Sherlock X Reader - Tumblr Posts

Introduction

Hello! I’m Rosa (aka crazymadravenclaw) and, well, I write. I’ve been writing since forever, but I’ve only now decided to upload my stuff. So... I mostly write fics based on the Supernatural, Sherlock, Doctor Who, Harry Potter and Marvel fandoms, but very little of what I write actually makes the cut and gets on here. I’d love to get to read your opinion on my works, and thanks in advance to anyone who likes/reblogs them. It quite literally gives me life.

Oh this was heart shattering. Sherlock being so vulnerable with his partner in such a moment just hits so differently. The theme of this fanfic is very dear to me and I want to save it on my blog so that I can read it again and again, when I need comfort. Thank you for this, friend <3

you wouldn't — sherlock x reader

TW: implications of suicide, suicidal ideation, hospitalization

boyfriend!sherlock comforts you through a depressive episode

♡

Rain misted through the air, your glasses smudged with dew and your vision blurry. 

You were sat on the roof of your flat, a spot where your bedroom window exited to, and a space you only used when things got bad.

And things were bad again.

Your legs hung over the side of the building, shoulders slouched and palms flat on the concrete.

You had a support system, but you knew that they could only do so much, and that the help you needed was beginning to surpass their abilities. Everything felt dark. Dull. Hopeless.

You chuckled softly. Ten stories above the earth, one push and you could end it all.

You hated thinking that. You wouldn’t do it. You could never.

You wanted to, but you wouldn’t.

Would you?

“You wouldn’t,” a voice spoke, a deep voice, a familiar voice.

You turned, and there stood Sherlock, facing you, his hand grasping the frame of your bedroom window. He pushed the pane open further, and climbed over, groaning in ease as he sat down beside you.

“No,” you spoke, but he put his finger to his lips, looking out over the city with you.

“You wouldn’t jump.”

“You don’t know.”

“I do know,” he said softly. “And I know you wouldn’t leave me.”

He placed his hand on top of yours, taking it and turning it over, pressing his thumb into your palm and grasping your hand with his other.

“Would you?”

His voice sounded weak, broken. Tears filled your eyes, rendering your vision absolutely useless. 

“What am I doing wrong?” He asked.

“Nothing -”

“Don’t say ‘nothing.’” He closed his eyes in frustration. “If I was doing anything right, you wouldn’t be sitting out here, alone, avoiding me.”

“I’m not avoiding you, love,” you speak again, but the words come out quietly, and you both know they’re not true.

Sherlock takes a deep inhale, and squeezes your hand gently.

“I’ve never loved the way I love you,” he whispers, and you face him, his eyes red-rimmed and full of worry. “And I love you immensely. I cannot stand to see you in such agony.”

“I’m okay -”

“No, you’re not,” he interrupted, and you could sense he was refraining from shouting at you. “You’re not okay, and I need you to get the help you need.”

You were sobbing by this point, grasping his hand with all your strength and pulling him towards you, your body begging for a hug. 

But he didn’t lean towards you.

His body radiated warmth and you were desperate to feel it against your skin, to inhale his scent, to breathe in all the love you didn’t deserve. His eyes wouldn’t meet yours, and you watched them fill with tears, knowing he’d never be so vulnerable with anyone else. 

Only you.

“Promise me,” he spoke, his voice hoarse. “Promise me that tomorrow, you’ll allow me to take you to the hospital.”

You were quiet. 

“Promise me.”

You closed your eyes as tears spilled down your cheeks. “I promise, my love.”

You felt him pull you into a tight hug, finally, finally, and you clutched onto him, your hands grasping the fabric of his shirt on his back.

Sherlock was crying, silent sobs into your shoulder, and you held him, never wanting to let go again. It hurt, watching him cry for you, the one person he loved above all else.

The person who was breaking his heart relentlessly and carelessly.

“I’ll go right now if you’d like,” you whispered, trying to ease his pain, but he shook his head. 

“No, no,” he said quietly, his breath warm against your ear. “I want to spend tonight with you.”

You knew what that meant. He’d be up all night, wide awake, his eyes on you as you slept.

But he didn’t need sleep like you did, and you didn’t want to disappoint him, so you nodded, and he helped you up from where you were sitting.

And you let your body relax, tension disappearing, as Sherlock Holmes tucked you into bed.

Birthday Boy

A short blurb involving my beloved detective. This is kinda rushed and scattered since I should’ve been in bed hours ago but I’ll probably do another birthday surprise for him sometime later. Cheers 🥂

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound (Do NOT claim, repost, copy, or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username). Repost because the other flopped & wasn’t showing up in tag searches. 

Almost immediately you pin him under you when he walks through the bedroom door, his expression bewildered at why you were being so insistent of having him in bed with you so early.

Keep reading

Holmes smiles sweetly and he softly kisses her forehead as she keeps sleeping peacefully in his arms. He enjoys seeing her in her most innocent and pure state, as he holds her in his arms.

come let us let character.ai take our delulus to another level. imagination go brrr when i’m using the app.

Swallow

Swallow

Summary: Sherlock allows you to sample his favorite brandy. He has you drink it in the most unusual way.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Warnings: 18+ smutty content, petplay? (use of the terms “pet” and “master” but that's about it), consumption of alcohol, spitting kink (spitting drink into mouth), praise kink, a little bit of dumbification, hinted blowjob- Let me know if I forgot anything!

Word Count: 800ish

Any typos are my own!

A/N: YAY! 211 followers!😆 Thank you all so much! I wanted to get this little oneshot posted before I go to bed, just to keep your desires satisfied until I can put together something a little longer hehe 😉 Enjoy everyone!

Your head was resting on his knee as his fingers buried themselves in your hair, massaging your scalp. He chuckled when you purred at the spine tingling sensation. Sherlock gazed down at you as you pressed your cheek into the fabric of his trousers, your eyes closed in bliss.

“Does my little rabbit enjoy it when I give her pets?” He hummed, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear.

You peeked at him, nodding bashfully. You did enjoy his gentle caressing, perhaps even too much. You knelt at his feet as he reclined in his favorite armchair. He cradled your jaw as he grinned once more. His thumb rubbed your cheek.

“How sweet you are, pet. Such a good girl.” He murmured as he reached for his brandy on the side table.

You watched him take a sip, wondering what it tasted like. You had never been allowed to taste his favorite brandy before. He raised a brow, smirking as you gazed at him curiously.

“Are you thirsty, pet? I suppose a little sip won’t hurt you.” He cocked his head to the side. “What do you say?”

Sherlock was always adamant about using your good manners.

“Please, may I have a sip, sir?” You sat up straighter as you looked into his eyes.

“Good girl. Just a sip.” He tugged lightly on the back of your hair, making you lean back. “Open your mouth.”

Without hesitation, you opened your lips. Sherlock smiled at you, still tenderly stroking your cheek.

“You will take what your Master gives you, pet. And you will be grateful.” He reminded you of your place.

You nodded. The detective hummed and raised the glass to his lips. He took a big swig, holding the liquid on his tongue as he bent down. Your eyebrows shot up in surprise when he spat the brandy into your open mouth.

The action was humiliating yet so arousing. He emptied his mouth into yours, making you shiver. The brandy was strong and made your taste buds tingle as it coated your tongue. He licked his lips as he pulled away, cradling your jaw.

“Good rabbit. Now swallow.” He closed your jaw with his hand, watching you carefully.

You did so. It burned your throat and settled in your stomach warmly. You hiccuped, biting your lower lip as you coughed softly.

“T-Thank you, Master.” You rasped. 

Even though the drink wasn’t great, the fact that it came directly from Sherlock’s mouth made your pussy pulsate in need. He tossed his head back with a soft laugh.

“It is too strong, darling?” He watched you shrug. You didn’t want to seem ungrateful for not liking it.

“How about another sip?” He offered with a smirk and you hesitated. You squirmed, trying to get any bit of pressure on your aching cunt.

After a pause, you nodded. Without being asked, you opened wide for him. He grinned and took another sip. He spit it into your mouth again, this time tugging at your hair.

“Swallow.” He growled.

You obeyed, moaning as it burned all the way down. He snickered a little. You pinched your eyes shut, throbbing between your legs once more.

“Thank you.” You looked down, trying not to let him see you wince.

“What a good little pet I have. Taking what her Master gives her without a second thought. All you want to do is please me. Oh, yes. That’s all that tiny mind of yours worries about. How to please your Master. It’s your only purpose, isn’t it?” He cooed, setting the glass down so he could bring your face up.

“From sunrise to sunset, all you think about is me. What a loyal pet you are, sweet rabbit.” He purred, holding your face in his hands.

His praise made you squirm and nuzzle his palms. He smelled so good. The detective hummed as he watched you lean into his touch. It made you open your eyes when his hands fell from your cheeks.

“Look at what you’ve done.” He clicked his tongue, pointing to his lap.

You followed his finger, gasping when you noticed the bulge he was sporting. His finger snapped, bringing your attention back to his face. He shook his head scoldingly.

“What am I to do with this? Who will take care of this need I have?” He sighed dramatically.

You jumped at the opportunity. Tugging on his pant leg, you whimpered desperately. The need to please him filled you. You sat your chin on his thigh, waiting for further instruction. His permission was needed before you could make a move. Sherlock laughed at your eagerness. 

“My pet, will you take care of me? How sweet. Go ahead, unbutton my trousers. I have something else to slip into your sweet mouth.” He reclined and nodded for you to continue.

“And don’t forget to swallow what your master gives you, darling.”

A/N: Love you all! Goodnight 💜

Taglist: @sunshine-with-daisy @leigh70 @islacharlotte @lysarria @kebabgirl67 @pandaxnienke @identity2212  Credits: Divider- @firefly-graphics

Attention fanfiction readers and writers!!

I'm really sad and mad about the lack of love that is show to so many amazing people and characters. Like seriously what's a girl got to do to get a Matthew Lewis (who plays Neville Longbottom in Harry Potter) or Will Poulter (who plays Gally in The Maze Runner) fanfic every now and then... 🤷‍♀️

Now I know your probably not as interested in them as I am but they are amazing and no one will charge my mind.

Please if you have any good ff of the before mentioned people and/or their characters, it would be greatly appreciated.

Edit: plus some Kim Seokjin (from BTS) and Sherlock fics on any platform [ AO3 / Wattpad / Tumblr etc.] Honesty anything will do🙇‍♀️

Imagine being like a little sister for Sherlock Sherlock x sister like reader

 I do not own Sherlock, this is just a fanart and I do not make any money with it. All rights go to the rightful owner.

Also I am not a native so please do not be to hard on me for  mistakes.^^’‘ This fanfiction is not about love. It is more about the protectivnis of Sherlock for a little sister

a lot of fluff, self consciousness, angst

Enjoy ^-^ This story plays after the 4th season. John and Sherlock decided that John and Rosie should life in the Baker-street together. Sherlock thought it would be better for John who was still suffering from losing Marry and he also actually liked to have Rosie around him, not that he would ever admit that in front of anyone except for small little Rosie, yet everyone somehow already figured it out and just smiled silently about the detective. John on the other hand thought it would be better for Sherlock to not life alone and even if he did not want to really say it out loud he knew deep down the he just know needed a true friend by his side and his best friend was without any doubt Sherlock Holmes. Also Rosie loves Sherlock and Misses Hudson became like a Grandmother to her. Oh and do not forget about the third person living in Bakerstreet 221B (y/n) (l/n). She was a young university student and Rosie's Babysitter. How she came to live with the three of them? At first she was simply Rosie's Babysitter, but then her friend she lived with in a small cheap apartment close to the university had to change her place of study because of her fathers wishes. (y/n) was not able to pay the bills on her own and was desperately searching for a new place, but finding a not too expensive place became an unmanageable task.  Then one day John asked her again to watch over Rosie and despite her stress and problems she could not say no to the man looking pleadingly at her. It was late at night Rosie was fast asleep and you were trying hard to stay awake in front of your computer, currently writing yet another message in hopes of getting a place to stay. Your time was running short and you began to feel helpless. Tears started to sting in your eyes, as suddenly your laptop was closed . You jumped and nearly screamed but Sherlock had put a hand on your lips: “ We do not want to wake up Rosie, do we?  I am sorry for scaring you, dear.” he let go of you and you took a deep breath still a bit straddled but now getting calmer knowing it was him. He always had something about him that calmed you. You smiled sheepishly at  him, a little embarrassed to get scared so easily and not noticing him beforehand. He just looked at you and for a short second you thought he looked worried, but you must have imagined that. Sherlock never looked worried at people except for very few very special people and you surely were not one of them. You were still surprised you were even worth his attention. “Oh (y/n) you are still awake? You know you could sleep on the sofa or take the bed in the spare room.” Yes, the apartment had more rooms than it would seem. There were John's, Sherlock's, Rosie's, the main room, the kitchen, the bath and the spare room.  “Well, yeah..” you laughed silently but it sounded hollow to you . You did not want to bother them with your problem so ..“ I still had some work from university I..” “Liar” Sherlock interrupted you looking not very pleased with you. It was hard to stand against his gaze so you averted your eyes and looked down. “She is desperately looking for a place to life, since her friend is leaving the apartment and probably even the university” Sherlock explained for John. “How do you..” said man started and Sherlock rolled his eyes: “ It is obvious really. The fact that something is wrong was evident since you asked her yesterday. She immediately excepted. Normally she would need few minutes to ask  her friend if she was okay with it, because they only have one key, since she lost hers  a few days ago when she came here, meaning they would have to match their plans. Could be vacation but it is  the end of the term and the exams should start the next few days, no student goes for a break so close to the exams, so something has changed. When she arrived here her whole body was tensed and her smile was clearly forced, even you noticed it John, you mentioned to me you were worried about her, when we got the cab. Also she was clinking to her apartment key for her dear life. She has long left her apartment but instead of putting it in her bag she  held it all the time. My line of thoughts was confirmed when I found her just a minute ago with tears close to spill in her  eyes and  shaking hands in front of a page with many apartments. The only question is..” he looked at you again “Why did you not ask for help? I know you have not a really close relationship to your parents. You talk with love and admiration about everyone in your life, but you only talk about your parents when you are asked about it and even then you only give short neutral answers. Also they are quite distant and strict towards you. You were utterly confused when you saw first how John behaves towards Rosie. He is a really caring dad and Rosie loves to cuddle a lot. There was something sad in your eyes, also you were constantly afraid to make mistakes in our eyes and make us angry, more than people would normally worry about it. Could also have been a abusive or short tempered boyfriend but you did not lie when you answered Misses Hudsons Questions, saying you never had a boyfriend, also I never found you in physical harm. Your roommate also could not be the reason, you love her dearly. So for a behavior this strong with out a recent trauma, it must be a behavior learned on from a young age, so probably parents. Which fits with you never talking about them. This out of the way, the true question is, why did you not ask us for help? John is quite thankful for your work and made it clear to you he would be happy to help you out if there would ever be the need, still you just lied to us. If you asked me, you stupidly believed it would be wrong to bother us, but if you need help you should take every help you can get especially if someone already told you he would gladly help you.” When Sherlock finished you felt exposed and like an total idiot but on the same time you knew he was right. Also it really surprised you how much he had watched over you. You had always thought he would see you as unimportant and would ignore you, seeing he usually does not really talk to you, or spare you more than a glance. “ I...I am sorry...You are right..I really need a place to stay...and I am going out of options...” “Say John, do you feel like we really need a spare room?” Sherlock then asked to your grate confusion. “You mean...” John started and then understood” of course she can live here. Rosie would love it and I think she would be a joy to have around and Misses Hudson surely is not against it she  really likes (y/n).” “The bill is not even expensive when we share it through two, with three people it would be more than affordable for you. I hope you have nothing against violins. You should already be used to my experiments.” Sherlock finished. So this was how you ended up living with Sherlock, Rosie and John. One weekend John and Rosie went to visit Johns parents leaving you and Sherlock alone in the flat. You were sitting on the table in the main room and working on a exam while Sherlock was playing the violin. You were already exhausted but you felt like you were not doing any good and still needed to do way too much to stop for now even when you still had some days time ahead of you. You never had much self-confidence but this exam and the always shouting professor of the class were getting the worst of you. One day he had picked you out of the mass of students and made you feel like a complete idiot in front of everyone asking you question you never heard or knew the answer of . Before that, you thought you could manage this class but since that day you just found you failing over and over at the exercises and could not find yourself able to follow the lessons. To even worsen your situation, the exam you had to finish was quite important and you were scared to mess it up. Still you had not talked about it. Not even with John who was looking after you like you were a younger sister or a second daughter, neither did you talk to Sherlock even when you got his look that said 'There is clearly something wrong with you talk to us. Sherlock would never say it out loud but he was looking after you just like John. In his own special way Sherlock look after you like you were a little sister to him. That went so far that even Mycroft   started to watch over you. Yet, you never realized that the Holmes brothers especially Sherlock cared about you. You liked both of them very much, but you were too self conscious to think these two genius could care about a simple girl like you. You thought Sherlock took you in, because it would make things easier for John and Rosie and the bill for everyone shorter and that he talked to you because you were simply there, same going for Mycroft. Of course the two brothers noticed, but being them they found it hard to show you how important you have become for them in the last months. You sighed frustrated as you read the same line for the third time “ You know you should go to sleep, you look awfully tired, young lady” Sherlock spoke up. “I..” you yawned “I just have to get a bit further” Sherlock rolled his eyes “ and you believe you will be any good in you current state?” He stated the obvious.  “Just a little bit more....” Sherlock said nothing to it and began to play again. After a few seconds you realized it was a lullaby. That clever bastard, you thought. You could see him smirking when you took a look over your shoulder. He knew that you have fallen asleep to him playing this exact song, he had written a few months ago, many times before. Every time you went into the kitchen to get some water after another nightmare, you had quite many because of bad car accident you had to witness a few weeks ago, Sherlock was still awake not saying a word to you but when you went back into your room you heard him play this song. The first time you thought of it as coincidence the detective has the oddest hours to play, but after a few times you realized that that by no chance could be a coincidence anymore. You began to really love the song. It made you feel save and remembered you that he was there, playing. You were not alone, you were save at his watch. He never spoke about it but you somehow just knew the meaning of his song and always fell asleep to it. This fact was making it really hard for you not to fall asleep and before you noticed your head was on the table and you were dozing off. You felt something warm circling around your waist and arms and your eyelashes fluttered but a gentle voice made you close them again “It's just me, you are okay. Sleep you are save” you knew this tone. He uses it for Rosie and also when he ever has to calm the few people he sees as friends. It is a gently tone, gentle caring and protective and you were more than honored when he first used it for you. It was straight after you had seen that terrible accident. You had somehow found your way to the baker-street. You were a trembling mess. Sherlock and Mycroft were playing a party of chess, while everyone else were out for a walk in the park. “Dear God what happened to you,(y/n)?” Mycroft had asked and you remember that you were confused he remembered your name, when your legs gave up on you and you just fell to the ground crying. That day was the first time Sherlock used that tone on you. It was also the first time the detective hugged you. He even carried you to your bed and pulled the blanked over you. You had never seen someone die before. You cared much for other people so that experience haunted you. You were totally overwhelmed. You faintly remember Mycroft and Sherlock talking to you. Getting an idea what had happened and tried to calm you down. Even when John arrived Sherlock did not leave your side. You apologized a day later at the two for having had to deal with you but Sherlock just said it was a completely normal reaction especially for someone your age and Mycroft agreed. “Sherlock” you mumbled “Please I really still need to work on that exam.” “No you will not and there is no need to it for today. I know for a fact that you have several days left to finish it” he lifted you in his arms and began to carry you to your room. You knew you had by now more than lost against the detective but you were too afraid to go to sleep and kept on trying. But when you started to move his grip just got tighter. He was really stronger than one would expect. “Stop fighting a fight you know you have already lost.” he was still using this soft tone knowing it was calming you. He put you down on your bed and to your great surprise sat at the side of your bed. It was already dark in your room. He had turned out the lights and you could see the stars John brought to the ceiling, saying it might calm you when you wake up from a nightmare. You at first felt like a small child, but then you realized you loved it. Your parents never did such things for you, saying you needed to be an adult even when you were still a kid and quite scared of the dark.   A hand began to stroke your head and you froze before giving in to the feeling. It was a nice feeling. It was just strange for Sherlock to act like this. Still you really liked it. Suddenly you felt like you should talk to him about your exam. Like he wants you to talk about it with him. “Sherlock..?” “Mhm, what is bothering you  (y/n)?” you slightly said up and were surprised that Sherlock put an arm around you to support you, his hand gently rubbing your back in  a soothing manner. “ I...I am scared..I...I feel so dump and like a total idiot...I can not pass that exam  Sherlock...I just won't make it..I am scared...I see it ..I still see all this pictures in the night..” you told him everything about the exam, about the bad experience with your professor and about the nightmares and how they stole your sleep. He just listened and when you finished you realized you were crying and you could not stop. You know it was not a life threatening thing you had to deal with, but it still really scared you and stressed you out. Also you had for too long kept silent about it. Sherlock surprised you by pulling you into a hug. You knew he hates hugs, at least he always states it, but he seemed to know that you needed one and was willing to give you the feeling  safety you needed. “Your okay, ….calm down... your alright. Get some sleep. Tomorrow I help you with your exam, what do you say? Also you will see everything gets easier when you have slept a bit. You can do this, dear. You are more than clever enough to do it. You are just self conscious and stressed. Everything is alright. I think I will have to meet your professor and  have a serious talk with him.  Do not worry about the exam. You got this, you will see and I am here for you. This also goes for the nightmares. You can always come to me, even when I am a sleep, I will do my best to calm you and they will get better with time and you talking about the whole thing, so that your head can comprehend everything that has happened. You can also go to John he often said he would feel better when you would come to us when you had another nightmare instead of crying alone in your bed until you cried so long that you need a glass of water and normally  meet me in the main room.” he helped you lay you down “Sleep now...you are save, I watch over you” just before sleep consumed you you managed to mutter “Thank-you Sherlock” and somehow you knew he was smiling.

Request?

I have some free time over the next few weeks and I want to write more^-^

Any Requests?

This also could be topics: 1. “Silly, I would never let you fall” “Stop laughing I nearly died back there!” 2. “I am..I am not scared of (your choice~)” “Of course not. But I want to cuddle”

3. “Don’t tell me...” “It is not what it looks like” “How did this even happen?!”

4. “What are you doing here?!” “Wait what are you doing here?!”

5. “ But you are the villian!” “I do not care I quitt!”

6. “I missed you” “me or this?” “both”

7. “This is the worst day of my life” “Give me a second and I make one of the best”

8. “You cannot do this” “But dear, I already did”

9. “You wouldn’t dare!” “Oh, I would not be too sure about this”

10. “Do you trust me?” “Jump!”

11. “Leave her/ him alone!” “okay this works too”

12. “Calm down you are okay” “ I got you”

13. “This is not what I had planned” “No, but it is amazing”

You can decide if you would like to be Lover, friend, brother or sister ^^

I would do:

Supernatrual

Doctor Who

Sherlock

Lord of the rings

Avengers

Animes:

Attack on Titan

Bleach

One Piece

Dance with the Devils

Fairy Tail

and more...just ask =)

I am open for most topics with a few exceptions and nearly every character from the abbove some I might found tricky so please be not mad, if I say no.

William Sherlock Scott Holmes x OC.

One Night || Sherlock x Reader (smut below cut)

He showed up minutes to noon.

You’d been up late studying, pouring over textbook after textbook that you’d been too tired to bother putting away when you finally crawled into your bed in the young hours of the morning. Your flat was as cluttered as it had ever been with a disarray of notes occupying every surface the eye could see and beside your open laptop, a cold cup of tea sat forgotten amidst the middle of it all, half empty with a shallow ring forming on the wood beneath it.

Your eyes were slow to open at the sound of the incessant knocking on your front door and you stretched with a groan, your half asleep mind fumbling to remember if you were expecting company then. The knocking grew louder, faster, and only after determining that the visitor was definitely not going to stop did you throw your legs over the side, the wood cool cool beneath your feet.

You didn’t bother to move a single hair, despite how atrocious your bedhead surely was, and your eyes fought against every instinct to fall back shut and crawl back into your bed as you stumbled to the front door. Whoever it was had the indecency to wake you from your near-coma and as punishment, they would be forced to endure your unkempt state and most likely harrowing morning breath.

You had barely unlocked the bolts when the door flung open, nearly knocking right into you, and the tall dark blur of the consulting detective swept past you into your flat.

“Y/N, you won’t believe what I saw on my way here.”

You blinked at him, your mind suddenly on as high alert as it could be, and you pushed the door shut behind you. He’d yet to even spare a glance in your direction as he rushed through the room like a storm, his hand running along every surface he passed until he plopped unceremoniously to the spot you’d occupied most of the night before. You watched him fumble with the teacup and he took a sip before promptly spitting it back out into the porcelain.

“Gah, it’s cold.”

“Yeah,” you rasped in a tone that called him out for stating the obvious. “It’s been out all night. Why would you just drink from random cups?”

“Not random,” he mumbled, “it was yours. And I love tea. Can we make tea?”

Your arms crossed as the cogs in your head started to turn. Leaning against the arm of your chair, you peered down at him as he begun to flip through the pages of your various textbooks with both hands, eyes flitting wildly from one page to the next as though he could absorb all the different passages simultaneously.

Though, this was Sherlock, so perhaps he could.

“Sherlock, what are you doing?”

The question went ignored.  

“These are boring.” A look of disgust curled the edges of his lips as he moved on to the other open books spread out, finding nothing of interest in those either. “Why are you reading these, Y/N? They’re so boring.”

“They’re for my classes, Sherlock.”

“You already graduated,” he protested, at last turning those bright blue eyes your way. His brows furrowed. “These aren’t for forensics. Why are you studying anatomy now?”

“I enrolled in a nursing program.”

“Why?”

“Because—because I needed a change.”

“Change is upsetting.”

You rolled your eyes at that. “I’m not surprised you would say that.”

“Oh. Oh!” In an instant, he was at his feet once again, all but leaping over the coffee table to cross the room to you. His hands clamped onto your arms and he leaned in, like he often did when he had a breakthrough on one of his cases. “Y/N, you’ll never believe what I saw on my way here.”

“You said that before. So what was it?”

“I was on my way over here and there was a car parked down near Mr. McGillis’s shop—you know the one, with the knives and the clocks?”

“Yes. You took me there two weeks ago on one of your cases.”

“Yes! That one. Well you’ll never believe it but the car—a dog was driving it!”

You cocked your head with a most perplexed expression, one eyebrow raised in disbelief—and not because of his story, but rather the enthusiasm with which he was relaying it.

“I know! Isn’t that the oddest thing?” He let out a burst of laughter and his eyes shined wildly. “Well, of course it wasn’t really driving, but there were two dogs in the front seats and the small one had its paws up on the wheel—here, I have a picture. You have to see!” As he fumbled to reach into his pocket for his mobile, his grip on your arms fell and you took a step away.

“Sherlock.”

His hands abandoned his search and he looked at you once more, a stupid little smile that, in any other circumstance, would have been charming gracing his lips. “Y/N.”

You held out your hand. “Sherlock, give me your list.”

This time, it was he who looked at you in confusion. “My list?”

“Yes, Sherlock. Your list.”

Recognition hit and for a moment, he said nothing.

“I don’t have it,” he lied.

“Yes you do. You always do. Give it here.”

“No.”

“No?”

Like a petulant child, he crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his chin.

“If you want it, you have to take it from me.”

You eyed him up and down, reading everything from his posture to his stubborn glare and letting out a resigned sigh, you took a step forward. Your hand slipped into his pocket.

“It’s not in there.”

You glanced at him. “Then wh—“ As your understanding took root, you drew back and glowered. “Sherlock.”

“Go on, love. Take it.”

He was challenging you, his eyes glinting playfully—dangerously—and he pulled the corner of his lip between his teeth with a smirk. You took another step forward as he lifted back the side of his coat and cautiously, as though you could be burned, your fingers slipped into the pressed pocket of his trousers, brushing the crumpled note hidden inside. Before you could pull away, his arms wrapped snugly around you and all but pinned your body against his own, chest and legs and hips pressed firmly together.

“You’re so warm,” he groaned. “Are you always this warm when you’ve just woken up?”

“Sherlock, you’re crushing me.”

His arms loosened ever so slightly but he didn’t let go and he didn’t give you any space to escape from his embrace. It was enough, however, that you could pull your hand out from his pocket, clenching the crumpled paper between your fingers.

“My god,” he groaned again, his deep voice rumbling against your form in a most confusing and pleasant way, “you smell absolutely divine. How is it you always smell so delicious?”

His head dipped and you felt his nose bury into the skin of your neck, into your messy hair, and he hummed against you, sparking tiny shivers that wracked up and down your spine. You were nearly distracted enough to forget the entire purpose of standing so intimately close to him but with how oddly he was behaving, it didn’t stray far from your thoughts. You unfolded the note and did your best to smooth it with the little dexterity your single hand would provide.

As you struggled to see the words from over his shoulder, your eyes widened.

“What the fuck, Sherlock? Ecstasy?”

“It’s fascinating. I can’t believe I’ve never tried it before.”

“Sherlock, why would you take ecstasy?”

For a man who so seldom felt any strong emotions and even rarer still wanted to feel them, it was a most peculiar whim and you found yourself at a loss for words.

“For a case,” he mumbled. His face was still so close to yours, the tip of his nose drawing a delicate path along the line of your jaw. “The victim was drugged at a nightclub and the assumption is that it was the dosage that killed her. Obviously I had to adjust it for my stature.”

In your younger years, you had become well acquainted with it while you were away at university. You were no stranger to its effects or the dizzying euphoria that it created, but seeing that high experienced through Sherlock was jarring and alien to say the very least. You read over the number written out beside the long pharmaceutical name and your eyes widened again.

“I can’t believe you took this much. Jesus Christ—“ you tried to push away but his arms held you against him with alarming strength. “So you, what, figured you would overdose to see if it would kill you?”

“No,” he murmured so softly against your neck. “On the contrary, I’ve never felt so alive. Do people feel like this all the time?”

“When they’re high, yes. That’s what makes it so dangerous.”

“And appealing.”

It would have been impossible not to notice the way his firm hands began to slide across your back, fists curling and uncurling in the fabric of your sleep shirt as though it were an instrument he was all too eager to learn.

His breath fanned warmth against the shell of your ear as he gasped your name. “I feel so strange. And you feel so good.”

This was getting to be too much.

“That’s the drugs talking, Sherlock.”

Your hands rose up between you and as they slid over the smooth fabric covering his chest, he let out a moan that once again left you shivering, unsure if it was your body reacting to the proximity of your situation or if it was a thousand tiny alarms setting off at the sound.

“Fuck, it feels so good when you touch me.”

At that, you shoved him back with every ounce of strength in your body. He stumbled on his feet and looked at you in confusion—dare you say dejection—and his lip pulled down into a pout.

“Why did you do that?”

With the distance returned between you, you were able to clear your mind of the strange illusion he’d cast. Your hands fell to your hips, lips pulling into a most unpleasant scowl. “Damnit, Sherlock, how could you be so foolish?”

“Please.” In an extravagant motion, he waved the pesky thought away and his eyes remained locked on your form, raking up and down over and over in a slow way that made you feel far more exposed than you were. “I’ve done much worse than this.”

“Yes, as though I need the reminder.” Your eyes clamped shut and you pinched the bridge of your nose.

What were you going to do with him? How long has it been since you’d had to deal with someone this high on this particular drug—he might as well have taken Viagra with the way he was carrying about. You let out a sigh, mind searching everything you’d read about drug interactions since beginning your studies and everything you knew from before then, scrambling to remember if you had anything useful for the situation at hand.

You had nothing.

You couldn’t think clearly.

Your eyes snapped open, suddenly, when his face was buried into your neck again—only this time, his tongue lapped out, tracing a lazy pattern against your skin up to your ear and before you could properly prepare for it, his lips closed over the sensitive flesh of your lobe, nibbling and pulling and breathing in a way you never—not in a million years—would have expected from him.

“Sherlock.” Your voice was needy, pleading, but whether you were pleading him to stop or to keep going, you hadn’t the foggiest.

“You’re so bloody soft,” he moaned against you. “Softer than velvet. I wonder if you’re this soft everywhere.”

His warm fingers squeezed your fleece-covered thigh, running up and down with enough force to bruise and his other hand had somehow snaked its way underneath your shirt in your momentary distraction, sliding up and up and up along your ribs until he could very nearly—

“Sherlock Holmes, watch your hands!”

You all but jumped away from him, catching yourself on the edge of the chair to keep from falling backwards in the clumsiest way.

Focus. You needed to focus.

The man looked almost as dazed as you were sure you did and his lips were moist and red and if you weren’t so utterly astounded, it would have turned you on like nothing ever had.

Okay, so it did that anyway—

“I’d like to watch my hands touching every inch of you.”

Fuck.

When his lips stretched into a smirk once more, you almost lost it. You stepped around behind the chair and held your hand up, signaling him to stop before your hormones could cloud your judgement.

“Sherlock, stop it. This isn’t you and I’m not going to take advantage of you when you’re high as a kite.”

He made that face again—the one that relayed the depths of his confusion, looking a breath away from upset with his bright blue eyes as wide as could be.

“But I want this.”

“Now you do. Tomorrow you’ll regret it.”

“I promise you I won’t.”

He took a step closer, around the side of the chair you hid behind, and your feet mirrored his to keep distance between you.

“No, Sherlock, please. Your not thinking straight. You need to go sleep this off.”

“Sleep is the last thing I need right now.” His voice was the embodiment of pure sex. He took another step and so did you.

“Then go take a shower. I recommend a cold one.”

“I’d be more inclined if you joined me.”

The thought crawled into your mind and made a nest of its own and for a single moment, you thought your feet might betray every rational thought you had and take him up on the offer.

You couldn’t let that happen.

You darted past him in a quick burst and plucked your purse from its spot beside the door.

“No. I—I have to go to work. I’ll be late for my shift.”

Sherlock stared at you, expression unchanged. “No, you’re lying. I may be ‘high as a kite’, as you put it, but I can still read you like an open book. Or open—“

“Nope.” Your voice pitched and you shrugged your purse onto your shoulder. “Not lying. Gotta go.” Your hand twisted the knob. Without sparing a glance back at him, you called out to him over your shoulder. “The towels are under the sink.”

You slammed the door shut behind you and lasted all the way to the stairwell before you fell back against the wall and let out a long-held groan.

What the hell was he doing to you?

Keep reading

Experiment

Sherlock Holmes x Reader

~★~❤︎~✦~

There are many ways to describe THE Sherlock Holmes: Eccentric, Determined, Odd, Genius. Those unfortunate enough to meet him in person would describe him as childish. It’s quite amusing to think that someone as smart as Sherlock would be so childish. He throws tantrums and pouts when he doesn’t get his way. Even when he’s solving a case, he’s giddy like his mommy brought him home a toy. So it should be no surprise he acts childish when he’s in love. 

Of course he doesn’t tell you about his new found feelings for you. No, he performs little experiments on you. Trying to inquire if you could share his feelings. He starts off slowly not wanting to alert you. He begins by increasing his physical contact with you. Just a simple brushing of knuckles when passing each other. Or a gentle hand on your back. Light innocent touches, that's all he dares to do. You don’t seem to mind which gives him confidence to continue testing the relationship between you too. 

He moves on from light touches to soft words. He’s not bold enough to openly flirt with you. That's not his style but he does tease you in his own way. He’ll whisper his explanations in your ear letting his lips graze your ear ever so lightly. Giving him the out if you should bring it up that it was accidental. He’ll give you compliments in the form of observations. ‘That colour blue suits you’, there simple barely there compliments but he still notes the reddish colour to come to your face at them. 

So far it seems you share Sherlock's feelings, but he needs something more concrete if he’s going to confess. So tonight he’s going to be more bold. Johns out with *insert girls name* Sherlock and you will have the flat completely to yourselves. Giving him the perfect atmosphere to collect the last bit of data he needs to know before he reveals his feelings. He needs your pulse, he’s been trying to get it the past week but you always evade him. Moving at just the right moment preventing him from gathering this crucial data. Tonight though he’s determined to get it. 

You have a bright smile on your face when you enter the flat holding a bag of take out. If you're being honest you find yourself nervous to be alone with Sherlock in this manner. Of course you’ve spent time alone with him before, though he was always working on a case. This was different, this time his focus would be on you. It is intimidating to have his undivided attention. Honestly you were so surprised when Sherlock texted you to come over. The simple short text of ‘John’s out come over’ It didn’t leave room for you to say no not that you would have. The thought of declining never even crossed your mind. As soon as you got his message you were responding, at first you thought he had a case. Though with a simple text he refuted the idea texting you that he was just inviting you over. 

After staring at the text for an absorbent amount of time you finally get ready. Picking up takeout on your way and that's where you are now. Sitting next to Sherlock watching some random tv program while eating your takeout. You’re the first to break the silence, “Is everything alright Sherlock?” You're trying not to ruin the evening but you can’t help but be curious as to what brought on this on. He’s been acting differently all week. It was subtle changes at least in the beginning.

Yesterday when the two of you were walking to the lab he grabbed your hand. Fully interlocking his fingers with you. He didn’t even acknowledge it so neither did you just letting him lead you to the lab. 

“Do you think I invited you over because something was wrong?” your face told him his answer. “John was out so I thought we could spend time together” you let out a soft ‘oh’. Not that Sherlock was listening, no he was focusing on your body language. Watching closely at the blush forming on your cheeks. Time to get his last few points of data. 

He feels more confident, especially when he moves closer to you and your pupils enlarge. Your voice is background noise to Sherlock, he focused on your pulse. That's beating rapidly under his finger tips. Experiment complete. 

He cuts you off mid-ramble placing a kiss against your soft lips. He smirks against your lips when he feels your pulse pick up. When he pulls away your eyes are still closed. “What- you just kissed me” your voice is shaky. 

“Yes and I want to do it again, if that’s okay?” While Sherlock was confident in his deducing skills. He was still uneasy about romantical advances.

“Please” you're already tangling your hand in his hair, pulling him back to you. 

Sherlock Holmes can be described as many things: Eccentric, Determined, Odd, Genius, and an amazing Kisser.

I still need to watch Enola, but I couldn’t resist reading this first. Great job as always! ❤️ You never fail to write the most heartfelt and genuine stories. I always enjoy your work, and I can’t wait for more! ☺️

Out With the Old

A/N: You ask, and I deliver. Henry as Sherlock, set 6 months after the events of Enola Holmes, with reader as her sister! The fluff is wild, guys, but there’s a wonderful amount of hurt/comfort, too. Enjoy!

Gif belongs to the wonderful @anya-chalotra​ !! <3

Name: Out With the Old

Summary: Shakespearean insults are the best way to rile a private detective. Or, better yet, coax him into chasing you around his living room.

Words: 3039

“Seventy-five multiplied by sixty-three.”

“Four thousand, seven hundred and twenty-five.”

“Ninety-two multiplied by six hundred and three.”

“Fifty-five thousand, four hundred and seventy-six.”

“Very good! Now… how about seven thousand, three hundred and eighty-eight multiplied by… four thousand, seven hundred and fifty-six?”

“Thirty-five million, one hundred and thirty-seven thousand, three hundred and twenty-eight.”

Sherlock stopped in his pacing, lowering the mathematics book he’d picked from his mother’s bookshelf. An eyebrow raised, he turned to face you, sat languidly on a chair, an extremely unimpressed look on your face.

“That was… surprisingly quick,” he said.

You shrugged. “You can do it.”

“Yes, well-” His right eyebrow rose to meet the left, and he crossed his arms over his chest- “I don’t blurt out the answer a mere second after I’ve heard the question.”

You attempted to remain composed under his scrutinising gaze, but you hadn’t yet had enough time to master that ability just yet, and, well, he was Sherlock Holmes.

If it was at all possible, your brother’s gaze hardened, and you looked away, tapping your foot on the ground, before he cleared his throat and you rolled your eyes, heaving a sigh and falling back against the chair. “Mother always said my eyesight was better than anyone’s,” you told him submissively. “I can see the answers in the book from here.”

Swiftly, Sherlock whirling his eyes up to the ceiling and shook his head. He shut the book with a resounding slam and placed it on the table beside him before spinning back to face you.

“Stop cheating,” he said.

“It’s not cheating,” you insisted, standing to your feet, “it’s finding a loophole.”

“There’s a difference between being smart and being lazy.” He watched, turning around as you walked past him and over to the vase of chrysanthemums on the coffee table. You’d taken it from your mother’s room at home when Mycroft had started to clear it out. Home wasn’t home without chrysanthemums, and it was all the better that you knew they were hers.

“If it makes the job go faster, why shouldn’t I cheat?” you asked, believing it to be a genuine question. Your hand reached for one of the pink petals lying on the wood below the flowers. It was browning at the sides, and you twisted your lips in a thoughtful manner as you dropped it back in the vase.

“For the same reason you wouldn’t cheat at a school exam,” Sherlock replied. He walked up to you and lightly rapped on the top of your head, the corners of his lips curving upwards when you swatted at him. “Mental stimulation.”

You turned, leaning against the table and staring up at him. “I’m not sure that’s the reason you’re not supposed to cheat in a school exam, but alright.”

Sherlock chuckled lightly. He found it endearing how many differences there were between you and Enola. While she was still out there, strolling around London, lodging wherever she liked with the condition that he knew where, you had decided to take up your brother’s offer of returning to his home and staying with him. In all honesty, he likely would have insisted, considering you were about a month shy of fifteen at the time, but he’d still been surprised that the both of you were so willing to leave each other.

Watching you now, as you fiddled with another of the fallen chrysanthemum petals, he wondered over the past six months. He definitely preferred being the older brother as compared to the younger one. You were a force to be reckoned with, one thing you definitely had in common with Enola, and you often kept him on his toes – especially with these lessons he had taken to teaching you in replacement of his mother – but you were incredibly sweet, and he’d learnt as much from you as you had from him during your time together.

A smile still tugging at his lips, he reached for another book, flipping it open. “If you want to work with me, you have to learn to do things the proper way. There’ll be nothing for you to cheat on when we are out there being detectives.” Your shoulders dropped in defeat and he pat your back. The Holmes blood ran through you as proud and true as it did all three of your siblings, and you typically enjoyed these daily sessions, so why you were acting so resigned, he wasn’t certain, but he would get there eventually. He always did.

“Come,” he said, sounding as encouraging as he could manage. “Shakespeare. Our favourite!”

You heaved a sigh. “I do desire we may be better strangers,” you mumbled more to yourself, but Sherlock heard, and he turned, a look of satisfaction on his face.

“As You Like It,” he remarked. “Good. Now, concentrate, Y/N.”

“I’ve been concentrating for two hours!”

“Correction: you have been attempting to concentrate for two hours.”

“Thou cream-faced loon,” you said, louder this time, and he nodded, brows raising and lips pursing in clear pride.

“Hamlet.”

“A pox o’ your throat,” you began to quote, lifting your arm in the air, a sly smile on your face as you performed like you were on stage, “you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog!”

Sherlock frowned, averting his eyes in thought. “I’m… beginning to think you aren’t just quoting Shakespeare.”

Once you reached the fireplace in the room, you whirled around, tilting your head to the side as innocently as possible. “What makes you say that, thou lily-liver’d boy?”

At that, Sherlock made a face of realisation, and he held the book in one hand while pointing a finger of the other in your direction. “Now, Y/N-”

“Out of my sight!” you called dramatically. “Thou dost infect my eyes!”

Sherlock placed the book on the chair you’d been sat on not five minutes ago. “I’d prefer if you didn’t use famous lines from the wonderful William Shakespeare to insult your older brother.”

“I bite my thumb at thou!”

“There will be no biting of thumbs, thank you.”

“Thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows!”

“Well, then your elbows must be very intelligent.”

“You are as a candle, the better burnt out!”

“I remember you doing this as a child, now that I think about it.”

“Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat!”

“You would run about the house in your little night gown, quoting lines from Oliver Twist like a glorified stage actor.”

“More of your conversation would infect my brain!”

“Do you know what else I remember from your childhood?”

“Foul spoken coward, that thund’rest with thy tongue-”

“You were particularly ticklish.”

“-and with thy weapon nothing da- what?”

Sherlock’s smile broadened into a rare grin, and he crossed his arms over his chest, likely revelling in the way the words had stopped so suddenly on your tongue, hands halting in mid-air. When your wide-eyed, open-mouthed face turned to stare at him, he briefly waved an arm, shaking his head. “No, no, please do continue.”

You continued to stare at him, ready to run and more than ready to punch him in the face, but he just stood there, as though expectant of something, and you weren’t entirely sure whether you should continue in your Shakespearean rampage or give in to his attempts to teach you and simply let your damn brother have his way.

Nevertheless, despite the differences between you and Enola, there were many similarities… one of those being neither of you knew when enough was enough. Apparently.

“You are not worth another word-” you started daringly – perhaps you wanted to dare – watching with an ever-growing grin as your brother’s eyebrows ventured to reach his hairline, and his head dipped dangerously lower- “else I’d call you knave.”

He blinked once. Twice. Then he jolted forward, and you let loose a little yelp before jumping away from him, leaping over a couch in a way that would have had Mycroft writhing on the floor from a heart attack at having seen such a thing. Thankfully, this was Sherlock, and if your mother’s stories and the fact that he vaulted over the couch immediately after you were anything to go by… he wouldn’t be collapsing on the ground anytime soon.

“I’m glad to see you take after me with your love for literature!” he called out as he chased after you, stopping only to quickly grab the vase of chrysanthemums you’d accidentally knocked before it wobbled off the edge of the table. “Though perhaps you should lessen the enthusiasm!”

“Never!” you shouted back, the grin on your lips impossibly wide. You couldn’t remember ever having this much fun with someone who wasn’t Enola or your mother. And you’d never dreamed of Sherlock, the supposedly work-oriented, anti-fun detective, being the one providing this entertainment. He was racing after you, in his buttoned shirt, trousers and dress shoes, you in an old pair of his breeches and a loose blouse (he allowed you to flout society’s – and Mycroft’s – standards of young women wearing dresses and bows in their hair when he knew nobody was expected at the house that day). Abnormal grins were on your faces as you ran circles around the large room, you giggling uncontrollably and him with determination glittering in his eyes.

“You might as well stop running!” he called. “I always captured you and Enola in the end!”

“Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lie!” you yelled, twisting to stick your tongue out at him and squeaking as you tripped over a pile of unnoticed papers laying haphazardly on the floor. You stumbled, trying to regain your footing, until you felt two strong arms encircle you and trap you against a hard chest.

“I think you’ll find that I do not lie, little Shakespearean,” Sherlock said, eyes devoid of the previous determination and now sparkling with mischief as he turned his head down to look victoriously at you. You laughed, pushing at his arms.

“Away, you scullion! You rampallian! You fustilarian! Away, you three-inch fool! You- ah! Sherlock! No!” You threw your head back in laughter as you felt his fingers dig into your sides.

“Go on,” Sherlock encouraged, “spew your insults. I am all ears.”

Listening to your contagious giggles, the man found himself close to beaming. Doubtlessly you would not remember the times when you and Enola had been young – no more than four and five years of age, respectively – and would adorably cajole him into chasing you both around the house, receiving well-earned tickles in the end. Mycroft had called it childish. Mother had called it sweet. Father had shouted at them to keep the noise down. He hadn’t much cared for their opinions at the time and he knew he wouldn’t now.

“Sherlock!” you screeched, bending over his arms as he let his fingers trail quickly up to your ribs. “Stopitstopitstopit!”

He shook his head fondly at your chaotic laughter, wondering briefly how he’d ever lived so long without it.

“Ninety-three multiplied by one thousand and sixty?” he asked casually, simultaneously wiggling his fingers into your neck and chuckling as you scrunched up your shoulders.

“SHERLOCK!”

“Tell me the answer. Show me how clever I know you are.”

“Uh- uh- wait! Nihine- ninety-eight thouhouhousand, five hundred and eiGHTY! I said it! I SAID IT, Sherlock, STOHOHOP!”

Sherlock stopped immediately, retracting his hand and keeping you upright as you fell back against him, residual giggles spilling from your lips while you panted for air. “So you did,” he agreed, patting your stomach twice. “Who needs cheating when you have a brain as intelligent as yours, hm?”

You raised your head up to stare at him. “That was…”

His eyes narrowed, daring you to quote Shakespeare again, and you smiled in defeat. “Terrible,” you finished. “Simply awful. If that’s what big brothers make a habit of doing, I might just leave here forever and stay with Enola.”

He chuckled again, releasing you and walking to pick up a stack of papers that had flown from his desk as he’d zoomed past just minutes before. “Ah, but then, who would keep me company?” he asked, offering a warm smile as you collapsed on the couch.

“You’ve lasted long enough by yourself,” you told him.

“Being alone can become routine, yes, but that does not mean you should have to like it.” He neatly settled the papers back and turned to face you, leaning against the wooden desk, hands braced behind him and one ankle crossed over the other. You glanced up as he spoke. “I have enjoyed having you here, Y/N. I must say it’s been easier for me to get out of bed each morning.” You dropped your eyes again, a hint of a terribly suppressed smile gracing your lips. “Anyway,” he said. “I think we’ve had our sufficient fill of Shakespeare today. What about Oliver Twist? Think you can remember some lines?”

At your lack of response, he frowned and absently bit his bottom lip, staring at your bowed head as you fiddled with a stray thread of the couch’s armrest. He glimpsed the clock on his desk. Half-past twelve. You’d worked longer and harder than this before and enjoyed it all immensely, so why you weren’t so keen now, he still wasn’t sure.

He pursed his lips. “You’re usually eager to solve these problems. What has you so unmotivated today?”

“It’s nothing,” you told him immediately, and he nodded slowly. He’d learnt in his line of work that it was always better to ask more questions and persist, but there was a limit with everyone, and he hadn’t quite explored those limits with you just yet. Nevertheless, as he readied himself to rephrase his question in an effort to figure out the cause of your lack of drive today, you spoke again.

“I just… I miss Enola,” you told him quietly, obviously relenting, and he moved forward to settle himself in the armchair next to you. “And Mother. That’s all. We used to do these things together. And I suppose… I have so loved doing them with you these past few months… but, sometimes, I get bombarded with memories, of times when she and Mother were still here, and they make me sad.”

He entwined his fingers together and nodded, glancing away for a moment. “I understand.”

You hated yourself for it, but you hardened your gaze enough to make your face look the slightest bit irritated. “How can you understand? You don’t know what it’s like to miss a sibling.”

His face fell the slightest bit, and you blinked, shaking your head. “Sorry,” you told him, “I didn’t mean it.” And you didn’t. Not really. But there were times when you thought about how easy it had been for Sherlock to take the train down to your house in the country, and how he had never taken advantage of that beforehand. You could already confidently say you had learnt to love him in the six months since he’d taken you in, and you were sure he felt the same.

But why couldn’t it have been sooner?

“I did think of you both.” You flicked your eyes up again when he spoke, soft and clearly considerate of his words as he placed his interlaced hands on his lap and stared at them with furrowed brows. After he sensed you’d looked up, he lifted his own eyes and nodded once. “Often. Just… well. I think perhaps I left it too long, and then each time I thought about coming to visit, I worried perhaps you wouldn’t want to see me.” He breathed a quiet chuckle and heaved a deep breath. “A weak and foolish excuse, I know, but I was a weak and foolish man. If I could go back and change the way I acted, I would. I would write to you, as Enola suggested, and come to visit as much as I could.” He glanced up again and sent you a sad smile. “It was two wonderful relationships wasted, and I apologise from the bottom of my heart.”

You felt a sort of relief at his words. Finally, after years of wondering, after years of waiting… sitting with Enola on your mother’s bed as you looked through the clippings of all your brother’s cases, and talked together in hushed whispers about what he might be like… you had an answer. It wasn’t the best answer, and a part of you doubted you would ever fully understand it, but you had it, and that was more than you’d possessed a minute ago.

“You’re here, now. That’s what matters,” you told him, offering your own smile, and he mirrored it.

“And, for what it’s worth, which I’m sure is a lot,” he said, leaning towards you, “I am one hundred percent certain Enola and Mother do not go a day without thinking of you, too.”

“Likewise,” you told him, feeling your heart warm, and he gave you another smile before he reached across for a small blue ball on his desk, throwing it in the air. Perhaps you’d be more inclined to play a game instead.

“Shall we return to your lessons?” he asked.

“What if I cheat again?” you asked, your lips curling up into a smirk. He chuckled, standing to his feet.

“Ah, well, you see, I know now how to curb that…”

You desperately shook your head, putting your up in surrender. “I’ll tell Mycroft on you!” you threatened, and the look he gave you made you burst into laughter after three seconds of pure silence. The both of you knew you wouldn’t speak to Mycroft if you could help it, and, to be quite honest, neither would Sherlock.

He threw you the ball as you made to stand up, chuckling when you yelped after seeing it coming towards you a little too late, struggling to hold it properly.

“Enola’s twice as good at these things,” you told him, tossing it back to him. He caught it easily.

“Well, if she’s twice as good, then you’re just good. And, often-” He aimed the ball in your direction- “all you need is a good person to get the job done. As dear William says… brevity is the soul of wit. Catch!”

Fuck it. I've been procrastinating getting a list of fandoms up for any asks or prompts anyone is willing to send in. Been stressed with school but I'm failing anyways so fuck it.

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Sherlock (BBC)

Sherlock Holmes

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And uhhhh, maybe some matchups? If anyone wants those??

Stuff I can do for ya: headcanons, imagines, oneshots, matchups... If I'm missing anything lemme know.

Shit I will NOT do: INCEST🤢, smut (if you guys behave then maybe I'll let this one slide😏), and I won't do a request if you're an asshole about it😊!

I'll update this sooner or later😉

Hi Blue!

I'm new to your blog so I'm not sure whether you write headcanons. If you do, could I request some fluffy sfw dating headcanons for Sherlock and William from Moriarty the Patriot? If you can't/don't want to write it, it's totally okay.

Thank you in advance, have a nice day/night! ^^

- Blue Rose💙

Notes: Heyy BlueRose! Of course i write head canons! (actually i love when people ask me to write head canons) and I’ve been waiting for someone make this request💙😭 i love Sherlock and William sm

TW/CONTENT:sfw,fem!reader,dating Sherlock and William (separated) hc’s

Sherlock

Ok then your first meeting will probably have been at a crime scene

if he has known you as a "suspect" then he will probably be impressed by your character and perhaps even your habits since you will have to tell them exactly what you were doing during the time of the crime

In one way or another, he’ll understand what kind of person you are and he’ll fall in love with you before he asks you out on a real date that doesn’t include his work

But if you’re a cop working the case or, more excitingly, if you’re another detective working the case then expect a healthy spirit of competition from him

He’ll probably annoy you every two seconds while you’re thinking about a lead on the crime

"Oh are you thinking about those stains on the victim’s body? Needless to say dear, it was of a disease he had for a long time"

He will call you with nicknames as a couple (while you are not yet dating in that sense) just to annoy you and because he loves to see your reactions annoyed and/ or embarrassed.

"dear" and "sweetie " are the order of the day

when you two start to have real dates, these will probably be late evening dates at a bar while you talk about how the day went while drinking a glass of alcohol or juice, if you are teetotal

Or there will be long walks through the markets while Sherlock tries to spoil you a bit by buying what you want from those stalls.

watson will be the third wheel

Surely our detective will spend a lot of time with you since his interest has clearly become one of the purest forms of love for you

even if maybe at the beginning he would try to stay away from you because he has not quite clear what is this feeling that makes his heart beat hard every time you are near him

but give him time and you will see that he will be ready to live a romantic life, carefree and full of love with you

“so...i guess this is love”

William

there isn't a specific point where you two could have gotten to know each other, maybe at a gala? or maybe your first meeting was on a nice afternoon at the village

The fact is that the first thing William noticed and adored was your good heart

Helping, talking and making friends with everyone, whatever their social status is what he noticed from you.

He loves it, and he found you adorable😩

Most likely he will start a conversation with you, curious to know you better.

You will have a very pleasant conversation!

At first he didn’t think that his interest and sympathy for you would turn into love, but life is full of surprises, don’t you think?

In the beginning you'll met him for pure luck and case in the country, you two could not speak so much unfortunately, you both had your commitments after all

Once he understand his feelings for you he will start to ask you out and spend good quality time together

Perhaps the first times you were a little agitated- William is still a noble, he could have brought you in an elegant and luxurious place such as a restaurant 'for nobles'. So you knew that if he took you to one of those places you would have to do your best to feel comfortable

You were quite surprised when your dates with him will actually be quite simple and comforting

you two will breakfast at the bar with a good coffee and a croissant each or a carefree and fun picnic in the shade of an oak tree while watching the sunset while you two were feeding each other chocolate covered strawberries🍓💙

 strawberries were obviously prepared by Louis to help his brother as he could

After a couple of dates and realizing that your relationship is getting serious, he’ll take you to his house to meet his brothers

It will be a formal dinner but still quite fun, William has talked a lot about you to Louis and Albert, so they knew you enough to make you feel comfortable during dinner

then you will also meet Bond, fred and Sebastian

It has become William's custom to bring you a bunch of red roses at least once a month.

He loves to see your cheeks blush every time

“They always told me that red roses are the symbol of love, the more I look at them and the more I think of you"

I hope you like it!💙

𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜 𝙖𝙣𝙙/𝙤𝙧 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙙! 𝙊𝙝 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜<3

Bagels (Sherlock x Reader)

Summary: the reader is married to Sherlock and is carrying his child. She’s seven months pregnant and is very hormonal and has insane cravings. She wakes up one early morning craving bagels and chaos ensues.

Words: 723

Characters/Pairings: Sherlock x reader

Warnings: none:)

If someone had asked if Sherlock had ever wanted kids, he would have outright ignored them. He hardly knew the answer to that himself. But now, with his wife of five years carrying his daughter, with only two months to go, he was immensely excited to meet his little girl.

The only part he could really go without is his wife’s ‘baby brain’, as she calls it. She is constantly forgetting things or getting sidetracked. And don’t even get him started on her mood swings and cravings.

Nearly every morning she wakes him up at an ungodly hour stating she wants anything from fried pickles and cream cheese to pizza with caramel sauce. And if he refuses, tears start to silently pool in her (E/C) eyes. He’d sigh and slide out of bed.

However, this time, rather than (Y/N) shaking him awake, he awoke to the rancid smell of something burning and the light sobs of his wife coming from the kitchen. Panic flared up in the detective and he jumped from the bed, running into the kitchen.

His shout of panic died in his throat. There was no fire. No blood. Nothing that showed a serious problem. Just his seven-month pregnant wife, scratching at a blackened bagel with a butter knife, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks and tiny sobs hiccupping out of her lungs.

“(Y/N), love, what in God’s name are you doing?” He stepped up to her, taking the knife from her trembling hand. She didn’t look up at him, only thumping her forehead against his chest.

“I-I wanted bagels, and I knew you were tired from the case, s-s-so I got up to make them myself… The bagels were too big for the toaster so I put them in the oven. Th-th I fell asleep… When I woke up the kitchen smelled so horrible… I-I-I… I burnt my bagels!!” She sobbed even harder and wrapped her arms around Sherlock’s torso.

If it were anyone else, he would scoff at the sheer ridiculousness of the scene before him, but this was (Y/N), his (Y/N). He couldn’t help but appreciate the humor in this moment. A chuckle bubbled past his lips until it was full blown laughter.

He wrapped his arms around her and gently swayed her as he laughed. She stopped sobbing to look up at him with a slightly offended look.

“Why are you laughing!? I was seriously scared, Sherlock! What if I burned the flat down!? Are you even listening!?” (Y/N) cried, now angry tears fell from her bloodshot eyes.

“Oh, yes, my dear, I am listening. As I see it, you didn’t burn down the flat so no harm was done. Now, let’s get you back to bed, you’re nearly asleep on your feet.” Sherlock pressed a kiss to her forehead and led her away from the kitchen.

“But I still want my bagel…” She whimpered, holding her husband’s hand as he pulled her into their bedroom.

“I’ll make you a new one, love. Now lay down.”

“But there will be crumbs in the bed, Sherl!” She moved from whimpering to whining. He sighed and nudged her onto the bed. She complained even though she was doing as he asked without a physical struggle.

“Don’t worry about it. Just close your eyes.” He sat on the edge of the bed, running his hand through her hair. This side of him, caring and affectionate, it was a side he never showed anyone but you. Which is why no one believed you when you said Sherlock was the sweetest man you had ever met.

By the time Sherlock’s hand finished its fifth pass through her hair, she had fallen asleep once more, her hand clamped around his. He allowed himself a small smile of bliss as he laid down next to her.

His eyes flicked over her features, memorizing her face in this moment so he can go back and remember how lucky he was to have such a woman love him enough to marry and have a child with a man such as him. Loving her wasn’t hard. It wasn’t even a disadvantage. His mind was clearer with her, sharper with her.

He would do anything for her, and their child.

Even if it was waking up at three in the morning to the smell of burning bagels.

Empath (Sherlock x Reader)

Words: 922

Characters/Pairings: Sherlock x reader

Warnings: none

A/N: This is just something I had been thinking of for a while. I feel like if magic were to be real in Sherlock’s world, he’d definitely end up with an empath of some sort. I feel like he’d be really interested in her ability at first but at the same time not want to have anything to do with her because emotion is not an advantage and whatnot. But soon He’d just give in and it was the best choice he ever made.

There was nowhere they'd rather be. Laying in each other's arms, with no words to say. They wouldn't need them anyway. With only a look, he could see just what she was feeling. With a touch, she could feel what he felt.

Someone who doesn't feel emotion like others and another who felt everything. A sociopath and an empath.

Running her hand over his bare ribs she could feel the pure relaxation and contentment filling him like hot chocolate on Christmas day. His blue-green eyes peered into hers, seeing the dilated pupils and slightly parted lips. His forehead pressed to hers and their messy locks meshed together.

Their legs were tangled together and his hand rested on her fabric covered thigh. He held the back of her head with his other hand, his arm tucked underneath her neck, keeping her close.

Light filtered through the pale curtains while her soft music played quietly in the air and soothed her mind. Her positive energy cleared his mind and filled him with a sense of fulfillment and warmth that he would have never gotten from any substance before he met her.

His brother always said love wasn't an advantage. He'd obviously has never met anyone like the woman in Sherlock's arms. She cleared his mind, drove away the insanity, and filled him with purpose. He had been clean for months now because of her. She had become his drug in a way.

“Figure it out yet?” Her voice was soft and sweet, sending pure delight through him. He hummed.

“I had it figured out about 30 seconds after we met the client,” he mumbled, the vibrations of his voice rumbling in her chest. A smile spread across her face and she pressed her lips to his in an adoring kiss.

“What took you so long?” She teased. “Surely this was a breeze?” He smirked and brought his hand up to run his thumb over her lower lip.

“I was distracted.” He leaned forward to kiss her, only for her to pull back slightly.

“Oh, no! You mustn't get distracted, dear. Lives are on the line!” She grinned at his scowl. He growled and buried his face in her neck.

“It's hardly a five, but you made me take the case. It's not my fault that I find my current company more interesting than whether or not a woman's husband is having an affair with her own brother.”

She chuckled at his grumpy voice and the way he curled his arms around her possessively. Her hand came up to run through his hair, twirling a curl on her index finger.

“Well, you couldn't feel the distress from her handshake. Poor woman, how she couldn't tell that her husband had the hots for her brother is beyond me. Just meeting them both earlier confirmed it. The guilt and adrenaline in the room were stifling.” She scrunched her nose. Sherlock simply observed her.

He adored it when she spoke of what she feels from others. Emotion was something always looked down on in his life, but when he met her, it became such a regular thing that all contempt for it was gone. Now, all he wanted was to hear how people felt through her. Her ability also came in handy during cases when they had some more stubborn clients or suspects. He absolutely adored her.

He grabbed her hand and rested it on his chest, right above his heart. This was his way of expressing his love for her. He still had difficulty wording what he felt, but luckily, he didn't have to with her. She smiled and gently ran her nails over his skin. His body filled with a feeling he once thought he could never feel. But this was coming from her hand. She was pouring her emotions into him. Saying she loved him back.

“Tell me again,” He whispered. She exaggeratedly groaned.

“Sherl, I've told you a thousand times!” she said incredulously, their moment somewhat ruined by his request.

“Please. You know I find it interesting.”

“But I hardly understand it myself.” She pouted. He looked at her with his kicked puppy look. Her frown deepened. “No.” His eyes only seemed to get bigger. “Ugh, fine!”

His face broke out in a satisfied grin. She glared at him.

“Well, it’s like a flow of colors in my mind. All swirling and dancing, sometimes indiscernible from each other. Like a beautiful battle. There’s crimson rage, muddy green jealousy, yellow happiness. When I touch someone, it can see those colors in my mind.” She closed her eyes and ran a hand over his sharp cheek.

“Like right now, I can see orange curiosity, soft blue contentment, and… fiery red love.” She grinned as she opened her eyes and looked into his eyes. His pupils blown and a look of awe across his features. “But there is a sliver of dark grey denial. Still think you can’t love, dear?” She playfully challenged.

“I'll have you know, you are infuriatingly beautiful and intelligent, but you’re wrong. I did once believe I could never feel what I feel for you.” He paused, “granted, everyone else is still morons and I can't stand to be around them. But why do I need to when I have all I need here?”

“Watch out, Mr. Holmes, someone might think you've gone soft.” She chuckled. He laughed in response and smoothed a hand over her hair.

“Soft? No,” he scoffed. “In love? Hm. Yes.

“Love isn't a disadvantage when it's with you.”

Thinking Out Loud (Sherlock Holmes x Reader)

Request: Hi! I saw your dialogue prompts and wanted to request nos. 9, 10, and 42 for Sherlock. A bit angsty and a little fluff if you would. Thank you in advance!

Words: 665

Characters/Pairings: Sherlock x reader

Warnings: FLUFF, marriage

Shaky hands shifted and pulled at the lace sleeves of the dress. Sighs left the cherry lips of the nervous bride in puffs. Her heart fluttered in her chest at the thought of in just a few minutes she’d be waltzing down the aisle.

“Are you feeling okay?” Mary asked from behind her. (Y/N) nodded with a wavering smile. She was feeling more than okay. She was elated, practically buzzing with anticipation.

“It’s just – I never imagined myself in a wedding dress.” She felt her heart thumped loudly in her chest. “Especially for Sherlock.” She let out a small chuckle. Mary huffed a laugh of agreement while nodding her head.

                                                 Flashback

The couple walked side by side near the Eye of London. Some man had been found dead in the river just around here. They were here to find clues as to who killed him.

The woman’s attention was drawn away from her path when she heard a squeal of delight and a woman shouting ‘yes’. A young couple, younger than her and Sherlock, stood at the base of the Eye, wrapped up in each other’s arms in the chilly winter air.

(Y/N) sighed nearly inaudibly, but from how close she stood to her partner, he could easily hear the longing sound.

“Don’t even think about it,” he drawled, not looking at her. “I told you when we first started this relationship, that it would not end up in marriage. It’s not a good idea.”

“I wasn’t – I didn’t…” she sighed heavily. “I don’t expect you to ever propose to me. I’ll be content to just be with you for the rest of our lives… Or until you get bored.” She looked down at her feet, stuffing her hands in her pockets.

Sherlock suddenly stopped and faced her. She didn’t look up to him.

“Look at me.” He demanded, his voice tight. She refused. “(Y/N), look at me… please.”

It must have been important for him to say please. She looked and locked eyes with the detective.

“Don’t ever think I would get bored of you.” He paused for a moment, his brows furrowing. Then without another word he turned and walked away. She watched with wide eyes as his back grew farther away. She had to run to catch up.

Months passed and the two were lounging at home, having just waved Mary and John off. The two had just recently married and were still adjusting to the married life. (Y/N) sat squished in between Sherlock and the couch arm. For some reason unknown to her, he decided to sit as close to her as possible, just short of sitting on her.

“When should we set the date?” Sherlock asked out of the blue. Blinking in confusion, (Y/N) looked up from her book.

“What date?”

“For our wedding, of course.” He rolled his eyes as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Just marry me already. I know with John and Mary getting married you can’t stand the thought of not marrying me.”

                                               End Flashback

“I do.” His deep voice rang in tune with her soul. Her smile was blinding to his eyes. Never had he ever met someone so radiant. He was glad she was his. And with this kiss they now shared, she was his and he was hers for the rest of their lives.

“At what point did you think that this was a good idea?” She mumbled, pressing her forehead to his.

“Don’t you remember? At the Eye, I told you I wouldn’t mind you having my last name if that were the only reason we got married.” His hands were soft and warm around hers. She cocked an eyebrow.

“No, you didn’t. You just said we would never get married, then told me that you’d never get bored of me. You stared at me for a bit the just walked away…” She recounted. His face twisted in annoyance.

“I really need to start saying things out loud…”

Yours From The Beginning (Sherlock x Reader)

Request:  Hey I love your fics and I was wondering if I could request a Sherlock x Reader fic using prompts 5 and 24. Thank you very much 💕 5 “It’s midnight, what do you want?” 24 “I’ve never felt this way before and I’m terrified, to be honest.”

Words: 1027

Warnings: Domestic violence, abuse, blood, angst.

Characters/Pairings: Sherlock x reader

A/N: I apologize for my long absence! I've been going through some mental health stuff, on top of college and moving... But I’m back! I have 4 more requests in my list and we are almost to 300 followers! I can’t believe it! Thank you guys so much! (Also imagine this gif as Sherlock coming to save you!)

All was silent in the building. The tenants of 221 Baker St. all slept on peacefully in their beds. John snores ever so softly, wrapped tightly in his tan sheets. Mrs. Hudson would mumble in her sleep, occasionally a scolding tone would slip out with Sherlock’s name as the subject. But these two are not what held the detective’s attention.

The doorknob quietly jingled as a key was inserted. How he got a copy was beyond the tenant of 221C. (Y/N) was curled up into a ball amongst her lavender blankets. She twitched in her sleep at the sound of footsteps closing in on her bedroom.

The door squeaked open, something she refused to fix specifically for this reason. She was a light sleeper.

“It’s midnight, Sherlock, what do you want?” Her rough, sleepy voice sounded from the mound of blankets. Sherlock didn’t stop as he made his way to her bed, lifting the duvet and nudging her to move over. She groaned and wiggled to the side, allowing him to lay next to her.

This isn’t the first time the two have shared a bed. Having grown up with each other the two knew each other like the back of their hands.

“What’s the matter?” She mumbled, wrapping her arms around him like she does when he’s in a mood. He was silent and she honestly didn’t mind. He seldom answered her if he didn’t want to. Most of the time he just wanted peace and quiet and that’s what she provided. As well as an ear to listen if he needed one.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck and tangled their legs together. She was wearing shorts. It sent his heart beating wildly. The softness of her skin, the gentle but firm grip of her arms around him, and the forgiving pressure of her body against his, it all had his mind fuzzy.

As children, (Y/N) was a cute kid but always covered in dirt, hair frizzy and band-aids covering her legs and arms. As teenagers, (Y/N) sprouted into a spitfire of a woman. Always questioning their teachers, getting into detention for talking back. Or for the time she shot a boy in the junk with a paintball gun for talking bad about Sherlock.

He hadn’t seen her for years after her family moved away in their junior year. They kept in touch, though. Sending letters and exchanging phone calls. He would tell her of the college he attended and the cases he solved after college.

She would indulge him of her career as a freelance writer. And of her boyfriend.

Robert wasn’t a good man. He was so charming and kind upon first getting to know him. He would take her out and make her feel like a princess. That was until they moved in together. He was smart, hitting her in spots that were easily hidden. Berating her and isolating her from her friends.

But she managed to stay in touch with Sherlock, not telling him of what was going on, however. Knowing how Sherlock was, she was able to keep it hidden from him, talking as normally as she had before this all happened.

But why not tell him? Simple. She didn’t want to seem weak. She was always able to handle herself growing up. So, she can handle this as well…

She broke, though. Robert had come home smelling of perfume and booze. He threw a vase at her head. She couldn’t remember why. She couldn’t remember much of that night. All she remembers is barely reaching her phone after Robert had passed out on the couch. Her vision was red with blood and the buttons of her phone were smudged red as she called Sherlock.

He had shown up to find her in a puddle of her blood. He nearly thought her dead, if it hadn’t been for the shallow rise and fall of her chest. Mycroft’s men had rushed in and swept her up and to the nearest hospital. Sherlock stayed behind.

He showed up at the hospital with bloodied fists and a split lip. After that, after her recovery, Sherlock arranged for her to move into 221C, where she had her privacy but was within reach of him.

That had been four months ago, and her hair was still boyish short from having her head shaved in order to stitch her up. Robert mysteriously disappeared, thanks to Mycroft, who thought of the woman as a little sister.

Having her here now, all grown up and beautiful, it awoke something in Sherlock.

“I’ve never felt this way before and I’m terrified, to be honest.” He murmured into her skin. She jerked slightly; having thought he had fallen asleep.

“How do you mean?” She carded her fingers through his dark curls. He tightened his arms around her.

“My heart races when I’m near you like this, my mind is hazy when I think of you. And I’m paralyzed when you smile at me. The air leaves my lungs when you cry and it’s as if the world turns grey. The thought of losing you feels like I’m dying.” Sherlock curled around her. Almost afraid of her response to his confession. He felt her take a deep breath and he braced for the worst.

“Shit, Sherl…” Her voice came out in a sob. His head shot up to look at her in the dim light. Tears glistened in her (e/c) eyes. A smile painted her face, however. His brow furrowed.

“Did I say something wrong? I-I apologize… I figure you don’t feel the same for me. I’d understand if-if you only saw me as nothing more than a brother or a close friend, but I-”

“Sherlock.” She cut him off, cupping his slightly scruffy cheek. He hasn’t shaved in a few days because of his latest case. She liked it.

“Yes?” He breathed.

“Just shut up for once.” She grinned, pressing her lips to his. Truth be told, she had always loved him. From the very beginning. She just figured the man who said love was weakness wouldn’t love her in return. 

Oh, how she was wrong.    

The Time I Wasted (Sherlock Holmes x Daughter!Reader)

Request:  Heyo great writer can you do Sherlock X daughter reader. Angsty please prompt 99 and 95 thank you

Words: 1529

Warnings: Angst. Character death. Blood. Wound infection. Gore. Detached father. Parent death. Torture. Basically an angst salad. Curse words.

Characters/Pairings: Sherlock x daughter!reader, John, Mary, Mycroft, Moriarty.

A/N: I started writing this, hated it. Deleted it. Rewrote it. And died. Enjoy.

A sigh was heard from the kitchen. Followed by a mumbled curse. Another one. Another goddammed head.

“Dad!” A young woman’s voice called. “Dad!” She called again when there was no answer. He was most likely deep in his mind palace again. She groaned.

What was she supposed to do with the head dripping a mysterious clear goo all over their food? He wouldn’t be happy if she got rid of it, but now she can’t even prepare dinner.

Looking over to the man perched in his chair, she tapped her foot with her hands on her hips. “Dad, do you want take-out?” She knew it was a long shot in asking but sometimes it was nice to imagine that he would actually reply.

You see, despite the great detective, Sherlock Holmes, being her father, she did not share the same intelligence as him. Yes, she was smart, enough to breeze through school, but not enough to gain the attention of her father. He often ignored her or treated as he did everyone else. Like an idiot.

Fed up with the silence and the fucking head, she stormed from the kitchen to the door, barely grabbing her coat.

“I’m going to Uncle John’s.” She threw over her shoulder, not really looking at the man. It’s not like he cared anyway. Nobody really did. Maybe John and Mary, but they were too wrapped up in their own lives and she didn’t want to bother them.

This is why as she left the flat, she didn’t hail a cab to her Uncle’s home. Instead, she took a left, hands buried deep in her pockets and headed nowhere. She was never wanted here anyway.

Her father had an uncharacteristic, drunken tryst with her mother twenty-one years ago. He had been on a case apparently that involved a serial lover/murder. Guess he was just putting himself in the killer’s shoes. But nine months later, after he was long gone, little (Y/N) was born. Everything was great, though. Her mother poured everything she had into raising her. She was her best friend. Her confidant. Then it was all stripped away.

When she was twelve, her mother died in a plane crash. She had been on a two-week business trip and was finally coming home. But rather than her loving mother opening the door, it was a woman from social services, coming to take her to her father.

For another ten years, she would live as a ghost in this strange man’s home. Wanting nothing more than to have a loving parent to replace the one she had lost.

She didn’t know how long she walked. It must have been hours because the sky had gone dark a long time ago. But she had no intention of going back yet. Maybe not ever. Nothing in that flat really mattered.

Having a feeling that something was amiss, she looked up. A black car had pulled up next to her. She rolled her eyes. Of course, Mycroft sent a car. This happened every time she was gone for too long. As if she were a prisoner.

Walking up to the car she opened the door and looked at the woman sitting in the seat. It wasn’t Anthea, but an equally beautiful woman.

“Can’t Mycroft just leave me alone?” She asked, getting in the car anyway. The woman looked up from her phone and smiled. The doors locked. And the woman pulled out a cloth. Too late did (Y/N) realize this wasn’t Mycroft’s doing.

Everything went black as the cloth was pressed to her face.

“(Y/N), what did you do with my skull?” That girl, always moving things around. ‘Cleaning’, as she called it. He shook his head, digging around the flat for the cranium. “(Y/N)!” He looked up to the kitchen where she just was. No, it’s dark now. Oh, she must have left a while ago.

“Probably to John’s. No, not John’s. She didn’t take her purse… Another one of her fits then. Mycroft’s people should be bringing her back then.” Unconcerned now, he sat back down and once again entered his mind palace. Unaware of where his daughter really was.

><

“Ugh, my head. I feel like I was hit by a truck.” (Y/N) moaned as she tried to lift her head. It was cold. And the ground was hard. Concrete. The chill had already settled in her bones, causing her to shiver violently.

“Ahhh, the little mouse is awake~” A sweet Irish voice came from the dark doorway. She already knew who it was.

She squeezed her eyes shut as the bright florescent lights flicked on. It set her head on fire. Her body ached. She doesn’t remember anything past getting in the car, but from the still bleeding scrapes on her elbows and knees, she wasn’t put in this room nicely. She must have hit her head as well if the wet feeling on the side of her head suggested anything.

“Aw, not even a hello, darling? No matter, you won’t be saying much soon.” He smiled softly, chewing his gum. She sent him the most hate-filled glare she could muster.

“Fuck you, prick.” She bit out.

He gave a short, barking laugh, feigning shock and offense. He held a hand to his chest and scoffed. “My dear, those are some pretty colorful wonder from someone so young. What would your father say?”

“He’s not my father!”

“No? Then I suppose he won’t care about all the fun we’re going to have.”

 ><

“What do you mean she hasn’t been here? She lives here.” John watched Sherlock pace.

“I mean, she hasn’t been here, John! She left and hasn’t come back,” Sherlock snapped.

“How long has she been gone?” Mary asked from her position on John’s old chair.

“Three days.”

“Three days, Sherlock?!” John dragged a hand through his hair, letting it scrub back down his face. Mary buried her face in her hands.

“Darling, I don’t think she’s coming back,” Mary said softly. Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks.

“What, why? Why wouldn’t she come back? All of her stuff is here. She even left her idiotic stuffed cat. She never would leave that, it holds sentiment. And we all know how she adores her sentiment.” He was rambling now.

“Look, whether or not she wants to come back, we need to find her. She could be in trouble,” John rationalized.

At that moment a knock sounded at the door. The three occupants turned to see the newcomer.

“Mycroft,” Sherlock addressed his brother.

“Brother mine,” The older man greeted. Reaching into his suit, he produced an envelope. “A letter for you.”

Sherlock wasted no time in striding across the room and nearly ripping the letter from his brother’s hands. One simple sentence was written on the paper. And it was all he needed.

Let’s play Hide and Seek.

 ><

If she thought she was in pain before, this was agony. It was hellfire in her bones. Her wounds had stopped bleeding a while ago, but because of the poor conditions of the room and her weakened body, infection settled in quickly. She sat in her own vomit and blood, the pain making her nauseous.

She just wanted to die. It would have been better if he had just killed her outright. But where’s the fun in that? Her throat was raw from screaming and vomiting. Her fingernails were bloody and torn from digging into the wooden chair she sat on.

All of this. All of this because she was related to Sherlock Holmes.

She hates him.

Suddenly, hands were on her. But after three days of torture, and another two of festering in her own sick, she couldn’t react.

“(Y/N). (Y/N), look at me.” A voice called. “Just hold on.” A gurgle was his reply. “Shh, don’t try to talk.”

“D-dad?” Was that her voice? It was unrecognizable. It was weird, talking instead of screaming.

“I said don’t talk.” Sherlock scolded, lowering her to the floor. The coolness of the floor helped clear her fogged mind.

“Just leave me, it’s over.”

He scoffed, shaking his head, “You just don’t listen, do you?”

“I got it from you.” She coughed out a laugh, it hurt. But not physically. How ironic. To finally have a conversation with her father and she’s dying. She knows she is. She was too numb to not be.

“We just need to wait for John. We’ll get you to the hospital. I can save you.”

“No, you can’t. It’s too late…” He knows. But he doesn’t want her to be scared.

“This looks infected.” The wound on her side oozed and practically bubbled with infection.

“It’s fine.” Really, it was. She couldn’t even feel anything anymore. Darkness was creeping at the edges of her vision. Her father’s face nothing but a blur.

“…You’re dying.” He said this more to himself than her. Ten years wasted. He had this precious girl next to him this entire time and it took her dying in front of him for Sherlock to realize it. The guilt was unbearable. But probably not as unbearable as what he put her through.

“Well… that’s fine too.”

Darkness consumed her.

Request Guidelines

Hello, welcome to my blog! Here are some things to take into consideration before requesting from me.

1. Be respectful. If I feel that you are not being kind or respectful I will delete your request without notice.

2. Be patient. I work a full time job and do this as a hobby so I may not get to posting your request as fast as you would like. With that being said I will try to get requests up in a timely manner.

3. I will not write smut, anything nsfw, poly, incest, abortion, religious, political. I would rather not get into sensitive topics.

4. Please be aware that I only write fem!reader. I try to keep physical descriptions to a minimum, but all pronouns used will be she/her.

These guidelines are subject to change.

Below is a list of characters that I am willing to write for, if you do not see a character you like, please feel free to ask if I will.

BBC Sherlock-

Sherlock Holmes

Mycroft Holmes

John Watson

Enola Holmes- 

Sherlock Holmes

Star Wars

Poe Dameron

Finn

Ben Solo/Kylo Ren

Din Djarin

Paz Vizla

Harry Potter-

George Weasley

Fred Weasley

Bill Weasley

Charlie Weasley

Oliver Wood

Harry Potter

Draco Malfoy

Marvel-

Bucky Barnes

Marc Spector

Steven Grant

Loki Laufeyson

Thor Odinson

Tony Stark

Shang-Chi

Assassin’s Creed-

The Hobbit-

Ezio Auditore

Kili Durin

Fili Durin

Bofur

Thorin Oakenshield

Bilbo Baggins

Bard

Thranduil

Legolas

One Piece- 

Roronoa Zoro

Vinsmoke Sanji

Trafalgar Law

Eustass Kidd

Red-Haired Shanks

Dracule Mihawk

Portgas D. Ace

More to be added in the future!

Robb Lucci

Bleach-

Ichigo Kurosaki

Shunsui Kyoraku

Byakuya Kuchiki

Jushiro Ukitake

Kisuke Urahara

Kenpachi Zaraki

Toshiro Hitsugaya (Adult)

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez

Gin Ichimaru

Ulquiorra Cifer