience... Okay, laters!!! xxx

If you’d like to be tagged in any future Sherlock fics, just tell me in the comments! (and if you’d rather not be tagged in ALL Sherlock fics, please specify; EX: Reader x Sherlock, Reader x John Watson...)

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!

Tagging my beloved: @twisted-monster @starryeddie @high-functioning-lokipath @the-chaotic-cow @turkisherlockian @kabubsmagga @aephereal​ @andthevillainshallrises​ @baby-bloos ​ @cookiemumster1​​ @eternal-silvertongued-prince​ @bogginsreadings​ @lumosouls @i-beg-your-pardon-laufeyson​ @lucywrites02  @danzalladaggers @mrs-holmes

#sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlock x you #reader x sherlock #you x sherlock #student!reader x sherlock #teen!sherlock x reader #sherlock fanfiction #bbc sherlock fanfiction #bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x y/n #sherlock x y/n #sherlock imagine #sherlock fanfic #sherlock fluff #benedict cumberbatch x you #benedict cumberbatch #benedict cumberbatch x reader #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes imagine #fanfiction #writing #university #student!sherlock #student!sherlock x reader #sherlock self insert #self insert fic #sherlock fic #sherlock holmes x you

[slxthxrxn-sxmp]

Fandoms I (dabble in) writing for ✨

(Not my gif)

the walking dead

last kingdom

vikings

agents of shield

x-men

mcu

agent carter

pirates of Caribbean

hunger games

dc universe

the 100

star wars (tv and movies)

divergent

dead poets society

sherlock holmes (any version)

disney cartoons

reign

teen wolf

the hobbit

the lord of the rings

criminal minds

avatar (the blue people not the last Airbender)

a few slashers (when I say slashers these are the characters I am referring to ) Michael Myers, Thomas Hewitt, Brahms Hillshire, Billy Loomis, Stu Matcher, Jason, the Sinclair brothers 

Jurassic Park/World Once Upon A Time 

1883 ( my beloved show that killed me )

House MD 

Knives Out 

Descendants 

Stranger Things 

Outlander 

Gotham

The Vampire Diaries 

The Originals 

Legacies 

Twilight 

Transformers

unfortunately my strong suit is reader inserts specifically fem gender neutral but if the inspiration hits i may write outside of that!

#bucky x y/n #mcu x reader #the walking dead #marvel #the hobbit #kili x reader #lotr x reader #lord of the rings #teen wolf #derek hale x reader #stiles stilinksi x reader #Reign #Reign x reader #disney #disney x reader #Disney world x reader #sherlock holmes #sherlock x you #sherlock x reader #dead poets society #dps x reader #divergent #eric coulter x reader #star wars #star wars x reader #kylo ren x you #the 100 #bjorn x reader #hunger games x reader #potc x reader

[lazydoodlesandfanfic]

Answer The Phone (Mycroft X Daughter!Reader) *PARENTAL

Characters: Mycroft X Daughter!Reader, Sherlock X Niece!Reader

Universe: Sherlock

Warnings: mentions of being drugged via gas (fun story, this happened to me once lol), bomb, explosion, burns, unhealthy relationship with parent

Request: Hello could you do mycroft x daughter reader. Final problem the two have really broken father and daughter relationship and they haven't express themselves and because of it sherlock is kinda the father figure of the reader. So instead of Sherlock doing the phonecall its the mycroft who did the phonecall and reader almost said 'I love you ' to mycroft but its time up and mycrift witness the explosion in reader apartment and the Holmes are broken as they heard the shrill scream coming from the reader. Its up to you if you wanna turn out to let reader died. 😊

It had been a long time since you had actually gotten along with your dad. A long time since tensions weren’t running high when in his presence, well aware that things were one thoughtless comment away from a bicker or an argument. Whether it was wanting something from one another- more affection from him, or a more agreeable personality from you- or just not agreeing on things in general. He often commented on how you were more like your uncle Sherlock, even when you were young. Back then you took it as a compliment, seeing your uncle as a genius who adored you and was by far the funnest uncle in the world, but in your pre-teens you realised he meant it as an insult.

You could never forgive him for doing that, even if he didn’t mean it, or didn’t even realise what he was saying. Everytime he said it, it made you pull away from him even more. Spend more time with the man he compared you to, the only person who seemed to actually care about you. Of course, that was until you met Mrs Hudson and then John moved in with Sherlock. Mrs Hudson kept you company when your uncle was busy and you were avoiding your dad, and she’d softly poke into your home life and your relationship with your dad and try and give advice. John thought you were Sherlock’s assistant for a short while before Sherlock corrected him, acting insulted that he thought you were ‘just an assistant’. When he met Mycroft, he immediately began to understand why you weren’t close, and tried to be a responsible adult you could turn to. In the end, when you became a legal adult, you moved to an apartment much, much closer to Sherlock than your dad, and never in the 3 years you’d had it, had your dad stepped foot inside of it. He wasn’t allowed to. 

You had a lot of feelings towards your dad from childhood to now. Anger, resentment, distrust. A disconnect you never thought and come to accept could ever be fixed. Whenever you needed support, you went to Sherlock. John. Mrs Hudson. Never him. But this time was different. 

You were currently trapped in the said apartment. The one place you were supposed to feel safe no matter what, yet here you were, eyes focussed on the bomb that had been planted in the middle of your living room, the heart of your apartment, with several wires linking to it all across the apartment like spiderwebs. Linked to every possible escape route- the windows, the fire escape, and the only door in and out. You didn’t remember what had happened- you vaguely remember an odd smell as you wet to sleep last night, and when you awoke, you found yourself laying on the floor of your living room, and sitting up and seeing the device. Whoever had done this, had been nice enough to leave your phone right beside the bomb. You didn’t call anyone or even turn the phone on for several hours, scared that it had been tampered with as well and that was also a trigger, but you grew desperate. The first person you tried to call was your dad. You didn’t get through, so then you called Sherlock, and he picked up almost immediately, and you told him what was going on. 

That was about two hours ago now. The police cars littered the streets outside, the complex and surrounding buildings completely evacuated. It was just you and this bomb within a 50 foot radius. Well, for a period of time, both Sherlock and John were on the other side of the door, asking you a billion and one questions about what you could see, and you described everything to the best of your abilities, and it was useful. One, Sherlock was able to piece together it was well made, and whoever made this was an expert and had experience with this- probably a military man, working in a bomb squad or something, and that this was purely explosive, no nails or anything to cause more damage, and due the size, the blast wouldn’t go far past the walls of your home. However, after demanding his honesty, he admitted he also had no clue how to diffuse it, or if that was even possible. It seemed too fragile, that even a light breeze could set it off. That solidified your decision to remain perfectly still within two of the wires attached to your windows, too scared to even touch the glass or move to quickly, remembering his comment on a breeze, and didn’t want to risk vibration. 

You still hadn’t been able to reach your dad. 

“John?” You had asked over the phone. The phone was often being in call between people, mostly Sherlock and John, though Mrs Hudson had called when neither were available to try and keep you calm. It was John’s turn as Sherlock was following leads. 

“Yeah? Is something happening?” John asked. 

“No it’s just… I can’t reach my dad. I keep trying to call him but he won’t pick up… I… I just want to hear his voice.” You admitted. It sounded ridiculous, childish, but you were tired, hungry, and the adrenaline had drained your energy a while ago now. “Does he know what’s happening?” You asked. He was silent on his side for a minute. 

“I don’t know, but I tell you what, I’m going to personally find him, and drag him here, and make him answer his phone, okay?” He promised, and you could hear the anger oozing over the phone, which you couldn’t help but smile at. “In the meantime, I think Sherlock is going to call you later, I think he’s onto something. Hang on, alright?” He said, before handing up. You placed the phone on the floor, carefully standing up, and with distance between yourself and the window, you peered out of it, able to see John as he dashed off towards Lestrade, telling him something, before the pair got into a car and took off presumably to go and find your dad. Looking around more, you spotted Mrs Hudson peering up. She waved when she saw you, and you waved back. With nothing else to do, you sat back down in front of the bomb, trying to examine it to the best of your ability, seeing nothing of importance, before you laid down on the floor, closing your eyes, and waiting.

You flinched when your phone rang. You flinched every time it rang, even if someone had told you just a minute prior it was coming. You reached over, picking it up and placing it to your ear, remembering what John had said. “Sherlock?” You asked. 

“How many pieces of furniture in your flat can you crawl under?” His question was far from reassuring, as you bolted up, on high alert. 

“U-Um, I don’t know, why? Do I need to hide? Take cover? What’s going on?” You panicked. 

“The wiring to the bomb is far too fragile for someone to be able to rig it from the outside after escaping. They must have either found or made another way inside, somewhere where you wouldn’t have noticed. If we can find it you can get out yourself, or we can get inside. Think. Lay on the floor and look around for anything, furniture that you can get under, or furniture light enough but large enough to cover an escape but be able to move from below. Be. Careful. Watch the wires. Call me back if you find anything, I’m on my way back.” He said before hanging up, leaving you alone with silence and overwhelming pressure. You looked at the wires around you, before trying to think of the best places for someone to hide a hatch- under the coffee table, the recliner that you knew was easy to move, your wardrobe in your room which had some crawl space underneath, and for you, the most creepy- under your bed. You quickly checked under your coffee table in front of you, of course finding nothing, because of course that would be too easy. Your recliner was across from you, so after a deep breath, you got down on the ground, and carefully crawled under the wires, spotting a wire that was too low to crawl under, and you stood and carefully stepped over it. You then carefully moved your recliner, checking underneath, and found nothing. That left your bedroom. 

Your phone rang again, and your cursed yourself, realising you left it beside the table, and you hurriedly but carefully moved back, grabbing it and answering it. “Hello? Sherlock?” 

“Y/N?” Your dad’s voice caught you off guard, and you gasped in surprised. “What’s going on? John told me to call you and said it was dire.” He asked. A relief came over you just from hearing his voice, your eyes burning as you sniffed. 

“Dad… it’s bad.” You started, getting silence on the phone. “There’s… someone put some sort of sedative gas into my flat when I went to bed and broke in- they moved me into the living room and- there’s a bomb. There’s a bomb in the living room and it’s wired up to every escape and I can’t get out and I’m scared and I don’t want to die-” You rambled to him before you heard him finally repeating your name to try and interrupt you. 

“Y/N, Y/N, breathe. Is Sherlock working on it?” He asked, that last sentence sound a little distance, and you faintly heard John confirm in the background, before he returned to the phone. “Alright. Sherlock’s working on it. What has he told you?” 

“He um… He said that he thinks there’s a secret entrance somewhere- and that’s how the person who did this escaped after rigging everything. He told me to look for it- I’m going to check in my bedroom next.” You explained to him, looking over, being relieved when you saw no wire attached to the door. 

“Is that door rigged?” 

“No. Hold on, I have to crawl under the wires.” You explained, getting back down, crawling under the wires, before reaching it the door, and holding the phone to your ear. “Okay, I’m at the door.”

“Do you feel like a secret agent?” He asked, catching you off guard. 

“What?” You asked, pausing in your plan. 

“Crawling under and over the wires. It’s like the laser lights and those agents avoiding them. You used to love those movies when you were little. You thought that was what Sherlock did in his cases.” He reminisced. A faint smile met your lips. You’d totally forgotten about that. 

“Yeah… I remember one time when I pulled out all the red thread from a jumper you had gotten me, pinning it all over the house so I could pretend to be a secret agent and then using it to make an information board… you were so mad when you came back home because the jumper was some expensive brand and I’d made the board on a wall and wrote on it and everything… sorry about that.” You told him, somehow finding the energy to chuckle pathetically. 

“Don’t apologise.” Mycroft told you. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. You were 6, you were just being a child.” He pointed out. “I’m… I’m also sorry that I didn’t answer your calls. I should have known something was wrong when you kept trying to reach me.” He apologised. You hummed, before you realised something. 

“This is the first time we’ve been able to actually talk without bickering or arguing in years.” You pointed out. You heard him sigh. 

“When this whole mess is over, I promise you we’re going to have a proper family dinner, catch up, and actually talk. No bickering. No arguing. A genuine conversation. How does that sound?” He asked. You smiled to yourself. This was the best thing that had happened all day, not like that was hard. 

“Yeah. Let’s hope the escape is in my room.” You said, remembering your task. You reached out, grabbing the handle of your bedroom door, and opening it, and pulling the door open. “Hey, you know, despite not really getting along my whole life, I want you to know that I do love-” You looked up to search your room, but the sound of a beep made your eyes focus on the bomb attached to your bedframe, this one a lot bigger, that was rigged to your bedroom door, that you had just set off.

Mycroft heard you gasp, the sound of you running, hearing you muttering repeatedly ‘no, no, no, no”, the sound of you trying to open a door before the call ended. “Y/N?” Mycroft asked. He heard nothing. He tried calling you back, and it didn’t even ring. He got an awful feeling in his stomach and he wanted to be sick, but he looked up at John who looked confused at what was happening, having not heard what he’d heard. “Get me to her flat right now.” 

By the time the pair arrived on your street, it was already blocked off and there was more than one firetruck trying to subdue the fire that was blazing where your flat used to be. Mycroft didn’t speak as he approached, seeing the sight, realising what it was exactly that he heard. He heard his daughter realise she triggered an explosive. He heard his daughter run across the one place she was meant to be safe to the front door. He heard his daughter try and open the door, and realise it was locked and she was trapped inside.

He heard his daughter die, terrified and alone. And for what? Why? Why not him, or Sherlock? He wanted to be angry, demand answers, find who did this and get revenge even if it isn’t lawful, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t find it in himself to be angry right now. Only guilty. He should have spent more time with you. He should have tried harder to be a better parent to you, he should have been kinder, more understanding. He should have been there. 

“John! Mycroft!” Mycroft didn’t hear Mrs Hudson at first as she dashed over as quick as she could- she was sobbing and sniffling, clutching a handkerchief to her face as she approached. 

“Mrs Hudson, what happened?!” John asked alarmed and out of breath. 

“There was a second bomb in the bedroom, when she opened the door it set it off.” She explained. Mycroft finally looked away from the blaze to look at the woman. The call had ended only 20 minutes or so prior, and since the flat was still in fire, so there was no way to examine the scene. 

“How do you know that?” He asked her. She didn’t say anything, simply grabbing his arm and pulling him down the street, pass the firetrucks, past the police who looked defeated, and towards an ambulance. The back doors were open, and inside he was able to see two paramedics tending to someone in the bed. He felt his heart leap into his throat as he sprinted to the edge and jumped inside, able to finally see your face, an oxygen mask over your face, burns littering your body, and you were unconscious as a paramedic was placing bandaging on one of your burns. “Is she okay? Is my daughter okay?” He demanded answers, one of the paramedics looking up at him. 

“She’s suffered burns and blunt force trauma from the explosion. She was conscious when she was able to get out, but she fell unconscious, and we need to get her to the hospital now. Please sit down if you’re coming with her.” He instructed, and Mycroft followed and sat down. He turned, seeing John and Mrs Hudson stood, staring at you. 

“Please make sure Sherlock finds out who did this. They need to pay for this.” Mycroft demanded. John nodded firmly, before the doors shut, the sirens turned on and the ambulance began to move. Mycroft put his whole focus on you, making sure your chest moved up and down, looking for any sign of you waking up, and more importantly, any sign you were in pain. He only saw you breathing, and he decided for now he should be thankful for that. He didn’t know what exactly he was going to do, but he knew that somehow, someway, he was going to fix this. He was going to make everything better. He had to.

Hope you like it! If you have any questions, please send them in!

*Not my gif

TAGS: @holy-tea-cup-blog @sassy-specter @keenmarvellover @multifandomfix @sleutherclaw @otterly-fey @courtneychicken @graysonmalfoy @bellero @originalpottervengerlock @supernatural-pan @esoltis280 @lady-of-lies @lenaswritingandstuff @macbetheliza @mandywholock1980 @cdwmtjb8 @caswinchester2000 @determinedpines@huntheimpossible @automaticbakeryfreakshoe

#sherlock holmes #bbc sherlock #mycroft #mycroft x reader #mycroft x fem!reader #mycroft x daughter!reader #sherlock x reader #sherlock x fem!reader #sherlock x niece!reader #one shot #story writing #writing #question #ask questions #ask me anything #send me asks #send me anything #send me questions #oneshot #request #reader #x reader #fem!reader #x fem!reader #daughter!reader #x daughter!reader #niece!reader #x niece!reader

[ten-cent-sleuth]

A Galling Yoke, Part 15

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for the “If you walk out that door…” square on my July Break Bingo card

See this post for main info, including a masterlist and synopsis. See this post for warnings.

Word Count: 3.3k

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x f!Reader

Rating: Teen

Voss House was in an uproar when you and Sherlock slipped through the back door. Rounding a corner, Sherlock would have walked right into Lucy racing by if not for your hand shooting out and grabbing his elbow.

“Sorry, sir! Prayin’ ’scuse me!” cried the maid as she scurried off, not pausing to curtsy to Sherlock and evidently missing you entirely.

“She seems to be in a hurry,” he muttered.

“Brilliant deduction,” you quipped as you let go of his coat and straightened out the wrinkles you’d caused. “Lord Coltidge is likely raising Cain to find out where I am and what is going on. I can only hope that nobody has mentioned that I have been at your flat the past few days…”

The kitchen door flung open, and Cook bustled out with a harried expression. Her eyes widened even further when they met yours.

“Oh, Madam, you’re home,” she exclaimed. “Thank the Lord you’re well. Your father’ll be pleased.”

You couldn’t stop the sardonicism from leaping up and quirking your brow. “I suppose that would be the natural reaction of one under the influence of paternal affection, yes.”

Sherlock, very discreetly, choked and coughed.

“Well, I best be moving along,” said Cook. “His lordship’s asking for an account of our foodstuffs, and then, what with dear Mrs Rogers busy entertaining him in the front sitting room, I ought to help Lucy prepare the master’s suite… Oh, Madam, is it true that he is taking up residence in Voss House again? That you are leaving?”

Sherlock stiffened, and you tightened your hold on his arm to reassure him.

“It is not true,” you told her. “Though I am pleased to know you would have matters well in hand if it were. Carry on, Cook.”

She beamed at you, blushing lightly, before going on her way.

Turning to watch her disappear down the hallway, Sherlock commented, “She remarked not on our entry through the tradesmen’s entrance.”

“Please expound not on what that says about how eccentric she perceives me to be.” You hid your wince with a wide sweep of your arm. “To the front sitting room, then, sir?”

Nodding, he gestured for you to lead the way, but you caught the “You said ‘eccentric’, not I” that he said under his breath and shot him a look.

You were still some metres away from the sitting room door when you started to pick up on the raised voices within. Or, rather, the raised voice, and the soothing tones of battle-hardened Mrs Rogers. You and Sherlock shared a look before you swung the door open.

“Father, I apologise for keeping you waiting.”

Whirling around, the Earl of Coltidge blinked a few times at you, caught mid-rant. By the time Mrs Rogers made a discreet exit with a flashing smile in your direction, he managed to gasp, “Daughter. Where in Christendom have you been?” In the span it took you to grant yourself a fortifying breath, he lost his interest in your reply and said, “I have given you nearly a sennight complete. I trust you have taken care of whatever was so important you neglected an affair of the essence?”

You gripped your skirts in tense fists. “I did, but Mr Holmes worked quicker than I.”

Your father’s eyes slid to the detective standing at your shoulder, apparently taking note of him for the first time. “And what do you mean by that?”

Finding strength in the presence behind you, you smoothed out your skirts and spoke evenly. “As we speak, William is at Scotland Yard. He has been arrested for his crime.”

The earl stiffened, but his focus remained on Sherlock. “Crime?” His voice was just slightly too high-pitched. “What crime?”

Sherlock stepped forward, his sleeve brushing against yours. “The crime of soliciting a murder, of course, your lordship,” he said bluntly, not even bothering to handle Coltidge’s fragile anxieties with care.

They shattered before your eyes.

“Confound you, Holmes!” he hissed. “I hired you, damn it, I did! You had a single task, and you could not do it properly?”

Sherlock arched a brow. “My lord, you hired me to investigate your daughter’s husband’s death, and I have done precisely that.”

“Bah!” scoffed Coltidge with such force that spittle flew out of his mouth. “My heir shall be seen as a criminal! My name shall be tarnished—hang it all!”

You grimaced at his poor choice of words and of priorities. “Father—”

He turned his blazing eyes to you. You halted, allowing him to speak, but when he did, he was still addressing the other man. “You have done enough, Holmes. I must deal with my family business now, which has naught to do with your blasted meddling. Leave us.”

Sherlock huffed, muttering something that started with “How many times must I explain…?” before he turned to give you his full attention. “You did not ask me to accompany you here, so I shall understand if you wish to speak to your father in private. Petal, do you want me to leave?”

He was so soft in that moment, in his voice and in his eyes, that you would have lost your heart if you had still been in possession of it. But no, it was already securely placed in Sherlock’s vault of treasures, and for that, you could not let him leave.

“If you walk out that door,” you whispered, “I shall be alone against my tormentors once more, and I refuse for that to be so any longer. For too long have I been made by either external forces or my own fears to bear my burdens alone, so from now on, if I can have you by my side…” You tilted your head to regard him in the afternoon light streaming through the window. “I would have you by my side.”

Sherlock stared back at you, not smiling but still somehow drawing you in—the very promising way his eyes were darkening or the very thrilling way his tongue wet his lips, perhaps. But the moment was broken when, out of the corner of your eye, you noticed your father sneer and remembered that you had an audience.

“Is that what this is about, then?” said the earl. “You would sacrifice your brother to throw yourself at the first man to show you any hot-blooded interest?”

You were briefly stunned speechless—nobody had ever dared speak so crudely in your presence before—but Sherlock reacted without hesitation.

He whipped around. “How dare you?” he said, tightly, darkly, thundering but not like the crack of a nearby strike: like the low rumbles on the ground from a faraway storm rolling closer. “How dare you speak to her in such a manner? Do you honestly believe you are superior to her in any way? You are a poor excuse of a man—and a still poorer excuse of a father.”

“Speak not of superiority to me, Detective,” jeered your father before focusing on you. “Edmund might have preferred his mistress to you, Daughter, but at least he was the son of a peer and a respectable gentleman at that—Holmes is little better than a tradesman with the way he makes his living! Would you truly toss your honour on someone so beneath us, so unworthy of the Voss connexion?”

Your surprise gave way to fury. “There is no one worthier,” you bit out, stepping into your father’s space. “Peers, sons of peers, gentlemen, tradesmen—to me, they are merely the outside world.” You waved one arm at the window, and reached the other out to Sherlock. “He is the only one who knows me, who has seen the disarray that is my interior and has stayed by me. How can someone beside me be beneath me?”

Pulling his shoulders back, your father said, “Spare me your melodrama, it is—”

You barked out a laugh. “My lord, need I remind you that it was you who brought Mr Holmes into this? If not for your melodrama, your production of a case, you could have gotten exactly what you wanted.”

“What…?” He was pale, his voice shaken.

“If you had simply told me your plan to frame me for William’s sake, you would have succeeded because I would have gone along with it,” you explained, surprising even yourself with how patient you sounded. “By bringing Mr Holmes into the matter, you ensured that, instead, I came to see that my future is as bright as anyone else’s.”

“Blame this not on me,” he spluttered. “You do well to recall that though I had been prepared to let you answer for your brother’s mistake, I had hoped the case could be steered away from my progeny at all. The scandal of a murder in the family would have been distressing enough.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, and he glared at you.

“It is because you never fail to involve yourself in men’s business that we could not all be freed from this mess. After all, it was you who led Holmes to that tail-wagging hussy, Miss Allen or Miss Ayles or…” Flapping his hand in a dismissive motion, he narrowed his eyes at you. “Do you deny it?”

A cold sweat passed over you, and for a moment, you were frozen. Those years-old, not long vanquished fears of being a botch-up, of deserving nothing better than blame, crept up on you. But William’s kind eyes and gentle words warmed you. It was no evil to help and be helped.

“I do not,” you said, squeezing your forearms to ground yourself. “But you cannot make me regret working with Sherlock. We both were better off for letting each other in, and I shall not be persuaded otherwise. Indeed, there is naught you can expect to accomplish here, Father; your time would be better spent trying to convince William to recant or Scotland Yard to release him.”

Shadows fell across the earl’s face as he brought himself to his full height. You had not seen that expression on him since you were a misbehaving young girl under his roof, and you braced yourself for the patronising lecture that was about to come. But you were not prepared for the quiet words that came from him.

“Would that your mother had survived her third confinement and we had lost our first babe instead.”

Your mouth fell open as your thoughts ground to a halt. Their first child…

Towering over you, Lord Coltidge snarled into your face, “Or would that your brother had left you to your fate with Edmund!”

“Father,” you choked out.

He waved you off, shouldering past to get to the sitting-room exit. “At least then, I would not be the one burdened with you and your impertinence,” he sniffed as he turned around to look you up and down. He had never sounded so bitter, looked so vicious. “It matters not to me how; I would merely be grateful so long as I was free of you, you senseless girl.”

Staring at him across the room, you felt small and silly, shame prickling at your skin as though you deserved his contempt despite logically knowing you didn’t. Helpless, you didn’t know how to make the humiliation stop burning in your chest and feared it would flay you alive right there.

But then a tall, wide frame stepped in your line of sight, blocking your view of the source of your pain and mortification but above all shielding you from that which was doing you harm. Staring, now, at Sherlock’s back, tension rippling from his shoulder blades down, you recalled the thunderclouds that had been gathering on the horizon and—oh, now came the crash.

“What fitting idiocy from an addle-pate,” said Sherlock, his voice as sharp and dangerous as the cliff’s edge it teetered on. “Since you wish to avoid senselessness, my lord, these are the facts: Your daughter is here—has been here all this time, you myopic ingrate—and after all she has already made it through, there is little that could stop her from continuing to be here. And while she lives, you shall die, wifeless, friendless, and at this rate childless. While she prospers, you shall sink deeper into the realisation that you have wasted your years.” He jabbed a finger in his direction, just barely restraining his volume and the vehemence of his movements. “Do you think I cannot recognise the rumpling of your clothes from lying sleeplessly in them night after night, cannot detect the perfumes for hiding the diminished energies of a miserable tyrant?” Hands shaking and chest heaving, he caught his breath before snapping, “You reek of desperation, your lordship, and it is not the victory you think it is to be leaving us in a huff before the stench can settle deep.”

Coltidge simply stood, eyes wide and mouth unmoving.

Sherlock jolted him out of his stupor with a roared “Get out!”

Tail between his legs, Lord Coltidge yanked open the door and scurried out. Blinking away your shock, you hurried over to the threshold and peeked through. You spotted Mr Rogers standing in the hallway, and for the first time you felt gratitude that the butler had taken to hanging around when you were entertaining guests. You trusted him to handle getting Lord Coltidge out of the house without the earl destroying the property in a fit.

Shutting the door behind your father, you leaned against the knob and took a deep breath. “Oh, dear, that went terribly. Sherlock, I must apologi—mmf!”

The rest of your words vanished as you were whirled around, pressed back against the door, and descended upon by the full force of Sherlock’s tenacity.

With one hand gripping your waist and the other cradling the back of your head, he held you still under his unrelenting lips, stealing your breath, criminally, mercilessly, but so lovingly that you gladly gave up more and more of it to him. Although you could hardly move while pinned between the door and Sherlock’s insistence, you did what you could with your hands and mouth to give as good as you got.

When he coaxed your mouth open and pushed his tongue inside, you groaned and gave a particularly zealous tug on his bowtie. As you felt it come undone, a heated thrill shot through you: the levees of decorum Sherlock had valiantly put up against the storm the earl stirred up were decimated by this flash flood of passion, passion unprecedented, and you were the one to witness it.

He swallowed your whimper as your knees gave out, not letting up, only holding even more of your weight with even more tenderness. More and more control slipped out of your grasp as he continued his siege on your senses, but you let it slip—you had seen how he’d strained to keep a hold on courtesy in the face of Lord Coltidge’s utter discourtesy, and would happily let him be ungentlemanly now.

He broke away with a ragged gasp. And even as you fought to rein in your breathing, he dusted kisses across your face.

“I thank God that you are alive and well, darling.” His voice was gravelly, your head was light. “I pray you listen not to his lordship. He is a doddering fool and—”

You turned your head to catch Sherlock’s mouth on its way to your cheek. After another minute or five of bliss, you eased away and whispered, “I know, Sherlock. His words got through my defences because I was shocked by them, not because I believed them. Distress yourself not.”

He shook his head, gazing on you in such a way that you felt pierced, like your lungs were losing more air than they were making use of. “Consider me distressed until you know that… You must know that… Dear heavens, one’s world is better with you in it. Bigger, brighter. The earl deserves you not. He is a dunce to think he would be happier without you, flaws and mistakes and all, for I have lived ten and five years in your absence and hold it as indisputable proof that losing you is the worst thing that can happen to a person. Though, blazes, I deserve you not—”

“There is no one worthier,” you reminded him, arching an eyebrow.

After a beat, the anguish on his face fell with a startled laugh. “Heaven help me, you are an impertinent thing.”

Grinning, you looped your arms around his neck and pulled him back down so that you could hug him close and bury your nose in his collar. When he said that, you didn’t feel mortified: you felt seen, and you felt loved.

His hands drifted down to your hips, at once primally possessive and profoundly gentle. “Are you certain you are all right?” he asked softly. “I had never seen that expression on you before, and it disturbed me—gutted me—to see it then. I had tried to let you handle your father as you saw fit, but when I saw that look on your face… I could not stand by, my lady.”

Nodding, you squeezed him tight. “I am certain.” If you had been terribly overwrought, you would be calming down quickly now, with Sherlock’s arms around you and his light swaying back and forth. “And I thank you for stepping in, Sherlock. I thank you for staying.”

“You may depend on my doing so for the rest of our lives.”

“Sherlock…” You nosed his chest, burrowing even closer to his comforting warmth and familiar scent, and pecked his clavicle through his shirt. “I love you.”

His sudden stillness was your only clue that he had heard you.

Trying to mollify his apparent agitation, you dropped another kiss onto his shirt, a little higher this time, near the wrinkled fabric of his undone bowtie. “I love you,” you said again, knowing repetition often grounded him. “I love you.”

Still there was no response. He had not stiffened or cringed away, so you did not think he was uncomfortable. Startled, then—taken aback. You could picture the quizzical frown that had surely overtaken his expression, could practically hear the churning of calculations in his head. And who knew what conclusions he was arriving at? Who knew how long it would take him to share them with you? Flushing with sheepishness, you more resolutely hid your face in his chest.

“You need not say it back, of course,” you rushed out. “It is only that you mentioned love earlier, and it made me think, ‘Could he mean that he loves me?’ But— But of course, I know it is more complex than that. You could hardly be blamed if you are still hurt and cautious from my marrying another man without warning you, and surely you had the right of it to reprove me before for expecting you to trust me blindly…”

Much to your chagrin, he held you away from him and pulled back from the embrace. Your anxiety mounted with every passing second of his scrutiny.

“Sherlock?”

“This is the ‘something you had to tell me’, then?”

Disoriented, you nodded mutely.

“Definitely should have done yours before mine,” he muttered.

“Sherlock?”

“I beg of you, let not love be your second thought and my rashness your first. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. In short, this is the answer to your question: yes, he could very well mean that he loves you.”

A smile wormed its way to your face as you leaned back against the door to take in as much of Sherlock as you could.

“Its being complex makes it no less certain,” he said firmly. “I love you. I have loved none but you.”

“I as well,” you breathed, reaching out and resting your palm over the left side of his chest. “I have been married, heartbroken, alone, and free; through it all, there has only ever been you. I love you, Sherlock.”

He smiled then too, and it was the brightest sight you’d ever laid eyes on. Oh, yes, you had your life ahead of you, a future gold and aglitter indeed.

Can you tell I was reading JAFF before writing this? xD Thank you for reading, and feedback is always welcome! (You never know, you could end up like @marveldcmistress and inspire a line like “You are a poor excuse of a man—and a still poorer excuse of a father” with your lovely suggestions. ;P) Attention, readers: please be aware of this announcement about upcoming chapters.

Taglist [comment below if you’d like to be added!]: @livisss @theyaremorethanjustfictional @wonderlandfandomkingdom

#sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #henry cavill sherlock x reader #enola holmes #a galling yoke #the dimensions of fandom

[specialagentlokitty]

John x Teen!reader - just relax

Here's an idea I've had for a while. Sherlock has a younger sister who is a teenager and is very much a Holmes. But since Sherlock is always so caught up in his own stuff, he doesn't notice that she is very stressed for some reason. John notices that she has been spending days not eating and playing her musical instrument all day and he comforts her. - Anon💜

John had trouble living with one Holmes, he thought living with another would make it twice as worse, but he found you pretty friendly.

You loved talking, and you could make deductions like your brothers could, but you kept them to yourself unless asked or unless you thought it was absolutely necessary that they knew it.

Unlike your brother Sherlock, you liked a routine, you didn’t base things on cases or working, though you liked working you had strict times you would eat so you wouldn’t forget, and Sherlock would be forced to join you.

Sherlock had been busy taking case after case just to cure his boredom and John noticed he hadn’t seen you in a few days.

“Have you seen (Y/N)?” He asked.

“Check her room, or call her.” Sherlock said.

John sighed rolling his eyes at Sherlock and he made his way to your room.

It was nearly time for you to eat and you hadn’t even started cooking, so John just wanted to make sure you were okay.

The closer he got to your room, the louder the sound of the piano became and he stopped in front of your door, listening for a few minutes.

Finally, he knocked on the door and the music stopped.

“Enter.”

John opened the door and stepped in to find you sat at the piano in the corner of the room, twisting to look at him.

“Hello John, how are you?”

“I actually came to ask you that, you haven’t made your dinner. Do you want anything?” He asked.

You shook your head and picked up the sheets of paper from the top of the piano and sat down.

“I’m not hungry, I’ve got some stuff to do.”

John frowned but nodded his head, leaving you finish whatever you were doing.

He understood sometimes people didn’t feel hungry, so he didn’t force you to come eat dinner, but when the next day rolled by he noticed that you still hadn’t left your room.

“Sherlock have you spoken to (Y/N), she’s not come out of her room since yesterday morning. I’m worried about it her.”

“Isn’t she at school?” Sherlock asked confused.

“Oh my god Sherlock!”

Sherlock looked at John confused and grabbed his jacket as he tossed it on.

“Got a case, coming?”

“No, I’m going to talk to your sister because someone’s got to keep an eye on her.” John snapped.

Sherlock said nothing and left the flat and John sighed going to the kitchen to make a simple breakfast and carried it to your room.

The door was open so he walked in and set your breakfast on the desk and looked down at the floor where you were sat surrounded by different things.

“I made you some pancakes, just the way you like them.”

“Thanks I’ll eat them later.”

John frowned and walked over, kneeling in front of you.

“Is everything okay?” He asked.

You nodded and stood up, walking over to the piano you sat down and tapped a few of the notes before you started playing a soft and gentle tune.

John left again and came back at lunch.

You’d been playing the piano all morning, the same tune over and over again, and you hadn’t even touched your breakfast.

John couldn’t bare to watch you not eat, so finally he decided to just confront you.

“What’s going on (Y/N), this isn’t like you.”

You room was messier than before, you had school work everyone, score sheets everywhere and your bookshelf was half on the floor.

You stopped playing and turned around to face him, sighing heavily as you ran a hand down your face.

“I’m trying to think but I can’t. Every time I think it’s like a train is running right through my head, everything is so loud. All this homework is due tomorrow, Sherlock asked me to research something for him, I need to get my college applications out by the end of the week and my internship with Mycroft starts next week.”

You were now pacing back and forth.

“Woah, Woah okay, okay, let’s just sit down.”

John sat on the floor and you sat with him.

“Breathe.” He said.

You took a few deep breaths and closed your eyes as you placed your hands on your knees slowly breathing in and out.

John reached through and started to look through all of the papers, putting the ones that were school work aside.

“I’m trying to do it all on time, but between Sherlock texting me and Mycroft reminding me what I need for my internship I can’t get my thoughts straight.”

“Have you slept yet?” He asked.

You shook your head and look at him.

“Will you consider getting some sleep?” He asked.

You shook your head again and looked at everything.

“I’ve got too much to do, I’m sorry John but I can’t go to sleep until I’m done.”

“Alright, okay. How about we do homework first? Why don’t you play something for me and I’ll tidy up, and we’ll get started on your homework.”

“I don’t need help doing it…” you mumbled.

John laughed a little and placed a hand on your shoulder.

“I know, but just to help you stay on track.”

You nodded and got up, thinking about what to play and then you started, a fast paced but beautiful sounding tune and John smiled as he started to clean the mess.

He put all the books back, put your phone on charge and muted it, then he made his way to all the papers.

He separated the college papers from the homework, and started to separate the homework into different piles based on subject.

Once he was done he let you finish your song before calling you over and he handed you a pen and a sheet of paper.

“Ignore everything else, just focus on this one bit of homework.”

“Right, okay.”

Taking a deep breath you got to work.

Within minutes it was done, and he handed you another.

Working half an hour you were finished all your homework and you looked up at John and he smiled softly.

“Don’t stress about anything else, you’ve got time, okay?”

“Alright, yeah. I’ve got time.”

“Exactly, ignore Sherlock and Mycroft, that’s not important you and your health are more important. So, let’s go make some lunch, and then we’ll look at those college forms.”

You smiled and followed John, letting him help you cook lunch and you sat at the table happily eating with him.

“Thanks for looking after me John.”

“Hey that’s what I’m here for okay? To look after you and help you when you need it. It’s okay to ask for help you know that right?”

“I know, sometimes I just get really stressed and forget that.”

John chuckled a little and nodded his head, going to help you with your college applications but you didn’t need help.

You were flying through them, so he just sat with to help you calm down when you were getting a little too stressed.

He was going to give both your brothers an earful after you went to sleep that night, reminding them you were just a kid, you needed them to help you not force you to do things.

But right now, his first priority was you, and making sure you managed to stay relaxed, and calm

#bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock x you #bbc sherlock imagine #john watson #john watson imagine #john watson x reader #john watson x you

[bakerstreethound]

Give Me One More Chance

Relationship: Sherlock Holmes x reader

Warnings: angst NO comfort

Summary: How many chances is enough? For you, you’ve reached your breaking point and break the news to Sherlock after feeling neglected in an on again off again relationship with him, if that’s even what you can call it. 

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound​ (Do NOT claim, repost, copy or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username)

Word Count: 1.2k+

A/N: Well, I hope you’re buckled up and ready for an angst adventure. I sort of imagined this having potential as an older teen (18/19) Sherlock and reader or them possibly both in their early twenties (21/22) so take that as you will. Thank you for the request @zombiesnips-blog​ I hope you and everyone else enjoys! As always comments and reblogs are most appreciated! This wasn’t beta read so I apologize in advance for any errors. Graphic is by @firefly-graphics​

The phone in your hands shook, you inhaled deeply, annoyed at the person on the end of the phone who undoubtedly forgot to pick you up from the library where you studied for hours upon end, where you were supposed to study with him. You didn’t want to be disappointed but it crept inside you still, lying upon you like a fever, your heart pulsing in kind. How many times were you supposed to forgive him? All the excuses you tried to conjure up did nothing, and you fall further into your well, filled by too many tears you shed. 

You set your mobile down, fiddling wth your hair before settling on the couch, flipping through a dozen channels or so before settling on one of your favorite movies that happened to be on. You try to let your mind numb that is until your apartment door slammed, the footfalls of a familiar gait pounding up the landing. Your heart lurched. It couldn’t possibly be him. 

At least he had the courtesy to knock but you still don’t want to get up, not in the state you’re in buried anger threatening to rise over the surface spilling venom in its wake. However, your body seemed to have other plans and you found yourself walking over and turning the knob, your gaze transfixed on brilliant, intelligent sapphire eyes. 

“Sherlock?” 

He pushed open the door further, shutting it without a word, brushing his hand against yours before pressing his lips against it, the tenderness causing your heart to ache. "Apologies, traffic took longer than expected it's rush hour and I-"

"And you what, just so happened to forget to call?" Bitterness fell from your tongue, try as you may to quell it and oh how you hated it when Sherlock’s cheek twitched, eyes blinking in bewilderment. 

"I tried-" 

“I don’t want to hear anymore excuses Sherlock. I’m tired of this, the constant back and forth, you disappearing for days on end, making me think you’re dead and you barely answer my texts! I understand your work, internship, whatever the bloody hell has you galivanting through London is important, but don’t I matter? How can I possibly compete with your work?”

His stare only added fuel to the fire, showing barely a hint of remorse, his shoulders slouching slightly. He swallowed, his lips shaping into words that never took flight, illuminating his internal struggle. You didn’t ever want it to come to this, but sometimes you had to take matters into your own hands. 

“How am I supposed to ask for your forgiveness? Do you want me to crawl on my hands and knees begging you to stay?” He inquired, beginning to circle around you like a vulture, unsure what to make of the situation. You tried not to meet his gaze again, for you knew you’d be doomed, falling further in an instant, loosing your heart all over again. 

Who were you kidding, you’d lost it months ago. 

You scoffed, “I clearly don’t see the point since you’ve made it obvious you don’t care anymore. Perhaps I stopped caring months ago, but I gradually gained clarity. Is there something you’re not telling me?” He took a step closer, piercing gaze meeting yours, and your throat went dry. You could smell him, the intoxicating warmth of him, his very essence, leaving you gasping, wanting him and only him, yet you somehow find it in the rapidly diminishing space between you to continue, “Were you never ready to be with me? I was terrified too, Sherlock but I thought we had- hell I don’t know what we are anymore. I can’t take this-” 

Soft familiar lips collided with yours, muffling your protests, his body absorbing you, molding you together as one despite your mind’s reeling protests. Oh, how easy it was to fall back into him, such a familiar pattern, his fingers teasing along your lower back, your hands tangled in is beautiful mass of curly hair. It’s electrifying, how you want to fall back but you can’t that was the way it happened last time when you vowed to yourself it was his last chance. 

When you pulled away a fraction, foreheads still touching, hands tangled in his hair, you tugged on them gently, earning a groan from his plump parted lips. 

“John told me you’d break my heart,” he all but whispered, leaning in to your touch, your familiarity, allowing himself denial of his reality for once. If only he could turn back time, but he knew fate was never so kind. It did not bode well to mingle in its affairs. If only he could take away the words you spoke, a silent thread unwinding, shriveling fast, finally cut with your words, sealing both his fate and yours. 

“Funny because my friends told me you’d break mine. It was only a matter of time, but sometimes you made me question if I had one at all. Sometimes I wonder if you ever had one to give me, my boy.” 

Wounded resignation lite up in his eyes, but he swallowed, taking a step away and yet, and yet, you reach out again, grasping the lapels of his beautiful coat, regret and sorrow streaming from your eyes. How could you have made this any easier? It was always going to be a heard break, but you knew you deserved better, he wasn’t good for you and you couldn’t keep waiting around, tired of the waiting, wondering, and wishing. It still didn’t make the growing sorrow in your body from weighing you down, threatening to drag you down into the deepest depths of the ocean. 

“You know we weren’t good for each other and you still have other ventures ahead of you. I’m sure you’ll find something more worth your while.” You pushed back the tears through it all, regret heavy in your hands as you released him from your embrace, but his hands remained on your waist, lip quivering, eyes wide a haunted look sprouting from within as if a ghost had now infiltrated his body. When he parted, it took all your resolve not to pull him back but the invisible thread was broken, all warmth ceasing to exist when he parts, shutting the door, turning around one last time to face you. 

“You always had a beautiful smile,” he said quietly and that was it. You fell to the floor on your knees, grasping at your chest, heaving gasping out the tears. Out your window you still could see him walking down past your door, into the streets beyond. 

It’s bittersweet, cruel of you to do it to yourself, memorizing his silhouette for the last time, the way it morphed into the shadows, making you selfishly wish the possibility of seeing it for one more time, relishing the rush of adrenaline that followed, the racing of your heart when he stood near to you, kissing you o so softly as if you are the only thing in his universe. Perhaps you were, but certainly not in this one, for fate was cureler rather than kind. You regret not being able to hold his hand, taste those adoring lips of his…now you can but only in your dreams

******

#sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes imagine #bbc sherlock imagine #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock fanfic #bbc sherlock #benedict cumberbatch #sherlock tv #writing request

[anonymousewrites]

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

Father Figure! Sherlock x Teen! Reader

Chapter One: Surprise Return

Summary: Sherlock returns to London and sees John once more.

In Serbia…

            A man, long-haired and straggled, ran through the forest. A helicopter searched for him from above, and it shone its giant beam of light down onto the trees in search of the man. Infrared cameras caught his position, and gunshots rang out. The man was forced to stop and panted in exhaustion as the ache in his bones caught up to him at the same time as the men. Unable to go on any longer, he slumped to the ground.

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            The man’s body swayed from chains embedded in the ceiling. His wrists were twisted above his head at an uncomfortable angle. His shirt was gone, and his skin was bruised by repeated blows from his captors.

            One of the men struck the captive again, and he gritted his teeth. The other man in the room remained at a desk with his feet up, simply watching the proceedings closely.

            “You broke in here for a reason. Just tell us why and you can sleep. Remember sleep?” sneered the torturer, pulling his captive’s hair back. He drew his hand back to strike with his metal pipe again, but he paused as the prisoner spoke quietly. “What?” he said in confusion, leaning in. The man whispered again.

            “Well? What did he say?” asked the other soldier.

            “He said that I used to work in the navy where I had an unhappy love affair,” said the torturer in bewilderment. The man continued to whisper.

            “What?” said the other soldier.

            “…The electricity isn’t working in my bathroom, and my wife is sleeping with our next-door neighbor,” exclaimed the torturer, but the captive was still going.

            “And?” asked the other.

            “The coffee maker! And? And? If I go home now, I’ll catch them at it! I knew there was something going on!” shouted the torturer angrily, abandoning his charge to storm out of the room as his rage took over his rational thought.

            The prisoner was left hanging from the chains.

            The other soldier stood. “So, my friend. Now it’s just you and me.” He tutted. “You have no idea the trouble it took to find you.” He pulled the captive’s head up and whispered to him in English. “Now listen to me: there’s an underground terrorist network active in London and attack is imminent. Sorry, but the holiday is over, brother dear.” Mycroft let the man’s head fall back. “Back to Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes.”

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In London, in Mycroft’s office…

            Sherlock leaned back in the barber’s chair as his hair was cut and his scraggy beard was shaved. He held the paper open before him, but he wasn’t paying attention to it. It had taken a glance to get any information he needed, anyways.

            “You have been busy, haven’t you?” remarked Mycroft. “Quite the busy little bee.”

            “Moriarty’s network—took me two years to dismantle it,” said Sherlock. “You know I couldn’t leave anything still going.” Not when (Y/N) could be threatened by any remnant of Moriarty and his influence.

            “And you’re confident you have?” said Mycroft.

            “The Serbian side was the last piece of the puzzle,” said Sherlock. He glanced back at Mycroft. “And you know I wouldn’t leave this to chance. I made sure I took care of everything.”

            “Yes, yes, for (Y/N)’s sake,” said Mycroft, but despite his disdain for sentimentality, they were part of the Holmes family, so he understood what Sherlock meant. “And by doing so, you got yourself in deep there with Baron Maupertuis. Quite a scheme.”

            “Colossal. But worth it,” said Sherlock simply.

            “Anyway, you’re safe now.” Mycroft folded his hands together. “A small ‘thank you’ wouldn’t go amiss.”

            “What for?” said Sherlock casually.

            “For wading in,” said Mycroft. He wouldn’t ask for thanks for looking out for (Y/N) over the last two years. That was family. But going into Serbia personally? Mycroft would hold that over Sherlock until he figured out this terrorist business (and a bit after). “In case you’d forgotten, fieldwork is not my natural milieu.”

            The barber, having finished, left the room. Sherlock stood and faced Mycroft angrily.

            “Wading in?” he said sharply. “You sat there and watched me being beaten to a pulp!”

            “I got you out,” said Mycroft indignantly.

            “No, I got me out,” said Sherlock. “Why didn’t you intervene sooner?”

            “Well, I couldn’t risk giving myself away, could I? It would have ruined everything,” said Mycroft as if it was obvious.

            Sherlock glowered. “You were enjoying it.”

            “Nonsense,” said Mycroft.

            “Definitely enjoying it,” muttered Sherlock.

            “Listen, do you have any idea what it was like, Sherlock, going undercover and smuggling my way into their ranks like that?” Mycroft tsked. “The noise, the people…” He had a clear disgust for it all.

            Sherlock just crossed his arms and decided to let that part slide since Mycroft wasn’t going to apologize (Sherlock would be shocked if his brother did). “I didn’t know you spoke Serbian.”

            “I didn’t, but the language has a Slavic root with frequent Turkish and German loan words. Took me a couple hours,” said Mycroft.

            “You’re slipping,” said Sherlock, happy to have something to poke Mycroft with.

            “Middle age, brother mine. It comes to us all,” said Mycroft, turning around so Sherlock could change into fresh clothes. “Now, I need you to give this matter your full attention, Sherlock. Is that quite clear?”

            Sherlock turned around and let Mycroft look at him. Pointedly, all he said was: “What do you think of this shirt?”

            “Sherlock,” said Mycroft in exasperation, and Anthea walked in beside him.

            “I will find your terrorist cell,” said Sherlock. “Just put me back in London.” Let me go back to (Y/N). “I need to get to know the place again, breathe it in, feel every quiver of its beating heart.”

            “One of our men died getting this information,” said Anthea, pulling out a folder. “All the chatter, all the traffic, concurs there’s going to be a terror strike on London—a big one.”

            “And what about John and (Y/N)?” said Sherlock, finally asking the question on his mind.

            “I’ve kept an eye on them, of course,” said Mycroft, gesturing to Anthea. She procured two more folders and handed them to Sherlock.

            Too nervous to open (Y/N)’s, Sherlock opted to look at John’s first. He found that John had gone greyer and grown a mustache. Sherlock disapproved. “Well, we’ll have to get rid of that.”

            “We?” said Mycroft.

            “He looks ancient. I can’t be seen wandering around with an old man,” said Sherlock, tossing John’s file to the side. He held (Y/N)’s and gazed at the name printed on it. (Y/N) (L/N). Not (Y/N) Moriarty. Good. Sherlock summoned his courage and flipped open the file.

            He looked at a picture of (Y/N)’s face dated the previous week. They were older. They’d been fifteen when he’d left, and now he was looking at a seventeen-year-old. (Y/N) was almost an adult. But there was something wrong about the picture. Sherlock recognized it immediately—their expression.

            It was the same as his when he relapsed and lost himself to drugs before he pulled himself out of addiction and properly took care of himself and his boredom. (Y/N) had an empty look in their eyes.

            Sherlock’s gaze snapped up to Mycroft’s. “I thought you were going to take care of them.”

            Mycroft didn’t respond and just looked at Anthea. She took her cue and left to leave the brothers to discuss family matters.

            “(Y/N) did not take your…absence well,” said Mycroft.

            “I saw them at the grave after my funeral,” said Sherlock. “I know.”

            “They have not moved on at all,” said Mycroft. He sighed, and though his sighs were usually those of exasperation, this was one of worry and tiredness. “Sherlock, after your ‘death,’ they wouldn’t eat. They barely slept. It took Dr. Watson and I quite some time to get them to do so. And even then, they often forget.”

            Sherlock’s heart clenched. (Y/N) wasn’t alright. They were suffering, and it was his fault. Even if he’d left to deal with Moriarty’s network—to protect them—it had still hurt them. “It’s been two years.”

            “They’ve improved somewhat, but they relapse into dangerous bouts of depression frequently,” admitted Mycroft. He laced his fingers. “I even ensure they had cases—safe, of course—to work on, but it didn’t seem to help.” He looked at Sherlock. “I’m sorry, Sherlock.” He wouldn’t apologize for anything he did to Sherlock, but (Y/N) was younger family, and just as he was protective of Sherlock from behind the curtain, he was the same way with (Y/N). He was sorry he couldn’t help them. “The doctor and I did the best we could.”

            “Then it’s good that I’m coming back,” said Sherlock, trying to keep his usual pragmatism, but he was worried now.

            (Y/N)’s mental health had always been fragile—the curse of being a genius in a world of idiots. They had been wary of people in the orphanage, pushed aside by adults who wanted to ignore their mind looking through them. Then, of course, the cases they and Sherlock had ended up on were…traumatizing, to put it lightly. But (Y/N) had always had Sherlock. He had watched for any serious signs of danger and taken care of them. But he hadn’t been there this time. It had been his absence that caused them this pain.

            “Have you done anything to prepare (Y/N) or John for your return?” said Mycroft.

            He sincerely hoped that (Y/N) found some stability again now that Sherlock was coming back, but he also knew that Sherlock coming back after so long being dead could also cause problems (and Mycroft didn’t want (Y/N)’s mental health to be any worse than it was).

            “Where’s John going to be tonight?” said Sherlock, ignoring Mycroft. His brother knew Sherlock had kept silent on his status being alive and not dead. It had been for John and (Y/N)’s safety.

            Mycroft looked at Sherlock disapprovingly. He knew Sherlock was going to go to John first because he was scared to see (Y/N) unwell because it was partly his fault. But he also knew he couldn’t stop his brother form doing what he wanted (and it wasn’t as if he wouldn’t go to (Y/N). Sherlock cared too much to leave them like this for long now knowing how they were.)

            “How would I know?” said Mycroft, deciding to be obtuse as ever.

            “You always know,” said Sherlock, knowing Mycroft as well as his brother knew him.

            “He has a dinner reservation in Marylebone Road. Nice little spot. They have a few bottles of the 2000 Saint-Emilion, though I prefer the 2001,” said Mycroft. “And there is also a sweets shop that sells lollipops there.”

            “I know,” said Sherlock. He had bought (Y/N) their favorite lollipops from there many times.

            Anthea reentered and held out Sherlock’s Belstaff coat. He took it and slid it on.

            “Welcome back, Mr. Holmes,” she said.

            “Thank you,” said Sherlock sarcastically, facing his brother. “Marylebone Road, was it? I trust you can spare a car for me?”

            Mycroft tutted. “Anthea will escort you there. But then you’re on your own.”

            His brother could face John and (Y/N)’s reactions on his own. John’s reaction was easy enough to guess—anger. But Mycroft knew Sherlock could take a punch. However, he wanted (Y/N) and Sherlock to be alright soon. Neither was quite right without the other. Mycroft wasn’t one for guessing or hoping, but he did wish for everything to return to being as it should be.

            Sherlock followed Anthea to the car. And while he watched the streets go by to take him to John, all he could think of was (Y/N). His kid. Soon, everything would be as it should be. Him, John, and (Y/N)—family.

l

            “If you’ll have me, Mary, could you see your way, um…” John cleared his throat nervously. Trying to propose to the woman he loved was scarier than anything he’d ever done. “If you could see your way to—”

            “Sit, I think you’ll this vintage exceptionally to your liking,” said Sherlock, disguised with just a drawn-on mustache. He expertly interrupted John and Mary. “It has all of the qualities of the old with some of the color of the new.”

            John didn’t even look at Sherlock the Waiter and gritted his teeth. “No, sorry, not now, please.”

            “Like a gaze from a crowd of strangers, suddenly one is aware of staring into the face of an old friend,” said Sherlock, trying to prompt John to see him.

            “No, look, seriously, could you just…” John looked up, and his face fell.

            “Interesting thing, a tuxedo,” said Sherlock nonchalantly as if he wasn’t suddenly back from the dead. “Lends distinction to friends and anonymity to waiters.” John stood silently.

            “John?” said Mary in confusion as John tried to take deeps breaths. “John, what is it?”

            Sherlock cleared his throat and intelligently tried to defuse John. “Well, the short version is…not dead.” Or maybe not try to defuse anything. He coughed. “Bit mean springing it on you like that, I know. Could have given you a heart attack, probably still will. But in my defense, it was very funny.” John stared angrily. “Okay, not a great defense.”

            Mary’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, you’re—”

            “Oh, yeah,” said Sherlock.

            “Oh, my god,” said Mary.

            “Not quite,” said Sherlock.

            “You died, you jumped off a roof,” said Mary.

            “No,” said Sherlock.

            “You’re dead,” said Mary.

            “No, I’m quite sure, I checked,” said Sherlock. “Excuse me.” He dipped a napkin in their wine glasses and wiped away his mustache as John glowered. “Does yours rub off, too?”

            “Oh my god, oh my god,” exclaimed Mary. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

            Sherlock cleared his throat. “Okay, John, I’m suddenly realizing I probably owe you some sort of an apology.” John slammed his hand down on the table.

            Mary tried to soothe John. “Alright, John, just keep—”

            “Two years,” snapped John. He took a deep breath, but he didn’t calm down. “Two years! Hm? I thought—Mm…I thought you were dead. Now, you let me grieve. You let (Y/N) grieve. How could you do that?” Sherlock winced at the mention of (Y/N). “How?!”

            Sherlock coughed and tried to collect himself. “Wait, before you do anything that you might regret, one question, just let me ask one question.” He pointed to John’s mustache. “Are you really going to keep that?”

            John took a deep breath and chose violence. He grabbed Sherlock’s collar and pushed him to the ground roughly. Onlookers gasped, and Mary shot up from her seat. John didn’t care and just continued to throttle Sherlock.

l

            In a dingy little diner (they had gotten kicked out of the fancier restaurant for fighting), Sherlock attempted to explain himself to John without getting punched again. “I calculated—”

            “You know, for a genius, you can be remarkably thick,” snapped John, just cutting him off.

            “What?” said Sherlock.

            “No one cares how you faked it, Sherlock. I want to know why. For God’s sake, why?!” snapped John.

            “Because Moriarty had to be stopped. I had to protect (Y/N),” said Sherlock simply. “I needed to get rid of his network to protect them.”

            John relaxed slightly. “Fine, fine. Did anyone know?”

            “My brother, of course. And then Molly Hooper had to fake the documents for my death…and maybe a few people in my homeless network,” said Sherlock.

            “So just your bother, Molly Hooper, and a hundred tramps,” snapped John, back to being angry since he suspected Mycroft would know, but others knew before him and (Y/N)?

            “No, twenty-five at most,” said Sherlock, thinking he was fixing something.

            John launched across the table and grabbed Sherlock’s throat.

l

            In a shabby ice cream parlor, Mary crossed her arms and tapped her foot as John just glared at Sherlock as he dabbed a napkin on his broken lip. The night was just getting worse and worse.

            “Seriously, it’s not a joke? You’re keeping that?” said Sherlock, glancing at John’s mustache.

            John cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

            “Sure?” said Sherlock, questioning John.

            “Mary likes it,” said John.

            “Mmm…no she doesn’t,” said Sherlock.

            “She does,” said John.

            “She doesn’t.”

            John glanced at Mary, and she coughed.

            “Oh, don’t,” she said.

            “Oh, brilliant,” sighed John.

            “Look, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to tell you,” said Mary.

            “Right, no, no, this is charming. I’ve really missed this!” snapped John. He groaned. “I’m surprised it’s not you and (Y/N) back at this.” He glanced at Sherlock. “Actually, I’m surprised (Y/N) isn’t here at all.” He frowned. “Where are they?”

            Sherlock was silent.

            “Sherlock,” said John. “Where’s (Y/N)?”

            “I haven’t seen them yet,” said Sherlock slowly.

            “What!” shouted John.

            “I haven’t told them yet,” said Sherlock guiltily.

            John reared back and punched Sherlock.

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[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Back again with another Sherlock fic! The hyperfixation is going strong 🤷‍♀️

My Sister's Keeper

Sherlock × teen sister reader

Mycroft x teen sister reader

John x teen reader (platonic [duh])

Synopsis: Y/N has gotten into some trouble lately, but it's gone beyond basic 'teen antics". When John finds out why, he confronts Mycroft about it.

TW: it is NOT self harm, but could be described as self-endangerment.

Perhaps you had gone too far this time.

You looked around at the beeping monitors and the IV pumping soothing medicine into your veins.

You had definitely gone too far this time.

You hadn't meant to get Sherlock's weird chemical all over your hands, it just sort of happened.

Ok, well maybe you weren't completely innocent in the matter. He had told you not to touch any of the chemicals, he had said they were dangerous.

But you were just looking at it!

That is, until John walked into the room and shouted something along the lines of "what do you think your doing?!"

That had startled you into dropping the chemical all over your hands.

Sherlock had run in after hearing your scream, and you had never seen his face so paper-white.

Apparently he hadn't been joking about how dangerous the chemical was.

You'd arrived at the hospital at a speed that must've broken some kind of record (and more than a few laws), and before you knew it there were bandages all over your hands and medicine injected into your veins to kill the toxins you had unintentionally put there.

You were told you would have to stay overnight so that the doctors could monitor your reaction to the medicine, and so they could be sure it killed all of the toxins. It sucked. It hurt. It scared Sherlock and John half to death.

And yet..

Fifteen minutes. That's how long you sat in the hospital bed before he showed up, looking angry, flustered, and…scared.

Growing up, you had never seen Mycroft scared.

Now it was about the only emotion you ever saw in him. Maybe because almost every time he visited, you were hurt or in trouble in some way.

Mycroft’s keen eyes landed on you almost instantly, but instead of rushing to his baby sister, he practically pounced on some poor, unsuspecting nurse and began interrogating her about your treatment.

“Mycroft!” You called, and he hesitantly turned to you. “Sherlock and John have already hounded every nurse and doctor on this floor about my treatment, I’m fine!”

“You’re fine? You’re sure?” He asked dubiously.

At your nod, he sighed and ran a hand over his face. “Well in that case, what were you thinking?”

You winced. You knew the lecture would come, but you had hoped he might baby you a bit first, considering you were in the hospital.

“I guess I wasn’t.”

“Well that much is obvious.” At the sight of Sherlock entering the room with a cup of coffee in hand, Mycroft turned his rage from you to his little brother. “And you! I’ve told you a thousand times to keep your chemicals away from-“

“Mycroft don’t,” you pleaded. “It wasn’t Sherlock’s fault, he told me not to touch his chemicals.”

Mycroft turned back to his sister, “then why on earth did you?”

You couldn’t look him in the eyes, so you looked down to study the scratchy sheets that your hands had started to fiddle with. “I…I don’t know.”

Mycroft huffed. “You don’t know.”

You winced. The anger in his voice had given way to disappointment.

You preferred the anger.

“I have to go make a phone call. Try not to touch anything toxic while I’m gone,” Mycroft stormed off, Sherlock following a few feet behind, probably to try to calm his brother down.

The only ones left in your dreary hospital room where you and John, who had been rather silently engaged in your argument with the eldest Holmes.

“Why did you do it?”

You groan “Not you too, John.”

John’s quick temper had rarely extended to you, so you flinched in surprise when he barked, “Yes, me too! I may not be your brother, Y/N Holmes, but I care about you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how much more reckless you’ve become lately, and I want to know why!”

Guilt pricked at your mind and heart, but it was not enough to combat the sudden strong wave of exhaustion that settled on you. The medication had a sleep drug added to it, to knock you out for the more painful part of removing the toxins from your bloodstream.

You thought about fighting it, but knew it was futile. Besides, you’d do just about anything to escape John’s laser beam gaze.

“Why do you do it?”

Maybe it was the desperation in his voice, but more likely it was the drugs addling your mind, because you actually breathed out an answer.

“He visits more when he’s worried.”

…

John froze. Your voice had been quiet, groggy, and muffled, but there was no mistaking your words.

“He visits more when he’s worried.”

He. Mycroft.

John checked to make sure you were asleep before rushing down the halls in search of your big brother. He found him not very far away, apparently trying hard to end a meeting call.

“No I will not be back coming back in today. No, probably not tomorrow either, maybe very late. Your just going to have to deal with-“ upon seeing John, Mycroft immediately hung up the phone, assuming (correctly) that John wouldn’t have gone looking for him unless it was about you.

“Is she ok?”

“Sleeping.”

Mycroft sighed in relief, “Then what is it?”

“You need to talk to her. When she wakes up. You need to ask her why this happened, and don’t let her give you some crap response. Don’t stop asking until she tells you.”

Mycroft blinked once. Twice. “Doctor Watson, what is-“

“No, don’t ask. I won’t tell you, it’s something that needs to come from her.”

Mycroft took a deep breathe, hesitating before ultimately deciding that any attempt to argue with John would be futile.

“Alright then.”

…

The moment Y/N stirred, Mycroft looked over at John, who nodded and—with much protest on Sherlock’s part—cleared the room of all but just Mycroft and his little sister.

“Y/N?”

You rubbed your hands over your eyes and opened them to see Mycroft staring at you. You smiled sleepily. “Hey Mikey.”

Mycroft grimaced at the nickname, but for once decided not to chide you for it. He knew it only encouraged you anyway.

“Y/N, we need to talk.”

You groaned and sat up in bed. “Another lecture? Look, Mycroft, I’m sorry, I just-“

“Why did you do it? Tell me. And don’t say you don’t know, Doctor Watson has, however vaguely, already stated that you do in fact know the reason for your recent behavior.”

You froze. John?

The memory of the last thing you said to him suddenly bubbled to the surface of your foggy mind.

“He visits more when he’s worried.”

Crap. You’d actually said that out loud! And of course John had gone and blabbed to Mycroft about it. Jerk.

“I…I can’t.” You whispered, not daring to look Mycroft in the eye. You heard him sigh, and suddenly there he was, leaning forward to be inside your lowered field of vision.

“I won’t take that as an answer.”

“Mycroft I can’t!”

“No!” You visibly flinched at the sudden raise in Mycroft’s voice, but he didn’t notice. “No more of this! You can’t just mess with Sherlock’s chemicals, and sneak onto his crime scenes, and go out without telling anyone, and get in careless accidents on your bike, and then not tell me what’s going on!” Mycroft was yelling now, at you, he never yelled at you, and what made it all worse was knowing how right he was. You’d stopped being careful, stopped looking after yourself properly.

But you couldn’t tell him why.

You hadn’t even realized you started crying until the tears dripped onto your hand. Mycroft took one look at his baby sister’s tear streaked face and quivering lip, and immediately softened. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do whenever you got emotional, but when he sat down on your hospital bed and you immediately crawled into his lap and leaned against him, he figured he’d done something right. He wrapped his arms around you, and felt your hands grab onto his shirt, clinging to him like a life preserver.

“Alright, alright. If you won’t tell me why…at least tell me when this started.”

You hesitated. That seemed like a question you felt safe to answer.

“Christmas.”

Mycroft frowned. Last Christmas was one of the few times the whole family had gotten together for the holidays. He couldn’t see why…

Wait.

He hadn’t planned on coming last Christmas, but you, Sherlock and John had been visiting your parents, and you’d fallen out of a large oak tree on their property. You’d broken your arm, and Mycroft had been there as quickly as a helicopter could take him. He’d spent the holiday completely away from work, doting on your every need.

“No,” Mycroft’s voice came out as a soft groan, and you looked up in surprise. “Y/N, please, please tell me you haven’t done this to get my attention. Please.”

Silence greeted his plea.

“Y/N?”

“That was the first Christmas in eight years that you spent at home.” You whimpered, your voice thick with tears. Mycroft’s heart sank.

“Why didn’t you just tell me? Why have you done…all this?”

He felt you press even harder into him, and he had to strain to hear your response.

“I know how important your job is. I didn’t want to sound like such a baby. I haven’t asked you to take time off work for me since I was eight.

Mycroft remembered that. He hadn’t been home in nearly a month, trying to avoid some sort of international incident. He had spent the whole month in meetings and doing paperwork. One day, he got a call from his mother’s phone number. He had urged her to call only if there was an emergency, and he feared that you or Sherlock had been hurt.

He hadn’t expected to answer and hear his wailing baby sister on the other end. You had begged him to come home, and you were crying so hard.

Then the prime minister of some country or another had walked in, and he’d hung up on you.

Mycroft winced at the memory before tuning back to the task at hand.

“But to hurt yourself like this-“

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” You quickly reassured, though you were still unable to look him in the eye. “I just…I thought if-“ you stopped, the lump in your throat making it hard to form words. You took a deep breath and tried again, reassured by the soft squeeze of your big brother’s arms. “I thought it I got a little more…rebellious, I guess…then Sherlock would tell you and you would come visit more to keep an eye on me.” You looked down at your bandaged hands. “I guess I’m not very good at rebellion.”

“Oh, sweetheart…” Mycroft whispered, tightening his grip on you and squeezing his eyes shut.

“I know it’s stupid,” you choked out. “I just…m-missed you.”

The strangled sob that escaped your throat broke Mycroft’s heart, and he knew that he had never held you so tightly in his life.

“I’m so sorry…” he whispered against your hair, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “So sorry.”

“I know you-you’re busy, I shouldn’t-“

“No.” Mycroft’s voice left no room for discussion. “No, don’t you blame yourself. I don’t ever want this to happen again, I don’t ever want it to take more than a phone call to get me to visit you, do you understand?”

You looked up at him. “You’re not…not mad?”

“Mad? Of course I am! But not at—ok, mostly not at you—I’m mad at me. And I’m never going to let this happen again.” Mycroft finally pulled away enough to look his sister in the eyes. “From now on, you come over for at least one dinner a week, and every other weekend you’re packing a bag and coming to stay with me.”

Your eyes widened. “But you always have so much work-“

“No, I’m not too busy for you, ok? Never again.”

You nodded hesitantly. “Every other weekend?”

Mycroft flashed you one of his rare smiles and pulled you in for another hug. “Absolutely. Sherlock’s been taking up all of your attention since you moved to Baker street. It’s time you see who the really great big brother is.”

#mycroft imagine #mycroft x reader #mycroft bbc #big brother mycroft #mycroft fanfic #sherlock reader insert #sherlock fanfic #sherlock holmes #sherlockbbc #mycroft holmes

[justsomerandomfanfic]

I Just Want To Say...

THANK YOU to the fellow writers, creators, authors, and artists that are listed below! You guys have inspired me on so many levels! Your work, art, and fanfics always bring a smile to my face, I love reading them so much. I hope you guys keep creating more amazing works and continue to inspire and make others smile too! I'm rooting for all! And I can't wait to see what you all do next! - Chloe <3

I implore those who see this post, to check out these fabulous creators, give them love!

@maxineswritingcenter - Works; Supernatural, Teen Wolf, The Vampire Diaries, The Witcher, X-Files, Marvel, TrueBlood, and ClusterFluff

@minaturefics - Works; Lord Of The Rings

@cauliflowertree - Works; Harry Potter, Lord Of The Rings, The Hobbit, Little Women, Twilight, Dead Poets Society, Gilmore Girls, Bridgerton, Criminal Minds, Vampire Diaries, and Teen Wolf

@x-files-imagines - Works; X-Files

@space-helen - Works; Marvel, Star Trek, SCI, Twilight, X-Files, Harry Potter, and Midnight Mass

@okay-j-hannah - Works; The Last Of Us, Narcos, The Mandalorian, Broadchurch, Doctor Who, Downton Abbey, Dune, Games Of Thrones, Good Omens, Grey's Anatomy, Harry Potter, Marauders Era, Marvel, Pirates Of The Caribbean, Sherlock Holmes (BBC), Stranger Things, The Hobbit, and The Lord Of The Rings

@justauthoring - Works; Naruto, Haikyuu, Attack On Titan, Jujutsu Kaisen, My Hero Academia, Demon Slayer, Death Note, Tokyo Ghoul, Tokyo Revengers, Blue Lock, Chainsaw Man, Stranger Things, The Quarry, Cobra Kai, and more!

@french-vanilla-in-the-clouds - Works; Sherlock (BBC), Supernatural, Marvel, and X-Files

@hellcomestohawkins - Works; Stranger Things, Arctic Monkeys, White Lines, X-Files

@theawfuledges - Works; Daybreakers, The Magnificent Seven, Breath Of The Wild, Digimon, Moon Knight, Demon Slayer, Silent Hill, The Quarry, CCS, TMNT, Inuyasha, Yu Yu Hakusho, Pokemon, Resident Evil, Godzilla, Deadpool 2, Bright (2017), The Evil Within, Hellboy, The Hobbit, IT (2017), and more!

@ficsnroses - Works; John Wick, Better Call Saul, Keanu Reeves, and Johnny Silverhand (CP 2077)

@immawriteyouthings - Works; The Hobbit, and more!

@author-morgan - Works; Game Of Thrones, Vikings, The Hobbit, Lord Of The Rings, and more!

@masterofmunson - Works; Stranger Things, Moon Knight, The Amazing Spider-Man, Harry Styles, Marvel, and Criminal Minds

@aniqua - Works; Marvel, The Sandman, Shadow And Bone, Spider-Man, Stranger Things, and The Punisher

@whirlybirbs - Works; Star Wars, Marvel, Red Dead, Kingsman, Transformers, Peaky Blinders, Pirates Of The Caribbean, and more!

@luna-xial - Works; The Hobbit

@lilxberry - Works; Marvel, DC, Harry Potter, Euphoria, Lord Of The Rings, The Hobbit, Riverdale, The Walking Dead, The Karate Kid, Cobra Kai, and 13 Reasons Why

@guardianofrivendell - Works; The Hobbit

@strawwritesfic - Works; Harry Potter, Marvel, Big Bang Theory, Doctor Who, The Hunger Games, James Bond, Kingdom Hearts, The Hobbit, Lord Of The Rings, The Amazing Spider-Man, Star Trek, Star Wars, and more!

@delicatenightfury - Works, Marvel, DC, Supernatural, Lord Of The Rings, The Hobbit, Vampire Diaries, Hunger Games, Narnia, Maze Runner, and more!

@reddie-fancomic-by-slashpalooza - Works; Loose Ends (The best freaking fan-comic I've ever read <;3)

@micheleamidalajedi - Works; Mass Effect, Final Fantasy, Resident Evil, Criminal Minds, Harry Potter, Marvel, CSI, Gears Of War, DC, Yellowstone, Star Wars, The Hobbit, Lord Of The Rings, X-Men, and more!

@imagine--if - Works; DC

@witchthatwrites - Works; Uncharted, DC, Teen Wolf, Stranger Things, and more!

@buckymcbuttfacebarnes - Works; Marvel and more!

@inej-twilight-ghafa - Works; Marvel, Harry Potter, Stranger Things, Star Wars, Grishaverse, Top Gun, The Last Of Us, Pirates Of The Caribbean, and more!

@a-reader-and-a-writer - Works; Top Gun, DC, Marvel, Star Wars, Joel Kinnaman, Lewis Pullman, and more!

@bisexual-thoughtss - Works; Criminal Minds, Law And Order, Spider-Man, Scream, Ghostbusters, Harry Potter, Friends, Star Trek, and more!

@warrenwrites - Works; Stranger Things, The Amazing Spider-Man, Marvel, The Sandman, and Criminal Minds

@helloheyhihowdyheya - Works; Spider-Man, Stranger Things, and Top Gun

@waitimcomingtoo - Works; Tom Holland, Spider-Man, The Devil All The Time, Brad Simpson, Stranger Things, Marvel, and Sebastian Stan (I am so impressed with all their work)

@tiffdawg - Works; The Mandalorian, Narcos, Triple Frontier, Kingsman, and more!

@queridopascal - Works; Narcos, Triple Frontier, Kingsman, The Mandalorian, The Equalizer, We Can Be Heroes, House Comes With A Bird, The Bubble, and more!

@oonajaeadira - Works; The Bubble, The Mandalorian, Prospect, Triple Frontier, Kingsman, Unbearable Weight Of Massive Talent, Narcos, The Last Of Us, Bloodsucking Bastards, House Comes With A Bird, Game Of Thrones, and more!

@fuckyeahdindjarin - Works; The Mandalorian, Narcos, Kingsman, Triple Frontier, The Bubble, and more!

@huffle-pissed - Works; Marvel, Pedro Pascal, Star Wars, Stranger Things, Supernatural, Harry Potter, and Dragon Age Inquisition

@brandyllyn - Works; Bloodsucking Bastards, Den Of Thieves, Ex Machina, The Great Wall, Hannibal, Horizon, Kingsman, Law And Order SVU, The Letter Room, Narcos, Mayans, Prospect, Star Wars, Suburbicon, and more!

@sgt-morgan - Works; The Mandalorian, Marvel, Hozier, Keanu Reeves, and more!

@tegerton - Taron Egerton, Eggsy Unwin, and Eddie The Eagle

@make-me-imagine - Works; Briderton, Buffy The Vampire Slayer, Criminal Minds, Doctor Who, The Mandalorian, The Originals, Merlin (BBC), Star Trek, Supernatural, Sherlock (BBC), Teen Wolf, Marvel, The Hobbit, Lord Of The Rings, Harry Potter, and more!

@iamnotoriginalphil - Works; Once Upon A Time, Ineffable Husbands, Merlin, and more!

@forever-rogue - Works; Stranger Things, Spider-Man, Star Wars, Pedro Pascal, The Mandalorian, The Last Of Us, Marvel, and more!

@companionjones - Works; DC, Criminal Minds, Doctor Who, Hamilton, High School Musical, Les Miserables, Marvel, Once Upon A Time, Star Trek, Star Wars, Twilight, Teen Wolf, Stranger Things, Starkid, Sherlock (BBC), Shameless (US), Victorious, and more!

@dainty-fingertips - Works; Marvel and Spider-Man

@zafirosreverie - Works; Encanto, Jurassic Park, Jurassic World, The Hobbit, Lord Of The Rings, MCu, Rise Of The Guardians, and more!

@jonathan--majors - Works; Better Call Saul, Bullet Train, DC, Marvel, Stranger Things, Top Gun, and more!

@ardentmuse - Works; Harry Potter, Kingsman, Marvel, Game Of Thrones, and more

@classic80sand90smovieloves2 - Works; Pretty In Pink, Sixteen Candles, The Breakfast Club, Ferris Buellers Day Off, Heathers, Back To The Future, Say Anything, Can't Buy Me Love, Some Kind Of Wonderful, Dead Poets Society, School Ties, Grease, and more!

@livinglifelowkeyloki - Works; Marvel

#writers #authors #fanfics #fanfic writers #artist #comics #support #support your favorite writers #fanfiction

[justice-maul]

Character/Scenarios Kink List

Featuring: Dom/Top Reader ONLY! w/ Random Fandoms

Summary: A new little fun game for my followers and new comers to play with me, you can request anything from this list with the rules down below but aren’t obligated to as I will still write them regardless

Author Note: there will be some overused characters and actors because this list is of my personal favorites to write about, I change this list quite a bit according to my taste so keep that in mind

Rules for requesting are down below and the links/list are under the keep reading

Kink/character list:

Jealous Sex ft. Sherlock Holmes (Enola Holmes)

Thigh Riding ft. Bucky (The Winter Soldier)

Premature Ejaculation ft. Clark Kent (Superman)

Facefucking ft. Hal Jordan (DC)

Voyeurism ft. Belphegor (Obey Me)

Accidental Stimulation ft. Steve Rogers

Aphrodisiac/Sex Pollen ft. Jason Todd (Redhood DC)

Discreet ft. Bruce Banner

Size Difference ft. Scott Lang

Toys ft. Jake Wyler (Not Another Teen Movie)

Begging ft. Conner Kent (DC)

Kitchen Sex ft. Tony Stark x Avengers amab!Reader

Shower Sex ft. Pietro Maximoff

Caught Masturabting ft. Bucky (The Winter Soldier)

Overstimulation ft. Geralt (The Witcher Netflix)

Praise Kink ft. Matt Murdock

Uniform Sex ft. Bruce Wayne (Batman)

Scent/Smell Kink ft. John Constantine (DC)

Boss/Power Play ft. Natasha Romanoff

Hate sex ft. Lucifer (Obey Me)

Cockwarming ft. Loki

Face Sitting ft. Marc Spector

Spit ft. Steve Rogers

Breeding ft. Dick Grayson (Nightwing)

Tit Job/ Pec Job ft. Diavolo (Obey Me)

Frottage ft. Jake Lockey (Moonknight)

Hero/Villain ft. Tony Stark

At Work Sex ft. Clark Kent (Superman)

One Piece of Clothing ft. Thor

Bent Over ft. Poe Dameron (Star Wars)

Drunk Sex ft. Anakin Skywalker (Star Wars)

Requests:

All of my existing blog rules must be followed here too, please be respectful and read these

You can add anything to it along with the kink and you may add scenarios and/or prompts even a plot,

Send me the number of your desire and I’ll write it next whether it be a headcanon or a fic

I can turn down a request, I have that right as a person

If a number is crossed out and says: currently writing, DO NOT REQUEST IT

The characters and kink will not be changed if you make a request on which one you want me to write

Alternative universe’s are welcome

I won’t do mommy/daddy/mistress/master labels, pregnant reader or character, having a child together,

I will not do cock cages or rings, pet play, monster sex, snowballing, vomit, poop, feet, pee, sneeze, vore, or gore. There will be no kink-shaming either. other than that I’m open-minded.

I will write it in a random order and you can request in a random order

You can add another character but can’t change an existing one

Be respectful of the kinks and do not shame others for theirs

#marvel x reader #marvel smut #natasha marvel #steve rogers #tony stark #mcu #mcu smut #geralt x reader #young justice #batman #superman #dom reader #top reader #male reader #gender neautral reader #kink scenarios #kink list #masterlist #male reader insert #male!reader #dom!reader #dom male reader #sub lucifer #answered asks #answered #trans reader #dc x male reader #bucky smut #x male reader #top male reader

[lazydoodlesandfanfic]

SHERLOCK MASTERLIST

*DISCLAIMER: SOME STORIES MAY BE TAGGED FOR WRONG DEMOGRAPHIC (ie, Not GN, male or fem) IF SO, PLEASE POLITELTY INFORM ME SO I CAN FIX IT

SHERLOCK HOLMES

Testing His Deductions (Sherlock X Fem!Reader)

High Pitched (Sherlock X Fem!Reader)

Saturn (Sherlock X Fem!Reader)

Why Not? (Sherlock X Fem!Reader) Pt 1/ Pt 2

Fell In Love (Sherlock X Fem!Reader) Pt1 Pt2

I'm Looking Right At Him (Sherlock X Fem!Reader) Pt 1/ Pt 2

My Own Personal Hero (Sherlock X Fem!Reader)

Deaf (Sherlock X Fem!Reader)

John's Little Sister (Sherlock X Fem!Reader)

We're Married (Sherlock X Wife!Reader)

Arms (Sherlock X Reader)

Low Risk (Sherlock X Teen!Reader)

Old Actions (Sherlock X Teen!Reader)

Bad Day (Sherlock X Teen!Fem!Reader)

Who's Getting Together (Greaser!Sherlock X Fem!Greaser!Reader)

Deducing A Deducer (Sherlock X Teen!Reader)

Past Resemblance (Sherlock X Teen!Reader) *TW

Uncle Locky (Sherlock X Niece!Reader)

Not Feeling Loved (Sherlock X Daughter!Reader)

Binder (Sherlock X Trans!Son!Reader)

Favourite Big Brother! (Sherlock X Baby!Brother!Reader)

MYCROFT HOLMES

A Friend In Need (Mycroft X Fem!Reader) *TW

Dirty Little Secret (Mycroft X Fem!Reader)

Baby Sitter (Teen!Mycroft X Teen!Fem!Reader)

Falling In Love (Mycroft X Fem!Reader)

You Love Me? (Mycroft X Fem!Reader)

A Little Us (Mycroft X Wife!Reader)

Long Lasting Crush (Mycroft X Fem!Reader)

Upstairs Neighbour (Mycroft X Fem!Reader)

He Seems Nice (Moriarty X Fem!Reader)

Monsieur (Mycroft X Fem!Reader)

You'll Be Alright (Mycroft X Fem!Reader)

Secret Relationship (Mycroft X Moriarty!Fem!Reader)

Baby Holmes (Mycroft X Pregnant!Reader)

Personal Case (Mycroft X Reader)

I'll Be Your First (Mycroft X Reader)

Mycroft? (Mycroft X Reader)

Your First Time With Mycroft Holmes Would Include...

A Need For Attention (Mycroft X Daughter!Reader) Pt 1/ Pt 2

Honesty And Truth (Mycroft X Daughter!Reader)

Walk Away (Mycroft X Daughter!Reader)

Tattooed Skin (Mycroft X Daughter!Reader)

Still Proud (Mycroft X Daughter!Reader)

Tea Party (Mycroft X Daughter!Reader)

Affection (Mycroft X Daughter!Reader)

Babysitting (Child Mycroft X Baby!Reader)

JOHN WATSON

Mental Scars (John X Fem!Reader)

MORIARTY

Keep Her Safe (James Moriarty X Fem!Reader)

Unknowing Pawn (Moriarty X Holmes!Reader)

Based On Lies (Moriarty X Fem!Reader)

Expensive Flowers (Moriarty X Fem!Reader)

The Normal One (Moriarty X Holmes!Reader)

Sebby's Sister (Moriarty X Fem!Reader)

Excuse Me? (Moriarty X Fem!Reader)

Read You Like A Book (Moriarty X Reader)

Seven Nation Army (Mycroft X Reader)

View (Moriarty X Teen!Reader)

Moriarty Helping His Sister Through An Abusive Relationship Would -Include...

Moriarty Dating A Hobby Artist With Anger Issues Would Include...

Wanting Normalcy (Moriarty X Teen!Fem!Reader)

MULTIPLE

You Made Her Cry (John Watson X Sister Reader, Mycroft X Fem!Reader)

Her Revenge (Sherlock X Fem!Reader X Moriarty)

The Dress (Sherlock X Sister!Reader X Mycroft)

Like Her (Sherlock & Mycroft X Sister!Reader)

Newbie (Sherlock, John & Lestrade X Fem!Reader)

Fitting In With The Weirdos (Sherlock, Mycroft & John X Fem!Reader)

Drama Queens (Sherlock X Reader X Mycroft)

Not Part Of The Plan (Moriarty X Holmes!Sister!Reader X Moran)

Comparisons (Mycroft X Fem!Reader X Sherlock)

OTHER

Overprotective (Molly X Sister!Reader)

Happy Anniversary (Molly X Fem!Reader)

Spotting The Odd (Eurus Holmes X Teen!Fem!Reader)

Bonding Time (Eurus Holmes X Reader)

The Flirting Game (Lestrade X Fem!Reader)

#Sherlock #sherlock holmes #mycroft holmes #john watson