#sherlock x oc

[starssaroundmyscarssblog]

Can you write for reader x Sherlock where reader is a little like Elizabeth Bennet, likes to read and paint etc. Singing and all the cultural stuffs and Sherlock has fallen for her too hard?

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐈𝐍

pairing: sherlock holmes (bbc) x fem!oc

summary: in which sherlock holmes doesn’t catch himself from falling quick enough for jane burbank

word count: 3.04k

warnings: none

a/n: this was my first time writing for a request so i really hope you like it <3 i also made it [x/oc] as i'm more comfortable doing it that way but i tried to stay away from descriptions as much as possible to make this little fic as inclusive as possible too <3

he wanted nothing more than to talk to her, even if it was only a meagre apology for accidentally brushing against her in the library isle. she enamoured him and he hated it, even years later as he held the heavy velvet curtains between two fingers and watched her cross over the road and unlock the door to her flat. john smirked behind his newspaper, "you're doing it again."

"doing what?" sherlock huffed, letting the curtains drape back into place over the window. "saying i'm doing something again would mean i'm repeating the action. what's special about me standing by the window." he stalked through the flat and flung himself into an old wooden chair by the kitchen table, seething over his frustration.

he hated it when john was right. nothing frustrated him more than his closest friend seeing right through him as if he were a spirit. more often than not, when he was sulking about not having cases or waiting for results from his less-than-ethical experiments, sherlock would find himself rooted to the floor by the window. sometimes he would play his violin slow and mournful, sometimes he would stand in plain sight.

it would stun him when the sunlight bounced off the wire frame of her glasses, the reflection shooting through her window and right back to his. sherlock found it hard to concentrate on anything else when she would sit in her arm chair with a cardigan that on anyone else would have looked ugly but on her the bright colours did nothing but compliment her. she always had a pen or pencil or paint brush hidden away in her hair, and occasionally she would reach up and fiddle with it as she thumbed delicately through the pages of her book.

sherlock looked up from concentrating hard on the surface of the table when his phone buzzed him his pocket, and he pulled it out. his smile became visible against his will.

you're doing it again, if you want to come over you only have to ask

within minutes he was at the door, ripping off his burgundy dressing gown and trading it out for his thick and heavy belstaff. at john's call of "where're you off to all eager?" he simply shouted "out" as he clattered down the thin staircase. sherlock was out of the door and crossing the road faster than he was able to think, knocking sharply on the blurred stained glass window set into her front door.

there was a crash from inside, a mutter of swearing as she pulled back the door to reveal her haphazard state. sherlock stared dumbly at her, trying to ignore the red splatter of paint on her neck dripping onto her chest, searching for words as when he opened his mouth it turned dry. "you didn't ask," she said, but stood back to let him into her house anyway.

sherlock walked in through the hall, catching himself casting his gaze over the walls like he did every singe time. the university diploma sat pride of place over the mantlepiece of the fireplace in the living room reading 'ba joint honours in history and history of art awarded to jane burbank, graduating with a first from the university of edinburgh'

next to it was a framed photo of the pair of them stood together at a mutual friend's wedding the previous year. sherlock had gone along begrudgingly when he'd found out that jane was attending the party after the ceremony because her cousin was the maid of honour for the bride. they were both standing outside of the venue side by side, smiling into the lens as one of the flower girls was messing with the petal confetti in her small wicker basket in the background.

jane brushed her bangs off her eyes as she moved around the airy living room, shoving wooden crates of paint back into place on the shelf and moving her latest canvas out into the garden to dry completely. sherlock stood awkwardly in his coat and ran his finger under the collar of his shirt sitting tightly against his neck. she stared at him as she returned, wiping a paint stain off the hem of her white dress as she did so.

"sherlock, i don't know why you insist on dressing like a child from the past in the middle of summer." london had been blanketed in a sticky, heavy heat as they hit the peak of august, making being indoors impossible but being outside worse. jane was only glad of her broken window to allow a constant breeze to pass through the ground floor of her house but knew the relief wouldn't last long. it was only a matter of time before the rain came in thick drops and plunged them into everlasting autumn.

he shrugged awkwardly and peeled the coat from his body, and when jane looked at him from behind her easel tucked away in a corner by the bay window he removed his blazer from his shoulders too. sherlock felt too free when he was with her, it scared him, but she made him feel to exhilarated to even care sometimes.

once, when they'd met at a summer research project collating students from different courses at the russel group unis, jane had cleared her throat to catch his attention in the library. at the noise he turned around, still holding the heavy volume, and saw her looking at him through a gap in the shelves perching her chin on the heel of her hands. "hey," jane whispered at him, "d'you want to do something fun?"

sherlock couldn't find his voice to tell her that what he was doing was fun and that he didn't really want to leave the safety of the library that late at night, but her bright eyes sparkling in the fluorescent lights hanging from the high ceiling from exposed wires made him throw caution to the wind and join her on their escapade. jane dragged him to a concert and to this day not one of them could remember who it was they'd seen only that they were rubbish and the cone of chips they'd picked at while walking through a grassy park was much more enjoyable.

he'd been dressed for winter then too, despite the thin linen of his shirt trying to cool him down in the muggy night air. but he couldn't care less about the heat invading his skin or the salt from the chips that caught on his finger tips because he was talking to jane burbank, and it had been all he'd wanted to do since she came bursting into the lecture hall for the summer programme two minutes late in a haze of frazzledness as she pulled down the hem of her summer dress where it had ridden up from her haste.

if he had been a better man he wouldn't have looked down past her neck but he couldn't help himself.

perched on the end of the emerald green sofa shoved against a bright white wall covered in artwork and cheap antique picture frames, sherlock fumed silently like the kettle he wished jane was setting over the stove because he could see john giving him his worst 'i told you so' look from the front window of his flat over the road. jane returned with a silver tray laden with small plates holding biscuits, two empty glasses holding ice and a large pitcher of sparkling orange juice.

"d'you want to go out and do something fun tonight?" jane found herself repeating the words every time she saw sherlock, which wasn't as often as she would have hoped considering she bought her house opposite his flat with his proximity in mind. he was always out sleuthing with john, who she'd seen more, and got on well with.

so was it really any surprise that jane took any chance she could get with sherlock, to make the most of the time they had together. he'd intrigued her all those years ago (it hadn't in-fact been too many years ago since they'd graduated with first honours, but life in the wake of sherlock holmes was long and weary) and still continued to do so now. she was pleased she knew him before he made it big as a 'boffin' in the national press and was even more pleased that he still kept up with her completely opposing lifestyle despite his cold-heartedness and want of plain fact.

with a gleeful grin and a shake of his shoulders as she squealed at his minute nod, jane was away to pack her bag and to grab her sandals before rejoining him at the front door. much to her excitement, sherlock had decided to brave the outside world without the protection of his belstaff, the top two buttons of his shirt were undone and his blazer was tucked neatly under his arm as he waited patiently for her. "ever practical," she muttered and locked the door behind her. the heat of the day beat down on her exposed shoulders from where she'd pinned her hair up at the back of her head and she pulled her sunglasses over her nose.

they set off and june looked at her watch, "quarter to three, fancy going out for something to eat first?"

"whatever you want to do," sherlock agreed, and sure enough half an hour later they were sat on outside tables for a cafe overlooking westminster watching the people go by. well, sherlock was watching the people go by and jane was peeling away the pastry of a croissant she'd ordered while taking occasional sips of her glass of diet coke. he tapped his fingers against the saucer for his coffee patiently waiting for her to finish so they could leave.

jane wanted to look through the markets in camden for old records before they tried to find a pub for dinner and finished off the day at st james' park to listen to the music drift over them from the live festival happening in hyde park that she didn't get tickets to. she was always asking him if he wanted to do something fun even when she'd planned the day to some kind of degree of legible and sherlock just agreed.

but he did so because jane had asked him to, and anything that was fun to her would be fun for him.

after their intermission at the cafe, where jane had stopped to take some candid photos of some couples she'd seen over the green before turning the lens on an unsuspecting sherlock, they suffered the stuffy carriage of the underground before emerging at camden. jane beelined for stalls selling records and cassette tapes she didn't need because her selection was already overflowing. she picked up a sleeve and turned it to sherlock, grinning, "don't you just love them?"

he smirked before saying, "i prefer blur" only to receive a smack on the shoulder for his admission. by the time they'd left jane had bought enough to put a sizeable dent into her savings account made for paying off her student debt and she was dragging sherlock to an art gallery she noticed was free to the public before they sat down to eat again.

there was something about her wide eyes as they walked around the gallery that sherlock couldn't tear his eyes away from. it might have been the sun shining down on her cheekbones from the glass ceiling or the way she looked like one of the twisted statues in her white dress and delicate sandals or her screwed up face as she focused on something in the background through the lens of her camera. being with jane was a break from the world he'd plugged himself into and he loved every second of it.

sherlock didn't love it as much, however, when they were sat outside (again) at a pub jane liked sharing a bowl of chips while she told him about the awful date she'd had with an awful guy who had an awful name two days prior. his back straightened and something curled in the pit of his stomach as jane told him about the bloke's lacklustre effort of wooing her, especially when he lumped her with paying for dinner and their tube fares back because he'd 'conveniently' left his wallet in a different jacket.

"he wasn't even wearing a jacket, sherlock, i mean can you believe it? i go on one date for the first time in months and he's a total prick!" she picked at a chip and dunked it angrily into the splodge of tomato sauce she'd poured onto the plate before soaking up any vinegar that had been left behind, "is chivalry really dead? i refuse to believe it is."

sherlock made a hoarse noise in the back of his throat before leaving for the bar and returning with a drink to replace jane's third glass of diet coke since they'd sat down. he placed down the cocktail in front of her and felt a flush of pride creep down his back as jane placed her hand over his to thank him earnestly. she took a sip, then another until the entire thing slid down her throat with a sigh of relief.

"i really needed that," she said and giggled to herself. sherlock forgot every time he was with her when she drank that jane was the lightest of lightweights, but when she'd had one she was happy and when jane was happy sherlock was well on the way to being happy too.

another cocktail later and jane had reached her happy medium for alcohol intake - she was blissfully unaware of anything happening outside of the six foot boundary around her but could still hold herself upright and kissed sherlock enthusiastically on the cheek when he caught the bill as a waiter was passing by their table. she laughed all along the path and the whole time the two of them were walking to st james' park.

sherlock didn't make it a habit to carry people around on his back, but when jane looked up at him with a pout and wide glassy eyes he acquiesced and hoisted her onto his back with her ankles locked together just below his navel.

she insisted on getting a cone of chips for old times sake even though they'd eaten enough to fuel an army back at the pub, and jane happily handed over five pounds in cash for a cone and a pot of curry sauce to the woman behind the till. "thank you!" she called out from over her shoulders and sherlock walked through the gates to the park and let her down gently onto the grass where they usually sat.

jane fell forwards and caught herself from landing on her face by her knees, laughing as she slumped forwards onto her chest and propped her chin up into her hands. sherlock sat beside her on his jacket and brushed her bangs out of her eyes, and she felt her skin flush where his fingers had touched. the music from the concert in hyde park eventually reached them just as jane thought it would and she began to hum the tune under her breath as she picked at the chips sherlock was holding out for her.

jane rolled onto her back and felt the blades of grass tickle her shoulders and she moved to make herself comfortable. "we never talk anymore sherlock." she huffed, and tried to reach out and run her fingers over his cheek but stopped when she realised her hands were moving in the completely wrong direction.

"you've been talking all day."

"but i mean you and me. we never talk, i talk at you and you listen."

"i like listening."

"no you don't, you'll out live god trying to get the last word in."

he laughed behind his smile, "i like listening to you."

jane pushed herself onto her feet and sank down again so she was eye to eye with sherlock. he could still see the red splatter of paint along her neck and upon closer inspection he found that the drips had dried throughout the day past the neckline of her already low summer dress. "i wish you would do more than watch and listen to me." she whispered, still tapping out the rhythm of the new song against her knee.

"but i like listening to you and i can't help but watch you. it irritates me." lies.

"no it doesn't."

damn.

before sherlock even had a chance to refute or say anything in his defence, jane's hands were placed gently on either side of his neck and she pulled him forwards to join their lips. jane held him so close that their noses bumped together repeatedly and she had to lean forwards to follow him when he pulled away. "jane!"

"what?" she questioned, finding that she'd sobered up at a startling rate when the gravity of what she'd done had truly set in. "oh, sherlock i'm so sorry i didn't mean to-" her words were cut off as he kissed her again, again and again to pepper kisses all over her cheeks and along her forehead where her bangs had fallen over her eyes again.

jane was a breath of fresh air, the calm in the middle of the storm he lived his life by. in the moment with her, sitting on the grass in a darkened london park he couldn't help but not care about what john would say when he finally got home or if jane would soon realise how dangerous tangling her life with his truly was.

she pushed herself onto him and held onto his arms as she kissed him harder, not caring that sherlock was the right-hand-man of every inspector at scotland yard or that his idea of fun was dissecting human bodies and testing them for bruising. the only thing that mattered to her was the boy she'd liked since she walked in late to the lecture hall was kissing her back after he'd admitted to her, drunkenly at their mutual friend's wedding, that it was all he thought about whenever he saw her

🪩⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊🔎

#sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #bbc sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x oc #bbc sherlock x oc #sherlock holmes fluff #bbc sherlock fluff #bbc sherlock #fluff #x oc #x reader #sherlock holmes x fem!reader #bbc sherlock x fem!reader #sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlock x oc #sherlock x fem!oc #sherlock fanfic #benedict cumberbatch x you #benedict cumberbatch x reader #benedict cumberbatch #bbc sherlock fanfiction #sherlock fic #friends to lovers #fanfic #fanfiction #bbc sherlock fic #bbc sherlock imagine

[imagines--galore]

Another cute idea. Sorry it I'm being annoying FYI by sending multiple asks.

Reader and Sherlock sitting at a table next to each other. Sherlock on his laptop. And reader tracing the top of his hand. But then starts comparing hand size. Sherlock interlocks their fingers and reader just gets all blushy

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader Rating || Genres || Warnings: T. Romance. Fluff. No warnings A/N: Tooth aching/rotting fluff. That's what I wrote here. And you're not being annoying at all!

Quiet days were hard to come by.

And living with a person like Sherlock, they were almost rare to come across. Either he was racing off to solve a case, or he was bored out of his mind to do anything other then moan about it. That latter was when you had to call upon every ounce of your strength to try and calm him down. It had taken a lot of practice but you had begun to understand him and his.....tantrums, for lack of a better word.

Besides you, John and Mary both agreed that that was what they were. Tantrums.

Sitting in the peaceful atmosphere of 221B, you couldn't help but enjoy the feeling of tranquility it brought you. You sat beside Sherlock, him engrossed in his, coughJohn'scough, laptop. Since he was doing nothing but staring at the screen, reading some confidential document that scrolled automatically, his hands were placed on the table.

You had opted to read your book on the table as well. Only because you had been in the process of making dinner and instead of going back and forth between the kitchen and the living room, you had opted to sit on the table beside Sherlock.

With John having moved in with Mary, you had become a permanent resident in his place. At least with you there the apartment was significantly cleaner, and Sherlock got to have his meals on time. As a silent partner at several restaurants, you were something of a cook yourself, and enjoyed making dishes at home from time to time.

What you hadn't expected was starting to fall in love with the brilliant detective. Sure you had been friends with him through John and Mary, but you certainly didn't expect to find yourself thinking about him more then once during the day. Not to mention you would find yourself observing him sometimes. Just looking at him and wandering what was going on in his mind. On more then one occasion he had caught you looking, and you had only smiled at his inquiry and moved on, never giving him an answer. Then again he would do the same when you would catch him staring at you.

Whatever it was, it had become something of a game between the two of you, catching the other staring at the most inopportune of moments and allowing your eyes to meet before one of you would look away.

So far you were in the lead, with Sherlock catching up fast.

As the sauce bubbled away behind you, your eyes flitted over the text in your book, smiling every now and then at the exchange between the characters.

As you placed your mug of tea on the table, your hand accidentally brushed against Sherlock's. Neither of you seemed to notice. Not even when his fingers twitched and his hand shifted in your direction, but only slightly.

The barest of movements allowed your skin to brush against one another. Again, neither of you noticed.

Sighing you took another sip of your tea, and this time there was more then a little contact as your hand touched. And that contact stayed there, with the backs of your hands touching.

You were so engrossed in your book that you didn't notice how your finger began to trace incoherent patterns against the back of Sherlock's hand. You continued in your little motion, unaware that Sherlock had now become aware of the gentle touch against his hand.

He didn't comment on it. Though he did glance in your direction. You were so engrossed in your little romance book that you didn't even notice him look at you. Still he allowed a slight quirk of his lips in what anyone would assume to be a smile before returning to reading his own text.

You moved from the gentle stroking to playing with his fingers. It was something of a habit you had. While reading the hand not holding the book had to be occupied somehow. If you found a loose thread in your shirt, your fingers would start to play with it. If you happened to hold a pen you would twirl it around between your fingers. It was an unconscious act on your part, which was why you didn't pay any attention to your free hand as it continued to stroke and play with Sherlock's.

Glancing at the clock you stood, moving to check whatever you had bubbling away on the stove. Your sudden movement had Sherlock glancing in your direction, his hand feeling suddenly very cold.

He shook the thought away as you returned to his side, smiling as you picked up your mug of tea and took a sip. As you set it back down your eyes dropped to his hand as it rested next to the mug. Your hand was still clasped around the ceramic, and you couldn't help but notice just how different your hands were from one another.

For one thing his were bigger then yours, with his longer fingers and palm, yours was smaller and delicate looking, especially with the manicure you had done a few days ago. And it seemed you both had your share of scars here and there. You from small burns and cuts over the years of cooking, and him getting intro scrapes and fights in all his years of being a consulting detective. You were sure the inside of his fingers would have calluses from where he gripped the strings of his violin.

"Are you contemplating on chopping my fingers off, Y/N?" Sherlock's voice cut into your train of thought, prompting you to smile and shake your head. "No, of course not. I would prefer dipping them in acid." You jested, prompting a small huff of amusement from his lips. "I was simply comparing just how different our hands are." You turned over his hand so it was facing up, while setting your own next to his in the same position.

"See you have more callouses along your fingers then I do." You reached out with your other hand to gently trace along the skin. Sherlock had certainly not been expecting you to touch him, the act prompted him to go still, waiting to see what you would do next. "Not to mention the size, which is of course obvious because you're so much taller then I am." A small laugh fell from your lips. "My hand is so small compared to yours."

Seeming to have gathered his wits about him, Sherlock gave a small nod. "Yes, it is proportioned differently from my own." A small spark ignited in his mind, a hypothesis of sorts. One he wanted to test out.

"But perhaps it is a good thing. Otherwise it would be difficult for me to do this."

So saying he covered your hand with his own and allowed your fingers to intertwine. His larger hand encompassed your own perfectly, and your fingers settled between his almost as if they were pieces to a puzzle.

The both of you sat there, just looking at your hands. And when he didn't let go, didn't look like he was about to let go anytime soon, a blush began to make its way across your cheeks, making your face feel hot.

"It would seem my assumption was correct." His words caused you to look up at him, only to find him already looking at you.

"What assumption?" You asked. "That if I held your hand you would blush." He stated bluntly, causing you to roll your eyes.

"Sherlock? If you wanted to hold my hand you just had to ask normally, no need to get all experimental about it." You said with a small smile, squeezing the hand that held his.

"And since when have I ever been normal, Y/n?" He challenged, raising an eyebrow at you. You laughed shaking your head as you smiled at him.

"Never, because normal is boring. And you, Sherlock Holmes, are never boring."

His answering smile and the fact that he raised your adjoined to press a kiss to the back of your hand only caused your cheeks to redden even more.

"Maybe I should carry this experiment out further?"

"Shut up, Sherlock."

#sherlock x reader #sherlock x y/n #sherlock x oc #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x y/n #bbc sherlock

[spencerrxids]

labyrinth

pairing : sherlock holmes x fem!oc

summary :

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

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

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

masterlist

chapter 01 : begin with a dance

chapter 02 : patterned days

chapter 03 : tbd

more chapter to be added

taglist! (CLOSED)

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

[rey-jake-therapist]

The One That Got Away (Sherlock fanfic)

Hey lovely people!

After "It's so cold", my Molly Hooper centric one shot fic, here's the beginning of my second contribution to the Sherlock fandom :)

Link AO3 ⬇️

RATING: mature

PAIRINGS: Sherlock/Original Female Character, Mycroft/Original Male Character, John/Molly

TIMELINE: post The Final Problem, with many flashbacks of Sherlock's past (between 10 and 15 years before TFP)

TW: PTSD, references to past rape, drugs and suicide

STATUS: WIP

Summary:

Six months after Sherlock's sister Eurus put him, his brother Mycroft and his best friend John Watson through a series of sick games that nearly got all them killed, they all came back to their life. After helping Sherlock to repair the damages caused by the fire that destroyed their apartment, John found a new job and raises Rosie in the house he used to share with Mary. However, he hasn't forgotten his friend Sherlock, who resumed his consulting work at 221B Baker Street. It's not enough to cure Sherlock's boredom, but soon a new case will get him back to Scotland Yard; a wealthy man was found hanged in his living-room, and the circumstances surrounding his death are mysterious. Despite Lestrade's inclination towards deeming it a suicide, Sherlock is doubtful: how come his safe, hidden behind a painting, was found unlocked and emptied? Was the hanged man a blackmail's victim? Was it even a suicide? For the first time in months, Sherlock is excited: at last, the game is on! Little does he know that this new case will soon force him to face the ghost of a past he thought was behind him. Memories of a case he investigated fifteen years ago resurface, along with the heartbreak that ensued.

#sherlock bbc #sherlock holmes #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock fanfic #sherlock x ofc #sherlock x oc #fanfiction #john watson x molly hooper #the final problem #post tfp #but also pre ASIP #Mycroft x omc #the one that got away ff

[high-functioning-lokipath]

sherlock realizing he has a crush on you while he's talking aloud? Since it helps him think better?

A/N: @gaitwae you made me write a 2072 word oneshot...how dare you...JK THANK YOU 😍

TW: The case Sherlock and you are working on in this story deals with Domestic Abuse. There is nothing graphic depicted of the actual abuse, only mentions of injuries and the fact that it happened. There is a somewhat specific description of murder (it's probably tame compared with actual murder mysteries but it a bit more detailed than I usually am)...and don't worry...everything does have a happy ending 🥰

"It must be Torry!" Sherlock exclaims, jumping up from his chair and angrily pacing in front of the wall where you and he have pinned all the clues. He stops dead in his tracks and yells angrily. "But she's too short!" 

"Sherlock," You groan, rubbing your forehead. "Let's just take it from the top. Samantha's husband is murdered. The next day, it's revealed by her best friend, Torry, that the husband had been abusing Samantha. The only possible suspects so far are the two women. Samantha, as you decided, is too emotionally worked up to have killed her husband regardless of how abusive he was. Torry is angry enough but is too short to have stabbed him at that angle. So that leaves us with 1 dead, no suspects." 

"We need to talk to Torry again. I need to find out about Samantha."

"Alright, Sherlock, I'll call her and we'll have lunch tomorrow to talk."

"Tonight, I need to talk to her-"

"Tomorrow, Sherlock. Tomorrow,” You interrupt, giving him a pointed look. “It’s nearly midnight.” 

He rolls his eyes and huffs. “First thing in the morning.”

“We can’t wake her up at the crack of dawn!” You yell, rubbing your brow. “Look, how’s breakfast? It’s a good compromise for both of us.” Sherlock curses but doesn’t disagree. You smile and hug him regardless of his dislike for physical contact. “Now go to bed, Sherlock! You need to sleep, no matter what you want to say.”

Sherlock huffs once more but goes to his bedroom. You head on up to yours and flop on the bed. Sleep illudes you, however, as you think of what you’re doing. Sherlock and you had met a few years ago on a crime scene. John had recently moved out and Sherlock was desperately in need of a new crime buddy. The rest, you could say, is history. With the exception of one simple fact. You'd fallen in love with Sherlock. Sure he sometimes did or said things that gave you hope, but even if he had feelings for you, he'd never recognize what they were. You knew your chances with him were astronomically low but, now matter how much it hurt you, you stayed by his side. He needed you and you needed him.

The next morning, you met up with Torry at a cafe nearby for breakfast. Sherlock asked all the questions he needed and seemed quite pleased with the result. 

"A work friend!" Sherlock grins. "This changes everything!" You chuckle at his excitement and the two of you head off to meet this co-worker of Samantha, hoping to find more clues. 

When the two of you arrived at George's house, you were surprised to see Samantha answer the door. "Oh, hello there," She said, trying to force a smile. She seemed slightly happier, but was obviously still reeling from the events of the past few days. 

"We're here to see George," Sherlock states matter of factly. Samantha suddenly looks terribly frightened so you smile softly at her.

"He's not in trouble, we just want to ask him a couple of questions in case he knows anything that can help." She nods slowly, letting the two of you in. George walks in the room and immediately wraps his arm around Samantha, glaring slightly at you both. 

"What do you want?" He demands. Sherlock steps forward, ready to fight, but you grab his arm, pulling him back.

"We just have a couple of questions for you, George. Nothing serious but we need to find out if there's anything you know that could help us." He agrees and the four of you sit down in the living room. Thankfully, Sherlock is able to ask all the questions he needs to before abruptly standing up and rushing out the door. 

"Where is he going?" Samantha asks. 

"Home, probably," You chuckle. "I apologize for his behavior, he's brilliant but sometimes misses social cues."

"It's alright," Samantha smiles. "My George can be like that too sometimes." George blushes brightly and shakes his head.

"She's right, unfortunately," He admits. You laugh and smile at the two.

"Well, I'd better catch up with him. Thanks again!"

Hours later, Sherlock is still pacing in the living room of 221b. "Why is this so difficult!" He yells, shooting at the wall.

"Sherlock!" You scream, quickly jumping up and grabbing the gun from him. "I thought I had this hidden from you!" You shake your head and sit down. "Maybe you just don't have the right angle. You're sure it's not George either?" You ask.

"It can't be. He's the right height but doesn't have the right motive." 

"Being in love with the victim's wife isn't the right motive?" You ask incredulously.

"They're not in love," He replies, making an expression as if the very word had given him a bad taste in his mouth. You raise your eyebrows at him, surprised that he didn't even notice the extremely obvious. 

"Did you not see the way they looked at each other?" You ask.

"They looked at each other no differently than you and I do," He says, not looking at you as he looks over the clues again. "He kept his arm around her to comfort her, she stayed close to him for the same reason. She was happier because she was with a friend. Nothing about that means lo-"

"Sherlock," You whisper, eyes welling up with tears, voice cracking. "I'm sorry, I need to go." You hurriedly grab your coat and run out of the apartment. 

Sherlock frowns and your reaction. He goes to text John for help but stops. You could be right. If George loves Samantha, he would have wanted to get her out of that situation. Wanted to protect her. He's the right height and build. Perhaps Samantha had come to work badly injured and he couldn't take it anymore. All in the name of love.

He sits down in his chair, running through the scenario in his mind palace.

Samantha gets up early, long before her husband wakes, to get dressed and leave for work. He doesn't let her have a car so she carpools. However, he doesn't allow her around other men. That's why she's up early. She carpools with her co-worker George. George knows her husband is a jealous man, she's told him that much. But he always worries that it's worse than that. Sometimes she has strange bruises that she can only explain as "being clumsy" even though he's never seen her drop a single thing or trip over nothing. 

"Where's the motive for murder though," Sherlock wonders. "Most would simply call the police because they're too scared to step in. Why did George have the gall to not just defend Samantha but murder the abuser?" He decides to test your theory.

There's a bus station near Samantha's house. She could easily take that to work but the bus passes are expensive and George notices that she never has a lot of spending money at the cafeteria even for lunch. So he offers to pick her up for work even though he lives across town and she leaves very early. He doesn't mind the extra drive even though his shirt is extra wrinkly at the end of the day. He likes Samantha a lot. He thinks she's very attractive but he sees the wedding ring so he doesn't say anything. He doesn't say anything until one day Samantha asks him to drop her off at the corner instead of in front of her house. She tells him that her husband is very jealous and that's why she leaves extra early for work. She doesn't want her husband to see George. He respects that. But then he notices the other signs. One morning she gets into the car, a brand new bruise on her arm. "I wouldn't treat you like that," He says before he can stop himself. Samantha looks at him with an expression he's never seen before on her face. It quickly goes away, replaced by a look of amusement. "I'm just clumsy," She says. George doesn't believe it. Then it finally happens. He's running late. He gets to her house as fast as he can but it's already happened. Samantha is running out to the car, screaming. Her husband chasing her outside. He has something in his hand but George doesn't even notice. His eyes focus on the pure rage displayed on the man's face. Before another second passes he jumps out of the car, grabbing the hunting knife he had from his trip last weekend. He steps between the man and Samantha, pushing him back and stabbing him in the chest. Time seems to stop for a moment, an eerie silence falling as the man falls to the ground. George looks around in case anyone saw but no neighbors are outside. He turns to Samantha and she throws herself into his arms. 

Sherlock replays the last part in his mind, checking the angle and force to see if it would match. For a brief moment as he imagines it, he sees your face in place of Samantha's. He feels a flash of rage as he's never felt before. "I'll kill him," He yells angrily, snapping out of it. 

"Kill who?" You ask, having had to come back because you forgot your wallet. Sherlock looks at you, standing in front of him completely healthy if not a little emotionally overwrought. He feels tears spring to his eyes unbidden and he quickly turns away.

"What is happening?" He asks himself, unfamiliar with these emotions. Clearing his throat he speaks up, answering your question. "John, forgot to buy milk."

"Sherlock," You laugh despite yourself. "You're the one who forgets milk! And besides-" Your voice becomes background noise as the realization hits Sherlock. 

It's obvious George loves Samantha. He wouldn't have murdered the man if he didn't love her. 

"I was ready to kill him," Sherlock thinks, looking back at you. You've stopped talking, knowing he wasn't listening, and are now looking for your wallet among his mess on the table. A few stray hairs are falling in front of your face. The ones you always frustratedly push back. Sherlock tells you to leave them down. They frame your face and bring out your features. You're wearing the coat he bought you. You begged him to let you have a coat like his but he insisted you looked better in this one. And your phone. He finds himself smiling a little at the memory. You wanted a pink case. He refused on the grounds of never wanting to see a pink phone case again. So instead you got a purple one. It matches his favorite shirt perfectly. A fact he never forgot, loving when you match him in some small way. All the memories he has of you suddenly have a new light and it hits him. 

"Dear God I love her," He says.

"What?" You exclaim, dropping the glass beaker you were moving. The glass shatters but you pay no mind, only seeing the deep emotion reflected in Sherlock's eyes.

"I said that out loud, didn't I?" He asks, panicking. "Do you feel the same way? Could you? I've never given you any reason to love me. But you're always here for me." He looks at you directly, "Do you love me?" He asks. 

"You're asking?" You reply with a smirk, walking over to him. "The great Sherlock Holmes needs to ask something." Sherlock looks away in embarrassment, unsure of how to handle the emotions he's feeling. "Oh Sherlock," You whisper, grabbing his hand. "You really can't tell, can you?" He opens his mouth but finds he has no answer. He shakes his head, still not looking back to you. "Sherlock, among many other examples I could give as proof," You smile, stepping purposely into his line of sight. "I bought a phone case to match the bloody purple shirt you love so much."

"You did that on purpose?" He asks. You nod, blushing brightly. He reaches up and wraps his finger around that little lock of hair. For the first time since you've known him you see a completely genuine and relaxed smile appear on his face. "You love me," He whispers. Looking back into your eyes, he smiles even wider, finally able to acknowledge what he should have a long time ago. "And I love you."

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#sherlock bbc #sherlock #sherlock x oc #sherlock x y/n #sherlock x reader #sherlock fanfic #sherlock oneshot #sherlock imagine #request #sherlock request

[annesthaeticc]

Personal | Sherlock x Fem!Reader

Personal | Sherlock x Fem!Reader

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

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

| 2137 words

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

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

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

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

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

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

I could do this. He reassured himself.

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

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

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

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

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

“Have I missed the cake?” Sherlock asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I never hate your presents.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You haven’t had cake.” you said.

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

“You didn’t say goodbye.”

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

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

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

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

“Vance and I are just friends, Sherlock.”

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

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

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

“Sherlock I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?” you curiously asked.

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

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

“I am, is it working?”

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

“What? Can’t we just stay here?”

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

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

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

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

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

[femboykyo]

Writing a fic of Juni in a relationship with Sherliam cuz I'm a nasty boi 😂 and I'd love to be in between that🤭🤭

#moriarty the patriot #william james moriarty #yuukuko no moriarty #albert james moriarty #louis james moriarty #sherlock holmes #mtp #ynm #james bonde #sebastian moran #thoughts about sherliam #sherliam fic #sherliam #sherlock x oc #Sherlock x male oc #william x male oc #william x oc #sherliam x oc #sherliam x male oc

[a-victorian-girl]

not brave enough to do this off anon haha, but I’ve been considering writing a Sherlock x oc fic and just- god it sounds so stupid but I don’t want to lose the few semi-consistent readers that I have for Johnlock fics. I know cringe culture is dead, but it’s something I’ve been worrying about for a while. should I just focus on making things people actually like??

Hi Anon! I think that if you want to do it... then do it! No matter what others could possible think... I'm sure you are an excellent writer and your fic will be liked a lot too. So go ahead!

(don't forget to send me the AO3 link when you post it! ^^)

#ask box #anon ask #ao3 #sherlock x oc

[ravenscarlett]

Afterglow [Sherlock Holmes x OC]

Los Hermanos Holmes #1

Tell me that you're still mine

Tell me that we'll be just fine

Even when I lose my mind.

Afterglow - Taylor Swift

El amor y el matrimonio nunca habían estado dentro de los planes del detective más famoso de Londres.

Ni en los de Grace Wharton.

Pero,cuando el señor Thummler,un hombre adinerado le propone matrimonio a la chica,sus ideales cambian.

"—Solo necesito una excusa,todos lo creerían,podríamos casarnos e ir a Londres."

Wattpad link:

Ao3 link:

Pinterest idea:

#sherlock fanfic #enola holmes #sherlock x oc #sherlock holmes #henry cavill #sherlock fandom #fanfic #wattpad #wattpad español #wattpad fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #ao3 recommendations

[averagedeadinsomniac]

🄰 🅂🅃🅄🄳🅈 🄸🄽 🄿🄸🄽🄺 | Sherlock x reader- CH-1

Flashes of memories plagued Johns mind. Memories of his time of war terrorized him every night forbidding to go to sleep until he fell into the temptation of darkness. Memories of the soldiers he called his friend being killed by those behind the enemy line in front of his own eyes. Sounds of rapid gun shots and bombs going off nearby always seemed to be the reason he woke up every morning in a cold sweat and yelling.

 Though he was off the battlefield, his mind was not. Everyday he would wake up from these tramatic memories, remembering everything that happened and start crying. Sobbing from these memories of not being to help his friends, the rough conditions he was put through everyday and the shot to his leg making him deemed useless and forced off the battlefield.

Everyday was the same old thing. Wake up, cry, stare at the wall, eat, attempt to write in his blog, go see his therapist, go to the park and then his day would reset. He needed something. Something different. Something exciting.

Because nothing ever happened to him

-Que theme-

Cases was popping up all over the city. These new 'murder suicides' the cops were calling them.

" The body of Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport, was found late last night on a building site in Greater London. Preliminary investigations suggest that this was suicide. We can confirm that this apparent suicide closely resembles those of Sir Jeffrey Patterson and James Phillimore. In the light of this, these incidents are now being treated as linked. The investigation is ongoing but Detective Inspector Lestrade will take questions now." Agent Donovan announced to the conference that gathered reporters and gossipers.

 Detective Inspector Lestrade sat at the table looking uncomfortable while his colleague sitting beside him, Detective Sergeant Sally Donovan, addresses the gathered press reporters. "Detective Inspector, how can suicides be linked?" A reporter asked raising his hand. "Well, they all took the same poison; um, they were all found in places they had no reason to be; none of them had shown any prior indication of- " Detective Lestrade tried to explain. "But you can't have serial suicides." The same reporter interrupted. "Well, apparently you can."

"These three people: there's nothing that links them?" Asked another. "There's no link been found yet, but we're looking for it. There has to be one." Detective Lestrade confided. A sudden ringing interrupted the conference from everyone phones

Wrong!

Donovan looked at the same message on her own phone. "If you've all got texts, please ignore them." Donovan pleaded, immediately knowing who was behind this. "Just says, 'Wrong'."

"Yeah, well, just ignore that. Okay, if there are no more questions for Detective Inspector Lestrade, I'm going to bring this session to an end." Donovan closed up ending the conference.

"But if they're suicides, what are you investigating?"

"As I say, these ... these suicides are clearly linked. Um, it's an ... it's an unusual situation. We've got our best people investigating ..." Lestrade tried answering again when everybody's mobile trills again with another text alert and again each message reads

Wrong!

"It says, 'Wrong' again." Lestrade looks despairingly at Agent Donovan and back to the crowd. He again shrugs it off. He really had to find out how those two kept doing this bullshit. "One more question."

" Is there any chance that these are murders, and if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?' A reporter asked intrigued if it was a work of a serial killer. " I ... I know that you like writing about these, but these do appear to be suicides. We know the difference. The, um, the poison was clearly self-administered."Lestrade explained once more. "Yes, but if they are murders, how do people keep themselves safe?" A reporter asked "Well, don't commit suicide." The reporter looks at him in shock and fellow reporters murmer. Donovan covers her mouth and muttered a warning to him  "Daily Mail." Lestrade grimaced and looked at the reporters again. "Obviously this is a frightening time for people, but all anyone has to do is exercise reasonable precautions. We are all as safe as we want to be." Again, for the last time that afternoon the mobiles trill their text alerts, and once more each message reads

Wrong! But Lestrade's phone takes a moment longer to alert him to a text and when he looks at it, the message reads: You know where to find me. SH & EC Looking exasperated and sighing Lestrade puts the phone into his pocket and looks to the reporters as he stands up. "Thank you." Lestrade and Donovan stand up from their desk and walk through the halls the offices. Phones ringing and people surfing throughout the building all looking for something. " You've got to stop him and that freak 'assistant' of his from doing that. He's making us look like idiots.'beside they're not fooling anyone about their little relationship going on' " Donovan exasperated angrily. "Well, if you can tell me how they do it, I'll stop them. And again. they're not in a relationship. Sherlock is a bit to much of an asshole for anyones last and gods know what Echo is thinking half the time, she barely speaks to anyone other than business."

______________________

'Why in gods name would Mike bring me to a morgue? Who would want to meet up in a ghastly place like this?' John Watson thought to himself as he and Mike walked through the corridor peering through a few windows until the right one. __________________

Before~

Sherlock had just sent Molly out on a coffee run for the three of them leaving her to be disappointed on the refusal of her obvious date offer. Again. "You do know she has quite a fancy for you Sherlock." He had just conducted an experiment on a body at the morgue. He was deducing the formation of bruises that would form in 20 minuets because some alibi of his needed it or another and the were walking through the halls now headed to a lab. "Hmm. I need to test the victims blood to see and abstract any substances that may be found from the doctors blood. Echo sighed knowing it was to be expected from Sherlock refusing to show any kind of feelings or attachments because of the good that would do

Sherlock sat at the far end of the lab using a pipette to squeeze a few drops of liquid onto a Petri dish and Echo stood off to him reading over a couple of files containing detains of the dead morgue doctor, who ironically worked and died at the same morgue they were at. There was a knock at the door and Echo turned her head slightly gaining a glance of who just entered the lad. Sherlock glances across at them briefly before looking at his work again. A man limps into the room, looking around at all the equipment along with a man named Mike they both knew. "Well, bit different from my day." John announced and Mike chuckled. "You've no idea!". Sherlock, sitting down still focused on his work asked, "Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine."Mike looked confused And what's wrong with the landline?" Echo replied "He prefers to text. And I left my phone in the morgue." " Sorry. It's in my coat." John fishes in his back pocket and takes out his own phone. "Um, here. Use mine." John offers. Sherlock gives him a quick look up and down viewing every feature of him there was something about him. Echo's eyes hover over the files she had been checking out getting a good look at him. 

He holds himself up tightly holding in stance like an army man which would clearly explain the cain meaning he had just departed. He walks with a limp but its partly psychosomatic because he docent reach for a chair and when engrossed in conversation forgets about it. He was in a place of intense sun because of the suntan just above his wrists, no way he could've gotten it in London it's to damn rainy here.

"Oh. Thank you."

Knowing Mike he's her for the offer for flat mates. On an army note he couldn't afford to live here but he feels safe nowhere else or else Mike wouldn't have brought him here.

"It's an old friend of mine, John Watson." Mike introduces his old friend. Sherlock reaches John and takes his phone from him. Turning partially away from him, he flips open the keypad and starts to type on it.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"

.

.

.

John frowns confused at the sudden question. Nearby, Mike smiles knowingly. John looks at Sherlock as he continues to type. "Sorry?" "Which was it – Afghanistan or Iraq?" He briefly raises his eyes to John's before looking back to the phone. John hesitates, then looks across to Mike, confused. Mike just smiles smugly. "Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know...?" 

Sherlock looks up as Molly comes into the room holding two mugs of coffee. " Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you." He turns off John's phone and hands it back while Molly brings the mug over to him. He takes it and looks closely at her. Her mouth is paler again. She had removed the lipstick. "What happened to the lipstick?" Molly smiling awkwardly at him,  "It wasn't working for me." "Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth's too small now." He turns and walks back to his station, taking a sip from the mug and grimacing at the taste. She obviously filled with too much sugar and with cream. " ... Okay." She squeaked and she turned and headed back towards the door. 'Poor girl'

"How do you feel about the violin?" John looks round at Molly but she's on her way out the door. He glances at Mike who is still smiling smugly, and finally realises that Sherlock is talking to him. "I'm sorry, what?" John asked confused. Sherlock typed on a laptop keyboard as he talked "I play the violin when I'm thinking and Echo plays with her little cube. Sometimes We both don't talk for days on end. He looks round at John. Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other."Echo confirmed and nods at John, who looked at her blankly for a moment then looks across to Mike. "Oh, you ... you told him about me?" "Not a word."

John turned to Sherlock again. "Then who said anything about flatmates?" Sherlock picked up his Milford coat and put it on signaling it was time to go and Echo started started putting on hers.      "I did. Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't that difficult a leap." Echo stated looking back at her work. "How did you know about Afghanistan?" John asked.Sherlock ignores the question, wraps his scarf around his neck, then picks up his mobile and checks it. "Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it." He walks towards John and Cypher gets up. "We'll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o'clock. Sorry – gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary." Putting his phone into the inside pocket of his coat, he walks past John and heads for the door. John turned to look at them. "Is that it?" Sherlock turns back from the door and strolls closer to John again. "Is that what?"

"We've only just met and we're gonna go and look at a flat?"

"Problem?"

John smiles in disbelief, looking across to Mike for help, but his friend just continues to smile as he looks at Sherlock. John turns back to the younger man. " We don't know a thing about each other; I don't know where we're meeting; I don't even know your name."

Sherlock looks closely at him for a moment before speaking. "I know you're an Army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him – possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic – quite correctly, I'm afraid." John looks down at his leg and cane and shuffles his feet awkwardly. Sherlock smiled smugly. "That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?" He turns and walks to the door again, opening it and going through, but then leans back into the room again. "The name's Sherlock Holmes and Echo Ophelia and the address is two two one B Baker Street. Come along Echo." He click-winked at John, then looks round at Mike.

" Afternoon."

 "Ciao"

Mike raises a finger in farewell as Sherlock disappears from the room. As the door slams shut behind him, John turns and looks at Mike in disbelief. Mike smiles and nods to him.

" Yeah. He's always like that."

#bbc sherlock #sherlock x oc #sherlock x reader #sherlock bbc #john watson #oc #sherlock holmes #sherlockbbc

[starssaroundmyscarssblog]

🪩⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊🔎 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 . . .

'let the light in' . . . in which sherlock holmes doesn't catch himself from falling quick enough for jane burbank

🪩⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊🔎

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

[imagines--galore]

Destiny,

Reader x Sherlock

Summary: No matter where you are, he is there. Pairing: Sherlock x Reader Rating || Genres || Warnings: T. Romance. A/N: I mean come on I love the whole Serendipity thing. I have a soft spot for romances like that :3

The first time you met the man with the impossibly blue eyes you were on holiday. It had been a dream of yours to go visit a new country every year, and so far you were holding up to your promise. Your most recent venture had allowed you to experience new things.

One of which was learning how to act for a complete stranger because he said his life was in danger.

"There are two men tailing me and I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend."

You stared at him from where he had settled into the chair across from you at the small cafè you frequented. For a moment you had thought he was some scam artist or a con man, but when you looked in the direction he asked you to, you could clearly see two men staring at him.

And with what suspiciously looked like a gun hanging from one of the man's belt.

A cold feeling settled in your chest as your gaze flitted back to his, and though they didn't away much, you could see him pleading silently. You would rather take the chance of being conned, then allow someone to hurt another person when you could've done something to stop it.

Smiling brightly, you reached out to place a hand on top of his, the perfect picture of a worried girlfriend as you spoke.

"It was very sweet of you to come have coffee with me. I know how work has been lately." He smiled back at you, taking the hand that you had rested on top of his and raising it to his lips.

His mouth brushed just barely against your skin, but your eyes did widen at the gesture. To any onlooker it would look as if you were taken surprised by the sudden affectionate gesture.

Truthfully you were surprised.

"Anything for an exquisite creature such as yourself." So this was pretend, and you didn't even know this man, but even you had to admit that the words would make any lover swoon. A shy smile was your only response, as you averted your gaze, feeling a little too vulnerable under his penetrating blue gaze.

The both of you sat in silence, with you stealing glances at him every now and then. For his part, he continued to look at you with an almost perplexed look on his face. As if you were a riddle he could not figure out.

In your nervousness, you dropped your spoon, and once you straightened back to after retrieving it, he was gone.

Your hand still felt warm from where he had held it.

                                         ————————–

This was what Sherlock Holmes had been reduced to.

A mere delivery boy.

Granted it was a favor for a friend, but it didn't mean he would carry out the task happily.

The task in question being picking up some pastries that Mary. And these days what Mary wanted she got. Sherlock had no desire to face the wrath of an ex-assassin who was pregnant.

"Picking up a box for Mary Watson." He said as he strode into the shop. The girl behind the counter took his ticket before disappearing in the back to retrieve the box. Sherlock took the moment to look around and simply observe. The interior of the bakery was bright and open, and the scents that hung in the air? Anyone passing by simply had to stop by to buy something from the bakery.

Unconsciously he began to decipher the scents and what they belonged to. Fresh bread, of course. Cakes. Sugar. Cream, perhaps. Vanilla. And something.......flowery?

It was certainly familiar.

It lingered in the air, not as strong as the other scents but clearly there. Perhaps a customer had been wearing it? He remembered the scent. He had categorized that scent in his mind the day when he had asked a random stranger to pretend to be his lover.

What were the odds that it was the same person?

One in a million.

Just as he exited the bakery with the goods now secured, he caught that scent again. This time though, he dismissed it as nothing but coincidence before starting the walk back to 221B where Mary would be waiting.

A few seconds later, you emerged from the apartment building adjacent to the bakery. With a croissant you had just bought and the file you had nearly forgotten on your desk, you smiled and started down the path.

In the opposite direction.

                                         ————————–

You sighed as you handed in yet another file that had been buried in the archives. Sometimes it astonished you just how careless people could get when it came to such important files. They were records of crimes.

This was why you were one of the few people in charge of digitizing the files that the police filled when speaking to a potential victim or culprit. And though it had made things a little easy, it just meant more work for you and your team. You had to digitize a lot of the old files as well. Especially those cases that were still open.

Which were a lot, to say the least.

One the plus side, you were now off for the day. Smiling to yourself, you quickly gathered your things, tucking your phone back into your bag as you hummed along to the music that played in your ears. You loved listening to music while you walked back home. Though as soon as you stepped outside and noticed the dark clouds gathering overhead, you pursed your lips.

Taxi it was then.

You quickly hailed one, and climbed in, just as the heavens opened and the rain began to fall in earnest. As you waited for the driver to start the ride, something compelled you to look out from the back window. You had never done that before. Maybe there were some unknown forces at work?

Whatever it was, you saw a very familiar coat racing down the street in the rain. Of course the coat was worn by a man, but you could hardly make out who it was as they disappeared from view.

Just then the ride started, and as the car drove further and further away from the spot, you continued to stare in that direction.

It couldn't have been him?

Could it?

                                         ————————–

It was instinct that drove you.

Instinct that had you rushing towards the source of commotion.

Instinct that had you reaching for the first thing you could use as a weapon.

And instinct that made you bring down the pipe on top of the head of the man who seemed to be choking another.

The man you had hit toppled to the side with not so much as a cry of pain. You had hit him hard enough that he fainted! But you hardly paid him any mind, instead turning to the figure as they gasped for breath after having been choked.

"Are you alright?" You asked, reaching out with your hand to gently lay it atop their shoulder. Slowly the man nodded. "Yes, I am. Thank you for your assistance." His voice was hoarse, as it would be after a person has had their throat constricted. "Maybe we should go to a hospital?" You suggested, eyes flicking over to the unconscious man laying on the ground. "And the police." The man shifted as he pulled out his mobile phone and opened it up. "Yes, I have a friend, Dr. John Watson, who can....."

It was at that moment that the man finally lifted his head and you were able to see his face.

You stared.

He stared.

"You?!"

The both of you gasped simultaneously, however whatever injury he had sustained, and there were multiple, caused Sherlock to pass out at that very moment.

The fight had clearly been brutal. Luckily he had been able to dial his friend, and you had told the man of everything that had happened. Watson had asked you to stay with him, saying he would be there soon.

And so, you had stayed and you had waited.

Every now and then you would reach out to press your fingers to the side of his neck, just to make sure he was alive. But he soon regained conscious and his eyes found yours.

Neither of you said anything, and neither of you looked away.

It was so strange to finally see him after months. You had to admit that somehow, somewhere, he had always been at the back of your mind. Your interaction with him was not one to forget soon, and you had often wandered what he did that would make him ask you to pretend to be his girlfriend.

For Sherlock there was no doubt he had detected your perfume that day in the bakery. And now that he thought about it, he had picked the same scent at the police station as well. But he had thought it was Molly, perhaps trying out a new scent.

What were the odds that it was you.

John soon arrived, along with your boss Inspector Lestrade. The ambulance soon followed and the medics took over. You stood there, explaining the situation to the two worried gentlemen, but you paused, as you watched Sherlock being wheeled away.

"Is he going to be alright?" You asked, worry evident in your voice. John gave a nod and a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. He's been in tougher spots then this one. Normally he would protest going to the hospital, but there might be damage to his neck that we need to check over."

The doors to the back of the ambulance shut, blocking your view of Sherlock, but not before you were able to meet his gaze once more.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?" John's question had you looking away from the departing ambulance and offering a small smile to the man. "Y/n Y/l/n." You introduced yourself. "And since you're Dr. John Watson I'm guessing the man I just helped is Sherlock Holmes."

John raised an eyebrow. "You know him?" He asked.

You shrugged. "Everyone in the police work knows Sherlock Holmes." Lestrade cut in, clapping a hand down on your shoulder. "Now, lets say you give me a full statement of what happened. Or should I just have you type it all in tomorrow?"

Shaking your head at your boss you proceeded to tell them both what had happened.

And once everything was done, and you were finally home, you laid in bed, thinking how funny the entire situation was. How strange it was that you met Sherlock during your vacation and helped him. How weird it was that when you returned from your vacation you were transferred to the police station that he frequented. How hilarious it was that he had you had probably been just a few floors away from one another and never meeting.

Fate, it seems, had a sense of humor.

                                         ————————–

Glancing at your watch, you pursed your lips, feeling a little annoyed. You had planned on having a long lunch break and perhaps do a little shopping. But work had detained you, and you had two options. Either skip lunch altogether, or quickly grab some fish and chips from the nearest cart.

You opted for the latter, and quickly hastened your steps as you gathered your belongings, and after pulling on your coat reached for the door of your office.

Only to run into someone standing there already.

"Oh! I'm sorry I..." You trailed off when you saw who it was.

"Y/n Y/l/n." He spoke in his deep voice, prompting your lips to pull up in a smile, and action that was near involuntary on your part. "Good to finally put a name to the face huh?" You said, before holding your hand out for him to shake. "And you're Sherlock Holmes."

There was a brief pause, where he simply looked at you, before he reached out to gently grasp your outstretched hand. You were transported to all those months ago, when he had taken the very same hand and kissed it.

It had all been for show, but you couldn't help but feel a little flustered over it.

"I wanted to thank you, that is twice that you have aided me in some manner." He said, once he had let go of your hand. You shrugged. "Well it was something anyone would've done. No? I mean if you see someone in need, help them, or thats what my Nana always says."

He shook his head. "I have encountered people of different backgrounds over the years, they all have selfish agendas and needs that they meet. When I asked for your help that day, I fully expected you to either walk away or ask for something in payment."

You grinned. "Well you didn't really give me a chance to do either now did you? But if you're asking if I helped you just because I wanted to then yes. I did. Both times."

Silence followed your words, in which Sherlock never once looked away from you. The corner of his mouth pulled up in a soft smile, and there was nothing but intrigue in his blue eyes. "You are an enigma, Y/n Y/l/n." You held his gaze, raising your eyebrow a little. "I hope you meant that as a compliment Sherlock Holmes." Reaching behind you, you pulled the door to your office close.

"I was just about to go on my lunch break for some fish and chips. Care to join me?" You asked. "You do owe me an explanation as to why I had to pretend to be your girlfriend when we first met."

You started to walk off, and a few second later, Sherlock followed after you, falling into step beside you. "Its a rather long story." He admitted to which you grinned at him.

"Then we'll add a dessert to our lunch as well. I know a really good ice cream parlor."

#sherlock x reader #sherlock x y/n #sherlock x oc #sherlock #bbc sherlock

[spencerrxids]

begin with a dance

labyrinth ( chapter 01 )

main masterlist | series masterlist | next

pairing : sherlock holmes x fem!oc

genre : slight angst(?), tension

summary : in which Sherlock Holmes finally met the girl who had been nothing but a fond memory in his head

wordcount : 1.9k

Annaliése Amélie Moore is a dear in the society. At least that's what some people like to call her. Born into the Moore family, she was expected to grow up as a proper lady, whatever proper means in their eyes. And so she did. Or at least she half-ly did, if that's even the right word to describe it. Annaliése Amélie Moore could easily blend into the crowd of a ball. Dancing on her feet, her hand brushed against the gent's shoulders as she twirled onto the other with the grace of a former ballerina. Just like the meaning of her name, Graced with God's Bounty.

You see, Annaliése did grow up as a proper lady but that itself wasn't enough in the public eye. Some would say that to be seen, a woman such as herself would need to find herself a suitor, a husband to provide for her which she found as such a dulling mindset. Is not the idea of having a husband that aggravates her nor was it the idea of loving someone with such honesty and innocent purpose, for Anneliése, was someone who once yearned to love although she seemed to give up on that long ago.

But would she? Would she be seen as an individual if she ever found herself a husband who will provide for her? Would people finally acknowledge her tremendous mind? In the truth of her mind, she didn't think so. Even if she found herself a name, all of those will get credited to her husband because what a man he is for getting himself a woman like her. And of course, it wasn't the man's fault, no it's not. It was the society and the world she grew up in that was at fault.

She changed her whole demeanour as she realised the deep thought she was in had brought a scowl on her face. Putting back a smile, she muttered a small apology to her companion whom she was waltzing with. Although, that didn't last long as her eyes caught a familiar pair of eyes who was also waltzing not even five feet from her.

What is he doing here? She found herself asking the question that she already knew the answer to.

Not even a minute later, she twirled around and landed in the arms of a man that she once had the privilege of being close with. She said nothing and let him lead the dance for the night. And it seems that the same idea appeared inside his head. His arm fits flawlessly around her waist as he dips her before the proximity of their body becomes closer as she faces him again.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence tonight, Mr. Holmes?" She asked, breath fanning the side of his face as she could feel him tense under the sound of her voice which brought a small smirk to her face.

"I was hoping to find you here. I heard you are finally back from France." The lie rolled out of his mouth so naturally, as if he just received the news of her arrival earlier the day when in fact he had known exactly that she first arrived back a month ago.

The orchestra faded as the dance came to an end, the two friends facing one another. The two friends that have a well-known face in the public eye. Her eyes met his once more, daring him to say something more about his unwelcome presence. "It seems that the news has gotten a bit late for you. I've been back for a month, Mr. Holmes. Now if you really don't have anything more to say to me, I will excuse myself and let you get on with whatever case you are on right now." She said, already preparing to take a step away from him when the man himself took a step forward causing her to slap his chest out of instinct.

"Now what are you thinking you're doing?" She asked once more. Sherlock only smiled slightly at the people around them, before grabbing her by the forearm and leading her away from the crowd. "Sherlock!" She yelped, and tried to look over her shoulders, perhaps one of the guests there would notice that a man had taken her away without her will. But then again, everyone recognizes Sherlock Holmes, and who would dare to question his integrity, at least that's not what the general public would do.

The man leaned forward to her shoulders. "My mother and sister are missing." He said, finally letting go of her once they are far enough from the others. She turned to look at him, taking in the information. Although she had never met Enola, she did get the privilege to meet the amazing mother of the Holmes family once. Hearing them go missing isn't precisely how she expected herself to meet him again.

Sherlock Holmes is never one to waste time in striking up a conversation. Always getting to the point of it. She might be used to it by now. But she couldn't help but feel that it was a bit much for the man to dump the information on her after not even acknowledging her existence for the last two-three years.

"What happened?" She questioned with concern laced in her words.

Sherlock turned slightly, making sure that no one are listening to their private conversation. It would be such a nuisance if the news had gotten out to the public. Sherlock Holmes's sister and mother were missing. People sure would get the chance to ruin his reputation. Even more, if they had known that at least one of them are running away from her own family.

"If we could go to your place-"

"There's no such thing as you being in my place," She talked back. "What makes you think I'll welcome you, Sherlock Holmes? Was it because of your name? Does being a genius renowned detective give you the privilege of being anywhere anytime you want? You could've at least told me what your intention was before asking such a question."

"Anna, I-" He halted and she raised her eyebrow at the nickname he uttered. He looked away for a bit. She could sense him hesitating to say the words. "I need-I need your help."

And within those four words, she found herself letting him back into her life. That was a decision that might get her hurt but surely not one that she will wish undone.

***

"So you're saying that your mother left home leaving young Enola behind? And Enola ran away the day after meeting her two brothers for so many years?"

She took a seat, finger trailing the rim of her teacup as she stared at the man in front of her. Although Sherlock's eyes seemed to have more interest in looking around her flat. He only nodded slightly in her direction without taking his eyes away. Without even saying anything, Annaliése had already known what was in his mind. There's no point in hiding something from the Sherlock Holmes.

"I mean not to be insensitive, but I would've done the same if I had a misogynist of a person as my brother. Not to mention that Mycroft tried to force her into these lady-ish traits. You do see the problem here, don't you?" She asked him. And this was when Sherlock decided to turn to look at her directly with one of his eyebrows raised in a questioning manner.

"Don't look at me like that. There is a difference in our situation. I was educated that way since I was a kid, it was essentially my sole purpose in life to become a lady or so they said, whereas Enola wasn't. So you could imagine her horror of being forced into something that she isn't used to." She explained.

"You've met her." Those are the first three words he uttered after being quiet for some time.

"What?" She questioned.

"Enola. She had come to you, did she not?" He leaned forward, propping his elbow on the table. She only stared at him as he stared back, both not making a single move. "She's my sister, Annaliése." He said.

She was silently debating on what to and what not to say. Each word she uses would reveal yet another thing about her. She thought about the young woman who had come to her early that day, at first glance she didn't recognize who it was. But by opening her mouth, Enola had revealed her identity without even saying her name. It wasn't very difficult for Annaliése to recognize a Holmes just by the way they were speaking.

There was indeed nothing you could try to hide from Sherlock Holmes. And it's not necessarily hiding something when the man hadn't asked her the question and she answered with the truth of it. Downcasted her gaze, she spoke out. "If you truly cared for her, you would've made her your ward instead of Mycroft's. I know you have problems connecting with other people, but just like you said. She is your sister."

"And Mycroft is my brother." He replied.

Anneliése scoffed at the words that he just uttered. "In that case, I think both of us know that he's not really the best in that category." She stood up and walked over to the other side of the room, putting her cup down on the kitchen table. "You've figured out that Enola had come to me just by stepping into my flat. You sure will be able to figure out that I sincerely don't know about her where being at the moment." She looked over her shoulder at him.

"I met Edith." He said, suddenly.

"Who?"

"My mother's friend. Called me an ostrich for being alone. Enola had come to her too, my mother had led her there. So tell me Annaliése, why mother led Enola to you? Furthermore, why did she send two letters to you?" He stood up from his seat, making his way to get closer to her.

She straightened her back, furrowing her eyebrows in irritation. Anneliése does not like how he worded the sentence against her. "I don't understand. You keep asking questions, you already know the answer to." She stepped forward towards him. With one finger up, she pointed to his chest. "You came to me in the middle of a dance, practically ruined my night. I invited you to my flat because you said you are in need of my help and now you're accusing me." She said.

"Of what?" He asked, leaning down ever so slightly. "What am I accusing you of?"

"I am not hiding anything from you." She stated, not breaking her eyes away from him now that they were practically chest to chest. He did the same, although his eyes seemed to soften, knowing that she is, in fact, telling the truth. However, his mouth seemed to lose its ability to speak under her stern gaze. The topic of the night had spiralled from one to another in a quick ill-mannered way. That was his fault, undoubtedly.

"If you are stressed, I beg you not to let it out on me. Take a walk, Sherlock. Clear your head, you're in need of it." Those are the last words spoken to her that night before she turned her back on him and went out of the room. Leaving the man standing in the middle of it. And Annaliése was already in her room when the sound of the front door being closed was heard.

Sherlock lingered in front of the door for quite a long time, pondering whether he should go back in there or not before he turned around and walked away from the place. This was not how he wanted the reunion to be.

taglist! @mostclevermiss @strangeobsessed @officialjellydoughnut @redpostssometimes @mysticwitchcraftco @calamityjanet @literary-mind @km-ffluv @juliespellman @omg-itsmee @lexx-ee @sopanngon @kelloggs-world @thereisa8ella @juliette151 @dinosthatrawr @hotmomsluvme @erensloveinterest @mell-bell @sebastianthelobster @astronomiesd @aboywithsecrets @sugarraybeets @ihrtcevans @666-li @m4nif3st4t10n @incendiafalling @matchstick-doctor @moomoothecowking @emmaolsen @rain-clouds1 @maike3ee @anelissemariem @aestheticallystrange @girlonlinealways @keigoooo @supermanredundie @scar-let-mess @xcixosh @elysiasgf @sweetstyless @pepe-caca @nancysivrr @djopjm @hiyorinatsuki @sonicussy

#sherlock holmes fanfiction #sherlock holmes x oc #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock x oc #sherlock x you #sherlock holmes #enola holmes #henry cavill sherlock #henry cavill #fanfiction #sherlock fandom

[rey-jake-therapist]

Is it bad that I want John and Molly to date in my fic?

Is it even a thing in the fandom? A John x Molly ship?? John wouldn't dare to tell Sherlock because he's still not sure about how Sherlock feels about Molly or even about him, also he's not sure that Molly got over Sherlock, see the picture? Molly on the other hand never expected to fall for John, but it happened and now she's afraid he thinks she's using him to get Sherlock jealous. Or that Sherlock's in love with John and will be hurt to see him with her.

(In case you wonder, Sherlock knew all along and just waits for these idiots to speak. He's way too busy chasing his dead ex. Sorry it's not Irene it's an OC!)

Also Lestrade would make the shocking revelation that he's Mycroft ex and now that he's divorced he would want to get Mycroft back but he thinks Mycroft despises him.

And yes there's also a whole detective story going on but this is the type of stuff that keeps me awake at night.

#sherlock bbc #Shipping questions #mystrade #Sherlock x oc #John x molly

[high-functioning-lokipath]

Sherlock BBC Masterlist

Sherlock Oneshots:

Watson!Reader x Holmes Brothers (Non-poly relationship) - The Sign of 3

Star Trek & Sherlock BBC X-Over - Sherlock, John, Spock, & Leonard - Prompt: You should meet my friend he's more irritating than yours

Songfic! One-sided!John x Reader, Sherlock x reader - Someone Like You

Irene Adler & nemesis!reader, Sherlock x reader - Prompt: "You should sleep." "I'm not human, therefore I do not require sleep."

SH - Sherlock x Watson!reader - Strangers Like Me

SH - Sherlock & Anderson Frenemies - Title: Because We're Frenemies, We Like Disliking One Another - Words: 1,000 (how did I do that?) NO READER CHARACTER

SH - Platonic!Sherlock x reader - Piss Off - Long Drabble: 753

SH - Sherlock & Greg Friendship - Prompt: How Greg and Sherlock First Met - Words: 1,637

SH - Sherlock & Mycroft Friendship/Brotherly Bonding - Prompt: Holmes brothers as kids, Myc being a good brother, playing the deduction game

SH - Sherlock x Depressed!Reader - With a Little Help from My Friends - Words: 2,793

SH - Sherlock x Reader - Request: Sherlock realizing he has a crush on you while he's talking aloud

John Watson x Reader

Songfic! One-sided!John x Reader, Sherlock x reader - Someone Like You

John x Holmes!Reader - Prompt: "No, you have a problem. I have an idiot who keeps getting into one"

John Watson x Reader - Better Late Than Never

Sherlock Multi-chapter:

ReverseLock - Torry & Erin OC's

How to Cosplay at Work Without Anyone Noticing: Sherlock Edition!

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[annesthaeticc]

“is that my shirt?”

| Sherlock x Fem!Reader pairing

| a short fic, part of 500+ Followers Celebration

| fluff

| 584 words

| this is dedicated to my great and dear friend, @frostandflamesfanfic. ellie, i hope you like it! <3

The sun had risen upon London and the sky was unusually blue. It was a beautiful day, and it was rare. Sherlock had no cases and it was your day off. So it was up to you to entertain the genius detective, slash your boyfriend, or else he'll shoot the wall til it was full of bullet holes. Or else he'll moan and groan about needing something that has a 7% solution. 

By eight in the morning, you commenced it was a board game day. And of course, Sherlock had to say "Board game? More like bored game!" He always said that, and you honestly thought he needed to come up with a new sarcastic quip. 

Board game days consisted of playing the board games Sherlock collected in a cupboard in the kitchen, and playing it while the two of you lazed in your pajamas. 

You rolled your eyes at him and set down the first board game you planned to play with him; chess. He succumbed to your wishes, not wanting to get on your bad side. He'd been so busy with his work recently and he felt slightly guilty about rarely spending time with you. Plus, he broke your favorite teacup (which you're about to find out soon) and disposed of it as soon as he saw the shattered pieces on the floor. 

He made the first move as his pieces were the light ones, and sat back in his seat. His eyes pale like the morning sun, but you can see a hint of concentration and determination. 

"Checkmate." you smirked at him and the clock struck ten in the morning. 

"Stupid game." he exhaled and slumped back in his armchair. 

A few more games were played, Sherlock had finally given up on playing with you. He kept on losing and it did nothing to lift his emotions that were taking a nosedive. As the legs of the clock hit 2 in the afternoon, Sherlock took his residence in his couch with a plan to get lost in his mind palace. 

You let him be and quietly bustled around him. The whole afternoon passed by in silence and minimal fuss. When the moon started to show through the caramel-colored drapes, you settled yourself on the couch by his legs. He moved a bit to accomodate you and you smiled. 

He may look like he doesn't care, but he does, in his own unique Sherlock way. You would never love him less for it. 

After reading a few pages of your new book, you could feel his hands slowly travel up your legs. Gently caressing your skin. His skimming fingers stopped by your bare thighs, just where the hem of the shirt you were wearing ended. 

You were wearing his purple shirt. 

"Spencer Hart," his baritone voice floated through the quiet room. You hummed in agreement. 

"Is that my shirt?" he asked. You lowered your book to take a glance at him as he blinked his eyes open. 

"You're the detective, you tell me," you winked at him. 

Sherlock finally moved from his prone position, and carefully arranged himself on top of you, caging you in his loving arms. 

"Thief," he said smoothly. 

"It's not considered theft if you think it looks better on me, don't you think?" you innocently said. 

"Fine. But I think…" he paused to undo a button. 

"It would look much better if it's on the floor." he said, his voice devastatingly sweet and dangerous at the same time. 

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