#Sherlock Holmes angst

[futureplayboibunnie]

‘Innocent’

Sherlock x fem! reader

- oh. my. god. i got a few requests for this virgin/ inexperienced smutty fic and lord i got so carried away. I LOVE THIS ONE SO MUCH IT TOOK ME SO LONG BUT MY OWN WRITING HAS ME FERAL??? help x 

Sherlock was feeling completative, pondering upon forbidden grounds that he wouldn't usually travel. He was walking through the avenues of his mind, the thoughts reeling through him- even though it really wasn’t a good time.

You were next to him, he was being awarded another stupid gift for his incredible and somewhat pretentious sleuthing skills but he really wasn't paying much attention. Not after what he did. Not after what he felt.

Sherlock accidentally grazed your fingers while you were standing next to him, he was versed enough to catch onto bodily reactions but yours was incredibly different. Your breath caught in your throat but you still let out an audible gasp, you stiffened under his glare and your face started to blush a heated rose with every moment he stared at you. Lips parted, eyes widened with a surprised sheen, teeth clamping onto your lower lip- he didn't know he had the ability to draw that type of reaction out of you. He hasn't really seen a woman react like that before. Especially because of something he did.

Jesus Christ, it's like you've never been touched before.

He stole another glance at you. You were incredibly bashful, not in a nervous way but in an endearing shyness. Naive but knowing, chilling but warm...sexy yet sweet. A mystery altogether and Sherlock wanted to uncover all the secrets you were hiding, you were concealing something and he wanted to find out what it was. It was nagging him relentlessly. He was in spite of it. Sherlock was able to deduce anything about anyone but he couldn't place his finger on you, maybe it's because he couldn't but maybe it was because he didn't want to. This helpless attitude he was beginning to adopt was disarming him and he did not like it one bit. Even if he did want you, he simply wouldn't have the opportunity, you were as blocked off as he was.

Stop, Sherlock. She's much too young.

Sherlock's sex life was incredibly demanding. It never really occured to others that he had a sex life at all but what he demanded in the bedroom was intricate and detailed- he fucked his women in the way he alone wanted. He pushed the limits of every woman he had ever bedded and to some it may be shocking that he had a line of women begging for him.

Sherlock's tastes were very singular, specific and he was beggining to question if...you...were adventurous in bed. He shouldn't even be thinking about you in this way because you seemed so...innocent. Normally he didn't find that attractive but you were a fascinating creature altogether.

His brow creased. He could quite literally feel you shiver. He wondered if you were cold or nervous, but it all began to click- the puzzle pieces began to fall into place and he only realised once you were alone in his presence.

He asked you to meet him at Baker Street.

You were filled with dread and pining, you weren't even sure if it was quiet or loud pining but the desperation that was beginning to bubble within you was becoming very difficult to control and hide. Especially when the object of your desires wanted you to meet him..alone. You were so sweet for him. So ready for him but concern began whirring the cogs in your mind...for one, Sherlock Holmes was quite frankly unattainable and you were...inexperienced. Either way you were fucked, and not in the way you wanted too. He was just too potent, too strong and he could see through anything and everyone, you couldn't deal with the embarrassment he would be so unashamed to put on you- dealing with the ramifications of that would simply be your downfall.

But you couldn't find it in your bones to say no. Saying no to Sherlock Holmes? It simply wasn't within you, you couldn't find the strength to pretend not to want him anymore. Your heart thundered with every step you took up those stairs. Velveteen and living single wasn't really cutting it for you anymore.

‘’Sherlock?’’ You called after him as you creaked the door open, not really expecting an answer from him. ‘’Sherlock, what do you want?'’ You sighed exasperated and annoyed by the way he was keeping you waiting.

He was very certain with himself. He had a simple hypothesis but he wasn't sure if it was true, it really couldn't be true. Sherlock came out from the kitchen to see you standing there, trying to keep yourself cool, calm and collected but anyone with a brain stem could see that you were filled with panic. He straightened his blazer and unbottoned it as he made his way over to you.

‘’Can I try something? Please.’’ Sherlock asked with inquisitive and dark eyes, you were wondering what he wanted, what he was going to do. ‘’An experiment of sorts.’’

All you could do was mindlessly nod. ‘’Yeah.’’ You breathed.

Sherlock gazed into the endless summer of your eyes. If time stood still you'd take this moment and make it last forever. Your pupils dialated and that was something to cross off his checklist, his face was nearing yours and you blinked up at his dumbly. Your breath mingled with his and you stilled once his fingertips grazed up the bare skin of your arm, the pads flowing on the suppleness like oil upon water. Smooth skin left with goosebumps, you let out a shaky breath- completely confused yet enthralled with what he was doing.

His head dipped near your ear. Sherlock could feel your pulse kick into overdrive, he felt your body alight as he neared you- warm breath coating your skin. You were so damn shy, bright, deep and arousing as hell.

‘’No. It simply can't be true.’’ Sherlock muttered, he let go of you and you felt as though the sun just left everything in complete darkness.

Sherlock swayed slowly to lean on the edge of the table, arms crossed and the way he stood was enough to make electricity shoot down your thighs. Sherlock was shocked. It really couldn't be true but he secretly hoped it was.

‘’What are you talking about?’’ You asked impassively, afraid to reveal too much of yourself and the desire to jump his bones you were feigning in.

Sherlock finally pieced together you hadn't had anyone. You were a virgin.

It made his breath halt in his tracks when he came to the realisation, aren't people your age supposed to be fucking like bunnies? It was an objective expression: you were beautiful, sweet, charming and completely disarming. You had barely been touched. The thought is strangely appealling. Inexperienced? He could work with that, God knows he wanted to.

‘’Have you been kissed before?’’ Sherlock asked out of the blue, completely oblivious to how dumbfounded you were.

‘’Of course I have.’’ He thought you looked offended.

Yeah, you've been kissed but not often.... for some damn reason, it pleased him.

‘’Have you ever been touched before?’’ He questioned as if it was a normal thing to say.

You opened your mouth to talk but you couldn't find it in yourself to speak.

Hmm…interesting.

You were so...different. So different to his other women. He liked that.

And he wanted to fuck you, spank you and watch your skin pink beneath his cold hands. You weren't talking, that's out of the question now- isn't it?

He wanted to whip you into shape, your mouth would need training of course but he liked your naivite- it provided a challenge. Well maybe not fuck, that's too heavy handed for you. Maybe he could break you in...show you the ropes. It would be a novel experience for the both of you.

The look in Sherlock's eyes was that of fire swirling into a cylone, he sauntered his way over to you like a sly fox. Your chest was heavy as you looked up at him, the proximity between you two growing smaller and smaller. You daren't blink when he hooked his fingers up from your chin and jutted it up slightly- the feeling of his hands on yours was enough to do you in.

‘’I would like to bite that lip.’’ Sherlock grumbled concisely, his voice low and authoritative and your lips parted in surprise, he grazed his thumb over the soft pink flesh of your lips.

‘’I think I'd like that too.’’ You whispered, shocked by your own words.

‘’Where have you been? How have you been- how could you…?’’ Sherlock breathed, eyes inquisitive. Imploring you to make him understand how no one had taken you, no one had had you or touched you. How could it be possible?

‘’Waiting.’’ You breathed as you felt his hands cradle your face. ‘’For you.’’

‘’And a nice young man hasn't swooped you off of your feet? Men must throw themselves at you.’’

You were melting, knees buckling- you felt pathetic.

‘’No. No one. Just wanted you.’’ You exhaled, so intense and certain of your desire for him as you give him a bright come hither look, he was startled by the fact you weren't feeling so innocent now.

‘’Can I kiss you?’’ Sherlock asked politely and under his breath, which he wouldn't normally do but for you he was willing to bend the rules, his rules and it made him irate. He didn't like his specific rules he set be broken...he was just so curious about you that he was pushing to just get you out of that skirt, gag you and fuck you over the table but he had to tread lightly.

You shocked him when you grabbed him by the collar like instinct and slanted your mouth against his. Sherlock twisted his hand in your hair while your lips seek to find his. You moan into his mouth, the call of a siren and finally he could sample you: mint, tea, peach and an orchard of mellow fruitfulness, a fresh full supply that he wanted to drown in. Innocence and sweetness.

You taste every bit as good as you look.

You reminded him of a time of plenty. Good Lord, he was yearning for you.

Sherlock grasped your chin, deepening the kiss and your tongue tentatively touches his...exploring. Considering. Feeling. Revelling. Kissing him back.

Good God in Heaven. You thought you would grow wings before you could see the day, this could only happen in your wildest fantasies and dreams. A manifestation of sorts. You were punch drunk off of his taste, completely intoxicated beyond your reach and you didn't want to let go but you had to tear your lips away from his to breathe.

‘’I want to take you now...can I?’’ Sherlock had to ask politely, he couldn't just jump your bones although he wanted to.

‘’Sherlock, please. Do whatever you want with me, take control, I don't care. Just because I haven't been touched in this way doesn't mean I'm fragile and breakable. Fuck me how you want to, show me what you like. I've waited long enough, just do something.’’

Your voice sensual and that of an exotic creature, far too holy to be considered earthly. Sherlock had to contain his amusement and surprise, wow you were pulling the rug from under him and he liked that a lot. Those big doe eyes wide and gleaming to give you a morsel of the pleasure you were craving. He loved your incessant blushing.

‘’You don't mean that.’’ Sherlock warned.

‘’Yes I do.’’ Your voice timid.

‘’You're incredibly brave. I'm in awe of you.’’

‘’I feel like I'm too clothed.’’ You flirted.

Sherlock wanted to taste you, eat you out until tears were leaking down your face and then shock you with his cock.

He'd get there soon...in time. Maybe next time, he'd use the riding crop.

Yeah, yeah keep dreaming Sherlock. You have her here right now, just ease into it.

When he gripped you by the hand and lead you to his room, you felt your cheeks pink in desire. Sherlock felt a wholly unexpected thrill unfurl inside of him. He held you flush against his body. You gasp in surprise and his loud thoughts were subdued by his libido, he was so damn horny because of you- you had no clue how arousing you where. So alluring.

Sherlock's fingers tug at your hair, pulling your face up to his as he gazed into your captivating eyes.

This is so different...so intimate. It felt so heated. Although there was no arrangement made between you two, nothing placed, no limits set, you weren't his to do with as he pleases but yet he was still excited.

Aroused. It was obvious the way he was trying to reign his eagerness in when he was peeling you out of your clothes. You were shivering into his feather light touches, your body was alight like the fourth of July- a million fireworks exploding into the clear night sky and you were bathing in the feeling. He was so damn seductive. It was an unfamilair and exhilerating feeling, the desire for him coursing through you, at the tipping edge of a giant rollercoaster.

Sherlock got you half naked fairly quickly, he kneeled in front of you as you stood and your eyes widened. Sherlock Holmes on his knees? Dear God. You felt so special. He got you in your bra and now he wanted to peel your skirt off. His gleaming eyes met with yours and they daren't waver, they were blown out and dialated. Sherlock hands gripped onto your hips and he kissed the skin below the hem of your skirt and it began riding up with his nose as it travelled north. You whimpered and threw your head back in pure ecstasy. Your brows tensed as he stopped kissing you and finally shimmied your skirt down your legs.

Damn it.

His cock hardened in his pants. You in stockings? You in fine lingerie even though you had no one getting to see you like this, this…intimate? Who were you wearing them for? Him? Oh fuck. He was on top of the world.

His nose trailed over your panties and the scent of you was simply perfect, so delicious, he was salivating.

‘’Do you have any idea what I'm going to do to you?’’ He grumbled, planting kisses on your thighs.

You whined at nothing, the words filling you up entirely. You were entranced- lost in his spell- he was clearly happy with himself.

‘’Do you want me to kiss you here, sweetheart?’’ Sherlock asked and you nodded fervently as his mouth was dangerously near the place where your ache was.

Lord, you were pulsating. Soaked.

‘’Yes. Please.’’ You agreed politely and he loved how naive and cute you were, it was delightful that you remembered your manners.

Sherlock's thick finger pulled your panties to the side as he kissed and suckled on that spot that no one else had touched. You felt electricity course through you, your hands flew to his soft curls to tug at it. It made him feel so good. His tongue was doing his magic now, swiping and suckling on your swollen clit, illiciting these lewd noises out of you in the process.

You were seriously about to cry, it was all so much.

You grabbed his face to make him stand and he got on his feet in quick hot flashes, his mouth was fastened to yours again. You moaned into his mouth when his tongue tangled with yours again, you could taste yourself off of him- it was so damn erotic, something out of a dream. When he ripped his lips from yours to see the wanton look in your eyes, he found that you were covered in a delicious rose, your breathing shallow and quick. You were clearly embarrassed at how quickly he got you like this.

Sherlock groaned when you gripped onto his arms, he finally reached behind you and unclasped your bra. Your tits fell free and he immediately palmed at them, your nipples were painfully hard and it made him realise how badly you actually wanted him. Your skin was warm as you flushed. It was the first time anyone else had seen you naked and the fact it was the infamous Sherlock Holmes made it all the more better.

'So pretty, I want to mark your skin up, make you mine." He wasn't sure why he blurted the last part. Would he make you his? Well you weren't.

‘’Do it then.’’ You breathed.

Like clockwork, he obeyed. His teeth sunk into the skin of your neck as he littered bites all down the column of it, leaving his mark on you.

His mark all over you. You then noticed that he was still fully clothed and it made you frown and Sherlock saw that as he peeked at you.

‘’What's with the frown? Am I not satisfying you enough?’’ He taunted.

‘’You've still got clothes on.’’ You pouted. ‘’Let me take it off for you.’’ You offered so deliciously and for once, Sherlock let you. It was unheard of, but you were already bending his rules.

You unbuttoned his shirt and peeled it off him, but before you could revel in his physique he pushed you onto the bed. Your face contorted into different scenarios of pleasure and he wasn't even inside you yet. Sherlock fawned over you, hands roaming every inch of your skin, your hands raking in his hair. Breath warm as he kissed you. Your hands flew to his pants.

Whoa...gentle. Easy. So...eager. He liked that. The naive innocent itching to just get into his pants- interesting.

You unzipped it and Sherlock finally let his cock spring free. He peeked up at your face to check that you were still keen but it was more than that. You were desperate. Your mouth formed into an 'o' as it popped open, eyes wide with how big he was. It startled you, even envisioning what it would look like. He was leaking. Fuck.

‘’You still want this?’’ He checks again and you nodded furiously, already panting. Has he ever been this aroused? He didn't get it…it must be you.

Sherlock postioned himself in between your thighs as he slid into you so he could take you on his whim. Your eyes were open wide, imploring him as you strained. Should he be gentle and prolong the agony or just go for it?

The need to posses you clouds him. He goes for it.

You cry out and the pain felt so fucking God, the sting burned and you fucking loved it.

‘’Is that okay?’’ Sherlock checked as his eyes bore into yours, your face was etched in pure pleasure.

‘’Mmhmm...fuck...it feels...nice.’’ You whisper in his ear, moaning and whimpering and it was like his favourite sound of music.

Nice?

Sherlock? Nice?

Oh no, that's not good enough.

Sherlock wasn't nice in bed he was downright devilish in bed but for you he was willing to be soft, maybe later he'll fuck you in every way possible.

He had never felt this desire. This hunger before. He wanted so much from you but for now, he wanted you to cum on him.

Sherlock eased in and out of you slowly, eyes connected and scorching. Intimate. Hot. Slow. Normally, he would've pinned your hands above your head but right now they were in his hair and that's exactly where he wanted them to be right now. He began to pick up the pace and your moans echoed throughout his bedroom. It was just beginning to dawn on you that you were being fucked by Sherlock Holmes in his own bedroom.

‘’You're so fucking wet, I love it.’’ He cooed condescendingly and you didn't find it in yourself to care.

Sherlock reached you at the hilt, hitting that spot over and over as he kissed your lips and your jaw. He was just relentless and perfect.

‘’..God..'’ It was more of a strangled cry than an actual word.

‘’Cum with me...feel it with me, baby.’’

That's it…Feel it.

He loved that you were so responsive, he'd have to keep you in line for that later though. The pet name drove you to insanity as you bottomed out, gushing onto him as the flood gates opened and you had none of the means to keep them closed. Your cry was incandescent and it made him follow you in your footsteps. How telling. It was an explosive collision, a once in a lifetime event. That blush began to coat and prick your skin again.

When he finished, he rolled off beside you to regain his breath. The air was so thick and fulfilled, fire and erosion turning the atmosphere to molten lava. You cut through the pants.

‘’Am I supposed to thank you...because..uhm. Thank you.’’ You breathed bashfully, so sensual in your stance but you attempted to collect yourself and he wanted to laugh.

You were so amusing. So fun.

‘’This was more for me than you.’’ Sherlock admitted truthfully.

‘’Humility will always be a mystery to you.’’ You raised your eyebrow as you leaned to your side to peek up at him. Silence encompassed the air as your statement was incredibly true, he wasn't oblivious to it.

‘’How on Earth have you avoided…?’’ Sherlock seemed exasperated, confused as his brows creased but you cut him off.

‘’I told you, I wasn't interested. I only wanted you.’’

#bbc sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes fluff #sherlock smut #sherlock holmes angst #sherlock x fem!reader #sherlock holmes smut #sherlock fanfic

[annesthaeticc]

lovers rock | sherlock x fem!reader

| Sherlock Holmes x Fem!Reader

| one shot , song fic

| 961 words

| 'because love can burn like a cigarette, and leave you alone with nothing...' What Sherlock and Y/N had was beautiful, but it crashed and burned.

A/N okay bear with me it's short, but hey it's something, right? testing the waters asi hopefully hopefully come back into writing. let me know what you think!

————————————————————————————————

“Such a small world,” you quietly said and watched as the air escaped your lungs, echoing your words. The party inside was loud, but not loud enough for the silence outside was piercing yet calming. And so, he heard you. Slowly, he turned to see who spoke and found your silhouette, your shape outlined amongst the trees and the pillars.

Slowly, he walked towards you. Yet another mistake he was about to make. For all the choices he made that involved you, it led to one.

One. Big. Mistake.

Sherlock heard his heart thudding. Crashing and breaking in every step he made towards you. You sat there frozen, your eyes unblinking, or at least trying not to blink for you feared that if you do so, he might disappear.

Just like he did back then.

Sherlock sometimes wished he never pursued you, but here he was, about to do the very same thing. He never learned.

“Indeed it is.” he replied, his very perfect presence now crowding over you. His shadow embraced you and your eyes finally blinked only to find he was still there, standing in front of you.

He was taller. His face is more defined. His curls, curled to perfection. His perfume was the same, or is it? His lips fuller, more inviting than ever.

Sherlock noticed this, and cannot help himself but do the very same. You were perfect in every shape and form, as the day he met you. He committed crimes before, but his favorite might be the one he is about to make; to kiss you.

Silence passed by the small distance between you and him and it was almost deafening. You were waiting for him to say something. Something along the lines of “I’m sorry I left you…” And he was doing just the same, waiting for the words like “I’m sorry I couldn't wait for you…”

“Best man leaving early?” you finally said, shyly asking. He nodded and looked away.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, cutting you off before you could even say anything.

“I was invited, well not just me really, Ian and I were…” your voice trailed off as your husband's name left your lips. Again, he nodded.

Ah yes, Ian. Sherlock knew more than you. He is decent enough, this Sherlock could guarantee. But not decent enough to leave you on your own for days, even weeks or months on end while he was traveling the world on some sort of opera tour. Sherlock didn't care enough to dig for more details.

All he knew was deep seated anger and sadness.

And this resonated through the walls of the second floor of 221B Baker Street for months. Your wedding invitation sent for him lay hopeless on his desk, waiting to be written on to confirm his invitation. He was about to decline after finally making a decision that went on for weeks, only to find out it was pointless to respond because your wedding was already done.

And so, he threw the invitation in the fire. He watched as the intricate paper got swallowed by the flames, melting into ashes, into nothing. He was mesmerized by it. How something could be nothing because of the burning flames.

He was shaken from his thoughts when he saw your hand, holding a packet of cigarettes. You were offering him one and Sherlock accepted. You sat down again on the bench and he followed, allowing a few inches between you.

Quietly, the two of you smoked. Avoiding glancing or talking. You were caught up in a trance and were shaken out of it when you felt movement. Sherlock stood up and stepped on the cigarette. His shoe dug into the grass as the last of the embers glowed.

“Going somewhere?” you asked.

“Home.” he replied, his voice deep.

“I could drive you.” you offered.

“No thank you. I’ll catch a cab.” he replied, slowly walking away.

“Sherlock, wait, please—” you caught up with him and offered to drive him once more. He declined and you almost gave up.

His figure faded into the darkness when you cried out, “Sherlock, I'm sorry.”

Tears flooded your eyes and you couldn't help. It fell from your eyes, flowing down your face. Everything was blurry and you felt your hands shaking from the nicotine and from the adrenaline of your apology.

“It's been 12 years, Y/N,” he replied. “Why are you saying sorry now?”

“Because…”

“You will not tempt me to play one of your games, Y/N. Not this time. Not ever again.”

“Sherlock, please,”

“I'm sorry? Is that all you could think? You left me, Y/N,” he cried. And now you see his face. Anger, despair, and longing painted his face,

“You left me first!” you accused him. He really did.

“And yet you couldn't wait for me, couldn't you? All the promises I made—”

“Were gone as soon as you disappeared, Sherlock.”

“Oh ye of little faith!” he said, his voice booming.

“Sherlock,” you breathlessly begged. “I'm sorry.”

Sherlock heard you, and saw your eyes. He hated you for marrying someone else, but what he hated most is seeing you cry. He pulled out his handkerchief from his jacket pocket and dabbed your face, wiping away the tears. He pulled you into his embrace, just like he did back then. When your cries died down, he pulled away then planted a kiss on your temple.

“We would never work out. You're happier with him.” Sherlock said.

“I realized that what he had, was all that it was. Nothing more, nothing less. We burned too fast until we became nothing, Y/N.” he continued.

“I loved you,” you whispered.

“And I did too. So much.” he said, his voice breaking.

————— • ————— • ————— • ————— • ————— • ——

TAGLIST:

@migurin @damiensoda @inas-thing @peachywoong @ruevz @sammiisnthere @srapalestina @winchestersgirl222 @taramaria @alexag-barnes @sleutherclaw @will0wfairy @vexedvalerie @lovecleastrange @evelynrosestuff @azu21 @getlostsquidward @bubu890 @strangefilms @ice-ksk @my-beel @doctorswitch @tuitiononlivings @windchaser1990 @swds @andrewgarfieldsloml @spencerreidslittleslut @sherlockstrangewolf @littlebadariell @whosgwyneth @cumberbitch @lostfleurs @strangeobsessed @slvtforstr4nge @jyessaminereads @dancerpanda04 @stephenstrangeaddictions @starryeddie @cemak @valoa3s @paola-carter @runningnannie @siredlust @stupidthoughtsinwriting

#benedict cumberbatch #sherlock fanfiction #sherlockbbc #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes #sherlock x y/n #sherlock x you #sherlock x fem!reader #sherlock fanfic #sherlock holmes angst #sherlock holmes jealousy #sherlock holmes smut #sherlock holmes fluff #sherlock fandom #fanfic writing #sherlock holmes fanfiction #benedict cumberbatch fanfiction #lovers rock #tv girl #sherlock song fics #sherlock x reader fanfic #Spotify

[spencerrxids]

labyrinth

pairing : sherlock holmes x fem!oc

summary :

ANNALIÉSE MOORE was young when she first met SHERLOCK HOLMES, accidentally stumbled onto him when she was running away from the small commotion she had caused which ended with him helping her out of it. He was early in his career but already making a name for himself. Being not much more than two years older than her, they’ve become close, perhaps closer than both had ever thought they would be. The young woman has seen more sides of the renowned genius detective than the one he always ought to put in front of the public's eyes. Although in recent years, they’ve found some distance between themselves, primarily because of the number of cases, Sherlock had drowned him in. And she tried, for the longest time, she tried to understand him until one day, it all stopped.

ANNALIÉSE MOORE had only been in London for a month-long after she returned from France when she heard the news of the missing EUDORIA HOLMES which then followed by the missing of ENOLA HOLMES. So it wasn't really surprising when her old friend had finally decided to acknowledge her existence again, seeking out her help. And boy was it such a privilege to have SHERLOCK HOLMES looking rather helpless on her doorstep.

tags : friends to lovers, slowburn, 1880s slowburn(?), sherlock being painfully oblivious, fluff but also angst

masterlist

chapter 01 : begin with a dance

chapter 02 : patterned days

chapter 03 : tbd

more chapter to be added

taglist! (CLOSED)

#sherlock holmes x oc #sherlock x oc #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes #enola holmes #sherlock fandom #sherlock x reader #sherlock reader insert #sherlock x you #enola 2 #fluff #sherlock holmes angst #fanfiction #sherlock holmes fanfiction

[sherlocks-blanket]

Seeing your ghost

Sherlock Holmes x reader

A/N: First of all! A big thanks towards @classickook who pretty much beta read it! Also relationship is pretty much for interpretation if it's romantic or platonic.

Words: 1,8k

Warnings: Heavy angst, major character death,drug abuse,overdose, open ending

You groggily opened your eyes and were met with only darkness. You tried to adjust your eyes to see in the pitch black, but saw nothing. First you thought that you were in the trunk of a car, but the cold fresh air from London caused a shiver to run through your body.

So your conclusion was that you were somewhere outside.

You remembered that two men knocked you out and put you in a black car. You knew that Mycroft was someone who would send a black car if he ever tried to talk to you to get through to his brother, Sherlock. He knew you were someone who Sherlock would listen to… well, sometimes, at least.

But this…

This wasn’t Mycroft’s doing. It was someone else…

‘Sherlock,’ you thought. Maybe you could…

No. You couldn’t go for your phone because, of course, those bastards had to bind your wrists with rope.

“Great,” you sighed, trying to scan your surroundings with your now dark-adjusted eyes. You couldn’t really sit up or turn with how crowded the space was.

It was different kinds of materials that you were surrounded by, from wood pieces to hay to old furniture parts. Everything was good for burning…

As if your last thoughts could be heart, it became true when you felt an aura of heat start to warm up your shivering form, followed by a wave of smoke coming through.

You started to cough as you breathed in the deadly gas.

As the rush of adrenaline pumped through your veins, hearing your heart beating through you ears, you tried to wriggle yourself out of the ropes when the panic settled into your system.

You cried out for anyone to help, hoping someone would hear you and save you before the fire could lay its hands on you, or worse, before the smoke could knock you unconscious.

***

“Move! MOVE!” Sherlock yelled, pushing people aside to get through the crowd that was surrounding a bonfire and reach his target.

The target was a burning spot where you were buried underneath.

Sherlock had received a mysterious text message on his phone with words that didn’t have any meaning. If anyone else had seen it, they would’ve ignored it, thinking it was some king of random spam; but with Sherlock… being the famous detective that he was saw the hint in it.

-Save Y/N

 

Sherlock shouted your name, hoping you would respond as he pushed the burning objects away from the pile.

The crowd was frozen in their spots and only watched in horror when Sherlock dragged your body from the fire.

“I’m a doctor! Let me through!” John called inside the mob of people, which still stood petrified towards the scene in front of them. After he got through, he rushed directly to his friend’s side and knelt down to examine you.

“Sherlock…”

The detective felt some unease as he faced John when his name was mentioned. Sherlock saw the grim expression on the doctor’s face only to get the dreadful answer he was afraid of hearing. He saw the confirmation in John who just shook his head and glanced to the ground.

Not believing any of it, he took your wrist to only come to the same conclusion.

That you were dead…

***

Blue lights illuminated the area when the police arrived along with an ambulance that didn’t matter anymore since you had passed away.

The place was full of police officers interrogating the witnesses along with paramedics who checked on everyone. One of them dropped a blanket over Sherlock’s shoulders, but no complaints came from him. The detective just sat, his face expressionless. Most people would just see an emotionless machine from the outside, but on the inside was a black void consuming him. He just couldn’t comprehend that he just lost someone from the few people who were very dear to him.

His blue eyes caught a person who transferred the black body bag with your body inside to a car and then closing the doors shut. Moments later, the vehicle took off and drove away from his sight, and now you were truly ripped away from him…

***

Days passed like seconds after your passing, and Sherlock did everything to distract himself. He took every case, even some he deemed unworthy of his attention, only to solve the in a matter of seconds. The detective overworked himself just to calm his racing mind, but in the end, even his body needed some rest and John would oftentimes find him passed out in front of his laptop with his face on the keyboard. John would then wake him up, telling him that he should go to bed, but Sherlock declined and continued to work until the cycle would repeat…

It worsened further after the funeral. He wouldn’t leave his room some days, skipped meals more often, and then the unbelievable: he stopped taking any cases.

John, Mrs. Hudson, and everyone else were clueless as to how they could help the grieving detective.

The door of the flat opened as the veteran entered the living area to find his friend sitting on his armchair, two fingers on his temple and eyes fixed on the fireplace in front of him. The warm colors of the flames lit up his face in a beautiful orange glow, but also showed what miserable shape the detective was in: prominent dark circles formed under his eyes from lack of sleep, his cheekbones were more noticeable, and a stubble grazed his chin. 

John noticed a tray with some food Mrs. Hudson had most likely brought up, along with some tea, but everything was neglected and cold by now.

“Leave…” Sherlock muttered without looking up.

“Look, I… I know Y/N’s passing is hard for you, but do you not want to find the person who was responsible for this?”

Their eyes met the moment John mentioned your name, and thinking that Sherlock had given up on finding your killer struck a sensitive nerve in the detective, which the army doctor never thought Sherlock would have done.

“You really think I didn’t try to find the murderer?”

Offended by the statement, Sherlock stood up from his position and walked passed John in haste with him following with quick steps. “Don’t’ you dare to—”

John held his breath as he stormed into Sherlock’s bedroom to find his wall full of notes lined with different colored strings on a map. It explained why he hadn’t left his room some days or why he didn’t take any more cases; he tried hard to solve this personal case just to find out who killed you.

“It was a test, but the outcome…”

“So you mean that it was an accident?” John interrupted, his eyebrows quirked up in confusion.

Sherlock shook his head, pointing at a note on the wall. “Why would someone give me a hint and a location inside a dubious text message, which I needed to decipher? Do you not see it? They wanted me to find Y/N! But…”

“But you think the outcome should’ve been with Y/N being alive… so technically, it was an ‘accident’,” the doctor finished the sentence, the last word ending in a different tone than the rest. John slowly started to understand what Sherlock had tried to imply.

“They tried to draw a reaction from me, but the purpose for what is still left unknown…” the detective voiced his thoughts in a whisper. His eyes scanned over every note he had pinned on the wall but couldn’t find the answer he was looking for. Another rare occurrence that the famous detective Sherlock Holmes was stuck on this case. It frustrated him that the murderer was still out there living their life while yours had been ripped away from you. But for what gain?

Just as John opened his mouth to voice out his current thought on the matter, Sherlock pushed him out and sealed himself inside his bedroom as he did over the past several days. A sigh left the veteran’s lips as he stood locked out from his friend again.

“Just so you know… if you need help or anything, I’m here for you.”

Sherlock heard John step away from the door as the silence filled his space again.

***

No one thought that he would reach this point again—not even Sherlock—as the needle stuck in his skin, injecting himself with any drug he could dig out from a hiding spot inside his bedroom, hidden away from curious gazes.

He needed it for altering his brain to increase his thought process and to numb his emotions that people called pain, but he never thought he would get the outcome of a shadow seen out of the corner of his eyes.

No one should be able to get in except…

The detective faced the window, which was closed along with the curtains that lit up the dim room. When his eyes went to the corner where he saw the shadow before, he was met with your eyes.

“Y/N?” he breathed out, his gaze open wide in shock. “No… it can’t be.”

You smiled at him, not saying anything as you slowly strutted toward him, trying to reach out for his face.

Sherlock closed his eyes and shook his head. “You’re dead. You’re dead!” he repeatedly murmured, opening his eyes again to see that you were gone. He scanned his surroundings to see if you were hiding, but no… you weren’t there anymore.

The detective dropped down to his bed, burying his face in his hands.

What just happened? Had his mind tried to comfort him or hurt him more? Was that what people called a breaking point, or was he going insane?

But, in the end, he was human like everyone else, and your death was proof of that as tear after tear streamed down his face.

Solving the case was stored in the back of his mind, his hands shaking as he reached for the syringe again. If he needed the drugs to see you, then so be it. He increased the dosage, hoping it would last longer. A sigh of relief left his lips as the needle pierced his skin.

Now he only needed to wait…

***

Mrs. Hudson was the first to noticed that the detective talked to himself. She dismissed it at first as rambling about something, even thinking that he babbled about an old case, which she wished for instead. But as it happened more often, it sounded like he was talking to someone, and the moment your name was said, the landlady started to worry, thinking the worst. She then called for John to investigate, the two of them hoping he didn’t relapse…

John broke down the bedroom door to find Sherlock lying on his bed surrounded by empty syringes. A gasp was heard from Mrs. Hudson at the state the detective was in from her position beside John.

“Sherlock!” the doctor called and rushed to his friend’s side to check on him.

His face was pale as a sheet, his gaze focused on a random spot, but his lips were surprisingly pulled into a smile like he saw something pleasant, unlike the two of them standing there.

Sherlock saw your ghost grasping his hand.

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

[fallenangellinwonderland]

The invisible girl case

I just got this prompt idea for Sherlock and reader... Might be just silly so I'm going to ramble about it.

Reader is quiet, she is nice, she does talk with workmates, but she is rather selected introverted, she is mostly an invisible gurl. One day she ends up involve in a murder. All clues lead to her somehow, but she is innocent, Sherlock is confused because they all point to her but that would be way too easy and he can read her easily, but he cannot say he is on her side because she is a big suspect! Even John thinks she did it. And slowly Sherlock starts falling for her and that's when he feels betrayed by his brain because his feelings are getting in the way and he starts believing she is the killer. He is mean to her, he breaks her heart and one day, all pieces fall into place that's when he realizes she is a victim. She even starts believing she did it. Maybe Moriarty is behind it.

#Sherlock #Reader x Sherlock #Sherlock x reader #sherlock x you #sherlock x y/n #Sherlock x y #sherlock bbc #Bbc Sherlock #Sherlock Holmes #sherlock holmes fluff #Sherlock Holmes fic #Moriarty #Sherlock Holmes angst

[beneathashadytree]

hi! i saw that your requests were open and i was wondering if you’d write a yuumori piece?

i’m thinking either for william and/or sherlock where it takes place after the 3 years skip and they come back to find that their wife has a baby/toddler and has gotten really close with their brother. They think that she moved on from them and married their brother and had a kid with him and get all huffy and jealous and sad. And it doesn’t help that the kid looks exactly like their brother (and them too but they’re too sad/grieving for their marriage to notice)

what ACTUALLY happened was that Y/N found out she was pregnant after they had “died” and louis/mycroft decided to act as a makeshift father and “husband figure” for Y/N and the baby (though everything is strictly platonic between louis/mycroft and Y/N) cause living as a single mom back then would’ve been hard and they also want to be there for their niece/nephew. and Y/N always told their kid stories and stuff about their real father and it’s just some real sad angst turned into sweet family reunion fluff? thanks! ❤️

REUNITED - SHERLOCK HOLMES X READER

Warnings : this is set after the timeskip, Sherlock is kind of an asshole at certain points, accusations of infidelity, this is not proofread as usual, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns!

Genre : heavy angst to fluff whewww

Word count : 2.2K words (not sorry)

Additional notes : I really don’t know where to start. I’m so sorry it took me a ridiculously long time to get to this, but as soon as I finished my finals, I contracted COVID 🥹 Actually I’m still sick as we speak, but hopefully this wasn’t too effed up🫠 Thank you for requesting, and I hope you enjoy this, because I absolutely adored writing it!

Requests : Are open! Check the rules over here.

Want to support me financially? Here’s my CashApp!

Masterlist

Sherlock Holmes was a million things. Stubborn, obstinate, headstrong, and absolutely bullheaded? Certainly. Inquisitive, deeply thinking, and brimming with a curiosity that could never be sated? Definitely. Ultimately kind-hearted at times, rather drawn to souls with soft corners to their jagged personalities, and unconditionally loving when he allowed himself the luxury of affection? Unquestionably.

He was all those things and more, and he thought he knew himself pretty damn well—but he certainly hadn’t expected to think himself a fool. At times foolish; yes, but not a blundering idiot that misplaced his trust in others. Never that. But then again, what else would he call himself, with the sight that stood in front of him?

Unless his eyesight had turned drastically poor and he wasn’t seeing things right, there was his wife, seated next to the head of the table, looking so sweet that it sent his heart barreling in his chest. Any blooming adoration was dampened, however, by the fact that she’d left her dinner plate to coo at a little child at her side, napkin dabbing at the squirming toddler’s chin, and the fact that the seat at the head of the table was occupied by none other than Mycroft, who’d sported a few more lines to his face than he’d last recalled he had.

It took them mere seconds to notice his presence, and for the sound of utensils clanging as they dropped to register amidst the pang of betrayal and utter heartbreak that resounded in him.

“Sherly?” came her quivering voice, disbelief tinging the nickname that had once brought immeasurable joy into his life, and now only left a sour taste in his mouth. He couldn’t bear to meet her eyes, instead swiveling his head around and watching his older brother, whose shocked expression mirrored hers.

Instead of addressing any obvious elephant in the room, all Mycroft asked was, “How’d you get in?” to which Sherlock pulled out a key from his back pocket.

“Not quite diligent of you, brother, leaving the key under the potted plant by the windowsill,” try as he might, he couldn’t fight the bitterness out of his voice, and all he could do was attempt to look at anything else but the apparently happy couple that had hurriedly stood up, abandoning their half-eaten red flannel hash and peas.

A rather horrible decision, really, since his eyes landed on the toddler who’d currently cocked his head curiously at the stranger he was. And the first sickening thought that entered his mind was how utterly identical the little kid was to his older brother. The same narrow dark eyes, the same tousled bluish hair, and even the same finely drawn lips—there was no doubt remaining in Sherlock’s mind that this child was his nephew.

A chuckle came from behind him, “First time seeing your brother in three years after you were presumed dead, and the first words out of your mouth are an admonition? You’ve certainly grown up.”

“Yes, well, I hope my arrival hasn’t put a damper on your lovely date night,” came his curt reply, though he tried to force a half-smile on his face afterwards as a sort of compensation, “I see you’ve been faring well,” the man turned to briefly face his lover—well, ex-lover now he supposed, “The both of you. And the little boy. Certainly hadn’t thought I’d be made an uncle so young.”

It was all Sherlock could do to prevent himself from clawing at his chest, the sharp pain climbing up his throat and stinging every nerve he had, urging him to burst into horrible, absolutely ugly tears that he was currently just barely holding back. He had to feign at least some dignity and nonchalance.

At that, the woman he’d once thought he knew furrowed her eyebrows.

“Uncle? Sherly—“

“Please, Mrs. Holmes,” his voice held a certain finality as he held his hand up, and he somehow managed to swallow past the lump in his throat, “I would rather not have this conversation in front of him. Or at all, for that matter.”

And though every part of him begged to clutch at her arms and swoop her into his, the ebony-haired man turned to look the other way despite her slightly-hurt look, leaving her to gently speak to the confused-looking child in a low voice and pick him up as she walked off into another room. He refused to even think of sneaking a look at her fingers and wondering if the ring Mycroft must’ve bought her was any better than the one he’d barely managed to save up for.

Mycroft. Of course it had to be Mycroft, he bitterly thought to himself, as said man stiffly guided him to the sitting room, Mycroft whom he’d never managed to and never will best. Mycroft, with his much tidier hair, deeper set eyes, calmer visage, and regal features. Mycroft, with his unmatched maturity that somehow fit perfectly with his occasional smiles that he’d always trusted in. Mycroft, with his massive build and unwavering loyalty that his own apparent-fickleness could never compare to. Mycroft, who’d always (unknowingly) charmed ladies and gentlemen alike at the times he himself could only ever strike annoyance in others.

Mycroft, who’d always been so prim and promer—of course he’d never measure up to him. He’d never quite been enough; he really should’ve known better than to trust the insurmountable love that had blinded him—

“Sherlock, I think there’s been a… misunderstanding of sorts.”

“Rather charming child he is, isn’t he?” the faux cheer in his voice as he interrupted his older brother couldn’t fool anyone as he studied the baby pictures on the fireplace, “Your son takes after you quite a bit.”

Mycroft sighed, crossing his legs, “It really isn’t that—“

“Better hope he’d have a bit more loyalty and faithfulness than his father, though,” he hummed, though the look on his face could only be described as utterly miserable, “Never quite liked chaps who were too full of themselves and went and backstabbed their friends and families.”

“Oh, honestly,” exasperation seeped through the man’s words as he attempted to get a word in edgewise, “Pull your head out of your dramatic arse and listen to me.”

If not for anything else, Sherlock was stunned into silence by the older man’s uncharacteristic foul language. Sharp eyes found his, and though the bitterness still clutched at his heart and heartbreak still clouded his vision, he clenched his fists as he could only see earnestness in his eyes.

“He’s yours,” Mycroft slowly said, letting the words sink in, “You’re the father.”

Silence enveloped them, and the air was thick with an inexplicable sort of tension. No words were spoken, as Sherlock’s face turned expressionless as the gears in his head set to work.

“That’s not possible,” he scoffed, his tone snarky, “She wasn’t pregnant before… before it happened.”

“That’s what we thought, didn’t we?” a soft sigh came from behind him, and he whipped around to see the woman he’d once embraced so hard he’d had no idea where he ended and she began, standing at the doorway with her arms folded, “Barely a month after you disappeared, I went to see a doctor for my repeated dizzy spells, only to have him confirm that I was with child. Just two months along.”

With careful strides, she took a seat by the fireplace, regarding the way Sherlock’s features began to contort into a look of offended fury.

“So, you decided to just go ahead and court my wife because I was presumed dead?” he rolled his eyes, once again turning away from the familiar gentle face that stirred up all the memories of nightly embraces and warm words whispered, “Ex-wife, it seems. Have you been comfortable playing the role of doting husband and father, Mycroft?”

“You know damn well he’d never do that, Sherlock,” she finally snapped, quickly making her way over to his side and cornering him on the couch, arms resting at both sides of his head, “Mycroft saved us from a world of misery. He protected both my reputation as a widow, and our son’s happiness. So he could grow up surrounded by the sort of love only a father figure could give.”

“I’m not quite sure you’ve noticed, but that’s the definition of playing father and husband,” Sherlock’s eyes were burning, and he knew that the cause wasn’t just the anger bubbling inside of him, but the tears that he held back, “With the actual father and first husband gone, he’d finally step in.”

“What did you expect me to do, leave them out on the streets so that the ‘Ton could dig into their flesh?” Mycroft’s interruption was scathing, but not untrue, and his harsh scowl let up as he spoke again, “I made it clear to him from the start that I was a concerned uncle, nothing more, nothing less. I wanted to be there for my nephew.”

“And I’d never let a day pass without telling him about how wonderful and brilliant his papa was—is,” she corrected herself, a sad look settling in her eyes as she did, “Even when I was all alone in bed with nothing to keep me company but the baby’s kicks against my belly, I spoke to him and told him of how lucky I’d been to have found you,” she paused, swallowing thickly, and he could feel his heart thudding in his chest at the sight of her looking so beautiful and yet so heartbreakingly distraught, “How sorry I was that he’d probably never get the chance to meet the incredible man you are.”

“Sherly,” his brother’s voice was soft once again, and the gentleness in it had him nearly gasping for breath, trying to blink back his tears as he met his eyes, “I would’ve never forgiven myself if I’d left them to fend for their own. I owed that much to you.”

Harshly gulping, Sherlock unclenched his fists, knuckles a little sore, “And… there’s nothing going on between the two of you?”

Fervently shaking her head, the woman he thought to be the most wondrous in the world cupped his cheeks in hers. Under any other circumstances, perhaps he’d have felt embarrassed of such a display of affection in front of Mycroft, but he currently could only let himself lean into the touch he’d gone three achingly long years without.

“Never had, and never will,” she firmly replied, “I was too busy mourning to ever think of anyone else. I knew I’d only ever have eyes for you, come what may.”

“I’ve never laid eyes upon her in a way a brother wouldn’t,” Mycroft insisted, driving the point home clear, his large, calloused hand resting on his younger brother’s shoulder reassuringly, “And we’ve slept in entirely different wings the whole time.”

“B-but, he looks so much like you,” Sherlock weakly protested, looking up at the man whose expression seemed annoyed at the remark.

“How you could be so bright and yet so painstakingly thick at the same time is beyond me,” he muttered under his breath, walking away as he said something about this being outside his area of expertise, at the same time his beloved chuckled lightly, her laugh fanning the flames that were being rekindled in his heart—or rather, the ones that had never died.

With her dazzling smile, her fingers brushed his cheeks, which he only now realized had grown damp, and her voice was filled with amusement as her eyes brimmed with a fondness he’d so desperately missed.

“Silly,” she breathed out, “I think you’ve forgotten how uncannily similar you and Mycroft always had looked, especially as kids.”

Sniffling, Sherlock tried his best to weakly make a joke, “Not exactly the most reassuring thing to say.”

“Why not?” she looked genuinely confused as she delicately wiped his falling tears away; the tears he could no longer be bothered to hold back when the emotional turmoil had gotten the best of him and tugged forth every feeling he’d tried to silence.

With a watery half-laugh, he explained, “Well, what if you found him just as dashing?”

“You’re not the sharpest tool in the shed, now, are you?” still cradling his warm skin like one would to an invaluable treasure, she hesitated for a second before lowering herself onto his lap, the new proximity causing Sherlock’s breath to hitch in his throat like a teenager’s would.

Arching his brow (despite knowing he looked anything but intimidating at the moment), he quipped, “Twice in a row I’ve had my intelligence insulted.”

“Well, only an idiot would think I’d ever think of comparing the man who has me so smitten with anyone else,” her hands slowly traced down a path to the back of his neck, hooking around the corded muscle, and he could see his longing and lovesick reflection in her eyes, “No matter how alike you might look, I’ll always see the world of a difference between you and him.”

He cautiously leaned in, hope bursting at the seams under his skin; hope that all was in fact not lost, hope that he could still grasp her between his fingers and not have her slip away. “A good difference, I’d wager?”

And now that they were so close he could retrace every single dot and line he’d almost but not quite forgotten, he could see the glint of gold deep down her neckline; the metallic hue of the wedding ring he’d labored so hard to afford hooked on a thin chain around their neck and hidden underneath her clothes.

If she saw the tears dripping down his face, she made no comment on it, instead murmuring against his lips, “The best kind.”

Taglist: @sherlockscumslut @lilias-highlights @thispersoniscrazy

#imagine #oneshot #fluff #anime #domestic #angst #angst to fluff #sherlock holmes #sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes oneshot #sherlock oneshot #sherlock holmes fluff #sherlock holmes angst #sherlock fluff #sherlock angst #yuukoku no moriarty #moriarty the patriot #ynm #ynm sherlock #yuukoku no moriarty sherlock #moriarty the patriot sherlock #ynm sherlock holmes #yuukoku no moriarty sherlock holmes #moriarty the patriot sherlock holmes #mycroft holmes #mycroft #ynm mycroft

[strrynigghts]

— series

— oneshots

#sherlock holmes #sherlock fandom #henry cavill sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes smut #sherlock holmes angst #sherlock holmes fluff #henry is so daddy idgaf #strry writes

[curlyjohnlock]

Well, we already know that John had hallucinations of Mary after she died. He could see her and he even talked to her.

Now, I'm more than sure that the same thing happened after Sherlock's Fall.

Oh boy, I feel like this should've been the plot for S3 😭

You can read my latest fanfics here 🥂

#bbc sherlock #johnlock #john watson #sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlockbbc #sherlock bbc #sherlock fandom #martin freeman #benedict cumberbatch #angst #morning angst #john x sherlock #johnlocked #sherlock x john #sherlock holmes/john watson #sherlock headcanon

[itstheimpossibledream]

Finished

Pairing: Henry Cavill x you

Prompt:Henry & y/n invited to his moms for thanksgiving. Mom also invites his ex.His mom is super strict so everyone is supposed to have separate rooms, mostly for his ex to slip into his room but she opens the door to find you sitting on his face.

This one was kind of tough but, ended up being a super fun story to write!Hope you guys enjoy it !Thanks for your ask, hope this lives up to the expectation.

“Are we going?” you ask quietly.

“Do you want to go?”  he says, cocking an eyebrow in your direction.

“I mean….. It’s your mother. We kinda have to.” he pulls you in closer letting out a low hmmm. 

“Yes. but, I don’t visit her often for a reason.” he says quietly. The heft of his arm and the sheets around you calling you to relaxation. 

“And what’s that reas-”

“She’s crazy.” he says bluntly. You laugh,immediately knowing he’s joking . It was very out of character for him to call anyone out of their name. Much less his own mother. You look up at him to notice he isn’t laughing, not even smiling.

“O Henry, come on! She is not crazy, I’m sure she just misses you. That’s why she calls so often.”

He caresses your face “My mother is a tiny, blonde psychopath. I love her with all my heart but, everytime I bring a woman home she gets so attached I- it’s hard to explain.” he trails off.

“Guess I’ll just have to meet her then!” you squeal sleepily into his chest before drifting away in an ocean of plans.

You packed, you brushed your teeth, and were ready early in time for the flight. Henry slept most of the way but, you were too filled with questions of if she would like you, and what he of all people meant by calling his mother an attached psychopath. The hours ticked away and you looked worriedly from the clock on your phone to Henry.

“Maybe she just forgot we were coming today?Should we call?” you ask

“Nooooo. No. She has forgotten nothing. This is what she does. Constantly trying to keep me on my toes, I guarantee you she’s up to something.”

You snort through your nose “Henry I guarantee your mother is not that malicious.”

“Have you met her yet?” he jokes flatly. Just then the car pulls up a decently clean but embarrassingly tiny red kia soul, flying like a bat out of hell. 

You exhale, taking a step off of the curb and waiting for your moment of truth.

She jumps out of the car and runs to her son, jumping into his arms. He smiles for a minute holding her and you see the light of a little boy flicker in him for a moment. He pulls back at the sound of the trunk popping open and begins to load the bags into the back for the weekend. 

“Mrs. Marianne I am just so excited to finally get to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you and I’m really excited to-” She cuts you off turning back to her son.

“And Hen you remember Ellen.”

That’s when you see her, a leggy blonde with a perfect smile stepping out of the car that just makes your heart drop. Ellen fucking Whitaker. Ofcourse, champion show jumping horse rider from a family of professional horse trainers and not to mention gorgeous but, most importantly Henry’s ex- fiance. 

“Cool, cool ,cool ,cool” you can hear yourself muttering under your breath trying not to explode.

“Mum this is y/n! She was very excited to be invited.” he confirms, giving you some comfort that he’s on your side. 

“Mmm. Well that’s darling.” she spins on her heels heading back towards the driver’s side of the car.

You follow Henry as you both hug Ellen and exchange your greetings. She seems to think his mother bringing her here is just as ridiculous as you do and while you still despise her presence that knowledge makes it vaguely reassuring that she hasn’t come to fight for his love. 

“Henry, dear sit up here with me I want to hear all about LA.” he rolls his eyes, making his way to the passenger side while you and Ellen assemble yourselves in the back of the tiny car with the luggage. You flip your phone over in your lap and notice a text from Henry. “I love you.Don’t stress out. She’s just like this.” you text him back a heart emoji but, it’d be a lie to pretend your heart wasn’t still caught in your throat. Not only did his mother refuse to acknowledge you. But, she brought some random ass woman that she obviously plans for Henry to be with instead. Actually , no.Not random, which is even worse! Am I spirialing ? I feel like I’m spiraling. You had completely zoned out of the sweet family reunion happening infront of you an attempted to string some words together in your head that would help you explain how you feel to him when you finally got alone time. You entered the driveway of the estate and his mother handed the keys to the valet , excusing herself and calling Ellen to follow her inside. Being excluded from the girl’s powwow didn’t bother you as much since if gave you a chance to speak to Henry. The Butler offered to help but, he insisted on doing it himself, calling him by name. And you were momentarily reminded of the things you did love about Henry. You followed behind him as he carried things to the room. You tried to make small talk with him as you unzipped your suitcase and began pulling out your necessities for your facewash routine. “O ummmm-” Henry looked at you as if trying to hide back from saying something. More bad information you were sure. 

“You actually have the room down the hall.”he says sheepishly.

“What do you mean?” your eyes widen despite your attempts to quell your emotion. He has to be crazy. There’s no other way to explain.

“My mom doesn’t want me to share a bed in her home unless its with the woman I’ve marrried.” he says , hands up in a defensive position. 

You exhale slowly repacking your things. “Sure. Ofcourse. What wouldn’t she want that.”

You knew it sounded bitter but, you couldn’t help it. 

“Hey -” he grabs your arm as you head towards the door, pulling you in and kissing you .His hand coming to your cheek, fingers resting on the back of your head, giving you the comfort he couldn’t offer with words. 

“Plus” he whispers into your lips “It will be fun to sneak around like kids for a few days.”You roll your eyes at him as his hands make their way to your ass. He gropes you for a bit before you escape his grasp headed to your room or Marianne created dungeon. Actually the room was quite nice. The flowers on the wall paper felt like a bit much but, the room got great sun and wasn’t to far from the bathroom . You liked that the estate had an old-timey feel of walking down the hall to use the toilet. Plus, it allowed you more excuses to be where Henry is. You unpacked your room and then sat on the bed next to your empty suitcase before exhaling,and finding the strength to get dressed for dinner. 

You stepped gently down the stairs ,trying to avoid the steps that creak when your hear the door close behind you. Looking up over the landing you see Henry at the top of the stairs.

“What are you doing?”he asks flatly.

You become aware of your hunched back and your body language from testing the step with your toe.

“I- I just don’t want to go.” you confessed.

He rushes in your direction, “Sweetheart you don’t have to.”

“No I mean I want to I just ….I was so excited to meet your mother and she just-”

“Listen” he leans against the wall scratching the side of his face. “I was trying to protect you. I should have tried to explain her more but it’s- she’s just so embarrassing. If you want, we can cut it short and go home tomorrow.” he seems genuinely saddened that his mom had been so rude. You hadn’t even had the chance to tackle Ellen’s presence before you hear a fumbling downstairs and his mother calling for him. He looks at you silently giving you time to decide. 

“I still want to try and win her over.” you whisper back to him. He laughs a little at your  determination and offers you his arm. You walk to dinner together and his presence gives you comfort.  

At dinner your seats are assigned. Shockingly your seat is not next to Henry’s but one of their family friend’s who was also visiting. You thought it a smart call on Marriane’s part. Had it just been the four of you for dinner the meal was sure to mostly be had in silence. You sat across from Henry and although he and Ellen had a few hushed moments this test actually caused you to feel more confident in your relationship. His mom was being a bitch but, when she did he’d nudge your foot under the table. This nudge eventually turned into a quiet game of footsies but, as adults your were grateful for the reminder that no matter how it seemed he was always prioritizing you. By the time dessert came you decided you wanted to try pushing the boundaries. His mother hadn’t said anything rude to you, she simply had not spoken to you at all. And if she had already decided she hated you  then there wasn’t much left for you to do but, enjoy the sculpture of a man that she had created. You slipped your foot from your shoe and let your footsies progress to you rubbing him through his pants with your foot. His eyes shoot to you across the table,but he doesn’t give you away. You can feel him growing harder under your toes as he melts into his chair. His face looks so small and innocent, looking at you, trying so hard to be in control, to be good. His mother hurls a few rude words but, you are to turned on by the view across from you to care. Once dismissed from the table, the tempered dash to the bedroom is quick. His hand presses into your back as he practically pushes you up the stairs. His room was the closest to the stairs , as you walked past he grabs your arm , pulling you in. 

“Heeeeey hey hey.” you whisper to him as he slips his hand up your dress. “I think your mother will notice if I’m not in my room.” he groans into you. “Shhhh. I’ll come back later” you pull back winking at him. He slowly removes his hand and you turn, switching out of the room. 

You promptly switch into your best lingerie and robe while counting the minutes, listening as the sounds of the house grow softer and softer. When the coast seems clear, you softly make your way to Henry’s room. You push the door open slowly trying to mitigate the creak as much as possible.You can see his figure sitting up in the dark. You drop your robe to the ground as he closes his book. “ I thought you’d never come!” he exhales. He places his book on the nightstand and you jump into bed, straddling him. His hands reach around to cup your ass and your grab him by the wrists. 

“Don’t touch.” you warn. He cocks his head to the side as if to question the change from your usual power exchange. 

“Only with your tongue.” you smile, leaning in to kiss him. He smiles coyly and you move yourself up the headboard of the bed. You grab onto it as he pulls your panties to the side. He hums into you and you are doing your best to keep quiet as you grip down onto the headboard beneath. You reach your other hand down cradling the back of his head while his tongue explores further into you. Biting your bottom lip in an attempt to keep from crying out ,you pull his hair and his hand smack your ass in response.

“Fuck” you exhale into the darkness and just then you hear the door creak open. 

“Oh no!” you turn around to see Ellen, and no sooner than you lock eyes, you grab the duvet pulling it over both of your bodies.Henry is confused and ends up being mostly exposed during the shuffle.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Ummm your mom told me to- I’m sorry I-” She turned , rushing out of the room; a flurry of nerves and embarrassment. The door slammed behind her and you both looked at eachother, momentarily embarrassed too. But, then you both broke into laugher. This entire trip had been absurd, this is almost just on brand. You lift your leg in an attempt to end your straddling of him , when he stops you with a hand to your lower back. Smiling while looking up at you he says 

“I wasn’t finished yet.” and you melt back into him. 

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x female reader #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x little!reader #henry cavill x female ofc #henry cavill x pregnant reader #henrycavillau #henry cavill angst #henry cavill au #henry cavill as superman #henry cavill superman #henry cavill sherlock holmes #henry cavill sherlock x reader #henrycavillactor #faanfic #fanfic #smut #henry cavill smut #henry cavill sex #henry cavill series #henrycavillromance #henry cavill geralt #henry cavill witcher #henrycavillwife #henry cavill art

[futureplayboibunnie]

‘Weak’

BBC! Sherlock Holmes x fem! reader

- just had to jump back on the bandwagon with some smut that makes me need to find God.

Sherlock's fingers trembled and stilled against the fine string of his violin. His mind was cloudy grey, his throughts strayed to the black of the night that was cast outside. He was distracting himself with some composition because he was distracted from work by being distracted by you. He was shaking, or was that just the skill needed for vibrato?

He couldn't get a specific section of his composure right, every single trial and error ended up in his frustration levels increasing.

Sherlock just couldn't get it right, and he always got it right. Foggy minded and exasperated, little thoughts of you popped up in the forefront of his mind. His fingers couldn't help but create brash, jagged sounds with his violin with every fleeting thought of you and it made his jaw tick.

She's good Sherlock. Kind. She's not like you.

Shut up, he grunted to himself. His inner consciousness and his inner most desires in a constant and escalating battle, teeth grinding against each other - he tried to ignore it.

She's confusing, effortless wit needed to be performed as always but you can put up with that, can't you?

Sush. Now. He countered.

You gazed at the bare skin of her back once.

That was by accident.

Don't you want to see more?

No I don't.

Yes. Yes you do. Call her, make her come here.

To Sherlock's twisted intuition, he called you about three hours ago for you to come to Baker Street three hours after the call. He knew he would want you near him due to your incessant distraction, might as well have you in the flesh instead of his imagination. His imagination was...vast when it came to you. His fingers dug into the string and indented with every step that echoed with your footsteps. You were here, and he didn't know what to say to you

"Hey, you called for me.' You declared sweetly.

His eyes pounced on you and he clattered his violin onto the floor, pupils never wavering. You were waiting at the door with an inquisitive look on your face, waiting for the hail mary or help with another mind boggling case. Sherlock straightened his posture up as well as unbuttoning his suit blazer, he needed to kill time, fill the air up with nothing in order for it to mean something. His brain was fogged up like a never ending unnatural mist. Sherlock came behind you and shut the flat door. You realized that he had been pacing, his eyebrow creased when he had been pacing or if his mind was heavy with something. And as if it was clockwork, he was pacing up and down the room and his fingers were triangular upon his face as if he was contemplating a choice. He stopped in his tracks and stared at you blankly as always.

'Sherlock, what is it?' You raised an eyebrow at his strange but not infrequent behaviour.

'I'm unsure if I can continue in such a way." Sherlock blurted and it confused you more than anything, his blue eyes boring into you from blank to cold.

'What are you talking about?' You sighed out tirelessly, flinging your bag onto the floor. Too concerned with your inhability to comprehend how exhausted you were than Sherlock's mind games. 'Maybe it's time to stop composing, don't you think?'

'No, no stop that. It's not about that. It's you. It's always you.’ He breathed out but he was too busy trying to intellectualise his emotions rather than looking at how dumbfounded you were. Your eyes were wild with confusion, you relayed all of your interactions with Sherlock in case you accidentally did something embarassing in front of him. Or said something embarrassing in front of him that hinted at your pulsating feelings for him.

'Have I done something?' Your voice was hushed and barely above a whisper. Your heart was humming at a commenstrual rate and you prayed that he didn't notice. Sherlock inched closer and closer to you, eyes cast down for a split second to remark at the fact vou were wearing a skirt. A short skirt.

'Yes you have. You've done something to my head and I don't like it, my mind was clear and now it's all...you. I called you earlier today because I assumed that I would feel the need to take this alarming revelation away but you have beguiled me to the point where it is becoming a disraction. I am married to my work, my work is something that never dies. I'm now deciding to do what you lot do when stunted with feelings of an enlarged nature by confessing to make these feelings go away so I can get back on track.' Sherlock's feet hand a mind of their own, he was right infront of such gleaming fascinating eyes that were flitting to his lips now.

What a sight.

'Doesn't go away just like that.’ You responded with a half smile, internally happy with yourself that you got him all messy for you.

"Silly little emotions, you people have too many of them.' He sneered down at you but you saw the truth, Sherlock was sexually frustrated and he was at his wits end. You almost felt sorry for him.

‘Another thing us humans feel is sexual desire, I doubt I've been on your mind that much you'd even consider sex a possibility.' You smirked up at him, trying to wrap up your words in sarcasm, but it was too loose. You wanted him to take you and it was obvious by your voice alone.

'Sexual desire is something the weak feel. If a person can lose their inhibitions by the slightest show of skin, or the curve of...her lips-' Sherlock cut himself off when his gaze lingered onto your lips and making the mishap and spoke the word 'her' but you picked up right where he left off.

'Or a feather light touch...’ You cast your eyes down to where your fingers were grazing against his. Sherlock sucked in a small breath and your mind was turning into static, this proximity was delicious and so unexpected. Your eyes met his and this time it was palpable and electric.

'Are you calling me weak?' Sherlock raised a questioning eyebrow, so confident in his guarded walls but you had all the means to knock them down.

You didn't respond.

'Eyes dialating at 3 beats a second, blown out, the colour is barely visible. Your knees are buckling slightly, probably due to the pressure of such discerning gazes meeting or the fact that your imagination is running wild with you in multiple different compromising scenarios. You on top, me on top. Me taking control, you taking control- it's difficult to figure out actually because you have a smart mouth yet it's as if you want to be put in your place. Maybe a psychological response, maybe a lack of a father figure. But you probably like it rough considering the fact you rip your cuticles away, breathing shallowed and laboured indicates sexual attraction. What I'm looking down at right now...is doing all those things.' Sherlock deduced lowly and it made your mouth pop open. Not in shock because of the way he saw through you...but because of the fact that he was doing the same exact thing.

Silence sprayed through the air and your teeth clamped onto your lower lip. Sherlock creased his brow and lowered his stare through his lashes and you just grabbed him by the collar and smashed your lips on his.

Like an inexperienced teenager, he was stunned but as you started glazing your tongue over his lips he began melting into you. He cupped your face before ultimately tangling his digits through your hair, you moaned into his mouth at such a delectable thing. You ripped your face away from his to look at his cool blue, breezy eyes. The man that never let anyone get too close let alone kiss him, you felt so fucking special. You leaned in, wrapping your arms around his neck, and whispered into his ear.

'Has your confession made your silly little emotions go away ?' You breathed and it sent a chill through him, the cadence of your voice was seduction incarnate. Sherlock was smart enough to never give into temptation no matter how much it shrieked his name, but you were the object of it all. He was willing just this once.

What stunted him was the fact that his nerves had boiled away and were no where to be seen, he had never carried out the physical practicalities of it but his scientific results and his incessant abilities to deduce people based on their appearance and their bodliy reactions to things is what would make him differ than the rest in bed. Sherlock wanted to give you a taste of it all, you more than earned it.

He pulled your face away from his ear by your hair so your glares could inteconnect once more, your mouth was agape and let out a breathless gasp.

'I can make you weaker than you are.' He stated lowly, in an almost growl like way if you listened to it harder. You were getting wetter and wetter with every word that was coming out of his mouth.

"Show me.' You belittled through challenging eyes.

His mouth slanted on yours again, more desperate and sloppy this time around and it made you tug on his soft curls, he let out a hiss. Sherlock crouched down and grabbed at the back of your thighs so that you could straddle him as he hurridely walked you to his bedroom, mouths still sewn together. He got you sprawled out on the bed and tore you of your clothes so quickly you would have been embarrassed any other time...but it was Sherlock. Who could blame you? You were naked before him, bar your underwear, and felt incredibly sexy under his gaze. Your body left him speechless. He had been fascinated by it ever since he accidentally came into contact with the skin of your back in your cute little dress.

He couldn't help but imagine what the rest of you looked like...and now here you both are. Fulfilling each others desires.

Sherlock locked his door instantly, rushing to get his blazer off as if he was dying to get his hands on you. The rate in which he ripped off his suit shirt was so fast the buttons popped and sprayed over the room, your eyebrows tensed in pleasure as your walls clenched around thin air.

You needed his cock in you now; he nestled between your legs and leaned up so he could drink in the sight of you. Round pert tits and hard nipples, more for him to savour for himself.

"Oh God...' He whimpered as he screwed his eyes shut. You beamed up at the fact you had got the infamous detective in such a state.

'Your heart is beating faster than mine.' You quipped with a sly smirk on your face, waiting for him to wreck you into another dimension but he was toying with you. His demeanour instantly shifted. He was going to show you a lesson.

'Shhh, let me show you how fast it can go.' Sherlock cooed at you like you were a stupid, naive little schoolgirl, your fingers were itching to get his trousers off but he kissed you so hard it made you forget your own name. Fingers tangled in your hair and the other palming at your tits, his mouth strayed away from your lips to add blossoming bruises and bites at your neck. You moaned at the sensation and he revelled in the delightful sound.

Your impatient hands travelled to his belt and his zipper and your nimble fingers found his cock in no time, releasing it from its confines your eyes widened at how thick and long it is, the girth on him was outstanding.

It was rock solid. He kicked his pants and underwear off while he was at it, your slender palm stroked him up and down it made a broken moan escape from his throat, you felt on top of the world. Sherlock intertwined his fingers with yours and held them above your head, you were so pleased at his controlling nature but he deduced that you liked that earlier. Tease.

'Can you deduce that I need you inside me?' You questioned like the twat you were, preparing to tease him to push him over the edge so he can take it out on you. Sherlock gave you a knowing yet disapproving look before tearing off your panties and shimmying the reminants down your long, smooth legs.

‘Wetter than I thought was humanly possible.' His voice was thick with need.

'I thought you weren't human.' You whined as he ran his cock through your arousal, your wetness was coating him so deliciously. You squirmed into the sheets, back arching into him as skin collided against skin.

'Shut up.' Sherlock shoved his fingers in your mouth before pushing himself in you and stretching your insides out, your attempts to scream out were hindered as his fingers blocked your throat from making any noise, he smirked at the sentiment and he hated sentiment.

Sherlock pistoned his cock in and out of you and watched it disappear and appear. His mind was reeling in pleasure, it was even more pleasurable because he knew you were feeling that same pleasure, your body was like a map and he wanted to travel everywhere. Your whimpers were bouncing from wall to wall in his bedroom and it was like the room had been christened, heaven sent. Your walls clamped around him like a vacuum and the once sentient man was starting to lose his mind.

'You feel so good.' He panted into the skin of your neck, you grasped the sides of his face to feel and taste his lips on yours once again.

'Sherlock. you're...I-.' You could barely string a sentence together you were being fucked so deep and so crazy by him. You thought his sexual prowess would be good even though he was so secretive about it but not this good.

The telltale signs of your arousal about to burst was being indicated, but what was most prevelent was that Sherlock's cock was twitching inside of you.

You clawed at his back like an animal and dug your nails in him to claim him as yours. You felt white hot heat wash over you as you came onto his cock, your thighs were tingling with a stinging sensation. Sherlock followed suit when he heard your final broken whine, that was what did him in. He was quite literally leaking inside of you.

Breathless, he rolled over to lay beside you. Sweat was rolling off of both of your bodies as you sat there breathing like you've both just ran a marathon.

'Heart is beating an infinitely higher rate than before.' Sherlock clarified and it made you let out a breathy laugh.

'I'm weaker than I've ever been before.’

#bbc sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes #sherlock fanfic #sherlock smut #sherlock holmes smut #sherlock holmes angst #sherlock holmes fluff #sherlock x fem!reader

[annesthaeticc]

Personal | Sherlock x Fem!Reader

Personal | Sherlock x Fem!Reader

| a song fic, kinda ; Personal by The Vamps and Maggie Lindemann (listen to the song here, watch the music video here)

| lil bit of angst, fluff, teen!Sherlock and teen!YN

| 2137 words

| He's sick and tired of being just friends. Sherlock finally lets you know what he truly feels for you on your special night.

| NOTE : been a long time since i wrote a sherlock fic, and this request had been in my inbox for a while now. anon, i'm so sorry it took so long. (i hope it was worth the wait) i finally had the inspiration to write this when i came home from a friend's 20th birthday party, a bit drunk. comments, hearts, reblogs make me really happy, so pls do!!

Sherlock carefully tread on the gravelly footpath, his every step heard throughout the empty street. As he neared your house, he could hear the muffled bass and see the dancing, colored lights. He was once again invited to your birthday, as he is every year. He intentionally cleared his schedule for the week for your party, promising to make it up to you. The two of you had been busy with your own busy lives; university does that. But he never missed a birthday party of yours, as much as he detests it.

He hates parties. It’s full of people. Full of laughing, happy people.

But if it’s yours, he’d never miss it for the world. He was always present, ever since your 5th birthday party. And now, it’s your 20th, and he had every intention to attend more parties of yours, even if it’s your 50th.

As he stepped on your house’ laneway, he grasped his gift tightly, and absentmindedly fiddled with the purple ribbon he so delicately wrapped around the box. He sucked in a breath, and withdrew it, he saw his breath fade away like smoke in the chilly air.

I could do this. He reassured himself.

So, he walked towards your house, stepped up and knocked on your door. James, one of your childhood friends, opened the door and grinned at him.

“Sherlock!” James exclaimed and opened his arms; Sherlock awkwardly stepped in and accepted the hug. James ushered him in and guided him through the throng of people.

“She was worried you couldn’t make it.” James said through the music.

“She’s worried for nothing, mum insisted I dress up for tonight.” Sherlock sighed and followed James, squeezing himself amongst the people.

“You look fine. As always.” James smiled and pointed towards the kitchen where you were standing. It was true, Sherlock, of all your childhood friends, had the best sense of style. His build was made for a fashion magazine and he commands the room with just his charisma and confidence.

“Have I missed the cake?” Sherlock asked.

“Nope, she was waiting for you. You always had the honor to bring out the cake, we’re not breaking tradition.” James chuckled and nodded at him. Sherlock made his way towards you, his eyes burning and his heart beating madly when he saw you and your new beau.

As much as he loves you, he hates your choice of men. He hates your ignorance to the fact that he is actually in love with you. He’s unbelievably and irrevocably in love with you, for years now, and until now, you still fail to notice it. Sherlock has no clue how he could feel something so strong, something so deep for you. He tried to find answers to questions why and how, and by now, he’s given up on it. He simply just loves you.

He's not one to voice out his sentiments, but he’s dangerously close to doing so. He’s had enough years of pining. He’s had enough of comforting your broken heart due to your taste in boyfriends. He’s had enough of watching you from the shadows, afraid to say the rhythm of his heart.

And tonight, might just be the night because your new boyfriend is showing signs of red flags and Sherlock doubts you have a clear sense of mind to dump the guy.

Sherlock approached you, unbothered if you were still talking to your boyfriend. From the corner of your eye, you saw him make his way to you; his unmistakable and iconic mess of curls, his crisp white shirt topped with his navy jumper, and his bright blue eyes. You turned to him and excused yourself from Vance, your new friend, and giddily ran towards him.

In instinct, Sherlock opened his arms and hugged you. You were the only privileged one to receive his special warm hug, and he hoped you knew that. That you were the only one, the only special one.

“I missed you.” you breathed against his neck. It was true, you missed him dearly and from that moment on, you promised yourself that you’d enjoy the rest of the night. Sherlock was now here, with you, and there’s no point in being a party pooper.

“I missed you too.” Sherlock whispered. He hesitantly drew away from your embrace and pulled out his present to you.

“You shouldn’t have!” you gasped as you wrapped your hands around his gift.

“And what? Miss on tradition? Plus, I doubt you’d hate this one.” Sherlock said, trying to hide his smile.

“I never hate your presents.”

“You actually do, especially the one I got for your 16th.” he smirked and it earned a heart laugh from you.

“Oh yeah, that one’s terrible.” you said and swore to open his present after the party. He nodded and agreed it would be best that way.

“So, should we bring out the cake?” Sherlock asked. You nodded and guided him to the refrigerator where the cake was chilling. He insisted you stay in the main circle and gather around your guests as he prepared the candles.

When he walked in the kitchen, everyone was there; some of your childhood playmates like him: Connor, Bradley, Jana, Layla, James, and Maggie, and some new faces probably from your uni.

Sherlock commenced the singing, and everyone followed, singing and clapping to the tune. With the cake in his hands, he stood next to you and placed the cake in front of you. He silently sang, his voice blending amongst the chorus, and intently watched you.

Your eyes bright, the glow of the candles reflecting in your dark irises. Your lips, shyly grinning. Age treated you well as grew beautifully into a young, elegant woman. Sherlock was in awe whilst his mind played the flashbacks of your past birthdays, in each celebration, you get undeniably pretty and in every year that passes, you become his definition of beauty. Your eyes, your lips, and your heart and your mind.

He was pulled out of his reverie when everyone stopped singing, and the room went silent as you closed your eyes and made your wish. With a smile, you blew out the flames of the candle, and everyone cheered, happy to celebrate another year with you. He registered your movements and felt a swift punch in his gut when you embraced the man next to you, Vance, before finally hugging him. You drew Sherlock in, rather tightly. And silently wished it was just the two of you. When you both pulled away from the hug, Sherlock smiled at you and wished you a happy birthday.

“I’m happy now, now that you’re here,” you admitted, your tongue slipping but you caught yourself before you could say more.

“I’ll always be here.” Sherlock reassured you and squeezed your hand.

But the moment was broken when Vance announced you should cut the cake. You hesitatingly parted from Sherlock’s close presence and urged everyone to get their own plates so you could serve them. With you occupied entertaining your guests with laughter and cake, Sherlock unsuspectingly slipped out of the room, and finally left your house.

He marched out and exhaled the breath he was holding in, slightly relieved to be finally away from the riff raff. Just as he was nearing the end of your house’ laneway, he heard his name being called and he mustered all his strength to face you.

“You haven’t had cake.” you said.

“It’s fine,” he replied and turned back.

“You didn’t say goodbye.”

“Why would I?” Sherlock replied. His anger started to simmer because your voice sounded so innocent in his ears, he was angry at your inability to read and follow the trail of clues he’s leaving. He’s sick and tired of playing around, pretending he didn’t feel anything for you, when in truth; it’s maddening, this pent of torrent of sentiment reserved, made, and felt only for you.

“What’s wrong, Sherlock?” you asked warily and walked towards him.

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong is that guy, is a mass of red flags. Don’t come near me when you’ve got your heart broken all over again, Y/N. Because I'm tired of it.” Sherlock seethed, pointing at the window, hoping, hell— praying, you understand what he’s saying.

Personally, I think you’d be better with somebody like me, Sherlock thought.

“Vance and I are just friends, Sherlock.”

“Just like you and I, just friends, isn't it?” he spat the word friends as if it was full of venom, poison of the worst kind.

“Sherlock, you're so much more of a friend to me, please…” you begged, your eyes now brimming with tears.

“Am I? Am I so much more of a friend to you Y/N? Then tell me why can’t you see, why can’t you feel, what I feel for you?”

“Sherlock I—”

“I’m in love with you, Y/N.” Sherlock said, his voice dripping with sincerity. He watched his breath floating in the air, and the words slipping out of his mouth. He felt a great weight leave his shoulders, and his heartbeat thunder against his ribcage. He bowed his head, and slowly turned, hoping to leave freely right after his hasty admission.

You, however, were taken aback at how he said it. Could it be out of jealousy? Could it be the mere fact that he is in love with you? Who knows? All you know is that you feel the same.

To say you were scared is an understatement, you were a coward to not let him know. Your mind was always clouded with the doubt that you might shock him with your admission and scare the shit out of him, and eventually break your friendship. It's the last thing you want. And so, you suffered in silence, and daydreamed about being together for a long time. But now, he’s said it, he made the first move, and you’ve never felt emboldened to admit that you feel just the same.

Unaware, your eyes started to sting with tears that started to free flow and your lips curved into a smile. All you could do was look at him, frozen in place.

“I, I apologize for making you cry, it is still your birthday after all. Please forgive me, Y/N. Here—” Sherlock said, and walked the short distance between you. He fished a handkerchief from his pocket and moved to wipe the tears from your face. Delicately, as if you were made of glass, he banished away your tears, staining his white hanky.

He cradled your face in his hands, which were warm against the cold air, and you closed your eyes, relishing the gentle contact. You pulled him closer to you, in an effort to feel his warmth, to feel him. When you opened your eyes, you saw his bright blue gaze burning you. It was a flame ignited of love and hope, it was safe and secure, a flame that burned brightly, strongly, yet tender.

“Sherlock…” you breathed his name and held on to his hand.

“Y/N.”

“I’m in love with you too.” you said in great confidence, utterly happy to have your feelings known.

“Is he really just a friend?” he asked after a beat, his voice vibrating against your skin.

“He is.” you offered him a small smile.

“Good, because I’m going to seal this with a kiss.” Sherlock said. The two of you broke into smiles before he leaned in. He dipped his head low, and you stood up to meet his lips. When your mouths touched for the first time, you gently hummed against his lips. His next kiss was more confident and you responded in kind, together you shared the same passion, the same kind of love that ran through your veins.

“I’ll definitely pass up on the cake.” his voice rumbled against your chest and you stole a kiss.

“Why?” you curiously asked.

“Cause your lips are much more delicious, much softer than the chiffon…” he said and that earned a giggle from you.

“Are you flirting with me, Sherlock Holmes?” you exhaled, if a little breathy.

“I am, is it working?”

“You’re a romantic. C’mon let’s get back inside.” you said and held on to his hand. It felt natural, it felt perfect.

“What? Can’t we just stay here?”

“And what, leave my guests? No. Plus I’m freezing.”

“Fine, give me one more kiss, just to help me get through the night.” Sherlock smirked and pointed at his lips.

You obliged and giggled, playfully pushing him away once he tried to deepen the kiss. When you separated and linked your hands together, you realized you just had your birthday wish come true, and couldn’t wait to spend another year with him, but this time, you’d get through the year together, holding hands.

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( hello you lovely!! just a little tip; watch the music vid of the song cause it's heavily inspired by it + u get to imagine sherlock dancing u around like that on ur birthday! anyway, i hope ur staying well and safe! sending u all the love, anne <3)

#sherlock x reader #sherlock x fem!reader #sherlock x you #sherlock x y/n #sherlock x oc #sherlock bbc #bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock #sherlock fanfic #sherlock holmes fanfiction #sherlock holmes fanfic #sherlock fandom #fanfiction #sherlock angst #sherlock fluff #sherlock smut #sherlock holmes smut #sherlock holmes fluff #sherlock holmes angst #benedict cumberbatch #benedict cumberbatch fanfiction

[princessaxoxo]

Strangers to lovers Part 2

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

Sherlock x reader

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

Warnings: 18+ Only, cussing, angst, kissing

Word Count: 2k+

4 years later...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enola and you talked for what felt like hours.

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

“Your style but attitude as well.”

You laughed at Enola but thanked her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tears started to brim.

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

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

Sherlock walked towards you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As you returned home, you were torn.

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

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

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

Sherlock sat at the table, staring off into nothingness.

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

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

Sherlock only had one answer.

“Anything.”

Part 3

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

[lxvenderjewel]

do yall think john would wear sherlock's ear defenders after reichenbach

#sherlock & co #sherlock and co #jonklock #jonk watson #john watson #sherlock holmes #the final problem #the reichenbach fall #post reichenbach #sherlock and co angst

[beneathashadytree]

Hi 👋 I was wondering if you could do a Sherlock x fem reader from Moriarty the patriot (or multiple characters what ever u would Like to do) but the reader is really sick (like with scarlets fever or something because that was one of the main sickness in late 19th century) and Sherlock (or whoever) gets really worried and stuff like that, lol sorry it’s not more descriptive 😅 anyways I hope u have a great rest of your day

SEALED VOWS - SHERLOCK HOLMES X READER

Warnings : this is set pre-timeskip, general mentions of illness, implied death, reader uses she/her pronouns!

Genre : fluff but also pretty angsty

Word count : 0.7K words

Additional notes : Thank you so much for requesting! Since scenarios take up so much time, I usually write one character per piece, and multiple in headcanons only. Sherlock was a great choice, seeing as how he dabbles in chemistry. Don’t worry, you were perfectly descriptive! Too many details intimidate me tbh so you’re good 🥰 Hope you enjoy this, and hope you have a wonderful day! 💗

Requests : Are open! Check the rules over here.

Want to support me financially? Here’s my CashApp!

Masterlist

“Don’t fiddle with the bandages,” Sherlock’s voice was firm as he tightened the white wraps around her midsection, “You’ll only end up scratching yourself.”

She looked like she wanted to moan out that they itched so bad, but with her current state could do little more than weakly glare at him.

Her lover arched his eyebrow. “If you’ve got any complaints to make about my bedside care, there’s a notepad and ink to your right.”

With all the strength she could muster, she pushed herself up in bed and began to scribble onto the paper, as Sherlock took the wet cotton from her forehead, quick to replace it with another cooler one in hopes of bringing down her fever. By the time she was done, he was already seated in his chair, stirring an ominous-looking beaker of… something.

When she flipped the paper back to him, he set the beaker down and leaned in to read.

You’d make a terrible nurse. You would get sued for client dissatisfaction, and misconduct.

He snorted. “Now I don’t remember any misconduct from my end.”

You ripped my shirt open. That’s assault.

“Because you were using the bloody thing to scratch at your rash,” he grumbled, picking up the beaker with the liquid in, “Never liked that shirt anyways. Now open up.”

She eyed him nastily, to which Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Honestly. I know it tastes horrible, but it’s just carbonate and nitrate silver.”

She quickly scribbled down on the notebook, You’re trying to poison me.

“Actually, I’m doing quite the opposite. That is, counteracting the poison caused by Scarlet Fever,” he sighed, pushing the beaker insistently against her lips, “Please? I know it’s got to be awful, but I can’t stand the sight of you bed-ridden.”

She hesitated for a few moments, before showing him another message with shaky hands.

Will you ask Mrs. Hudson to make me that broth I like?

He nodded. “I’ll even tolerate her nagging me about the rent if I have to. Just please take your medicine.”

Begrudgingly, she let her lover feed her the damned thing that had her spluttering and coughing afterwards, eyes water at the pungent smell and disgusting aftertaste.

“I’m sorry,” he winced as though he himself were the one ill, a heavy look in his blue eyes as he did; looking as if it physically pained him to see her like that. And it truly did, with the way his chest clenched at every thought of her struggling, of her deteriorating overnight, of her leaving him—

A burning hand curled around his fingers, which he hadn’t noticed were trembling visibly. He swallowed thickly, tortured by worries that clouded his mind and left him shivering in fears he’d tried so desperately to lock away. Somehow, though, that single weak hand that held his tucked every concern in the back of his mind once again.

Sherlock looked up from his lap to meet her eyes, which were a little hazy with the drowsiness that came with the fever, but also still laced with fondness and warmth he’d only ever received from her.

She opened her mouth, taking in a shuddering breath. “W-whatev—“

“Don’t, you’ll open the ulcers in your throat—“

Squeezing his hand to stop him from interrupting her, she went on, determination brimming in those tired eyes. “Whatever h-happens…” she croaked out, “P-Promise me. You’ll be… you’ll be f-fine.”

He knew. He knew what she was saying; what she was implying. He knew the possibilities she was entertaining; the chances that things could go disastrously wrong. She’d avoided saying “we”, because she’d known that there was a very real possibility that it would become a “you”. Just him and these four walls.

Sherlock despised his own weakness. Here he was, wallowing in his own misery, when only God could ever know how terrified his lover was. And yet she selflessly set that aside, just to falsely comfort and reassure him. How pathetic was he?

“P-promise me.”

Blinking back the tears that had unknowingly collected in his eyes, he gritted his teeth and dug his nails into his free palm. It was all he could do to thaw the ice threatening to freeze his heart.

With a shuddering breath, he sealed the vow. It was the least he could do to repay her for the immense strength she’d shown for his sake the entire time. “I promise, my dear. I’ll be alright.”

Taglist: @sherlockscumslut @lilias-highlights @thispersoniscrazy

#imagine #oneshot #fluff #anime #angst #sherlock holmes #sherlock #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes fluff #sherlock holmes angst #sherlock holmes oneshot #sherlock x reader #sherlock fluff #sherlock angst #sherlock oneshot #yuukoku no moriarty #moriarty the patriot #ynm #yuumori #yuukoku no moriarty sherlock #moriarty the patriot sherlock #ynm sherlock holmes #yuukoku no moriarty sherlock holmes #moriarty the patriot sherlock holmes #ynm sherlock #domestic

[ryuusea]

sherliam week 2023 - day 1: time-loop; continuation of this au where they started as friends

thanks to sherliamweek for finally making me draw part 2 of this idea FOUR months later.

#hahahaha some angst and cute to attack ppl on day 1? #blame my hands and sherliam they just take over PFF #guess this is more “parallel timelines” than “time loop” #but I’d like to think some things repeat or feel familiar in other timelines or reincarnations #I’m SO weak for reincarnation or alt timeline stories I’m so glad I got to do it again for this dear ship #sherliam #yuukoku no moriarty #moriarty the patriot #ynm sherlock holmes #liam james moriarty #sherliamweek2023

[spooksicl-e]

i really hit him, greg

hit him hard.

#and you’ll never see me drawing john with his s4 hair ever again #idc what the fandoms opinion is #john’s hair in series 1-3 <3333 #anywho #more canon-compliant sherlock angst in the year 2022 #my art #no @ bc i changed the formatting last minute #so just please don’t use or steal lol #art #fanart #fanartist #sherlock fanart #sherlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock bbc #sherlock holmes #john watson #johnlock #benedict cumberbatch #martin freeman #the lying detective #tld