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a-cup-of-earl-grey-please · 3 months

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I was seized with a fervor and could not rest until I illustrated one of my favorite scenes from Sherlock Holmes: the Adventure of the Devil's Foot. While Holmes and Watson take a holiday in the Cornish countryside for Holmes's health, multiple people in the nearby village are found driven mad or dead from horror. Holmes deduces a substance that was burned in their presence is to blame. With a bit of the mysterious powder and a gas lamp in hand, he proposes an experiment to Watson...

content warning for drug use!

I'm not sure if it's supported by the canon but in my mind this is the first time Holmes ever apologies to Watson and he is so overcome with emotion that he immediately makes it weird

Text under the cut:

"It is not for me, my dear Watson, to stand in the way of the official police force. I leave them all the evidence which I found. The poison still remained upon the talc had they the wit to find it. Now, Watson, we will light our lamp; we will, however, take the precaution to open our window to avoid the premature decease of two deserving members of society, and you will seat yourself near that open window in an armchair unless, like a sensible man, you determine to have nothing to do with the affair. Oh, you will see it out, will you? I thought I knew my Watson. This chair I will place opposite yours, so that we may be the same distance from the poison and face to face. The door we will leave ajar. Each is now in a position to watch the other and to bring the experiment to an end should the symptoms seem alarming. Is that all clear? Well, then, I take our powder--or what remains of it--from the envelope, and I lay it above the burning lamp. So! Now, Watson, let us sit down and await developments."

They were not long in coming. I had hardly settled in my chair before I was conscious of a thick, musky odour, subtle and nauseous. At the very first whiff of it my brain and my imagination were beyond all control. A thick, black cloud swirled before my eyes, and my mind told me that in this cloud, unseen as yet, but about to spring out upon my appalled senses, lurked all that was vaguely horrible, all that was monstrous and inconceivably wicked in the universe. Vague shapes swirled and swam amid the dark cloud-bank, each a menace and a warning of something coming, the advent of some unspeakable dweller upon the threshold, whose very shadow would blast my soul. A freezing horror took possession of me. I felt that my hair was rising, that my eyes were protruding, that my mouth was opened, and my tongue like leather. The turmoil within my brain was such that something must surely snap. I tried to scream and was vaguely aware of some hoarse croak which was my own voice, but distant and detached from myself. At the same moment, in some effort of escape, I broke through that cloud of despair and had a glimpse of Holmes's face, white, rigid, and drawn with horror--the very look which I had seen upon the features of the dead. It was that vision which gave me an instant of sanity and of strength. I dashed from my chair, threw my arms round Holmes, and together we lurched through the door, and an instant afterwards had thrown ourselves down upon the grass plot and were lying side by side, conscious only of the glorious sunshine which was bursting its way through the hellish cloud of terror which had girt us in. Slowly it rose from our souls like the mists from a landscape until peace and reason had returned, and we were sitting upon the grass, wiping our clammy foreheads, and looking with apprehension at each other to mark the last traces of that terrific experience which we had undergone.

"Upon my word, Watson!" said Holmes at last with an unsteady voice, "I owe you both my thanks and an apology. It was an unjustifiable experiment even for one's self, and doubly so for a friend. I am really very sorry."

"You know," I answered with some emotion, for I have never seen so much of Holmes's heart before, "that it is my greatest joy and privilege to help you."

He relapsed at once into the half-humorous, half-cynical vein which was his habitual attitude to those about him. "It would be superfluous to drive us mad, my dear Watson," said he. "A candid observer would certainly declare that we were so already before we embarked upon so wild an experiment. I confess that I never imagined that the effect could be so sudden and so severe." He dashed into the cottage, and, reappearing with the burning lamp held at full arm's length, he threw it among a bank of brambles. "We must give the room a little time to clear. I take it, Watson, that you have no longer a shadow of a doubt as to how these tragedies were produced?"

#im crying this is so sweet #screaming and crying #sherlock holmes

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a-cup-of-earl-grey-please · 7 months

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just realized that this got over 300 notes??? omg? this may be the thing that pushes me out of my writer's block? we'll see! thanks to everyone who has like ever even read this non-edited mess of an oneshot??

Beg For Forgiveness (BBC Sherlock x Fem!Reader)

Word count: 2,436 words

Pairing: BBC Sherlock x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your fiancé, the great Sherlock Holmes, comes back from the dead—just when you were ready to move on. Can you forgive him?

Warning: semi-heavy angst, description of dealing with grief. references to the Reichenbach fall, failing to "move on," suggestive themes towards the end

Note: this has been in my drafts for so long and i'm not completely satisfied. but hey, i really needed to get this off my mind! so i hope you like it.

It was one of those nights where you felt like you were absolutely over Sherlock’s death. You felt fine. You did the dishes. You ate dinner on your own—Mrs. Hudson was out on a date. You felt okay. You finally brought yourself to send his coat away for laundry last week—even though you knew it wouldn’t smell like him anymore. There was one step left in your “getting over Sherlock” project: letting go of the engagement ring on your finger. You fiddled with the ring, slipping it way down to the tip of your finger and back down. The ring felt like it was heavier than an elephant, yet lighter than a single snowflake landing on your eyelashes. You grit your teeth together and pulled on it once more, and it came near your fingertips—

Knock, knock.

You sighed, your breath strained. You hastily slipped the ring off your hand and held it tightly in your hand. You could feel the jewel biting into your palm, but you didn’t let that undo all your efforts to erase him from your narrative. As you went down toward the door. Your padded footsteps softly echoed through the stairwell.

“Who is it?” You absentmindedly said as you glanced up toward the door. Your breath hitched—caught in your throat in incredulousness. That silhouette was all too familiar. But you knew it couldn’t be. It really, truly couldn’t be him. It couldn’t be him turning up his coat collar against the November winds—the very coat that you sent out for laundry last week and hadn’t picked up yet. It couldn't be that very man who put that very coat around your shoulders when you shivered in the winter—tutting at you for trying to impress him with your skirts and blouses.

He’s dead. You bit down on your tongue. This is all a cruel joke. I’ll punch them square in the face. That’ll teach whomever it is to not kid about things like that. No, they have no right to his death. You clenched your fists and opened the door in one angry move.

“You don’t get to joke about—“ Your chastising screams were stopped at the sight of him. Him. It was Sherlock Holmes. The curve of his lips, his pretty cheekbones, his fluffy hair, and oh, his eyes.

“Hello, Y/N, my darling fiancée.” He gave her a smirk and a little wave. And his voice, his stupid voice. The rich voice you had tried for years now to rub clean from your memories. Oh, how every single thing he said to you had ruined you after his fall. A boiling anger surged through her and you slammed your clenched fist against his firm chest. He barely staggered, as if he had expected the blow. “I get the sense that you are mad—“ He said, his voice awfully clipped for a man who just had his chest slammed with a fist. Of course, it was not hard enough to bruise—but it was hard enough, oh yes, it was hard enough. A smug thought surfaced through your blinding anger.

“Is it really you?” You cut him off.

“Yes, Sherlock Holmes. Looking into the eyes of soon-to-be Mrs. Holmes.” He said, smug as always. So sure of your forgiveness. Watching him rub his chest—where you hit him—made you mad. Angrier, if possible.

Your left fist still rested on his chest, just below his right shoulder. And you, seething with anger and sorrow, knew just what move would hurt him. Hurt him—let him feel a fraction of what the past few years had been for you. You looked him straight in the eyes. His eyes swirled with hope and desperation—as if he knew anything about desperation. Yet.

You unclenched your fist and dropped the ring—the precious little silver thing. It hit the ground with a small, yet cruel cling onto the doorstep. Sherlock flinched at the sound. He knew exactly what you had dropped, even without having to spare a glance. He was the greatest detective in all of Britain after all. You could see tears forming in his eyes—oh great, you reduced the supposed heartless man to tears. Tears welled in his eyes—daring to drip. Drip down those cheekbones you loved to caress. Maybe even graze those lips you loved to kiss before he left the flat in the morning. But most importantly, it magnified the emotions in his eyes. The hundreds of layers of feelings he always hid behind a cold curtain were all exposed, vulnerable to your attacks.

You opened your mouth to speak—to spit the devilish words that you could come up with easily in your rage. But you couldn’t. You knew him too well. You knew how his mind carefully stored every word that had ever been spoken to him. Especially yours—you knew how he treated your words. A passing comment on a shade of blue you liked in a flower made him go on a wild goose chase for a dress that had the exact same shade once—just to see that smile on your face. A compliment on one of his shirts—yes, the purple one—had made him save it for special days. He remembered all your “icks” and avoided them, deliberately and lovingly. He learned all your childhood bedtime stories just so he could recite them to you when you suffered from nightmares. He knew your comfort meals and even attempted to cook them when you were feeling down. He knew you. And you knew him. Too well on both sides.

You knew how to break his heart, and the knowledge scared you.

A ring was easier to let go of; the promise was easier to break than the love it represented.

The ring was only a mere symbol for that night when you shoved all the furniture to one corner of the room and made him waltz with you in a drunken frenzy. It was just a reminder of the day he kissed you for the first time in a basement with a tied-up serial killer next to them—at least the serial killer cheered for you two. The ring was barely even representing a fraction of what you both felt on the day he knelt down on one knee to propose—he followed an obscure superstition from East Asia that love comes true on the day of the first snow of the year. He had carried around the ring box for a month in his pocket—just to make sure he did not miss the first snow because he was unprepared. The ring was just a shard of what you had seen in his eyes the first time you two met—surprise, curiosity, sharp intellect, and a warm heart.

The ring was easy to drop, but it was not easy to let go of all that. When he left, all you had were the remnants of him. And they all slowly faded away. His clothes—you left all of them in the drawers—only opening it sometimes to feel his scent engulf you, only that faded away as well. His phone was already cracked during the fall. You left it on the mantelpiece— it lay there forgotten, collecting dust.

The last one to go away before your ring was the mug John convinced Sherlock to buy you—#1 Girlfriend in a pink, barbie font—you dropped it by accident one day.

The mug cracked and so did your heart.

Stupid—you thought as you felt hot tears race down your cheeks, a sharp contrast to the cold outside.

“I had no other choice—besides, I foolishly thought our relationship was strong enough to survive a few months. I was naïve—it took me this long to resolve everything. I think it’s fair though, I must admit, that I would say that you don’t love me anymore, judging by how you literally slammed me in the chest and proceeded to drop the most socially noticeable signifier of our relationship onto—well, a slab of concrete. That was your engagement ring—our engagement.” His words were harsher than the winter winds whooshing past them. His voice was unwavering despite visible tears rolling down his cheeks. His eyes were wounded,

“Don’t lecture me about our relationship, love, if that word still means anything to you after 2 years of being dead? Do you know how many nights I’ve spent, touching that ring—imagining that it was actually your face? I couldn’t send your coat—which you’re wearing right now, heaven knows how—for those 2 years just because I was scared I would lose your scent in the flat!” You shoved him away, and this time, he stepped back, shocked.

“I hate you so, so much. Why did you have to do this to me? All this time, seriously? Are you kidding me? Surely you’re kidding me. Surely. You couldn’t even bear to talk to me, huh? To give me even the slightest hint that you were, you know, not dead?” Pedestrians were staring as they walked past, keeping a safe distance away from the surely maniacal you. You started sobbing uncontrollably. You wanted to turn around and slam the door in Sherlock’s face. But you also wanted to kiss him—feel him, remind yourself of that fading sensation. Kiss him square on the mouth until both of you couldn’t utter anything but sweet nothings and ardent confessions of love. You wanted to bang your fists against him, but instead, you ended up burying your face into his coat—oh, he smelled just the same. Sandalwood and a delightful touch of old books. Focus. You’re angry—you reminded yourself.

“Forgive me, Y/N. It was for your safety. I’m sorry. I really am. How can I make it up to you?“ He tearily whispered into your ear, caressing your hair. To your heartbreak, you could feel his tears dripping down his face, onto your forehead. Your anger dissolved—it would be a lasting grudge, just like how his “death” would be a lasting scar in your heart, but for now, you couldn’t do anything but fall for him once again. You cried into his chest—you could hear his heartbeat. You grabbed his coat lapels and brought his face down to your face—now just barely a centimeter away. His eyes were overflowing with love and fear. You didn’t like that look in his eyes. You wanted them to be full of the former only.

“Kiss it away. Kiss it better. Kiss me, Sherlock. Kiss my scars away. I love you and I hate you—so kiss my hatred away. Simple math: we’ll be left with just love.” You murmured.

His mouth attacked yours with its familiar swiftness and accuracy. Your lips, salty with tears, answered with equal enthusiasm. His tongue grazed over your bottom lip—he was unsure if a kiss of passion was appropriate in that moment. Screw his manners. You needed physical confirmation.

“You know, faking your death wasn’t so gentlemanly either.” You cheekily said into his mouth—only to gently push your tongue into his mouth, capturing his mouth just like you longed to do for the past 2 years. Sherlock’s eyes fluttered open in surprise. He reciprocated the action, cupping your face with his hands—and oh, you could melt into his touch and stay there forever. The door creaked open behind you as his body pressed against yours, causing both of you to stumble backward into the building.

He let out a needy breath as he—quite forcefully—slipped your ring back on your left hand. Heaven knows how he picked it up without you noticing. You hummed against his mouth. Taking advantage of the situation, you caught his hand—now retreating from your left hand—and pulled him flush against you. You did not want to allow a single inch between you two. Your hands were tangled up in his hair, pinky wrapped around a curl. Desperate to confirm each other’s physical presence, you two were hugging each other so tight that it was a surprise both of you were breathing—actually, you weren’t sure if you were breathing.

All you could focus on were his warm lips on yours—the universe could have easily orbited around you two at that moment. As your heel touched the base of the stairs, he broke the kiss. He held you by one hand still entangled with your left and the other one on a suggestive spot near your waist. As you struggled to catch your breath, Sherlock opened his mouth once again.

“Y/N, I thought about you every day, all day, even with the most dangerous criminals in the world—pressing a knife against my throat—all I could think of was you. But I couldn’t let my love come in front of your safety—you could’ve died. One text from me, and a sniper might have shot clear through your skull. Forgive me, Y/N. I love you so much—and I understand if you want me to go away, but please forgive me. I beg you.” Oh, how you couldn’t stay mad at this man for once. His sincerity bled through his usually sharp eyes, flowing down in teardrops over his cheekbones. You wiped his tears away and smiled through your own tears.

“Sherlock, I’m not mad at you anymore—that doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you. But hey, at least I’m not mad at you anymore,” You let out a little laugh. “These are tears of joy. Of incredulousness. Of hopes and thankfulness.” You said, touching his face as if it were the most precious thing to ever exist in this world. Touching the curve of his nose. Following it down to his lips, wet from his tears and the kiss you just shared. All the way down to his chin.

“I love you so, so much. Y/N. You do know that, right? Never doubt that, never. I don’t like saying never, as a detective, but this is the one time I’ll allow myself. Never doubt my love. Even when yours waver, mine won’t.” Sherlock hugged you tight, so tight you were afraid that you two might just become one—from what you felt, his coat was welding into your sweater and his ribcage was touching yours.

“I love you more.” You said, a teary laugh falling from your lips.

“That’s impossible.” He simply stated, holding your hands—leading you up towards your flat—your shared flat. The soon-to-be Holmes flat—as your ring, once again on your finger, reminded you.

“Be a sweetheart and beg for forgiveness again in the bedroom, won’t you, Mr. Holmes?” And it’s safe to say that he definitely begged for something in the bedroom—and not just forgiveness.

#sherlock reader insert #bbc sherlock #sherlock x you #bbc sherlock x reader #sherlock x reader #sherlock angst #earl's cup of tea #yay #thanks y'all

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a-cup-of-earl-grey-please · 7 months

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omgg so fun! thanks for the tag!!

here we go...

1. First off, how would you describe yourself in one sentence?

Now I'm climbing the walls, but you don't notice at all that I'm going out of my mind.

“one thing” - one direction

2. What kind of Cancer are you?

And I screamed for whatever it's worth: "I love you," ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?

“cruel summer” - taylor swift

3. You're visiting your favorite spot, what are you thinking about?

Tune out the static sound of the city that never sleeps.

“disconnected” - 5 Seconds of Summer

4. If your life was a movie, what do you think the first review would say about it?

Life's as you perceive it.

“never blue” - maggie jean brown

5. Say you get a book deal, what are you titling your memoir?

And I'm so furious.

“gorgeous” - taylor swift

6. What would you say about your best friends?

Thank you for all your service.

“helpless” - Phillipa Soo

7. Think back to when you had everything all figured out in high school, what was your life motto as a teenager?

Went home and tried to stalk you on the internet.

“paper rings” - taylor swift

8. Describe your aesthetic now:

Looking super fine in your corduroy.

“backyard boy” - claire rosinkraz

9. What's a lyric that they'll quote in your eulogy?

Here's a toast to my real friends. They don't care about the he said, she said.

“this is why we can't have nice things” - taylor swift

10. And for our final question, say we believe in soulmates, what do you think their first impression of meeting you will be?

When I walk in the room, I can still make the whole place shimmer.

“bejeweled” - taylor swift

that was sooo fun!!!

no pressure tags: @goldencherriess @evelynrosestuff @lykaonimagines @a-midwinter-night-dream-86 and anyone who wants to join!

This was such a fun idea! Not sure who came up with the tag but thank you to @asherloki for the tag!🫶🏻

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RULES: Put your playlist on shuffle. For each of the 10 interview questions, select a lyric from the random song that comes up. (Skip if there aren't any lyrics and make sure to drop the name of the song in your interview answer!)

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1. First off, how would you describe yourself in one sentence?

She’s electric, can I be electric too?

“she’s electric” - oasis

2. What kind of [insert my super secret zodiac sign] are you?

Just let me adore you like it’s the only thing I’ll ever do

“adore you” - harry styles

3. You're visiting your favorite spot, what are you thinking about?

People like you always want back what they can't have but I'm past that and you know that

“maniac” - conan gray

4. If your life was a movie, what do you think the first review would say about it?

You’re on your own, kid; you always have been

“you’re on your own kid” - taylor swift

5. Say you get a book deal, what are you titling your memoir?

You’ve got stars in your eyes and I’ve got something missing tonight

“what a feeling” - one direction

6. What would you say about your best friends?

‘Cause we never go out of style

“style” - taylor swift

7. Think back to when you had everything all figured out in high school, what was your life motto as a teenager?

I'm giving you everything, all that joy can bring, this I swear; and all that I want from you Is a promise you will be there

“say you’ll be there” - spice girls

8. Describe your aesthetic now:

Vintage tee, brand new phone

“cardigan” - taylor swift

9. What's a lyric that they'll quote in your eulogy?

I tried you help you out, now I know that I can't, ‘cause how you think's the kind of thing I'II never understand

“vampire” - olivia rodrigo

10. And for our final question, say we believe in soulmates, what do you think their first impression of meeting you will be?

We're only getting older, baby And I've been thinking about it lately; Does it ever drive you crazy, just how fast the night changes?

“night changes” - one direction

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I loved this!!

No pressure tags: @selcouthangel @starks-hero @french-vanilla-in-the-clouds @strangelockd @a-cup-of-earl-grey-please and anyone else who’d like to join in!✨

#earl's yackety yak #moots

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