#sherlock x reader

[holylulusworld]

Mr. Holmes Maid (3)

Summary: You’re his maid.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Maid!Reader

Warnings: angst, power imbalance, dub-con (just in case cuddling/sharing a bed), master-servant relationship, the reader was an orphan, inappropriate behavior

Mr. Holmes Maid (2)

Mr. Holmes’ maid masterlist

The red dress is even more opulent and expensive than the others. You feel like an imposter standing in front of your master in a dress that shouldn’t cover your body.

“Wonderful,” the needlewoman coos. She clasps her hands together and smiles at you. “She looks so beautiful, doesn’t she, Mr. Holmes.” She wants to hear a compliment for her handiwork, not how you look in the dress.

“Mr. Holmes,” you dare not complain, but you don’t feel comfortable wearing a dress made for a lady, not a peasant. “Isn’t that too much? I can’t clean in this kind of dress.”

“It’s for special occasions,” he hastily says while pushing a few looks out of his face. “If we receive guests and such.” The lie easily rolls off his tongue. He straightens his back and looks at the owner of the shop straight in the eyes. “Right, Mr. Stevenson.”

“Oh, of course, Mr. Holmes,” the man almost cowers in front of your master. If he’d lick Sherlock’s polished shoes, you wouldn’t be surprised. “She will look lovely while serving your guests.”

No one at the shop believes Sherlock wants you to wear this dress for his guests. He wants you to wear them only for you.

“Wonderful,” your master finally says. “We will take them all. Maid,” he sternly looks at you. “You can redress after I paid for everything. I’ll be waiting outside for you. Don’t waste time, we need shoes for you too.”

“Shoes,” you murmur while watching Sherlock with curiosity. He’s so different now. Moments ago, he was all soft on you and placed his hand on the small of your back. And now, he orders you around.

“Yes, shoes, maid,” he grumbles. “Let’s proceed then.”

You wrinkle your forehead. What else does he want to buy for you today?

Sherlock leaves you and the needlewoman alone to talk to the owner about payment, and another order.

“My dear,” the woman whispers so no one can hear her. “He’s charming, smart, and very handsome. But be careful. You’re only a maid. If anyone finds out about your affair,” she looks around the shop, “you will be the one to blame.”

“I—no,” you gasp at her bluntness. “I…we…no. We never... I wouldn’t dare…” You shake your head. “Mr. Holmes never did such a thing, madame.”

“I’m not a madame, my dear,” she chuckles lightly. “I was you not so long ago.” She dips her head to watch her husband and Sherlock talk. “My husband saved me from ending up on the street after my master promised me love and devotion.”

You don’t know what to say, so you remain silent.

“After he stole my innocence, he tossed me out on the street like a stray cat,” she whispers. “If you ever need help,” she grabs your hand, squeezing it, “come back here. We have a spare room.”

You nod and give her a quick smile. Your heart is racing, just like your mind.

Is that what Sherlock wants? Steal your innocence and kick you out. Is this his way to remind you of your place? Maybe he tries to fool you, believing you’re just a dull maid, unable to think for yourself.

“Thank you,” you utter and ask her to help you redress. You need to get the expensive dress off of your body, or you’ll faint imagining all the things Sherlock could do to you if you let him…

“Are you unwell,” Sherlock watches you fidget in your seat at the carriage. “What is it, Y/N?”

“The dresses and all that,” you dare not to meet his gaze, “I can’t wear them. It’s inappropriate. I got my clothes and…guests wouldn’t want to see me in such a dress. It’s too…pretty.”

“I bought them,” he sternly replies. “So, you will wear them.” Sherlock’s features soften when you choke out a sob. “Y/N, you helped me so often while I was lost in a case. You made sure that I ate properly and got dressed. You even brushed my locks. Consider the dresses and coat a gift to thank you for your assistance with my cases.”

“I did my duty, Master Holmes,” your voice trembles when he looks at you with soft blue eyes. “Helping you and taking care of you is my honor.”

He smiles at your words. “You’re so…” Sherlock swallows the sweet words he wanted to say. He cannot say them. This would confuse you even more. “Caring and selfless.” He says instead. “If I offer a gift to you, I expect you to take it.”

“Yes, master.”

Sherlock sighs deeply. His words came out wrong, and now you shy away, believing you did something wrong. He wants to take the words back, but that’s just not him.

“We will be home soon, maid,” he softly says. “We should rest soon. It was a rather long and exhausting day for you.”

“What about dinner? I can still prepare everything,” you try to make things up to Sherlock. He bought all these nice things for you, and you could only think of the things the needlewoman said to you.

Sherlock brushes his hand over yours, gently touching it for a moment. “We have leftovers from last night. You need to rest. Tomorrow, we need to talk about a few things.”

You nod and drop your gaze. “Will you send me away now? Did I anger you?”

“What?” He gasps at your words. “No…I…” Sherlock grabs your hand to hold it tightly. “I would never let you go. And you did not anger me, Y/N.” He murmurs. “It’s late and we should not think of anything but to rest.”

Your heart races feeling his large hand hold yours. He doesn’t let go and interlaces his fingers with yours. Sherlock breaks another rule, but there is no one but you and him in that carriage.

Who shall judge him for wanting to hold your hand?

You pace back and forth in your bedroom. Sherlock said goodnight and tried to read some papers while he sent you to bed.

Now the words of needlewoman echo in your mind. What if she’s right? Maybe he tries to charm his way into your bed. You heard stories from other maids. Their masters did the same.

Sherlock never made any promises. He just came to your bed and slept next to you, seeking your warmth and closeness.

It’s all so confusing and you don’t know if you can resist his advances. Your heart, and maybe your soul too belongs to Sherlock for the longest time.

The moment he took you to his maid, you were lost, and you don’t know if that’s a bad thing…

Tags in reblog.

#sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #Mr. Holmes Maid (3) #sherlock holmes x y/n #maid reader #sherlock x reader #sherlock x you

[story-from]

https://theresa-269.mjcyd.asia/yn/DPnyvrN

#obsessive love #shinozaki ai #mtf #Kevin Warhol #[poet] #ninja #bangtan #ml spoilers #monkey d luffy #bsd chuuya #sherlock x reader #lil wayne #cannabis

[sherlocksoft]

The Experiment

Sherlock Holmes x reader

Masterlist

Summary: When you married Sherlock, you discovered a side to him that you would never have expected. A side that was only for you.

Author's notes: See if you can spot the line I included from a Sherlock Holmes story as a nod to Victorian Sherlock… I used a few Victorian terms in this to make it authentic, so on the off chance that you're an historian specialising in Victorian dirty talk, please be kind 😉. This is written with any Victorian Sherlock in mind, but leaning toward Henry.

Warnings/content: nsfw, shameless smut, 18+, f!reader, reader has a vagina, dirty talk (but make it Victorian), first time, marriage, breeding kink, fingering, cream pie, cunnilingus, overstimulation, discussion of safe word, mentions of blow jobs, dom Sherlock if you squint, mentioned aftercare

Marrying a gentleman like Sherlock, there was no surprise that when it came to matters of the marital bed, he was technically as inexperienced as you.

You had been delighted to learn that he had a tendency to live slobbishly from time to time despite scrubbing up exceptionally well; neglecting his hair, sleeping in, wearing his dressing gown all day, not bothering with trifles like what time you ate dinner or who was calling in when his organised chaos took over your home (especially if it was his brother Mycroft).

You were also pleased that he wasn’t a prude — in his line of work you supposed it would be difficult to be completely prudish — because you felt you could comfortably be yourself around him, which seemed such a rare treat for a woman living in these days.

But the one thing you were utterly surprised by, was the way he spoke to you about sex. And even more surprising; how completely crazed he seemed for you. It went against everything you expected of him while courting, and definitely against everything that the general public would ever imagine of him.

Always treating you entirely properly, you’d expected an awkward and perhaps uncomfortable encounter upon consummating your marriage, sure that he would not have time or care for physical affection, especially since he usually displayed such an obvious aversion to the touch of others.

On the contrary, he seemed to have a great deal of confidence as well as an intricate insight into the topic, even upon your first time together. His approach set every nerve in your body aflame before sating you completely and providing a generous offering of his pearly seed to establish itself in your belly.

When you found yourself atop your newly shared bed, at first you worried your ankles may be revealed as your dress lifted above your boots, but he didn’t seem at all phased. You supposed people did see one another in the nude once they were married, and although the thought had been eating away at your nerves, but Sherlock didn’t seem nearly as on edge, which went a long way to soothing your worries.

You’d seen this look of his before. His sparkling eyes devoured you as though you were a new and exciting mystery to be solved, and knowing him as you did, he would no doubt be filled with drive fit for a thorough investigation.

‘Do not worry, darling, I shan’t strip you of your beautiful dress just yet,’ he soothed, caressing your cheek before shedding himself of his jacket and loosening his ascot. ‘Let us start slow, we do have all night after all.’

He moved down to sit beside where you laid upon the bed, and his fingers worked to remove your boots, sending shivers tingling up your legs as his flesh eventually brushed against yours.

You watched him carefully as he rolled his sleeves up, wondering what on earth he was preparing for. You began to feel entirely like one of his experiments, and you supposed that in a way, since this was his first time too, you were. The thought made your lips curl in amusement and your heart race.

‘Have you researched sex, Sherlock?’ you asked bashfully as he lifted your skirts further and ran his fingertips, featherlight and only slightly shaky, up along the contours of your inner thighs.

Gently, he pushed your legs apart, fingers hooking under the soft fabric of your bloomers as that gorgeous curl loosened to fall over his forehead.

‘Of course I have,’ he said simply, still entirely focussed on contributing to your growing arousal. ‘One cannot possibly get something of such delicate balance down to an exact science without sufficient data… just like one cannot perform an exact art without practise. And practice, we shall…’

Your cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson at the imagery of him studying indecent books with your pleasure in mind. You were overcome with an unusual desire to squeeze your thighs together, but ignored it in favour of feeling entirely safe in his apparently capable hands. Hands that were slipping your bloomers down past your knees and dropping them unceremoniously to the floor.

His fingers began to explore your slick folds, not at all helping to cool the red hot blush that powdered your cheeks.

‘Oh, how I’ve dreamed of bedding you, my darling,’ he breathed, settling properly beside you on the bed. ‘I’m going to satisfy you in ways you cannot fathom. Don’t be shy, you’re doing so well for me.’

Your unexpected cry of pleasure tore through the otherwise silent room, his finger now slowly pumping in and out of your heat. You gripped his arm as if holding on for dear life, fearful that you might otherwise float away in this unexpected haze of bliss.

‘You feel like silk,’ he praised, voice weakening slightly. ‘That’s it, hold on to me, you’re safe. You’re going to come on my fingers first, my needy little minx. Focus on how they fill you, how they caress your inner walls. Does it excite you as it excites me?’

You nodded. Your mind was fuzzy with pleasure like you’d never known, so much so that answering verbally seemed a certain impossibility.

‘I have fantasised about taking you on my fingers,’ he whispered, low and deep into your ear, ‘how divine you would sound as you give in to your pleasure, my name slipping hungrily from between those pretty lips.’

He removed his finger then, and a whine of protest erupted from somewhere within you. You just felt so empty without his elegant digit sliding in and out of your swollen entrance, dragging against something inside that made you absolutely ravenous for more — but a new sensation soon took over and you felt disappointed no longer.

His slick coated fingers dragged up through your folds and you shuddered, all the nerve endings in your body, it seemed, set alight at once. But when he reached the throbbing nub at the apex of your sex, there was suddenly ten times the bliss you’d felt before and your body jolted upward as your scream pierced the room.

‘Ah, it seems it’s not so hard to find after all,’ he said casually, ‘I summised that most men were simply to lazy to bother with this little trick, and perhaps I was onto something. But look at you darling, how you tremble for me while I massage your pretty, soaked flower. What man wouldn’t want to witness their love so utterly wanton for their touch? To feel her blatant arousal at his very fingertips?’

Your mind had turned all but blank, the sensations shooting through your body overwhelming you as his fingers danced with perfect pressure against your clitoris.

‘Sh-Sherlock- I- oh!’

‘I know, darling, I know, you need to come for me, don’t you?’

Swiftly, he pressed his thumb to your clit and slipped a finger easily back inside, fucking you harder and faster than before, watching with delight as you unravelled beneath him.

As the lewd slapping of his fingers fucking into your sopping sex filled the room he, quite pragmatically albeit with a much darker voice than that which he uses during his usual experiments, talked you through your release.

‘This pleasure will soon overwhelm you, culminating in your orgasm. If all goes to plan, your quim will rapidly clench around my finger and there’ll be something like sparks at your clitoris, then you’ll feel a few moments of indescribable ecstasy...’

Your own fingers snapped around his wrist, feeling his steady yet vigorous movements, and you wondered how on earth anything could feel better than this, right now.

And then it hit.

‘Ah, yes, there it is. That’s it! Yes, come for me! Come for me!’

His name did indeed tear from your parted lips, shaky and breathy and desperate, and then his fingers began to slow, easing you down from your high until he gently withdrew them.

Your eyes closed as you relaxed back against the pillows, your legs shaking. You heard a humming sound that pulled you back to the present, though, and glanced across at your husband to see him gleefully sucking your slick from his fingers.

‘It is frankly a disservice to the entire human race to consider that act depraved. Mmh. And you taste like the sweetest nectar, darling... tell me, did it feel good?’

You nodded, biting your lips together.

‘There’s no shame in it, my love. Especially if it feels good.’

‘It felt exquisite,’ you breathed, punctuated with a blissful sigh, and Sherlock smiled broadly. A rare sight. ‘But what about you?’

‘I do not wish to rush you. I will be truthful, however — after watching that beautiful display, my root is as solid as a rock. Whilst I've no intention of pressuring you, I will not turn you down if you’re sure you feel sufficiently ready for me.’

‘I… I think I do,’ you whispered, and you loosened your grip from the layers of your skirt to rest a hand delicately on the broad expanse of his chest.

He gasped at the simple affection, and the reaction caused your lower lips, still throbbing with the after effects of your climax, to quiver.

‘May I?’ you asked carefully, and he nodded. Your hand trailed down gradually, until it reached his lower stomach.

Sherlock’s breath quickened, and you pushed lower still, cupping his erection.

‘Ah- ohhh-’

His eyebrows raised and his eyes fell closed as you stroked his length softly and slowly, but before you could find a proper rhythm, he quickly snapped his hips away, grabbing your hand firmly in his as he leant in to kiss you with fierce passion.

As he pulled away from your lips, he muttered, ‘I hoped to inject you with my seed, but I fear that if you continue touching me for a moment longer, the only thing filled with it will be my undergarments.’

‘Then please, Sherlock, take me-’

And take you, he did. Within a second you were pushed onto your back, and he was settling between your legs, hurriedly unfastening his trousers to release his steadily leaking arousal.

As he carefully pushed himself into you, your warmth enveloping his length, an expression of sheer bliss relaxed his handsome features.

‘Am I too big, darling?’ he panted. ‘Does it hurt?’

‘No- please, don’t stop, Sherlock, I want to be filled with your cock- filled to the brim with your blow-’

He smirked at your words. You mustn't be quite so innocent if you were using words like that.

Sherlock began to steadily roll his hips. Your core burned with an unusual pain, a pain that made you crave more.

His forehead pressed to yours, your hot breath mingling with his each time he thrust gently into you and let out a sweet little whimper.

‘I told you I’d- fantasised about- pleasuring you- ha- ahhh- I can’t deny- I’ve thought of many acts, some of which you might consider- mmh- indecent- but each flood of bliss I give to you is- ha- simply the perfect result of an experiment I’ve been dying to carry out since I met you, and- ohhh-’

His voice was so breathy and shaky now, you knew that he wouldn’t last much longer, but you wanted to give him a taste of how he’d made you feel. You wrapped your legs around his waist and dug your heels into his back, pulling him closer and signalling for him to go harder.

‘Do you- ohh- do you w-want my children, darling? Do you want me to- ah!- unleash my potent seed within these t-tender walls and- give you a child?’

‘I want nothing less,’ you breathed, thrilled at his words, and at that he snapped his hips unrelentingly, snaking a hand between your writhing bodies to massage your sensitive clit once again, and Sherlock relished in the moan his touch elicited.

‘Clever little- ohh- trick, isn’t it?’ he just about managed, and less than a second later, came with force inside you.

Your walls tightened, contracting around his thick cock to milk him of every last drop, your tightening walls taking him to a plane of existence he’d never before explored.

This orgasm felt different for you, you noted, and if either of you had been coherent enough to discuss the matter you were sure he would ask you to write it down and keep a record detailing those differences.

Nevertheless, your second peak was just as strong, and you fell weak once again as Sherlock’s seed dribbled onto your thighs and he rolled off you, panting.

‘Darling- that was- oh, it was-’ he muttered, half delirious. ‘You feel- good god, you feel-’

‘I came again,’ you admitted, proud this time, knowing it would please him.

‘I know. I felt it,’ he smirked, and then, almost as if he read your mind, ‘did it feel different?’

‘Yes,’ you chuckled.

‘Oh how wonderful! I should write a monograph on the matter. Only for your eyes of course — although it could benefit at least half of the population if there were more literature on women’s pleasure.’

‘So, a filthy love letter just for me, with a touch of the scientific?’

‘You understand me so well,’ he cooed, stroking your cheek. ‘This is precisely why I adore you.’ And suddenly, there was a sparkle in his eyes that you’d seen when he reached a breakthrough. ‘Tell me, have you ever heard of cunnilingus?’

You shook your head. ‘Not… really. I may have gleaned a… basic understanding-’

‘It’s precisely the act I mentioned may be considered indecent, but I would very much like the opportunity to try it with you.’

‘Tell me about it?’ you breathed excitedly.

‘Perhaps it would be easier to show you. Do you trust me?’

‘Yes. Do it,’ you said eagerly, hungry for as much as he was willing to give you.

‘Consider this another experiment… if you dislike it, you must tell me and I shall end it, however my understanding is that if it works, you will not be entirely in your right mind so we must set a code in place.’

‘How about a word that we don’t associate with sexual activities?’ you suggested.

‘Precisely. “Mycroft” it is.’

You burst into a simultaneous fit of laughter, until he silenced you with another, fervent kiss.

‘You might need to loosen your corset for this one. Providing three orgasms in restrictive clothing is no way to treat one’s wife. And what if there are four, or five? I would never forgive myself.’

Taking his advice, you began to strip, soon revealing your breasts to him.

‘Oh, darling, what a perfect start...’ He wrapped his lips around a nipple and sucked lightly, his fingers toying with the other. He was pleased to feel you squirm beneath him and jolts of pleasure shot from your chest to your core and back again.

‘Oh- I never knew they could- mmh- feel like that…’ you groaned, but once again he left you cold to move onto something new, shimmying lower to settle his face at the apex of your thighs.

His tongue lashed warm and wet against your sex, circling your nub, exploring your folds and lapping at your entrance to collect your combined juices.

The way you shuddered had him fighting off a second erection. Not now — he needed to concentrate, and was hoping that with this new method he could give you multiple orgasms in one sitting. His own pleasure could wait.

He hummed into your quim as though he were enjoying a long awaited meal, and you quickly fell apart once again as his hums of delight vibrated through your core.

‘Sherlock,’ you whined, ‘Oh, Sherlock…’

‘One more?’ Came his muffled response, his deep growl reverberating through your weakened body. It didn’t take long for another peak to take over, your mind completely clouded in a haze of overstimulation.

‘I think it’s time for a break now, my love,’ he muttered softly, coming up to hold you, his pretty lips coated in your juices. ‘I rather think that this has been an experiment I would take pleasure in repeating regularly, if you’ll allow me.’

‘I’d be delighted,’ you sighed dreamily, already feeling the pull of sleep.

‘I will also mention that, as soon as you’re comfortable enough, I would rather like to experiment with my own orgasms. See how they feel inside your hand… or your mouth…’

‘Yes, yes I would… I would like…’

‘Shh… for now, it’s time to sleep. Rest, my darling wife you’ve done so well for me.’

You nodded, and that was the last you remembered of the evening.

A thin blade of warm sunlight woke you in the morning. You found yourself comfortably wrapped inside his shirt. He’d cleaned you up after you drifted off to sleep, and you rose feeling refreshed and relaxed.

Creaking open the bedroom door, you heard his handsome voice floating through. He had a client, and when you peeked through the gap you could see that your husband looked impeccably well put together. Unlike you; if anyone saw you like this… you dreaded to think. You smiled to yourself, though, wondering what his stoic looking client would think if he knew what Sherlock had spent all night doing before meeting with him. You bet Sherlock could teach him a thing or two.

You could only hope this case would be too boring for him so he would return to your bed, for you entirely planned to take Sherlock into your mouth the moment you were able. To taste him. To give him as many releases as he had given you. To see him entirely, blissfully weakened by pleasure…

#not s f w 💀 #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes smut #sherlock x reader #sherlock smut #henry cavill sherlock holmes #victorian sherlock #henry cavill #sherlocksoft writes

[love-strawberry]

we'll be alright

summary : in which they fight but there's no doubt that they'll end up alright.

pairing : sherlock holmes x reader

warnings : slight spoiler for enola holmes 2, ooc!sherlock, slight angst

author's note : so, hi!! i love you, thank you for sticking around, i love you!! <3

tagged : @0oolookitsme

masterlist

navigation

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“sherlock?” 

“enola. what are you doing here?” sherlock questioned, swaying as he tried to focus on his sister. “it’s not safe. there are scary people about”

“yes, let me know when you meet one,” enola sighed, walking towards him and standing close in case he fell over. “brother, are you quite yourself?”

“i’m fine, it was just a disagreement over a glass of wine and whose wine it was,” sherlock waved her off, looking around. “there was another disagreement that i had, not here, no. at home. it quite upset me. very much, in fact.”

“you fought with y/n?” enola asked, her eyebrows raising. she absolutely adored y/n and to hear that her brother and her sister-in-law were fighting was a shock considering they were totally smitten with each other.

“i find after wine, it’s very difficult to make your arms and legs move,” sherlock completely ignored her question, swaying dangerously. enola rushed to support, a wince escaping her as sherlock leaned on her for support. “i don’t usually imbibe but i’m not a case, you see. it’s proven rather tricky”

“cab,” enola called for a carriage, walking while supporting her brother’s weight, losing her footing every once in a while during their very short walk to the side of the road.

“hello,” both the holmes’ siblings greeted the driver, moving to sit inside.

“where are we going?” sherlock asked, looking at enola for answers.

“221 baker street,” enola replied, helping him get in the cab.

the ride to 221 baker street was filled with silence, with enola occasionally trying to ask about y/n and sherlock mindless chatter about his latest case.

the pair of siblings exited the cab, paying the driver and walked to the front door. after opening it, enola stood with sherlock in front of 221a and stopped, looking at her brother for any sort of indication that he was going to open it.

“that’s a and i’m b,” sherlock mumbled, his eyes unfocused as he first pointed at the door in front of them and then at the stairs going to the upper level.

enola sighed, rolling her eyes slightly as she moved over to the staircase. she looked at the number of stairs they’d have to climb before looking at her drunk brother.

“i didn’t know you had steps,” enola mentioned, wanting nothing more than to just sleep and wake up in a week or so.

“one should always have steps to avoid people stepping on you,” sherlock said, his words slurring together as he stood there. “that’s a tip, you should probably write that down.”

“alright,” enola started as she let go of him slightly and helped him lean against the wall, “how about i go upstairs and get y/n and she can help me get you upstairs?”

“y/n?” sherlock’s attention shifted to enola, his head leaning on the wall. “i don’t know if she’ll be here.”

“why not?” enola asked, worry growing in the pit of her stomach. had the fight really been that bad?

“she was quite upset with me,” sherlock spoke, his words stringing together to a somewhat coherent sentence. “i wouldn’t be surprised if she chose to go and stay with her sister for the time being.”

“we’re not at all done with this conversation as i’m very eager to know just how you’ve messed it up with the most loving and caring woman but we do need to get you upstairs,” enola said, her tone of voice sharp as she supported sherlock and guided him towards the first step. “all right, lift your left leg.”

“enola?” a voice questioned from the top of the stairs, making both the siblings look up. “and sherlock? what happened?”

“y/n!” enola exclaimed with relief in her voice, excited to see her sister-in-law and to get some help. “could you please help me in getting your drunk husband in the apartment?”

“y/n, love,” sherlock called out but his voice was ignored by both the ladies, leaving him with a frown on his face.

“oh my, i’m so sorry,” y/n rushed down the stairs, her dress flailing behind her as she went to sherlock’s other side and supported him. “did you get him here all by yourself?”

“had to,” enola informed, climbing up one step at a time. “he was drunk and got thrown out of an establishment.”

“god,” y/n mumbled, ignoring sherlock’s attempts to talk to her. it was obvious that she was angry with him. “i’m sorry you had to see him like this, enola.”

“it’s alright,” enola replied in her cheerful voice, the one that made y/n smile at the girl. the company of three finally reached the top of the stairs and y/n opened the door. “i can hold this incident over his head for years to come. at least, until he does something else.”

“i got him from here,” y/n assured the girl, her hands going over her husband’s shoulders as she supported him. “you go, get freshened up."

“alright,” with that enola went off in the direction of the bathroom, leaving sherlock and y/n alone.

“you should sit down, sherlock,” y/n said to her husband, leading him to the couch in the corner of the room. 

“you’re right,” sherlock mumbled, tripping as he moved across the carpet. “of course you are, darling.”

sherlock sat on the couch with a grunt falling from his lips, y/n’s hand automatically going to his shoulder while the other cupped his cheek, making him look at her. when she realised what she was doing, she quickly withdrew her hands and folded them in front of her, trying to ignore the confused look on her husband's face.

“are you okay?” she questioned, keeping in mind to keep her voice low.

“yes, i’ll be up and running in no time,” sherlock assured, reaching for her hands but stopped when she made no move to take his.

“i was worried when you stormed out and didn’t come back before nightfall,” y/n admitted, her fidgeting with the numerous rings she wore, a nervous habit she had; something sherlock always picked on.

“i apologise,” sherlock whispered, burying his head in his hands, the light from the lamps making his head hurt. “for worrying you. and for other things.”

“that’s alright,” y/n replied, chuckling lightly, though it was weak and she sounded tired. “i think i'll always be worrying when it comes to you. i’ve made my peace with it.”

"you're not mad?" sherlock asked, his voice muffled.

"we'll talk later, sherlock," y/n spoke, her voice sharp as she took a deep breath. "you make it hard to be mad at you, when you're in this stage."

“i suppose i don't make it any easier," sherlock asked, a small smile on his lips though y/n couldn't see it. "being me."

"you don't," y/n looked away, choosing to look at the portraits on the wall. "but that's okay."

sherlock was about to say something else when enola's voice sounded from their bathroom.

"i better go and see what she wants," y/n spoke though she made no move to leave. a moment passed between the couple before y/n moved towards him and pushed him to lay on the couch by his shoulders. "you, rest. please."

"if i must," sherlock said, leaning into her touch and craved it when it was gone. he settled and closed his eyes. "is she to stay the night?"

"yes," y/n spoke sternly, leaving no room for argument making sherlock grumble but he didn't object; knowing it would be fruitless.

y/n moved through the living room, making her way to the bathroom and knocked twice before waiting for enola to open the door.

"a moment," enola called from the inside and half a minute later, the door was thrown open and y/n was pulled inside.

"is everything alright?" y/n questioned, looking at the teenager whose hair were down, strands falling in her face.

"could you do my hair, please?" enola questioned, a pink tint on her face. "i usually just throw them in a bun and that does the trick but i love how you do your hair and since i'm here and you're here, maybe you could do my hair?"

"of course i will!" y/n exclaimed as she pushed enola's hair out of her face. "you shouldn't ask, enola. you're like my sister. i basically raised you."

"still, i felt the need to ask," enola shrugged, handing her the brush that was on the counter and turning around.

"you shouldn't," y/n reassured her, brushing her hair softly. "i'd never refuse."

"i'm glad to hear that," enola smiled at her, looking through the mirror in front of her. "is sherlock okay?"

"he's resting," y/n mentioned, starting to braid small braids. "at least, i hope so."

"did you two have a fight?" enola questioned, no longer being able to control her curiosity.

"he told you about it?" y/n asked, mild surprise on her face but still, she smiled at the girl.

"he wasn't sure if you'd be home when we reached here," enola spoke, wincing slightly as her hair got caught in one of the many rings y/n wore, the latter apologising profusely as she untangled them. "said you might've chosen to go to your sister's house. and he also mentioned something about a disagreement at home when i first saw him outside the bar."

"oh, um, we did have a fight," y/n admitted, a small frown on her face as she recalled the harsh words that were thrown around. "but i'd never just leave."

"did he apologise?" enola questioned, admiring the braid y/n had finished. "please tell me he did."

"he did," y/n assured the younger girl. "i wouldn't be here any longer if he didn't."

"that's good," enola smiled, her fingers twirling around the braid. "you're both good then?"

"i don't think it works like that, darling," y/n spoke slowly, her eyes trained on her hair, a sad smile on her face as she refused to look at her in the mirror. "it's not just a simple 'sorry' and then everything is fine."

enola stayed silent as she thought about what y/n and finally after a couple moments, spoke. "what do you mean?"

"i mean, you can't just hurt someone and then realise that what you did was wrong. you can't apologise and expect everything to be okay, that's not how it is," y/n spoke, her voice calm and controlled but her mind was filled with the words that sherlock and her had spoken—yelled at eachother. "the person you hurt, they're not just going to forget and forgive you."

"then, what are we supposed to do?" enola spoke, her voice a whisper as she watched y/n finish off the last braid and tuck it neatly with the others. "if we apologise but they don't accept it, then what? we're supposed to keep on telling them?"

"we need to show them," y/n corrected her, turning her around to she could pin up the strands that kept getting in her eyes. "with actions, not just words. with what we do, with gestures. they need to know that we cherish them, that we're thankful that they're here, with us, they need to know that we love them and that we're sorry."

"sherlock does that?" enola asked, her eyes on her sister in law.

"he does," y/n whispered, looking down as she felt the familiar burning in her eyes and the floor became a mosaic. "he really does."

"then why are you both not okay?" enola asked, comforting y/n as she rubbed her arms.

"because i'm so worried," y/n started, her breathing heavier and her voice choked up. "i'm so worried, enola. it's starting to affect me physically. he's taking on dangerous cases everyday, the next one more dangerous than the last and he goes out without any sort of protection and i'm so scared that he's not going to come back home to me."

"he's always going to come back to you," enola spoke, her hearting hurting when she heard y/n sniffle. "he's sherlock and you're y/n. you'll always find eachother."

"last night, he didn't come home until midnight and i had stay up waiting for him because i hate it when he comes back and there's no one greeting him and he had a cut on his upper arm and i freaked out," y/n rambled, her hands clutching enola's, the latter not letting go even for a second, "and we had a small argument about him coming this late and coming home hurt when i've told him many times to take someone from scotland yard with him but it ended in a big fight and we both went to bed angry, it was the worst. in the morning, i brought it up again and he just—yelled at me and i yelled at him and he just stormed out."

"i—i don't know what to say," enola breathed out, her hands still onto y/n's. "except, let me go out there and smack some sense into him."

y/n let out a shaky laugh, letting go of enola's hand to wipe her eyes.

"letting all of that out felt good," y/n admitted, sniffling slightly, twirling enola as she looked over her hair. "i needed this, thank you, enola."

"of course, y/n," enola smiled, her eyes sparkling under the lamp in the corner of the bathroom. "thank you, for doing my hair."

"don't mention it, love," y/n waved her off, her heart feeling lighter. "the guest room is neat and clean, you should get some sleep."

"ah, yes," enola spoke, looking at herself in the mirror before smiling at y/n. "i'll see you in the morning."

"of course," y/n smiled back tiredly, her head hurting.

"good night," enola called as she walked away from the bathroom and towards the guest room, her voice drifting as the door closed.

"good night," y/n whispered, knowing that there was no way she heard her. she looked at herself in the mirror, taking note of the year stained cheeks and how anyone could tell that she had been crying. her hair was a mess, flicks restricting her view.

she sighed, before opening the faucet and washing her face, cursing at herself for not doing it earlier as it already made her head feel less heavy.

after drying her face with a cloth, she made her way to the living and spotted sherlock in the same position in which she had left him. he seemed to have fallen asleep, with how even and deep his breathing was and how he was still and peaceful. there was no furrow of his eyebrows, y/n noted as she admired him.

"sherlock?" y/n called as he leaned over him, her voice barely audible as she didn't want to startle him. "we should head to bed."

sherlock groaned as his hands covered his face, moving slightly but he made no indication of sitting up.

"sherlock, please," y/n spoke, her hand on his shoulder. "let us go to bed."

"hm?" sherlock hummed, opening his eyes a fraction before closing them.

"sit up," y/n ordered, her voice still light. sherlock pushed himself up, looking up at her with tired eyes and y/n had to resist the urge to kiss his forehead.

“come on, let’s get you in bed,” y/n spoke softly, holding onto sherlock's shoulder as he stood up. she lead him to their bedroom, his body swaying slightly at the movement, making y/n grip onto him a bit tighter.

“that sounds nice,” sherlock mumbled, his hands holding her waist as he walked into their bedroom with her support.

“it does, doesn’t it?” y/n sat him on the bed, removing his coat, tie and vest. “have some water before you fall asleep. here.”

“i’m not going to fall asleep,” sherlock huffed before drinking the water y/n from the glass on the bedside table with a small ‘thank you’, “i’m not tired.”

“sure you aren’t, love,” y/n muttered, helping him get under the covers and adjusting the pillow under his head. “do you need anything else?"

"huh?" sherlock asked, his head falling against the pillow. "no, i suppose."

"alright," y/n moved towards the dressing room to change into her night gown. "i'll be back in a minute."

y/n only got a hum from him in reply as she made her way into the small attached dressing room and changing as fast as she could into her night gown. folding the dress as neatly as she could, she opened the door to find sherlock sitting up with his back to the headboard.

"sherlock?" y/n asked, confusing evident in her voice as she made way towards him. she sat on the edge of the bed, her worries increasing as sherlock stayed silent for the better part of a minute.

"i'm sorry," sherlock spoke, his voice small as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back. "for yelling, for storming out, for worrying you, everything. all of it."

"it's okay, love," y/n didn't even notice the term of endearment fall from her lips. "we can talk in the morning. you need to rest."

"no, it can't wait," sherlock argued, opening his eyes and looking at her with utmost seriousness. his hands clasped hers, holding them with a firm grip. "i have only just realised how much worry i cause you."

"sher—"

"if you were out there, i don't know what i would do," sherlock continued speaking, the words falling from his lips effortlessly. "and i realise that i have been selfish, worrying my wife about my well being, coming home late and sometimes even injured."

"darling—"

"i'll work on that," sherlock nodded, not noticing y/n trying and failing to speak. "i'll talk to lestrade about getting a constable with me on dangerous cases."

"love—"

"we already went to bed angry at eachother yesterday," sherlock spoke tiredly, his eyes dropping and his grip on her hands going lax. "i didn't want you to be mad at me tonight. i love you and i'm sorry, y/n."

"i love you and i'm not mad, not anymore," y/n shook her head, smiling as she leaned over and kissed his forehead, stroking his face with her thumb. "i just worry about you, a lot."

"and from now on, i won't give you a reason to," sherlock promised, leaning into her touch.

"good," y/n dropped another kiss to his forehead, smiling when he looked up at her and leaned in to kiss her on the lips. she smiled as she met him halfway.

the kiss was messy, with y/n leaning over him and sherlock's hand supporting her. y/n's hand found the front of his shirt, pulling him even more closer while sherlock's hand circled her waist, tracing small circles on her hips as he kissed her back with fervour.

they broke apart, their breathing heavy as they smiled at eachother, hearts beating fast.

"you need to sleep, mr. holmes," y/n reminded him, pulling away from him and moving towards her side of the bed. "you're tired."

"no," sherlock denied, watching her as she got in under the cover. "maybe, yes. god, am i tired."

"told you," y/n smiled at him with satisfaction. "sleep."

sherlock watched as she leaned over her bedside table and turned off the lamp settled comfortably, shifting slightly. he waited until she was fully settled in before moving close to her.

he laid his head in the crook of her neck, his nose touching her collarbone as his breath hit the exposed part of her neck, making her shiver. her hands automatically went to his hair, running her fingers through it.

minutes passed as y/n laid in bed, staring at the ceiling and running her fingers through her husband's hair.

"sherlock?" y/n asked, her voice barely a whisper.

after hearing no answers from him, she shifted lightly to get a good look on his face and smiled as she noticed that he was fast asleep. his mouth was parted slightly and each exhale of breath made y/n shiver and get goosebumps. his grip on her was relaxed and the look on his face was so peaceful that it made y/n feel at peace.

kissing the top of head, y/n inhaled deeply, closing her eyes and sending a prayer to whatever force that made him hers.

sure, they had their disagreements, both big and small. their difference of opinion cause a rift every now and then but still, there was no doubt.

we'll be alright, she thought before falling asleep with the love of her life.

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#sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x y/n #sherlock holmes blurbs #enola holmes 2 #henry!holmes x reader #henry!sherlock #henry cavill

[marvelousmando]

"The Game is Afoot, Indeed"

Sherlock x Reader

A/N: So here's my first attempt at a one shot - the idea for this popped into my head not too long after watching Enola Holmes 2. Hope you all enjoy!

Warnings: None! Pure fluff with a sprinkle of mutual pining. Reader is wearing a dress.

"Here we are," Sherlock said after you exited the carriage, walking up to the side of the building to peer through the nearest window.

Looking around with awe at the large home decorated with beautiful flowers and twinkling lights, you wished for a moment that you were here to enjoy the lively music and celebrate like the other guests. You could see them through the window, dressed in all their finery, dancing the night away.

Taking a breath to clear your mind and focus on the task at hand, you looked around the corner to the front of the building. More guests were lined up outside along a winding path, and - yes, as you looked closer - were holding slips of paper in their hands.

"Alright! This is simple. All I need is one of those invitations," you exclaimed with a mischievous grin, turning towards him. "So, what's the mystery item you're after?"

His dark brows immediately furrowed.

"You're not taking it."

You crossed your arms and stared back in disbelief.

"Are you serious?"

"This item that I am taking is of high value to my case. It is not something I can entrust in anyone's hands but my own," Sherlock stated matter of factly. "I will slip in, break into the viscount's office, grab it, and slip back out."

You let out a soft snort.

"Sherlock, we are at a ball. Do you really expect me to believe that you won't be attention grabbing?" you said while studying the crowd through the window again. "There are a great deal of ladies in there with what looks to be barely any gentlemen. All the ladies will be constantly surveying the dance floor for their next match, waiting to sink their claws into the most eligible bachelor, and you are so very …"

Your words trailed off. You pressed your lips together, with a blushing glance back at Sherlock.

He returned your gaze, waiting, his features painted with slight curiosity.

"... tall," you finished lamely.

Silence.

A heated tension gathered between you both.

After a few moments, Sherlock released a small smirk.

Clearing your throat and breaking eye contact, you continued on, "The point being, I would attract far less attention, and as you know, I have plenty of experience breaking and entering, among other things."

Sherlock stepped towards you.

"Two things. First of all, that was a one-time occurrence that will never happen again. You caught me on a very rare, off day." Still moving closer, he finally stopped, with barely any space remaining. A quiet gasp escaped your lips, drawing his eyes to the source of the sound.

"Second of all," his voice lowering into a gentle tone, "how could you ever think that you would not be the most eye-catching woman in that ballroom?"

Lifting his hand to turn your face up towards his, you could feel your stomach doing somersaults. Resting your hands on the sides of his coat, you began to lose yourself in his deep blue eyes, framed with the most -

-"Even if you're not … tall, was it?" he teased, interrupting your runaway thoughts.

You huffed, glaring at him while taking a step back, causing Sherlock to drop his hand.

He immediately offered his arm. Upon taking it, you two strolled over to the front to join the moving guest line.

"So what exactly is my purpose in accompanying you this evening, if not for helping you with your case?" you questioned with a raised brow while waiting for your turn along the path.

"You are simply my date,'' he answered. You immediately opened your mouth in retort. Before you could pose another objection against him, he smoothly continued, "I don't deny your skills, but I believe your beauty will attract too much attention for you to break into the office successfully."

A smile broke out on your face at his attempt at flattery with a double compliment. He watched you closely as it slowly turned into a more sly expression.

"Well, I guess that just means I'll need a big distraction." By this time, you and Sherlock were a bit closer to the head of the line, with a few more guests waiting behind you.

In a loud voice, you suddenly gasped and stared at him in pretend shock, "Oh my goodness! I can't believe it! You're Sherlock Holmes!"

Not a second had passed and the guests ahead and behind craned their heads to get a look at the famous "Sherlock Holmes" who was attending the party.

Stunned into silence, Sherlock stared at you as you pulled out two invitations you had hidden within your dress. His mind flashed back to the heated moment you shared at the side of the building, when your hands had rested right by his coat pockets. At least he wasn't wrong about your skills, he thought.

Murmurs began to break out amongst the guests remaining in line, staring more openly at him.

"What's the item?" you asked again. "If you tell me, I'll give you back your invitation," you offered with a twinkle of mischief in your eyes.

He sighed in defeat.

"It's a silver compass with a chain. Engraved on it are the letters, H E G." He held out his hand impatiently for his invitation, as people were beginning to break away from their spots in line to talk to Sherlock.

"I didn't say when I'd give it back," you laughed, moving farther away as more and more people approached him and started to surround him. "You're Sherlock Holmes, you'll get in!"

He wasn't worried, he knew everything would be fine with your level of talent and capable hands. Lately, Enola had been telling him that he needed to be better about giving up control when it came to working with others. He guessed this was as good a start as any.

Sherlock couldn't help but admire your cunning and quick thinking as he watched you hand the invitation over to the footman, shooting a quick glance and flirtatious grin back at him as you entered the ballroom scene.

Hardly listening to the people now crowding around him and attempting to introduce themselves, he returned the smile as a thought entered his mind.

He would just have to get to the compass first.

"The game is afoot, indeed."

#sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock x reader #henry!sherlock #henry!holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x y/n #sherlock holmes one shot

[lilmoonbunny]

Denial; Mycroft Holmes

Mycroft only seeked you out to deduce you (aka, how Mycroft realised he liked you).

John and Sherlock were, without a doubt, the loudest neighbours that Y/N had ever had.

Gunshots at God only knows what hour, constant stabbing, banging, and so on. Despite this, she still considered them dear friends and the best neighbours that she had ever had. Sure, they were weird and loud, but they were also kind and genuine, at least for the most part. Alongside this, they also appreciated her baking, especially after long cases.

A gentle knock sounded on the door the 221B catching the attention of three people.

“You can come in, Y/N,” Sherlock called from behind the door, greeting the woman with a nod before turning his attention back to Mycroft whilst John smiled at her.

“Hi, Sherly. Hi, John.” She smiled at the two friends before turning to the older Holmes brother. “Hi, Mr Holmes.” Y/N greeted him with a smile. Although she hadn’t met him before, it wasn’t difficult to deduce who he was; the expensive suit and the fact Sherlock was glaring at him gave it away.

“Sherly?” Mycroft spat, grimacing at the nickname given to his brother. “Who on Earth would you let call you that?” He asked.

“This is Y/N, our neighbour. What have you brought for us today? I’ve been looking forward to this all week.” The sweet smile Sherlock gave to the woman made Mycroft feel ill. He had no clue who this woman was and absolutely no idea why they seemed to be this close.

“Chocolate cake, sugar cookies, and love.” She joked, beginning to laugh at the way Mycroft audibly gagged. “I’m only kidding. No love.”

“I should certainly hope not,” came Mycroft’s response, one which simply made her laugh again.

“Are you jealous, Mycroft?”

“Because of the cake, he is.” Sherlock interrupted, waving Myrcoft off. “No, I won’t take the case. You can leave now.”

“This is an urgent matter, brother mine.”

“Don’t care.”

With a groan and a roll of his eyes, Mycroft lifted himself to his feet and prepared to leave.

“I’ll leave these with you, just in case you change your mind. Goodbye brother mine. John.” The hesitation was obvious on Mycroft’s face, despite how well he typically hid his emotions, as he faced Y/N.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr Holmes.” Y/N smiled sweetly, earning a simple nod from him before he left.

Sherlock, who had leaned to grab the tub of baked goods from the woman’s hands, rolled his eyes as Mycroft left and immediately began to eat.

It wasn’t long until Y/N’s entire life had been researched.

There wasn’t much there. No criminal record, a few jobs, occasional moves, but no sign of her posing any danger to Sherlock and, by association, John. However, the way Mycroft felt upon seeing her was unusual, so he decided to do his own investigation.

“Morning, Mr Holmes,” he was greeted before he reached the empty counter. “Welcome to my bakery! Would you like anything?”

“Just a coffee, please. Black.” Mycroft nodded, not returning the smile she had given, despite the odd feeling it gave him. She was evil and he would prove it to Sherlock.

“Coming right up! Take a seat wherever you’d like, and I’ll bring it over.”

As Mycroft occupied a seat, he took a moment to properly assess the woman making his drink.

She didn’t seem threatening: a content smile on her lips as she prepared his coffee, humming a quiet tune that he barely picked up on. In fact, she didn’t seem out of the ordinary at all, but the feeling when he first saw her – a feeling Mycroft couldn’t explain – had him needing to investigate her further.

“Here you go, Mr Holmes.” Y/N said, placing a hot coffee and chocolate cake on the table in front of him. “Sherlock mentioned that you like cake, so I grabbed you some. It’s all on the house.”

“Why?”

With a small laugh, she responded without hesitation. “You’re Sherlock’s brother.”

How odd, Mycroft thought to himself. She doesn’t even know me and she’s giving me things for free…

Despite his thoughts, Mycroft simply nodded, watching as she took a seat opposite him. “I hope you don’t mind. It’s quiet today so I figured I’d try and keep you company the best I can. I’m sure you have better company than me, though.”

“I don’t mind,” he replied before even thinking. It was safe to say that he didn’t enjoy the way his chest felt whilst he watched her smile.

Maybe she’s a witch? No, don’t be stupid, Mycroft. They don’t exist.

“So,” Y/N’s voice broke the man from his thoughts. “It’s a funny story how me, Sherlock, and John met. I was actually working and Sherlock bursts in demanding to talk to me. My baking stuff had been found at a crime scene and he thought it was me!”

“How interesting.” Came Mycroft’s blunt reply, even if he was intrigued.

“You listened to it, so you must care, even just a little bit. I think that’s a win for me!”

Mycroft couldn’t help the tiniest smile that crawled onto his lips, but he internally prayed that nobody noticed it, especially her. She, however, seemed oblivious to the movement, simply staring over his shoulder and out of the window.

“Anyway, what was he like growing up? Was he like he is now? Blunt and rude?” Y/N asked with a giggle.

“He wasn’t, actually. He was rather sweet. He liked playing pretend with his friend; he always wanted a dog too.” Came Mycroft’s reply. “His favourite thing was pirates.” He said with a fond look in his eyes. Sherlock wasn’t going to be happy when he found out that he had told her, but he couldn’t resist answering her question.

Mycroft watched closely as the woman in front of him grinned, the bright and happy smile a nice contrast to what he was used to whilst working with the government. He couldn’t help but smile back, noting how her smile widened further as he did so.

“That’s sweet. I couldn’t imagine that, to be honest,”

It was time to ask the question that was on his mind. “Are you attracted to Sherlock?”

“Sherlock?” Y/N said, bursting into laughter. “No, absolutely not. He’s more like an annoying older brother. Same with John. We’re just friends, and, well, neighbours too.”

Confusion spread over Mycroft as she felt the weight on his shoulders lift at her words; she was telling the truth.

“How is she?” Sherlock asked the moment he answered the phone.

“How is who?” Mycroft’s voice sounded through the device.

“Y/N,”

“Why do you assume that I know?”

“It’s obvious you were there earlier.”

“…”

“Well, that and Mrs Hudson told us.”

“Of course she did.” Mycroft said with an involuntary roll of his eyes.

“So, how was it?”

“It was fine.”

“You like her then?”

“What makes you think that?”

“Well, you went to see her. It’s quite obvious, Mycroft. Come on, I thought you were smarter than that.”

Mycroft simply put the phone down.

He did not like her.

The next time that Mycroft came across Y/N was when it was raining.

He hadn’t wanted to seem ‘creepy’ by seeking her out again for more investigations and deductions, so he simply waited. She was friends with his brother, it wasn’t like their paths wouldn’t cross at some point. Besides, he didn’t want Sherlock to think that he liked her.

“Raining real bad tonight, isn’t it?” The driver spoke to Mycroft. He was new, so Mycroft couldn’t exactly blame him for attempting some type of conversation with him; it was still annoying, though.

Anthea, looking up from her phone was what caught Mycroft’s attention. “I feel bad for her.” She said, nodding towards a soaked woman. It only took Mycroft a moment to realise who it was.

“Pull over,” he stated bluntly, grabbing his umbrella. He simply ignored the look he was receiving from his assistant.

It had been a long day filled with rude customers, and to make it worse, it was raining, and she had forgotten her coat. Today couldn’t be going any worse for Y/N.

Shivering wildly and soaked to the core, Y/N huffed, watching the way her breath instantly evaporated; it was clearly below freezing, but she held out hope that the rain would stop and she would be home soon.

Her hope seemed to pay off, though, since she could no longer feel the rain. As she looked up at the sky, she spotted a familiar face.

“Mycroft?”

“Y/N.”

“What are you-“

“Get in.” He said, pointing towards the car before wordlessly leading her towards it, still holding the umbrella above her, even if he was getting wet.

“You don’t have to, Mycroft.” She said as he ushered her in and shut the door behind them both. “I mean, I’m soaking your car!”

Mycroft, who could feel the heat on his cheeks from their proximity, simply shook his head. He was too focused on the way her leg was pressed against his as she sat between him and Anthea who stared at her phone with a small smirk.

The ride was void of conversation, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, the only noise was that of Y/N shivering.

After a moment of hesitation, Mycroft shrugged off his jacket and handed her it. “Here.”

There was no chance of refusal, Mycroft wouldn’t allow it, so with a quiet ‘thanks’, Y/N popped the jacket over her shoulders. He just found the chattering of her teeth annoying, was what he told himself.

As they arrived at the flats, Mycroft followed her out of the car.

“Thank you, Mr Holmes.” She said as they stood on the door of her flat.

“Mycroft is fine, Y/N.”

“Thank you… Mycroft.” She said with a small smile before bidding him a goodnight.

“I see you gave her your jacket,” Was all Sherlock said as Mycroft entered 221B.

It was hard. Very hard. Harder than anything Y/N had ever experienced. Having a crush was not easy as it was, but having feelings for Mycroft Holmes was the hardest thing in the world: he rarely showed emotion, he was blunt, he was rude, but most importantly to her, deep down, he was nice.

A small sigh left Y/N’s lips as she worked on her latest batch of cookies for the morning. He was on her mind… again. It was a common occurrence by now.

“We’re not open yet, sorry!” She called over her shoulder at the sound of the door opening. As she turned around to see who it was and apologise again, a blush rushed to her cheeks. “Mycroft! What are you doing here?”

Mycroft stood there, umbrella in hand, and gave a simple shrug. “I was on my way to work so thought I would ‘pop in’ as people say.” He explained, earning a laugh from the baker.

“Modern phrases don’t suit you, Mycroft.” She teased.

With an amused shake of his head, Mycroft took a seat at the table nearest her.

“Want some cookies? They’re fresh out of the oven!”

Mycroft nodded with a grateful smile, always glad to have sweet treats. He would never turn down anyone’s desserts, least of all Y/N’s; not because he liked her and didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but because she was a good baker.

The pair sat in a comfortable silence, Mycroft gladly eating his cookies with an appreciative look whilst Y/N worked on her next batch. There was nothing awkward between them, and there, surprisingly, never had been.

“Are you not at work today?” Y/N broke the silence with a question that was bugging her. She could have sworn Mycroft had always worked this time over the months that she had known him.

Mycroft hesitated for a moment. He was supposed to be there right now but had decided to visit you before. It wasn’t like anyone could fire him for it, he was basically the British government, after all.

“Not yet,” he lied, and he was glad that he was a good liar.

“Oh, okay! I’m happy you came then. I don’t want to bother you.”

“You could never be a bother,” the words fell from his lips before he even registered what his thoughts, and he noticed the blush race up her cheeks, as did she with his.

“Thank you, Mycroft.”

As he stared at her and her rosy cheeks, a million thoughts went through his mind, but they were all related to one thing: her. It was in that moment that he realised the truth, he did like Y/N, and he had been attracted to her since the beginning; that was what he was feeling.

Oh dear…

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

[princessaxoxo]

Strangers to lovers Part 2

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

Sherlock x reader

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

Warnings: 18+ Only, cussing, angst, kissing

Word Count: 2k+

4 years later...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enola and you talked for what felt like hours.

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

“Your style but attitude as well.”

You laughed at Enola but thanked her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tears started to brim.

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

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

Sherlock walked towards you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As you returned home, you were torn.

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

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

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

Sherlock sat at the table, staring off into nothingness.

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

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

Sherlock only had one answer.

“Anything.”

Part 3

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

[fandom-oneshots-etc]

✨ Dropping by to request literally anything sherlock x reader - would love something with awkward idiots in love ✨

🍄 Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

🍄 Genre: Fluff

🍄 Summary: When Sherlock goes off on a frantic tangent, John knows exactly who to call, the idiot in love with him...

🍄 Word Count: 2084

🍄 Abbreviations: N/A

🍄 Warnings: N/A

🍄 Note: I hope this is what you were looking for Anon! :)

“What’s he doing this time?” you answered the phone as John’s name appeared. You had become so accustomed to the calls at all odd hours of the day, usually all pertaining to your high-functioning sociopath of a friend, Sherlock. Odd hours like the one now.

You had just sat down in your cloud chair, kindle in hand ready to read the next chapter of your gripping (b/g) when the phone had pinged, angrily vibrating against the coffee table-top. A puff of air had moved the stray hairs touching your face as you instantly recognized the personalized ring tone you had installed. You knew that John wouldn’t call you unless it was at least a code blue, blue-in-the-face blue. A colour code the two of you had created to describe the different moods of Sherlock Holmes.

“I’m so sorry-” You rolled your eyes with a little smile. “He’s just off on one. He solved the case, you know the one with the woman and the suitcases? He’s been off the walls since then. Can’t get him to settle, he’s talking about renovating the flat, knocking walls down for more ‘thinking space’. I think Mrs Hudson’s threatened to evict him already,” You couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped your lips at the thought of the sweet old woman threatening your tall friend, knowing very well that she’d mean every word. You could already picture the offended horror on Sherlock’s face at her threats.

“I’m on my way,” you reassured before hanging up the phone and pushing yourself out of the comfortable chair. Slipping your kindle into your bag, you grabbed your keys from the hook and turned off the lights. You didn’t bother changing out of your night clothes,, instead your threw a long coat over your pajamas and slipped on your trainers before heading out of the flat. You weren’t exactly keen on the idea of getting a cab this late at night, but you preferred that over walking the streets alone in the dark.

Thankfully, Baker Street was only a few roads away and the journey was nice and short with the lack of traffic at this time of night. Looking up at 221B you could see tat it was one of the only lights on in the street. You slipped the spare key out of your bag and unlocked the door to 221B.

Mrs Hudson reached the bottom of the stairs in an angry flurry huffing as she passed, a few rushed ‘oh dear’s escaping her lips as she passed you, only briefly making eye contact as she scurried back into her flat, red-faced. Taking that as your cue, you started up the stairs to the flat, fully expecting to see the flat in complete disarray, and you weren’t disappointed.

The papers from the now-closed case were still strewn across the flat, stuck to the walls, laid out on the desk, tucked under the tea cups on the small side table. The tea cups, several sat on the desk untouched and probably growing a few types of fungus that Sherlock could happily describe for you. The pillows from the sofa were thrown about the flat as Sherlock stood on the sofa, feet buried in the sofa cushions and tape measure I hand as he stretched it across the wall in front of him, a HB pencil clenched between his teeth.

“Thank God you’re here!” John poked his head out of the kitchen as if weary of the man in the living room. He gestured for you to step into the kitchen, with a final glance at the tall consulting detective, you slipped into the kitchen.

“How long has he been like this?” you asked, setting your bag down on the cluttered kitchen table. Piles and piles of old experiments were stacked tall, filling up almost the entire surface of the table and from the darkening black patch by one of the chairs you had no doubt that Sherlock had blown something up today, yet another thing to add to the list of problems for you and John.

“A couple of hours now, I stupidly thought that solving the case would change his mood, but it only seemed to make him more antsy for another one-” He sighed. “Sorry it’s so late, I know you usually sit down and read about now. I didn’t want to bother you but with Mrs Hudson threatening eviction I thought it best not to wait.” You smiled at your friend and shook your head.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s been a while since he’s been like this so it was expected sooner or later. Better sort him out before Mrs Hudson really does chuck him out.” The two of you chuckle at the thought of a homeless Sherlock, it’s not really a sight either of you can imagine fully. But you had no doubt that his homeless network would really find him the best spots in London to squat.

“You don’t mind if I take a quick walk do you? I’ve been cooped up in here for a few hours trying to sort him out, just need bit of fresh air.” You shook your head and hurried John out of the kitchen door and down the stairwell. You knew it would be easier to deal with Sherlock without John around anyway. Not that John was a problem, but with Sherlock like this and his habit of making unsavory comments without fully thinking of the consequences, it would be easier than having a row start between the two flat mates.

You paused for a moment and brushed your finger against the black mark on the table top and inspected the pad of your finger. That’ll come off with some polish, you decided. Stepping back out of the kitchen and into the living room, your eyes zeroed in on the consulting detective who had now abandoned the tape measure and was gently knocking against the wall looking for a hollow sounding area.

“No.” You spoke clearly, catching the attention of the detective who had yet to notice you. Spinning on his heels, his eyes flashed at you wide and adorable. It kind of reminded you of a child who had been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. His mouth started to open but you shut him down quickly. “No,” You gave him a stern look. “That wall has all of the major electricity lines and one of the main water pipes. No.”

“There’s no way you could possibly know that just from looking at the wall-” Sherlock argued.

“No I couldn’t. I know because I had to get the schematics for the flat after you started shooting the walls because you were banned from in-person cases and blew the power out in this side of London,” You reminded. “An event that Mycroft still calls ‘The Great COVID Blackout’.” Sherlock’s nose scrunched at the mention of his brother. “Now, are you going to sit down or am I going to have to use that self-defense training program you insisted I go on to incapacitate you?” You could almost see the cogs turning in his head as his eyes narrowed at you, trying to deduce if you were serious or not. Your unwavering stance must have given him his answer as he slowly stepped down from the sofa and settled his feet back on the floor calmly.

“Why are you here?” You were very rarely offended by Sherlock’s blunt words, it just wasn’t worth the energy when you also knew that he rarely meant it to come across in that way. “No, don’t answer that. You’re here in your night clothes, your kindle is tucked in your bag and your hair is done up which means it’s late- John called you. Why?”

“Probably because his roommate was threatened with eviction after planning to renovate their rented flat and set the landlady off.” “Mrs Hudson wouldn’t evict me. She still owes me for getting her husband executed.”

“Favours do expire Sherlock. They have their limits.” His eyebrows furrowed.

“Really?” You nod. “Oh. Well John wouldn’t let her evict me.” “Have you been experimenting today?” You think back to the two mugs settled on the kitchen counter, one sporting a brownish green sludge at the bottom.

“Yes, why- Oh.”

“Right come on,” You clapped your hands, moving towards him and grabbing one of his hands to pull him over to his chair. You ignored the sounds of protest from Sherlock as you settled on the chair and tugged on his arm. “Sit down,” you instructed. Sherlock sighed and complied, dropping onto the floor and crossing his legs underneath him. You grabbed the TV remote and switched it on. “What should we watch? Bones or Criminal Minds?” you pondered.

“Why do we have to watch a crime show? They’re always so inaccurate-” You flick the TV onto an episode of Criminal Minds. “Look, the killer’s using tape- what about finger prints? They don’t need to study his behaviour, just find the prints-” You smiled softly, fiddling with a few strands of Sherlock’s curly hair in your lap as he rattled on about the mistakes of the Unsub and the BAU team.

It was around an hour later that John returned to the flat. Pushing open the front door of 221, he was relieved to hear nothing. The light under Mrs Hudson’s door was now off, meaning she had slipped into bed, no longer tormented by her tenant’s renovation plans. The light on the landing let off a soft glow as John started up to the flat. A heavy wave of relief swept through him as he noticed the lack of banging, drilling, sawing or any construction noises at all. You had managed to talk him out of it for now. He reached the top of the stairs and could hear the muffled sounds of the TV in the flat. Stepping into the kitchen he could see that the place was still a pig sty but at least there wasn’t any knocked down walls or partially constructed extensions. The mess could be dealt with in the morning.

As he turned the corner and peeked - still a little cautiously into the living room - a soft smile graced his face. Your back was pressed against one of the arms of Sherlock’s chair, your legs swung over the opposite side. Sherlock’s was still perched on the floor with his legs crossed, his head dropped back against your stomach, with your right hand resting on top. Your fingers rhythmically threading through his curly brown locks, soothingly. John flicked his eyes up to the TV screen to see an episode of Criminal Minds playing, Sherlock’s face scrunched in distaste as he watched the team profile the murderer. Your other hand held your kindle tightly, your fingers set comfortably around the flower pop socket on the back as you occasionally flicked the pages with your thumb.

John couldn’t help but watch in awe for a moment. No one he knew had ever been able to soothe Sherlock in the way that you could. Not him, not Mrs Hudson and certainly not his brother, not even his parents had this calming effect that you had. He wondered if Sherlock would ever confess to the effect you had on him, or explain why you had such an effect on him. John knew the reason, Mrs Hudson knew the reason… did Sherlock? Did you?

You were always just as oblivious as Sherlock. John had mentioned to you once or twice about how you effected the consulting detective, but you couldn’t see it. You wouldn’t admit to the effect you so clearly had on him nor would you confess to the butterflies that whirled in your stomach whenever you were this close to him.

You caught John’s eye and must’ve made an educated guess of what he was thinking as you rolled your eyes and shook your heads. Deciding that now was probably not the time to bring up the obvious pink elephant that shared the living room with the three of you, John mouthed a ‘thank you’ to you and you nodded, letting out a quiet yawn. He bidded a quick farewell to the pair of you before shuffling out of the kitchen and upstairs to his room. On his way up the stairs, he couldn’t help but wonder how long the two of you would remain oblivious.

As he reached the top of the staircase he paused and chuckled. Lovesick idiots.

#sherlock x reader #sherlock oneshot #sherlock imagine #sherlock holmes #sherlock #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes oneshot #bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock oneshot #bbc sherlock imagine #request #reqs open #requests open #anon ask

[starks-hero]

brother dearest

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Summary: Mycroft had never considered himself to be overprotective. However, he isn't overly pleased with how smitten his little brother is with you...

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: John is the only one with any emotional intelligence and Mycroft is faced with the horrifying ordeal of realising his younger sibling is dating, so they're all idiots really

Mycroft Holmes could practically feel his blood pressure rising. Confidential documents had been stolen from the very hands of the British government, putting the democratic well-being of an entire nation in jeopardy. And his little brother wouldn't answer the phone.

The moment word of the breach had gotten to Mycroft his first plan of action was to call Sherlock. Of course, he could have hypothetically dealt with the issue himself had it not required leg work. But to his dismay, contacting the youngest Holmes seemed to be as unlikely as winning the lottery.

Tossing dignity to the wind in the name of restoring balance to the western world, Mycroft stooped to the, in his opinion, ever embarrassing low of visiting Baker Street himself. He ascended the stairs, his displeasure evident in the weight of his steps, and refused to practice the common courtesy of knocking before entering the flat. Sherlock had lost that privilege when he refused to pick up the bloody phone.

Mycroft tutted with annoyance when he found both the living room and kitchen empty. Sherlock's coat, with whom he refused to go anywhere without, still hung idle on the clothes rack. He was in the flat and Mycroft was going to find him if he had to tear away every brick.

With all the begrudgement of a man who'd had his morning routine seriously uprooted, Mycroft marched towards Sherlock's bedroom and swung open the door.

He almost immediately wished he hadn't.

Sherlock lay sprawled out on the bed, white sheets twisting over alabaster skin. His eyes were shut, his hair a tangled mess of curls and you lay by his side.

Mycroft's jaw fell so quickly he expected it to unhinge and clatter against the floor with all the comedic effect of a nineties cartoon.

Sherlock's head rested against your shoulder whilst the lower half of your face was largely hidden by his curls. Your lips brushed his forehead in a prolonged kiss and Sherlock's arm was thrown over you almost possessively. Your own hand curled softly around the nape of his neck.

Disbelief, embarrassment and anger chased each other across Mycroft's expression before he settled with complete mortification. He couldn't explain it, not really, but seeing his little brother in bed with someone made him feel ridiculously nauseous.

Sherlock shifted, stretching out his limbs like a content cat before nuzzling closer to you.

Having no idea what else to do, the eldest Holmes shut the door. After a quick and failed attempt to purge the last few moments from his memory, he made his way back towards the living room.

He was met by John.

The doctor quickly did away with his fresh bag of groceries in order to make small talk, much to Mycroft's disdain. When John got around to the reason for his visit, and therefore Sherlock's current whereabouts, Mycroft shifted awkwardly.

“He seems to be occupied.”

A look of confusion clouded John's expression. He glanced down the hallway, jutting his thumb in the direction of Sherlock's room.

“I'm fairly certain he's just–” John's words were dissolved by the bitter look that was thrown his way by the eldest Holmes. “–oh, he didn't tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Mycroft asked with a painfully fake smile.

John swallowed thickly, suddenly very unhappy with the fact that he was the one that had to break the news to possibly the most powerful man in Britain that his little brother was seeing someone.

“He uh– he didn't tell you about himself and Y/N?”

Mycroft blinked. “It would appear he left out that minor detail.”

The silence that followed was awkward at best and utterly painful at worst. John, who wanted nothing more for the interaction to end but had no idea how to make that happen, nodded. Mycroft cleared his throat and readjusted his hold on his umbrella.

He glanced back towards his brother's room and John didn't miss the subtle glare he was trying to hide. Ah, so that's what this was about. John may not have shared Sherlock's observational skills but he did have a sister. He knew what overprotectiveness looked like.

“Mycroft, you do realise that Sherlock is an adult.”

“If that's what you would like to call him.”

“Right,” John dismissed quickly. “But he and Y/N are together. They have feelings–”

What was very much beginning to sound like a new rendition of ‘the birds and the bees’ was shortened by a scoff on Mycroft's behalf.

"My brother is barely capable of understanding his own feelings, you think he can handle someone else's?"

“You'd be surprised.”

Surprised was certainly one word for it. Mycroft simply couldn't imagine his brother being emotionally involved with anyone, regardless of how much imagination he tried to employ. He failed to imagine Sherlock in any situation that involved intimacy or vulnerability, let alone with you.

As if the very thought of you had doubled as a summoning spell, you entered the kitchen, steps lazy and eyes tired. If you were surprised to see the eldest Holmes you hid it well.

“Mycroft,” you greeted with a tight-lipped smile.

“Y/N.”

Your eyes moved between him and John, trying to piece together what exactly you'd walked into. John cleared his throat. You fought the urge to just go back to bed.

“Can I get you anything?” You motioned to the kitchen.

“My brother, if it's no trouble.”

“Showering,” you yawned. You decided not to add the bit where Sherlock had mentioned needing to ‘cool off before facing the devil so early in the morning’ upon realising his brother was in the living room. “He won't be long.”

“I see. I hate to show up unannounced. But I tried to call this morning and it seemed he was unavailable.”

You smirked despite yourself. Mycroft's grasp on his umbrella tightened.

After a few agonising moments that consisted of you cluelessly making yourself a morning cup of tea, Mycroft glaring holes into your back and John all but hiding behind his newspaper, Sherlock joined you.

His hair was damp, curls frizzed up due to the warm water. Mycroft hadn't seen it in such a state since Sherlock was a child. The unruly nature of his hair, as well as its tendency to make him look far less intimidating and far more endearing, often led to embarrassment. Which is why Mycroft was so surprised to see him so at ease.

Sherlock didn't so much as acknowledge his brother's existence as he made a beeline towards you, accepting the tea you offered and leaving a lazy kiss against the side of your head. He was smiling fondly all the while.

Said smile immediately fell when he spotted Mycroft. Sherlock muttered something about god under his breath and took a long, almost purposefully so, sip from his mug before speaking.

“Terrorist attack or security breach?”

Mycroft raised an unamused brow.

“It's ten o'clock on a Sunday morning, from my understanding you should be having tea with the prime minister or something–” Sherlock waved his free hand around dismissively. “You wouldn't be here if it wasn't of national importance. So which is it? Suspected terrorist attack or a security breach?”

“That, brother mine, is something you would have already been clued in on if you'd learned how to answer my calls.” Mycroft intended for his words to be somewhat scolding but judging by how Sherlock reclined in his chair and crossed his legs he figured his attempt at exerting some sort of authority over his younger brother had failed. “Now, it's not as threatening as initially believed but still relevant enough to warrant some sort of investigation. Which is why I need you to–”

His words fizzled out at the sight of you moving to stand behind Sherlock's chair. Your stance was relaxed, comfortable, as if you felt you belonged where you stood, as some sort of watchful protector. Mycroft glowered.

You seemed unfazed and Mycroft couldn't tell which he hated more, your hand now on Sherlock's shoulder or the fact that his brother was smirking because of it.

By some miracle, he managed to make it through the rest of the briefing without giving away just how much he wanted the floorboards to open up and swallow him.

He didn't know why the sight of you both together irritated him so much but by god was it getting under his skin. The glances you shared that Mycroft knew had hidden meanings behind them. How his brother, who needed a week's recovery in his room after any social interaction, preened under your touch. The youthful look in his eyes, the boyish smile. It was somehow painful to look at.

Mycroft could still recall when he was the only one that could placate his brother. When they were children, spending hours in their garden estate, finding insects and frogs and recalling their Latin names. Anything to keep their brilliant young minds entertained. He remembered how Sherlock would light up with each new nugget of information Mycroft gave him. Even into their teenage years, he was the one Sherlock trusted, the one he looked to for help and guidance. It had always been him.

But now, now there was you.

He had you to confide in. To talk to. To irritate with a tirade of useless facts that anyone else would think irrelevant. He had you to look out for him and comfort him and Mycroft couldn't understand why this was angering him so–

Oh.

The notion that his little brother had, in fact, grown up and didn't need him anymore came as a very unwelcome realisation. Mycroft had the sudden desire to leave the flat as promptly as he could.

“Well,” he cleared his throat. “I should be getting on. I trust you'll fill me in on your findings?”

Sherlock groaned, in agreement or dismissal it was hard to tell.

Mycroft, who now wanted nothing more than to leave, turned to make his way to the door. “Good day, doctor Watson.”

John nodded, not failing to notice the change in Mycroft's stance.

‘He's copped on then.’

Partially because of your closeness to the door and partially in an attempt to rectify whatever you'd done to wrong Mycroft, you moved to show him out.

He passed you silently but as you stepped back to close the door, he stopped you.

He seemed uneasy, an emotion that looked unnatural and foreign on him. His nerves were infectious and you quickly found yourself growing anxious, expecting him to gift you with some horrific piece of information to pass on to Sherlock to save him from dealing with the mess of telling his brother himself.

His actual request was something much softer.

“Take care of him, will you?”

It took a few moments for you to blink away your surprise. As confused as you were, you nodded all the same.

“Of course.”

Mycroft responded with a nod of his own, offered a surprisingly genuine smile and then turned to leave. He'd descended the stairs entirely by the time you finally closed the flat door.

“What was that about?” Sherlock asked nonchalantly.

You shook your head. “Absolutely no idea.”

John took a sudden interest in his newspaper in an attempt to ignore just how hard he was biting his tongue.

thank you for reading!

Sherlock tag list: @miraclesoflove @ilovefanfictions @mylovelysnowflake @quentawewe @bakerstreethound @andreasworlsboring101 @doozywoozy @xxinvisiblexx @the-worst-critic @the-queer-dungeoneer @jellyfishbeansontoast @starrykitn @starryeddie @ladymercury8 @themorningsunshine @evelynrosestuff @mywellspringoflife @simp-for-scammanders @Xhz17x @allieberries @kealohilani-tepise

#finally starting to clear out my drafts to help me get back in the writing groove #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #bbc sherlock x reader #sherlock imagine #sherlock x you #sherlock holmes x you #bbc sherlock x you #bbc sherlock imagine #bbc sherlock #1k

[holylulusworld]

Mrs. Sherlock Holmes masterlist

Summary: Your marriage starts rocky.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Wife!Reader

Warnings: angst, implied innocent reader, smut in future chapters, innocent reader, shy/insecure reader

A/N: A collection of drabbles on how you became Mrs. Sherlock Holmes.

Mrs. Sherlock Holmes (1)

Mrs. Sherlock Holmes (2)

Mrs. Sherlock Holmes (3)

Mrs. Sherlock Holmes (4)

Mrs. Sherlock Holmes (5)

Mrs. Sherlock Holmes (6)

#sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x y/n #sherlock x reader #wife reader #female reader #innocent reader #Mrs. Sherlock Holmes masterlist

[espinosaurusrexex]

If Only You Would Know

HenryCavill!Sherlock x Female!Reader

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

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

word count: 4k

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

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And who would this accompany be?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You cannot stop me.”

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

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

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

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

“Thank you–“

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

Enola beamed. “Yes.”

❁ ❁ ❁

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

❁ ❁ ❁

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I suppose, yes.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“You sent her out to spy didn’t you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

❁ ❁ ❁

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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[sherlocks-blanket]

Drunk Confessions

A/N: Finally, after having not posted for such a long time... I can post a fic I had as a WIP since last year... I hope I get to write more again, but I can't promise anything. Anyway, I hope you guys like it.

Words: 1k

Warnings: Nothing, just some drunk sherlock?

After you received a message from Sherlock, that you should come as soon as possible to Baker street, minus the spelling errors; which you dismissed he messaged while being in trouble… You dropped anything you where doing and hurried outside to hail a cab; to take you to 221B.

The moment the cab halt, you paid the driver and rushed up the stairs to find Sherlock with John sitting towards each other with notes attached on their foreheads and from the liquor in their hand; you could probably tell, that they had too much for this evening, with how wasted they are…

As you gasped for air, you let yourself drop on the doorframe, drawing the attention from the two men. You noticed a smile spreading on Sherlock lips the second his eyes where on you, but it wasn’t a fake one; it radiates warmth like he was pleased to see you came, which was unlike for Sherlock to do. Not that he can’t do it, but when he does; it’s either false ones that you can tell apart from the real, since the real ones are rare and shows how comfortable he is with someone, that he shows it; unlike the fake ones, where he drops his smile immediately the moment the person turns they face away from him; which you noticed a few times…

A giggle from John broke the awkward silence in this room. You turned your gaze to the doctor and raised an eyebrow at him.

“I kneeeeeeeew it!” he exclaimed, pointing to Sherlock, then he took a sip from his drink.

You furrowed your brows in further confusion, but shaking your head; you got your phone out of your pocket and wrote Mary; telling her she should pick up her drunken fiancé… Just as you were done writing the text; a client walked into the flat and asked for Sherlock; but you kindly explained she should come tomorrow, since it gotten late. It made you wonder if clients show up at any hour of the day…

Sherlock, of course…He protested that the client shouldn’t leave even after the client had already left. After all, who knows? It could’ve been a missed opportunity for a case that could have gotten his interest; but you simply pushed him back in his armchair when he tried to stand up.

“You can work tomorrow…Now you better rest, so you’ll be sober for the next day…”

He stared with a sharp glare, like he wanted to prove with some deductions he’s capable of working, but he faltered instantly; which you took as a sign that he gave in. When you turned to help John downstairs; where Mary would pick him up; still you felt his eyes bore onto you.

As Mary left with John; she gave you an apologetic glance before they got into a cab; leaving you to deal with a drunken Sherlock.

When you stepped through the door, Sherlock sat still in his armchair, his posture relaxed; his eyes on something. You never saw him resting like that, but it most likely came from the alcohol…

His eyes wandered to you, noticing you were present again. There was this again…

This warm smile.

“Well…let’s get you sobered up…” you mumbled, leaning your hand on his shoulder to animate him to standing up, which he didn’t and instead, he took your hand in his own; staring at it like it was a piece of art.

“You have such soft hands...”,he murmured, keeping his eyes on your hand; rubbing his thumb along your palm.

You gently withdrawn your hand feeling the a heat rise on your cheeks; before you could say something again that he needs to rest, he slowly stood up wobbly on his own; leaning his hand your shoulder for support.

With you by his side, you brought him to his bedroom and only helped to remove his shoes and his suit jacket. It didn’t need to get more awkward than it already was for you.

Just as you turned the night light off and wanting to head to the living room; you felt your hand taken again and a warm feeling on it. You peeked over your shoulder; seeing Sherlock lean his cheek on it, with his eyes closed.

You tried to withdraw your hand, but at the same time, you didn’t mind it much. So, you stayed for a while and heard Sherlock snoring softly.

**********

The next morning you were preparing some tea and some water with some painkillers. You assumed he'll have a headache after yesterday…

Just as you wanted to get your stuff from the couch and leave for your own flat; you heard a door open followed with some footsteps.

“Morning.” You greeted him with a smile, which disappeared the moment you thought about yesterday again... It made you wonder if he remembered his drunken behavior or if he ‘deleted’ it from his ‘hard drive’.

Sherlock acknowledged you with a slight nod and went for the water and painkillers.

You watched him silently drink the water but felt uncomfortable for you staring at him. So you thought it was better to go. As you took a single step; Sherlock called your name, drawing your attention back to him.

“About yesterday-“

You interrupted him, holding your hands up in defense; ”No! It’s alright…I know you didn’t mean that…“

Sherlock stared at you, and you could tell he thought for his next words, as he slowly opened his mouth to only closed it again.

“I..I really like you, and I mean... It”

You raised your eyebrows in confusion from this explanation about yesterday until he added.

“ I mean…I like you more than a friend…”

You froze on the spot at his confession as weird as the situation was you wanted to show him you felt the same, so you got out of your stupor and hugged him. It definitely caught him by surprise.

“Do you…feel the same?” he asked cautiously.

You only nodded and said while chuckling; “Yes.”

Sherlock hummed in thought. “I might have to thank John for this…it was his idea to text you…”

You thought again before you slowly connected the dots about yesterday. Like when John said he knew it…Did he see that you liked Sherlock or Sherlock, you or even both? You shook the thoughts away since they didn’t matter anymore. The only thing what mattered…

…was now.

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

[french-vanilla-in-the-clouds]

𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞!

𝑻𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒔! 𝑮𝒆𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒚 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒇𝒍𝒚!

𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏 𝐎𝐍𝐄: Head over to your camera roll. The last celebrity or fictional character saved to your gallery is your Valentine's date --- oh! what a cutie! 💗

𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏 𝐓𝐖𝐎: Sneak a peek at my Valentine's Date scenario chart! Here's how it works: Choose the first letter of your first name, your birthday month, and your star sign to reveal the ins-and-outs of your romantic getaway! 🥀

𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄: Share the deets and share the love! Tag any lovely moots or followers that you think might get a kick out of this! Cheers! 🥂

𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄! 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓!

I'll go first...

Okay... the Governor and I are headed to Vienna to catch a show at the theatre and I'll be gifted a love letter! I love this man to bits but I'm expecting a double cross... ❤️🥀

moots, assemble! *no pressure, of course!*: @starstruck-loner @goldencherriess @astudyinlaura @lumosouls @misaverawrites @selcouthangel @asherloki @baby-bloos @thespiritoflife @lydiablack-m @starryeddie @andthevillainshallrises @bakerstreethound @silverdaydreamer @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @classickook @lucywrites02 @stupidthoughtsinwriting @blogthebooklover @imeternallylove @fictional-hooman @waiting-for-cas-to-save-me @amplifyme @frostandflamesfanfic @mindibindi @foxmulderlovebot @space-helen @inlovewithfictionalcharacters666 @paperheartsarts @aephereal @christinasyellowflowers @natti-ice

#ultra fluffy tag game! #the sort of tooth rotting sweetness I strive for... except for the breakup... I just wanted to add some spice! #tag game #just going to list off fandoms: #sherlock #supernatural #the walking dead #loki #doctor who #marvel #buffy the vampire slayer #these are just things I'm into so i'm tagging away! #sherlock x reader #loki x reader #stephen strange x reader #governor x reader #lotr #aragorn x reader #rick grimes x reader #harry potter #remus lupin x reader #castiel x reader #sam winchester x reader #daryl dixon x reader #dean winchester x reader #I can't think of anything else I'm into atm... #my first tag game!

[bakerstreethound]

A Single Touch

Relationship: Sherlock Holmes x fem!reader

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

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

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

Word Count: 1.1k+

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Damn you.”

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

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

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

You in every moment. 

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

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

How was this your husband? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then I should help you, darling.”

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

One of love. 

One of need. 

One of desire. 

One of desperation. 

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

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

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

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

“Not…fair…”

“Nothing about you is fair,” he growls.

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

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

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

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

All it takes is a single burning, aching touch. 

And you fall together. 

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

******

#sherlock x reader #sherlock x you #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes fanfiction #sherlock holmes fanfic #bbc sherlock #benedict cumberbatch #sherlock tv #my writing #my alleyway

[joanquill]

Valentine's Day Headcanons

How the Moriarty brothers and Sherlock ask their significant other to be their Valentine's and how they would spend the day with them.

Albert, William, Louis James Moriarty, and Sherlock Holmes

Albert James Moriarty

The day Albert was planning to ask you to be his Valentine, you were out on a mission.

Ever the opportunist, he took the chance to surprise you when you came home.

When you entered the manor, the entrance was lit with romantic candlelight, rose petals on the ground, and Albert holding a bouquet of roses as soft music played.

Albert happily showed you what he had prepared for your evening.

The dining room had a table decorated, sporting candles and flowers in the middle. It even had neatly folded napkins, as if you were in a high-end restaurant.

The bathroom even had a bathtub filled with bubbles and scented candles.

By the end of dinner, he asked you to be his Valentine, which you happily agreed to.

He definitely has something grand planned for the occasion.

Unfortunately, some nobles started making their move, making you and Albert work on a mission.

Nothing says romance like hunting down corrupt nobles <3

Luckily, you two finished before the end of the day and had time for Albert's plans for Valentine's.

It might be weird to see you two run towards the train station while laughing, but you both didn't care and were relieved to catch the last train.

The rest of the trip went smooth sailing... if you ignore the fact that you forgot to pack some essentials.

Nothing a shopping trip couldn't fix.

Either way, it was a Valentine's you couldn't forget.

William James Moriarty

I think William's way of asking would be either of the two, simple and sweet, or a full-on treasure hunt... or both!

He will ask you on a library date inside the manor to unwind and relax for the afternoon.

The only thing is, the book you picked had a note inside.

It was a riddle, and you could tell at first glance it was William's little game.

You looked for him and saw him acting innocent as he read his book in his nook.

You playfully rolled your eyes as you played along to his game, making William hide his smile as he tried to focus on his book.

Each clue was filled with memories and inside jokes only the two of you shared, leading you to the last clue, which only told you to turn around and answer a question.

You did as it said and saw William holding a basket of lilies and your favorite things.

He asked you to be his Valentine's, and you happily said yes.

On the day, you and William visited Durham University and enjoyed the sights and date spots his students happily suggested.

While you two enjoyed the day, you didn't expect avoiding his students to be a side quest.

You also heard some of them joking about catching their professor on a date, hoping he would heed their advice.

Good thing William came prepared with disguises.

As the sun was about to set, William led you to the university, letting you guess what his last surprise was.

While sneaking into Durham University to use the observatory for stargazing was not one of your guesses, it was definitely a delightful experience.

Louis James Moriarty

He practiced asking you in person countless times in front of the mirror.

How to approach you, making sure he was saying it right, not fumbling in his words, and asking you confidently.

In the morning, he tried to approach you, but he either backed out at the last minute, you two were busy with chores, or someone else was in the room.

He tried to ask again at lunch while you were preparing the food, but Master Jack entered the kitchen, offering a helping hand.

Night came, and Louis was practically defeated.

But he settled in leaving you an extra treat during dinner to ask you instead.

It didn't help his nerves when you sat beside him at the dinner table, though.

As Louis prepared everyone's desserts, you had an extra small plate of elegant chocolate-covered strawberries with chocolate syrup writing: "Will you be my Valentine's?"

In shock, you looked at Louis, who was facing away from you as he gave everyone their dessert.

You smiled as you waited for him to finish.

As Louis gave the last dessert, he hurriedly over to his spot, trying to avoid your gaze as he sat down.

You softly tugged his sleeve and whispered yes, making Louis freeze up as he tried to settle down his burning face.

Fortunately, everyone thought he just had too much to drink that night.

For Valentine's Day, Louis prepared a cozy date for you two to enjoy in the manor. (his brothers made sure no one would bother you two on the day)

Cooking together, making chocolate, trying new recipes, dancing while no one's looking, reading books, snuggling under the covers, and just spending the whole day together sums up your Valentine's.

Sherlock Holmes

Romance isn't exactly this man's forte.

You were walking to 221B Baker Street as Sherlock asked you, but you were surprised to see no one was there.

You carefully walked up to their flat and saw the surprise on the table.

He will most likely leave a real human heart in a glass container with a card saying: "Will you be my Valentine's?" to ask you.

How is it still beating in there? You will never know.

But hey, at least he's got the spirit!

When you check the card, you see it had instructions to open a specific drawer.

Debating whether to ignore or follow along and be greeted by a human brain, you complied and opened the drawer carefully.

Inside were paper iris flowers, a small teddy bear, chocolates, and a pen with another card written Yes and No on it.

You circled yes.

You found out he, John, and Miss Hudson were hiding nearby, unsure how to face you if you didn't agree (despite already dating)

If there isn't a case during Valentine's, he'll likely have a date all over London. He'll take you to places and spots he saw or visited during investigations and wanted to take you there.

During your date, he'll probably get you the most random stuff he wants to give you, ranging from random flowers to a peculiar antique he'd think you like or wants you to have.

When a case does come up, he'll try to put it on hold. But you could tell he really wanted to take it, so your date became an investigation.

He still tries to make it romantic and fun for both of you, thanking you for letting him work, but you reassured him it was still fun watching him deduce and work on a case.

#yuukoku no moriarty x reader #moriarty the patriot x reader #albert moriarty x reader #william moriarty x reader #louis moriarty x reader #sherlock x reader #albert james moriarty x reader #william james moriarty x reader #louis james moriarty x reader #albert james moriarty #albert moriarty #william james moriarty #william moriarty #louis james moriarty #louis moriarty #ynm sherlock #sherlock holmes #headcanons

[princessaxoxo]

Strangers to Lovers Part 1

Originally thought of as a one-shot but decided to make it a two-part series.

A/N: This is no longer a two-part, there will be multiple parts.

Sherlock x reader

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

Warnings: NSFW, 18 Only, sex (p in v), cussing, masturbation (f receiving)

If I’m missing any please let me know.

Word Count: 2k+

When Enola was younger, her mother sought you out to take care of her. You accepted gleefully. Meeting Enola for the first time was unlike any other; at the ripe age of eight, she was a daredevil, a venturesome young lady.

After spending most of your time with her, you soon met her brothers, Sherlock and Mycroft. Sherlock was charming but reserved. Mycroft was shrewd and practical.

You are able to read people without fault. It was easy to tell Mycroft wasn’t fond of you. Sherlock wasn’t so easy; he kept a blank expression around you. The difference was that he put in the time and effort to talk and get to you.

Little did you know, he was very fond of you; you were constantly on his mind.

He couldn’t help but analyze every part of you—the way you licked your lips, how you scrunched your eyebrows together when you got confused, the lines on your face from how much you smiled.

When you weren't paying attention, he let his eyes roam downward, noticing how your breasts looked when you breathed in, your delicate fingers, and the beauty of your legs that he wanted to kiss.

It wasn't ethical, but he couldn't care less.

You often found yourself thinking about him as well; you would let your eyes linger on him longer than allowed, especially for a lady.

Especially late at night like now, you were wondering what would happen if the two of you found yourselves in a room alone.

You closed your eyes, imagining him, his curly brown hair, his blue eyes, and that smirk he would occasionally show. Slowly brush your fingers between your thighs, thinking they are his.

As you started to picture his eyes that were looking up at you as he placed kisses between your thighs, you pulled down your panties.

You soon found your clit, making small circles. "Mhm,” a small moan left your lips. Moving your fingers down, you entered two of your fingers, moving them in and out.

You started to pick up your pace. “Oh, Sherlock," you let slip out, still imagining him.

Your pussy squeezed around your fingers, arching your back and moaning his name embarrassingly. You opened your eyes, your brain still in a haze from your orgasm, but he still hadn’t left your mind.

Trying to keep up with Enola was tricky; she kept you on your toes. Her excitement always made your day. At the moment, she was hiding; that was the game of the day. Hide and seek: her version was far more difficult.

She would leave small clues, making you think you’re on the right track, but it’s quite the opposite.

Walking around the house, you were checking each room thoroughly. A door at the end of the hall was already open; you checked inside, noticing it appeared empty.

“Enola, Enola, sweetie, where are you?” You walked into the room, searching as if you were a detective. You saw a desk, which she could easily hide under. Walking around it, you bent down to check.

But, of course, no luck.

“What are you looking for?” You accidentally hit your head, and his voice made you jump.

"Ow!” you winced, rubbing your head to ease the throbbing pain. Sherlock walked over to you, offering his hand.

“Enola is hiding; I’m looking for her. I saw the door was open, so I decided to check.”

He nodded his head. “Would you like some help? I have an idea of where she could be."

“Yes, she doesn't make it easy,” you chuckled awkwardly, looking down, your heart pounding out of your chest.

He put his thumb underneath your chin, making you look at him. “Let’s go” 

You followed him, finding Enola hiding in a closed-off room.

She had a laughing fit, making fun of you for taking so long and having to involve her older brother to help. Enola left the room, leaving only you and Sherlock. You started to follow her, but Sherlock stopped you.

“Let me make sure you’re okay; you hit your head hard.”

He took you back to his office, guiding you down on his leather loveseat. He started checking you for a concussion and then brought you a cold pack for the small bump that was forming on your scalp.

He sat next to you, making you stiff. “Thank you for helping me,” you said, looking over at him. “It’s my pleasure, y/f/n."

It was getting dark out; you had to leave, but you wanted to stay here with him. “I should go home; it’s almost night out."

Sherlock didn’t want that to happen; his question could go wrong. But he wanted you to himself, if only for tonight.

“Would you want to stay for the night? I would be delighted to keep you company.”

You were taken aback by his question. Your answer was yes, but nothing came out. His facial expression turned worrisome. “Don’t worry about it”, "Yes,” you said eagerly, hoping he didn’t take notice. “Yes, I would be happy to stay.”

You showed a calm facade, but that’s not how you were feeling.

He began to show you his work and what interested him. “Do you wish for a drink?”, He was pouring himself one. "No, thank you; I don’t drink,” you said with a small smile.

Your eyes were scanning his wall, which had a map covering it with small dots placed in certain places.

He stood next to you, drink in hand, watching you concentrate on his work.

You turned to look at him, and you smiled. “Yes?” You were unsure of why he was looking at you in such a way. But then he lowered his head and kissed you.

After he kissed you, your eyes widened in surprise. But that surprise soon turned into enjoyment.

You cupped his face while he placed his hand on your lower back. He tried to set down his drink with his eyes closed, but it fell and shattered on the floor. Neither of you faltered from the enchanting kiss.

He pushed you backward, lifting and placing you on top of his desk. Your thoughts were running wild; was this really going to happen? Your questions were answered when he roamed his large hands under your dress. treading lightly, his hands hovering once they reached closer to your core.

He wanted this; he had imagined it countless times in his head. But he couldn’t go rough with you like he wanted; this wasn't normal, and this shouldn’t be happening since the two of you weren't married. And a woman like you? He thought, wasn’t someone you just fucked and then left in the morning? That was not you.

You hated that he was going slow; he was starting to pull away, but an instinct in you grabbed him by his hips and pulled him forward harder.

“I want this, Sherlock; don’t be gentle with me. I want you."

Hearing you say those words broke Sherlock's facade. He snapped, locking your legs tightly around his waist as he walked the both of you over to his leather couch. He laid you down, hovering above you, teasing you with his mouth.

He stood up, removing his bowtie, followed by his vest and white shirt. His chest, his chest—you couldn’t wait to roam your hands up and down his hairy chest. You let a moan out just by the look of him; he got on top of you, recklessly ripping your own clothes off.

He took a long look at you, salivating. He needed to get inside of you.

His kisses were sloppy with need, as were yours. You were getting wetter by the second, and yet he hadn’t really touched you. “Touch me, please."

He snacked his hands down to your clit, rubbing circles while kissing and sucking on your neck. You held his head, moaning his name. He left my neck and came face-to-face with me. “You want me inside of you? Do you want my cock to fill your pussy?”

“Please, yes, I need you."

Removing his pants eagerly, he lined his cock up, smoothly coaxing his cock in my wetness, before deeply entering slowly at first, then removing before entering again faster each time.

Your nails are scratching at his back, making him grunt in your ear. “Your pussy is so tight around me; it feels so fucking good.”

You wanted him deeper in you; you wanted to feel every inch of him. "I want to feel all of you.

He thrust his hips rougher this time, your back arched, and that gave him a chance to put his arm underneath you to change positions. Now, sitting up right, you are on his lap, riding him. He helped you with his hands on your hips, guiding you to bounce up and down.

“God, you are memorizing.”

His eyes were rolling to the back of his head as he closed them. “Just like that, baby,” he grabbed a hold of your breasts, squeezing them gently and rubbing your nipples, making them erect and pleasurable going through you.

His curly hair covered his face, brushing back just as he grabbed the back of your neck, forcing you forward. His tongue danced with yours, so far down your throat that you sucked on it.

His lips were soft; they had you memorized in a daze, moaning into his mouth. You felt yourself coming.

“Sherlock, fill me up with your seed."

“You want my seed? Want to feel it dripping down your thighs?"

"Yes, please, yes. I’m cumming on your cock."

You pulsated around him, your thighs shaking, and you saw stars in your vision as you came on his cock.

He stopped his movements, his nails digging into your skin as he groaned aloud, his head falling forward onto your chest. Both of you were heaving, trying to regain your breathing.

The smell of sex radiating in the room and the glistening sweat off of your and Sherlock’s bodies made this moment intimate. One you hadn't shared with another.

After the night you and Sherlock shared in his office, the both of you fell deeply in love. Sharing every passing moment with one another. And when the both of you weren't together, you were thinking about each other.

He told you countless stories about his endeavors, what he’s done, and the kinds of cases he’s received and solved.

Enola was so happy; she thought of you as a sister already, but now she couldn’t contain her excitement about how the both of you would end up being family.

You pretended not to notice at times the way Sherlock would stare at you; he would admire you from afar, from your side profile, any time he got the chance.

You were certain that nothing would break the two of you apart or that he would break your heart.

So you thought...

One day, out of the blue, Sherlock didn't meet you at the time planned; you were at his house, waiting for him to come home.

You were taken by surprise when you heard a person knock at his door, and you went to open it. A postman handed you a letter and left abruptly. You shut the door and sat down. It was signed with your name.

Opening the letter, you started to read what it said.

You read the letter over and over again until you couldn’t anymore.

This couldn’t be true, you thought; he couldn’t have left you.

He loved you. No, no, he loves you. So this couldn’t be the end.

You waited all night to hear the front door open. To hear his voice call out for you, but by the time you saw the sun rising, you knew he had left. He was gone. You fell to the ground with an uncontrollable sob. The tears never ended. You began to hyperventilate; it felt as if your oxygen was cut off.

You were at home as your tears started to stop; now you felt your blood boil.

He is a coward.

He couldn't even face you; had he that little respect for you?

A person who loves you does not treat you in such a way.

Your face was red, and your eyes weren’t brimming with sadness anymore but with anger.

You weren't going to let him hurt you in this way again. He wouldn't get the chance.

But everyone does have a weakness... He happens to be yours, and you his.

Part 2

#henry cavill #first post #fluff #henry cavill smut #sherlock holmes #smutty #sherlock fanfic #sherlock fandom #sherlock x reader #henry cavill sherlock holmes #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x reader #enola holmes #strangers to lovers #sherlock holmes smut #sherlock holmes x you