#i hope nobody gets offend by my answes

[utopiajeon]

check-in tag🌻☁️

I was tagged by @lokisasylum @taemaknae & @kook-ssi 💖🌈✨

1. Why did you choose your url?

because it was time to move on from my old one ( i know more than half of the followers wont know, but if you followed me since the very beginning you’ll know the username). Also its inspired by THE song “euphoria” by the one and only jeon jungkook💜

2. Any sideblogs? If you have them name them and why you have them?

yes, @baekhunx (for other kpop groups)

3. How long have you’ve been on tumblr?

since 2012👵🏼

4. Do you have a queue tag?

#stargazing with jungkook (it’s self explanatory)💜

5. Why did you start your blog in the first place?

well at first I wanted to escape from my twitter nightmare are aka the toxic one direction fandom and a safe place for my anxiety (i was going through a difficult time with my family). But the i got into bts and the rest is history.

6. Why did you choose your icon?

because it’s an iconic jeon jungkook expression. you dont see people having this as an icon. plus i’ll probably wont change it, unless i get an updated one🥲

7. Why did you choose your header?

because i was bored and made it. it’s not like other blogs that move and has glitter and unless someone can do a perfect jinkook header (if you’re up for the challenge) please be my guess.

8. What’s your post with the most notes?

my “SIR-”, “cute boy with hats 👒” and “-precious” posts and all of them are taehyung🙂. (that itself has 1k each). Also i wrote something about ‘people need to stop bitching around if bts dont win all the awards and other groups do’ - that has too many notes.

9. How many mutuals do you have?

i have no idea at this point🥲

10. How many followers do you have?

0 (the number doesnt matter) but i still don’t understand why people follow me, i just reblog and post immature moodboards😅

11. How many people you follow?

561 but that number constantly changes because i keep unfollowing inactive blogs and im also following anime and book related blogs.

12. Have you ever made a shitpost?

my entire blog is a shitpost👀

13. How often do you use tumblr each day?

i used to be in it 24/7. since i started working, it’s been a little less. but im still here🤩

14. Did you have a fight/argument with another blog once? Who won?

yes, so many. my first fight was about the post i made about ‘people need to stop bitching around if bts dont win all the awards and other groups do’. She/he called me “fake fan” and proved my point that some fans are toxic and the end she/he told me to jump of a cliff ( i dont want to say what was really said to me) the point is…

another story was too funny. someone wrote me “you post too much jungkook”… *SHOCKER* have you seen my username, linda? do you expect me to post nct or ariana grande?

last one, someone send me an ask that i should stop spamming with my moodboards. well im sorry… no one is saying anything to the gifmakers, but okay. since that i havent post much moodboards. thanks karen.🤗

15. How do you feel about “you need to reblog this” posts?

read me carefully… I HATE IT!!!!!! I WONT REBLOG IT AND DONT EVEN DARE TO MESSAGE ME BECAUSE I WILL BLOCK YOU.

16. Do you like tag games?

Of course i do. I used to do one everyday. But then i felt that people got annoyed by my tags, then i did them again. Im not doing them much because of the time. But best believe that i do see, read and like them all. Right now im probably doing like 5 tags coming soon😂

17. Do you like ask games?

I do. But sometimes i forget to answer them and when i have time to answer them, i feel like nobody cares anymore🥺

18.which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

everyone.

19. Do I have a crush on a mutual?

i love myself. *jokes* i love everyone here.

20. Tags?

@taehynugs @taejinnies @taesjpg @sanpoems @jinsgalaxy @vminsos @ilyjeonn @vhyunjin @jintae @e-uph0r1a @seokjjn @kookie-chimchimmain @butterguk @nvmguk @jksluvcult @jinjagi @taegiseok @blueandtay @lovetrivia @monvante @cherryjk @marvelousbangtan @houseofarmanto @taeguks @e-uph0r1a @sketchguk @taelepathic @suhdays @yuniixoxo @flowerkth @sweetnightsjimin @kithtaehyung @rmofbts @rmftjin @userjiminie @bangtantaegi @baekjin @bangshiver @namjon @jiminfilter @yoonqiful @pjmsdior @balenciaguks

#hi… im back. once again… im sorry #here’s a tag for me to get in touch with everyone and be a little chatty am #but im sorry that i left for a bit #but anyways im much better. im happy. #so… the tag… it’s okay if you dont want to do it. #i hope nobody gets offend by my answes #answers* #i hope you’ll doing great. staying healthy and safe. #i miss you all. #💞💕💗💘💓💖💓💘💓💘💗💞💕💞💓💓💘

[brokendevilwrites]

Nerd!Verse but make it Anya.

I’m going to split this particular ask up into sections as there was lots of questions and they weren’t in order chronologically, but also I wanted to write some little bits before I went back to work.

Anyway: Nerd!Verse presents...Anya.

Also very aware I don’t know my own timeline for this verse so if shit is out of place just, like, ignore it? Thanks loves.

[Find NERD!VERSE here.]

What does Anya say to Clarke after Lexa takes her back? from this ask

Lexa falls through the door around noon. 

She’s covered in rain and tears and regret and Anya ends her Skype call almost immediately, throwing out a harried excuse to her agent, and she barely makes it to Lexa in time before the brunette is dropping to her knees. Sobs rip through the girls rib cage and Anya can’t do anything but fucking stare at her. 

(She’s seen Lexa cry before; granted Lexa was six and she had just landed face first into some gravel at a pretty high speed. They never were allowed to ride their bikes down the hill after that…)

When she finally gets her act together Lexa has stopped heaving out sobs like they’re physically hurting her and she willingly stands up with Anya when the woman wraps her arm around her. Together they make it to the bathroom and Anya runs a hot bath for her friend, complete with the designer bubble bath stuff she was asked to advertise, and she helps Lexa to undress. It kills her to see her friend shake and she wishes she could un-hear the shaky ‘thank you’ that Lexa gives her as she removes her bra for her. Nobody should hurt like this, Anya thinks. 

As Lexa sinks into the hot water she seems to relax a little. There are still tracks on her cheeks and her lips are chapped and Anya doesn’t even have to ask her friend to explain what the hell is going on. 

She already knows. 

Clarke has done this before and Anya told Lexa she would do it again. She’s always been wary of the Griffin girl. Not to be mistaken with not liking her. Anya liked Clarke well enough and she thought she complimented Lexa greatly but she didn’t think they’d last and she hates that she’s right. 

They were too different.

Eventually one of them was going to break and Anya always knew it would be Clarke. Lexa was so deep in love she would have sacrificed herself to the Gods before she ever thought of upsetting Clarke. 

With gentle strokes Anya washes Lexa’s hair and she hopes the water is helping to warm her up. The weather is bitter outside; she’d wrapped up in several layers that morning to get some pastries for breakfast and she was on her second coffee to defeat the chill when Lexa had stumbled in, all heartbroken and sad and so unlike the girl she knew. 

Anya loses count of how long they stay there but when Lexa finally moves her knees are numb from where she’s been kneeling and Lexa’s cheeks are pink despite the now cool water. 

“I’m going to go to bed,” Lexa says and her eyes look so, so, tired but Anya knows that it’s not her body that’s tired. She refrains from saying anything about it being early afternoon, or that sleeping won’t help, and stands up with Lexa. Her friend looks so lost that Anya finds herself reaching for a towel and holding it wide. The action clearly snaps Lexa back into action and she bites out “I’m not a baby,” with an offended scowl.

“Get in the fucking towel, Woods,” Anya rolls her eyes but there’s no heat behind it, no malice. There never is. Lexa gives her a smile but it’s barely there before it fades and she steps out of the expensive claw-footed tub--a present from Anya’s dad when they moved in--and right into the towel. 

Anya wraps it around her friend and ignores the marks on her shoulders and her neck that tell the story of where she was last night.

“I’m ordering Chinese for dinner. Make sure you’re awake.”

;;;;

Anya clears away the cold Chinese when she wakes the next morning and puts it into the fridge with a note letting Lexa know that it is hers.

;;;;

Two days later she throws it away.

;;;;

To everyone else Lexa seems fine. 

She emerges from her bedroom on the third day looking like death and gulps down two cups of coffee and finishes a bowl of oatmeal. By the time Anya checks on her to see if she wants to go and meet Lincoln for some drinks she looks human again.

Lexa has always been amazing at putting on a show. She was incredible at it at high school, it was how she made her way to the top with such precision, and it’s clear that she’s a damn expert at it now.

During drinks it comes up in conversation that Clarke broke up with Lexa and Anya braces for the breakdown but Lexa takes a sip from her cocktail and shrugs, like it doesn’t matter, like she didn’t retreat for two whole days over it, like Anya hasn’t lost sleep.

“Is she okay?” Lincoln asks when Lexa goes to the bathroom and Anya stares at the space Lexa had been sitting in.

“I don’t know.”

;;;;

They go out one night and Anya gets so phenomenally drunk that she doesn’t realise that Lexa takes Clarke home.

She finds out the next day when Lexa slams around the apartment, nearly breaking a coffee cup with a picture of the moon on it in her temper, and Anya pauses her show to stare at her.

“She asked me how many girls I’ve slept with since we broke up,” Lexa gives as an answer and it makes Anya’s eyebrows fire up into her hairline. Lexa has barely been able to eat a full meal in the weeks since the breakup and Clarke is asking bullshit questions like that? “That’s not even something I’ve thought about but it’s something she thinks about me. Is that who she sees me as?”

Anya shrugs and unfollows Clarke on social media. 

;;;;

Weeks ease into months and soon Clarke’s name stops feeling like a grenade in Anya’s mouth. 

Lexa smiles again and she laughs in the way she used to and things seem to have settled. It’s on one of those nights--when Lexa is laughing and her eyes are bright--that she encourages Lexa to delete Clarke from social media completely. She’s been complaining about Luna non-stop and Anya is sure Lexa thinks they’re dating and she just wants to protect her best friend. 

Besides, how is she ever going to move on if the first thing she checks in the morning is Clarke's Instagram?

“There,” Lexa slurs happily around her wine glass and she drops her phone onto the couch triumphantly. It makes Anya happy to see Lexa so free, so carelessly her again, and she almost cheers in happiness. Almost. “She’s gone.”

And just like that...Lexa is sad again.

“She’s gone. It’s really over.”

Anya sighs and goes to the freezer to grab some ice-cream because Lexa is still heartbroken and Anya is her best friend.

;;;;

“Is Lexa here?”

“Who?”

“Anya, please,” Clarke begs. It’s pitiful, Anya thinks. She’s trying for the wounded look; big eyes, pouting lips, broken body. But it’s not going to work. Anya isn’t in love with her. In fact, Anya can barely look at her and Clarke is damn lucky she doesn’t slap her in the face right there. “I just want to talk to her. Please?”

She doesn’t spare Clarke another glance when she shuts the door in her face.

;;;;

Lexa crawls into her bed at about two am and Anya already knows the conversation that’s going to take place. 

“She’s going to break your heart again.”

“It’s mine to break,” Lexa tells her firmly and Anya agrees but it doesn’t mean she likes it. “You don’t have to understand, Anya. You don’t even need to like her. But please respect my choice to love her.”

Anya turns over in the bed. The sheets are satin and they feel nice as she turns which is lucky because expensive sheets put her in a good mood even if Lexa is making Anya angry enough to frown. 

Which she tries hard to not do. 

Any facial expressions tend to lead to wrinkles and she’s not about to lose out on a contact with the highest bidder just because Lexa is a dumb fucking lesbian.

“I’m on your side, Lexa. Always. But you think with your heart too much,” Anya tells her and that’s that. 

Talking about feelings isn’t exactly something they do.

;;;;

They’re having a games night and everyone's invited. Lexa and Anya host. Obviously. Their apartment is bigger than anyone else’s by miles and it makes sense because they also have two spare bedrooms. One is used as Anya’s dressing and filming room, whenever she’s doing something for YouTube or Instagram, and the other is storage but both have beds in and a place for people to crash.

Lincoln arrives with Octavia first. It’s kind of amazing how their friendship group remained so perfectly intact from high school. Anya has been friends with Lincoln and Lexa for as long as her memories go back and she doesn’t know how the dynamic would work if they had never met Octavia in freshman year. Costia had long since broken off from them but Anya still notices the likes on their pictures--only if Clarke isn’t in them. She definitely noticed that. 

Lincoln immediately heads to the ridiculously large TV and switches on the Sports Channel and loses himself. Lexa sends an amused look to Anya from where she is cooking up some tapas for the night. It’s always been like this and Anya finds herself at her most comfortable around her people.

And then Clarke arrives.

Clearly she doesn’t hide the annoyance on her face quickly enough because Octavia laughs around a mouthful of chips and Lexa quickly kisses Clarke to distract her. 

;;;;

Clarke wins at Scattergories like she always does but Anya finds she doesn’t really mind because Bellamy brought a bottle of wine that was delicious, but everyone else thought was awful, so Anya shared it with herself. Clarke is a lot easier to handle when she’s three-quarters into a bottle of wine and, really, Lexa should be thanking her. 

A ring interrupts them and Clarke excuses herself with a glance to her phone. Lexa uses the opportunity to pipe up, just as Anya is pouring her final glass, and honestly Lexa should have known what was coming as Anya finished the bottle off. 

She can’t be blamed. 

“Can you please be nice to Clarke?”

“I haven’t said anything!”

“Exactly,” Lexa snaps and she just looks at Anya like that answers everything. Anya stares at her as she sips her wine slowly and waits for her friend to continue. “Everyone else is including her but you’re completely being ignorant.”

“Maybe everyone else is being ignorant to how she dumped your ass and we had to fix it.”

When Lexa gets angry she twitches her jaw and it’s the first clue that Anya is pushing it too far. But the thing is, Anya wants to go too far. She wants Lexa to react. Besides that first day, where she completely broke, Lexa hasn’t really shown any type of emotion and Anya was born for the fight.

Clarke broke her best friend and Anya doesn’t think it’s fair that Clarke started this damn issue  without a single idea of how she was going to end it. It’s not fair that Anya picked up the pieces and Clarke gets to enjoy the finished product.

Just because Lexa’s forgiven her doesn’t mean she has to.

“Anya,” Lexa warns but then Clarke comes back in and immediately notices the tension. Anya can feel the stares of her friends but she’s never backed down from anything in her life and Lexa isn’t an exception. “Stop. My decisions are my own.”

“You make your choices. I make mine,” Anya shrugs like she isn’t fighting with her best friend. She can sense Lincoln tidying away the games as a way of distracting the rest of them and not for the first time she’s glad for his emphatic nature. Her eyes flick to Clarke, and she almost smirks at how the blonde flinches back slightly, but she continues regardless. “Difference is your choices are going to ruin you.”

“Enough.”

Anya breathes out laughter through her nose but she’s not amused. There’s no point in even trying to get Lexa to acknowledge what Clarke did--twice--because when Lexa sets her heels in then there is no moving her. It’s a flaw that’s going to get her into danger one day and Anya will be there to pick the pieces up once again.

“Maybe I should go?” Anya hears from Clarke and Lexa looks at Anya with so much fury that it makes Anya’s head spin with how quickly she can soften her features when she turns to Clarke.  

Anya practically growls. “Stop with the damn victim card,” she spits out because she’s so tired of everyone pretending that what Clarke did was okay. She broke Lexa’s heart for no fucking reason and then when she decided it was too hard being single she wriggled back into Lexa’s life and forced forgiveness from someone who wasn’t even fully over her. “I’m allowed to dislike you, Griffin. I don’t have to be your friend. Not everyone is going to think you’re amazing and that’s life. Lexa might have forgiven you but I remember what you did. The quicker you figure that out, the better.”

;;;;

For the first time since she bought their apartment Anya sleeps in a different building.

When she wakes up Lincoln is sitting on the chair next to the sofa and he nods his head at the bottle of water on the floor next to her. She takes the aspirin that lay next to it and thumps back into the pillows, a hand over her eyes, and she remembers why she hates Lincoln’s apartment. They have floor to ceiling windows that capture the light at all times of the day but they don’t have coverings for them and Anya wonders if this is what torture feels like.

“How much of last night do you remember?”

Anya groans. “All of it.”

“That sucks,” Lincoln says but he doesn’t sound like he feels bad for her. “You were an asshole.”

“I’m aware.”

“Are you going to say sorry?”

Anya just groans louder.

;;;;

Lexa doesn’t speak when Anya finally comes home and it’s such a full circle that Anya nearly laughs. She spots her reflection in the mirror next to the door and she’s glad she isn’t due to do anything until Tuesday because she looks ill. 

“We’re not kids anymore,” Lexa says and the way her voice has levelled makes Anya pay attention. Lexa has only ever really been angry a handful of times that Anya can remember, she doesn’t usually lose her cool, but for the first time in their friendship Anya is actually worried she’s taken it too far. “You’re not my mom. You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do. And if you’re unhappy with the decisions I’m making then I need you to talk to me. Throwing a tantrum is for children, Anya. We’re adults.”

Anya clicks her jaw in annoyance and says nothing.

“You’re my best friend. I need you to be on my side for this.”

“I’m the only one fighting in your corner,” Anya scoffs and she decides right then and there she doesn’t have time for this. Lexa can sleep with whoever she wants, she can fall in love with whoever she wants, and she can have her heart broken as many times as she wants. “I’m not about to pretend that what she did was okay just so I can spare your girlfriends feelings. She didn’t spare yours when she said you didn’t make her happy anymore. She didn’t spare them when she asked if you were sleeping with other people.”

“We’ve spoken about that. I’ve forgiven her.”

“Good for you. Forgiveness is the first sign of weakness,” Anya snaps before she takes a deep breath and wonders when she became her father. “You’re asking me to respect your decision to forgive Clarke, right? Respect mine that I can’t.”

“My relationship isn’t your business.”

“No. But you’re my business,” she says and Lexa stops at that, her eyebrows high. “You and Lincoln and Octavia. You’re all my business. I’ll protect you all exactly the same way and I’m not going to apologise for that because I know you’ll all be there when I need you too.”

Lexa nods and just like that they agree to disagree on the topic of Clarke Griffin.

---

Summer arrives and the tension lifts.

Anya tries to be civil around Clarke and, in turn, Lexa doesn’t try to push for everyone to get along. A lot of the time the easiest way of dealing with it is with avoidance and it’s working out for everyone so far. There’s no point in fixing what isn’t broken so Anya doesn’t speak to Clarke and Clarke doesn’t speak to Anya and it seems to work because their little group of friends intertwines enough that they never really have to interact.

Lexa has certainly been happier since forgiving Clarke and it’s so clear to see that denying it would be ridiculous. She hates being wrong but she secretly hopes Clarke proves her wrong about this.

“Thank you,” Clarke says as Anya stands in the kitchen of her apartment. She’s dressed in tiny shorts and a tight top and Anya wonders if she’ll be able to record the stuttering mess that will be Lexa when the girl sees her girlfriend. When Anya says nothing and takes a drink of water, Clarke continues. “For being there for Lexa. For looking after her. I didn’t do too great at that last year and I’m just really glad that she has someone looking out for her the way that you do.”

Anya doesn’t say anything and Clarke nods like she kind of expected that, her fingers curling in on themselves a little, and Anya watches.

“Your relationship isn’t my business. I’d never tell Lexa to choose and I never have,” Anya finally says and her glass makes a dull noise as she sets it on the white counter. “But I also know I should probably cut you some slack.”

It’s the closest Clarke will get to an apology or an acceptance and the smile Anya gets in return lets her know how happy Clarke is about it. “I won’t hurt her, or me, again.

“Don’t promise me. I don’t care,” Anya says with a cool tone and it makes Clarke laugh. 

;;;;

Lexa smiles at Anya later after whispering with Clarke about something and Anya knows it’ll be fine.

“Are you going to follow her on Instagram again?” Lexa asks later when they’re putting away dishes. Anya takes a plate from the rack and puts it in the cupboard, taking her time before answering.

“Absolutely not, no.”

#verse: high school #verse: nerd Clarke #verse: popular lexa #clexa fic #character: anya

[a-fools-jester]

Winter’s Child

@princesspeach212​ I finally finished this story, sorry I took forever, my keyboard was busted. :/

Basically, Lestrade adopts Sherlock after Sherlock’s family was murdered. Except I wrote it to be autismlock, sorry if that’s not what you wanted. I didn’t intend to write it this way, just... ended up writing it this way. Trigger warning: angst, autism. Happy ending.

It didn't take Greg longer than a month to realize that the child that was now his was no ordinary child. Sherlock was quieter than most children, not exactly energetic in the usual sense, but he was a little ball of energy in other ways. He would ask question after question about this or that, and Greg needed to give a very detailed answer to sate his thirst for more knowledge. Greg liked to call him a little vacuum at times, after witnessing how the little boy seemed to just suck in all the knowledge he could get and store them in his mind.

He was a genius.

Yet there was something different about Sherlock, something a bit... off, as the women in the grocer's- far too talkative and judgmental for their own good- would say. Sherlock was smart, definitely, because no five year old child knew the periodic table by heart. No child could tell what you did in that day, analyzing you like a scientist studying a lab rat.

But there was something different about him that didn't have to do with his intellect.

Sherlock was just always in his own little world, reading his latest book- he taught himself to read somehow when Greg would let him wander around in the kids section of the library while he filled out paperwork- or maybe drawing a picture into his journal or solving a rubik's cube so he could mess it up again. Greg often tried to encourage Sherlock to interact with children his age in the hopes that it would help him be more social and step out of his shell, but Sherlock would just let his eyes glaze over the other child and after introductions, he'd return to ignoring the other child, content to be alone.

Sighing, Greg walked into Sherlock's bedroom, watching his son building something with legos that he'd probably show to him later when it was finished. "Hey, buddy." He walked over to the bed, sitting down as Sherlock continued to work. A helicopter, Greg realized, spotting the box that the pieces had come from. "Can we talk?"

"You're already talking," Sherlock responded softly, and Greg watched the back of Sherlock's head for a few seconds.

"Well, yes, I am. But I'd like a conversation where you're facing me and it's actually us talking and not me talking at you." With a sigh, Sherlock got up and sat down on the bed across from Greg, his eyes on the dark blue blanket on his bed. "Your teacher spoke to me, she said that you're not talking to the other kids." A finger twitch, no eye contact. "Sherlock will you... will you look at me?"

"What for?" the soft response, nearly a mumble, yet Sherlock's eyes, turquiose, met his for a few seconds before dropping back down.

"Your teacher is worried about you. She says you don't talk with any of the other students, you don't play during recess, she's worried that you're still affected by... what happened. Are you?"

"I was uncons-cious for all that happened, and when I woke up, I was in the hospital. I'm not tr-ematized," he clumsily used the words he'd only read in the books that he managed to pick from Greg's office. "I wasn't very close with dad number one, and mummy was always at work." There was a few seconds of silence as Greg watched the gears spinning around in Sherlock's brain. "I don't really want to play, or talk with the other kids, they're boring."

Greg knew that Sherlock was a lot better than he was before, during the first week of his stay, with the grief of his parents' loss still fresh. Sherlock, in his own little way, was broken. His eyes reflected the icy waves crashing against the deserted beach, where his mother and step-father's soul would live forever. Sometimes he still had that look in his eyes, as if he were a ghost that was stuck between two worlds, trying to find his footing even as everything spun out of control, caught in a hurricane that had him trapped in the middle.

-- "Is Mummy coming back?" Sherlock had asked two nights after the funeral, voice soft and small, eyes glued to his hands. After two days of almost silence on the topic, no tears or tantrums, no "where's mummy"'s or "I want mummy"'s, Greg had thought that Sherlock was simply too young to understand anything that was going on.

Greg pulled Sherlock into his lap, trying to find a good way to phrase it to the four year old child. "No, love, she's not."

"Why?"

Greg sighed, looking at the flame in the fireplace that made shadows dance on the walls. "Because when people die, it's permanent."

Greg caught the way Sherlock frowned, just for a second before his eyes darted up to meet Greg's. "Why do people die?"

"I don't know, Sherlock, I just know that they do. Everyone dies in the end, some sooner than others. It's just how life is, and that sucks, but it is what it is and we have to take the hand that we're dealt."

"Will you die too?" Greg- startled by the question- laughed in surprise, but it was evident by the scowl on Sherlock's face that he didn't find the situation humorous at all. The smile crumbled like dust and Greg nodded. "I don't want you to die. I'll be all alone then. I'll be bored. And I'll be hungry."

Greg laughed then, scooping Sherlock into his arms and walking them to Sherlock's bedroom. "Well, if it makes you feel better, I'm not planning on dying soon. I'm going to grow older, and older, and I'm going to watch you get married and have kids." He set Sherlock down, who smiled softly back at him. "I'm not going to leave you, kiddo, I'll always be here. I'm going to train you how to be a detective, remember?"

Sherlock grinned at the words, and Greg felt his chest melt with pride. Sherlock wanted to be a detective just like his Papa.

-- It had been roughly 6 months since Sherlock moved in with him and they had that conversation. And Sherlock- now five years old- had slowly lost the empty look in his eyes, the one that made him seem lost and afraid inside of his own home. He spoke more, he was more open to being around Greg and seemed to have gotten over his fear of losing the only adult he had left in his life as well.

Yet the teachers and other adults who came into contact with Sherlock said... things.

"I need to talk to you.... it's about Sherlock."

"He's academically well off, Mr. Lestrade, don't worry, but-"

"-doesn't speak to others very often-"

"-reads people like books-"

"-always in his own world, that one-"

"-needs to learn to be more social-"

"-doesn't know how to interact with others properly-"

"-he might need extra help."

Yet when asked about what exactly was wrong with his child, there was never a straight answer they could provide. They would stammer and shift their eyes, exchange looks that Greg couldn't decipher for the life of him and he just wanted a damn answer. He wanted to know why everyone seemed to think there was something broken in his son, who probably surpassed all of their IQ's. Sherlock seemed to be able to tell things about other people, observant in a way that nobody, not even adults, were capable of being.

There was an answer to his question though, one that was slowly creeping in at the edges of his mind, one he wasn't sure if he wanted or could bear to receive. He knew, on some level, there was something different about Sherlock, but every time he heard that one word, he felt like he was stuck in the middle of a free-fall.

"Are you happy in school?" Greg asked.

Sherlock shrugged, his fingers tapping away on his thigh in what may or may not have been the newest violin piece he was learning. Vivaldi. "I like learning, but I don't like the other kids."

"Why? Are they bullying you?" A small shake of the head. "You can tell me anything, I won't get mad."

Sherlock paused, thinking over what to say, before let out a loud breath. "I don't know why, but I don't like them, they're... loud and messy and dull." He picked at the scab on his arm he got from the coffee table and Greg hastily grabbed his hand, knowing that Sherlock would never let it heal if he was left to his own devices. "There's nothing wrong with me," Sherlock said, "I hear what the teachers and people say. They think I'm a freak."

"Where did you hear that word?" Greg asked softly in spite of the burning anger in his throat. After he'd found his own son unconscious and covered in blood from being hit with a blunt instrument with both of his parents murdered, Greg had a right to be overprotective and slightly paranoid. He worked as a cop, he'd seen hundreds of children hurt (or worse) but when he saw his son on the floor, his parents dead in the room next to his, he nearly gagged.

"A kid on the playground. Sebastian. Said I'm a freak, I don't really know what I did. His parents are divorcing though, so I guess that could be why he's angry with everything."

Greg nodded, deciding to ignore Sherlock's deduction for now. "Well, did you try to make friends with the other kids? All you have to do is try, just say your name and ask if you could join them. Try to fit in a bit more, maybe?"

-- So they went on like that, in much the same way as they went on before for another two weeks before Greg was called into the headmaster's office, with Sherlock outside, curled up into himself. "You called for me, ma'am?" he asked politely, in spite of the fact that he was at work when he got the call and Donovan had given him a knowing look. She'd been one of the first people to point out that there was something else going on, and although Greg knew it was with good intentions, he couldn't help but get offended.

"Yes, sir. I... spoke with William's family doctor, and I went through the files... are you aware that his older brother was... neurodivergent?" she asked, getting right to the point as she read something from the files on her desk.

Greg felt his stomach drop, chest beginning to ache, feeling the tendrils of fear and doubt creep back in like they usually did whenever this one forbidden topic was brought up. "No, I didn't... why? Listen, I was at work when you called, and I'd really like to just get back. How is this relevant? Why did you call me in?" he asked, beginning to grow frustrated at this entire situation.

The woman across from him- Ms. Norton- merely gave him a sympathetic smile, used to dealing with irate parents on a day-to-day basis just as Greg was used to dealing with corpses and receiving pictures of gory crime scenes in the middle of the dinner. What's your job, Papa? Can I help?

"Well, we have noticed that your child is having troubles with socializing with other children, and as well as showing some other atypical behavior for children his age, so I called you in to tell you face-to-face that I believe an appointment with a doctor is in order to help him be the best he can be. I've already-" Greg stopped listening after that, his head spinning.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

"There's something funny about William, isn't there?"

"He's just grieving."

"An odd child if I've ever seen one."

"He's a genius, could probably do the job of Scotland Yard for them once he's old enough. Even Einstein was a bit odd, if I remember correctly."

"He's a bit off, Greg. You should have him te-"

"Just shut the fuck up, Phil. There's nothing wrong with my son."

Except there was, now that someone was forcing him to look, there was something there that moved behind his son's eyes. And no matter how hard he wanted to close his eyes to keep from seeing it, he couldn't close his heart to keep from grieving it. Mourning the loss of his perfect, genius son. It was ridiculous, but here he was anyway, fucking doubled over in the office of Sherlock's headmaster. He felt a hand touch his shoulder, and looked up to meet Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock, who was perfectly calm, perfectly collected, almost serene as he stared into Greg's eyes intensely.

"I'm still me, Papa," he said with his eyes squinted, uncertainty written on his face, insecure about his words when he shouldn't have to be. Greg, unable to keep looking at Sherlock's face when he was so nervous and confused, pulled the little boy into his arms, burying his face into Sherlock's curls.

He breathed deeply, calming his pounding heart. "If at any point you want to back out of this, just tell me and we'll stop going, okay? It's just a test, but there's no right or wrong answers. You just be yourself, okay?" Sherlock nodded, and Greg closed his eyes, trying to steel his nerves.

-- Sherlock was on the spectrum, Dr. Baynes told him, but had the IQ of a genius. After countless months waiting for a confirmation or denial of the fact, Greg had gotten somewhat used to the idea. The diagnostic process was tiring, painful, and often led to heartache and frustration, but at least now Greg had a name for it. He knew what Sherlock struggled with and how to make things easier on the lad.

Sherlock was 6 years old now, at the top of his classes, and attended a school that was perfect for him, free of nasty little boys and girls that called him a freak or a psychopath (which some weird kid in the fifth grade decided to call him once). He was a gifted child, called twice exceptional because he was both academically blessed but very challenged.

Greg realized that a diagnosis, no matter how much he'd been taught throughout his life was worse than a terminal sickness, didn't change his son. It didn't make Sherlock anything other than Sherlock, it just described him. It was an explanation of Sherlock's quirks rather than a way of saying that Greg didn't know how to parent. It wasn't a personal flaw, Greg learned, it was something written in Sherlock's DNA. And that was okay.

There were hard times, yes, like when he tried to take Sherlock to the restaurant during lunch hour and everything was too loud for Sherlock and they had to leave. Greg resolutely ignored the questioning looks, the pitying voices, the confused murmurs of the older patrons. And there were times when Greg was at the end of his rope and just wanted to cry alongside Sherlock, because he wanted to make it better but couldn't. Something inside of his bled and continued to bleed every time he saw the self inflicted wounds on Sherlock's skin after his melt downs.

But the winter was over, spring was coming, and they still had a long way to go.

Sherlock had almost mastered the piece he'd spent countless days learning to play on the violin, the one by Vivaldi. It was called Four Seasons, and a piece was written for each of them. Summer, Autumn, Winter and Spring. Sherlock was still working on Spring, he still had to memorize the finger placements and the right timing for it. But it was coming along, and Greg found that Spring was his favorite.

Spring was coming soon. Greg could feel it.

The night was ending, and Greg could feel the first traces of dawn. It was okay, everything would be okay, Greg was certain of it, because nothing had changed. Sherlock was still his little detective who could know weird things about peoples lives with a look, a boy who needed to be sung to at night so he could fall asleep, he was still the same kid who obsessed over bees and murderers. Greg wouldn't want him any other way.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/11319126 that’s it on AO3. @princesspeach212 gave me the prompt, I added the autism which nobody asked for. Sorry this was shit. 

#greg lestrade #papa lestrade #papa greg lestrade #winter's child #sherlock holmes #kidlock #autstic sherlock #autistic characters #my fic #my story #my stuff #andrew's stuff #sorry i made this