#Jealous Sherlock

[j-eryewrites]

Too good to be true

Anonymous Request: Maybe the reader is a university student and everyone around her is trying to woo her but they don't Sherlock is her boyfriend, so one day protective Sherlock appears and, shows them she's his.

MAIN MASTER LIST | REQS OPEN

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Jealous Sherlock, Major fluff, mentions of sex, Sherlock is in love with you. No use of y/n. 

“Guys, I swear on my life,” you chuckled as your finger crossed over your heart, “I’m taken.”

Your friends rolled their eyes at your declaration. 

“What?” 

“Babes,” Lucy said. “You keep telling us about this guy, yet….” She looked around the bar that your friend group was drinking at. “I don’t see him.”

“He’s just…” You began. 

“Married to his work. We know.” Miri said. She took a big swallow of her martini. “Well, I’m off to get another round.”

She quickly excused herself from the table and walked over to the bar. 

You sighed. It wasn’t your’s or Sherlock’s fault that there was a new serial killer in town. This one seemed to evade your boyfriend’s and John’s attempts of catching him at every turn. You your friends. knew what stakes his job had, including late nights and missed opportunities to introduce him to 

Lucy called your name. “You don’t have to keep lying just because all of us are taken. I promise, as your friends, we won’t judge you.”

To this, you rolled your eyes. When were your friends going to understand you were taken? 

“Plus,” Lucy continued. “I’ve heard that Garreth has an eye for you.”

You snickered. “Garreth, the heartthrob of our year. I call bullshit.”

Lucy nudged you on the shoulder. “Is it bullshit that he’s been staring at you this entire time we’ve been here?” Lucy’s grey eyes peered behind your shoulder. 

Quickly, you turned around and saw him: Garreth. His bright green eyes lit up the moment you saw him. You had to admit, he was attractive. He was tall, with curly red hair, and freckles all over his face. Not to mention, he was quite smart in all of his subjects. He flashed you a smile, one which you returned. It would have been rude not to, you thought. 

“See!” Lucy exclaimed. 

“See what?” Miri asked. Her hands were full as she juggled the new round of drinks. 

“Garreth’s been checking out, our friend here,” Lucy explained. 

“Again? He does that all the time. I swear to god that the man is in love with you,” Miri said in a teasing manner. 

“Guys,” You said sternly. “I’m taken which means I have eyes for only one person.”

“Sure,” Lucy and Miri responded at the same time. 

You took a shot. The fiery liquid traveled down your throat and spread warmth to your body. 

“Look,” Miri said. She herself took a shot of alcohol. “If we haven’t met this…”

“Genius, tall, beautiful man of a boyfriend,” Lucy finished. 

“Yeah that. If we haven’t met him by the end of the month. I’m setting you up on a date with Garreth,” Miri said sternly. 

You groaned. Your finger pinched the bridge of your nose tightly. This was going to be a long night. 

_________

It was a quarter after midnight when you walked into the doors of 221B. A bright light shone from on top of the stairs. The warm golden light could only mean one thing: Sherlock was awake. 

You smiled softly at the thought of your boyfriend, as your feet sluggish in movement carried you up the stairs. Sherlock appeared in the doorway watching your climb. It was as if he knew you were coming from a block away. He probably did. Sherlock had a way with those types of things. 

The first thing you did was envelope your boyfriend in a warm embrace. Something he gladly returned. The comfort you felt in his arms was unmatched: his heart beating underneath your ears as you rested your head against his chest, his soft hands cradling your lower back and hips pulling you taut to him, and how his head dipped to kiss the crown of your head. If you died right now, you were sure that heaven would be in Sherlock’s arms. 

The two of you stood at the top of the stairs holding each other. Your bodies swayed back and forth in a slow dance. It had been a rough day, it seemed, for the both of you. 

“Any luck with the case?” You inquired, pulling away from the hug. 

Sherlock shook his head. “Not as much as I would have liked. We’ve narrowed down the possible location of the next murder, but that’s all. He seems to have avoided our every plot to catch him.”

“You’ll solve the case and catch him. I believe in you,” you comforted. 

Sherlock smiled and whispered your name. “If only the world revolved around your belief in me, I’d have solved the case by now.” 

Then Sherlock brought his lips to yours in a gentle manner. He was savoring the kiss. It was one of the only things he cherished. Your lips could bring him out of the grey haze he often found his mind in. He loved the feeling of you flushed against him. He loved you. 

“Now,” he said with a hand on your lower back leading you into his flat, “mind telling me what’s on your mind.”

You sighed and shook your head. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing if it’s bothering you, darling.” 

An electric wave shot down your spine. Even after months together, you still weren’t used to that nickname. The things you would do to have him whispering it in your ear like a prayer. 

“You were supposed to meet my friends tonight, Sherlock.” You said. 

“I know, but Lestrade found another body and…”

“The case is important and I understand, it’s just my friends don’t believe me.”

“Believe you?” Sherlock asked. His brow raised. 

“They don’t think you’re…” Your voice grew quiet. “...real. They think I’m making you up.”

Sherlock reached out and laid his hands on your forearms, running them up and down in a comforting manner. He stepped closer. His piercing blue eyes are on you. You had his full attention. 

“They gave me a vendetta. If they haven’t met you by the end of the month, they're going to set me up with Garreth.”

Sherlock’s jaw clenched. “Garreth? Who’s…”

You cut him off before he could finish. “Just a guy in my year. Apparently, he’s in love with me or something.” Your eyes lowered as you muttered those last words. 

Sherlock’s hands stopped tracing your arms. You could hear Sherlock’s entire body grow tense and his breath becomes slow and calculated. 

“They just need to meet me?”

You nodded, too embarrassed to say anything. 

“I’ll meet your friends. Now tell me about Garreth, it seems I need to have a word with him.” Sherlock began. 

You chuckled and pulled him down for a kiss to silence him. 

Sherlock’s mind was made up as you kissed him. He’d let Garreth know you were his. He’d make your friends into believers. If there was any truth in this corrupted world, it would be that Sherlock loved you and that he was yours and you were his. 

________

“Next class, I would have liked you all to have read chapters sixteen and seventeen,” your professor announced to the class. “These chapters are crucial for the discussion, so please come prepared. Class dismissed.”

It was as if a wave of vitality drowned the class. Students, who were moments before drooling onto the desks and their eyes closed, now shot to life. They stuffed their computers and textbooks into their backpacks. 

As you gathered your things at your desk, you noticed a shadow fall over your figure. You peered up to glance at the person. It was Sherlock. 

You looked around confused. “Why are you…” 

“Thought I’d come to visit my girlfriend and take her out to lunch. Seemed to have a break from the case for a moment,” Sherlock replied. The corner of his eyes crinkled as a grin flashed across his face.

You couldn’t help but match his smile. It really was contagious. “Perfect. I know just the place to eat,” you said. “And it just so happens my friends are working there.”

There was a sparkle in Sherlock’s eye. “Perfect indeed.” He extended his elbow out to you. You linked your arm with his and led him to the cafe for lunch.

________

“Miri, the girl’s got three more days in the month,” Lucy said. “You can’t set her up on a date with Garreth.”

“Oh, and how much do you want to bet that her boyfriend will magically turn up in those three days,” Miri shot back. Lucy sighed in defeat. “That’s what I thought…I just worry about her. She needs to go and find her person. I care about her too much. Plus, Garreth is a big sweetheart and everything she’d ever want in a man.”

“I care about her to Miri, but…” 

A bell rang from above the door. The sight left both Miri and Lucy’s eyes to bulge out of their heads. The two of them had to do a double take. Once they certified with their brains that what was in front of them was real, they couldn’t help but squeal. 

There stood their best friend, you. What the real sight was the man linked to your arm. They ran through the description you had given them of the mysterious man. 

He was tall, check.

He had a head of gorgeous dark curls, check. 

Cheekbones that could cut, check. 

Entrancing ocean blue eyes, check. 

A smile that puts the greatest celebrities to shame, check.

A gentleman, check, 

Absolutely and irrevocably in love with you, check, check, CHECK. 

“It’s him!” Lucy and Miri whispered to each other. 

“Hi, Luc and Miri,” you chirped. You lifted a hand and pointed to Sherlock. “This is my boyfriend, Sherlock.” The two women eyed you and Sherlock. They were doing a horrible job of hiding their excitement. “Sherlock, these are my best friends, Lucy and Miri.” 

Immediately the two stuck out their hands to shake Sherlock’s. 

“Damn, you have nice hands. Nice fingers as well,” Miri blurted. She sent you a wink to which your face flushed with embarrassment. 

Sherlock chuckled unsure of what to say. “Nice to finally meet you two.” He flashed your friends an awkward grin. They couldn’t help but ogle at Sherlock. 

You cleared your throat. “Can we order, or are you just going to stand there and stare at my boyfriend,” you teased. 

Now it was your friend’s turn to be embarrassed. 

“Right,” Lucy cried. “What can I get you two?”

The two of your ordered lunch and then found an open seat in the cafe. Sherlock sat with his back facing your friends, which allowed you the full view of their gawking. Miri kept winking and making sexual references with her fingers. Lucy just flashed you a thumbs-up before preparing your order. 

“Sorry about my friends,” You whispered to Sherlock. The evidence on your cheeks let Sherlock know just how embarrassed you were. 

“It’s alright,” he said in an attempt to soothe your embarrassment. 

Again the bell above the door rang long and clear. In stepped Garreth. He had his backpack swung over his shoulder and a witty smile adorning his face. 

“Afternoon, ladies!” He greeted Lucy and Miri. 

“Hey there Garreth,” Miri replied as she winked at him. 

Sherlock’s ears perked up. He turned to look at you. “Garreth?” 

You looked over to the man who just entered the cafe and then back at Sherlock. Your boyfriend had a look on his face. A wave of butterflies was released into your stomach. Sherlock raised his brow up and had a smirk on his face. 

As Garreth noticed your presence and uttered your name, Sherlock grabbed onto the collar of your shirt and yanked you to him. His lips met yours in a possessive kiss. It was strong and secure and much brasher than you were used to receiving from Sherlock in public. The man tended to stick to more subtle ways of showing others that you were his: a hand around your waist, his figure standing not far from yours, a glare to anyone who dare look your way as if their eyes didn’t deserve to see you in all your glory. 

As Sherlock slipped his tongue into your mouth, dancing alongside yours, Lucy and Miri gasped. You could just imagine the look on their faces. You did tell them he was a good kisser after all and now they just got front-row seats to the show. 

You had to pull back from Sherlock. Your breath was heavy as your lungs remembered what it was like to breathe. From the looks of it, Sherlock would have kept kissing you until he passed out and you’d let him. You let out a giggle seeing your friend’s amazed faces. Sherlock pecked your cheek lightly as a small reminder. 

“Someone’s jealous…,” You giggled. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I’m just letting the world know what’s mine,” he said in a low voice only you could hear. 

“Well, from what I could tell, you’ve only shown three people. If you want to show the whole world, you’ve got a lot of work to do,” you winked. 

Sherlock smiled. “It’s a good thing I like kissing you among other things.” There was a suggestive look in his eyes. 

You gasped slightly and hit him on the shoulder. “My friends are right behind you Sherlock.”

“I know.” 

You rolled your eyes as Sherlock turned around and asked your friends to take lunch to go. He explained that he needed you for the afternoon. Lucy and Miri played along and quickly finished your order. They shoved in your hands and pushed you out the door whispering words of playful encouragement. 

“You scored the lottery,” Lucy whispered to you. 

You smiled and looked at Sherlock. You really did. Sherlock was everything you could ask for and more. 

Once again, the two of you linked your arms together and scurried back to Baker Street. Your takeout left on the counter was forgotten. Unlike that afternoon, when Sherlock showed the world again and again that he was yours and you were his.

_____

Tag List: @bartokthealbinobat @astudyinlaura

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#sherlock BBC #bbc!Sherlock #bbc sherlock #sherlockbbc #Sherlock Holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #Sherlock #sherlock fanfic #jealous sherlock #sherlock fluff #reader #sherlock reader insert #reader insert #no use of y/n #benedict cumberbatch #benedict!sherlock #your friends don't think you have a boyfriend #Sherlock proves them wrong #I AM SHERLOCKED #fanfic #Fanfic writer #sherlock x y/n #sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock x you #sherlock x you #sherlock holmes imagine #William sherlock scott holmes #reqs open #sherlock request

[cupidford]

Paper Men by Lurikko

Johnlock Love Letters #2321

Sherlock becomes obsessed with John having sex with women. Suddenly John wonders if Sherlock is running an experiment or genuinely flirting? And after they start having sex themselves, are they actually in a relationship yet, or what exactly is going on?

#johnlockloveletters #jl3 #johnlock #love letter #love letters #<25k #pre trf #jealousy #jealous!sherlock #jealous Sherlock #paper men #lurikko

[consult-sherlockholmes]

Now that John blocked me, anyone want some embarassing stories and facts about John? 

#i will get my revenge #thats for blocking me john #thats what you get #purple shirt #Sherlock roleplay #roleplay #johnlock roleplay #sherlock rp #johnlock rp #jealous sherlock #sherlock throwing a tantrum #john watson #Sherlock #bbc sherlock

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hello, I've been desperately been trying to find a Johnlock fic on AO3(hopefully it hasn't been deleted)

It's about Sherlock getting jealous about John's many dates with women. I remember a scene where John comes home from a date and Sherlock insults his newest date (saying she owns a cat and was giving John blue balls under the table). Then there is like a scene where they sleep on the coch together and John calls Sherlock a pointy octopus. There's also a part where John rearranges Sherlock's book shelf and mixes everything out of place and Sherlock gets revenge by messing up John's sock drawer.

Srry if its confusing, it's on AO3, it has like multiple chapters (I wanna say 14)

Hey Nonny!

OOOOHHHHH I THINK I'VE READ THIS ONE, ooooh it's bugging me.... I don't think it's any of the ones on my Cockblocking Sherlock list, ugh. Hmmm.

Anyone able to help me out here? This is driving me nuts!!

#steph replies #johnlock fic reqs #help steph find fics #cockblocking sherlock #jealous sherlock #jealousy fics #limpet sherlock

[the-lesbianest-batman]

#johnlock #jealous sherlock

[jay-wasreblogging]

Mariana and Sherlock this entire case for Hayter

#LIKE DAMMNNNN #watson def jealous asf #sherlock & co #sherlock and co #sherlock holmes #john watson #sherlock #goalhanger podcasts #johnlock #mariana ametxazurra

[strawberrywinter4]

Fic Request:

John wanting to be in a relationship (no he's not gay (he might be gay for one hat wearing genius maybe~)) attends a speed dating event in which Sherlock insists on sitting next to him for so he doesn't end up with 'another terribly boring woman'.

And then Sherlock proceeds to sassily analyze each one because let's be honest he wants to be John's date.

Thank you so much for the prompt! I loved writing this story, it was so much fun <3

Pick and Choose

Fandom: Sherlock (TV)

Tags: Pining John, Eventual Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Getting Together, Speed Dating, Romance, Friends to Lovers, Jealous Sherlock Holmes, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Make Out Sessions, Kissing, Neck Kissing, Humor, Fluff, Some Angst, Teacups break, Swearing

Rating: Mature

Read here on ao3.

*•*•*•*•

John wants to dig himself a hole and never come out. 

Speed dating was never a strategy he thought he would have to resort to, but here he is. The venue is nice, held in one of the hotels on the high end of town, though the participation payment was surprisingly cheap, why not? The food is decent and the interior is pleasing to look at, with white curtains, windows that showcase the streets of London, round tables scattered across the spacious room, and a sparkling chandelier to top off the scenery. 

There are a lot more people attending than John thought. Beautiful women are seen from across the room and now that he thinks about it, maybe this wasn’t a bad idea after all. He put on his best button-up shirt, one that matches his eyes (he thinks, at least), and though his hair didn’t wish to cooperate today, he still managed to comb it decently. 

“You know you look quite ridiculous staring at the various sweets in front of you. I suggest if you’d like something, simply take it.”

The familiar baritone voice shatters John’s thoughts. 

Slowly, he turns to see Sherlock looking at him impassively. John blinks in disbelief. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” John demands. 

“I don’t understand how you could attend such an event,” Sherlock says, dismissing John’s question. “Why do this when you could be on the case I offered?”

“I-”

“You told me you were visiting your sister. Next time don’t make a lie up on the spot, it was painfully obvious.”

“Sherlock-”

“I solved the case if you were wondering,” Sherlock says. “It was simple, too simple. I’ll have to ask Lestrade for a better one. Hardly a 5.”

“Sherlock,” John interrupts. “I’m not going to ask again. Why are you here?”

“To save you from disaster,” Sherlock tells him. “I knew you were desperate, John, but this is unnecessary.” 

“Well, you scare off all my other ones,” John retorts, releasing a strenuous sigh.

“If you’re really set on getting a pathetic girlfriend, fine. But I’ll have to decide if she’s adequate.”

John stares in shock. “No… no. Why do you have to decide?”

“No offense, John, but you’re not very good at choosing your partners. They always get in the way of the Work.”

“Or maybe the Work gets in the way of them,” John offers with gritted teeth. 

“Unlikely,” Sherlock murmurs, observing the venue. A buzzer sounds, a cue for everyone to get settled in their seats. “You’ll hardly know I’m here,” Sherlock promises. 

John highly doubts that. 

John takes a seat at a table in the back, his confidence in this situation decreasing by the second. Sherlock grabs a discarded chair and places it close to John, taking a seat. John looks at Sherlock briefly, watching the detective take off his scarf, revealing his long neck that looks quite delectable, if John’s being honest-

But of course, that’s a normal reaction. Sherlock is an attractive person and John will notice that from time to time. That doesn’t make him interested in Sherlock, that just means-

“John?” a woman’s voice asks. 

John realizes he’s been staring at Sherlock for a long period of time. He feels his cheeks heat and turns to the pretty woman, who has a curious smile on her lips. 

“Hi,” John greets. “How did you- oh… right. Name tag. Hah.”

“Obviously,” Sherlock mumbles and John steps on his foot for his troubles. Sherlock scowls, kicking John’s foot back in retaliation. John takes a sip of his drink to calm himself.

“Um… is this like a threesome thing?” the woman asks as she takes a seat, eyeing the two men with slight interest.

John almost chokes on his drink. “Uh- no. No, sorry. This- don’t mind him. He’s my…”

“No one in particular,” Sherlock chimes in.

“Yes. That.”

“Oh,” the woman says, nodding. “Well, I’m-”

“Charlotte,” John says, his chin jutting to her nametag with a smile. “Beautiful name.”

Charlotte blushes, giggling as she waves a hand at John bashfully. John can practically feel Sherlock roll his eyes. 

“So, Charlotte, what do you do?” John asks. 

“Accounting,” she responds, twirling a piece of her raven hair. “Summarizing financial transactions and all that.”

“She has two cats,” Sherlock murmurs, his voice low enough so that she’s unable to hear him.

“I quite like it,” Charlotte continues. “It’s not what I’d actually like to do, but it’s enough.”

“Protective father,” Sherlock analyzes. “He’d be a nuisance. He contacts her at least four times a day.”

“What I’d really like to do is be a flight attendant so I can get out of this fucking city and explore the world,” she says, frustration slipping into her voice. “I hate it here, actually.”

“Oh, uh- I’m sorry to hear that,” John sympathizes, shifting in his seat.

“Nicely dressed, cleaned jewelry, she’s being provided great sums of money,” Sherlock says.

“Sorry, did you say something?” Charlotte asks, eyes going to Sherlock. 

Sherlock gives his signature fake smile. “Not at all.”

The buzzer goes off and Charlotte stands, huffing a breath of relief. “Anyway, it was nice to meet you, George!” she says as she rushes away. 

John stares, watching her go. What just happened?

“And extremely disorganized,” Sherlock concludes. 

“God, I don’t need you spitting your deductions in my ear every second,” John scolds. 

“I’m assisting,” Sherlock retorts. “Quite wonderfully, if you must know.”

Another woman with blonde locks takes a seat across John. John’s about to say something before the woman holds up her hand, gesturing for him to shush. 

John blinks in bewilderment, but stays silent, looking around uncomfortably.

“Her sister forced her to attend,” Sherlock murmurs. “She has no interest in you or in any men for that matter.”

John wants to ignore Sherlock, but his curiosity is piqued. “Who’s she texting, then?” John whispers. 

“A coworker. She’s dedicated to her work, seeing as she has an outline of a second device in her pocket. The phone which she’s messaging on is her work device while the phone in her pocket is her personal device.” Sherlock makes a noise of disagreement. “Quite troublesome.”

The woman puts her hand down and finally looks at John, not bothering to show interest. 

“Uh- hello,” John tries.

“My name is Gabriella and your name is John, hence the name tag.” She sighs irritably. “I’m sure you’re a nice man, but in all honesty, you’re not my type. Do you know when this whole thing ends?”

“Oh, I-”

“Do you?” Gabriella asks, eyes landing on Sherlock. 

“An hour,” Sherlock responds. 

“God, this is torture.”

“If you really didn’t wish to come, you should have just denied your sister’s pleas,” Sherlock says absentmindedly. 

John shuts his eyes tight, knowing Sherlock’s forwardness never ends well. Gabriella’s jaw drops, her eyes flaring in anger. 

“I beg your pardon?” she asks. 

“Your sister is persistent, but her excessive guilt-tripping seems to control every aspect of your life.” Sherlock furrows his brows, his focus pointing toward the tablecloth. “My Lord, this is craft fabric. Practically plastic! How could they initiate such a dull detail when they hold this event in a sumptuous setting?”

“This is ill-mannered!” Gabriella argues. 

“Quite,” Sherlock agrees. “If they can afford this hotel, they can certainly afford better fabric.”

“No, you’re assumptions are ill-mannered,” Gabriella clarifies. She huffs, scooting her chair out aggressively before stomping away. 

John sighs, slumping in his chair as his hand rubs over his face. 

“I never assume,” Sherlock says matter-of-factly. 

“She couldn’t even sit with me for ten minutes,” John murmurs. 

“It’s hardly your fault, John. She simply doesn’t know how to prioritize her life.”

The buzzer goes off again. Just as John begins to lose hope, a woman with brunette hair and freckles surrounding her nose sits across John. She smiles kindly, shaking John’s hand. 

“Hello,” she greets. 

“Hi, um…” John’s eyes study her name tag. “Amelia.”

“John,” she says, taking her hand back. She chuckles. “I’m going to be honest, I’m not very good at this sort of stuff.”

“Oh, I completely understand,” John says, laughing with her.

Amelia’s eyes land on Sherlock, an unsure expression settling on her face. John waves him off, which Sherlock glares at. 

“Don’t mind him. Um- so, Amelia, what do you do?”

“I’m a veterinarian,” she tells him. 

John nods. “That’s quite the job.”

“Oh, yes, but… I enjoy it so much,” she says, giving a genuine smile. 

“I admire a person who’s dedicated to their work,” John says, a grin playing his lips. 

John would be lying if he said his mind didn’t drift to Sherlock.

No. No. Sherlock is out of the question.

“And you?” Amelia asks. 

“Uh- well, I was in the army. Now I work at a clinic,” John explains. "I'm a doctor."

She smiles. “How noble. Now that is very admiring.”

John is about to respond before Sherlock cuts in, “Recently separated.”

The air turns quiet. Amelia’s eyes flutter as if her mind is breaking a haze. “Sorry, what?” she questions. 

“No. Uh- don’t mind him,” John tries, but Sherlock is having none of it. 

“You still contact your ex-husband, obviously not over him. You came to this event to get your mind off him, meet someone new to discard the pain, but that won’t work.” Sherlock releases a long breath, showcasing his boredom. “If you’re still so attached to him, it’s probably best to stay out of another relationship. Bringing your secondary relationship problems into another relationship can cause an immense amount of conflict.”

Amelia stares at Sherlock, her pain evident. She stands and leaves without a word. 

John swallows, trying to process what just occurred. 

“You’re welcome,” Sherlock says. “I saved you from months of unnecessary complications.”

John’s knee bounces, agitated. John releases a humorless laugh. “Sherlock, that was extremely unkind.”

Sherlock furrows his brows. “She was still emotionally attached to her ex husband. I informed you of-”

“I don’t need your help!” John snaps, turning to Sherlock. “I don’t know why you’re being so bloody invasive in my romantic affairs, but I’m fucking sick of it, Sherlock. Go bother someone else for a change, hm? Go ruin someone else’s evenings, for Christ’s sake..”

With that, John stands and strides out of the hotel, not bothering to look back at the detective. As the cool London air hits John’s face, he hails a cabbie, getting into the vehicle. He stares out the window, trying not to think of the devastating expression on Sherlock’s face.

—

221B is quiet. 

John has been up in his room for the past few hours, the events of this afternoon swirling through his head. 

He’s changed out of his formal clothing, settling for a simple t-shirt and pajama bottoms. He lays in bed, staring up at the bland ceiling. Running a hand through his hair, he lets out a sigh, his thoughts coming back in full circle. 

He shouldn’t have yelled at Sherlock like that. John knows Sherlock was just trying to help (though he has an odd way of showing it). 

It’s endearing, really, how Sherlock’s mind works. John has always found it fascinating. 

The way Sherlock can look at something and acquire a fact of a thought, not only an assumption. The way he gets excited by the strangest and most perplexing things. The way most describe him as heartless, but he sympathizes with people in his own, unique way that’s difficult to understand but incredibly captivating to watch. 

The way he just sees things differently… that’s what piqued John’s interest from the start. 

The way his eyes light up when he’s analyzing a situation thoroughly, picking apart every aspect with precision. The way he has highs of anticipation for a case, but afterward he takes long breaks for himself, picking a specific place to sleep for hours. 

John is utterly in love. 

John suspected the realization would be surprising, that it would come in heavy waves, but it comes to him in a smooth sailing stream. Of course he’s in love with Sherlock Holmes. He’s known it for the longest time. It was only denial that was blocking the thought from his mind, the constant “I’m not gay” accusations only a way to escape reality. 

But no. John knows it’s time to face the reality, even if it is, for some reason, difficult. He’s in love with Sherlock Holmes. 

More like, he’s obsessed with the man. Fascination doesn’t even begin to describe the appeal he has for Sherlock. 

Just then, a knock sounds at the door. 

John stands, his knees slightly shaky from lying down for so long. Cracking his neck, he walks to the door. He takes a deep breath and opens the door, revealing Sherlock with a cup of tea in his hands. 

Sherlock looks unsure, almost like a kicked puppy. 

Guilt builds up in John’s chest for handling the situation so harshly.

Sherlock clears his throat, holding up the cup. “Tea,” he says. “I um- I made you tea.”

John stares at him, his heart swelling. 

“I apologize,” Sherlock whispers, looking away. “I was inconsiderate. I- I should have left you alone with your romantic affairs. You can… you can date whoever you’d like. Of course you can. I um- I suppose I… I just don’t want you interacting romantically with anyone who will be wasting your time.” Sherlock pauses, then shakes his head. “That sounds inconsiderate as well. What I meant was that most people are idiotic and they don’t deserve you…” Sherlock’s hands clench around the teacup. “No. Wait. That sounds… that sounds… that’s not what I meant. What I-”

“Sherlock.”

Sherlock stops talking, eyes flickering up to John. Gently, John cups Sherlock’s face as he steps closer. The detective’s cheeks flare considerably. John pauses, searching Sherlock’s eyes for any protest. 

There’s none. 

John kisses him. 

Everything is still. It’s silent besides the occasional sound of a vehicle passing by Baker Street in the dark of the night.

The kiss is tender, both of the men staying still. John pulls back, opening his eyes slowly. Sherlock seems stunned. 

John clears his throat, stepping back. “Fuck. Sorry, I- I thought…” He laughs awkwardly. “I’m so sorry, Sherlock, I-”

John is interrupted by glass shattering on the floor. The next thing John knows, he’s practically getting pounced on by a six-foot detective. 

Sherlock holds John’s face and presses his lips against his desperately, earnestly. Once John gains back his cognitive function, he kisses Sherlock back, holding his waist tightly. John doesn’t know how they ended up at the end of the room, but his knees hit the edge of the bed and he falls back onto the sheets with a grunt. Sherlock follows him, climbing atop him and straddling him. John makes a noise of encouragement, his hang gliding up to tangle through Sherlock’s curls. 

Sherlock’s lips move against John’s eagerly, kissing him into oblivion. John chuckles and pulls back slightly so that he can catch his breath—disappointment forms on Sherlock’s features. 

“Did I- am I doing it wrong?” Sherlock asks.

“What? No. No, of course not,” John reassures. “Just…” John nudges his nose against Sherlock’s. “Slowly,” he whispers in instruction. 

John brings Sherlock’s head down, capturing the detective’s lips. John sets a slower pace this time, allowing himself to get lost in the sensation. 

Sherlock’s lips are plump, a wonder to taste. Sherlock groans, following John’s movements as he glides his thumbs across the doctor’s jaw adoringly. John shivers at the movement. 

Yeah. He’ll never get tired of kissing Sherlock. 

John sucks in a breath, giving Sherlock’s lips several pecks before leaning back. Sherlock makes a noise of complaint. John grins, squeezing the detective’s waist. 

“I know. I know, love,” he whispers against his lips. “Just two things.”

“Make it quick,” Sherlock demands, his lips already trailing down John’s jaw. 

John huffs a laugh, his mind already getting distracted by the sensation of Sherlock’s eager kisses against his skin. “Well, you’re cleaning up the broken glass.”

“And making you another cup of tea,” Sherlock says, sucking a particular spot on John’s neck. “Obviously.”

“Mhm. Y-Yep. Obviously. And-”

“And?”

“And…” John cups Sherlock’s face and makes the detective look at him. “And I’m sorry for being such a dick to you. I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“Don’t, John. I deserved-”

“Stop,” John interjects softly. “You never deserve that, Sherlock. Never.” John’s thumb soothes Sherlock’s cheekbone. “You’re brilliant. Everything about you is brilliant. My evenings are never ruined because of you. Nothing is ruined because of you. You’ve made my life better and I need you. I’m sorry I didn’t realize that before.”

Sherlock stares at him, his breath shallow. “So you… you want me?”

John laughs. “I thought us snogging made that clear?”

Sherlock grins. “I’m not sure I’m fully convinced.”

“Mm. Well, then.” In a swift movement, John flips their positions, Sherlock now on his back and John straddling him. Sherlock inhales a shaky breath, his eyes full of anticipation. John leans down, his breath hot against Sherlock’s lips. “I guess I’ll have to convince you in full.”

Sherlock’s arms wrap around John’s neck, his long fingers running through John’s hair. “Please do.”

*•*•*•*•

Tags: @a-victorian-girl @whatnext2020 @totallysilvergirl @ninasnakie @thegildedbee @whodwantmeasaflatmate @with-a-ghost-mr-holmes @sherlocknjohn221b @jawnn-watson @blogstandbygo @lisbeth-kk @holmesianlove @itsonlytext @7-percent @chinike @peanitbear @mary-johnlocked @bakerstreetbe @curlyjohnlock @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @ceceliajupe @tindomerelhloni-official @ghostofnuggetspast @dw91165 @jolieblack

(Please let me know if you don’t wish to be tagged or if you’d like to be tagged. Thank you for the reblogs!!💞)

#johnlock #sherlock #bbc sherlock #johnlock fanfiction #ao3 writer #writerscommunity #ao3 #sherlock fandom #sherlock tv #sherlock bbc #sherlock x john #sherlock and john #sherlockbbc #sherlock holmes #friends to lovers #men kissing #make out #jealous sherlock holmes #speed dating #writer tumblr #writers on tumblr #writer stuff #ao3 kudos #ao3 author #ao3 fanfic #ao3 tags #getting together #eventual johnlock

[sheriiam]

John: so I've seen you've recently been spending a lot of time with William.

Sherlock: John, it's not what it looks like, I swear.

John: oh really? So no reason for me to be jealous?

Sherlock: no, you're the only one for me.

John: is that so?

Sherlock: I promise we are only dating!

John: so no best-friend feelings involved?

Sherlock: you're still my one and only best friend. He's just the love of my life, nothing more!

John: but I'm still the platonic love of your life, right?

Sherlock: of course!

William: ...eh

#yuumori #william james moriarty #sherlock holmes #sherliam #yukoku no moriarty #yuukoku no moriarty #ynm sherlock #johnlock #john h watson #john is jealous of sherliam #william is confused of johnlock #incorrect yuumori quotes

[gregorovitch-adler]

I really like this scene in The Blind Banker-

(Sorry for the shitty screencap.)

This is when Sherlock comes to rescue John and Sarah from where they'd been kidnapped and held as hostages by General Shan.

We've seen that Sherlock is quite jealous of Sarah and he's been nothing but hostile to her in this episode before this scene.

But when she's in fatal danger, he drops his cold façade and is genuinely concerned about her safety (along with John's, of course).

There's a similar pattern in ASIB. When John meets Irene in Battersea station, his first thought is about Sherlock's well being and nothing else.

J- Tell him you're alive.

I- He'll come after me.

J- I'll come after you if you don't.

John's jealousy for Irene is painfully obvious in this episode but he's not selfish when he realizes that Irene has been faking her death. He's only worried about Sherlock's mental health at this moment. It's actually very selfless.

This shows that while Sherlock and John can become easily jealous over each other, the jealousy is not till the point of toxicity.

In the end, they both just want each other to be happy.

#johnlock #bbc sherlock #bbc johnlock #sherlock holmes #john watson #jealous sherlock holmes #jealous john watson #sherlock meta #their jealousy over each other #the pining

[tulip-wizard]

as a kid, sherlock probably thought that mycroft was the coolest person ever

still does

#i know this because i have older siblings #and i freaking idolize them #i'm also kinda jealous of them #bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes #mycroft holmes #holmes brothers

[warlenys]

yeah so this is the gayest line in the script

#like this is the one #canonising jealous john in the gayest way #also this isn’t even new it’s been fucking me up for ages #just sharing it now the clouds have parted #reopening wounds #bbc sherlock #sherlock #johnlock #tjlc #sherlock scripts #+

[cupidford]

Happiness Is With You by AndThenThereWereWords (GetTheeToADictionary)

Johnlock Love Letters #2327

John is hoping to confirm his suspicions that Sherlock and him have feelings for each other. In his obliviousness, Sherlock disappoints him and and causes John to look elsewhere for romance. There is another man in the picture, and Sherlock cannot handle his emotions.

#jl3 #johnlock #johnlockloveletters #love letter #love letters #<25k #fluff #romance #eventual johnlock #jealous sherlock #John with another man #John with other men #open relationship #open relationships #post s3 #Happiness Is With You #AndThenThereWereWords #GetTheeToADictionary

[consult-sherlockholmes]

john dating someone most likely won't get him killed, where as you risking your life could get you killed. he doesn't want you to die. that's why your request isn't approved but people approve of john's request. simple

It could get him killed, if he dates a serial killer. Or a gold digging black widow trying to marry John and then murder him for insurance money or inheritance. Or another assassin. Or a killer sent by one of our enemies to seduce and then murder him. It could happen, and the chances are not that small. So my request would also solely be for his own safety. So why am I not allowed to request it then? People are stupid.

#john watson #rp #sherlock rp #johnlock rp #johnlock roleplay #sherlock roleplay #roleplay #jealous sherlock #sherlock answers #bbc sherlock #sherlock #sherlock holmes

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hello!! I wanted to tell you how much I looove your blog! Your rec lists are so good!

I wanted to ask you for any Sherlock Jealousy fics? I haven’t read many that have him being jealous of John with another man so I wanted to know if you have recs like that! Thank you!!

Hi Nonny!

AHHHH you're far too kind! I'm happy you enjoy your time here! :)

You've definitely come to the right place, I love Jealousy fics, hahaha!

Check these out! Apologies that I combine them together:

Jealous Sherlock Because John Dates a Man

Jealous & Possessive Sherlock

Jealous John Pt. 2 and Jealous Sherlock Pt 2 

Jealous John Pt 3 and Jealous Sherlock Pt 3

Jealous John and Sherlock Pt. 4

Jealous John and Sherlock Pt. 5

Feel free, friends, to add some of your faves that aren't on the lists!

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #jealous sherlock #jealousy fics #my fic recs

[ten-cent-sleuth]

A Galling Yoke, Part 5

<- Prev | Next ->

for the Location: Tearoom 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: 3.8k

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x f!Reader

Rating: Teen

Rogers fetched you from the wine cellar just in the middle of your regular review of its stores. Your bellyaching about his deplorable timing was only silenced by his quirked brow and curt “Mr Holmes said it was urgent, ma’am”.

Mr Holmes.

Any irritation washed away. To your inconvenience and your pleasure, you found that whatever trials and triumphs you derived from your staid lifestyle as unattached mistress of your own home were easily displaced by the trials and triumphs derived in Sherlock’s presence. The latter simply tended to be so much deeper, so much weightier than the former.

That did not stop you from shooting Sherlock a dark look as Rogers led you into the front sitting room.

“We agreed to meet after luncheon, sir,” you scolded him.

Furrowing his brow, he clicked open his pocket watch. “It is twenty past noon. I suppose I do eat a little earlier on days I have plans for an investigation, but…”

“We are going to a tearoom,” you said, though amusement was beginning to break through your voice. “I meant hours after luncheon.”

He flushed. “Ah. Yes, of course. Well—”

You waved your hand. “This works fine. It shall still be open for business; we shall simply have to stay there for a while to be around for the rush hour.”

“Hours in your company, my lady? However shall I go on,” he said so dryly that it didn’t even sound like a question.

You snickered, then the possibility struck you that he had come this early precisely for that reason, if only subconsciously. Shaking the notion out of your head, you said, “Allow me to change into a tea gown before we depart.”

He gave you a strange look but nodded. You startled when you found Rogers standing…well, rather like standing guard in the hallway.

“Your ladyship,” he greeted, as though these were normal proceedings in Voss House.

“Er…Rogers,” you returned, not wanting to get into it, not at all.

You hummed to yourself as you headed to your chambers. Clearly, while Sherlock knew what was expected of the upper classes, he still hadn’t wrapped his head around you subscribing to those expectations. He likely had never heard you utter the words “tea gown” before today. At Ferndell, you were free to do anything and be anyone; now, you didn’t think you even knew how to act so freely.

Twenty minutes later, you re-entered the front of the house and stopped short at the sight of Sherlock waiting. His lips barely lifted, but his pleasure was unquestionable as it shone from his eyes. Unlike other gentlemen, he did not compliment your fabric or your figure, as was expected; what did surprise you was that he just as much refrained from making a snide remark about the expenditure or the frivolity.

“My lady,” he said softly, offering you his arm. His right arm.

“Have you forgotten your schoolroom lessons, Mr Holmes?” you teased. “How shall you take your hat off to your acquaintances on the street if I am on your right side?”

He arched a brow in challenge. “I shall not acknowledge any acquaintance at the cost of failing to support the side of yours that needs it.”

You cleared your throat. Another surprise. Then you took his arm.

Once he led you a few paces forward, you noticed Rogers standing by. You raised your eyebrows at him—was he watching Sherlock?—but did not question him.

The London air was thin and fresh with winter, though the sun glowed warmly from its zenith. You managed both the occasional stabs of pain or shakiness in your leg and the curious glances from other pedestrians wondering at your abnormal stance with the steady presence at your side. His muscled arm was a sturdy rock beneath your gloved fingers and his vigilant gaze an unbroken shield around you.

So secure did you feel because of him that you almost did not register that he was speaking to you for the uncertainty in his voice: “Are you sure I shall not be a hindrance to this mission? From what Enola and her, ah, contacts tell me, tearooms are quite the lady’s respite from gentlemen.”

“Quite sure,” you replied. “It is not uncommon for a young lady to bring a male friend or indeed a suitor to visit with her friends in a tearoom, and they need not even be chaperoned for it to be entirely proper. It may be a mite odd that it shall only be the two of us, but my being a widow and your being a known figure in London ought to mitigate that.”

“Am I truly such a known figure?” he questioned. “What if all the wagging tongues you promised me shall hold themselves in recognition of a detective in their midst?”

“I had not thought of that. Hmm. We shall have to hope that my presence frees those very tongues.”

“Your presence?” His attempt to lighten his voice so that he sounded incurious did not quite succeed.

“Indeed. As a maiden, I was the daughter of the Earl of Coltidge; as a wife, I was the property of the Earl of Pittford’s youngest son; as a widow, I am recognisable, noticeable, in my own right.”

Sherlock hummed thoughtfully. “Yes…by now, you have been in charge of your finances and movements in London for four times longer than you had been under Mr Sulyard’s thumb. I do not imagine that you had sat idly by in all that time,” he mused. “You must have seized the opportunity to forge your own reputation, carve out your own corner of the ton. The ladies who frequent tearooms—they shall feel comfortable in your presence?”

You tipped your head at him. “Very good.”

He huffed at your jab yet—if you were not imagining it—pulled you closer to his side all the same.

Upon entering the tearoom, Sherlock informed you under his breath of his observations: who took no interest in the newcomers, who was suddenly sneaking glances at Sherlock out of the corner of their eyes and likely planning to hurry away as soon as possible, who snapped their mouth shut at your arrival but was now whispering all the more vigorously. You bit your lip to keep your smile from showing; when you had told him the day before about Edmund’s possible affair, he had been eager to see the theory to its natural conclusion, but when you had pointed out that very little concrete evidence would be left after a dozen years’ erosion, he had dragged his heels to validate the alternative source of gossip. If the gleam in his eye as he analysed the room before him was anything to go by, however, he seemed to have forgotten his objections.

You had selected this establishment out of the many options in London because it was a personal favourite of The Most Honourable Lady Notley, the Marchioness Brindon and the unofficial head purveyor of marital problems among the first circles. If one were to hear any information about a decade-old affair, it would be coming out of her ladyship’s mouth or going into her ladyship’s ears. After you led Sherlock to a strategically located table and explained this to him, he whispered conspiratorially, “Skill is fine, and genius is splendid, but the right contacts are more valuable than either.”

You grinned at him. “I accept your apology.”

The next few hours passed in like fashion. To you, he described noteworthy behaviours—of suspicion, of anxiety, of mischief. To him, you delineated the most effective ways of finding out more about those characters based on their particular habits—at balls, during calling hours, by the servant grapevine. He wrote down these plans to enact at a later date. When you both agreed that it would be possible and efficient to dig deeper about a given person right there and then, you would take turns executing some ruse to wander closer and eavesdrop or prod.

After the third time one of you had gotten up to refill your pot of tea, a waitress had started coming around to do it for you, giving you both stern looks as though your self-service had questioned the employees’ ability to serve you.

“Gracious,” muttered Sherlock as the waitress dashed to your table and away with preternatural speed, “I see now why they are called ‘nippies’.”

Smothering your giggle with a cough, you stood up and smoothed your skirts. “Since we no longer have that excuse, I”—you threw your voice—“shall have to take a turn about the room.”

He smirked, likely enjoying witnessing the ridiculous lengths to which you were willing to go for this investigation. “Enjoy, my dear,” he drawled—for the ploy, of course, you reassured yourself.

You whetted your ears as you approached Mrs Gouldsmith’s table, the matron having glanced at you across the room a dozen times in five minutes according to Sherlock.

“—sshhh! She is right there!”

“Oh, hush, Fanny, she shan’t care a jot what ladies such as we are whispering about.”

“Harriet is right, Fanny. The Vosses think themselves quite superior.”

“Can that be true? Her ladyship has always seemed agreeable and considerate to me…”

“Of course she seems that way, Fanny: she is all things proper. But siblings are never too different from each other, and that Viscount Pashbroke is the worst sort of man.”

“Do you not recall what he did to my poor Emily?”

“Oh, yes. Fanny, you could not have forgotten poor heartbroken Emily?”

“No, no, but—was Emily truly all so heartbroken?”

“What a question! Of a certainty she was! The dear girl has already gone through four Seasons without so much as a second dance from the same gentleman in one night. Then last June, she met Lord Pashbroke!”

“Everyone in Town could see they were forming an attachment!”

“He asked to call on her, Fanny! He visited with us every other day for weeks. Dearest Emily and I were expecting him to pay his addresses anytime soon—I even had Gouldsmith begin drafting the settlement.”

“Oh, Harriet! Calling on a lady does not always lead to an engagement. Even a courtship does not always lead to an engagement.”

“The material point, Fanny, is that the gentleman raised my Emily’s hopes all summer, and then he vanished into the countryside without securing her affections. Only a person who disdained families of our sort—the untitled sort!—could be so thoughtless.”

“There, there, Harriet. It is for the best. Just think, had Emily married him, he would have taken her to the family’s favoured estate up north. Shropshire is quite the distance from Town!”

“But perhaps he would have taken her to the ancestral seat instead… It shall be his inheritance not too long from now, you know. Oh, can you imagine it? Lady Emily Gouldsmith Voss, Countess of Coltidge!”

As the ladies dissolved into raptures over their lost connexion to the earldom, you rolled your eyes and made your way back to Sherlock.

The detective raised an expectant brow.

“Naught of import,” you informed him. You would be having words with your brother about some things very soon, but that had nothing to do with the case.

You had barely resettled into your seat when the door swung open to welcome Lady Brindon and her typical entourage, namely her daughter Lady Rebecca Notley and the girl’s godfather Dr Crawford. You smiled at the marchioness, and though she returned the expression, she immediately bent her head towards her daughter and whispered something to her. Frowning, you turned towards Dr Crawford, but the man avoided your eyes.

“Sherlock,” you murmured, “I believe something is going on over there.”

He tilted his head to show that he accepted your opinion, but the furrow in his brow showed that he didn’t see it for himself.

“Dr Crawford does not look at me.”

“I did not take you for the vain sort, your ladyship.”

You glared at him. “You are most amusing, Mr Holmes. No, he and I are friends, for I…understand him in a way most do not.”

The teasing half smirk on Sherlock’s face plummeted. “And what, pray, is that supposed to mean?”

“He and Lady Brindon have been intimate friends since childhood,” you explained. “Their closeness did not end when she married Lord Brindon, and for that, they endure considerable idle gossip about the innocence of their friendship. I have never suspected aught improper between them—I am sure you see why: I have my own experiences as proof that a man and a woman can be friends all their lives and have naught romantic come of it—so he tends to seek me out for support, at least with his eyes, when they appear in public together.”

Sherlock scowled. “Well, if you are so certain, I shall engage him in conversation. I have met their ladyships and him at one of Mycroft’s events, so I shall have an excuse to speak with them.”

“Sherlock, do you not think that I ought to be the one who—?”

“You did the last one. It is my turn,” he snapped, rising to his feet and stalking towards the Notley party before you could pick your jaw off of the floor. What had soured his mood so?

Taking tiny, nervous bites of your Victoria sponge, you watched Sherlock stiffly bow and greet the trio. Your apprehension eased as his awkwardness did as well, evidently the conversation taking a promising turn as that gleam re-entered the detective’s eyes. But—oh, no, perhaps he had relaxed too much: you recognised the tension building in Dr Crawford’s shoulder blades, too little thus far to be noticed by Sherlock, but already glaring to you, whose acquaintance with the man was largely based on noticing when the people around him were pushing too hard.

Rather unceremoniously, you abandoned your half-eaten cake and hurried to Sherlock’s side.

“Lady Brindon,” you greeted brightly, “Lady Rebecca, Dr Crawford. Mr Holmes.”

After the exchange of curtsies and bows and how-do-you-dos, you forced out a light chuckle. “I hope I am not interrupting. Only, I realised having Dr Crawford and Mr Holmes in a conversation without a chaperone would become quite tedious quite rapidly. Your ladyships, you may be honest with me—have the gentlemen yet spoken of anything besides their work?”

Lady Brindon laughed. “Sirs, her ladyship has you both rather on the mark! They have spoken only of Dr Crawford’s house visit this morning.”

“That would not be quite so tedious if that particular patient had not been his and my mother’s topic of conversation all afternoon as well,” interjected Lady Rebecca, eliciting a sharp look from the marchioness, which went unheeded as the girl smiled rather wolfishly at you. “Indeed, I do not believe you shall be as much the saviour as you wished to be, my lady, for surely you shall wish to discuss her as well. Are you not acquainted with Ms Algar?”

You blinked, scrambling to recall everything you knew about the only Notley daughter. Though not malicious, she hungered for drama—her mother merely relished knowing what others did not want known—and felt enough entitlement to fish for it if necessary. In that case, this Ms Algar was somebody you were not expected to like.

With an angelic smile, you turned to Dr Crawford. “How is Ms Algar?”

His gaze darted between Lady Brindon, Sherlock, and the tearoom door before settling on you. “Quite well. She is quite well,” he answered. “That is, she is quite the same as the last twelve years. I…I have been her physician all this time, and I had not known you had met her, your ladyship. Indeed, I did not even know you were…connected to her, until Lady Brindon, er, informed me this afternoon.”

“Very few people do, I would say,” you hummed, ignoring the crook of Sherlock’s eyebrow.

Dr Crawford’s shoulders slumped. “I hope that means you do not think I was trying to keep this from you, my lady—”

“Nonsense!” you reassured him. “There is a reason Lady Brindon keeps your company and chose you as Lady Rebecca’s godfather, and I am certain that reason is your honesty and artlessness. Is it not so, my lady?”

The marchioness nodded with a serene smile, and even Lady Rebecca’s surly disappointment at your nonchalance lessened in the face of fondness for her godfather.

Reddening, Dr Crawford smiled at you all. “You are kindness itself,” he told you. “It is no wonder that you are friends with Ms Algar despite—” His smile broke. “That is, despite…”

“Despite circumstances,” you suggested, your heart rate spiking at the riskiness of it.

Fortunately, the smile returned. “Yes, indeed. I am sure she is uplifted to know such goodness exists after her attack.”

At that, Sherlock’s attention flew from you, where it had been this entire conversation, to the doctor. “An attack, you say? You mentioned a bump on the back of the head, but you would not tell me more…”

“Mr Holmes! Of course not!” you gasped. No wonder Dr Crawford had been tense! “That is no topic for mixed company. I apologise, your ladyships,” you added to the Notleys with a rueful smile. “It appears my jest about a chaperone had more truth to it than I intended.”

Lady Brindon waved away your concern. “It is of no consequence. Rebecca is always so eager to hear the gory details of everyone’s troubles.”

“Mama!” the young lady hissed.

“Still,” you said, “as apparent chaperone, I best ensure Mr Holmes gets home without offending any sensibilities now. It has been a pleasure—God bless you all.” 

After you and Sherlock had taken leave of the trio, you returned to your table to retrieve your effects and settle your tab. Then, you set back off for Grosvenor Square.

“What were you thinking?” you reproached him, to which he paid no attention as he beamed and exclaimed—

“I do believe we are dealing with a homicide after all!”

You snuck a glance around the street and sighed in relief at its emptiness before pinching the arm he had again offered you.

“Ow! What was—?”

“We are in public, Mr Holmes,” you said, even more reproachfully. “Do lower your voice, or at least temper your enthusiastic tone, about murder?”

He grimaced. “Indeed. I suppose I should be more considerate of the fact that I am discussing your husband, too, should I not?”

“Oh.” You squeezed his arm. “To be frank, that had quite slipped my mind.”

He barked out a laugh. “I take it you are not disturbed that someone murdered your dear Edmund, then?”

“Not particularly. Perhaps the disturbance shall set in later. For now, I am simply curious. What has made you certain?”

“Ms Algar was attacked and struck on the back of the head.”

You waited a beat. “Yes?”

“Twelve years ago!”

You sighed. “I recognise that Mr Sulyard died twelve years ago, but—”

“Died from an attack to the back of the head,” cut in Sherlock, his voice lowering in volume but growing in fervour.

“I was told he died from trying to drive a phaeton while drunk at an ungodly hour.” You recalled serving tea to the messenger before he broke the news, that poor awkward officer whose eyes would not meet yours but whose face you would never forget.

Sherlock’s incredulous cry broke your reverie: “Did you not read the same coroner’s report as I?”

“I know not,” you said with an eye roll, “for you are the one who put it in my hands.”

You smothered a grin at his grumbles about your contemptible sass.

“The coroner noted that Mr Sulyard had only sustained a severe bump to the head and the bruising where he landed,” said Sherlock with a surprising amount of patience. “Normally, in a carriage crash, one receives defensive and reflexive injuries from reacting to the incident before hitting the ground, not merely the injuries of impact. The coroner conjectured that Mr Sulyard was different because he was intoxicated and his reactions would have been impaired.”

Thinking back on the few times you had observed drunken behaviour, you nodded: you had not understood much of the coroner’s report, but Sherlock’s explanation made sense so far.

“And yet,” he whispered, “the actual toxicology report showed that Mr Sulyard had not a drop of alcohol in his body.”

“What? But then…” You shook your head. “How could the coroner have missed such an inconsistency?”

“Warwick is a frumpish fellow simply waiting to be forced into retirement,” mused Sherlock. “He must have written off the toxicology result as the blunder of a nascent science.”

You shook your head again, wrestling with all the puzzle pieces that refused to fit in place. “You must have arrived at that conclusion yesterday, as soon as you read the report,” you said. “Why are you only certain of homicide now?”

“The inconsistency was suspicious, yes, but one must have an alternative explanation before ‘suspicious’ becomes ‘damning’,” he replied. “Ms Algar is that alternative explanation. Or, rather, she is a piece of it… Struck in the head with a blunt object, just as Mr Sulyard was… Her incident, at the same time as his… And of course, their prior connection.”

He glanced at you, and you pursed your lips before exhaling forcibly.

“Worry not, Sherlock. I have already figured out that Ms Algar was my husband’s lover; you shall not have to spell out that to me as well.”

No, Lady Brindon’s whispers and looks, Lady Rebecca’s goading, and Dr Crawford’s discomfort had spelled it out quite effectively already.

Sherlock offered you a tentative smile. “I was not worried about that,” he said. “You handled yourself with complete aplomb there. The way you directed that conversation without anyone—well, anyone other than me, of course—realising that you were directing… I am most impressed by your deductive ability, my lady.”

“Deductive—? Sherlock, that is not deduction,” you scoffed. Identifying Ms Algar as your husband’s mistress, perhaps, but leading a conversation? “It is… It is…”

“You would not call it guesswork, would you?”

“Not at all!”

He hummed. “No, indeed, you do not guess: you calculate the path by which you shall avoid offence and curry favour without compromising your dignity. You balance probabilities and choose the most likely. It is the scientific use of the imagination.”

You rolled your eyes; well, his flair for the dramatic had certainly not flagged in the years gone. “It is social manoeuvring, that is all, Sherlock.”

“You know my method. It is founded upon the observation of trifles. And, my dear lady,” he quipped, “there is nothing more trifling than social manoeuvring.”

Considering how he had so easily gone from being playful with you in the tearoom to snapping at you about talking with Dr Crawford to reassuring you while walking you home, you could not but agree.

Thank you for reading. Please let me know if you would like to be tagged for updates. :) This has probably been my favourite prompt to research for so far; the history of tearooms in Britain is fascinating! I really thought this was gonna be my shortest chapter yet and then it ended up being the longest by a thousand words… Well, feedback is always welcome! A cookie to anyone who can point out all the Arthur Conan Doyle references. ;P

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

[miinteaa]

#my art #mtp #yuumori #moriarty the patriot #william james moriarty #Liam is too pretty in the manga I had to draw him #im so jealous of Sherlock frfr