#love the way Watson leans off the door

[ineffabletwaddle13]

A baby is left at 221B Baker Street. When there’s a knock on the door Holmes speculates that it might be the baby’s mother but it is Inspector Lestrade.

Watson, snarkily: ”Not the mother”

In this adaptation I think that Watson is the more sarcastic one, whereas in the Arthur Conan Doyle books Holmes can be very sarcastic (mainly about the incompetence of the police), eg:

A Study in Scarlet: “There was a world of sarcasm in his voice as he spoke.”

#1954 Sherlock Holmes #sherlock holmes #ronald howard holmes #ronald howard #holmes and watson #doctor watson #inspector lestrade #221b baker street #a study in scarlet #arthur conan doyle #1954 sherlock holmes/ACD books #love the way Watson leans off the door #the case of the baker street nursemaids

[helloliriels]

One More Time (With Feeling)

"Are you sure?" Sherlock eyed the familiar street with wonder.

"Completely sure." The man behind him in the big blue box smiled. He was leaning over Sherlock's shoulder, trying to get a peek ... "This the moment?" he asked, grinning wider.

"This was ... this was it," Sherlock stammered. His feet betrayed him, already eagerly stepping out of the box and onto the cobblestone pavement.

He made it two steps towards Angelo's before the thought struck him. "What if he doesnt-?"

"-Want you?!" The man mocked incredulity, shaking his head, "trust me ... you're irresistible." Then he shut the doors of the Tardis, and Sherlock had to move or risk being seen.

He took a deep breath, then heard the whir of the machine disappearing behind him.

This was it.

.

Sherlock straightened his suit jacket, running his fingers through his messy curls and ... decided to take the jacket off and make himself appear as much like his younger self as possible.

Next ... he shot a text to himself. Waiting until that Sherlock was out of the way in the loos, he stole into the same seat beside John.

"So ... you have a girlfriend?" John was just asking.

Perfect timing.

. ... God, how much he had missed this John!

. eager, and open, and .... waiting ... ?

.

"Not really my area." he answered, swallowing his fears.

He feigned interest out the window, keeping his minds-eye firmly fixed on John. Trying to capture and record every minute detail of this precious moment.

"Oh," John took a bite, and then looked up again quickly, "Oh? You ... have a boyfriend, then?"

Sherlock's eyes flitted towards John's despite his best efforts.

"Which is fine, of course!" John hurried to add.

"Of course it's fine," Sherlock answered, suddenly needing water. He took a deep drink and caught his eyes drifting back to meet John's.

"So you have a boyfriend?" John asked.

Hurried pulse. Short breaths.

John had even licked at his lips when he spoke, like he was nervous ... afraid to ask? ... how had he not noticed before ... ?

"Nope," Sherlock replied, deepening his voice to a purr. The effect was not lost on John ...

Dilated eyes.

. Cheeks turning rosy.

. Slight shift in his seat ...

"Not unless ... you are applying for the job?" Sherlock asked unconcerned, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt.

John was watching his neck ... his pulse. Licking his lips again. His breathing hitched. Heavy.

This was hardly a fair game.

.

"Maybe we should go?" he asked, extending his hand.

Suddenly John rose with him.

Then hesitated.

"Did we need to-" John looked out the window, "... your murderer?" he asked, genuinely concerned they would let a criminal roam free if they left? It was adorable.

"Oh ... just passing the time," Sherlock reassured him with a dismissing wave of his hand, "it was a long-shot he would appear." Then ... as much as he wanted to stay and enjoy what followed ...

. Decided ...

He'd better go tell his younger, idiotic self .... the chances he was throwing away if he did not continue.

He would be understanding.

"Let me settle the bill," he lied, excusing himself to see John eagerly already out the door pacing back and forth with a smile on his face.

(psst! ... more is beneath cut!) - Liri

"You made it home, love?" John was smiling at him in a knowingly ... achingly ... more-than familiar way ... ?

"Did you ... miss me?" Sherlock asked cautiously, entering 221B. He closed the door behind him and stood with his back pressed against it.

Present Day.

Safely returned from his time-travel adventures.

He hoped.

"Did I miss you ...?!" John laughed. He was already taking Sherlock's hands in his, and sweeping him into the room.

Deftly, he danced them both around to the fireplace ... like this was just something they did, and had done ... a million times before?

Sherlock lost himself in the movement. Closing his eyes and enjoying the sensation that was John Watson, held in his arms.

He had only once before been able to steal that pleasure; Beneath the pretense of 'teaching John to dance'.

When at last, dazed, and more than pleasantly bewildered, they stopped swaying ... Sherlock dared to open his eyes.

A happy sigh escaped John's lips. Making him look even more ... irresistible?

"I take it you missed me too?" John teased. Pulling Sherlock down for a soft, delicious kiss. Sherlock melted into his arms. Giving John everything he had pent up inside of him, since leaving his younger self to carry on with the night before them ...

John's eyes opened wide as Sherlock finally released him.

"Where did that come from?" he asked, awed.

His fingers were on Sherlock's lips ... memorizing his face ... and then ... wiping a tear from where it traced down Sherlock's pale cheek.

"You have no idea ... how much I've missed," Sherlock replied at long last. His breath hitching against the words he struggled to free.

John kissed him again. More languid ... more painstaking possessive this time ... and Sherlock felt his knees weaken.

"Take me to bed, John?" he asked.

Genuinely wanting to know ... and to feel ...

. What their first time was like ... for himself ... ?

"Oh God, yes," John whispered.

. Leading the way.

..........................................................................................

For @totallysilvergirl request for the Angelo scene and @calaisreno prompt: Do-Over. Plus tossing in one more Doctor: (couldn't resist, mate)

@johnlocky @chinike @rhasima @raina-at @lisbeth-kk @jrow @khorazir @fluffbyday-smutbynight @topsyturvy-turtely @gaylilsherlock @a-victorian-girl @solarmama-plantsareneat @impalaparkedat221b @chriscalledmesweetie @friday411 @ghostofnuggetspast @sgam76 @janetm74 @peanitbear @masterofhounds @missdeliadili @loki-lock @meetinginsamarra @bs2sjh @gomielka @thetimemoves @thegildedbee @iwlyanmw @jobooksncoffee @amyreadsandstresses @kittenmadnessandtea @naefelldaurk @dragonnan @jolieblack @notjustamumj @jawnn-watson @dinner--starving @safedistancefrombeingsmart @weeesi @gregorovitch-adler @inevitably-johnlocked @dapetty @bewitched-bullet @theofficialinternetloner @keirgreeneyes @dontfuckmylifewtf @strawberrywinter4 @thalialunacy

#johnlock #do-over #mayprompts2024 #bbc sherlock #angelo's scene

[calaisreno]

Diagnosis

974 words / Prompt: Night / CW: Sad

After, I stayed at Baker Street as long as I could, but every morning that I woke up and found him gone plunged me into darkness. Everything reminded me. 

When I couldn’t sleep, I walked. I could never escape the memories, though. If I did sleep, they were there, waiting for me. 221B was full of memories, lacking him. At night, walking was better than lying in bed, sleepless, with the past. 

Sometimes at night I saw him. Wherever I walked, he would eventually appear, waiting in a doorway, sitting on a bench in the park. Without speaking, he would fall in step with me.

“You must be a vampire,” I told him one night. “I only see you after dark.” 

Vampires are not real, he said. 

“Are you real?” I asked. 

I could almost hear him smiling. You didn’t invent me.

Once I asked him if he would come home with me. He didn’t answer. 

I drank during the day, walked at night, and thought about going back to work. 

I slept in his bed. Even to myself, I seemed crazy. I thought about dying.

After a month of this, drinking and walking, it came to me that I had to leave. Mrs Hudson was lovely, but it was impossible for me to explain it to her, so I just left a note, promising to stop in at some point and pick up my things. 

I waited until night, took my bag and slipped out the door like a thief. As I looked back, I saw a tall figure in a Belstaff coat following me.

I’d travelled back in time to a depressing bedsit. To a life where Sherlock didn’t exist, where those few months at 221B were something I’d dreamed. 

The first day I returned to work at the hospital, a few people stopped me to offer polite condolences. I thanked them, saying the same empty things over and over. After a couple days, nobody reminded me that he was dead and I was alone. On my way home I bought more liquor. Vodka this time, since it didn’t leave much odour on the breath.. 

 Like a sleepwalker, I trudged along for weeks, not sure where I was heading. Life was just eating and sleeping, taking the bus to work and coming home, watching the telly, smiling at people, saying meaningless things. 

At night, I walked in a liminal space where he might still exist.

“This patient came in,” I told him one night. “Five years old, high fever, skin peeling right off his palms, bright red eyes.”

He glanced at me, intrigued. Diagnosis? 

“Kawasaki disease. Never saw a case before.”

What tipped you off?

“When he stuck out his tongue and I saw how swollen and red it was, I remembered reading about that and it all just clicked together.” 

Satisfying when that happens, he said, nodding.

He seemed as restless as I was, and began turning up in places I didn’t expect. There were always the all-night convenience shops, and if I had something to pick up he would follow me inside, just out of eyeshot, reminding me to get the biscuits he liked, recommending jams that I might want to try. What about these chocolate biscuits? Or maybe the ones with apricot filling. 

Sometimes he was there in the A&E, making observations and acting bored when I ignored him, as I had to. “Can’t have people thinking I’m losing my mind, talking to people who aren’t there,” I muttered.

I heard him scoff. No, we can’t have that.

But usually I only saw him when I wasn’t working. When I arrived at my sad little flat after work in the early morning, he would be leaning on the door, waiting for me. Almost every day I had a story for him, a new case to describe. He asked odd questions: Did you look at his fingertips? Did his breath smell like ammonia? Did she have freckles, not the usual kind, but darker? Did her skin look waxy? 

He’d always said, People see, but they do not observe. As I examined my patients, I tried to use his eyes to observe the things that might solve the case. And gradually I realised that I’d become the go-to doctor for bizarre diagnoses. The Sherlock Holmes of Barts Hospital.

Impressive, Dr. Watson, he said. You’ve become quite the detective. 

“You taught me,” I said. “It was from you that I learned to see everything differently. As you always say, the world is full of obvious things which nobody by any chance observes.” 

He smiled but said nothing. Though he loved receiving compliments, he was stingy in his praise of others. Once he’d praised something, there was no need to say it again just so my ego could bask in it. 

At other times, he was critical. You’re rotting your brain, he said one afternoon when I got out of bed and looked at my bloodshot eyes. You have talent — why are you doing this to yourself?

I didn’t point out that he had often rotted his brain with worse things. He had more or better brain cells, I suppose, and often needed to slow his mind down just to keep it from crashing out of exhaustion. 

But he was always more solicitous of my health than of his own. He scolded me now. You’re not taking care of yourself.

“I’m sorry,” I told him. “I’m really fucked up and I don’t know what to do about it. I miss you so much.”

I felt, rather than heard his chuckle. Try to remember all the things that used to annoy you. Try to remember what a prat I was.

“You weren’t,” I told him. “You were wonderful. I love you.”

The room was silent. When I looked up, he was gone.

#mayprompts2024

[itsonlytext]

Restoring Balance · scene i

He had already made up in his mind that he was going to sink in the silence alone today and yet there John was, texting him at 5am asking if he and Rosie could visit.

(read this chapter on ao3.)

sherlock discovers that although things will never be the same, it doesn't mean that it will always be necessarily bad. there aren't any warnings today - this is post season four, so feelings are (obviously) a tentative topic but there isn't anything upsetting ≈ 1500 words. also, we get a bit of rosie fluff. i love rosie. and fluff. and rosie fluff and mainly fluff and rosie with a bit of fluff but also rosie fluff the most

The weeks following Eurus' discovery were silent.

Of course, not literally - the builders that Mycroft sent to restore 221B after the explosion were incredibly loud and invasive. (Invasive about what? Nothing sentimental even survived. They were just doing their jobs. Sherlock eventually realised that he simply didn't like their presence every day from 3-6pm.)

But after they finished, after there was nothing left to be restored or repainted, Sherlock couldn't do anything but hover around the living room in the silence.

With a quick gaze over the room, it looked exactly the same as it did before the explosion, Mycroft's men had done well to ensure that. However for Sherlock, he couldn't help but notice how off-key the new wallpaper was, how the spray painted smiley face was neater than before and how the new desk by the window was an inch taller than the old one. He lived there - of course he was bound to notice. (He was himself - of course he was bound to notice.)

The detective stumbled out of bed and into the (unfamiliar) living room with a sigh. He didn't bother changing out of his pyjamas, for he had already decided that he wasn't going to do anything (or see anyone) at all today.

Another silent day - that was his resolve.

Early morning sun streamed down through the windows and straight into his eyes. It was earlier than usual, Mrs Hudson was yet to bring up his morning tea. Besides, he didn't want it; there was a persistent pit in his stomach that wouldn't let him sleep. (He wouldn't have been able to keep the tea down anyway.)

He made a point not to look at the walls or the smiley face or the desk that was too tall as he sat down in his armchair and pulled out his phone. He had two new messages.

Can We Come Over Today? Rosie's Been Asking For You.

Hope It's Not Too Early.

It was sent two hours ago. John often used to wake up early (a habit sustained as a result of the army) but recently, after his daughter was born, had somehow managed to wake up even earlier.

Sherlock's fingers hovered over the keyboard. The silence rang in his ears (he never got used to it, not really). He had already made up in his mind that he was going to sink in the silence alone today and yet there John was, texting him at 5am asking if he and Rosie could visit.

He blew out a gentle breath.

Sure. SH

John responded immediately.

Thanks. We'll Be There In Fifteen

He was probably struggling to entertain his daughter's early morning excitement any longer, waiting for a reply back, another shoulder to lean on. Sherlock suddenly felt bad for not seeing the messages sooner. His stomach churned.

He let his phone drop down and onto the leather of his chair. He glanced around. Tried not to let his gaze linger on anything for too long. There was an awful tightness in his chest whenever he breathed, as if his lungs didn't want him to. He needed a cigarette. Probably shouldn't. Not if Rosie's on the way. (Damn it.)

For now, he'll have to settle with just tea and hope it'll stay down.

John was (unsurprisingly) right - fifteen minutes of sinking deeper into his chair trying not to look at anything and there was a knock at the door.

A nest of blonde curls toddled into the detective's arms before he could stand up. He lifted her up and ignored the way she eagerly tugged on his hair with a remarkable grip.

“Watson,” he greeted calmly.

“Yeah,” she grinned, pulling on his curls and bringing his head down with it. He winced.

“Let’s not do that,” Sherlock said as he gently pried her tiny fingers away from his hair.

"She's doing that to me, too," John began. Sherlock glanced up, suddenly aware of his voice, his presence. He was lingering by the door with heavy eyes and a large baby bag over his shoulder. He pointed to his greying hair. "I think I've got a bald spot here now."

"You've always had that."

"Oh, thanks," he replied lightly, dumping the bag by the door and walking in. "You're erm. Up early."

Sherlock didn't reply, instead he turned his gaze to the toddler. She gazed back at him with an illiterate babble. Her stare was so firm yet so playful. (So John yet so Mary.)

“Any cases?” John carried on, fluffing up a pillow with a fist before falling into his armchair with a sigh.

For a moment, as he asked about cases and fell into his armchair, it was like time hadn’t irreparably cracked and bruised their friendship. But Sherlock knew that wasn’t true. Of course it wasn’t - the bags under John’s eyes and the silver colonising his blond roots ensured that it wouldn’t be the same again.

It made the pit in Sherlock’s stomach sink even deeper and he didn’t know that was possible. (He wasn’t sure it would ever go away.)

“Haven’t checked.”

“Greg hasn’t called for anything?”

“Who?”

“Sherlock.”

The corner of his lips tugged. “No. Mycroft called yesterday though. Something about a political domestic.”

He tilted his head. “And I’m assuming you turned it down.”

Sherlock smiled. Then suddenly, he winced.

“Rosie!”

“G’na pull it…”

“No!” John huffed, reaching forward and holding out his arms. “You don’t pull on people’s hair. It hurts.”

She grunted angrily, burying herself into Sherlock’s neck so that her dad couldn’t take her. “It’s alright,” the detective replied calmly, splaying out a large hand on her back and trying to ignore the piercing headache forming at the nape of his neck. He stood up with her and faced the mantle. “Let’s do something different.”

John watched as Sherlock fed her curiosity by providing context for all the memorabilia that had accumulated over the years at 221B. She (obviously) didn’t understand anything and she (definitely) didn’t care about the context other than they were all great to shove into her mouth, but it kept her from creating pools of bald spots in anyone’s scalps and for that the men were grateful.

John knew that their spontaneous visits were good for Sherlock - that he needed Rosie’s livelihood and John’s tiredness to feel needed enough so that he wouldn’t drown in his own mind. He also knew that Sherlock wouldn't ever realise that for himself.

“Oh, and that’s a pinned vampire bat. Not sure where from. Mexico, at a guess.”

“ ‘nd dat one,” the little girl grabbed a tiny metal object with sparkling eyes.

“That’s just the gun token from Cluedo.”

So instead of saying it, John just carried on keeping the visits spontaneous. (He figured that some things were better left unsaid. Or maybe one day Mrs Hudson will say it out loud and make the detective realise.)

“I bought some breakfast on the way,” he said suddenly. “Figured you haven’t eaten yet.”

Sherlock shifted his body slightly to face him. “Didn’t have to.”

“Yeah, well.” He stood up. “Let me take her, you eat.”

“It’s alright.”

“You’re not on a case, Sherlock, you’ve no excuse not to eat.”

“Not hungry.”

“That’s a lie.”

He glanced down at Rosie as he reluctantly handed her over to John. “Your father’s a tyrant.”

“I try,” he replied with an exaggerated grin, taking his daughter into his arms.

Sherlock strode over to the paper bag and pulled out the food. Cafe pastries, a sandwich. Nothing he could stomach yet. (The Danish looked good though. He was going to save that for later.)

He glanced back. John had sat down on the carpet with Rosie in front of him, playing with the skull and the tiny gun from Cluedo.

He knew very well that John could currently be in the comfort of his own home instead; he’d have a wider variety of toys for Rosie, (proper) baby food, their beds. John only did it for Sherlock’s benefit, not his own. But Sherlock didn’t say anything because he couldn’t deny that their presence probably was, on balance, better for his lungs than a three-month-old secret stash of Marlboro reds. (Damn it.)

He glanced back at the bag and pulled out the Danish pastry anyway, hoping that it would make his stomach feel better and not worse. He took a bite.

There was a knock at the door and Mrs Hudson used her elbow to push it open. She was carrying a tray of fresh food from the cafe and his tea.

“Too late,” Sherlock muttered between a bite, lifting the Danish pastry to show her.

“Oh, John,” the old lady ignored him, setting the tray down in the kitchen. “I didn’t know you two were coming.”

“Neither did we, really,” he smiled politely, ignoring the way Rosie climbed his frame and started to reach for his hair. “Well. Not until half an hour ago.”

“If I had known, I’d have gotten those cakes for the little one, the one she likes,” she gestured lovingly with her hands.

“She’ll like anything with sugar.”

As they conversed, Sherlock glanced at his watch. She was fourteen minutes late.

Mrs Hudson was never late to float upstairs with his cup of morning tea, she lived by that strict schedule for years; wake up, dress, make breakfast, eat, tidy her kitchen, make Sherlock's tea, carry said tea upstairs, tidy 221B and then open the cafe. She was the only subtle reminder that Sherlock wasn’t completely alone in the silence when he’d wake up at 8am to find a freshly steaming cup in the living room.

But after the explosion, things had been different - her (right) hip had gotten worse, her limbs more fragile in their venture up the stairs. She was, unfortunately, getting older. As a result, Mrs Hudson had been getting to him later. It wasn’t her fault, he knew that. (But it still troubled his stomach.)

Sherlock blew out a breath and shook the sleeve of his robe down to cover his watch. Suddenly, the Danish pastry in his mouth didn’t seem as appealing anymore.

this ended up being way longer than i thought/wanted/hoped, so i’ve split it in two. next one will be coming up soon. thanks folks!

let me know if you’d like to be/no longer be tagged.

tags: @nathan-no @helloliriels @dragonnan @strawberrywinter4 @with-a-ghost-mr-holmes @7-percent @totallysilvergirl @inevitably-johnlocked @meetinginsamarra @pressurepoint221 @gaylilsherlock @catlock-holmes @gaypiningshit @johnlocky @a-victorian-girl @astudyinlaura

#sherlock fandom #bbc sherlock #fanfic #john watson #johnlock #sherlock holmes #authors #itsonlytext #no queerbaiting in this house #queer community #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #queer #gay

[nitpickrider]

So, people say that Golden Age Lois plain and simply despised Clark as a weakling and a coward (with their more Vitriolic Best Buds thing being a modern inventions). Is this entirely true, or was there ever more to it?

Oh my friend that is not true at ALL. In fact from what I've read the idea that Lois despises Clark in any fashion outside of being a friendly professional rival doesn't hold up to the actual scrutiny. (Take this with the grain of salt that I'm only reading Action Comics at the moment, any stories or evidence that exist in the concurrent Superman comic are unknown to me). The moment that sticks out to me is this one so I'll use it for my main thesis statement.

I mean that's right there in black and white, isn't it? Even if her goal is to marry Superman, the only person she'd want to give her away at the wedding is Clark who she outright loudly declares to the entire office to be her second favorite man in the world (The story is a dream but that only strengthens the claim. This is what Lois is saying IN HER OWN MIND) I have TONS more evidence if you want to peak below the cut, be warned its mostly just gushing. I love Clark and Lois' relationship regardless of context and I have TONS of notes.

What people often miss is that in this era the two are actually dating on and off again? I've always read it as Lois and Clark just being each others' main social calls when there's something new to do or see.

She takes steps to activley improve his safety when he's put on dangerous assignment (and she would know, wouldn't she?)

When Clark is under threat of harm or god forbid seems to be actually hurt, it hits Lois like a train. The idea that something could have happened to her puts her into a very uncharacteristic spiral. She gets stunlocked and tends toward feinting which is otherwise very unlike her.

Beyond that, simply, the poor girl worries about him as much as he worries about her.

She relies on Clark to lean on and explicitly would need him around should anything happen to Superman, Clark is her main emotional support system and she knows it well enough to consciously lean on him when in distress

A simple moment of the two sharing a little bit of small talk, they work in very close quarters seemingly by choice. Clark is part of Lois' routine.

They even conduct their chores socially, which I'm given to believe was a much more common activity among friends back in the day. Lois takes a personal interest in Clark's life, how he's feeling, how he looks.

In this moment, granted she's trying to get something out of him but its not like she's holding her nose to give him a kiss on the cheek. And the second she seems disillusioned with Superman, Clark is the first person she can think of to pin her affections on.

When she's had a weird day at work, who does she talk to? Clark.

Even on her way out the door she tries to cheer him up just casually noticing he seemed more dour than usual, not only is that her taking an interest in him emotionally but it shows she knows and cares about him enough to note a change in behavior.

And THIS one is my favorite

She noticed his shirt was dirty, heard him say he had forgotten to get them washed. So she showed up at his apartment where she is evidently a regular enough sight that the doorman knows her by name, to pick up his laundry and have it done for him. No one asks her to do this, she just does it. I've always been fond of saying that the core anchor of any Superman story is the relationship between Clark and Lois. And I DON'T just mean their romantic entanglement. Like Holmes and Watson or Calvin and Hobbs. If you can't write a convincing back and forth between the two, if you can't make the audience believe that these two people are friends who love and care for one another. Then straight up you're going to write Bad Superman comics, period.

#dc #dcu #dc comics #dc universe #superhero #comics #superman #clark kent #lois lane

[topsyturvy-turtely]

(Rosie's) Elephant in the Room

Fandom: Sherlock (TV)

Words: 4491 (on ao3)

Summary: John Watson loves Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock Holmes loves John Watson. John Watson’s daughter loves her giant elephant plushie.

This is the story how the two men finally jump over their shadows and confess their feelings. All because of an elephant plushie.

---

Rosamund Mary Watson owned one thing she was incredibly proud of: her gigantic elephant plushie.

Name: Ellie Phant Astic

Gender: female

Age: 1 year 24 weeks and 5 days

Material: very soft fabric

Strengths: very good at hugging and listening. The best plushie in the whole wide world.

Weaknesses: shy, not talkative (only talks to Rosie Watson).

“Hi, Rosie, sweetie. What are you writing down?”, her dad (John Watson) asked, as he dropped his bag to the floor after he came home from work.

“Key data of Ellie Phant Astic. Look!”, proudly the girl showed off her scrawly handwriting to her dad, who squated down to kiss his daughter’s top of the head and review her professional plush toy data. Seven years old, exceedingly smart and good at social interactions as long as it only includes herself, her way too big elephant plushie and family, Rosie reminded John more of Sherlock than of himself. Writing down key data of a plush toy? Definitely a thing Sherlock did as a kid!

“Wow, that’s truly elephant-astic”, John joked and winked. Rosie giggled.

“I believe you call that a dad-joke, John”, Sherlock said leaning in the door frame, dressing gown over his sweatpants and a white T-shirt and a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Well,” John stood up and his spine made a clicking noise. “I am a dad, so I am allowed to make those.” John smiles. “How was your day with the little one?”

“Oh, it was quite ‘elephant-astic’, wouldn’t you agree, Watson?”, he said, making air-quotes when saying the really not that funny word.

Enthusiastically Rosie nodded her head. “Yessss! Phantie and Lock and me went to the pond in the park and fed the ducks and then we came home and played Cluedo and then I had to go down to Granny, because Lock was angry, because he wasn’t playing according to the rules but that’s okay because Phantie, Granny and I made cookies and they were delicious and I ate soooo much!”

“That sounds like quite a busy day, Rosie. But, I suggest you don’t play Cluedo with Lock anymore, he is extremely bad at it.”, the doctor said with a smirk directed at his flatmate.

Rosie laughed, looked at the tall detective, then at the 3 foot stuffed animal and finally whispered into John’s ear, “Phantie agrees.”

Knowing full well his Watsons were whispering and giggling over him, Sherlock countered, “I am not bad at Cluedo. This game is simply illogical.”

“Yeah, sure it is, Sherlock.”, John said and Rosie fell into a giggling fit. With a pout, Sherlock turned around and walked back into the kitchen.

Still smiling, John turned to Rosie. “I’ll be taking a shower and be right down. Will you be alright with Mr. Pouty-Face over there?”

Giggling, Rosie nodded and pointed at the giant elephant next to her, “Phantie and I can handle him.”

“Probably even better than I can, sweetheart.”, John said, gave Rosie another kiss and left to take a shower.

Upstairs John was overwhelmed by the chaotic mess of a room screaming at him. He used to have a very tidy room, apart from the occasional pants or jumper laying one day too long on the floor. That had changed when Rosie came and Mary had died. John had moved back in with Sherlock and was since then sharing his room with a little girl: Plushies everywhere, pirate costumes over his bed, a magnifying glass with a bunch of sheets with a kid’s colourful handwriting, on and around the desk. The closet door wide open, half of the clothes falling out.

This room was getting definitely too small for a little girl living her wildest dreams. Let alone a little girl and her father. Said girl wasn’t even that little anymore. They had two small singles now, instead of the queen sized bed, because Rosie was kicking like crazy in her sleep. John’s nightmares had gotten better with her close to him, but on bad nights he had to sleep on the couch downstairs, as to not disturb her. Or blankly stare onto the ceiling hoping sleep would make John its slave at some point. Thankfully Rosie slept like a stone most days.

And as much as it pained him and would for sure pain his daughter: John would have to move out soon, if he ever wanted to live like a grown man again. If he ever wanted Rosie to become not dependent on her father. They both needed their own space. For their own sakes.

John sighed, grabbed some fresh clothes and left the messy room to take a shower. Tomorrow. He would tell Sherlock they’d move out tomorrow.

Continue on Ao3 ;)

#turtely writes #(rosie's) elephant in the room #parentlock #lots of fluff #a tiny bit of angst but nothing severe i promise #idiots in love #love confessions #johnlock #johnlock ficlet #bbc sherlock #sherlock bbc #sherlock x john #john watson #sherlock holmes #rosie watson #mrs. hudson #johnlock fic on ao3 #happy about reblogs 🥰 #*throws badly cut out paper hearts at you*

[rainiishowers]

Heyyy if I may, I’d like to request something I had in mind? Thanks!

So how about the brothers with a mentally and emotionally stressed and exhausted mc? General hcs + the mc goes to then after dad and hugs them, telling the Boris that they’re tired?

Tysm! Also second POV and gn!mc? Tysm love <3 good work and good luck on everything!

A/N: A bit on the self indulgent side Honestly, this is probably the most I've been proud of something in a while, so I hope you enjoy! Short Summary: It was after test week at RAD, and the brothers can't help but notice that you don't seem to be in the best emotional or mental state

----

Lucifer

Lucifer meant to ask you about it, but had to stay behind at RAD for a while, so he planned to ask you about it once he got home

The eldest was going to search for his favourite human after dropping things off in his room, but when he got there, he notices you curling up on his bed

"MC?"

He could tell from your eyes as you looked up that you have been crying, even just slightly

Lucifer came to your side and you immediately attach yourself to him, giving him a loose hug

"....I'm tired, Lucifer.."

After taking a second or so to process this, he sighs, relaxing his body and returning the hug, drawing gentle circles on your back

"You can relax, the tests are over now."

Mammon

After just barely managing to do the tests that he sort of studied for, he almost missed the fact that you seemed a bit off

And as your first man, Mammon had to go check what was up

So, he makes his way to your door and stops himself from bursting the door down, and instead knocking

When there was no response, he comes in by himself and saw you laying on your bed, wrapped up in a blanket

"Human?"

No response.

"Humannnnn??"

A small shift

Mammon walks over just as you turn your head

You clearly looked like you haven't been able to sleep, and he's pretty sure lack of sleep is bad for humans

Before he could ask what was up, he was knocked back a bit, which he soon realized was you hugging him

"...I'm tired.."

That exhausted voice and the sluggish hug broke his heart, and he knew that you just needed a break

"Why don't we go watch a movie, yea? Your pick."

Leviathan

Having to go to RAD to actually do the tests sucked, since he was so used to doing online schooling

But, he got through it and when he returned home, he was going to go back to his room to recharge

However, he stops when he felt a tug on his shirt, and then felt a heavy force cling onto his back, almost knocking him forward.

Levi turns to see you, fully just leaning on him for support while also giving him a hug.

"...Levi.. Can we go to your room? I'm tired..."

That caught him off guard, as he stutters out a yes

"Wanna watch some anime?? O-Or play a game?"

Satan

I like to imagine that he (sometimes reluctantly) tutors his brothers, but he is very eager to tutor his favourite human

He was going to check up on you, see how you did and congratulate you, however it appears you found him first

As you knock on his door, he turns and goes to open it, and immediately he could tell how exhausted you were

Satan catches you with ease as you practically fall into his arms and give him a hug

"...I'm tired, Satan.."

"I can tell."

He sighs, worried as he goes to lay you on his bed and goes to pick out a book to help you sleep, as he could tell you clearly needed a nap

Satan lays down beside you and starts reading

He noticed you asleep rather quickly and so he simply smiles

"Have a nice nap, Watson."

Asmodeus

The tests took a lot out of Asmo, so obviously when he got home he immediately set out to go take a warm bath and have some self care

A while later, once he got out of the bath, changed into some comfy clothes and was getting all the self care things set up, he heard a knock on the door

"Who is it?~"

"MC."

Asmo goes to open the door himself with a smile

"MC! Dear! Perfect ti--"

Asmo was interrupted with you giving him an abrupt hug, and he could tell immediately what was wrong.

"The tests took a lot out of you too, huh darling?"

Asmo took the small shift of your head as a yes as he sighs and tsks, pulling you gently out of his chest

"Well, I was just setting things up to have a nice relaxing spa day, why don't you join me?"

Beelzebub

He isn't exactly sure how well he did on his tests, but he'd assume it would be an average score

But Beel wasn't worried about that right now, he was just worried on staving his hunger pains away by eating everything in the kitchen

He paid no mind to the slow footsteps he heard, but he did pay mind to something clinging onto his back

His two guesses were either you or Belphie, and when he turns to see you, your face just pressed into his back, he had a feeling something was wrong

"Is everything okay, MC?"

"...I'm tired... The tests were so tiring and mind-numbing..."

Ah.. So that's what it was

As you look up, you saw him offering a piece of the food he was eating with a smile

"Wanna go to a restaurant? It'll be my treat!"

Belphegor

In all honesty, he would probably be the one who finds you first

He would drag you away to the planetarium and lay on your lap, but even then he could something was off

So, he resorts to poking your cheek while asking what was wrong, but you seemed very out of it

He sits up when he didn't get a response and was caught off guard when you hugged him

"...I'm tired, Belphie.."

"Sleep, then."

You hum a bit, supposedly in agreement before drifting off to snooze land

Belphie huffs and uses his magic so you have good dreams

"Sweet dreams."

#obey me shall we date #omswd #om! lucifer #om! mammon #om! leviathan #om! satan #om! asmodeus #om! beelzebub #om! belphegor #om! mc #obey me! lucifer #obey me! mammon #obey me! leviathan #obey me! satan #obey me! asmodeus #obey me! beelzebub #obey me! belphegor #obey me! mc #tired mc #reactions #a bit self indulgent

[reinekes-fox]

Will there be any scenes in the mountains in one of your stories?

Maybe a hike in the high mountains, with a sudden snowstorm trapping the MC and a RO in a small cabin...

There will be! Because I love mountains and hiking, but I havent hiked in years :,(

In HaD (going on a hike with your youth group but you can be a little asshole and ditch them to instead go hiking with some ROs (or if the MC has the right rank they will be able to simply do what they want)) and in WiBi (with certain ROs this will totally happen).

Why not in BoaR? Because it wouldnt fit into the story. But have some reactions under the cut! Context: Wing MC knows about the magical world behind the veil that hides it from normal humans!

Fuchsia King

She looks around, dust is thick on every surface and coats her finger when she drags it across the table. Grey sticks to the tip and she shakes it, what did she expect? But still, her breath comes out as a white mist, its cold in here too. Skin tingling from the absence of the harsh wind that seemed to hurl snowflakes in their faces, as if it wants to stop them. She allows herself a grin. She is unstoppable and with her help so are you. But right now? Both of you don’t have a way to start a fire, a quick search turn out that the cabin also has nothing of use…

You turn around when she begins to undress, you can hear her chuckle and flinch when you feel her cold hands on your neck, gentle like a cool breeze. “I am going to change.”, she almost whispers, “And I know you are freezing too.” For a second she embraces you from behind, her slightly warmer body pressed against yours… taking the strength to shift from your touch and you gently lay a and over hers, squeezing it between your fingers. She mirrors the gesture then she steps back and you can hear her take a deep breath. You don’t turn around when you hear her pained groans and hear the clattering of her teeth on the wooden floor… the hair on your skin raises as the smell of blood grows stronger and you let out a relived breath when it vanishes. Slowly you turn around, going on one knee and embrace the giant wolf with all its fluffy fur.

Chase Watson

He looks around, the cocky smile back on his lips as soon as he closes the door and locks out the winter and the angry howl of the wind. He walks around the tiny cabin, with a few steps he has crossed it and kneels down in front of a fireplace. “We can start a fire!” You raise an eyebrow. “How?” Wordlessly Chase snaps his fingers and catches the tiny spark in his gloved finger… gloves… You jump forward and grab his hand, janking it away as the flying amber threatened to grow and latch onto the wool. Chase stares at you, then he hides his face in his still gloved hands with a groan.

“That was embarrassing!”, his voice comes out muffled and you can see his grey eye peeking at you, “Can we pretend that never happened?”

Droznik Juschka

He rubs his fingers together and shudders as the sudden absence of harsh winter makes his skin tingle. With a heavy sigh he leans against the door and doesn’t move for a few seconds, looking at you. “I am never going to try out a damn shortcut!” he mutters, mustering the motivation to push himself off and together the two of you start to look through the cabin for something to start a fire with. The search turns out futile and both of you settle on dragging every piece of clothing and fabric you can find into the tiniest room. Suddenly he stops, staring at you.

“Are… are we building a nest?” he asks, the usual fun coming back to his voice.

Astoria Rapace

“I didn’t know this still exists.” she muses, her fingers running over dusty surfaces, not noticing your still shivering state. “Do you know…” she stops when she hears you cough, her mouth an annoyed line. “Come here!” she orders you closer, her slender fingers on your face and eyes staring into yours… you feel like you are staring at the eye of a storm. “You do not freeze.” she says slowly, her words like a charm. You do not freeze anymore… but still, your body is shivering when it gets too cold.

E. Falkenflug

They let out a deep sigh, burying themselves further into the thick scarf. “Two holy Songbirds are stuck in an abandoned cabin.” they mutter, “If I ever direct a horror movie that’s going to be the plot!” Stubbornly they refuse to show weakness but they were as relived as you when they saw this cabin… Now they allow themselves a moment of rest, head laid back on the couch and eyes closed.

Slowly they open them again, green and bloodshot a morbid combination that would look good only in description. It shows that they put their wellbeing behind their duty. And again their sense of duty wins as they rise, throwing a pillow at you… “Don’t stay there, help me get a fire started!”

Marter

They were nearly asleep, dozing peacefully when the familiar sound of a message wakes them up, dragging them back from pleasant memories only seen in dream. But this is more important and they force their tired eyes open, focus on the present not on the past. It’s a message from you. Or rather a picture.

A cabin? It looks dark and cold, illuminated only by the flash of the phone.

Marter: ???

Wing: I finally got out of that snowstorm!

Marter: What? Why were you in a snowstorm??

Worry eats at their core, it makes them sit up straight, mind racing with one more silly thought after the other. They have to help you. They don’t even know where you are.

Wing: doesn’t matter. Just glad I found this cabin

They sigh, at least Wing is safe… that’s the most important thing!

Wing: So, you want to go hike?

Wing: When we ever meet each other, I mean.

They can feel the nervousness behind those words and their answer takes time… time that you spend staring at the message, inwardly cursing yourself and your clumsy frozen fingers for pressing send instead of delete! Why do you even have a signal here?

Marter: As long as we stay clear of snowstorms sure. Lets go hike together

#anon ask #birds of a rose ros #boar ros

[specialagentlokitty]

John x Male!reader - get you through it

Please, if you can, could I get a John Watson x male!reader (romantic relationship) where the reader goes a bit off the deep end mentally with depression after Sherlock ‘dies’, and then when he comes back the reader is just angry constantly at the feeling of abandonment and turn’s that anger onto themselves in the form of self harm. They don’t want to be angry with Sherlock but with the things they’ve experienced it’s hard for then so they blame themselves as the reason people keep leaving. Then John finds out why the reader has been so distant and has to clean up the wounds after a particularly bad day and promises that he won’t leave and he’ll help them get through it all. - Anon💜

TW: mentions of self harm and depression

When Sherlock died, it created a rift between you and John, he was mourning the loss of his best friend, and you were mourning the loss of your childhood friend, someone you saw as a brother.

While John threw himself into working, you threw yourself into any bar that would let you in.

You refused to go to the flat after that day, you stayed at your own flat, when John had the time to see you he would, but most of the time when he came by you weren’t in.

“(Y/N) the lights are on, open the door, please?”

John sighed, leaning against the doorframe, he tried texting, he tried calling, he’s tried everything short of calling the police to come kick your door down.

“(Y/N), open the door.” John called again.

A neighbour opened their door and peaked their head out.

“He’s not home love.” She said softly.

“His.. his lights are on, what do you mean he’s not home?”

John turned to the woman and she sighed a little.

“He came home earlier and turned them on and just left, hasn’t been in for hours. Sorry love.”

John nodded his head and tired to think of where you would be.

He didn’t have time to go check every bar for you, but something told him he wouldn’t find you in any of them.

He knew you, and after spending so long with Sherlock he had picked up a few tricks as well.

John tried calling you again, and he said when it went straight to voicemail.

It was getting darker by the minute, and he hadn’t seen you since this morning when you had punched Sherlock when he revealed he didn’t actually die.

“Come on… come on pick up your phone please…” he whispered.

He tried calling again, but again it went straight to voicemail. His messages were going through, so he assumed you were just actively sending him to voicemail.

He didn’t know what to do, he didn’t want to call the streets, he didn’t want to call Lestrade because he didn’t want to drag anyone else into this.

Sighing, john sat at your door, arms around his legs as he rested his head against the wall.

His phone chimed, and he quickly grabbed it, trying to unlock it as fast as he possibly could to see who the message was from.

Sherlock: he’s down by the river. Sitting under the bridge, Mycroft called to tell me.

John quickly jumped up and ran down the stairs as fast as he could, tripping up on a few but he carried on running.

He ran to street after street trying to get a taxi, and finally he got one and he told the driver where he wanted to go.

John didn’t need to get Sherlock to tell him where you were, John knew where you would be, because there was only one place by the river you liked to sit.

The taxi took too long for his liking, but when it stopped his threw the money at the driver and jumped over the railing, looking for the safest way down.

You were leant up against the bridge, taking a drink from the bottle next to you, you watched the water harshly hit the shore.

“(Y/N)!” John shouted.

You didn’t react the calling of your name, not seeming to process that someone was, in fact, calling out for you.

John stumbled to the bottom and grabbed the torch from his pocket as he turned it on and he started to carefully look around.

It was a large area, so it would’ve been easy to miss you, but as he walked forward he finally found you, just staring straight ahead.

“(Y/N)!”

John rushed forward, dropping to his knees next to you he set the torch down and turned your head towards him.

Your eyes were bloodshot, and you could barely seem to focus on him.

“You’re freezing, here, here.”

John took his jacket off and wrapped it around your shoulders.

“It’s… it’s my fault…” you mumbled out.

You titled your head away from him and carried on staring out at the water.

“What’s your fault love?” John asked softly.

“E.. everything…”

John looked at you, and he watched you pick up the bottle, going to take another drink from it and John quickly took the bottle from you.

He tossed it aside, listening to the sound of the shattering glass before he turned his attention back to you.

“I’m taking you home, let’s go.”

John was angry in a way, not angry at you per say, but angry at Sherlock for driving to this, and angry at himself for letting it get this bad.

Wrapping one of your arms around his shoulder, john hauled you up, nearly toppling over when your body fell into his.

You could hardly walk, so getting you home was a mission and a half, but he finally did it.

John had to search your pockets for your keys, and when he finally found them he unlocked the door and helped you in and over to the sofa where you just fell with a heavy thud.

“(Y/N) you need to go to bed.”

John walked over and knelt down in front of you, placing his hand gently on your cheek.

“I’m.. I’m fine…”

You turned away from him and John sighed.

He decided to leave you there and he covered you up with a blanket going to lay in the other sofa but he couldn’t sleep.

Every so often he would check up on you, waking you up to make you drink some water but that was it.

It was late afternoon when you woke up and you slowly got up, pushing yourself from the sofa, you made your way to the cabinet across the room but you were stopped.

Johns hand was on yours, stopping you from opening it and you turned to him.

“You’ve had enough (Y/N).” He said softly.

“I’m fine John…”

John pushed you away from the cabinet and stepped in front of you.

“You’re not fine! Bloody hell you’ve been drinking every single night for months! You’re drowning everything you’re feeling in alcohol! That’s not fine!”

You scoffed, walking over to the sofa you sat down and crossed your arms and John sighed.

“I’m worried about you love, this isn’t healthy. I just want you to talk about it, talk to me, let him in and help you.” He spoke softly.

You shook your head.

“It’s… it’s nothing okay.. it’s nothing… I’m going for a shower.”

John couldn’t stop you, so instead he went into your room and tidy the mess up, binning rubbish and empty bottles, throwing clothes in the wash basket.

He didn’t think too much about the long shower, but then he came across it.

A bloodied towel.

And it wasn’t the only one, and John sat on your bed waiting for you to come through, but you didn’t.

The water had stopped, but you still hadn’t come out of the bathroom, so John walked over and knocked on the door.

“I’m coming in.”

He wasn’t warning you, he was telling you.

He was getting more and more worried about after everything he was finding.

He pushed the door open and found you sitting on the floor, back against the tub as you held a towel over your arms, but he saw the blood mixed with water next to you.

John walked over and crouched in front of you.

“What have you done…?” He asked.

You had tears in your eyes and you shook your head.

“What have you done (Y/N)?”

“I… I can’t do it John.. it’s my fault! It’s my fault Sherlock did what he did! It’s always my fault! It’s why he didn’t want to tell me he was back! It’s why he did it! Because of me!” You yelled out.

John reached out, taking your face between his hands as he turned your head to look at him.

“None of this is your fault (Y/N). Absolutely none of it, okay? Don’t blame yourself.”

You shook your head and rested your forehead against his arms, trying to take deep breaths.

“Let me help you okay? Show me what’s happened, please?” He begged softly.

So you did, you showed John your arms and what you had done, and all he could was take a shaky breath, fighting back his own tears as he nodded.

He shuffled to the side and started to dig under your sink, knowing you had a medical kit under there and he pulled it out.

“I’m going to take care of you, okay? I.. I’m going to fix this…”

John started to tend to your wounds, carefully cleaning them and apologising whenever he heard you hiss in pain.

He stitched the ones that needed it, and bandaged your arms.

“Is it too tight?” he asked softly.

You shook your head and John helped you up, saying he was going to clean everything up when he was finished.

He took your to your room and set you down on the bed, sitting next to you he took your hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“I’m not going anywhere okay? I promise…”

John looked at you, and he could see the fading scars and he knew this wasn’t something that had just come on.

“I’m going to get your through this…”

John held you softly in his arms, letting a few of his tears fall free as he felt you leant against him.

He wasn’t going anywhere any time soon, he was going to keep you close to him, and he was going to keep an eye on you because he couldn’t bare to loose you

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

[chartreuseian]

Fic title challenge:

Chasing Dragons

(But not as in chasing an abnormal, so I suppose more in a metaphorical sense?)

Thank you for this one! Loved the challenge of it too 😁

Though I may have gotten a little carried away with it... Self control and restraint aren't really top of my character traits list, tbh!

CHASING DRAGONS

Nigel yawned, stretching as he tried his best to work out the kinks in his neck. The first light of the day was beginning to peek through the windows, finally overwhelming the weak light of the lanterns and candles that dotted the room.

The door to the laboratory opened and he flinched, startled by Watson’s abrupt appearance.

“Mornin’,” Nigel offered through another yawn.

“Did you make much progress?” Watson asked, glancing between the four piles of research that each had an exhausted scientist floating somewhere around its edges.

Nigel shook his head, rubbing at his eyes. Watson had started to blur a little and it was hard to focus on anything that was more than three inches from his face.

“Read most of it, but nothin’ new,” he continued. “Druitt might’ve found something, but Tesla’s having trouble translating it.” He sucked in a deep breath, shaking his head to try and get his thoughts to come to some sort of order.

Watson was nodding sagely, eyeing them each in turn.

“And Helen?”

The woman in question offered no response, absorbed completely in her studies. Nigel felt the urge to yawn again just looking at her.

Instead he settled on shaking his head, half in admiration and half in admonishment.

“Still chasing dragons, I’m afraid.”

Helen made a small noise of disapproval and looked up at them over the fortress of books that piled around her on all sides.

“You know full well how I feel about that term, Nigel,” she replied pertly. How she managed to be so damn awake after spending all night studying he’d never understand… And she wouldn’t even take a lick of coffee either.

“They’re simply a particularly large species of winged lizard, and to give them such a rudimentary description is to completely misunderstand their entire physiology.”

He blinked at her lecture, stifling another yawn. No one dared interrupt her, all four of them well aware there was danger to be had in cutting her off before she was done.

“And more than that, my study is not of the creatures you so crudely refer to in that way. We ruled out that line of inquiry days ago.”

None of them spoke and Nigel could just about feel her challenge in the silence.

He shrugged, turning back to Watson.

“Like I said, chasing dragons.”

“Nigel,” she began. “There’s no such thing as dragons.”

He grinned at her then. She was too easy some days.

“And since when has that stopped you chasing them?”

Helen rolled her eyes and returned to her study, but he caught the barely concealed amusement on Watson’s face. Druitt was doing a better job of hiding it, but Nigel supposed he had better incentives than the rest of them to keep his nose clean when it came to Helen.

“I need sustenance if we’re going to keep this up,” he announced. Turning to Tesla, Nigel jerked a thumb towards the door. “Feel like hunting down some coffee?”

Tesla frowned deeply enough that his eyebrows were touching, but nodded quickly. He carefully set aside the slim journal he’d been writing in before standing, shooting a slightly confused look in Helen’s direction before hurrying across the room and matching his strides as they slipped through the door.

They were a few steps into the corridor when Tesla leaned in.

“I do not understand,” he said quietly, as if still afraid of being overheard. “If there are no dragons, then why is Helen trying to chase them?”

Nigel did his best to hide a smirk, throwing his arm around Tesla’s shoulders.

“It’s a metaphor, mate,” he confided with a laugh. “Don’t worry too much about it. You’ll get the hang of ‘em one day.”

---

“Is the lady of the house about yet?” James asked as he strolled into the dining room. John looked up from his paper, smiling at his friend as he adjusted the collar of his shirt.

“Likely,” he replied, reaching for the cup of coffee he’d been able to procure from the kitchens. The cook wasn’t up yet, but there had been a kindly maid floating about who didn’t seem too put out by the Lady Helen entertaining men without a chaperone and kindly obliged his request.

James raised an eyebrow as he settled himself in one of the vacant chairs. The table was set for breakfast with a small mountain of pastries teetering precariously on a platter in the centre.

“She was awake long before me,” John offered, pushing down the urge to duck away from his friend’s gaze. There would be no judgement he knew, but still it felt strange to be sharing Helen’s home (and bed) so openly. “Chasing dragons, I suspect.”

James opened his mouth to respond only to snap it shut at the sharp glare he received from the rather dishevelled version of Helen who appeared in the doorway, as if summoned by their teasing.

“Honestly,” she began, hands on hips. “There’s-”

“No such things as dragons,” James and John said, cracking matching grins at one another as the words tumbled out together.

“We know,” John continued, standing and turning to face his fiancé as she approached the table. She was frowning at him, brow furrowed and he grinned, leaning in to press a kiss against the line that had appeared in her forehead.

“They’re simply-”

“Lizards,” he finished. “Yes. We know that too.”

He wrapped his hands around her waist, grinning more broadly when she allowed the action, leaning into the embrace ever so slightly. She was so full of airs and graces when they were in public, but here, in her home she seemed to delight in the impropriety of it all.

And because he could see the beginning of a far longer lecture brewing in the set of her mouth, he swooped down and kept it busy for long enough for all thoughts of dragons and lizards and everything in between to slide from her mind.

---

“Uncle James?” A small voice interrupted his revere and he had to blink several times to piece together the images before him. He looked across to the door of his office where a rather small blonde creature was looking at him imploringly. Seeing she had his attention, she cocked her head. “Where’s mom gone?”

He smiled at her, pushing away from his desk.

“Is she not in your rooms?”

Ashley shook her head, thick blonde plaits slapping against the side of her head.

“And she wasn’t in the kitchen?”

Another shake.

“And she wasn’t in the labratory?”

Ashley sighed then.

“I checked, Uncle James. I promise. Just like you said last time.” There was something in her blue eyes that was so fiery that he saw her father almost more than her mother. “She’s not anywhere.”

He grinned at her then, raising an eyebrow before standing and holding a hand out to her. She came to him willingly, her hand feeling small and trusting in his.

“Well then,” he began, leading her from his office, “I suspect you’ll find your mother has set about chasing dragons again.” Ashley’s confusion was clear on her face and James found himself biting back a grin. He’d never given much thought to having children around, but he had become quite the fan of Ashley and her excitable curiosity.

He lead her down the corridor towards the wing of the library he knew Helen favoured.

“Shall we go intervene before she ends up peril?” he asked. For a moment Ashley seemed confused, then she frowned.

“Mom said there’s no such thing,” she replied, following him none the less. “She said they’re…”

James let her diatribe wash over him, the words alarmingly familiar and he was rather impressed by the child’s ability to retain such complicated strings of syntax. Her talking continued as they made their way to the library, not pausing until he squeezed her hand when they came to a stop.

She looked to him then and James smiled indulgently before pushing open the door for her.

Ashley’s hand slid from his as she crossed the threshold, her pace picking up the moment she noticed Helen’s dark head poking up from behind a stack of books.

“Mom!” she cried happily, launching herself across the room and landing rather heavily on Helen’s lap. “Uncle Jamie says you’re chasing dragons, but I thought you said there were no dragons, and that they’re just…”

Ashley continued her babble as Helen shifted her arms around her, drawing the eight year old onto her lap more properly. She met James’s eye, offering a faintly roll of her eyes.

He held up his hands in a show of innocence, but was unable to keep the grin off of his face entirely.

---

“Have you seen Magnus?”

Nikola sighed, not looking up from the computer he’d claimed as his own. Perhaps if he ignored them, they’d go away?

There was a long suffering sigh from whichever of the children had interrupted him, but they seemed unable to take the hint his silence offered.

“Tesla?” the voice prompted. “Magnus? Have you seen her? She was supposed to come down to take inventory of the clutch of eggs that arrived this morning but I can’t find her.”

Nikola rolled his eyes.

Another sigh and the subtle shifting of weight.

“C’mon Tesla. You don’t have to be such a dick.”

At that he did look up, narrowing his eyes at Wilhelm and his unnecessarily dramatic posing in the doorway.

Rolling his eyes at the ridiculousness of the Protégé’s inability to track down a single person in a moderately sized collapsing mansion, he gave the younger man a withering look before turning back to his computer.

“She’s chasing dragons,” he said waving a hand in a gesture that he hoped suggested to Huggybear that there would be no further information on offer.

“There’s no such thing as dragons,” he replied, pursing his lips as if it might have a hope of chastising him.

At that Nikola couldn’t help his grin. He met the young man’s eye then, raising an eyebrow just enough to articulate how utterly foolish the child’s statement had been. “Trust me. That has never stopped her chasing them.”

#ask game #writing #fanfic #sanctuary #its a five fic! #because i couldn't stop with just the first bit #i feel like there's an entire series that could happen from this one

[chocmarss]

This was supposed to be a part of this fic I did for Codywan Kiss Bingo 2022, but the inspiration just tapped off until I wasn’t able to finish it. I had a whole plan of it, with it being a Winter Soldier AU, and that I could expand more of my Clone OC, Watson — CMO of the 212th, blond, likes to shove his hair under a surgical cap to prevent it from going into his face, has a beard, and a scar running over his left cheek. But it looks like I’m not going to finish this fic ever, so here’s an excerpt what I managed to write before I lost interest lmao

The criticism in Watson’s stare was severe. “General Kenobi. A job well done, I assume?”

Obi-Wan pulled away the handkerchief he was using for his bloodied nose and flipped it to the clean side. He could feel the medic’s disapproval thickening in the air. “I would think so, Watson.”

“That’s good, it means I’m not senile yet to hallucinate the presence of General Windu in my office,” Watson gave Mace a two-finger salute, genuine despite the dripping irony in his tone. “Hullo, sir. Nice to see a familiar face again, after all these years.”

“Lieutenant,” Mace greeted him warmly, and Obi-Wan prevented a scoff from escaping. Sides were being chosen here, considering the exasperation Mace gave out when Obi-Wan came tumbling through the door of his cruiser with a broken nose, something he hadn’t noticed himself until it was blankly pointed out.

Cody’s attempt to subdue him with brute force wasn’t as successful as he would have wanted, but Obi-Wan had been far too distracted by his general existence to realise that he was, in fact, bleeding down his Stormtrooper disguise and creating quite the mess on his person.

“I’m a familiar face, Watson,” Obi-Wan reminded him, telling himself he didn’t sound so petulant in front of a former member of the Council and his former CMO. “Have been for the past eleven years we’ve been working together, in fact.”

“I know, sir,” Watson crooned, mocking because he was no longer the 212th’s Head Medic and was instead Head Medic of this whole base. Which meant he wasn’t taking any further banthashit than what was extremely necessary, and that was saying something — from the look on his face, there was clearly none to spare.

He reached for some cotton and gauzes. “I’ve patched you up more times than I could count. Come here any more frequently, you’ll be a loving apparatus of our living space. You’ll keep us company and such.”

That was a threat. Obi-Wan was being threatened by someone who knew how to probably rearrange a Hutt’s innards in his sleep.

“Watson.”

Watson pointed to a chair, taking out a small pack of ice from the mini conservator, a label slapped on the door said MEDICAL PURPOSES ONLY. “Sit down and lean forward so that you don’t choke on your own blood, sir.”

“Would you believe that your general tripped and fell on the way down the ramp?” Mace lowered himself on the other chair. “On his two feet, to be exact.”

“I’ve known General Kenobi for years, and fortunately for myself, he wouldn’t dare be clumsy for the sake of being clumsy,” After setting his ice on the nearby medical tray, Watson pulled Obi-Wan’s hand away and squinted at his face. “Or he’ll be here far more than any of us would like. I’m guessing you snapped his nose back into place, General Windu?”

“Yes,” Mace answered simply, with a touch more serenity that was forced at best, given his general displeasure at Obi-Wan’s, as he’d put it, reckless and thoughtless buffoonery. He ignored the look Obi-Wan shot in his way. “Would Obi-Wan be alright?”

“You did a great job on his nose, if that’s what you’re wondering, sir,” Watson assured him, swiping the blood away with a cotton bud, careful to not hurt him. “He won’t risk anything crooked that’ll alter his physical appearance, but if it hurts to touch and feels congested, General Kenobi, I suggest coming back so that I can do something about it.” He leaned back. “Move around your nose without touching it.”

Obi-Wan did as he was told. Watson raised his brows. “Did you feel any grating or rubbing sensation in your face when you did that?”

Obi-Wan twitched his nose again. “No.”

“Good. It means everything’s aligned.”

“We didn’t have any ice pack to tone down the swelling,” Mace explained. “Obi-Wan was able to stop the bleeding at one point, but the moment we touched down, it just started back up.”

“Like a leaking refresher pipe,” Obi-Wan quipped.

“Given that nothing seems any more out of ordinary, you’ll be fine,” Watson cleaned the last of the blood off, and he began reaching for the gauze and the splint. “So, whose fist connected with your face, if you don’t mind me asking, sir. I’d like to keep a record.”

“To avenge me?” Obi-Wan inquired innocently.

“To consider the possibilities of checking your reflexes with my hammer.”

#clone oc #clone trooper watson #obi wan kenobi #mace windu #the clone wars #star wars #codywan #marswrites

[prittyvenus]

The medium and the Nameless Ghouls

Case file 003-1 Terzo file Saving Dewdrop

After getting the bishop’s name from Dewdrop, the cops began the investigation. Omega and Phil are both willing to help but Phil’s past life is beginning to unravel along with phantoms of the past. Can Sara help solve the crisis that’s plaguing him?

Sara grabbed her phone and stopped the recording, just before Dewdrop tossed his pillow at Aether. Sister Imperator approached the door.

"What is going on here!" She shouted.

Dewdrop stopped himself from throwing the second pillow, then he tucked it behind him. "You live for now, Aether. You stupid son of a bitch."

"Love you too, baby doll!" Then he ran off.

Sister Imperator picked up the pillow and dusted it off. "It would seem that someone had taken himself into mischief." Dewdrop slowly went over and grabbed the pillow. Then Imperator grabbed his throat and squeezed the scars on his right forcefully. "This behavior will not be tolerated in this Clergy am I absolutely clear?" Dewdrop nodded his head trying to breathe.

"Let him go. Sister." Sara sternly told her.

"What did you say?" Imperator asked

Sara shows her badge and handcuffs. "Let him go. I will not allow you to physically harm or abuse him in any way." Sister lets him go and Dewdrop collapses. "He is a valuable witness to the murder and he gave us the name of the killer who killed Lucia." Sister widened her eyes. "If you harm him again you will be arrested for physical and mental abuse, but also assault on a medical patient, and interfering with the police investigation." Sister stood still and turned white as a ghost. "Plus, I know for a fact that you don’t want that stain on your reputation."

Dewdrop starts coughing to breathe. "You win this round. Next time you won’t be so lucky." She said before she walked away.

"Don’t count on it, bitch." Sara said as she put her badge and handcuffs away.

Copia stood with his mouth open. "What?" He says in a low sounding voice.

Sara ignored Copia and tended to Dewdrop. "Are you okay? Did she hurt you?" Sara sees the scars move from Dewdrop’s neck. "What the fuck?" The scars open and close every time Dewdrop takes a breath. "I thought those were scars."

Dewdrop smiled. "Well, I wasn’t kidding when I said I was a water ghoul." He began to cough.

A male human nurse runs inside and sees Dewdrop on the ground leaning on Sara. Sara reveals the bruise on the right side of his neck. "Sister Imperator grabbed and squeezed his gills. Do you think you can help him?"

The nurse nodded and used the emergency phone inside the room. "Doctor? We have a code 647 in room 113." The nurse pauses. "Yes, that’s right. She exploded on a patient." The nurse looks at Sara and Dewdrop. "It’s fire ghoul 106. She severely damaged his right gills, sir." He looks back at the phone. "Understood sir. I will take him there." He hangs up the phone and rushes to Dewdrop. "He needs to be taken to the west hall room 215 on the second floor." The nurse helped Sara with carrying Dewdrop.

As soon as they got to the elevator and got to the second floor the emergency bed was ready for them. Sara and the nurses helped Dewdrop onto the bed and rolled him down the hallway to the emergency examiner's office. The male nurse held her arm and told her, "You cannot enter beyond this point."

Sara looked desperate. "When will he be out."

"I don’t know, maybe hours? It depends on how bad the damage is." He asked her, "I don’t think you’re from the clergy, are you?"

"No, I’m not." Sara reveals her badge. "That patient is a witness to the death of Lucia Watson." The nurse looked away. "I know she wasn’t liked here, but…"

"You want to bring the killer to justice." The nurse interrupted her. "Look, I was once a close friend of her brother and trusted me, she was a piece of work. Her parents are spanking rich, wealthy beyond belief, and don’t give a damn about the poor life. That’s until the recession hit."

"That must have hit them hard."

"Yup, the family almost lost their fortune because of it. My best friend had a hard time getting a job because of it. He had to go overseas to find work."

"Did he ever come back?"

"No, he got married in Singapore and stayed there. But he does call sometimes to let me know how he’s doing."

"According to Phil, she was abandoned by her husband and family. How did that happen?"

"Well, when the recession hit. She started to act up. She doesn’t want to stop her spending habits and then started to chase other men around while her husband was working. Then one of her husband’s coworkers started to report to her husband about what she had been doing. Even recording her love affair with their boss."

"Holy Shit!" All the nurses and doctors look at her. "I'm so sorry… it won’t happen again."

One of the ghoul doctors yelled "Language, next time lady." Then they all left.

"I guess you weren’t kidding about her being a piece of work."

"Oh, trust me, it gets worse. After her son was born her husband decided to take a DNA test on him. After he found out that he wasn’t the father, he wanted a divorce and decided to sue her for damages."

"Bet she didn’t win on that case."

"Of course, she didn’t win. She was forced to pay three million dollars in damages and compensation for mental distress."

"Unholy mother of Satan…" she said as she was being watched.

"You have to get used to it. Anyway, she begged for money from her friends and family but no one wanted to help her. Until her parents caved to her demands, leaving them completely broke. Then one day they decided to take custody of her son and disown her."

"Wow talk about karma."

"She was forced to come here after they found out she had not learned her lesson the first time."

"I would not lie, they all suck. They should not have spoiled her from the beginning. Now they are stuck with her debt and her kid."

"I know right?"

Sara went over to a desk and asked a ghouette for a sticky note and a pen. She wrote down her name and number on paper and handed back the pen. Sara went to the nurse and gave it to him.

"Here’s my cell number. Your testimony will come in handy in the investigation. When you are free just give me a call."

"Sure thing." The nurse takes the paper and puts it in his pocket. "Is there a place where I can meet with you?"

"I'm going to be staying at the mansion of the three papas."

"That abandoned mansion! You know they died in there, right?" One of the ghoul doctors approaches Sara and the nurse. "Sorry to interrupt but you said that you are staying at the mansion of the Emeritus Brothers?"

"Um... Yes?" Sara looks confused.

The ghoul doctor got close and whispered to Sara. "You know I'm not supposed to say this, but..." The doctor looks around. "The murders were carried out by Sister Imperator through the order of Papa Nihil."

"So, wait. It was Papa Nihil who gave the order?"

The doctor hushes Sara.

"I don't know. It feels fishy to me." Sara looks at the doctor. "Thank you for the info, but I'm here for Lucia Watson's murder. I don't have a warrant for the Emeritus Brothers."

"Oh, that's a shame..." The doctor looks disappointed "We were willing to help you out too." The doctor looks at Sara. "Copia is great and all but he's not a true Emeritus."

Then the intercom turns on. "Whoever is Sara Santos of the police department, Way to fucking go! Nobody has ever fought Sister Imperator and lived to talk about it!" Sara's face turned red from embarrassment. "Also, can you please help Copia in room 113? I think you traumatized him."

Sara was shocked. "Oh shoot, we left Copia in Dewdrop's room!"

The nurse looks at Sara. "Let's go get him!" Then they left for the first floor.

Case file closed

Case file content

#papa emeritus iv #nameless ghouls #copia #ghost fanfiction #the band ghost #papa popia #sister imperator #dewdrop ghoul #aether ghoul

[ecoamerica]

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

#ACLA24 #ACLA24HighSchoolStudents #youtube #youtube video #climate leaders #climate solutions #climate action #climate and environment #climate #climate change #climate and health #climate blog #climate justice #climate news #weather and climate #environmental news #environment #environmental awareness #environment and health #environmental #environmental issues #environmental education #environmental justice #environmental protection #environmental health #high school students #high school #youth #youth of america #school

[wild-lavender-rose]

Change of Plans

Birthday Month Event

Pairing: John Watson x reader

Category: One-shot 

Summary: You get some birthday cuddles from your boyfriend. However, John has more than just a relaxing evening on his mind... 

Warning: None

Birthday Note: Do I have a thing for Martin Freeman and the characters he so brilliantly portrays? Maybe. Is that a bad thing? Absolutely not ;) 

     You came home to the flat to find John in his favorite chair by the fireplace, dozing. It was a comforting sight, especially after a long day working in the office and fighting with Lestrade. You were the detective who supported Sherlock’s assistance. 

     You were the one who defended him and his crazy ways, even when it meant putting your badge on the line. It was exhausting and you loved it. But nothing made you forget a taxing day quite like coming back to John. 

     He stirred as you kicked off your shoes and slid off your jacket, giving a pleased hum when you proceeded to crawl into his lap. “Hello, darling,” his kiss was slow and sleepy. 

     “Hey,” you snuggled into him, forehead resting in the crook of his neck, your arm draped across his waist. “I got your flowers in the office earlier. Thank you, they’re beautiful.” 

     “Good, I’m glad you like them.” John had closed his eyes again as he absently rubbed your back. “Did you get the chocolates too?” 

     You nodded, the memory causing you to smile. “How did you know the strawberry cream-filled ones are my favorite?” 

     John gave a soft chuckle. “Kind of hard to forget something like that.” He lifted his head and kissed the side of your face. “You mentioned it once and I made a mental note of it.” 

     “Thank you, John.” You nuzzled closer. 

     “Happy birthday, darling.” He shifted so he could wrap you up in his arms. “You ready for our date tonight?” 

     “Our date?” You raised your head to look at him. “I thought Mrs. Hudson had planned a party for this evening.” 

     “Well she did, but then Sherlock convinced her that tomorrow would be a better day for it.” 

     “Why would he convince her to change her plans?” 

     “Because, you know,” John cleared his throat as his face grew slightly flushed. “Reservations.” 

     You smiled. “And that’s all?” 

     “Yeah, of course. That’s all.” John sat a little straighter. “You better go on and start getting ready, our reservations are for seven thirty.” 

     Not believing him for a moment, you leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “All right, have it your way.” You moved off his lap and started for the bedroom. “Just as long as the night ends in dessert, I’m all yours.” 

     “Thank goodness we’re going somewhere with dessert then.” John waited until you had gone into the bedroom and shut the door before reaching down to touch the small, square box in his pocket. And the glistening engagement ring hidden within. This was definitely going to be your best birthday ever, for both you and John.

Fanfic Masterlist

#john watson #bbc john watson #john watson imagine #john watson x reader #john watson x you #john watson x y/n #bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock holmes #bbc sherlock series #john watson fluff #john watson fanfiction #john watson fanfic

[averagewriter-inthedark]

The Heart Of The Spiders 🕸 | No Way Home Series Outtake

Contains major spoilers for Spider-Man NWH

Quiet As A Cat series Masterlist | Marvel Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Tobey!Spider-Man x female!Reader /Black Cat (Romantic) , Andrew!Spider-Man (Platonic/flirtatious), Tom!Spider-Man (Platonic), Michele Jones-Watson x Tom!Peter Parker, Emma!SpiderVerse Gwen Stacy x (slight) TAMS!Peter Parker.

Content warnings: lots of fluff, slight angst. Mentions of Earth-616 & Earth-65. Profanity, flirtatious banter, and mentions of character death. Slight canon divergence & spoilers for SMNWH. Descriptions of violence and blood. | Female reader (she/her) | about 2k-3k words.

Premise: Michele Jones had one important job, keep the ritual box safe and away from the multiversal villains. While the three Spider-Mans are off being the hero, MJ takes her chance to flee the lab in hopes of finding a safe place for the box when Ned fails to close the portal. They get separated in the school and to the teenagers surprise, she comes face-to-face with two other worldly visitors—who are quite familiar with Peter Parker themselves. Three is the magic number after all, even for the heart of Spider-Man.

Note: hi friends! I have a very special outtake to my first Tobey!Spider-Man x Black Cat!reader series! This outtake is basically something that could’ve happened but didn’t therefore there will not be more parts involving this. I would’ve just made a miniseries if I wanted to do that (maybe in the future though). Just pretend everything that happened with Connors and Max took longer than it did in the film😂 To make it easier, the first two parts of the series are still the same—as are the eventual prequel and the sequel. The only difference if this outtake happened would be the last three parts of ‘Quiet As A Cat. I thought this would be fun linking all the comic book loves of Peter together. Hope you like it!

———————————

“A-and that is a lizard—on shit!!” MJs was pulling Ned away from the portal when the giant creature was racing toward them. Ned was unable to close the portal linking the high school to the Liberty Island—they should’ve known things would go sideways. They ran away screaming Mj holding the relic close to her as Connors chased after with their Peter flinging onto his back.

“Run!” The teen screamed, pushing the mad scientist into a wall. MJ threw the box at Ned, seeing him catch it and went to charge forward but the two fighting got in her way. “Connors, stop!” Yelping, the girl spun around and raced out the door of the lab into the hallway.

Her feet pounded against the ground, echoing in the silent corridor as she ran as fast as she could away from the lab. She didn’t know if Connors saw her hand the box to Ned or if thought MJ still had it, but she didn’t take any chances. Turning the corridor as the sounds of chaos continued to fill her ears, MJ speed down the steps to the lower level of the school.

When she got to the opposite end—not hearing any sign she had been followed, MJ leaned against the lockers out of breath. Sweat coated her forehead, the girl bringing her sleeve up to wipe the moisture away. Her ankle was burning, more than likely a little sprained because of how fast she had turned to corner.

“Oww,” she moaned, before covering her mouth. MJ felt her heart quicken, waiting for the sound of Connors. But there was nothing. She listened closely—trying to see if there was any indication she wasn’t alone in the school and again was met with silence.

Quiet and carefully, MJ tiptoed her way back to the upper level of the school and to the lab. She didn’t hear Peter nor the loud roar of Connors, and felt it was safe to enter. When she opened the door, MJs shoulders dropped in defeat no longer seeing the bright orange glow of the portal.

It was gone—having closed after Peter got Connors out of the lab and away from the teens.

Now MJ was stranded at the high school while her boyfriend, best friend, and alternate versions of Peter were on Liberty Island. The lab was destroyed and she didn’t have the sling ring like Ned to conjure a doorway for her. The girl was at a loss.

“Now what am I going to do?” She wondered aloud, feeling the frown make its way on her face.

A giggle echoing in the what she thought was an empty hallway save for her had chills on MJs spine. The teen froze, now aware of the footsteps approaching at the opposite end of where she stood.

And it wasn’t just one pair of footsteps.

Nerves filled her veins, hands shaking on the door handle when the clacking of boots on the tile got louder. MJ slowly backed away from the lab, letting her hand fall to her side as she made her way to the middle of the hall so she could face the potential threats.

The girl was unsure if they were from her world, but after the days events she doubted they were. They had to be visitors.

There, at the end of the hallway stood two darkened silhouettes—their faces hidden from MJs vision. One looked taller than the other, obviously wearing some kind of boot judging by the clacking of the heel against the tiled floor. MJ couldn’t see their faces yet, the light of the moon behind them reflected off so all she saw was their outline.

They were walking side by side with only an arms length between them. Both were instep, slowly walking toward the girl with straightened postures. It definitely caused MJs nerves to heighten. Even without seeing their face the teen was highly intimidated.

“Looks like little spiders right hand gal is stuck in a pickle. Whatever will she do?”

MJ heard a woman tease her, the sound coming from the taller of the two. It was feather like yet mature, like she was older than the unknown figure. MJ could see them approaching a lit area and soon they would be revealed to her.

“Now, now,” the other voice—who also was a woman, scolded. “She’s just a kid. Be easy on her.”

“Don’t come any closer,” MJ warned, keeping her voice steady. “I know karate!!”

First their feet hit the light—MJs eyes falling to a black boot on the figure on the left, and a turquoise shoe from the one on the right. As the rest of their body appeared to MJ she saw their outfits were matching the foot attire they wore. The woman in Black was the first to meet her eye, adorning a black skin tight equipped catsuit with a matching tiny mask framing her sparkling y/e/c eyes. There was a bit of aging to her features, but she still was stunningly beautiful with her blinding white hair that reflected off the light around her. The lipstick she wore was blood red—teeth as white as her hair.

If the teen had to guess she was probably in her early forties. Her body was mature-like and had curves which were enhanced by the tightness of the leather suit.

MJ felt something familiar about this woman, like she had already had some sense of who she was but couldn’t put a name to her tongue.

Letting her attention fall on the woman in white who appeared way younger than her companion. MJs eyes dawned in confusion seeing her white, black and pink spandex suit that looked awfully similar to her boyfriends Spider-Man one. The suit overall was white at the top with black on the bottom and pink webbed detailing. It had a hood attached to the top, and there was a white mask in her hand with the same pink outline around the eyes. Looking at her facial features, MJ met bright blue eyes and yellow blonde hair. She even had a eyebrow piercing and cut to the hair of it.

“W-what the?” The teen pointed at them, backing away when they stepped closer. “Who the hell are you two?” Her other hand raised like she was ready to fight them.

It only humored the older woman. “Awe you’re too cute!” She laughed causing the teen to deflate. There was a light hum to her tone, “Oh if only the MJ back home was like you. Maybe her and I would get along.”

Now that had the girl become bewildered. The woman’s attention turned to the blonde, “Tell me, is Watson like this for you—I’ll totally be envious if she is. I’m so used to the redhead screaming I almost didn’t believe she,” she nodded to MJ with hands on her hips, “—could be her of this world.”

“Eh, can’t agree nor disagree,” the woman replied with a laugh, “MJ and I are friends and band mates. We get along, but have our moments—unlike the version of you I’m used to. We don’t really go like peas in a pod.”

“Shame,” there was a sigh, “We could’ve been quite the trio. People always say three is the magic number, but unfortunately I had to get stuck with versions of you two who I couldn’t stand.”

“You said you could tolerate me though.”

“Touché.”

So they were from another world. It was so obvious, especially the one dressed like she was Spider-Man. “MJ back home? You’re not from here?” MJ looked between them, “Either of you?”

“Isn’t it kinda obvious,” the white suited lady chuckled, “we kinda look out of place.”

“Hey!” Her companion huffed in offense, “speak for yourself, Spidey-gal. I think we blend in just fine—don’t you think? This world is used to heroes in spandex and righteousness.”

“I don’t think your history from what you told me earlier would make it well here, Kitty-Cat.”

“Well yeah—but I can always try.”

“Who are you two?” MJ interrupted before they could continue any further. Both the woman turned back to her, one smirking and the other with a kind smile.

“I’m Gwen,” The blonde introduced, “Gwen Stacy.”

All the life had nearly drained from MJ as her eyes became saucers—remembering the taller Peters words from earlier that night on the roof. He had lost someone named Gwen. Who was his ‘MJ’. But here she was standing before her! “B-but—,” She tried to say, “But Peter—the other Peter said you—.”

“I’m not her,” the smile from Gwen fell slightly, causing MJ to become silent. She waited for the blonde to explain. “I’m not his Gwen—I’m not even from his past.” Her hand gripped the mask in her hand, feeling the sadness lurk as she spoke, “I’m from another universe. A world where I was the one bitten by the spider instead of Peter. I became Spider-Woman of my world—and took on the mantle as its friendly neighborhood crime fighting vigilante. Got me in some trouble when your dad is the chief of police,” she laughed, though there was hint of pain in it.

MJ frowned when Gwen gave her a sad look. “My Peter—who was my first love—he became my worlds Lizard instead of Dr. Connors.” The teen gasped lightly, stealing a glance at the older woman who also appeared saddened by Gwens words. “Peter was a good man and I loved him, b-but after being bullied for so long and becoming obsessed with the idea of revenge,” she paused once more to lick her lip, MJ noticing the slight gloss to her eyes. “—Peter just couldn’t take it anymore. I tried to stop him, but I failed. And I lost him.”

“I’m so sorry,” MJ whispered, but the sound carried in the quiet hallway. “I-I can’t even imagine—.”

“I’ve come to accept it,” Gwen said softly while shaking her head. “It’s been a long time—and I know he’d want to me to carry on. The last thing he told me was he wanted to be special like me. So I live everyday trying to do better, for him.”

MJ saw the older woman give a comforting pat to Gwens shoulder. The gesture made her assume Gwen had already told her when they first met—which had to have been that day. The two shared a smile, MJ mirroring when Gwen looked at her.

“And you?” MJ then asked the older woman, seeing her arm fall back to her side.

Instead of the cheeky smirk she had been giving the entire night, MJ was surprised when it shifted to grin—a wink being sent her way. “The names Y/n L/n, but you might know me as the Black Cat. After all I heard my husband telling you a bit about our history not too long ago.”

A choked gasp had MJ coughing. The two women becoming concerned with Gwen reaching forward when the teen leaned forward. “S-sorry,” she caught her breath, coughing again. “I’m so sorry, I—I wasn’t expecting that.”

“What?” Y/n teased, “He said it was complicated but we made it work didn’t he?”

“Well yeah,” MJ huffed, clearing her throat. “—b-but you know what it’s not important right now.” MJ looked between them, remembering what was happening over on the island. “We gotta get to Liberty Island. And fast.”

“We can do fast,” Gwen smirked, Y/n doing the same—although she had lifted her brow at the teen.

“Dressed like that? You’re going to go into battle in casual clothing? Where’s your suit?” MJ was taken aback, looking at her clothes to see what was wrong with them. She didn’t have a ‘suit.’ The teen was not a superhero like her boyfriend, and surely not like his alternate counterparts partners.

“I-I don’t—I don’t have one. I’m not a superhero like you guys or Peter.”

“I wouldn’t call me a hero, kid,” Y/n laughed at MJs confused look. “My record would surely oppose that. I prefer the term ‘antihero.’” Beside her, Gwen rolled her eyes.

“Now’s not the time to get technical, Y/n. We got more important things at the moment.”

“And letting her fight multiversal villains dressed like she’s ready for biology class is not?”

Gwen gave a huff and warning look to the former criminal, “It’s not like we can just make her a suit right now, Y/n. This school won’t have the materials. And time is ticking.”

MJ saw the wicked glint in Y/ns eye. Mischief pooled in them before she smirked at the vigilante. “Who said anything about making one, lady spider?”

Y/n was right about not making a suit in such short notice. She didn’t however say anything about stealing.

The Black Cat ignored the anxious and disapproving looks she received from MJ and Gwen as she shattered the window of a clothing store. “You know this goes against everything I stand for,” Gwen scolded, keeping watch for any cops while Y/n did god knows what in the store.

There was a laugh by the former cat-burglar, followed by, “Oh relax, lady spider, no one will see. How do think I managed to snag this get up? I don’t carry my suit on me anymore now that I have other responsibilities since putting my breaking and entering ways in the past.”

“Just make it quick please,” MJ pleaded, hearing the lighting storm Max Dillon was causing. She was still feeling the rush from swinging through the air on Gwens back—the two dropping to the ground suddenly when Y/n took a detour not too far from the Island.

“I got it—I got it,” Y/n hopped out of the window. The two could see a long black material with red outlining the sides and top. “Here you go.” MJ caught the suit when Y/n tossed it, holding it out so she could fully see it. The red was the same color as Peters suit, making it stand out against the black leather. It had a similar patter to Y/ns when she gave it a second glance.

“Well don’t just stand there, little Watson,” Y/n clapped her hands, making MJ jump. “We’re on the clock. Get dressed!” MJ hurried into the store with the two stayed as look outs. MJ changed in a rapid pace, cursing when it took her a second to zip the back of the suit and tied on the combat boots Y/n had given her.

“There,” she turned to the mirror, raising her brow when she saw her reflection. “O-oh wow.” MJ adjusted the collar, fiddling with the fingerless gloves that came with it. With one last nod of approval, she gathered her clothes and raced out of the store. “Okay I’m ready.”

The two women turned around, both eyes widening when they saw the teen. It was enough to make heat rise in MJ—the girl shifting on her feet.

“Not bad, Watson,” Y/n complimented with a smirk, “of course you were in good hands—curtesy of yours truly.”

“She’s right, you look great.” Gwen smiled, making MJ do the same. Gwen showed her where to hide her clothes—telling her she could come back for them after, but before they could take off Y/n stopped them.

“Ah-ah-ah.” She tsked, holding up a black mask with red detailing with her finger. “What’s an anonymous superhero without their trusty mask. Defeats the whole purpose without it don’t ya think?”

MJs mount formed an ‘o’ taking the mask from the woman. “But—but I’m not a superhero,” she said with a frown before making eye contact with Y/n.

The Black Cat just raised a brow, that same glint from earlier painted her expression. “So?” Y/n took the mask and placed it over the teenagers face, the material falling just under her eyes so it covered the bottom half and her neck. “Why not start now? You gonna let the boys do all the saving—or you ready to join the big girls?”

The wind soared through MJs hair, hitting her face as the three swung over the Hudson River to Liberty Island. MJ was holding tightly to Gwens back, holding her breath each time they descended until finally she felt her feet hit the ground.

They could hear the chaos unfolding from above. Max was currently holding the alternate version of Peter in his voltage—the man screaming from the pain he was experiencing. Y/n let her eyes drift and saw her husband perched on the construction tower nearby—ready to charge at Max.

“Time to get to work, ladies. Our boys need us.”

Though the Peter being held by Max was not Gwens Peter, she still cared for him. He looked exactly like her lost love and she was going to do anything to protect him. MJ could see her Peter had successfully cured Dr. Connors. The young vigilante was there for support as the doctor slowly felt the scales leave his body—human flesh taking over.

“Ready?” The two heard Y/n say.

All three shared a look, determination behind their gaze. “Let’s do this.”

All three shot up to the top pole of the scaffold. Gwen with her webs, Y/n and MJ with a grappling hook. The older woman had given the teenager one of her spares attached to her since she had put one under each of her sleeves. MJ had a small lesson on how to use it before they took off from the department store—now it was time to put that knowledge to use.

A shriek left her when she was pulled off the ground after the hook mounted. The rope had immediately began to retract and MJ was soaring through the air, holding tightly to the handle of the gun. “O-Oh God!!”

“Hang tight, Watson!”

“We’re almost there,” Gwen called out, “stick your feet out in three…two…now!”

MJ did as told, feeling her feet land on the tiling of the scaffold. The girl stumbling a bit with the last piece of the rope retracted and the hook unattached from the pole. A frantic breath left her, Y/n reaching over to pat her assuringly before pushing her toward where Gwen took off to. “Don’t think just act—we’ll protect you, MJ.”

It was the first time Y/n had said her name. Some comfort filled her and the teen nodded—putting the hook gun on her waistband and running along side Y/n in the direction of Max. By bow he had both Peters in his hold—the cure falling from the older ones hands.

Adrenaline filled the three, especially the teen who had never put herself in the front lines like this. That was her boyfriends nature—she liked to work behind the scenes.

Max was too powerful and it scared MJ. If she was hit by a bolt there’s no saying if it will kill her. She didn’t have abilities like everyone else—no super strength or agility. She was human.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t be a hero.

Following Y/n and Gwens lead, MJ stayed close to the older of two. Gwen had swung to the side of the stature, passing straight by Max and the Spider-Mans which had them all in a shocked dazed. “What the hell?!” Max said surprised, not losing his grip on the Peters.

Y/n used the distraction to her advantage, “Stay here and wait for my signal. Get your hook ready.” MJ unlatched the gun, moving to the side away from Maxs view while Y/n got down low and crawled toward the cure. She did a front walkover when she got close enough, her hand taking it and throwing it to MJ—who caught it in her hands.

Y/n didn’t even notice her husband had seen the whole thing—his eyes in horror under his mask. The man knew she was also pulled in to the alternate universe from what the younger Peter had told him, but she had yet to make her appearance.

Of course her timing would be now.

“Y/n,” he hissed under his breath when he saw Maxs attention was still on the masked person in a spider suit. “Y/n what are you doing?!” He didn’t see who she threw the cure to, the angle he was at made it impossible.

Y/n faced her husband, brining her finger to her lips to shush him. She mouthed, ‘trust me—trust us.’ He didn’t know who she meant by ‘us,’ but her gesture to the white suited figure made him guess it was them and whoever was out of sight of vision.

Spinning around, Y/n jumped on one of the construction railings by the edge. Her hands and feet climbed her up until she perched on the crane a few feet from Max. When his back was to her, Y/n focused on altering the probability field around him. There was a tingling in her palms—a sign it was working and a smirk made it’s way seeing his yellow voltage flicker.

“What the hell?” He said when his bolt at Gwen didn’t reach her—stopping mid-air. He tried again, but the same thing happened. Gwen took the opportunity to shot a web at his face, blinding him so Y/n could get closer without him seeing her. She also webbed his arms away from each other to prevent Max from pulling the web away.

Y/n crawled fast on the crane, getting very close to Max. It which sparked dread in her Peter, not liking her only feet away from the man. Y/n nodded to Gwen causing the Spider-Woman to shoot more webs at Max. It made him angry. “What the hell is this? Stop!”

Now Y/n could really use put her gift to full power. She focused hard, eyes narrowing in determination watching the bolts spark and flicker until they were barely bright with electricity. The man lost his hold over the Peters, the two landing on the scaffold below. Max still had the power, but as long as Y/n kept her eyes on him then his voltage would not be high.

It will give them the right amount of time.

“Gwen now!” The name had Peter (3) frozen still, his head snapping at the masked vigilante swinging from the side of the crown to where the white haired woman sat.

It was Gwen—but not his Gwen. No. This was Gwen from another universe. And she was like him.

Both the Peters were stunned, but no more than Peter 3 as he watched the alternate version of his love swing towards Max and remove the arc reactor from his chest. It landed on the scaffold, away from Max—Gwen swinging away before he could try to electrocute her. Gwen landed beside Y/n, who he’d already seen earlier in the night when she surprised him by being outside the window of the school. He wondered if Gwen was with her the entire time.

Y/n continued to distort Maxs probability field—though he was already feeling the energy leave him not having the power source. The woman shouted to the girl below, “Do it, MJ!” The girl took off in a ran, unaware Peter 1 had entered the scene and was watching several feet away. At the sound of his girlfriends name, he had stopped running—eyes in panic when they landed on a figure running toward Max.

‘What the hell?’ He thought. Was that his MJ? The one he lost sight off after dealing with Connors? Her face was covered by the mask she wore, but her hair was visible making his stomach drop.

MJ with a leap of faith, pulled the trigger of the grappling gun toward the top of the crane hovering above Max. Her feet lifted off the ground, soaring her in the sky with the cure in her hand. Gwen took a stance like she was ready to jump in if anything happened, holding onto the side of the crane beside Y/n.

All eyes were on the teenage. The gun handle held tightly in one hand while the cure was in the other. Closer and closer she got to Max and eventually her hand was pushing the cure into his chest. Just at the right moment before being pulled up the rest of the way.

Gwen and Y/n were cheering—punching their fist in the air as the cure took and Max was drained of all energy. “Yeah! Good job, MJ!” “Girl power, baby! There you go!”

A wide grin painted MJs face beneath her mask, a laugh leaving her when the rope retracted and she caught herself on the top of the crane. She held on tightly, sitting carefully while the two woman crawled up to her.

“Holy shit,” MJ laughed, high-fiving them each. “I can’t believe I did it!” They both patted her on the back, beaming in delight. Y/n sent a wink again to her.

“Told you it’s never to late to be a hero. You don’t need special talents to be one. Just this,” she tapped MJs temple before bringing her finger to where her heart laid. “And this.”

“You did amazing!” Gwen cheered, glancing to where Max had now fallen to the level of the scaffold—the alternate version of her Peter with him. Y/n glanced too, noticing now Doctor Octavius had joined. In his hands was the arc reactor, and Y/n saw her husband drop in front of him—the sight of them reuniting bringing a smile to her face.

Y/n returned her gaze to the two, the smile still on her lips. “I think it’s time we get reacquainted with our spiders. Yeah?” MJ and Gwen became nervous, glancing to see all three Spider-Mans were close together and looking up at them with their masks removed. The only one who didn’t look completely surprised was the oldest in the bunch.

In fact he just looked like he should’ve expected it.

It made Y/n laugh, adjusting herself so she could let go of the crane. The wind hit her as she fell, but her arm went out to shoot the grappling hook beneath her sleeve. It mounted on the pole above where she wanted to swing and Y/n landed in a cat-like position on the floorboard.

“Hey, Spider-stud.”

“Good to see you too, trouble.”

She bit her lip, though he could still see the smirk when Y/n stood up—straightening her posture with her head high. “Thought you boys could use a little help—or should I say ‘bad luck’ to sparky boy over there.”

“I see that,” he commented, gesturing to where Gwen and MJ were still perched on the crane. “And you made some new friends.”

Y/n winked at him, nodding at the other two Spider-Mans. “As did you, playboy.” Her eyes connected with the taller Peter first, “Sorry for the scare earlier, Spidey. I like to play, he knows that.” She laughed when she saw his face flush red. Then Y/n looked at the younger Peter, who was still processing everything that just happened. “Little spider, I told you we’d meet again.”

“Hi—Hi,” he stuttered out with a shy wave.

“Apologies again for what happened this morning, bad luck tends to leave a trail behind me. It wasn’t personal.” Another giggle left her when the boy also became flustered. Her husband tsked at her to not tease which made her pout at him. “Fineee, ugh. Anyway, Spiders, let me introduce you to my new friends—although you’re already familiar with one, or both I should say in some way.”

Making a gesture of a mock bow with her foot kicked behind her, Y/n heard Gwen swing from the crane and land beside her—MJ on her back. Standing straight again, Y/n watched MJ jump off Gwen and stand in between them.

It was quite the site. Y/n, MJ, and Gwen all standing in front of Peter 2, 1, & 3 so they were face to face with each other.

“You boys already know MJ,” Y/n smirked, nudging the teen with her shoulder. Hesitantly but with an encouraging nod from Y/n, MJ removed the black and red mask from her face, pushing down to uncover the bottom half.

Yeah her boyfriend nearly shit his pants. “M-MJ? W-what,” he lifted his hands slightly as the shock coated his expression. “Wh-when did this happen?”

“Your girl ended up being trapped at the school after your little endeavor with Connors,” Y/n explained. “We happened to be there keeping watch her and Ned.”

“Yeah,” MJ shuffled on her feet, feeling the heat pool within her. “We-we kinda ran into each other.” Peter (1)s jaw was still below his chin almost.

“H-how did you get that suit?”

Y/n raised her brow at the boy, “What you don’t like it, little spider?”

“I-I didn’t say that,” he defended, blushing bright red and unable to meet MJs eye. It only made her more flustered. “You look—you look amazing. Really-wow I—dah uh.” He stuttered out and MJ couldn’t help the shy smile. Y/n smirked seeing the two and winked at her husband when she saw the knowing look he was giving her.

She couldn’t hide anything from him. Not after eighteen years together and nearly ten being married.

“You’ll have to step it up, little spider,” she teased the vigilante, “MJ here might just give you a run for your money.” MJ smiled when Y/n patted her back gently, giving her a look of thanks.

“And who’s this?” Peter 2 motioned to Gwen still in her masked, who stiffened at being called out. She wasn’t the only one. Peter 3 also froze—his eyes trailing to her full of emotion.

Gwen felt everyone’s gaze and brought her hand up to lower her hood. Then she went for her mask. Peter (3) felt his heart nearly stop when the white mask was pulled away revealing the gorgeous blue eyes that captured his heart when he was seventeen. The ones he lost nearly a decade ago.

Peter 3 had longed for the day he could see Gwen again. And here she was. The same blonde hair, the freckled skin and blue eyes. She looked older than what he remembered, about his current age and unlike his Gwen, she had a brow cut and piecing.

“Hi,” god he wanted to cry, even her voice was the same. It made tears brim his vision. Gwen lifted her hand, awkwardly waving at the three, “I’m Gwen Stacy.” All the Peters reacted, the two farthest from her going into shock and turning to Peter 3. Y/n gave a knowing look to her husband, his mouth forming an ‘o’ at the realization.

When she heard a sound come from the man who looked like a carbon copy of her Peter, Gwens expression went solemn. “I’m sorry,” her voice shook lightly, “I’m not your Gwen as you can tell. Just like—just like you’re not my Peter.” When his head lifted, mixed emotion in his gaze at her words she continued, “—You look exactly like my Peter. So I understand it must be hard for you to look at me—since I’m assuming I look exactly like her.”

“Y-you do,” his voice cracked.

Gwen fiddled with her mask, sniffing when she felt her own tears spot her vision. “I’m sorry. Believe me I understand what you’re going through. I lost my Peter—maybe not in the same way as you lost Gwen, but I was still responsible. I have to live with that everyday.”

“W-what—,” he stopped to compose himself, “What happened to him?” He didn’t know if he truly wanted to know—but there was no going back now. Part of him wanted to understand her—feel the tragic bond they shared.

“My Peter was what Connors was to you,” she heard him gasp under his breath. Gwen bit her lip as she repeated the memory for the second time that evening, “He was obsessed with the idea of getting revenge on his bullies and wanted to be like me—even though he didn’t know I was Spider-Woman. Peter turned himself into the Lizard and went mad. I had to stop him—even though I really loved him.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter 3 said to her, stepping closer. He wanted to reach out and touch her, but stopped himself knowing it probably wasn’t a good idea. “I’m so sorry, Gwen.”

The vigilante sniffed, wiping her face before smiling through the tears, “I forgave myself a long time ago. And you should too,” she noticed how he froze. Gwen only smiled with encouragement, “If you’re Gwen was anything like me, then I know she’d want you to forgive yourself. It’s what you deserve.”

“I—I can’t. I don’t think I can.”

Gwen stepped forward to meet him in the middle, taking his hand in hers. It felt so natural, Peter (3) nearly sobbed by the touch. The tear finally fell when he closed his eyes. “It doesn’t hurt to try. You can do anything, as long as you put your mind to it. She would be proud of you, Peter.”

Soon the two met in a hug. Neither noticing the remaining four had stepped away moments prior to give them some privacy. Y/n had her head on Peter 2s shoulder, his arm holding her close while they watched the two lost souls embrace. The younger Peter and MJ were also off to the side, Ned joining them and Y/n could see the shy grin on the teenager when her boyfriend and best friend praised her.

The two shared a glance, Y/n winking at the girl who smiled back.

“Well, Cat,” she felt her husband kiss her head, “We’ve had quite the adventure. Never thought in all our years we’d be traveling across universes. I think that takes the cake on everything we’ve experienced together.”

A chuckle left her, Y/n reaching up to kiss his lips softly. “Oh Spider, something tells me this isn’t the end.”

Boy was she right. Strange was there in a second and before they knew it half of Liberty Island was destroyed. The chaos unfolding when Norman Osborn appeared out of thin air. Stealing the ritual box, one of Ottos arms was cut off when trying to prevent Norman from escaping with it. Strange stole it back, but a pumpkin bomb had been placed in the relic causing a massive explosion.

Y/n had fell with Peter 2, the two bringing Connors to safety while Otto held tightly to Max. Ned was caught by the cloak of levitation, and Peter 3 felt all the air leave him when Gwen fell off the scaffold. Relief came to him when she shot her webs to safety land, but it was short lived hearing MJ scream from the side.

Peter 1 was launching after her, seeing the grabbing hook fall from MJs hand making her unable to catch herself. Then when he was inches from grabbing her Norman was pushing him away with the glider. Peter 3 didn’t think he just followed his instincts. Flinging off the side, he hurled toward MJ. A pole was pushed away and his hands went around her waist before shooting a web to the top.

Peter 3 landed on the ground, MJ in his arms and heart pounding from his chest. Gwen ran to them, worry in her eyes. “A-are you okay?” Peter (3) voice shook, looking at the girl he was holding.

“Yeah,” MJ found her voice. She then noticed his tears gaze, “Are you okay?” Peter 3 nodded, smiling softly before gently lowering her. Gwen had finally reached the two, her hand coming to both their shoulders.

“You guys okay?” She looked at MJ first who nodded before landing on Peter. “Peter?”

“Y-yeah—yeah I’m fine.” He shrugged it off.

There was a knowing expression from Gwen, her hand rubbing shoulder gently. Peter reacted to the touch, but the released—feeling a sense of happiness.

They all caught up with the others, save for Peter 1. He was occupied with Norman on the copper shield laying by the edge of the island. It was like shit wanted to hit the fan every five minutes because when Peter 2 stopped the teen from killing Norman he ended up with a knife to his back.

Y/n had to literally be held back by Gwen, cursing at the the woman to let her go. “I like you, lady spider, so you better let me go right now or bad luck is coming your way.”

“He’s okay, Y/n. Just—just wait a second.” It was hard to hold the struggling woman, but Gwen somehow managed,

With Norman finally cured and Y/n by her husbands side, Peter 1 returned to the shield with MJ in his tow after speaking with Strange. The four visitors were aware of what was about to happen—the purple cracks in the sky disappearing with orange symbols replacing.

They all watched the boy ramble, trying to say everything the wanted with such little time. “Uh I-I think this it—I think you’re about to go home.” He wipes his face, glancing between all of them. “Umm, look-I. Uhh.” Peter 1 tries to find the words. All four were smiling at him, as though they already knew what he wanted to say.

“Thank you. I just wanna—I. I want you—I want to tell you that,” he stops before trying again, feeling MJ squeeze his hand. “I-I really don’t know how to say this—.”

“Peter…”

“—I want you to know that—.” The two teens look to Peter 3, noticing how all four were beaming with understanding expressions.

“You know,” Peter 2 told him, “It’ what we do.” That was all he needed to hear.

“Yeah it’s what we do.”

While the three Peters shared a hug, Y/n and Gwen had stepped away to say goodbye to each other.

“Take care of yourself, little Watson,” Y/n smiled, bringing MJ into a hug. “Remember what I told you, okay? Don’t these boys in spandex and ties be the only heroes. You’re a smart girl, time to show the world you are.”

MJ felt gratitude swarm her, beaming up at Y/n with hopeful eyes. “I’ll try my best. Thank you for everything.” MJ and Gwen embraced, the two exchanging words before Peter was pulling MJ away. The vigilante giving a quick thanks to the women who waved in return. MJ had looked over her shoulder to see them smiling at her, and MJ gave a final wave.

Now the shied had four left. Well five if you were counting Norman sitting in the corner, but he wasn’t important at the moment. Y

Y/n brought her arm over Gwen, the two walking to the Peters standing beside one another. “This was fun,” Y/n giggled, seeing Gwen playfully roll her eyes. “Told you we’d make quite the trio.”

“Three is the magic number after all.”

“Now you’re talking my game, Stacy.”

Who would’ve thought the heart of the spiders from different worlds would come together to save the day—or universe as one should say. One would go home without her spider, one would forget, and the last got to live everyday with him by her side.

But fate had other plans for the two. Maybe Strange didn’t cast the spell correctly, or there was a flux in the system.

Either way, it would be as though the universe was bending to their favor.

How? Well let’s just say when Michele Jones was preparing for MIT—all while teaching herself how to fight and become skilled with a grappling hook—a certain encounter with a masked vigilante changed her life forever.

As for Gwen Stacy, Spider-Woman could’ve never predicted she’d fall into the wrong universe for a second time. But maybe it wasn’t the worse thing to happen. Not when a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man happened to be it’s hero.

#tobey!peter parker imagine #tobey!peter parker x reader #tobey!spiderman imagine #tobey!spiderman x reader #tobey!peter parker #tobey!spiderman #andrew!peter imagine #andrew!peter parker #andrew!spiderman #TASM #tom!spiderman imagine #tom!spiderman #tom!peter parker #gwen stacy #spiderverse #spider gwen #michele jones Watson #smnwh #spiderman no way home imagine #spiderman no way home #peter parker imagine #black cat #black cat reader #spiderman fanfiction #peter parker x reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel #marvel imagine #TASM x spider Gwen #Felicia hardy

[just-dreaming-marvel]

In The Game of Love ~ 7

IN THE GAME OF LOVE MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,450ish

Summary: Sherlock figures somethings out. 

Notes: I’m enjoying writing this series too much. I promise my other series will be coming out with chapters soon! This one is just coming so easily to me as of late.

Sherlock’s ears were ringing as he began to come to. Dark smoke filled the air all around. He barely noticed or could hear Clarky running toward him.

“Mr. Holmes,” Clarky called, noticing Sherlock laying there clearly dazed. “Sir.” He got down and grabbed Sherlock. Sherlock reached out and allowed Clarky to help him up. “Mr. Holmes.” Clarky stood up him up and moved him against the wall. Sherlock’s eyes were looking around for Irene, Y/N, and Watson. He couldn’t see any of them. “Mr. Holmes, we have an order for your arrest, sir.” By the way Holmes was looking at him, Clarky knew that he wasn’t understanding. “Sir!” He shouted him, trying to keep him up on his two feet. “Lord Coward has issued a warrant for your arrest, sir.”

Sherlock panicked, trying to move to get to where he last saw Y/N and Watson. “Y/N…” he mumbled.

Clarky stopped him. “She and Watson are alive. Just get out of here, sir.” He shoved Sherlock away, who began running. “Go, sir, go.”

Sherlock knew that the most important thing now was to check on his two friends. He had to see if they were both okay before he went after Blackwood for doing what he had done.

~~~

Irene kept looking over her shoulder as she was escorted to her train car. She needed to get out of here before the Professor got to her. It was a risky move, disappearing from both the Professor and Sherlock. But it had to be done. She tried to not appear too desperate, too scared. She was scratched up and bruised from the blast but there was no time to take care of her wounds.

“Will the train be departing on time?” She questioned the man escorting her.

“The train’s been delayed, madam,” he responded, opening her train car door. “Shouldn’t be long now, though.”

Irene entered the train car, glancing over her shoulder again. As she moved to her seat, she noted a person in the corner reading a newspaper. But it didn’t set off any red flags. Irene looked out the window before looking down at her dress. She heard the rustle of the man’s paper folding, but failed to notice that he was folding it so that he could look at her.

“The train will depart when I tell it to,” the man said. Irene froze upon hearing his voice. She tried not to show how terrified she was as she slowly looked at him in the dark corner. “And you will leave my employment when I give you permission. I have already lost my very best employee, I cannot afford to lose another.”

“I fulfilled my contract,” Irene retorted. “I found Reordan. He’s in Scotland Yard’s mortuary. So that’s me, finished.”

“Your job was to manipulate Holmes’ feelings for you, not succumb to them. You have fulfilled nothing.” Irene could hear the faint sound of his gun cocking. “I want what Reordan was making for Blackwood. Finish the job or the next dead body, will be Sherlock Holmes.” The man, still keeping his face covered, leaned forward. “And don’t begin to think that I don’t know about you knowing where Y/N is. That you used her to your own benefit. She and Holmes found Reordan for you. So, I need you to bring her in as well. It’s time for her to come home.”

~~~

Sherlock, disguised as a doctor, found his way to Y/N’s shared with John in the hospital. It was a veterans hospital, but apparently Mary fought to keep Y/N with John so that she was able to keep an eye on both of them. The two were each in small twins on either side of the room. They were still unconscious, now mainly from the medication they had been given.

Sherlock went over to Y/N’s bed first. He carefully sat down on the edge of it. With a trembling hand, he gently ran his fingers along the side of her face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

Not really trusting the other doctors, he checked her over. Sherlock rewrapped many of the bandages on her, doing his best to not wake her. Once he was done, Sherlock held a kiss to her forehead and then moved on to John. He noticed some pieces of wood stuck in his neck and, using the correct tools, began taking them out himself. 

That’s when Mary appeared in the doorway. She watched as Sherlock carefully took care of his friends. She knew it was him. He may be able to fool others, but not her. Mary walked over to John’s side, studying the newly cleaned wound.

“The surgeon should be along shortly,” Sherlock told her, using  a different accent. He put John’s chart back on the end of the bed. “He should be able to rest now.” His big brown eyes glanced Y/N’s way before he turned and started down the hall.

“Excuse me,” Mary called. Sherlock stopped, but couldn’t get himself to turn around. “Is that the best you can do?”

“Yes, for now. I must attend to my other patients.” He started walking again.

Mary headed after him. “Doctor. Doctor. Please.” Sherlock stopped again and Mary moved to be closer to him. “I know that you care for both of them as much as I do. This is not your responsibility, it was their choice.” He ripped off his glasses, trying to hold in his emotions. “I know that John would say that I was worth the wounds. And Y/N… well, she’d try her best to get you to stop blaming yourself.” Not wanting to break down in front of Mary, he hurried off. “Solve this. Whatever it takes.”

~~~

Sherlock found himself in the room above the bar that he often fought in. He strung at his violin as he thought over John, Y/N, and the case. Frustrated and overwhelmed, he threw his violin on the ground and pinched the bridge of his nose. After a few moments, he pulled his pipe out and lit it. He was hoping it would help him think clearly. But how was he suppose to think clearly when Y/N and John were in the hospital and he had no idea where Irene was?

He closed his eye as his pipe sat in his mouth and he tried to see what he was missing. He needed to figure out what Blackwood was planning and stop him before anyone else got hurt. And then he remembered what Sir Thomas had said.

His secret lies in the book of spells.

Sherlock immediately got to work.

~~~

Y/N blinked slowly as she began to come to. Her body was screaming at her, so incredibly sore and tired still. She glanced around to see John sitting up on the edge of his bed, completely dressed in a suit. His left arm was in a sling and he was talking to someone, but Y/N’s hears couldn’t focus on who. Suddenly, someone touched Y/N’s shoulder. She flinched and faced the person.

“It’s just me,” Irene cooed. “You’re okay.”

“Wh—what?” Y/N rasped. “Where…. Sherlock?”

“Irene’s sure he’s at the bar,” John replied. 

“Once you get dressed, we’re going to head there,” Irene said.

“Yeah…” Y/N breathed out, nodding. “Okay.”

John left the room, allowing Irene to help Y/N dress.

“The Professor knows,” Irene whispered as she finished closing up Y/N’s dress. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you still here then? You should be running,” Y/N responded.

“Because he threatened Sherlock’s life.”

Y/N turned to face the other woman. “What? What could be possibly want from the case that bad?”

“He wants whatever Reordan was making for Blackwood.”

Before Y/N could respond, John knocked on the door and peaked his head through. 

“Are you both ready?” John wondered. “We both should really be going.”

“Yes,” Y/N responded, her eyes never looking away from Irene’s. “Let’s go.”

~~~

Sherlock was passed out on the bed in the room above the bar when they got there. He was mumbling, tossing and turning, as sweat formed on his face. Irene quickly found a rag and sat at the edge of the bed, wiping off his face. She was practically laying on top of him. John noticed the clench in Y/N’s jaw as he sat down in one of the chairs in the room. Y/N took a deep breath and began to study what Sherlock had on the floor.

Not long after Irene had started wiping Sherlock’s face, he woke with a start. He looked around, seeing John sitting in the chair and Y/N standing, looking at the work on the ground.

“Good morning,” Irene whispered. Sherlock looked at her. She grabbed his hand. “Now, you need to work.” She got up and walked across the room.

“Familiar artwork,” John said as Sherlock sat up. “You look gorgeous.”

“Somehow I knew you wouldn’t leave,” Sherlock said. “Either of you.” Y/N and Sherlock briefly made eye contact, but she quickly looked away.

Irene grabbed a newspaper she had brought and held it up for Sherlock to see. “You made the front page,” she stated. In big bold letters were the word ‘SHERLOCK HOLMES WANTED’.

“Only a name and no picture.”

“So it looks like you’ll be needing to work outside the law now and that’s my area of expertise.”

“I feel safer already.” John groaned as he stood up. “You seem to be making a rapid recovery.”

“Yes,” John said, walking over and sitting next to Sherlock. “Took the shrapnel out myself. Mary said Y/N and I had a lousy doctor.”

Y/N and Sherlock’s eyes met again briefly before Sherlock and John’s did the same. The four were all silent for a long few moments.

“Well, I’m… I’m just so…” Sherlock began stammering, “very glad that you’re both… well… with us.” Both men awkwardly cleared their throats. “Well…” 

Sherlock took off his shirt, leaving just his undershirt and suspenders on his chest. He then walked over to an empty chair and looked at Y/N.

“Why don’t you sit down, darling?” He suggested. 

“Don’t mind if I do,” Irene responded, sitting down in the chair that was meant for Y/N.

Y/N pursed her lips and rolled her eyes. “I’m good,” she said.

“Y/N, you should really sit down,” John said. “As a doctor, I—“

“Fine.” She sat herself down in a chair next to John. “Happy?”

“Right,” Sherlock muttered. He clapped his hands together and moved to the center of the circle he had on the floor. “Now that you’re sitting comfortably, I shall begin. My initial approach was far too narrow. When Blackwood invited me to Pentonville Prison, he suggested I widen my gaze and, at minimum, I have done just that. In fact, I may well have reconciled thousands of years of theological disparity.”

“What?” Y/N whispered.

“But that’s for another time. Blackwood’s method is based on ritualistic musical system that’s been employed by the Temple of the Four Orders for centuries. To fully understand the system, to get inside it, I reenacted the ceremony that John and I interrupted at the crypt with a few enhancements of my own. My journey took me somewhat further down the rabbit hole than I had intended and though I dirtied my fluffy white tail, I have emerged… enlightened.”

“The fraternity, who silently control the empire,” Sherlock continued, “share the befit with the kings, pharaohs, and emperors of old that the sphinx was a door to another dimension, a gateway to immeasurable power. It’s made up of four parts: the foot of a lion, the tail of an ox, the wings of an eagle, and the head of a man.” Sherlock pointed out the parts on a picture he had drawn on the floor, using a cane he was holding. “In Sir Thomas’s secret chamber, I found the bone of an ox the tooth of a lion, the feather of an eagle and hair of a man. Map.”

He pointed at a rolled up map that John had on his chair. John got down on the ground and placed the map in the center of the star that was on the floor. Irene and Y/N joined him, placing objects along the edges so that the map wouldn’t roll up.

“The points of the star represent the five murdered girls but the cross is what we’re now interested in,” continued Sherlock. “It’s a widely held belief that within the architecture of the great cities are coded references to this system.” Sherlock crotched down beside them, his knee brushed up against Y/N. 

“Since he rose from the grave, Blackwood has killed three men. Each murder was committed at a location that has a direct connection with the temple, therefore the system,” he explained. “Reordan, the ginger midget represents man. We found his body here.” He pointed to the cemetery on the map, where he had already drawn a star and several circles on it. “Sir Thomas, master of the temple, wore the ox ring. He died here. Standish, ambassador to America where the—

“The eagle has been the national emblem for over 100 years,” Y/N interrupted.

“Correct. The headquarters of the Temple of the Four Orders where he died… is here.” He held the cane across his forehead. “Correspondingly, the map will tell us the location of Blackwood’s final act.”

“So we have man, the ox, eagle,” John said. “Only the lion remaining.”

“Right here.” Sherlock pointed to another spot on the map.

“Parliament,” Y/N breathed out. Suddenly, commotion was heard coming from down in the bar.

“Right this way.” Sherlock took Y/N’s arm and helped her up. He led them to a trap door in the floor, opening it. “Ladies first.” He motioned to Irene, who quickly headed down. John followed after before Sherlock began helping Y/N. Lestrade started banging on the door. “Follow these instructions.” He stuffed a note in her hand.

“Aren’t you—“ 

She couldn’t finish her question as Sherlock’s lips where on hers. His lips were much softer than she expected. She went to wrap her arms around his neck, but Sherlock pulled away. All too soon for either of them.

“Go,” he begged, pushing her down the stairs and shutting the door in her face. 

Y/N was frozen on the stairs, her free hand coming up to brush over her lips. She was tore out of her daze when John pulled at her skirt.

“Come on,” he whisper shouted.

Y/N nodded, hurrying down the stairs with Sherlock’s note tightly in her hand.

next chapter >

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#Sherlock Holmes #sherlock holmes 2009 #Sherlock Holmes fanfiction #RDJ Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock Holmes A Game Of Shadows #ritchie holmes #Sherlock Holmes x Reader #rdj sherlock holmes x reader #rdj!sherlock holmes x fem!reader #rdj!sherlock holmes x reader #rdj sherlock holmes x fem!reader #sherlock holmes imagine #rdj sherlock holmes imagine #rdj!sherlock holmes imagine

[ren-therose]

The Penthouse Plot

Sherlock X F!Reader (3.8k words)

Summary: Sherlock, John and Reader all go to a penthouse party to pick up some clues about their newest case. But Y/N and Sherlock are put in a compromising situation. 

Warnings: smut 18+, semi-public sex, fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kids), creampie, squirting, after care

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We are going to a party”

This was an incredibly abrupt statement from the detective who was still in pajamas at four in the afternoon, slouched down into the arm chair with the news paper covering his face. I couldn’t see his emotions, but I could tell that the idea had already been formulated, and he had not quite been excited out of it. His boredom was chronic, and it would often times only be soothed by myself to get him out of it. 

The first time we met, I was sitting on a park bench in Paddington Street Gardens, not but two blocks away from his flat. As if drawn to the cigarette I was smoking, he walked up as casually as he could, coat turned up, and sat on the bench over from my left. I didn’t look, but I was aware that a tall, dark man was watching me as I tried to solve today's crossword in the paper. 

He leaned closer, trying to take in the smoke for the nicotine high. With a slight glance his way, it was all I needed to take the cigarette from my mouth in my left hand, and casually rest it on the bench next to me. I blew out the smoke to the right side of my mouth though, purposefully keeping it from him, allowing my lips to guide the smoke in a stream to dissipate into the morning air. Still looking at the crossword, I began filling in 20 across, feeling a sense of intrigue and frustration emanating from the man next to me. 

“It’s not diva, its aria,” a deep voice says. I smirk, not looking up to his face quite yet. 

“No shit, Sherlock. 18 down is ‘erie’, so why would I put down diva?” I inquire, but before he could answer, I reply myself. “I was proving my hypothesis: is the detective next to me just trying to second-hand smoke, or is he actually paying attention to me? And the answer was both.”

He stands and comes to sit on my right side, not looking at me directly. The cigarette dangling from my lip wasn’t his main concern anymore. 

“How quickly did you realize it is only an herbal cigarette Mr. Holmes?” I ask, erasing my trap from 20 across. 

“As soon as I first looked at you. You have no stains on your fingers from the smoke, as well as no burns, which tells me you don’t smoke often. If you were a smoker, you would need at least a pack a day, and these tell-tale signs would be there. You don’t need to smoke because there isn’t an addiction. I presume you do it to attract men, though possibly women too, and to fit into the culture of London, as you are not from here. But you specifically looked up this park because you were looking for something or someone. I would presume it is me, considering you recognized me through my name” he says smuggly, finally looking at me. I didn’t know it then, but he later explained that he was shocked to see the prominence of my “subtle beauty”, and the way in which I held posture in every way that symbolized I was relaxed next to him. This of course was followed by the fact that I was so comfortable that I had gained a pound within the first year of knowing him. 

“So you are as good as they say,” I reply, looking up into his clear blue eyes. Those eyes dart down to my lips where the cigarette is still being held by the moisture of my mouth. I remove it, holding out the cigarette between my fingers. “I can imagine it is worlds different from a regular cigarettes addictive effects, but the smell of smoke and the herbs inside might calm you,” I offer. He leans down and takes the cigarette in his mouth, inhaling deeply. I let go of the cigarette as he leans back and removes it. He exhales out, happy to have something other than CO2 leave his lungs. 

“You could have phoned” he said nonchalantly. I closed the newspaper and turned my body slightly more towards him. 

“No I couldn’t. This isn’t about a case or me looking for my parents or some shit. I needed you to listen. I am a doctor and I am looking for the topic of my next publication” I state. His eyes widen a bit, as he gives me a once over. I was quite young to have a doctorate, but the ambition I have was intriguing to him.

“Great, another doctor. And you must study some form of psychology right?” he implies. 

I chuckle as I brush the hair behind my ear to look at him as I explain my credentials. 

“BA in a social science and a minor in Women's Studies and Gender, just to make it easier on you. Two masters in something to do with policy and a knack for behavior trends across cultures. A PhD in…” I trail off to let him figure it out. 

“International Relations. You couldn’t let go of the need to work abroad and help other. You also study the difference in human behaviors and how it can be interpreted and persuaded. It is why you are now living in London, after living in a southern European country, and I’m going to go with Italy” he responds. 

I raise my eyebrow at him. “Italy was fun. I spent most of the time on the mainland with a friend and would visit their family in Sardinia”. 

“He was gay wan’t he?”

“Not that he himself knew.”

The detective laughed. It was the beginning of a friendship, with many late nights, bad coffee and fighting. I lived in the basement of 221 Baker Street, after coming to a bargain price with Mrs. Hudson if I agreed to get rid of the black mold and redo the space for future renters. When I asked her why she was already thinking of future renters, she just smiled and told me Sherlock's door was open and I could just walk in. 

Now, a year and a half later, I was in his flat, in my own night gown and robe, working on pot of tea to make a London foggy, one of Sherlocks favorite drinks I could make. I had told him that if he got to work in his pajamas, or just a sheet at times, then he couldn’t expect anything less of me. But his abrupt statement that we were going to a party had me do a double take. 

“A party? Are we feeling like clubbing tonight Sherlock?” I tease. 

“It is just a bit of field work. But I need you to come with as my date so that I am not bothered by lonely, sad women.”

“Ah yes. All the lonely, sad women will flock to the handsome, cocky detective for comfort and an inquisitive night,” I mock, bringing the tea to him. 

“Isn’t that what you did?” He says without looking up. 

Offended, I grab the paper from his hands and smack him on the head with it. He flinched, protecting his tea from me. 

“Haven’t you figured it out by now? I’m here for John” I say, tossing the paper into his lap. Sherlocks mouth slightly gapes before he snaps it shut, looking behind me. 

“I’m sorry, what did I just walk in on?” John says from the doorway. Sherlock turns red as I walk up to John, pulling my leg up on him, placing my hand on his cheek while giving him a lingering kiss on the other, maintaining eye contact with Sherlock. “Afternoon John,” I say with a flirtatious growl. He didn’t move since my dramatic act, and as I exited the apartment to get ready, I hear John exclaim “I could get used to that kind of welcome”. I laugh as I hear the paper get thrown at the doctor. 

Two hours later, and a lot of fighting with a curling wand, I hear a knock at my door. I do a once-over of myself in the mirror. It was a high-end party, requiring a more put together look, and I was determined to look my best. In helping Sherlock and John, I realized that I rarely dressed up-practicality and professionalism is key. 

I put my phone into my handbag, and slipped my feet into my black pointed stilettos. One more once-over in the mirror next to the door, and I unlatched the lock. As soon as I opened it, the detective couldn’t help but let his eyes wander. My hair was in loose curls around my face, and the dress, oh the dress, flattered my body in every way. It was a silk green dress, that hugged every curve. It was ruched in the sides, creating a tight draping across my abdomen. The fabric on my bust sat just below the tops of my breasts, and dropped to my off-the-shoulder sleeves. I was wearing a simple emerald necklace with matching earrings, and a ruby ring on my left hand. My legs were well accentuated, and the stilettos did wonders for my posture. Still, I was the same girl in pajamas at this now well suited man's place as I was now. 

“You’re giving yourself away Detective,” I flirt, walking by him to climb the stairs to the front of the building. I make extra care to add a little movement as I climb, knowing he would be right behind me and very distracted. It was my favorite game to tease both of the boys, but especially Sherlock. It was always a game, and he loved games. As I exited the building, John was waiting for us outside, also dressed sharply. His eyes widened as I walked towards him. 

“In the words of a great detective, ‘Your body betrays you’ John. It’s still me inside this get-up. Now where is the cab?” I ask. 

“Umm...uh, there hasn’t been an available one yet...” he forces out. 

London was busy on a Saturday night, and it could often be difficult to find a cab. Lucky for us, my dress is pretty reflective, and I was going to use that to my advantage. I stepped off the curb just slightly, jutting out my shoulder blades and putting my weight on one foot to give myself more shape. By the time I had raised my hand, two taxis pulled up. I heard a cough behind me, Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson both smirking at me. 

“I’m sorry, did you have a better idea?” I shoot at them. I open the door for myself and climb into the cab. The two men clambered in after me. 

The party was at a lovely high-rise in the middle of London. It looked to be a penthouse, but one grander than I had ever seen. As the three of us exited the elevator, we looked at each other once more, setting our plan in motion. John was to walk around and mingle, while Sherlock and I were to snoop about the place, looking for context clues. I grabbed a flute of champagne from one of the trays, and Sherlock and I began our promenade. We quickly realized that I was drawing a bit too much attention in my get-up and we would need to look around before people noticed we were gone. Our arms entwined, we strolled past the main crowd into a hallway, casually chatting the weather. The detectives hand was on my waist, holding tightly, as though I might leave his side. It was different than they way he usually grabbed my arm to move me around or out of the way of harm. 

We were looking for the bedroom of our hosts place, though, it did not seem there was one here. The penthouse was more of a party pad then a living space, which lends more to our profile of him. We continued to walk, and came across a study. His hand slid off my waist as he entered the room. I stood outside with my drink, while Sherlock took note of every little detail there. As he came out of the room though, I heard footprints coming round the corner. I grabbed his arm and pulled him into the bathroom next to the study. As I pushed him in, our eyes searched each other for the next move that we hadn’t initially planned. Though we were going as a date, it was never really a date. Until now. 

Grabbing the lapels of the detectives suit, I slammed my lips on his, pushing us both backwards onto the sink. Knowing that he was more recognizable. I spun him around so that my back was to the sink and his was to the door. I jumped on to the sink, hiking up my dress a little higher, so that I could hook one leg around his waist. Instinctively, his right hand went to my leg to hold it up, and his left hand was in my hair. 

His lips. I had seen them a million times before, studying his face as he rambled about a case. While he was just a colleague and possibly a friend, there were a few times when I would fall asleep thinking about those lips. And here he was, kissing me on a bathroom sink at a party, with enough force to make me melt into it. My hand went to his hair, as he began to trail kisses down my neck, hiding his face in me so that his reflection could not be seen. My other hand was gripping his waist, trying not to slip into the sink itself. My shoe was dangling on my toes as our bodies continued to crash. We heard the door click open, and my eyes opened to see the host and his assistant wide-eyed at us. 

“Occupied,” I panted, smiling with a small wave. The two quickly shut the door, their footprints receding down the hallway. As soon as it was quiet, Sherlock froze on my collarbone, neither of us moving for a moment. I removed my hand from his hair, trying to pat it back into place. He stood up, and looked down at me. My dress had ridden up further, and my black lace panties were definitely on display. So was the red in both of our faces. I glanced over his shoulder to look at the door, realizing that there was a lock on it. Sherlock didn’t look back. He kept his eyes on me. 

He knew there was a lock. He wanted the situation. He wanted to get caught.

“Lock it” I demanded.

He took a few steps back and turned the button, locking the door. His eyes didn’t leave me. I was still propped up against the sink, both hands propped up behind me. My legs had still been open, and as his eyes raked over my body looked, I grew self-conscious and went to close them. But he stepped towards me, grabbing my lower thigh. I hesitantly opened myself back up for him. His hand moved up my thigh, while the other wrapped around my waist, drawing himself closer to me. I placed a hand on his chest, running it up until it was at the nape of his neck, playing with his soft, black curls. I gently tugged him toward me, and our lips attached once more. This time, it was more more sensual. Taking the time to just allow ourselves to feel one another. As he pulled away, I let out a small gasp as I felt his growing bulge against my clothed core. 

He seized the opportunity to kiss me again, letting his tongue wander and explore my mouth, pulling me as close as I could be to him. He pushed himself against me, causing a soft moan to escape, as I involuntarily rolled against him. He smirked against my mouth, moving once more against me. I hissed, feeling myself grow wetter. 

Sherlock pulled me off the sink, wrapping both of my legs around him before pinning me against the wall. I was sitting just on top of his cock, and the friction was even more frustrating. I grinded down on him, kissing his neck, while leaving small bites in between. I needed more though. I unwrapped my legs, and he lowered me to the ground. When he placed me down, I kissed him with passion while I started to undo his trousers. He walked backwards to the sink, leaning up against it, as I palmed him through his suit. His low groan made me quiver as I licked a long stripe up his neck to his ear, wear I softly bit the lobe. This drove him crazy.

Pants still undone, he whipped us around so that I was against the sink again. He pulled my dress up enough so that he could hook his fingers in the lace of my panties and pull them down. He lifted me up on to the sink to get them off of me. He worked them past my heels, and placed both of his hands on my thighs, rubbing circles into them with his thumb. His forehead was resting on mine and we were both breathing in sync. I opened my legs for him, as he traced his way between my legs. The violinist in him was showing, and he was going to work out the tension and boredom he had been feeling all day. His fingers came in contact with me, running through my folds. He went from my clit down to my opening, just toying with me. I let out a whimper as he placed his middle finger just barely inside of me. He slowly pushed his digit inside of me, causing a guttural groan to escape. I bucked into his hand, desperate for more. He pumped it casually, as if he had done this to me a million times and knew how I would react. He then slipped a second finger into me, causing me to emit another moan. 

“Please Sherlock. No games,” was all I could manage. 

He began to pump his fingers in a come-hither motion, curling them to hit my g-spot. I gasped with every movement, keeping as quiet as I could. He was working his way to get me as wet as I could be for him. I was starting to feel the tension in my stomach build when he placed his thumb on my clit and made sharp movements with it. I cried out, gripping his shoulders for support. I was going to need him soon if he wanted to me to finish with his cock inside me. But he kept pumping and rubbing, watching as my face conveyed every emotion he had ever made me feel. My arm wrapped around his neck, as I could barely keep myself up anymore. 

“Sherlock, you-you’re gonna..m-make me..c-cum…” I stutter out. I am rocking against his hand, chasing what I can’t stop. This only urges him more, as he quickens his pace. Without warning, I cum all over his finger with a cry. But he doesn’t stop. He continues to work my pussy, until I gasp out “I’m...I’m gonna squirt”. He steps out from between my legs, his fingers not stopping. As he steps to the side, he leans in to my ear and finally says something. 

“Show me”. 

It was all it took for my orgasm to elongate itself, as I squirted on his hand. I couldn’t stop and was shaking, barely able to keep myself up. I almost crumpled backwards before he caught me. Once again, he was between my legs, his hands on my neck and waist. I reached for his painfully hard cock, pulling it from his pants. I started stroking him, causing his eyes to flutter close. I was still coming down from what he had done with just his fingers, but I needed his dick inside me. I looked up at him, and said something that I knew would only boost his ego, and he would probably use against me later. 

“Mr. Holmes, I need you inside me, now”. 

His eyes shot open, as I looked back at him with lust-blown eyes. My hand was still wrapped around his cock, slowly pumping him. He and his god-complex were completely enamoured with my new take of teasing him. I lined his cock at my entrance, but not before teasing him through my folds. Just that little movement caused goosebumps to erupt on my skin. As I put his tip in my entrance, he searched my eyes once more for the consent he needed. I pushed myself onto him a little, letting him know he could take me. He leaned in, pushing his length all the way into me. I let out a loud gasp, wrapping my arm around his neck once more, my other hand on his back. I was still throbbing from my previous orgasm, and I knew he could feel my warm pulse inside me. He slowly pulled out, and then quickly sheathed himself inside me again. Our pelvises were against each other and his gently movements drove me crazy. I let out a cry of ecstasy, letting my head roll back, exposing my neck. He kissed it gently, and then, lifted me off the counter and back against the wall. All I could do was struggle to remain quiet as he began quick thrusts deep into me, relentlessly hitting my sweet spot. He was open mouthed against my neck, breathing erratically as he continued to hold me up. 

“You feel, s-so g-good,” I moaned, urging him to continue. He loved it when I complimented him, he had always been that way. But to be inside me as I told him how much I loved his cock, it was heaven for him. The guttural sounds from his throat proved to me that he felt the same.

“Y/n, I’m not gonna last much longer” he said, as though it would deter me. As he began to remove himself, I grabbed his face to look at me. 

“I want you to cum inside, Detective,” I whisper, wrapping my legs tighter around him to prove my point. 

His eyes widened searching my face as I was in taking all of him, bouncing on his dick in a penthouse bathroom, loving everything he did. Seeing what he could do to me, looking into my eyes as I stifled my moans, he began to stutter inside of me. I was on the edge too, and when his hot rope of cum shooted inside of me, my own orgasm exploded, milking him of the rest of his cum. 

When we had both stilled, frozen with him still inside me, we could hear the party still going and the noise of London below us. He pulled his softening cock from me and as he did, our cum dripped down my thigh. My legs were incredibly weak, as he continued to hold me up. I reached for a hand towel to clean me up, but he beat me to it, wiping up and between my legs, careful not to cause pain from the sensitivity. He picked up my underwear that he had tossed on the ground somewhere, and helped me step back into it. I was still shaky if I bent my legs, but I knew he would hold me up. As we looked at each other, there was something new we both saw. Romance. The sexual chemistry that had been there was a response to the catalyst of romance. 

Before we could discuss the aftermath of our actions though, there was a loud banging on the door. Smoothing out my dress just past the door, Sherlock opened it to find John, arms crossed, waiting outside.   

“Are you shitting me Sherlock? You look like you just took a hit of something. Did you seriously lose Y/N at this party because you were trying to get hi…”

The door widened to reveal me, just behind Sherlock, makeup slightly down my fae, and both of our hair tousled. I smiled at John, knowing it wasn’t what he had expected. His jaw dropped, “Tha..you were,,,um...has this been long or...?” Dr. Watson stuttered. 

“No John, that was the first time and it won’t be the last” he said, grabbing my arm and pulling me past him. 

“Don’t be too jealous John,” I said with a wink. 

John didn’t know what to say except, “Are we done here?”

Sherlock and I walked arm in arm down the hallway, casting back a look at John as if to say “What do you think?” 

~~~~~~~~~~~

This was my first oneshot and was it trash? Yeah, maybe. So if you know me, no you don’t :)

Leave suggestions if you’d like, I’m writing smut I can’t find. 

#sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlock smut #sherlock bbc #benedict cumberbatch #cumberbitches

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Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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