#sherlock Holmes fanfic

[espinosaurusrexex]

If Only You Would Know

HenryCavill!Sherlock x Female!Reader

summary: You and Sherlock are in love, Enola is sure of it. But she is forced to watch you tiptoe around the topic for an eternity. So when the opportunity arises, and Sherlock is forced to confront his feelings towards you, she does not hesitate.

a/n: we're diggin' out old old drafts for this one, but I needed a little Sherlock again :)

word count: 4k

warnings: a little arguing, pining, someone gets injured, idiots in love™️ (it's a new genre of mine)

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ

You sighed as Sherlock moved about his office with hasty determination. He was a strange man. Oblivious, too, time and time again. But that did not matter for you loved him. You loved him and every strange habit he harbored. Whether it was the way in which he arranged his coats on the brass hanger by the door or that godawful pipe he seemed to always have hanging from his lips. He did not even like it - he had told you one time. “’tis just a habit, dear,” it would muffle past the brown bit in his mouth before he would clip it back between his teeth. 

But you did not care. And that must have been the very fact telling you just how deeply your heart had already fallen for the famous detective. Not a care in the world, especially not for what other people thought to say the least. Because all you ever thought about upon seeing him was love, warmth, and endearment. Nothing less. Not even a wretched criminal could ever shoot these feelings out of your heart. 

Oh well, it did not matter, anyhow. For there was one issue keeping this fairytale from becoming reality. And this issue was that Sherlock Holmes, the brightest man you knew, was blatantly oblivious to the feelings you had harbored in your chest. To be fair, you had never mentioned it to him before. For you were simply terrified of the consequences such a confession would hold. It was one thing to pine over a man who you were lucky enough to be in the same room with, but it would be undeniably humiliating to be rejected by said man as well. So you had chosen not to act on the fiery desire burning within your veins whenever your eyes hushed a glance at him. 

As much as that decision was made to protect your heart, it had turned out the circumstances provided the opposite of the desired effect. You were hurting more and more with every day you had to live with the realization that Sherlock Holmes did not love you back. In fact, he loved other women - many of them. And every single one more beautiful than the other. Sometimes you found yourself wondering if they were human at all. Never before had you seen such luscious hair as that of Sibyl or such a beautiful smile as that of Amelia. It was difficult to settle with these gorgeous women having a place in his bed and possibly his heart, but soon, you realized the importance of seeing him happy trumped your own desires. If he was happy, so were you. And if you weren’t the one making him happy, so be it. 

You had just come here to see Enola from her home to the city. Stopping by her brother’s apartment had not been on the agenda, at least not yours. But Enola was adamant to have you come when she raced up the stairs to his door. You had gasped when Sherlock had opened, his hair slightly disheveled and the shirt loosely tugged in his trousers. Your heart was pounding - it always happened when you saw him, and you swiftly averted your eyes to hide the flustered look on your face from him. 

Now you were standing in his messy home as you listened to Enola convince him to let her help him on a particular case of his - one she had a personal attachment to. Mixed emotions crawled up your spine at the sight of this professional yet intimate space. Not only one room over, Sherlock's bed was mockingly standing beyond the door, messy sheets indicating his prior endeavors, but there was no Sibyl or Amelia in sight. Still, your hands clamped around the silky material of your skirt, wrinkling the fabric harsher with every minute you spend in the deep-colored room. It smelled of musk and tobacco. Two things you had grown to miss whenever they were not surrounding you, but now, it was a shiver too much. 

Sherlock stood before you and Enola with his hands on his hips, a look of annoyance and disapproval etched on his features, but nonetheless, a sense of amusement in the edges of his frown. You knew him too well not to notice the slight pride swelling from his chest at his little sister’s determination. 

“I believe it is too dangerous for a girl like you to wander the streets, chasing criminals through London, Enola.”

“And I believe that you are an idiot, brother.”

“Perhaps,” your finger lifted in suggestion, stopping Sherlock’s head from tilting in disapproval at his sister’s array just in time. “She can be accompanied in her wandering?”

“And who would this accompany be?”

You knew it was not your place to negotiate, but you cared for Enola too much not to. And even though Sherlock’s stern eyes bore into your frame, you began to talk again: “I could-“

“Oh, dear lord. That is out of question.”

“Why brother? Do you not think Ms. Y/N and I can defend ourselves?”

A short silence lay upon the siblings as you watched the man’s shoulders draw up with a tense jaw. “I said no.”

“You are being irrational.” Enola cried. She was not one to accept defiance easily, you were well aware of it.

“No, you are being irrational. I will not vouch for having two women hurt on a mission to gather intel for my cases.”

“You cannot stop me.”

There was something itching in the glimmer of his eyes when the words left his lips, though you weren’t quite sure what to make of it.

“Enola!” Almost fearfully, Sherlock turned to you, his eyes wandering and desperation conveyed in his stare when you heard the young girl open the door.

“I am sure we can negotiate a way to have both parties satisfied.” Enola halted as you spoke. “I am certain your bother has other tasks that need fulfilling and are less prone to danger. Isn’t that right, Mr. Holmes?”

Sherlock was not entirely satisfied with this turn of events, but his sagging shoulders told you that he accepted the compromise. A sigh eluded from his lungs and Enola turned to the dark-haired man with excited eyes. “I presume, there would be things you could do.”

“Thank you–“

“But,” his eyes turned stern again, “In the office only. No more wandering, is that clear?”

Enola beamed. “Yes.”

❁ ❁ ❁

It was not long after the discussion when you and Enola went about home from the city. Still, however, despite the seemingly fair compromise negotiated just minutes prior, the younger woman sloppily trudged next to you.

“He is an idiot, that is what he is.” Enola stomped past you with a pouty face. It was not ladylike, but luckily, she knew that you were not one to care about that. 

You understood Enola’s frustrations, but simultaneously, your heart were to break if anything ever happened to her. So you understood the settled worry in her brother’s words as well. He was a good man. “He is just worried. It means he cares.”

“Well, he could care a little less and let me do my job.” You hid a smirk. Only Enola would be as adamant about saving a boy she had only met days ago. She was just as goodhearted and justice-seeking as Sherlock, and your heart warmed at the similarities the siblings shared.

“It is not your job, Enola.” Sometimes you genuinely admired her fixation, though it mostly converted into trouble, still. Enola had a lot more freedom than you did when you were her age, and you too would have sprung at any chance to go and wander about, seeking adventures and perhaps a little more than that. Which was in turn, why your heart felt torn between the fulfillment of having her seek childhood dreams, and the subtle but strong tug Sherlock Holmes held you with. 

“Did you forget what we just found out yesterday? It seems no one cares about him. And if nobody else will do it, I consider it my duty to help.”

“Enola, dear.” You held her shoulders gently. “I understand your worries, but I understand your brother’s as well. I would be just as worried about you if something were to happen, and I do not want to see you hurt, either.”

“But we have to do something!” This was true. It would not be right to leave the boy framed with false accusations when you had the power to change his fate. There was something you could gather - information that may help him be acquitted.

“How about I go?” You silently cursed your good intentions as Enola’s eyes lit up. It was a blessing and a curse. But other than Enola, there would be nobody worrying for you, and in turn a lot less hearts broken if something were to happen - which it surely would not. “You can stay in the study and I will see to it that we may gather more information.”

“Alright, but be careful. And make sure to come back by five. Otherwise, someone will get suspicious.” The girl smiled, but her shoulders shook with excitement.

“What? Do you think I’m stupid?” You teased, awaiting a sassy ‘of course not’ which you returned with a wink.

❁ ❁ ❁

Enola watched the clock next to the window. Seconds, ticking by too fast for her liking. She needed more time - you needed more time. Her brother had given her files to sort and he would be coming back soon. Upon your agreement yesterday, you had gone out to gather information on the woman who accused the boy. But you would be back soon, she told herself.

“Is Ms. Y/N not here with you?” Sherlock’s voice called through the room and his steps approached her steadily. 

Enola was stiff. “She is out,” she told him while her fingers counted the pile of files on the desk.

“Out? With who?” He stepped around the polished mahogany, settling in front of her with his hands behind his back. “I didn’t realize she was being courted.” 

Oh. Enola’s eyes sparkled with amusement when she obtained a glimmer of jealousy in her brother’s. She had always had her suspicions. And she knew of your being madly in love with her brother, but Sherlock had always been secretive regarding the topic of love.

“She went to shop,” she smiled, averting her eyes. Waiting - no, anticipating a response from him.

“So she is not with anyone.” Sherlock leaned forward with squinted eyes. For a man as good at solving puzzles as he was, he did need an awful lot of confirmation.

Enola finally looked up. “Ugh, you really are an idiot.” 

“Would you quit calling me an idiot?” Disapproval swept his features and made a frown settle instead. 

“I would, but you won’t quit being an idiot.”

“Whatever do you mean?” It was quite amusing to see him clueless for once. And even though you tried to hide your feelings or the way you responded whenever he was as much as in the same room as you, it did not go past Enola how long your eyes lingered on his frame or the way the sadness overtook your features at the mention of another woman.

“Ms. Y/N is head over heels in love with you. And I do not understand why you refuse to see it, she is not hiding it very well, you see?”

Sherlock stumbled back, his hands seemingly finding their pace over his heart when he repeated her words. “Ms. Y/N? In love with me?”

“And you really call yourself the greatest detective of our time.” Enola shook her head. Still, the thought of the two of you together was one she liked to entertain. And she asked herself just how much you could talk Sherlock into once you were together. He was already caving when you suggested things - the possibilities of Enola getting her way when the both of you finally gave into the pining were endless!

“Oh, hush. I just never thought she would...” Sherlock trailed off, and if Enola was not mistaken, she caught a whisper of pink settle over his cheeks. Could it really be? The great Sherlock Holmes in love? Even better with a woman Enola adored as well?

“This is exactly the problem, brother. You don’t think when it comes to women.” Her mind wandered back to the women you had seen leave his chambers by the break of dawn. And just like then, Enola noticed a familiar sense of sadness wash over her brother’s eyes - the same one you hid from her in these moments.

“Enola...” But his words died on his tongue and Enola thought it wiser to resume her task. Sherlock was aware of his idiocy. For Enola knew just how insignificant all the other women were to him. And she hoped he had realized this fact.

A moment or two passed in which Sherlock paced the room mindlessly. His hands disappeared behind curtains and in bookshelves, until they reached for the pocket watch in his coat and a subtle grumbling eluded his lungs. “She should be back soon, anyhow. Should she not?”

“I suppose, yes.” 

“Well, it is quarter past five already. The shop is closed well over an hour now.” Sherlock did not hide the impatience in his tone, now. And Enola felt a wave of success wash over her.

It was difficult to hide her nervousness, though, for she now worried about you as well. But you were fine - she consoled herself. You were tough and intelligent, simply a little late - that was surely it. “She will come soon.”

An unusual tension fell over the room and Enola was certain, her brother had already dismissed her little story. But she would not falter. Her fingers kept cramming through the papers, counting pages she had analyzed and sorted two times by now. Her movements, however, became more frantic, and soon, her heart was pounding in her wrists.

“Enola, what in heavens did you do?” Sherlock urged impatiently, a look cold as a stone set on his face. 

“Nothing.” She did not look at him, then he would know instantly - the little lie she told.

“You sent her out to spy didn’t you?”

Why did he keep asking if he already knew the answer? Enola did not speak. She was fairly ashamed, though. She wanted to show her brother just how capable she and you both were. But having you not come back made for a serious difficulty to her plan.

She looked up at him now, just in time to see his shoulders sag and his head tilted up in frustration. “After I told you not to?”

“You only ever forbid me from going!” She cried, suddenly feeling attacked by his irrational outburst.

“I did not want Ms. Y/N out in the streets alone, either.” Sherlock was pacing again, his shoes clicked on the polished wooden floor until the reached the coat hanger by the door, only to gruffly rip the dark cloak from its place.

An accusing finger reached in his direction and a small smirk appeared on his sister’s lips. “So you are in love with her.”

The man frowned and his chestnut locks shook with annoyance. “That is not important right now. We need to find her.”

He did not deny it and Enola Holmes viewed it as a success.

❁ ❁ ❁

Sherlock swept through the streets as fast as his feet could carry him. Never had he thought that he would need to worry about your well-being. Enola’s? Yes, constantly. She did dangerous things all the time. But you were the one with the rational mind, the trait he adored most above all, for it eased his own every so often. It was enough to look out for Enola as much. He loved her and that was what love did: It made for weaknesses. Though Sherlock never wished to not adore you as much as he did, at this moment, it would have spared him trouble. 

He passed another alley filled with dubious fellows and willed his thoughts not to stray to dark paces. Normally, he could stay focused. Normally, he was able to separate his feelings from his tasks very well. Normally, he needn’t worry about you, however. 

Enola was many steps behind, he could hear her heels clicking in haste in her catching up, but Sherlock would not budge. He would keep on searching, keep on going straight until his sister gave him another direction to follow. She knew where you were after all, and he could not even begin to indulge in the worry-consumed anger this fact fueled him with. 

It did not take long for the detective to reach the house of the last suspect he had abandoned in his search for answers. You must have gone there. Enola had been especially furious about his dropping the woman upon questioning, urging her brother to stay on the lead. But Sherlock had already gotten enough information to place her in the entire scheme. Enola did not know this of course - he had never told her. So it was only plausible to send you to spy on said woman. What you had not known, however, was the dangerous affiliates this woman had, and the little to no hesitance of hers to pursue them.

The house lay empty on the street once the siblings reached its steps, no light shining through the glass windows, not the smell of dinner lingering in the air. It was odd, though nothing to be upset over. You had been here, Sherlock knew it. He was disappointed to find out, however, that you were not anymore. Of course, you had realized the danger of the situation and left, but where to? 

His head jerked to the left once Enola caught up to him, following the rattling of bins coming from the alley close by, where a faint trail of blood droplets mixed with the rain. 

“Bloody hell,” the detective mumbled with every inch it lead him further to your location. And sure enough, beyond the shielding confines of a wooden palette, he spotted your coat pressed into the wall. 

A small hiss, and then: nothing when he called your name.

“Ms. Y/N, heavens!” He rushed over once his eyes caught your distraught face behind the wood, your entire hand covered in blood, pressed to your head, where more seemed to have already dried on your scalp. 

“Mr. Holmes?” Your voice was weak, your eyes hazy - growing in the confusion the head injury most likely brought to you. 

Sherlock's arms reached out to engulf you, a handkerchief quick to be pressed on your head as he knelt beside you and let your body rest against his torso. “Enola, go and get help, immediately!” He commanded with urgency, having the young girl run off with a shocked nod.

His attention traced back to your body, where his eyes focused on your heavy lids and his heart clenched at the sight. You were hurt - seriously hurt - and Sherlock could not shake the feeling of it being his fault. Had he only consulted you in his case, had he talked to Enola, had he been less cowardly and finally admitted to his feelings. This all might have never happened.

“You should not have gone out alone!” He cried as he rocked you back and forth, his arms held you a little tighter, and he was certain that his heart beat through the several layers of clothing separating you.

“You have no right to rule over me.” Your hands pressed against his chest, forcing him to let you pull away from his embrace, and Sherlock instantly missed the warmth holding you had given him. He needed it back - confirming you were fine.

“But I told you not to go!” Big eyes stared up at him, but there was disappointment simmering beneath the sheer gleam of anger.

“Why are you upset? I can do whatever I desire!” It was meant to come out strong, but not even a woman as tough as you were able to hide the weakness taking over your body.

“But you got hurt!” Sherlock was juggling with empty arguments, he knew this much. But there was no right way to express what he wished to pursue with his words. It was all too much and not enough, all the same.

“Mr. Holmes, I can take good care of myself. I have done it my whole life.”

“And you shouldn’t have.” This seemed to have caught you by surprise. For you stopped in your shuffling away and held his gaze equal in confusion and intrigue. 

“Whatever do you mean?” You shrieked softly, your breath staggering when he came closer to you.

Sherlock found it incredibly difficult to talk, suddenly. His hands were clammy and that stupid tie around his neck seemed just a tad too tight. Christ, he could not even look at you. He was left staring towards the wet grounds with his hands wringing beneath him.“I- it has come to my attention that I lack perception in some categories.” He hushed a look at you and was not surprised to see utter confusion seeping through your stare. 

Sherlock sighed and his shoulders jumped heavily once he mustered up the courage to explain: “I do not wish to see you hurt.”

“Why?” Your eyes were big and wondrous, much like a curious child prying up in awe over what it was to become privy of.

Sherlock tried, he really did, to be steady and informative, but there was no use, for his heart had decided otherwise. “Because... because, I- my heart hurts when I imagine something happening to you.”

“But what about Sybil or Amelia… or Babette?” Every name stung another hole in his heart as your eyes saddened naming the woman he had spent previous nights with in order to get over you. He never loved them, never adored them the way he did you. They were simply a distraction. A petty compromise for the actual being he was sure would never return his affection. Now that he found out the opposite, Sherlock was uncertain about how to act. 

“These women... they were just compensation for the one I couldn’t have.” He confessed slowly, his hand reaching for you and finally getting ahold of your chin. “I did not think you would be interested in me.”

“Oh but I am, Sherlock.” Your fingers came to cover his. “I am.” And an unbelievable force of warmth and calmness washed over him. Despite the blood, despite the worry. Despite everything being wrong at this very moment, he was calm. You had this effect on him.

“I know that now. My sister told me.” Sherlock sent a silent prayer to the stars. Had his sister not been as persistent he would have never gotten the opportunity to hold you close - feel you the way he desired. 

“She is quite a smart lady isn’t she?” A low chuckle echoed through the darkening alley, though a shy blush crept upon the detective’s cheeks. 

“As much as I hate to admit it, she is a good detective.” His thumbs stroked gentle swipes over your skin, a sliver of warmth tasting your body with every movement, and it felt good to have you indulge in his touch. He would have never dreamt of having you this close, having you feel the same feelings he did. And to be perfectly honest, experiencing it, in reality, was a hundred times better than anything he had ever imagined. “God, Y/N. If only I had known earlier.”

“Let us not grieve what is already done. Embrace the possibilities of the future with me.” Your eyes locked with his once again and your aura seemed to pull him even deeper into a trance. Sherlock could not look away. He was captured by every loving emotion radiating off of you. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. But he would keep it guarded in his chest for eternity, even if nobody were to ever ask him about it. It was precious - this moment was worth hundred terrible ones. 

“You are right,” he agreed, and then, beyond his control almost, Sherlock pulled you into a warm kiss. 

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[bakerstreethound]

A Single Touch

Relationship: Sherlock Holmes x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ Smut, hints of soft (sub) husband Sherlock/dom Sherlock, gentle teasing, mentions of marking, tenderness, and feelings

Summary: A peaceful afternoon in 221B takes a turn when you become insistent on needing Sherlock's attention and he indulges.

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

Word Count: 1.1k+

A/N: Hello my lovelies, I hope you are all well. I hope you enjoy this little treat for I adore Sherlock so and he deserves the love and attention even when he can be annoying. Special thank you to @strangelockd for beta reading and loving this story from its conception. She is now the official aunt of this fanfic. As always, comments and reblogs are most appreciated! Graphic by @firefly-graphics

You smile to yourself as you look around 221B, enjoying the rare peaceful afternoon on the couch, your favorite book discarded on the coffee table. Sherlock’s features are calm and relaxed and you grin despite yourself, knowing how much he hated to admit he liked this…whatever this supposed routine had become.

Your fingers ruffled gently through his curls, his breath coming steady, occasionally shuddering when you tugged harder on them to tease him. You gaze upon him fondly, watching his cheek quiver, lips pursing while he flips a page of his novel.

So that’s how it was going to be, then. You smile to yourself, for you do so love a challenge. 

Carefully you tug his curls once more, earning a raised brow in return, until you reach for the book, pulling it from his grasp, not before inserting the bookmark into place; you don't have the heart to dog ear the page like a heathen. 

“I was reading that,” he huffs, feigning annoyance, yet his eyes shimmer in mischief and mirth. 

“Yeah? What are you going to do about it? Surely you can think of something.” 

He shifts, sitting upright on the couch, watching you intently, dark fierceness flashing for a moment in his eyes. “I’ve considered no less than five options.” 

You smirk at his practicality and calculating mind, and shake your head in amusement, before you climb over onto his lap, swinging a leg over to straddle a thigh. Ever so slowly, you lean into him, pressing your lips to his forehead, relishing in the faint sigh he releases.

His grip on your waist tightens as you settle yourself fully, tracing a thumb along his lower lip. You relish in the widening of his eyes, the faint twitch of his cheek, mind, and body fighting to take over whatever impulses have him in a frenzy.

You adore the push and pull and could fall into it for eons. With him, every touch, every instinct of yours screams yes for it all is right, almost too good to be true. 

“Damn you.”

“Whatever for, dear boy?” You murmur not a care in the world, nuzzling his neck before grazing your tongue over a sensitive spot, relishing in the way his shoulders tense as he fights off a shiver. 

He says nothing else as you continue on your merry way, smirking to yourself at his reactions, the way he gripes your waist tighter, fighting off the anticipation of your lips latching on to his neck for what feels like the hundredth time.

Even if it is the hundredth time, he wouldn’t tire of it for a moment, for it is you, and that’s all he wants. 

You in every moment. 

It’s what you want as well, want to show him how much you love and adore him, how you can never get enough of him. How you deserved him you wouldn't know for he is everything to you and more.

You press another kiss to his waiting lips which accept you eagerly, your hands running down his torso, and you sigh. 

How was this your husband? 

He softly pressed a kiss to your lips and you gracefully fell into the feel of him, wanting to adore him. Your heart ached in kind, a mixture of melancholy and longing, desperation and want. It is your form of love, all because of him.

Through the years you count him as one of your greatest blessings, but the words catch in your throat when you try to speak them aloud.

You hope he knows, surely, he does for he’s the only one who braved your tumultuous shores, the depths of your heart, and still he stayed. 

He stayed unwavering and you as well through it all. Thoughts of these flood his mind, for he’s all too enraptured with your form, the way you melt into him, the way his nails dig deep into your waist. He jolts slightly at the praises that pull from your lips, a slight blush creeping along his cheeks at your words. 

“You don’t….that’s not…” he struggles to voice and you offer him a smile, kissing him once more, whispering your pleas in tandem. 

“Let me help you…” you sigh into him, tugging his lower lip, earning a low groan before shifting on his lap, his hands reading to your back, gripping you impossibly tighter. 

“Then I should help you, darling.”

You can practically hear the smirk in his voice, the teasing tone sending shivers down your spine in a delightful manner and you welcome it. You both require a reprieve and it starts with a single touch. 

One of love. 

One of need. 

One of desire. 

One of desperation. 

That’s how you find yourself an hour later on your shared bed, engulfed by sheets and the delicious heat of his lips on your own, tongue trailing along your body, his deep sonorous baritone edging you on. 

“I said every inch, my dear,” his voice rumbles from his throat igniting your body from the inside out, “Isn’t that right?”  Your shirt slides higher up your body as inch by inch your upper body is revealed to him and Sherlock smirks, delighting in the situation. 

You roll your eyes, shuddering as his hands grip you tighter, before pulling the rest of your shirt off, promptly discarding it on the floor, not a care in the world. His gaze bores into your back and you fight off a shiver to no avail.

You can feel his smirk searing to your back before he presses the gentlest kisses along your spine and you melt in kind before he sucks a mark, making you squirm. 

“Not…fair…”

“Nothing about you is fair,” he growls.

You groan in kind, letting him do as he pleases, pulling you impossibly closer to him, heat radiating between you, sending you aflame. It was only a shift of the hand, a brush against his wrist, and the tension filled him to the brim like lightning before it struck.

You shudder when his finger brushes back along your body, melting, completely undone by him and his embrace. He traces the marks he made along your spine, and you bite back another whimper, causing him to whisper in your ear. 

“I want to hear you make those pretty noises for me, alright?” 

You swallow, knowing he’s not asking and when he kisses you heatedly, you let yourself fall into the abyss and infinite as you’re made one, relishing in the warmth, and eternal bliss you fall into every time you’re here safe in his arms. 

All it takes is a single burning, aching touch. 

And you fall together. 

Down in the abyss where love and pleasure combine, something else you can’t quite fathom or remember, but it’s enough. All you could ever want and more; the gasped pleas from parted lips, hand entangled in those sinful curls, your bodies forever intertwined. 

******

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[frost-queen]

It takes two (Reader x Sherlock Holmes)

Requested by: Anon; Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco@subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury,  @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn

Summary: Sherlock and you have been rival detectives for as long as you can remember. Competing and despising each other. When Sherlock and you are forced to work together, it doesn't go smoothly. Till you get hurt and see how truly worried Sherlock is for your life.

You stared at the officer at the precinct. For five minutes now had he been silent. Not wanting to tell why he had asked you over. You had hoped staring at him would make him uncomfortable enough to start chatting. You sighed loud looking away at the old clock. – “I must say officer my time is of value.” – you said hoping it would let him speak. Instead he looked at his pocket watch, clicking it shut again. – “Just a moment Miss Y/n.” – he replied, the first thing he had spoken since you had entered. The door creaked open as the officer straightened his posture. – “Ah finally.” – he spoke.

You turned around in your chair to see who had entered. Expression filled with disgust at the sight of Sherlock. – “Wonderful.” – he mumbled to himself, plastering a faked smile on his lips. – “You’ve asked for me.” – Sherlock spoke ignoring you. You got up joining his side. – “He asked for me so why don’t you run along Sherly.” – you stated waving him off. Sherlock turned his posture to you. His eyes full of annoyance to you. – “I actually called for both of you.” – the officer spoke making Sherlock and you stare shocked at him.

The officer reached down his pocket, revealing a folded note. – “I have a case.” – he outed. It took Sherlock and you one second to look at each other. Eyes full of mischief. You pushed Sherlock aside as he took a hold of your clothing. Pulling you back to him as he wanted to cut in front of you. You took a hold of his arm, grunting when he swayed his arm around to free it from your grip. The officer watched with wide eyes, slowly backing away to the wall. – “Let go!” – Sherlock groaned giving you a push. – “Never!” – you shouted clamping onto his arm.

You tried to tackle him as he wrapped an arm around your waist. Threw you over his knee and guided you down to the floor. He took exactly one step before you grabbed him by the ankle, pulling at it. He lost his sudden balance smacking with his chest against the desk. He groaned in pain, rubbing his chest. You had gotten back up wanting to run at the officer. Sherlock clenched his arms around you, keeping you close to his chest. – “Give it to me!” – Sherlock begged holding a hand out. – “No!” – you shouted squirming to break free. – “Give it to me!” – you called out ushering him to give it.

“Don’t listen to her.” – Sherlock breathed out trying to keep you in place. – “He’s an idiot.” – you said stepping on his foot. The officer blinked confused. He thought two great detectives would be more mature. Yet here you were fighting over a piece of paper. – “It’s… it’s… actually a case for the both of you.” – he told you. Sherlock and you stopped fighting, looking at each other. – “I don’t work with her.” – he said, arms still around you. – “We’re not partners.” – you said at the same time, looking back at the officer.

“Well that is too bad, cause we need the both of you.” – The officer placed the note on his desk. Sherlock and you sharing a brief glance. Both of you rushed to the desk, slamming your hands down on it. Yours was underneath as his were on top of yours. He grabbed a side pulling it from under your hand. You kept your hand pressed down.

Sherlock kept tugging at the note. – “Y/n let go.” – he grunted out. – “You let go.” – you answered forcefully. Sherlock stumbled back when a force released him from you. Confused he looked down at his hand. Holding up half a note. You lifted your hands up seeing the other half underneath it. – “Excellent, just brilliant Sherlock.” – you accused holding the ripped note up. – “If you hadn’t been so eager.” – he replied hash. – “Eager! This is my case Sherlock!” – you answered right back.

“My case!” – Sherlock called out. The officer cleared his throat. – “Both your cases. You are working together.” – Sherlock and you glared at the man. – “I’m not working with her!” – he said pointing accusingly at you. – “I work better alone.” – you reminded him. The officer pinched his nose. – “Either you work together or it is jail.” – he offered. Sherlock and you looked at each other in silence.

Bars shut hard as Sherlock sighed deep. His arms sticking out between the bars. You sat down on the bench inside the cell with him. Who knew the officer meant his threat. You looked down at half the note in your hand. Sherlock still possessing the other half. You opened it, as it didn’t make any sense. Half a sentence. Sherlock sighed again looking up. There was absolutely no way he was going to work together with you.

He couldn’t possibly work with you. Not when the two of you had such a history of competing with each other. Wanting to have the last laugh at overdoing the other one’s though cases. The two of you would take on any job just to brag about it. Brag about the amount or the difficulty of it. Now he wasn’t sure what to do.

One thing was sure that he didn’t want to stay in this cell. After half an hour and not having changed position returned the officer. – “Have you made up your mind?” – he asked. The two of you remained silent, not wanting to be the first to give in. – “Alright suit yourself. I suggest you get cosy then.” – he already turned half back to the door as Sherlock spoke. – “Wait.”

The officer paused. You got up shocked by how he would give in. – “I’ll do it.” – he sighed out. The officer looked over at you. – “I need your answer as well.” – he spoke. You looked over at Sherlock who had his back towards you. – “I agree.” – you replied seeing Sherlock look over his shoulder to you. – “Now that wasn’t so hard to say right.” – the officer joked coming closer with the jingling keys.

He opened the cell door letting Sherlock and you out. Not a moment later were you on the streets. It had gone dark. Gaslighted streetlights lighting the way. A few carriages riding over the cobble stone. You took a deep breath, looking away as you held the note up to Sherlock. Expecting him to snatch it from your hands you heard him search his pocket.

Fumble the note open and hold it against yours. You looked reading the sentence. “To die is an art.” It read. Your eyes widened turning to Sherlock as he did the same. – “Moriarty.” – you said at the same time. That is why the officer wanted both of you on this case. Moriarty had been a though man to catch. Having messed with both Sherlock and you. Teasing and taunting you with the impossible catch.

*

The clouds rumbled. Rain falling down with an unbearable amount. Sherlock and you getting out of the carriage. – “This should be his hide-out. All the hints lead here.” – Sherlock spoke over the rain. Up in the sky it rumbled once more. A thundering as the clouds flashed with a bright light. – “Then let’s catch him once and for all.” – you replied, the rain staining your face with droplets.

Sherlock nodded taking the lead. You followed him inside the building. A shammy old building squeezed between the other buildings. An apartment way. Inside there was only a staircase leading up and a narrow way just beside the staircase. The building dark and barely lighted. The first step creaked when Sherlock set his foot down. Looking over his shoulder to you, he hinted at the creaking stairway.

You nodded. He went up the stairs, carefully. Sometimes a creak would slip and make itself hearable. Sherlock and you went up meeting up with a door and some stairs that continued to go up in the turn. Sherlock knocked on the door as it opened creakingly. He walked inside carefully. He coughed loud at the smell of death.

You coughed as well, holding the back of your hand up to your nose. The windows were stained with dust. From the sink flew a dozen flies. Sherlock opened a cabinet with the use of a filthy spoon. He nearly gagged at the stench coming from the cabinet. You wanted to look as Sherlock quickly shut the cabinet once more. – “What is it?” – you questioned in a hushed voice. – “Our missing politician’s head.” – he answered making you shudder at the thought.

For days now you had been searching for the politician who got somehow entangled up in Moriarty’s schemes. – “Where is the rest of him?” – you wondered. Sherlock was about to reply when. Clash. A bucket clattered to the ground. Sherlock’s eyes flashed up to where the sound came from. In the blink of an eye he saw a figure run across.

“Sherlock!” – you shouted as he went in pursuit.  You went after him through the house. You neared the window sticking your head out. – “Sherlock!” – you yelled looking up as the rain fell hard on your face and in your eyes. Above you saw Sherlock climb a stairs leading up to the rooftop. The faint silhouette of another figure climbing in front of him.

You couldn’t let him deal with this alone. If this was truly Moriarty, he couldn’t take him alone. You assisted yourself out of the window, grabbing onto the stairs. Thunder rumbled as you fought against the rain to keep your balance. – “Sherlock!” – you shouted again wanting him to slow down. He was nearly at the top as you could barely follow. 

The bars wet and slippery. Your foot slipped as you felt yourself nearly fall. Having clutched onto the bars quick enough so your weight hadn’t pulled you down. Catching your breath, you set your foot back, continuing the climb up to the roof. With shaky hands and drenched you came at the rooftop. Sherlock looking panicked and desperately around.

“Sherlock!” – you called out over the sound of the rain. He turned around to you and made his way over. – “He was right here… he’s gone!” – Sherlock panicked. You neared him as he grabbed your arms. – “He was right here… He couldn’t be gone…” – Sherlock breathed out, turning his head to keep looking.

“Sherlock. Sherlock.” – you said trying to calm him down. – “He’s here! Taunting me!” – Sherlock called out. Your eyes widened when thunder struck, lighting the dark sky up. Seeing a figure stand behind Sherlock, arms raised up in the air. You called it out pushing Sherlock aside. A heavy object clashed against your head as it send you down. Sherlock’s eyes widened seeing you lay lifeless on the ground. – “Y/n!” – he shouted scrambling to get up.

He rushed over to you, picking your body up to place on his lap. – “Y/n… Y/n wake up.” – he begged touching your cheek. Seeing the blood on your head. He pressed you against his chest, screaming loud to the sky. A scream raw with emotions. – “Moriarty!” – he called out. – “I’ll kill you!” – he made clear looking around for any sign of him. There was none. None neared him or showed himself.

Sherlock looked down at you, brushing his palm against your wet cheek. – “Please… wake up.” – he asked. You groaned soft, squinting your eyes. Sherlock noticed the sudden change in you, widening his eyes. – “Sher…” – you mumbled out, slowly opening your eyes. Sherlock looked up to the sky, relieved you were still breathing.

“Where… where is Moriarty?” – you asked numbly. Sherlock let his fingers brush against your cheek, placing a kiss on your forehead. It made you blink confused at his sudden affection. – “Sher… Sherlock what are you doing?” – you questioned as he retrieved his lips from your forehead. – “I thought I had lost you.” – he confessed. – “I felt my heart rip at the loss of you.”

You stared bewildered up to him. Where was this sudden sweetness coming from. – “Sherlock… I am alright.” – you told him. He looked at your head, touching the area just below your headwound. – “I am not.” – he breathed out. You noticed how much he worried for you.

Something you didn’t think he was capable with the history you had with him. The sorrow and sadness reflecting clear in his eyes. Feeling a bit emotional yourself, you wrapped your arms around him, wanting to have him close to you. Sherlock hugged you back with a deep exhale. You were alright.

----------------------------------

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#imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #enola holmes #enola holmes fanfic #enola holmes fanfiction #enola holmes fic #enola holmes sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x y/n #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes fic #sherlock holmes fanfiction #sherlock holmes fanfic #henry cavill #henry cavil sherlock #enola holmes 2 #netflix enola holmes #henry cavill fic #henry cavill characters

[i-dont-talk-for-days-on-end]

I think of myself as a practical woman. I am proud to say that I have always been able to manage my household in the most efficient manner, purchasing only what is of good quality without requiring any unnecessary expenses. I have one possession, however, that is an exception to that rule. This is the story of how not only one but two of my tenants returned to Baker Street, and how I came to own one of London’s finest tea services as a result.

Mr Holmes returns. Dr Watson leaves. Mrs Hudson realises that London’s greatest detective might require a little assistance with winning the good doctor back.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen; M/M

Fandoms: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle; Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms; Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV)

Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & Mrs. Hudson; Mrs. Hudson & John Watson; Sherlock Holmes & John Watson; Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

Characters: Mrs. Hudson (Sherlock Holmes); Sherlock Holmes; John Watson

Additional Tags: POV Mrs. Hudson; Story: The Adventure of the Empty House; Post-Story: The Adventure of the Empty House; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Angst and Hurt/Comfort; Angst and Humor; this really isn't too dark I promise; Happy Ending; Arguing; Making Up; Drunk Shenanigans; Cuddling & Snuggling; light allusion to sexual themes; Period-Typical Homophobia; Period-Typical Sexism; (I'm so sorry); Mrs. Hudson knows; Mrs. Hudson is an ally; Holmes is a silly young man to her but she loves him dearly; Holmes is oblivious that Mrs Hudson has adopted him; Holmes is a drama queen; Watson is a reasonable man who stands up for himself

I'm allowing myself to tag a few people who might be interested by going through my notes, so don't be confused if I randomly tagged you! :D

@amypihcs @tyrannosaurusnacks @friday411 @keirgreeneyes @crowleyholmes @sirensongster @rainbow-person @yamy-brett @itsnotlupus @its-notlupus @angryducktimemachine @anmaje @emmahasadhd @sarahthecoat @geeoharee @theantichris @hell-and-pepsi @neverquiteeden @rudbeckiasunflower @weast-of-eden @ohgodwhatwasthat @the-doggo-of-baskervilles @benrybenrybenry-chr @fuckyeahfreeimmortal @loki-lock @holmes-ness @louieclamlent @bestnoncannonship @forever-1895 @loreleilee @somethingintheforest

Whew! Okay, maybe I overdid it :D

#literally spent the whole weekend writing this instead of preparing for my first presentation i will give in front of an academic audience #sherlock holmes #dr watson #holmes/watson #fanfic #sherlock holmes fanfic #mrs hudson #the empty house #acd canon #granada holmes

[classickook]

the game is on | sherlock holmes

pairing: sherlock holmes x fem!reader

summary: you have a little surprise for sherlock that turns out differently than you had originally planned.

warnings: smut (18+), kissing, lots of teasing and foreplay, oral (fem receiving), cocky!sherlock

word count: 2.2k

a/n: a few anons requested some sherlock smut so i hope this does the trick! <3

“sherlock? can you come here for a second?” you called from inside the bedroom.

an unintelligible noise rang out followed by the clanging of what you could only assume was some tools from his countless experiments, before his approaching footsteps sounded in the hallway and his head of curls popped into the crack you left open in the door. 

“you’re wearing my shirt,” he said simply. his blue eyes drank you in from head to toe: at the bare legs leading up to his deep purple shirt—your favorite—that cut off at mid-thigh with nothing else beneath; hair a loose mess around your shoulders and lips slightly swollen from where you had been biting them during his perusal. 

“excellent observation skills, detective,” you replied smoothly. “and what might you deduce from this situation?”

sherlock took a step further into his bedroom and closed the door behind him. you watched in anticipation as he slowly crossed the room to stand in front of you, peering down at the lashes fluttering across the apples of your cheeks and the teasing grin pulling at your pretty pink lips. “you are… doing laundry,” he said quietly, the deep baritone of his voice like crushed velvet sliding over your skin, causing goosebumps to prick at your arms and bare legs. “and ran out of shirts,” he continued, “so you resorted to wearing mine in the meantime?” there was a mischievous pull to his lips at the silly response, playing along with your little game. 

you tapped a finger to your chin in mock contemplation. “hmm… not quite. take another guess.”

he reached for your arms then, his hands sliding down your shoulders, cupping your elbows, playing with your fingers until he finally draped them around the back of his neck, a silent request that you hold on to him, that you touch him in some way. “are you trying to seduce me, my dear?” he whispered into your ear, lips just barely brushing against your earlobe and you shivered at the contact.

“maybe i am… is it working?” your fingers teased beneath the collar of his button-down shirt—the one that he was wearing—and felt a demanding heat take up residence between your legs. it was almost painful, the ache inside you that was just begging to be touched, to be filled by him. you wished he would just touch you already, really touch you, to release the buttons of your (his) shirt and slide the material down your shoulders for his lips to quickly follow after. you wanted his mouth and teeth and tongue on every inch of skin. “touch me,” you whispered as you neared him, breath mingling with his where the distance between your mouths gradually lessened.

the cool skin of his hand was a stark contrast against the warmth of your neck as he touched you softly, slender fingers wrapping around the base of your throat and applying the slightest amount of pressure. his thumb was positioned just under your earlobe, soaking in the incessant thrumming of your pulse where it jumped up to greet him. “it seems that it might be working for the both of us,” he answered lowly. his free hand then moved to slide along your side, rubbing at the curves hidden beneath his shirt and aching to slip inside to feel the welcoming heat of you; he ached to cup your breast in his hand and feel the pebbling of your nipple against his palm, to slide his fingers under the hem of his shirt until he met the wet heat at the apex of your smooth thighs.

“do you have any idea what i want to do to you right now?” his tone was low, barely audible, and you felt it more than heard it.

“why don’t you show me, mr. holmes,” you whispered up at him, eyes blinking demurely as you placed a kiss to the base of his throat, which just so happened to be the only place your lips could reach from your current angle. 

he moved forward—and you, backward—until the backs of your knees hit the bed frame and you sat down, your eyes dragging up his tall form to meet his piercing blue gaze. you slowly reached for the buckle of his belt, loosening it and then moving to unzip his trousers until a triangle of his black underwear was visible, before his hands jumped down to cease your movements. 

you wet your bottom lip with the tip of your tongue and watched in satisfaction as his eyes followed the action. “are you going to kiss me, mr. holmes?”

“where would you like me to kiss you?”

“surprise me.”

the only warning you received was a quick curl of his lips before he leaned over you, bending at the waist to reach your height on the bed, and placed an open-mouthed kiss beneath your ear, his tongue flicking out to lick a stripe down your throat to the space between your collarbones. 

sherlock slowly moved down to his knees to get a better angle and then nipped lightly at your chest, lips wet and warm and making you ache everywhere for him. his hands slid up your calves to your knees, then to the insides of your thighs until they were dangerously close to the place you wanted him the most. you rubbed your legs together in an effort to soothe the ache that was building the more he ghosted his fingers over you, but never really made contact. 

“please, sherlock.” your request was embarrassingly desperate, but you didn’t care at this point.

you felt the curve of his lips against your skin where they trailed down your chest, rustling the collar of his shirt that you wore until more skin became available to him. “please what, darling?”

“please,” you begged. when did this planned attempt at seduction turn on you? you were supposed to be seducing him and you were failing miserably.  “kiss me, touch me, anything.”

“i am kissing you and touching you.”

you peered down at him disapprovingly, then reached up to grab a handful of curls and forced his head back to look up at you. the glorious pale flesh of his throat was fully exposed to you now, practically glowing in the morning sunlight that peeked through the blinds, and begged to be devoured by you. “i want more,” you said lowly, “can you give me more, mr. holmes? should i show you how it’s supposed to be done?”

a shaky exhale passed his lips and mingled with your breath as you pressed a kiss to his chin, to the corner of his mouth, to his upper lip and then to the bottom, swiping your tongue there until he opened up to you and you slid inside, licking into his warm mouth and tasting cigarettes on his breath. you pulled back a fraction. “i thought you said you quit.”

his blue eyes were mostly black now, pupils blown wide as he tried to focus on you. “i did,” he said. you narrowed your eyes at him. “okay, fine. i did for a week, but you know how i get. i need a distraction, some sort of stimulus.”

“what about me?”

“what about you?”

your lips ghosted over his sharp jawline until you reached the shell of his ear. “why don’t you use me as a distraction instead, hmm?”

“i think you’re worth more than that.”

“maybe so,” you replied. “but i’d rather you use me than those things.”

sherlock gripped your chin between his thumb and index finger, his way of regaining control in your current position, and pulled you in close to slot his mouth against yours, before whispering, “then so be it.” he kissed you furiously then, and you were shocked into silence by the force with which he devoured your mouth, his palms cupping your cheeks to hold you steady with each swipe of his tongue against yours. 

the ache between your legs was throbbing now and you felt wetness coating the inside of your thighs now, thanks to your lack of underwear. “sherlock,” you breathed helplessly. “sherlock, i—”

the good detective understood your silent request as his nimble fingers flicked the buttons loose until the fabric of his shirt was now pooling at your waist. your nipples pebbled in the cool air but sherlock took care of that too, his mouth quick to latch onto one nipple as his hand toyed with the other. he flicked and sucked and nibbled lightly at your breasts, and a moan bubbled its way up your throat and slipped passed your lips where sherlock moved up to capture the sound. the elegant speed with which he maneuvered between your lips and breasts, taking his time with each yet ensuring he didn’t miss your body’s not-so-silent call for more attention was impressive, fascinating, but not at all surprising. the great sherlock holmes knew how to work your body just as he knew the ins and outs of each of his cases. 

his large hands moved down to your ribcage, clutching you there as his lips descended down your chest to nip lightly at your hipbones and then at the sensitive flesh just beneath your navel. you could practically feel the various hues of purple and pink blossom there as he bit and sucked and licked along your lower half. 

he still hadn’t kissed you or touched you where you really wanted him, and it was driving you crazy, this game of his he was playing with your body. little did the public eye know that the famous consulting detective was cruel in his teasing, submitting you to foreplay that could go on for hours with barely any thought given to his own pleasure. you could feel the obvious bulge pressing against your inner thigh where he was positioned between your legs, and you experimentally kneed at it, feeling him jolt slightly before a firm “mm-mm” was pressed into your skin, the man nonverbally scolding you for attempting to return the favor, to play with him for a bit.

“sherlock,” you said again. it seemed that was all you had been able to say; the man had rendered you practically speechless, with only the pathetic two-syllabled name passing through your bitten lips. 

you were panting now, feeling his lips moving even lower until they were just barely ghosting over your throbbing clit, but then he shifted focus again before he could make contact, instead, mouthing at the crease of your inner thigh. a helpless whimper escaped you and you honestly felt like you could cry in that moment, being teased and toyed with as sherlock offered you only a glimpse of what was to come. “this isn’t fair,” you whined. 

“what isn’t fair,” sherlock said tightly, digging his fingers into the fleshy part of your outer thighs, “is that you had me come in here…” he tugged you to the very edge of the bed then and slowly lowered his mouth just above your aching core, “to find you…” a kiss to your clit, “wearing nothing…” his eyes flicked up to yours just as his tongue delved inside, “but my shirt.” 

a scream jumped up your throat as he licked at your cunt, sucking and nipping and groaning as he went, taking his time with you but knowing that you were close to coming after all his teasing. “sherlock,” you sobbed, “you arsehole.”

he laughed against you, and the vibration of it shot straight through your core until you felt it everywhere and nearly blacked out by the sensation. he slid his tongue in and out, in and out, licking and tasting you until the familiar knot in your lower belly intensified—doubling, tripling, quadrupling in ways you had never experienced before—until it finally unraveled and your climax came crashing over you as sherlock captured your arousal on his tongue and swallowed every drop that slid from between your thighs. 

your eyes were squeezed shut as your arousal washed over you from head to toe, feeling the warmth of it in every corner of your body. you vaguely felt sherlock’s lips press a tender kiss to your belly before footsteps echoed out of the bedroom door and returned a few moments later.

once he had finished cleaning you up, with both his tongue and a warm cloth from the bathroom, sherlock rested on top of you, comfortably nestling his clothed form along your naked one and pressing soft kisses between your breasts as you twirled your fingers in his thick curls. “well,” you said hoarsely, “that’s not how i had planned this to go.”

a velvety-smooth laugh rumbled against your chest as sherlock soaked in the aftereffects of your pleasure. “it was for me.”

you leaned back slightly, the angle uncomfortable given your current positions, and peered down at him with furrowed brows. “what?”

his lips curled up in self-satisfaction, his cheeks dimpling adorably yet infuriatingly due to his little scheme.

“are you meaning to tell me that you knew this was going to happen? did you plan this somehow?”

“you think you’re so clever, darling, but i think you forgot who you married.” he raised up on his hands and knees so he could lean over you, and whispered in your ear, “i always win, mrs. holmes.”

tags: @nicoletk

#sherlock holmes #bbc sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlock x you #sherlock x y/n #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x y/n #sherlock smut #sherlock holmes smut #sherlock fic #sherlock fanfic #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock holmes fic #sherlock holmes fanfic #sherlock holmes fanfiction #bbc sherlock fic #bbc sherlock fanfic #bbc sherlock fanfiction #benedict cumberbatch

[kahuunknown]

The "Normal" one - BBC Sherlock sibling fanfic

!NOTE!: Non-specified reader/insert, inspiration from SHERLOCK TV Show

~~~

The normal one

(Y/n) Holmes.

That was your name. Of course you loved your family, you held them all dear and close to your heart, but that name came with a lot of baggage and responsibility. You’d often wonder what living life normally would be like, being born under a different name. These were just thoughts however, you knew in the end, you wouldn’t change a thing.

You were smart; there was no doubt in that fact, being born a Holmes provides such natural intelligence with ease. However, you would argue that you were anything but. You were a humble, gentle and modest soul, you were adamant in arguing that both your brother’s surpassed your measly intelligence without effort. Of course, the IQ tests would prove otherwise, but they were rid from the world quickly after there creation.

Living a normal life wasn’t something you detested, rather you grew rather fond of the mundane routines people lived day-to-day, it was funny watching them fuss over little mistakes, or creating the emotion of happiness with simple gifts and pleasures. You worked as a psychologist funnily enough. You could deduce much like the rest of your siblings, and decided to apply that skill toward something complimentary.

You were a young prodigy with a psychology major at only 26 years old; you lived a very financially stable life with your own private at-home psychology firm. You were comfortable with you life within London, you enjoyed being close to your family, and so it was never an option to live anywhere else. Often as a well respected personal to the community and the police, you were requested to provide psychoanalysis on victims, suspects or even the criminals themselves. You’d get paid of course, but your real motivation was helping you middle brother with his detective cases. Sometimes even the eldest would request your help, those were rare favours however.

Your brother’s wouldn’t admit it, but they absolutely adored you, you were the baby of the family and the most normal of them all. Your parents didn’t like to pick favourites but you were always the exception. Mycroft and Sherlock treated you like a child most often, they couldn’t wrap their heads around the thought of you growing up and maturing, when they looked at you, all they could see were those innocent orbs staring right back at them. This admittedly made them overprotective, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it was restricting.

You proved your intelligence and maturity every now-and-again, but you honestly didn’t mind their dotting. It showed the world that Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes were human too.

So when the two were on the way to your house, they were honestly surprised and both mortified when the Consulting Criminal Jim Moriarty of all people stepped outside of your house with a laugh and bid you farewell, hopping into a awaiting sleek black car and driving off smoothly. Sherlock and Mycroft had hidden themselves upon the sight, they weren’t stupid, but they were terrified for your safety. Did you even know the true identity of the criminal you’d invited inside?

Neither brother remembered if they’d disclosed that information to you or not, they tried they upmost hardest to give you the privacy you desired, as hard as that was. They weren’t very good at it, but they did try their best to shield you from their enemies. You were untrained in any sort of defensive arts like they were; you were utterly defenceless if someone attacked you.

Nodding to each other, once they were satisfied with the distance Moriarty’s car had driven away; they quickly made their way to your doorstep and hurriedly rang your doorbell. You needed to be warned straight away, you needed to cut your ties with the villain immediately. Your safety was compromised.

You greeted them with a kind smile as always, both brothers nearly forgot the urgency and softened upon your sweetness, but reality was quick to return to them. They ushered you to let them inside, which you calmly did so, asking if they wanted any snacks or tea. Mycroft paused and politely requested some sweets and both brothers of course agreed to some tea. You chuckled at them, reminding them to make themselves at home; they were family of course, no matter how dysfunctional. The two elder Holmes watched you like hawks as you waddled around the kitchen. It was cute that you inherited their mother’s much shorter height, leaving you struggling and whining about reaching items on the top shelf. Though your brothers were more than willing to help, they teased you often about this fact.

Returning to the living room, you gently placed down the tray with balanced drinks and sweets situated on top.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” Theo chimed, cradling his own cup of tea close and bringing his legs to his chest, curling into his usual ball-like position on his single seated couch.

Sherlock was first to speak, “Well, originally we both decided to check-in on you, we hadn’t seen you in a while.”

You chuckle, “Yes, well I was having a fantastic time in New Zealand. You should visit if you have the chance, it’s beautiful country.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes, completely disinterested in the idea. But he admired your simplicity.

“Like Sherlock said, that was ‘originally’.” Mycroft pressed, narrowing his eyes at the detective.

“Who was that man that left your house moments before we arrived?” Sherlock questioned, though he already knew, he wanted to see if you were aware.

You rolled your eyes at the two overbearing brothers, “That was one of my clients, of course.”

“He’s dangerous, (Y/n-“

“Jim Moriarty.” You finished, “A charming man, to say the least. The infamous consulting criminal.”

Mycroft and Sherlock frowned, this couldn’t be good.

“You know who he is.” Sherlock stated.

“Of course, I do.” You retorted, “But that’s not my business, is it? I’m a psychiatrist and psychologist; my client’s background means nothing to me. That is my work.”

“Yes, but it’s also a hazard-“

You interrupted Mycroft, “Without Moriarty confessing to future crimes in the motion, I have no legal standing. Past crimes are useless.”

“A scientific priest.” Sherlock grumbles.

“In some ways.” You agreed absentmindedly. “I’m bound by my word.”

“Then I suppose there is no use asking you to share some details.” Mycroft sighs.

“None at all.” You chirped, “Now, if you two are free this afternoon, would you care for some fish ‘n chips? It’s been a long while since we’ve talked like this.”

Mycroft pursed his lips, it was his favourite food. A Holmes delicacy in some ways, as even Sherlock was fond of the food as well. Mycroft frowned, a defeated expression forming on his face, “I suppose, I have time.” He admitted.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at your happy face, you were sweet and innocent, but boy did you now how to use that to your advantage. Those damn puppy eyes.

“Fine.” Sherlock sighed.

Suddenly a knock sounded at the polished wood of your door, you furrowed your brows in confusion, not expecting any clients or guests over at this time. Standing, you gestured for your brothers to stay put while you answered the door.

Sherlock and Mycroft tensed as Moriarty waltzed into the house, smirking at the two of them confidently. He looked more than comfortable in your home, and both the protective brothers felt their instincts flare in that instant.

“Sorry to intrude, I believe I forgot my jacket.” Jim swooned, slinging his arm over your shoulder as you rolled your eyes and led him away from your siblings and into the office/ library room, where all your clients reveals their deepest secrets and feelings. Sure enough, Moriarty returned to the front door with his suit jacket under one arm.

He seemed to be talking normally to you, joking and laughing as if he were just a mundane human male, like all the rest. It was obvious to the brothers, that you and Moriarty knew each other quite well, they didn’t like that one bit.

Jumping to his feet, Sherlock decided he’d had enough of seeing that smug face and those evil beady little eyes looking at his youngest sibling.

“Leave.” Sherlock simply ordered, holding open the door for the mastermind to exit. Jim raised an accusing eyebrow at the new emotions Sherlock provided him with, but decided to play nice and do as he was told, for now at least. He left quietly, ignoring the slam of the wooden door after him; he was far too satisfied with this new discovery to care about rude behaviour.

He was originally just curious about you, intrigued and fascinated. He didn’t even know you existed; it wasn’t until Eurus cooed about you during his visit. She was smitten by you, couldn’t stop remembering all those memories as young children, when you’d follow her around, listen to her every tale with admiration and love. She talked about you as if perhaps you were a god, a higher being that she prayed to- or a rare exotic creature like most thought fantasy. You seemed too good to be true.

Yet here he was, obsessed with it all. Obsessed with you.

The expression of your brother’s were both the same, stern beyond belief. And you sighed, anticipating the emerging argument to take place.

“This is my job.” You stated, smile vanishing with the seriousness of your tone.

Mycroft and Sherlock almost didn’t recognise you, you looked different without the aura of sweetness drifting around you like a halo. They’d never seen this side of you.

Mycroft clears his throat, “He is dangerous, (Y/n). We would be fools to-“

“Then be fools.” You hissed, “This is my job. The career I’ve strived for, and Jim Moriarty is a normal client. You will not drag me around under the guise of your ‘safety’.”

Sherlock watched you carefully, scanning your expression and body language, trying to deduce you. Yet he came up with nothing. Normally you were so open to him and Mycroft, usually it was so easy to pull you apart, dissect every emotion and activity you’d been up to for the past week or so. But you’d shut down that gate, preventing any clue to find.

But then your shoulders slumped, and suddenly everything came flooding back, he could read you like an open book once more.

Sighing you looked them both in the eye, “I propose this.” Instantly you had your brothers intrigued, “I’ll install a camera within my office. You may have access to its feed at any time, and I’ll send you both my schedule, if you so desire as well. However, due to patient-confidentiality, the audio will be wiped, you will hear nothing.”

Sherlock scowls at the idea, obviously wanting to hear the conversations you and Moriarty had, he wanted to know everything. Mycroft on the other hand was more open to the idea; he eventually gave a slow nod.

“Deal.”

“Great.” You clapped your hands together, smiling once more and instantly relieving the tenseness in your brother’s posture, “Now, how about that fish ‘n chips, eh?

In the end, perhaps you were not as normal as everyone believed.

#sherlock holmes #bbc sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlock x you #sherlock x y/n #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x y/n #sherlock fic #sherlock fanfic #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock holmes fic #sherlock holmes fanfic #sherlock holmes fanfiction #bbc sherlock fic #bbc sherlock fanfic #bbc sherlock fanfiction #benedict cumberbatch #Sherlock holmes x male reader #Sherlock holmes x nonbinary #Holmes sibling

[ashbrat488]

Sherlock and his cane...

Sherlock Holmes (Henry Cavill) x Female OC

TW: impact play, light bondage, sex… (as always, 18+ only)

Word Count: 2,593

Sherlock sighs, gripping his cane as he enters the New Year’s Eve party his brother, Mycroft, was throwing. He hated these parties almost as much as he hated his brother. But he knew that two things would make it worth it; one being the whiskey and two being the girls his brothers would hire. The girls were always top-notch and down for whatever he wanted to do. And to say that he needed a release was an understatement.

He allows the young maid to take his top hat but keeps a tight hold of his cane as she blushes under his gaze. He smirks, basking in the hold he had over women. He shakes his head gently as he hears her giggle before turning to rush away from him. He turned swiftly, entering the lounge where women danced in the middle of the room as gentlemen pretended to remain composed, drooling over themselves.

He rolled his eyes, crossing the room to the bar to pour himself a drink. He brings the glass up to his lips just as he feels someone smack his shoulder a little too hard, causing him to spill some on his jacket. “Fuck…”

“Ah… language little brother. A foul mouth makes you sound uneducated.”

Sherlock scoffs at his brother, refilling his glass as Mycroft comes to stand beside him. He brings the glass up again, this time the amber liquid disappearing down his throat. “What do you want, Mycroft?”

Mycroft laughs, grabbing the bottle to pour them both a new glass and nudging Sherlock’s shoulder. “Come on, why so gruff?”

Sherlock doesn’t answer, only turning around to take in the sight of the half-dressed women. A few of them threw looks at him as he stared back, taking them in. They were all the same… all a little *too* eager. No, he wanted someone different, someone more timid, unsure… inexperienced.

“Oh… on the hunt I see,” Mycroft offers with a snicker as he watches his brother finish his second drink before pushing away from the bar, stalking slowly through the crowd of people.

A few women come up to Sherlock, running their hands on his chest as he shakes his head, shrugging them off. He stops near the door where a young, brunette girl he didn’t recognize danced slowly, stopping as he approached her. She hung her head down as he took in the sight of her dusty pink lingerie hugging her curves. He grabs her chin between his thumb and forefinger of his left hand, lifting her chin up to him as she blushes. He was drawn to her, her innocent face pulling him in. He couldn’t help but to take in the sight of her full cheeks and pouty lips. “You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you? I’ve never seen you at a party here before. You new?”

“Yes, sir,” she mumbles shyly as Sherlock’s grin widens, moving his hand to tuck a tendril of dark hair behind her ear.

“Are you a virgin?”

Her eyes widen as she swallows hard, shaking her head. “N—no, sir.”

He makes a clicking noise with his cheek, dropping his hand to his side. “Should have lied.” He watches her squirm in her spot, rubbing her thick thighs together as he chuckles. “No matter. Come with me.” He grabs her hand, obediently following him as another man stands up to grab her other hand, causing them to stop.

“You can’t just show up and take who you want, Holmes.”

“Funny, because that’s exactly what I’m doing…” Sherlock brings his cane up, smacking the man’s hand, forcing him to release her with a grunt before he shoves the end of the cane into the man’s abdomen, causing the man to fall back onto his chair. He ignores the other men grumbling and drags the girl up the stairs to his bedroom, practically tossing her onto the bed as he slams and locks the door behind them. “Name, girl.”

She swallows, suddenly more nervous now that she was alone with the infamous Sherlock Holmes. “I—Is—Isabelle, sir,” she manages to stutter out as he grins, pulling her to her feet in front of him.

“Get undressed, Isabelle.” He moves to the chair in the corner of the room, relaxing back into it as he watched her drop her robe to the ground. She began to undo the ties of her corset as his cock began to grow in his slacks. “Slower…” he demanded as she nodded, pulling at the laces slower before dropping the corset onto the ground, displaying her breasts, nipples turning hard against the cool air of the night.

She sits on the edge of the bed, rolling down her stockings slowly as she felt Sherlock’s eyes burning through her, the heat in the room rising. She stands back up, facing toward the chair as she tucked her thumbs into the bands of her underwear, stopping when she sees Sherlock stand up.

“Turn around and drop them.” He shrugs off his jacket, setting it neatly on the arm of the chair before kicking off his shoes as he watched her comply, bending over slightly as she dropped them to the ground. He cocked his head to the side, seeing just the hint of pink between her legs, glistening and ready for him.

She shifted nervously in her spot as she felt him approaching her from behind. This wasn’t her first time with a client, she got into the business only a few months prior when her mother kicked her out, no longer wanting to feed and house her. But this was the first time with someone as well-known as Sherlock Holmes. And she knew all too well a few of his favorite proclivities. The excitement and anticipation filled her as he moved to stand in front of her and she darted her eyes to the ground.

“Stop looking at the ground. Look at me,” he demanded a little too harshly as he grabbed her chin to force her blue eyes up to his. “Good girl. You only look down if I tell you, you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hands behind your back.” He smiled as she raised her chin, straightening her back as she placed her hands behind her back, pushing her breasts out. “Good.” He stands in front of her, bringing a hand up to her neck, dragging his fingers gently down to her right breast, grazing over her nipple as she squirmed slightly.

She saw him smile before moving behind her, feeling his breath on her neck. Her eyes fluttered at the feeling of his lips on the base of her throat just as she felt him wrap something around her wrists. “Wha—”

“Shh,” he whispers, using one of her stockings to tie her wrists together behind her back. “Here’s how it’s going to go. You’re going to do what I say when I say it… and if you’re good I’ll take care of you. You understand?”

“Yes, sir.” She sucks her lip into her mouth as she feels arousal pooling between her legs.

“Good. Now… if you want me to stop at any time, you say peach.” He smirks as she giggles and he reaches around to wrap his hand around her throat, lifting her head toward the ceiling, “that funny?”

“No,” she breathes as he nips at her ear.

“Then say it, say peach…”

“Peach,” she whimpers as he releases her swiftly, pulling away from her.

“Good girl. Now bend over the bed and wait.” He watches her hesitate before doing as he commands, bending over the bed with her head facing to the side, bottom in the air. “Spread your legs. I want to see your pussy.”

Isabelle spreads her legs as she hears rustling behind her, the anticipation growing in her core as she breathes heavily.

Sherlock takes his time, undressing as he sets his clothes neatly on the chair in a pile. He grabs the base of his cock, giving it a few relieving strokes before grabbing his cane and approaching her from behind. “You have a marvelous backside, dear Isabelle.”

She opens her mouth to speak just as she feels the stinging of the cane on her flesh, forcing tears from her eyes with a gasp.

“Now what do you say? I complimented your beautiful, round, bottom, Isabelle. What do you say to that?”

“Th—tha—” Another gasp as the cane comes down once more, this time on her other cheek and she squeezes her eyes shut.

“Do you want me to stop?” He runs his hand along the two new red marks that were already welting as she whimpered.

“No…” Through her watered eyes, she sees him lean over to look her in the face, the stinging subsiding as the pain turns to pleasure, shooting down to her pussy.

“Have you ever been caned before?”

“No,” she repeats softly as he smirks.

“Only a few more then,” he promises as she nods, swallowing as she braces herself.

Only a few more turn into more than she can count, tears now streaking her cheeks as she barely mumbles out a “peach.” Her head spins slightly, as if she were floating, causing an almost euphoric feeling.

“Sorry…” Sherlock tosses the cane onto the floor with a huff, looking at the welts that now began to bleed against her delicate white skin. “I lost myself for a minute.” He leans over to brush some hair out of her face, wiping her face with his hand. “Are you okay?” He watches her nod slowly, whimpering as he smirks, bringing her back to him as he almost lost her in her sub space. He keeps his eyes on hers, giving her a few minutes as he runs his hand down her back, over her bottom to her wetness. He drags his middle finger along her slit, down to her clit, rubbing gently as she moaned softly. “Good,” he whispers, standing up behind her once more.

She squirmed against his hand, trying to push back against him as he slid one finger into her, turning his palm toward the ground to curl his finger down. She moans as slips a second finger into her, thrusting them in and out slowly.

Sherlock groans, feeling every ridge inside her as he moved his fingers slowly. “You’re so tight and wet for me. I can’t wait to feel you gripping my cock, Isabelle. Do you want that?”

“Yes,” she practically begged as Sherlock chuckled, removing his hand. He grabbed her wrists, pulling her down onto her knees at the foot of the bed before turning her back toward him.

“First… open your mouth, sweet girl.” He smiles down at her as her blue eyes shine up at his and her mouth falls open, her tongue sticking out. He moans softly as he pushes slightly forward, rubbing the tip of his cock along her tongue.

She rolls her tongue around the tip, before flicking the underside as he hissed above her. She giggled softly, allowing him to insert his cock into her mouth as she wrapped her mouth around him. She hollowed her cheeks, sucking him into her mouth, uncontrolled drool dripping down her chin as she did.

Sherlock panted, resting his head back as he gripped her hair, guiding her on him. “Fuck…” he grunted, pulling his cock from her mouth. He gripped it, holding it as he guided her mouth onto his balls. He presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth as she pulls a ball into her mouth, sucking gently before pulling off with a small pop. “Yes, you’re far more experienced than I was expecting. Stand up, I want to feel your pussy.” He helps her to her feet, crushing his mouth hard against hers, one hand around her throat, the other on her back, keeping her body pressed to his. He kisses her for a while, taking his time to lay claim to her mouth with his tongue as she whimpered, against him, arms straining.

She stumbles slightly as he pulls away abruptly, causing him to chuckle. She gasps as he nudges her back, making her fall onto the bed as she tries to shimmy up to the pillow.

Sherlock laughs, crawling onto the bed toward her, flipping her onto her stomach, pushing her shoulders down as he pulled her hips up. “Ready?” He asks, not waiting for a response as he thrusts his cock into her hard, her moan stifled by the pillow under her. He stills, his head falling back as his fingers dig into her hips. “Fuck… I was right, you feel so fucking good.”

“Sh—Sherlock,” she begs softly, turning her head to the side for him to hear.

“I know, sweet girl.” He keeps hold of her hips, pulling out before pushing back into her hard, over and over again, feeling her hips shaking under him. With every stroke out, her pussy gripped him, pulling him back in again. He grunted as she pushed back against him. “Your pussy is so needy, isn’t it?”

Isabelle doesn’t have to respond as he grips the stocking around her wrist with one hand, his other hand wrapping around her. She moaned as he pressed his middle finger to her clit, rubbing in small circles as his cock stretched her.

Her moans were barely audible, coming out as almost gasps as she gripped him. He moved into her faster, no longer wanting to hold back as her sweet moans filled the room. “I need you to come apart all over my cock… grip it good, Isabelle.”

She whimpers and moans, her eyes fluttering closed as her entire body tightens, the orgasm rolling through her like crashing waves, her mouth falling open, screams falling from her.

“Yes,” he grunts, leaning forward to wrap his hand around her throat once more, feeling her pulse and contract around his cock. He leaned down to her ear, “that’s my sweet girl,” he growls, thrusting hard into her one last time, burying himself deep inside as he emptied himself in her.

She whimpered as he pulled away, feathering kisses down her back as he undid her wrists, allowing her to collapse onto the bed. She doesn’t say anything, just laying as she hears him walk over to the corner of the room to the small water bowl as she hears the ringing of a washcloth.

Sherlock sits on the bed beside her, dragging the cool towel along the welts on her bottom as she winced under him, turning her head toward him to watch him. When he finished, he used the cloth to clean between her legs, standing up to take the cloth back to the bowl. When he turned back to the bed, Isabelle was snoring softly as he chuckled. He grabbed the blanket, pulling it up over her before pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

***

Isabelle woke up with a groan, sunlight burning her lids as she turned away from the window, forgetting about the stinging on her bottom as she flinched. She whimpered, looking around to find herself alone in the bedroom. She moves to stand up beside the bed, finding a note on the nightstand along with a small tin jar, a single rose, and a bag of coins. She smiled, lifting the rose first to take a small whiff before opening the note.

Salve for that beautiful bottom of yours Rose for the sweet blush of your cheeks Coin in hopes to see you again… You know where to find me… -SH

#henry cavill #Sherlock Holmes #henry Cavill Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock Holmes x ofc #henry Cavill fanfic #henry Cavill fanfiction #Sherlock Holmes fanfic #Sherlock Holmes smut #henry Cavill smut

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery

warnings: swearing, argument, menstruation

Sherlock paced the flat, occasionally tapping away on his phone. I sat in John’s chair, curled up around myself as tightly as I could.

“Sherlock.” I said. He continued to ignore me. “Sherlock.” There was a raise of the eyebrow but he still continued to ignore me. “Sherlock Holmes!” He jolted and frowned as he turned to look at me.

“What? What could you possibly want that is more important than this case?” He asked, venom dripping from his voice.

“and what about that case is more important than your partner being in pain?” I shot back. Sherlock looked me over.

“I see nothing wrong with you.” Sherlock scoffed.

“of course you don’t.” I muttered, getting up and grabbing my coat. “You’re such a fucking machine that you can’t even tell when your partner is in the middle of their period.” I shrugged my coat on and opened the door. “When you get your shit together Sherlock, call me. Until then…” I shook my head and left. I could hear him calling for me but I ignored him. Mrs. Hudson came out of her flat and looked up as I came down the stairs.

“what���s all that yelling about?” She asked.

“Sherlock being a dumbass as usual.” I muttered as I paused in front of her. “He thinks the case is more important than whatever I have doing on right now so I’m going to leave him to his own devices until he can get his shit together.”

“John will be back soon. Maybe if you wait…” I shook my head and sighed.

“I can’t wait for John to come back. I’ll rip his head off while we wait.” I admitted. “And as pissed as I am at him, he doesn’t deserve it.” Mrs. Hudson rubbed my arm.

“be safe luv.” She said before letting me leave. I wandered the streets of London, grabbing fish and chips from queensway before taking the London eye. I watched a couple take a picture in front of the parliament building, kissing before giggling at each other. I smiled softly to myself, pulling my phone out of my pocket as it buzzed.

‘The case can wait. You’re more important to me than anything. Please come home -SH’

biting my lip, I texted Sherlock back. I explained that I was still pissed off at him and I would be back later. I didn’t receive a response so I pocketed my phone and continued to walk around the city. When I had reached whitechapel, I started to head down towards the Jack the Ripper museum. I paused when I saw Sherlock leaning against the building.

“Sherlock…” I said, looking around before stopping in front of him. “What…”

“I’ve been an idiot.” He said, reaching out to touch my arm. “You always come here when you’re pissed at me. Or life. You’re looking for something to help solve it. Why I don’t know but it’s admirable. The unsolvable case.” He chuckled and shook his head. “You’re admirable. Everything about you. And you are more important to me than any damn case.”

“glad you finally noticed.” I said, chuckling as I shook my head. “John knock some sense into you?”

“Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock admitted. “And you. I didn’t realize that you were feeling like shit. For all my deduction and reasoning…I failed you.” Sherlock wrapped his arms around me. “I’m sorry. Really. How does going home sound?” I nodded, wrapping an arm around his waist as he turned to lead me back to baker street.

“strange to hear you apologize.” I mused as I laid my head on his shoulder. Sherlock hummed in agreement.

“Someone must have really knocked some sense into me then.” He teased. I smiled at him. Sherlock leaned down and pressed a kiss to my head. “If you ever need help solving that case…I’d be happy to help.”

“I think I’ve got this one.” I said, pausing and turning in his hold. “But thank you.” I leaned in and kissed Sherlock with the sun setting behind parliament.

#Sherlock holmes #sherlock Holmes x reader #sherlock Holmes fanfic #Sherlock Holmes fanfiction #Sherlock Holmes imagine #Sherlock x reader #sherlock fanfic #Sherlock fanfiction #sherlock imagine #benedict cumberbatch #benedict cumberbatch x reader #Benedict cumberbatch fanfic #Benedict cumberbatch fanfiction #Benedict cumberbatch imagine #Monthly series

[asgards-princess-of-mischief]

Last Updated: 2023-12-06

Main

Henry!Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Seasonal

Henry!Sherlock Holmes x Reader: Winter Edition

See Also: Navigation | Private T.B.R.

#Evelyn's Master Indexes #Henry!Holmes x Reader #Henry!Holmes x Y/N #Henry!Holmes x You #Henry!Sherlock x Reader #Sherlock Holmes x Reader #Sherlock Holmes x Y/N #Sherlock Holmes x You #Henry Cavill x Reader #Henry Cavill x Y/N #Henry Cavil x You #Henry Cavill x You #Enola Holmes Fanfiction #Enola Holmes Fanfic #Sherlock Holmes Fanfiction #Sherlock Holmes Fanfic #Henry Cavill Fanfiction #Henry Cavill Fanfic

[fandom-imagines]

Awkward Confessions

Fandom: Sherlock

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Warnings: Awkward Sherlock

Sherlock was many things. Some were good, some were bad, some were… interesting, but if there was one thing that Sherlock was absolutely terrible at, it would be admitting feelings. That much became obvious as he stood in front of Y/N, the object of his affection, attempting to express his feelings for her.

“Sherlock?” She asked. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, just be quiet for a minute.” Came his response.

“All right?” She was confused, it was pretty obvious to anyone. Sherlock never looked this awkward.”

“There’s something I need to say, something I should say…” He began, unsure where he was going with this. He lost his trail of thought the moment she looked at him with her wide and worried eyes; they were beautiful. “I know I’m… me, and I’m not exactly the most likeable person in the entire world. I’m rude, blunt, and a smartass, but…”

“There’s no need to put yourself down so much, Sher,” she sighed, shaking her head at his insulting words.

“I thought I told you to be quiet!” He rolled his eyes, shaking his head as she laughed and apologised.

“What I’m trying to say is… I like you. Don’t ask me why because I have no idea why, you’re a moron.”

Y/N burst into giggles at the final sentence. “That was so cute, at least until you called me a moron.” She smiled, stepping towards the, now blushing, man. Lifting herself onto her toes, Y/N placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.

“Don’t worry, I like you too, even if I am a moron.”

#sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlock imagine #sherlock imagines #sherlock fanfic #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes imagines #sherlock holmes fanfiction #sherlock holmes fanfic #bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock imagine #bbc sherlock imagines #bbc sherlock fanfiction #bbc sherlock fanfic

[espinosaurusrexex]

The Most Beautiful Riddle

HenryCavill!Sherlock x Female!Reader

summary: Sherlock Holmes had never entertained the idea of marriage. That was, until Y/N came along and turned his world upside down. Now, after a year of sweet love and happiness, he is finally ready to ask the question. There is just one problem: How is he ever to make the proposal worthy of his one true love?

a/n: Henry!Sherlock pulls this poetic side out of me, I don’t know. This is me trying to write this period-appropriate, but don’t hesitate to tell me that I’ve failed miserably. This was also a request from this lovely anon - I hope you like it!

word count: 2.9k

warnings: fluff, fluff, and did I mention fluff?

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ

If it weren’t for her, he would have surely misplaced his head by now, Sherlock thought as he was on yet another venture to look through his study for those particular cufflinks he adored. Though he was certain, he had placed them right on his desk the other night, they weren’t anywhere to be found. 

“For god’s sake. They can’t have bloody disappeared,” he huffed in the stuffy study when a pile of books tumbled over the edge of the desk. And then, there it was: an envelope wedged between his most recent read and a note that said: ‘in case you forget’. The cufflinks were neatly placed within.

The detective smiled with a shake of his head. The handwriting was unmistakable: the soft swing of the quill made the harshest words sound lovely. There was only one person who could have done this. And this particular person, he was late to meet by five minutes already. He could not leave her waiting, he thought, not in that heat outside. 

Sherlock hurried down the stairs of his house as he placed the delicate silver pieces on his sleeves, a light touch grazing the surface of the sapphire pinched in the metal with remarkable expertise.

“There you are, Sherlock. Whatever took you so long?” Y/N’s bright eyes glimmered under her sunhat but the smirk on her lips told Sherlock that she knew. Of course, she did. She was the woman who had placed the cufflinks in the envelope after all, because she had grown custom to his scattered thoughts whenever he was deep into a case, seemly leaving every other aspect of life pass him by as if he were sitting by a train window. 

“Darling, I am sorry for I have left you waiting. But somebody appeared to have replaced some items in my study.” Y/N straightened his jacket when he reached her, her hands lingering on his shoulders for a moment longer, her eyes staring into his with a playful gleam.

“Now, who would do such a thing? It’s quite improper to go through a gentleman’s belongings like that.” She did poorly in hiding the mischief in her smile when she turned around. Not, however, before Sherlock caught her hand and placed a sweet kiss on her knuckles.

“Indeed. Though I seem to be relying on this someone after all.” It was an honest attempt in telling her something entirely different than the words he had said. And Y/N knew the meaning behind them all. It was their own personal riddle. A beautiful one, that was, and the very thing he adored most about their relationship.

“Well,” her hand squeezed his in a reassuring manner, “it’s good to have people look after one, don’t you think?” Y/N gathered her skirts and entered the carriage waiting before his home. It would take them to the market, where his favorite part of the day was awaiting the man who stood dazed before the horses, a hint of a smile on his lips and the whisper of a thought hanging in the light summer breeze.

“So it seems.”

❁ ❁ ❁

It had become a custom for the pair to visit the market every Wednesday. Though this tradition had not come to life until Sherlock had started to worry excessively for Y/N’s wellbeing after they had confessed their feelings for one another. It had been a hot summer's day then, too. And Sherlock could not help but be surprised when Y/N had kissed him under the old oak tree by the meadow and shared her feelings with him, that he in fact felt them as well. Much like now, he had been deep in thought about an interesting case of his that seemed to have his head everywhere but in the moment. Y/N had managed to pull him back with this sweet and fleeting kiss. And he were to have almost missed it had it not sparked an overwhelming feeling in his chest. A feeling he had felt many times before but were never able to place; and one he still felt whenever she was close. So, it appeared only natural to accompany Y/N to her weekly market visits. 

Sherlock would not admit it to anyone, really, but he found great joy in watching her frolic through the stands, smelling the flowers, conversing with sellers, and making him carry all the items she had acquired throughout the day. He always made sure to buy her a bouquet of the prettiest flowers as well just to see that bright smile shining through. 

It were these moments that reminded the usually rational man that he too was allowed to feel. His mind would scatter like petals on a window sill, showering his head with thoughts and scenarios he seemed to be able to visit only in her presence. Faint whispers suggested how the wind blowing through Y/N’s hair made it look just that much softer, or what it would feel like to have his fingers stroke through her delicate locks again. Sherlock knew what it felt like. He had had the pleasure of pushing his hand through the strands when they would kiss - if they were able to catch a lonely moment amongst the endless sea of banquettes and work events their life shipped them through. But he missed it nonetheless. Her laugh made him think of children running through a lively home and her loving stare whenever she presented another item for him to hold showed him how very easily he could look at her eyes and fall lost in them for hours. 

And yet, he had not found himself able to ever take their remarkable relationship to the next step. The both of them made a noteworthy team in more aspects than one. Y/N had proven herself of great help on many of Sherlock’s cases and the amount of time the pair spent together seemed unconventional for an unmarried couple. Sherlock himself was constantly reminded of that by the critical eyes of his fellows and the uttered remarks of the old women in the city. But he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He loved her. That he was sure of. And though Eudoria had been scolding him for courting a lady like Y/N for almost a year now, he had yet to ask the question his mother so desperately wanted him to pop. Sherlock had thought about it of course. There was no other woman he could even imagine marrying that was, but he was also aware that a normal proposal would not nearly do her extraordinary personality justice. So it was not that he didn’t want to ask her, it was more like his sister concluded: he was scared to mess up. Though he would never phrase it that way. His sister was a smart young woman and it seemed to prove her intelligence right once more when Sherlock agreed with her on this behalf.

Another item being placed in his arms pulled him back from his thoughts. Apples. Sherlock looked up with intrigue in his eyes, the smile on the woman’s face in front go him just brightening further.

“I will be making pie today. You love apples, do you not, Sherlock?”

Heat rose up his generally unfazed face. Sherlock was not able to prevent it from happening. 

“I do.” 

And for some unexplainable reason, this moment felt different than many as such before. Sherlock could feel his heart swell in his chest, the constant thumbing beneath his ribs aggressive and unrelenting. And it did not falter. Not when he followed her back to the carriage later that afternoon. Not when he guided her back to his house, hand resting on the small of her back and the other securely holding a basket of acquired goods. And not when he watched her prepare an apple pie for him while contently humming an unfamiliar tune that still sounded like the most beautiful melody to his ears. 

As his broad frame was leaning on the door way, his hand secretly pressed to his chest to still the violent pounding before it would kill him, Sherlock's mind began to wander again. Though this time, much to his dismay, it did not stray to case-related endeavors. It was entirely focused on the very woman spinning through his kitchen in the yellow hues of the afternoon sun. He imagined her cooking there every day. At some point, Sherlock was even surprised to hear the faint sound of tiny feet pattering through his hallway as his mind spiraled into a fantasy world he were only able to visit seldom.

To be entirely honest, it was out of the detective's comfort zone to feel as at home around someone as he did with Y/N. Sherlock was not a man to waste his time with wishful thinking. He was a man of action and rational. The feelings that were enlightened by the very woman dancing in his kitchen, however, were far from any of those attributes. Furthermore, they showed him yet again, how unreasonable he had been acting toward her. It was clear to him that something needed to change in order to set his mind at ease again. And the wave of warmth pushing through his body at the look of Y/N with flour on her nose just confirmed his suspicion. 

He stepped forward with careful strides, one hand reaching out towards Y/N and pulling her into his warm and welcoming chest. She must have been able to feel his heart pounding beneath his skin as his decision settled in his mind, he was certain of it. Sherlock placed a ginger kiss on her temple before excusing himself to his study. And when he sat down at his desk, dipping the quill in the dark ink before him, he willed himself to concentrate not to butcher his writing with the way his hands were shaking.

Dear Enola,

I was hoping to receive your help on a personal account of mine...

❁ ❁ ❁

The paper in his pocket was burning holes through the fabric as Sherlock stood above the meadow, where the trees opened to a beautiful view of the sunset. Enola had placed the last hint in the branches of the oak just a couple hundred meters away from him. It was strange for the detective to feel nervous, but this particular endeavor had him experiencing a number of new things. It was the first time, too in which he was not thinking about any case of his. His mind was entirely circled around the moment that stood before him and the plan he had acquired together with his sister. 

Y/N would arrive any second now, and Sherlock found himself lost in the speech he had prepared yet again. It was only regarding her in that he ever felt his hand clammy or his nerves firing with a speed he’d never experienced before. But it was confusing nonetheless because Sherlock was certain that Y/N was by far a thing that he could be sure about. Every time anew she proved to him how secure her love for him was, and he had never wished for anything more than her to stay by his side. 

“I have to confess: the last puzzle took me some time to solve. Though, I really liked the code you used for the letters. That was quite witty.” Y/N appeared behind the tree line, a soft smile painting her features as she approached the brunette waiting with eager curiosity. He laughed when she held out her hand towards him, fixing her hat with the other. “I believe you have something for me?”

His fingers tightened around the parchment in his pocket. She had solved his riddles - all of them - and that within the span of 34 minutes and 16 seconds, he confirmed after glancing at his pocket watch. 

“How very right you are, Sweetheart.” Sherlock held out the paper triumphantly, desperate not to draw attention to his rapidly beating heart, making his wrists pulse vigorously. He had anticipated this moment, of course. But he could not keep the shivers at bay when her delicate fingers unfolded the small note that would reveal what this whole ordeal was for.

Y/N’s eyes flew over the page and it almost seemed as if she took her time doing it in order to make his nervousness spiral. The note was not long. It was simple, too. A riddle Sherlock were able to solve when he was only six years old. He knew very well that Y/n was more than capable of doing the same, but she left him waiting still. It would not be Y/N if she didn’t anyway.

When she finally looked up, her stare was questioning. It did not go unnoticed by the detective, however, that the corners of her mouth twitched into a court smile. 

“Sherlock? Whatever is this about?” 

Sherlock snatched the paper from her fingers to look it over again:

In boxing I am square

On fingers I am round

I’m inside every tree

And too a bell’s sound

It was clear as day: Y/N was making a fool of him.

“I will not believe that this is the riddle you cannot solve, my dear.” The shake of his head spilled a curl into his face, “but since I have left you waiting for so long...” Sherlock got down on one knee and her smile finally broke free.

He reached out for her hand and was surprised to find it shaking as well. She knew what he was about to reveal to her, she just wanted him to say it. And if it weren’t for anything, Sherlock needed to subsequently get this off his chest. His mother had been right: he had left her waiting for far too long. A year too long. Being there was no denying that he had known he needed to marry her the second she had walked into his life with a witty remark and a teasing smile on her lips.

“I am grateful for you have not run from me after all the things I have made you do and wait for. I realize I am a lucky man to have you by my side. As a friend, a partner, and someone I love. You are smart, witty, and beautiful... and I would be the-”

There was an unusual lump building in his throat, blocking his words from escaping. It was a rather strange experience for the man kneeling. He had never known himself to be capable of emotion. And perhaps his body was resisting the horribly cheesy words he needed to say.

“Do not grow sappy on me now, Sherlock. You better finish that sentence right now,” Y/N cried with playful urgency. Though there was a truthfulness in her tone he had just placed into his. He swallowed the lump and took a deep breath in. This was the moment he as well as her had been waiting for.

“Perhaps what I am trying to say is...” Sherlock reached for his pocket once more to reveal a velvet box. Hidden within was a beautiful sapphire on a silver band. Much like the cufflinks she had gotten him because they shone like the color of his eyes, he wished for Y/N to always think of his whenever she looked at it. The ring shone brightly in the orange sun hues, reflecting the warm summer’s evening light and mixing into a beautiful green. It was perfect, just like her. “I love you, Y/N. Would you do me the honor of marrying me?”

Y/N’s head tilted to the side as she eyed the blue stone beneath her. It presented a nearly perfect replica of the cufflinks adorning Sherlock's wrists. He loved them and suited in them every day, and he hoped for Y/N to love her ring just as much. And though he was as certain of her answer as he was of every case he had ever had, the silence coming from the woman in front of him pushed a nervous shiver over his skin.

Her hand reached out to stroke his chin, a loving stare seeping through her irises. “I love you so much.” 

“Please, Y/N.” Impatience rose to his head. Her little games were fun most of the time, though right now, he really wished for an answer that would put his racing thoughts at ease.

“Why of course I will marry you, Sherlock!” Y/N jumped forward as her arms slung around his shoulders, a warm kiss pressing to his lips that pulled a bright smile in its wake.

“Excellent,” Sherlock whispered, too afraid to have his voice fail him once more on this evening. He placed the ring on her finger and Y/N reached up to the sky, catching a rainbow of colors in the delicate stone. 

As they rose from the ground, he pulled her further into his chest, a deep simmer of warmth traveling from his body to hers. His heart was full of contentment when Y/N pressed her face beside his neck, a soft-shivered promise traveling to his ears as he watched the sun set behind the horizon, filling the sky with colors as hot and intense as the love shared between the pair.

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[bakerstreethound]

Blooming Chemistry

Relationship: University!Sherlock Holmes x reader

Warnings: mutual pining, idiots to friends to lovers, confessions, slight angst, fluff, nervous sherlock

Summary: When Sherlock becomes your Chemistry tutor, you form an unlikely friendship, and an undeniable bond unfolds. Do either of you confess your feelings or continue living in denial? Waiting until the week before finals sounds like the perfect time to muse over these feelings, right? 

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

Word Count: 3.1k+ 

A/N: I had a wonderful time writing this story and it was a joy to weave together. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it. Sherlock is only one year above you in University so there’s only a year or two age gap between you. Any chemistry inaccuracies are my fault, I haven’t been privy to a course in a long while. Graphic by @firefly-graphics​. As always, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated. 

Dull, utterly dull, his mind mutters. At least grasping the concept of Chemistry landed him inconveniently in a tutoring position his professor highly recommended him for and after much beratement, he accepted, not that he was going to enjoy it in the slightest. 

That was before you came along a year below him, struggling in the basics, but never did he expect for you to become a colleague, let alone his friend.

The bonding over insufferable professors, a penchant for literature, and peace and quiet made for a lovely beginning to your companionship and you both never looked back since. And since then, you’d both taken up to hiding in the alcoves of the library to study for the last training weeks of the term, the only respite the company you provided each other. 

He knew enough you strived hard for academic achievement and had to fight tooth and nail for your grades. You studied harder than anyone he knew. 

Something like pride fills him as he watches you and he turns the page of his chemistry notebook, barely reading the notes on chemical bonds, balancing equations, or empirical and molecular formulas. 

The thought of his finals doesn’t wear him out in the slightest, he already feels confident enough in his abilities. Though the professor hated him, for the errors he interrupted class for, he had felt confident. 

You didn’t expect Chemistry to be your worst subject but Dr. F had recommended Sherlock to you as a peer tutor and as he was a year above you, you were glad you did. 

Not a lot of subjects came easy to you especially the gen eds which you thought were a complete waste of time. (they really were, why did you have to waste even more money on them?). 

You sigh, taking a sip of the coffee Sherlock deposited on the table before you an hour earlier. You blanch at the taste, long cold and you push the glasses off your face, groaning at your eyes trying to figure out the words on the page. 

Between the essays and countless equations, your mind is swimming with questions and muddled beyond measure. Not to mention, the aching of your back increases the longer you sit in the horrendously uncomfortable chairs the library provides. 

You look over at Sherlock, laid out on the tabletop on his stomach, textbook open-faced, doodling in the margins. Oh, how you envied him, could only imagine the boredom racing through him. 

You have to work twice as hard to earn your chemistry marks, but he makes it easier for you, explaining most concepts better than Dr. F. would, and at a more reasonable pace. 

You sigh in defeat, pulling his textbook away. “I’m ready for this week and the next to be over, how about you?” Your piercing gaze meets his as you speak. 

He blinks once, twice before hearing your words, another to fully grasp what you’re saying. The week after this is finals, the end of the term, then you’ll part ways until the next one. 

His chest aches at the thought of not seeing your smile at nine in the morning before class as you stand in line to buy the outrageously sugary, albeit pricey, coffee you like while he rolls his eyes, a ghost of a smile on his lips, while he looms behind you as if he is your personal bodyguard. 

“Yes and no. For one, we don’t have to suffer the atrocities of the cafeteria any longer. No, because I have to deal with Mycroft, you have no idea how insufferable he is.” He sighs, tapping his finger on the table in slight frustration at the mere thought of his brother who always thought so highly of himself. I’m the smart one Sherlock. 

“Ah, you’re going to let this infamous brother ruin your holiday? I fear a duel is in the near future,” you snicker, twirling your pen between your fingers. Sherlock’s gaze remains transfixed upon you, all thoughts of Mycroft vanishing at the thought of being closer to you, running his fingers through your hair, wrapping a hand around your waist…

Hell. He tries to get your invasion from his thoughts but he can’t, isn’t listening to a word you’re saying all the breath feels like it’s leaving his lungs the longer he looks at you. Is this what it feels like to be infatuated? He curses to himself, you’re his friend, and colleague, surely you could want nothing more from him. 

You deserve better than him, and yet, he still hasn’t seen you ogling over anyone on campus beyond the occasional couple scoping you both did when bored, scoffing at them from afar while sitting on the bench beneath your favorite oak tree at the park. 

You notice Sherlock pulling away an almost vacant haunted expression cascading over his eyes. His hands fidget, as he tries to keep them under control. You reach out, your fingers brushing along his knuckles and instantly he pulls away, a burning hot sensation flashing between you at the contact. 

“S-sorry.” He says, snapping out of his stupor. You’ve never heard him stammer before in the time you’ve known him. Something is definitely wrong, but you know pushing him now won’t bode well, so you do what you can and ignore it. 

“As I was saying-” 

His hand falls on top of yours. “Do you perhaps want to join me in the lab tonight?” He swallows, watching you expectantly, bracing himself for your response. He’s sure you’re going to reject him. 

He tries in vain to calm his pulse, but he can’t. Did he do this wrong? The seconds turn to minutes, and he feels frozen in time, expecting you to laugh at the absurdity of it all. 

If he paid closer attention in his nerve-wrecked state, he’d see the catch of your own breath, the quivering of your lower lip, pupils widening at the prospect, 

The question is innocent enough, but the fact you’ve been asked to hang out with your elusive tutor, colleague, and friend was almost unfathomable. You’d tried many times to harbor your crush from him, wondering if he felt the same. 

You almost thought it a cruel joke of the universe. But Sherlock is sincere, hopeful, lips hinting at the barest of a boyish grin when you say “Yes, of course. What did you have in mind?” 

You watch as he wrings his hands, clearly nervous as he gains his bearings, getting off the table before collecting his textbook, careful to hand your worksheets to you.  “Wait and see.” He feels a strange twinge in his chest- perhaps his heart?- fluttering at the prospect.

You didn’t reject him after all. Maybe there is hope for him. And, face it deep down, he realizes he likes you, not against his better judgment, but rather, he never felt like he ever deserves you in the slightest. 

******

It’s an agonizing wait until six o'clock when you walk to the Chemistry lab. Thankfully it’s a short walk from your dorm and in a well-lit area of campus. No one in their right mind stayed late there, unless it was dead week, ensuring their chemical compounds and experiments are in tip-top condition. 

You know Sherlock vacates the premises often for his own use, but you have your suspicions, it’s one of the places he can truly be himself. Rumors circulated about what he does after hours, but it’s not like he has anywhere else to experiment and the dorms are off-limits, anyhow.

You take a breath before heaving open the heavy door, walking down the massive corridors before turning to the right, down the hall to lab twenty-two. 

You recognize his shadowy silhouette by the door and you find yourself wondering, albeit briefly, if this is a mistake. But you think better of your mind, creaking open the door greeted with a sight you never expected. 

“Sherlock?” 

He says nothing when you close the door, a smile on his lips as he brings an instrument to his shoulder, tucking it beneath his chin, a soft melody of your favorite song reverberating through the room as his bow glides along the strings with ease.

On the professor's instruction table in front of him, two bunsen burners are lit with flame, a beaker filled with flowers sitting between them. A large pizza box and an assortment of your favorite candies also vacate the table and the finishing touch, is his chemistry notebook. 

You fight off a silly grin at it, knowing the many conversations you had about threatening to burn it time after time. 

“You did all of this for me?” You’re sure you look like a fool as you close the distance between you, the last notes of the melody echoing through the room and you applaud his performance. 

He bows, putting the violin away safely in its case. You can’t help admiring the gentleness, the tenderness with which he caresses and lays it into its case for slumber until called upon once more by his fingers to coax out beautiful music from within. 

He turns back to face you, his case long put away. “I didn’t know if this is how people say-,” he pauses, and you take a step closer.

He takes a breath, brushing his index finger along the top of your hand, sending goosebumps up your arm in its wake. “I’m uncertain this is how other people say ‘I like you,’ and I read gestures such as this brought it to one’s attention. Your attention, especially.” 

“Pizza is good, yes pizza is definitely the way to my heart, Sherlock.” His eyes widen and he beams, showing off one of his dimples. Your heart soars, reaching impossibly higher. 

A gesture such as this you would remember for a long while. “This is the kindest thing anyone has done for me and, Sherlock, I like you too.” A smile of your own blossoms along your lips and you reach out for him, linking your index finger with his before standing on your toes to peck his cheek. 

“You do?” 

“Yes, of course, I do, I’ve only been harboring interest for you all these months we’ve tutored and studied together. You’ve sorta grown on me, like chemistry.” 

“It is one of my better subjects.” 

“I would hope so since you’re tutoring me in it and Dr. F recommended you to me.” 

“They did give me you, yes, the only thing they’ve done right so far,” Sherlock smiles fondly at you, kissing your knuckles. “Thank you for being horrendous in chemistry.” 

“No. Thank you. This year was less boring with you, for what it is worth. Plus, I’ve learned a thing or two about chemistry. We’ll see how finals go, alas.” 

He scoffs. “We’re far away from them as it is.” 

“They’re next week, in case you forgot.” You sigh, trailing your fingers along his bicep, wanting to memorize the feel of him, be lost in him, the way he smells. Nothing matters anymore other than this moment and him and apparently the violent wailing of your stomach. 

“Should we eat the pizza?” Sherlock chuckles at your body’s interruption, but you want far more than pizza at the moment, your gaze transfixed on the man before you, your friend, your tutor, the person you’ve come to adore in your way.

You smile, not believing your luck. “The pizza can wait. I’d like to kiss you properly first if I may?” 

He nods, tilting up your chin with his finger, his other hand wrapping around your waist, a comforting weight you never knew you needed as the space around you grows smaller and smaller still and you’re part of a universe woven only for you both allowing nothing else in when your lips brush softly, a sigh falling from your parted lips. 

He gasps too, his heart hammering in his chest, as you bring your lips closer to his gently, not pressing too tight, giving him room to back away, but he doesn’t, responding in kind to your kiss groaning when your hands wrap around his neck, the weight of you against him comforting and full of warmth. 

He doesn’t want it to end, not even when you break for air, he pecks your lips playfully, eliciting a joyous laugh from you. You lean into him more, ruffling his glorious crown of curls, pleased at the faint blush on his cheeks when you do so. 

Oh so gently, you bring him in for another kiss and when you break away, it lingers, still so many unspoken words between you. You rest your forehead against him, allowing the stupid grin you’ve tried in vain to suppress breakthrough. 

“This has got to be one of the best nights of my life.” 

Sherlock quirks his brow. “Even better than when you accidentally slugged Mycroft?”

“If I can recall it was still an accident, even if I had an ulterior motive to get him off our backs.” You roll your eyes, heart full of affection for your beloved chemistry nerd, as you glance about the room, watching the bunsen burner’s glow illuminate your silhouettes on the wall. “It would be best we turn the burners off before we go, yeah? Dr. F would have your head if their lab burned down.” 

“Rather they take my head than your, yes,” he huffs, hating to part from you and your warmth to reluctantly snuff the flame.

Once the burners are off he collects his belongings, his coat draped over one arm the violin case in his hand while you grab the pizza box and flowers. You giggle at the absurdity of it all, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

He pulls you closer by his free hand as he opens the door, a chill swirling around you. You shiver at the contact and he immediately sets his instrument case down, holding out his coat to you. 

“There’s no need.” 

“I insist. It’s the perfect coat for this weather.” He remains standing, opening it for you giving no indication he’s going to budge if you don’t take him up on the offer. 

After everything he did for you this evening, you can’t help but oblige, and when you slip your arms through the coat sleeves, you want nothing but to curl up in it in bed. 

It was a stunning coat, no wonder he wore it any chance he could. It was probably the finest thing he owned. It smelled of him, encompassing you in warmth and the scent of him. 

You were going to have a hard time parting with it, perhaps you’d steal it to goad him, you think to yourself, adding it to your mental checklist as you pull it tighter around you. You definitely are going to keep it for a few days longer than necessary, you decide. 

He picks up the instrument case without another word, wrapping his hand around your waist as you walk together down the sidewalk, inhaling the chilly night spring air, the night feeling all the more a dream to you. None of it was a dream, for it is all too real and you can’t believe your luck. 

You smile, leaning into him as he meets your stride with his own, down the winding paths that should lead you to your dorm, but the walk feels all too short, the hours passing more like minutes this particular night. Time moves differently when people are infatuated with each other, or so it has been said. 

“We can still keep in touch, right?” You ask as you stop by a bench in the courtyard steps from your dorm. 

He looks at you, perplexed you’d even ask such a question. “We have expressed our otherwise more than friend affirmations to each other have we not? Of course, I would like to see you. My parents will be more insufferable than usual. I’ll have to resort to living in the attic. Mycroft won’t let me hear the end of it.” 

“He can fuck right off for all I care,” you nudge Sherlock playfully and he sways. “Other than that I mean we can write to each other, text, whatever. There’s only so much we can do over the university’s email. Here, I can give you my information.” You rifle through your pocket producing a slip of paper, scribbling your information down. “Will that do?” 

Sherlock chuckles, “It’s more than sufficient, though I do prefer to text.” 

“Write when you can, yeah?” You smirk. “I find it classier when my potential suitors take the time to write out heartfelt notes of praise and gratitude.” 

“You’re not romantic in the slightest.” 

“That’s true, but for the right person, perhaps I can be.” 

“By the right person, you mean me, of course.” 

A small smirk forms along your face. “Now now, Mister Holmes don’t let that ego of yours take hold just yet. However, you might be on to something.” You whisper in his ear, “Perhaps it’s best we make a run for your room tonight? I’d hate to spend the night alone after being in your company.” 

“Feeling a bit more adventurous now? Thought you’d turn in early for the night while reading those cheap paperback romances you buy from the markets.” 

You feign an offended gasp at his remark. You kept many of those romances hidden under your bed, hating the covers, knowing you wouldn’t hear the end of it from your roommate, but Sherlock? You should've known it wouldn’t pass his scrutiny, but you're secretly delighted he paid attention to some of your reading habits. 

You suspected he rifled through your bag and saw it during one of your study sessions when you decided to break for a short nap. 

“Did you learn anything interesting?” You raise a brow at his incredulous stare, a light blush tinting his cheeks. 

“Not in the slightest,” he drones on, his arm wrapped around yours, bracing you from the cold and you laugh, continuing on your way to his dorm, which he assures you he has all to himself for the night. You rest your head on his shoulder sauntering along, embracing the cold night air. 

If one were to watch a happy carefree couple under the moonlight, there was no doubting the thread of affection that wove between them both, cementing them in the strands of time. 

All is bright, shiny, and new like the future before them They would make it out in the end. Their future isn’t set in stone, but the possibilities are endless.

Yes, once upon a time, the great detective did live a tale full of laughter and love.

******

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

[strangelockd]

A Queen For A Mindpalace

Pairing: Victorian Sherlock x Reader

Synopsis: You and Sherlock have a past, but before you attempt to move on. You stop by to make amends, only for a realization to take place. The question remains, will you stay or go?

Word Count: 2,750k

Warning: Angst,Pining,Tooth Rotting Fluff,Male Masterbation,Thigh Riding,Mentions Of Past Sexual Encounter,NSFW Themes

•If you enjoy the song you can find it on my Sherlock Playlist•

Slouching deeper into his favorite chair Sherlock stared up at the ceiling, she will come back. Casting his weary gaze to a small side table the detective reached for his trusty pipe, taking a few pinches of tobacco; his nimble fingers effortlessly stuffed the brown dried herb into the blackened wooden chamber. The leftover soot always stained his fingers with just a tinge of black. Packing the leaves snugly into the wooden bowl he smiled proudly. His fingers went groping inside his silk-lined pocket fishing out for the matchbox, sliding the paper box open Sherlock pinched out a match striking the side of the box and igniting the pipe chamber. Releasing a satisfied exhale, the smell of tobacco loomed in the flat leaving a smokey haze. It was the ideal evening after the week he had but something was missing. A sigh escaped his lips as he leaned over grabbing the violin trying to banish any thought from his mind.

You had your chance…many times, but now you really screwed it up. You brainless old fool….

Releasing a sigh, Sherlock brought the violin up resting it under his chin. His fingers effortlessly danced along the neckline as he got lost in one of his favorite pastimes. Closing his eyes, Sherlocks mind could not help but wander to all the memories. How could he forget the first-time you showed up on his doorstep in the middle of the night soaked from the storm, asking him to help find her father's killer. The case that would change his life forever in more ways than one. His mind wandered deeper as he recalled your first night together. How your delicious sex swallowed him perfectly like you were tailored just for him. Or the countless times those supple ruby-red lips moaned as you devoured him whole with a fiery passion. Little would he find out how much he craved that flame, your desire…the way you moaned his name as you reached the crescendo of your climax was better than any drug he ever consumed. 

He missed the nights he would worship at your feet getting drunk off you. The supple bounce your breasts made as you rode him again and again into climax. He missed the way they felt under his touch, the way your nipples would pebble under his touch as he would tease and pinch them into flushed sensitive buds. The way his hands would travel down the small of your back as he rested them on the swell of your hips. Oh, how he missed the way you tasted, the way his tongue traveled from bud to bud as he trailed his mouth up your sex-flushed skin leaving purple blossoms in their wake. The way you felt under him, the way your body bloomed only for him, for you were a force of nature, and he wanted to be in the center of your storm. But all of that was in the past now for he had to focus on the reality at play. You moved on, and he was stuck here in London…alone.

Sherlock groaned, noticing the stiffness in his trousers he rolled his eyes, for he was now conflicted with an obvious but still awkward choice. Setting the violin down, Sherlocks large slender digits slowly grazed the outside of his seams as his mind trailed back to you. Thumbing through a drawer he fished for a rag, his hips bucked at the increasing sensitivity of his pressing member making Sherlock groan. His eyes caught a white handkerchief, and hastily pawed for it, pulling it closer Sherlock noticed the lipstick stains…. Y/N. Lifting it to his nose he took a deep inhale taking in the remnants of your scent…lavender. The smell shot right to his cock as he felt the pressure grow greater. 

Oh, bloody hell screw it.

Lifting himself upward Sherlock quickly unbuttoned his trousers allowing as much that was necessary to do the deed. Once they rested on his knees Sherlock quickly sunk once more into the chair. His palm stroked across his virility thats now standing practically at the ready. As he grazed the bulbous head of his member, leaning his head back becoming lost in his own pleasure. Lost in the smell of you…His cock oozed out the hints of glistening pre cum as he groaned in ecstasy chasing his chemical high. 

Knock knock knock

Dropping the handkerchief to the floor Sherlock quickly adjusted his trousers breathlessly, “Mrs. Hudson, will you get that! I- I’m in the middle of something!” stuffing what he can into his pants with little avail he managed to finally straighten himself out. 

Her voice trailed off in the distance with that sweet tone, “Sherlock I’ve told you this before, I’m not your housekeeper,” hearing her bedroom door close shut Sherlock rolled his eyes again. Apparently, she was not going to accommodate.

Knock knock knock

“Ugh!” he scoffed standing up lazily. This better be worth it. Sherlock stood up reaching for his silken robe, tying the matching beige belt around his toned waist he looked around one last time. Making his way to the front door he turned the latch; suddenly having to catch his breath once more because it was you, of all the people standing outside looking beautiful as ever. Your corset hugging you in all the right places as his eyes trailed back to the ruby red lips he remembers so well. All those nights where you would entertain each other with the pleasures of your flesh and conversations, but those were faded passions burned to memories. His eyes casted his gaze to your voluptuous bosom. Admiring the rise and fall with the swelling of your breathing as his trousers slowly began returning to their previously stiffened state. Leaning against the doorframe Sherlock cleared his throat; an obvious poor attempt at maintaining composure. 

“Y/N…to what do I owe the spontaneous visit,” Sherlock stammered while his fingers nonchalantly adjusted his robes attempting to hide the growing stiffening arousal. Shrugging your shoulders, you allowed yourself in, “I was in the neighborhood and wanted to stop by.” Taking a seat in his chair you smirked knowing it would annoy him. Closing the door Sherlock turned walking back placing his hands in his pockets, staring at you flatly, “you know there’s another chair right there” gesturing with a finger masking his annoyance. Setting down your reticule drawstring bag smiling, “Ya but I like this spot and besides,” crossing your legs with a smug expression,” I’m a guest.”

Sherlock released a scoff rolling his eyes. Taking out the pipe he reached for the tobacco box. “You’re not a guest, you’re more of an annoyance” a beautiful annoyance, taking a step closer his eyes glowed against the fireplace. Igniting the chamber he exhaled a puff of smoke. 

“That’s mighty bold of you to say considering US,” spitting with venom in your tone. 

He paused returning his gaze to you, taking in his expression you noticed his eyes harden, “There never was an us Y/N,” those six words cut through your heart like ice. At that point you didn’t care anymore, you just wanted to get your point across and take your leave.

“Look I didn’t come here to argue Sherlock. In fact, I came to say goodbye.” That look of earnestness in your eyes left him dead in his tracks. He knew you were not lying this time about leaving England. You have an offer for a job overseas in the new world. It was going to be a fresh start for both of you since there was no future in London, especially with Sherlock Holmes.

He took another step closer his eyes never leaving yours, “Well if that’s the case, then I feel like there’s nothing much left to say” he took another puff, Tell her the truth…before it's too late. His mind screamed to stay but his feet lead him forward as he took the seat across from you.

Pausing, your mouth parted open in shock at his lack of response, “that’s it? That all you have to say Sherlock Holmes?” your tone above a whisper. Desperation hazed as you fought off the tears.

 He wasn’t going to fight for me after all…

“It’s just that…,” Sherlock took a deep sigh, “I don’t want to be the one who holds you back. You deserve a future and need to go on and forget about me Y/N.” By this time, he couldn’t look at you for it was too painful. He can already picture the devastation in your eyes. Peaking over, he was right. Tears streamed down your face as you reached for a tissue from the mahogany chaise lounge. You were always stunning, but when you cried it was devastatingly beautiful. It aroused him in some way. This look of pure innocence, walls completely torn down. You were a goddess of grace he couldn’t stay away from anymore no matter how hard he fought it.

Fight for her you idiot…just ask her, now!

Leaning forward he sat the pipe down next to him taking a deep breath. His gaze locked yours as he slowly raised a hand upward, “Y/N, you know this is for the best” his chest rose and fell quickly as he attempted to steady his breath all while convincing himself that this is even what he wanted. Sherlock couldn’t help his rapid heartbeat as he was sure you could hear it through his starched white shirt. The ring was burning a hole in his pocket at this point. Normally he was an excellent liar, but with you, he couldn’t mask the truth for very long.

“You don’t get it, do you?” wiping your eyes you noticed his eyes widening, “every time I walk away from you, I feel like a piece of your soul is with me. You’ve stolen my heart Sherlock Holmes, the least you can do is tell me what you intend to do with it before I g—.”

Before you could finish Sherlock lunged forward, his form towered over you on his favorite chair as his mouth consumed yours with a slow passion. His lips parted yours ever so slowly but begging to taste more. Despite the time apart your bodies still moved in sync with each other. As eager as he was to have you, Sherlock wanted to take his time to savor every bit of you. He noticed your hands instinctively trailing through his slicked-back hair, tugging the ravened strands gently. He released a hiss as his palms trailed down the chair to meet your face, he will have to fix his hair later no doubt. Sherlock smiled wide, he knew his hands were always your weakness, for you couldn’t help but lean into his touch making him smile all the brighter. 

Tilting your head back he dove deeper into your mouth savoring the taste of you. You moaned as he pulled away slowly, his nose just a hairline away. His thumb gently rubbed a tear away as he smiled sweetly at you. Your eyes widened as you saw your reflection in his sea-glass gaze. “I intend to never let it go again…because you are everything,” his gaze unwavering, he pressed your palm to his chest. Feeling the rapid tapping of his heart under his shirt, you realized he was not lying. “For you are worth the fight my love”

Your eyes lit up as he leaned into you once more feeling the warm tears stream down your cheek. Parting your lips, he moaned as he shifted your weight to his lap. Lifting your skirts, you adjusted yourself as you rested on top of his stiffening trousers. 

“Oh!” You exclaimed feeling yourself turning bright red. Even when not fully erect Sherlock’s cock made you blush. The reaction went straight to his cock as he smiled widely like the Cheshire Cat. 

His tone laced with lust and longing,

 “Like what you feel?” One hand wiping your tears as the other trailed down resting on your hip.

Rocking back and forth chanting like a prayer, “always…” you missed this. Missed the way he made you feel. Arching your back you rode him slowly, leaning into his hand enjoying every twitch and response Sherlock made. You always had a way of breaking him, turning the great detective into putty. You couldn’t help but grin as your eye caught something on the floor. Pausing your movements Sherlock groaned in protest. Leaning over scooping up the material immediately noticing was it is. The old handkerchief that you swore was “lost.” Returning upwards facing Sherlock you noticed a rosier tone in his cheeks as he looked away sheepishly. Dangling it in front of him you teased, “what's this?”

His ears flushed a bright red as he snatched it from your hand inhaling the thin cotton smiling sentimentality, “Oh, just a souvenir,” tucking it into his pocket he couldn’t wait any longer. 

“There’s been something I have been meaning to ask you”

Fishing out a small velvet box he grabbed your hand.

His voice was slightly shaking as Sherlock fumbled with the box, “I should have done this the first morning I woke up next to you Y/N”

Opening the box slowly your eye’s widened as they gazed upon a gorgeous diamond halo engagement ring. The beautiful rose gold complemented the fiery opal that stood in the center. It left you speechless. 

“Y/N, please stay. For I cannot survive another day of you not being my wife. I love you. Please, marry me” his eyes never left yours as he waited for an answer. Your hands shook as you sat there going through thousands of options at once. But all the options always lead back to him, this man in front of you who choose you above everyone else. This consulting detective was yours and you wanted to be his and his alone. Jumping off his lap you squealed, “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes! Of course, I will marry you!”

Tears streamed down your cheeks as Sherlock grinned from ear to ear. He stood up, placing the band on your finger before giving your palms a gentle kiss. His lips were warm and inviting as they danced up your arm. Peppering your face with kisses, he pulled you in for an embrace. The feeling of his sturdy form made you feel so comfortable and safe. Bringing your hand up he laced his with yours to gaze upon the glittering ring resembling your future together. 

“It really is very beautiful Sherlock, where did you even find it?” Leaning your head into his shoulder, Sherlock moved a lock of hair kissing your neckline whispering, “oh this, it was Mrs.Hudsons. She thought it would look perfect on you. She’s been hounding me for months to puck up the courage to ask you.”

You chuckled, “not surprised the great detective is bashful”

“Not bashful,” he chuckled placing another kiss against your neck, “just a old fool who kept waiting for the right moment”

His hands trailed to your waistline as he slowly turned you around. Arms laced around each other you both got swept away in the moment and began swaying back and forth together. A small, adorable dance that was shared between the two of you. Taking his hand up he spun you around slowly bringing you back to his chest. Leaning your head against him you took in the strength of his forearms, how you missed his embrace. Sighing with joy Sherlock sat back down in his chair, pulling you in his lap his arms laced around you, “Im sorry for saying such hurtful things my darling,” looking you in the eyes his voice lowered, “I love you more than anything in the world Y/N. And I can't wait for you to be my bride”

Lacing your fingers with your future bridegroom you brought them up to kiss his hand gently. The ring glimmered in the light as your forehead rested on his,“Its ok Sherlock, its in the past. What is love without forgiveness.”

Words were no longer needed as Sherlock held you tight, he was always a handsy man even though Sherlock would never admit it. Especially when after a case there was nothing he wanted more then to come home and just hold you. No words. Just the pure feeling of you with him. For you were not just his fiancé, but the queen to his mind palace, and you finally made your way back home. 

Heres the ring that inspired me…❤️

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[i-dont-talk-for-days-on-end]

🔎🐝 This is a master post of my Sherlock Holmes fanfiction which you can also find on Ao3! 🐝🔎

For details and warnings, follow the links to AO3, it's included in tags there.

*********************************

The Absolute Truth of the Matter

On the way to Rosenlaui, Holmes falls behind to face Moriarty alone. When it is instead Watson who encounters the Professor at the Reichenbach Falls, events take an unexpected turn.

Or: Watson does a few ridiculously courageous things and there is a crack in Holmes's lens.

The Case of the Lost Cat

Annie hesitated, nervously turning the apple in her hands, lowering her gaze. “I must tell you first,” she mumbled, “that I can’t pay your fee, Mr Holmes, b-but I can help in the garden, or –“ „Oh, but lost animal cases are always free of charge,” Holmes said casually, folding the newspaper and throwing it onto the floor next to his armchair. He is, as I have often stated, really a rather brilliant man.

After the Great War, Holmes and Watson are living a quiet life somewhere in Sussex. The days of great detective work lie in the past, but when a distressed young client asks them for help with finding her lost cat, Holmes and Watson have to solve a case that might turn out to be just beyond their limits.

Flowery Prose

Holmes rarely read to me, and never like this.

The Return of Dr Watson

I think of myself as a practical woman. I am proud to say that I have always been able to manage my household in the most efficient manner, purchasing only what is of good quality without requiring any unnecessary expenses. I have one possession, however, that is an exception to that rule. This is the story of how not only one but two of my tenants returned to Baker Street, and how I came to own one of London’s finest tea services as a result.

Mr Holmes returns. Dr Watson leaves. Mrs Hudson realises that London’s greatest detective might require a little assistance with winning the good doctor back.

#sherlock holmes #john watson #dr watson #acd canon #granada holmes #sherlock holmes fanfiction #masterpost #my writing #jeremy brett #edward hardwicke #david burke #sherlock holmes fanfic #pinned post

[classickook]

safe in your arms | sherlock holmes

pairing: sherlock holmes x gn!reader

summary: sherlock can only fully relax when he’s in your presence so after he comes home from a frustrating case one day, he’s more than happy to be in your arms again. (based off this request by anon.)

warnings: fluff, non-sexual nudity, clingy!sherlock

word count: 0.8k

a/n: sherlock is pretty ooc here but it’s a nice change every once in a while! feedback is appreciated <3

where are you? -SH

you briefly glance at the short message sherlock sent and type back a quick response: at home, why?

no reply. no text bubbles, nothing.

it wasn’t uncommon for sherlock to be so short or distracted in his texts, but it worried you sometimes when he didn’t respond right away.

your fingers move across the screen with the beginnings of a new message when the door suddenly bursts open, followed by a very grumpy looking sherlock.

he storms into the flat with an exaggerated pout on his pretty pink lips and presses his back against the door after shutting it firmly closed.

you’re currently lying on the sofa and reading a book when the noise causes you to jump slightly, nearly dropping your cell where it had been balancing on your leg. “oh hi, sherlock,” you say sweetly. “you’re back early.”

he doesn’t respond. instead, he simply drags his feet toward you, ridding himself of his coat and scarf along the way, and quickly kicks off his shoes before moving to rest his lanky body on top of you.

you release a gentle ‘oof’ before marking the page and setting your book aside. “what’s wrong, hmm?” one hand caresses his back while the other reaches up to cradle the back of his head, fingers toying with his soft curls.

“people are dreadful,” he groans into your chest.

you giggle as you squeeze him in tighter, kissing the crown of his head and then resting your cheek there. “poor baby,” you coo teasingly.

“i’m serious, y/n,” he sighs, slightly aggravated and perhaps overwhelmed by the day he’d had. “i missed you today. i would’ve much rather stayed here with you.”

your hands still against his back. “really? but what about all the excitement of a new case? the game of it?”

he shakes his head, causing his curls to tickle your chin. “i don’t care. it wasn’t worth it anyway. a complete waste of time.”

you hum in response and sherlock practically purrs at the gentle vibration of it against his cheek. “i’m sorry today didn’t go well,” you sympathize. “but you’re here now and i’ve got you.”

“thank god for that,” he mutters oh so quietly, like he hadn’t intended for you to hear it.

sherlock had never been very fond of physical contact or intimacy, from what you’d heard amongst the others, at least, but he tended to be rather clingy around you, especially after a bad day like today. it brought a smile to your face to be wanted—needed—like this, like you were the only person who could bring him this level of solace and comfort, offering a safe space where he didn’t need to worry about prying eyes or carrying the mantle of the famous consulting detective.

here in this tiny flat with you, he could completely unwind and rest in your arms.

his large hands suddenly move beneath your shirt and along your sides until they position themselves under you to rest just below your shoulder blades, cupping you there with slender fingers.

silence settles about the room aside from sherlock’s soft breaths. you continue playing with his hair, applying gentle pressure as you lovingly massage his scalp and twirl your fingers around each messy curl.

sherlock then adjusts slightly before unexpectedly lifting the hem of your shirt and sliding his head beneath the fabric to rest on your bare chest, feeling the warmth of your skin and beating heart against his cheek.

you peer down at him beneath the collar of your shirt, holding back a laugh. “what are you doing in there?”

“just wanted to feel you,” he mumbles, breath hot on your skin and causing goosebumps to rise in its wake. he presses lazy kisses against your sternum and sighs happily.

sherlock rarely ever got this clingy, only on stressful days when he became overwhelmed by his thoughts and senses. he always turned to you in those moments, taking comfort in your embrace and your soothing words. the man wasn’t usually one for physical contact with anyone, unless it was you. you were different. you were special.

“read to me, please?” he asks quietly, voice muffled from where he is pressed into your chest.

you smile, running your hands up and down his back. “what would you like me to read?“

“anything. whatever you were reading before i came in. just want to hear your voice.”

“all right, darling,” you say quietly. “whatever you want.”

he snuggles further into your chest before a heavy yet contented sigh escapes his lips, and you shiver slightly at the way his long eyelashes brush against your skin.

“love you,” he whispers.

your heart flutters at his sincerity, so sweet and gentle with you. a tender smile pulls at your lips before opening your book to the page you left off on, feeling mutual comfort in sherlock’s presence. “i love you, too,” you reply softly and begin to read aloud to him.

#bbc sherlock #sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock fic #sherlock fanfic #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock x y/n #sherlock x you #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes fic #sherlock holmes fanfic #sherlock holmes fanfiction #sherlock holmes x y/n #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock fluff #sherlock holmes fluff #requested #soft!sherlock

[kahuunknown]

The "Rebellious" one - BBC Sherlock sibling fanfic

!NOTE!: Male-reader/insert, inspiration from SHERLOCK TV Show

~~~

The rebellious one

Sherlock absolutely loved you; you were by far his favourite sibling by a long shot. You were the eldest of all your siblings, 1 year older than stuck up Mycroft and 8 elder than dear little Sherlock Holmes.

You were the troublemaker, mischievous without a doubt. You saw little reasoning behind Mummy dearest’s desires for you to become something great, like a doctor or lawyer. You hated the private piano lessons, the pointless tutoring sessions and eventually school altogether. It was easy to guess what you did, but dropping out of school was by far one of the best decisions of your life, and one of the easiest as well.

You were rebellious by nature.

Mummy and Daddy weren’t quite sure where the behaviour stemmed from as it was definitely not inherited from either of them. It was obvious to you however, the stress of being the first born, the expectation to be the most successful and therefore grand of your siblings. To be able to support yourself with ease and help your siblings if the need arises.

While you respected the ideal. You ultimately rejected the pathways your parents provided, paving a new one and building everything from nothing. It was satisfying seeing your parents reaction when you visited one Christmas dinner, they were horrified at the ink adorning your right arm. Sherlock however quite liked it, in fact he wasted no time gifting his present early, he wanted you to get his pirate sketch tattooed. And who were you to deny him?

That cute little face was irresistible normally, but with added intent and desire behind them? God, you were putty in his hands.

Together you went to a tattoo parlour, Sherlock was rambling furiously to the tattoo artist whilst the ink was being stained onto your skin, it was adorable, the passion in his story as he explained the intricacy of his design and the meaning behind it. ‘The adventures of Yellowbeard’. Sherlock called it, or something similar at least.

It didn’t quite match the other tattoo’s you’d gotten, as those were all grey-scale realistic designs, but Sherlock was adamant that colour was non-negotiable. The young Holmes was a hyper little bean as he jumped around in joy at the completion of his masterpiece. You couldn’t stop chuckling at his antics; the innocence was overloading your system.

Of course, Mum and Dad were horrified once the two of you returned, though they seemed less upset at the tattoo and more with the aspect of Sherlock in a ‘biker’s tattoo shop’ of which it was absolutely not. You weren’t an idiot, you’d made sure Sherlock was as safe as could be.

Mycroft thought you a moron the majority of your life. Growing up he strived to pass you at everything he possibly could, interestingly enough, it took much longer than expected. He thought you were just another goldfish, swimming around dumbly just like all the others. But of course, you were more than that he later realised.

You were a sponge. While you hated your mother’s insistent lessons and tutoring, you had an eidetic memory and couldn’t help but memorise absolutely everything ever taught to you. You would have been a prodigy, everything your parents ever dreamed you to be. But unfortunately for them, you had slightly different plans.

Mycroft thought he’d finally done it when he joined the British Government, there was no way you could outshine him now. Yet, despite not having achieved a high standing career, it was obvious that whenever the two of you met, who was smarter ultimately. You were the opposite of what you parents dreamed you to be, yet you were the happiest having done so. Mycroft admired that.

He’d admit that of course, you would win in physicality. Always. You loved going outside, working out, playing sports, and eating healthy. It was one of your passions, something that ultimately benefitted you quite greatly as your appearance remained younger for much longer than if you had of neglected fitness and health. Sherlock teased Mycroft relentlessly about it as well, how young and fit their elder brother looked in comparison. Of course it was playful teasing, but it was definitely something to respect.

It was only more recently that all three brothers started getting along quite nicely. Sherlock of course never thought ill of you, he just assumed you were an average idiot like John. You played the part quite well, snickering behind Sherlock back while explaining things to John, whom believed you to be his favourite of the Holmes children. You were fun to be around, the most human and emotional of all. It was refreshing to be around.

When you finally decided to reveal your hidden superpower, he was dumbfounded but also instantly relieved.

Mycroft however was a very different story. It started slowly, you invited him randomly to a gig, of which he was pleasantly surprised when he arrived to a wedding, you adorned in an unfamiliar suit standing at the stage and singing a sweet lullaby to the lucky couple. It wasn’t your usual style, sure, but you wanted to ease Mycroft into your life, and what better way to do it?

Over the years, Sherlock had subtly provided you with more tattoo designs he’d wish for you to get, all his own of course. You were still a sucker for those eyes; it seemed their affect never dimmed as the detective aged.

Eventually one day Mycroft approached you on the matter, rather shyly you’d point out as well, you were open and encouraging as he mumbled the reluctant request to add to your collection of ink with one of his own. Stating through hidden messages within his speech that he’d been feeling a little left out. Of course you were ecstatic, more than happy to agree.

It was then that Mycroft realised no matter what he’d accomplish, you always have the upper hand in the end. Not because of intelligence nor deducing skills, but because of your raw compassion and commitment to your beliefs and dreams, it was awe inspiring. Beautiful even.

Perhaps those brothers of yours might do a little rebelling of their own.

#sherlock holmes #bbc sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlock x you #sherlock x y/n #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x y/n #sherlock fic #sherlock fanfic #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock holmes fic #sherlock holmes fanfic #sherlock holmes fanfiction #bbc sherlock fic #bbc sherlock fanfic #bbc sherlock fanfiction #benedict cumberbatch #Sherlock holmes x male reader #Holmes sibling