#Henry!Holmes
Text
Sometimes The Silence Guides A Mind
Title: Sometimes The Silence Guides A Mind
Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader
Fandom: Enola Holmes series
Word Count: 1.7K
Summary: As you were getting close to Sherlock, he stops visiting. You pop over to Baker Street and share an eye-opening moment.
Warnings: age gap(reader is about 20 in this, Sherlock is mid-30s), slight voyeurism, masturbation (male), handjob, unprotected p-in-v sex (wrap it up y’all), creampie
A/N: I’ve been throwing around this idea about Sherlock for quite some time. I hope you enjoy it. Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best.
Dividers by: @firefly-graphics
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Cover Art by me
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You’ve been friends with Enola for a short time, only since the beginning of the year. She’s led you on a few fun adventures, but more often than not, she’s led you on wild goose chases. She has helped you come out of your shell and you are grateful for that. On days that you weren’t exploring the countryside or causing a ruckus in the city, you would lounge around her large house.
Spending time with her in her large house had its benefits. One of which was 6’1 with a head of unruly curls. The famous Sherlock Holmes was your best friend’s big brother. He lived in the city but came to visit Enola every week.
You always made sure to be available on those days. If only for the chance to say hello to Sherlock. You wanted more but, truth be told, he made you a bit nervous.
You tried your best to keep calm when he would arrive, but Enola noticed your demeanor change every time. She teased you endlessly about your little crush and you would always bring up Tewkesbury. That would usually shut her up.
In truth, she did not care that you liked her brother, she just didn’t want you to waste your time. The man was not exactly sociable unless he found value in the opinions of others. One opinion he respected was that of his sister. You could sit and watch them talk for hours. She would get him to laugh with her jokes, and he would bring her to annoyance with his riddles.
You would interject a thought here and there and when Sherlock would give his attention to you, you froze. Something about the look in his eyes, it was more than attention. It was intense as if the two of you were the only ones in the world let alone the room.
More than once, Enola had cleared her throat loudly to get you and Sherlock’s attention back on her. But sometimes, she would just listen to you ramble on while Sherlock seemed enthralled in your thoughts. You mused about music and how interesting you thought his cases were. The more you spoke with him, the more comfortable you felt around him.
Sherlock would show up now and then with little trinkets from his cases. At first, it was just things for Enola, but soon he would start bringing you little gifts as well. He started small with a single flower or a tasty treat from his favorite bakery. But soon, his gifts grew oddly specific. He bought you a brooch you had mentioned seeing at a store in the city. He would learn pieces of music from a composer you talked about and play it for you, much to the chagrin of Enola who wasn’t a fan of the violin.
It was when he didn’t visit for two weeks that you started to realize you were developing feelings for the older detective. You’d come to enjoy his presence and not because of his gifts. You just enjoyed seeing his face light up when he saw you. You relished the power you felt when the normally unflappable and distant man would sit enthralled when you gave voice to your thoughts.
So, why did it stop so suddenly? Had you done something to offend him?
You wracked your brain and Enola’s brain for that matter. She gave you his address so you could go and talk to him and she could finally be free of your fretting.
You arrive at 221 Baker Street, your hands trembling as you knock on the main door. A sweet woman opens the door and introduces herself as Ms. Hudson. When you ask to speak to Sherlock, she sends you up the steps to 221B.
As you’re about to knock, a man opens the door and almost collides with you.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. May I help you, Miss?”
“Ehm, I’m here to see Mr. Holmes…but I can come back if that’s–” You are cut off when he speaks again.
“You wouldn’t happen to be friends with Enola, would you?” You nod, giving your name, “Of course, Sherlock mentioned you. I’m Dr. John Watson, and I have to be going but you are more than welcome to come in. Sherlock is just in his room down the hall.” He points around the corner from the door and walks past you before waving goodbye.
So, that’s how you end up in Sherlock’s apartment. It is eerily quiet and you think he might be asleep. That is until you hear soft moans coming from down the hall. Your first thought is it must have been the floorboards creaking under your feet.
What you hear next is the unmistakable sound of your name followed by a whimper. It sounded like Sherlock was calling to you, but how would he know you were here already? You walk down the hallway quietly and see that his bedroom door is slightly ajar.
Peeking in, you are blessed with a sight! Sherlock is laid out on his bed with his shirt and waistcoat open, his hairy chest on full display as it rises and falls quickly. His beautiful face constricted in pain one second, solemn and peaceful in the next. His curls are a sweaty mess on his forehead. One hand is fisting the sheets at his side and the other hand is wrapped around his thick veiny dick. You’re mesmerized watching him stroke himself until you hear him moan your name again.
In a moment of bravery, you step into the room. Your bosom heaves in your bodice as you breathe shallowly, adrenaline coursing through your veins.
His hand stops its ministrations and he looks to you as you walk towards him. He’s frozen on the spot and can only watch you as you climb atop the bed and lay next to him. You replace his hand with yours and continue to pump his dick. Your hand barely fits around him and you enjoy the feel of his soft uncut length in your hand.
His hands come up to caress your face and pull you down for a kiss. When his tongue begs for entry, you allow it in. Heatedly, you mold your mouth to his, letting your moans and whimpers be consumed by him. Breaking the kiss, he looks into your eyes and you can tell he is close.
You remove your hand from him and stand up from the bed. It is only when you remove your undergarments does Sherlock understand why you stopped. Climbing back on the bed, you settle yourself with your cunt dripping onto him.
“I want you to be certain that you–” You cut him off as you slink down, his velvety smoothness sliding inside your wet heat. You take a moment to get used to the sheer size of him. He stretches you almost painfully. Leaning down, you whisper into his ear.
“Do I seem certain, Mr. Holmes?”
Instead of an answer, Sherlock groans and twitches inside you. His hands travel under your skirt and rest on your hips. You take that as a sign and sit up. With your hands on his chest, you begin to ride him slowly, agonizingly to the point where his hands start to guide you to a quicker pace.
Using you like a ragdoll, he flips you so he is atop you while you are on your back. He slams into you repeatedly and you are no longer in control. He savors the sounds coming from you as he fucks into you. He urges you on as he kisses and licks and nips at your neck, careful not to leave any marks.
Pulling out, he moves you to your hands and knees before inserting himself again. The angle allows him to go deeper and you thank the Gods for it. As he holds onto you, he hammers into you. The filthy utterances that come from his mouth only serve to solidify the notion that he missed you too.
“I knew you would feel like Heaven, my sweet angel…”
“This pretty pussy belongs to me now…”
“You would look so perfect with my cum dripping out of you…”
“I could fuck you all day and night and still never get enough of you…”
“Be my good angel and come all over my cock,” He reaches down and rubs your clit between two fingers as he plows into you. You never stood a chance, your walls quivering around him within moments, “That’s my good girl. So good…for me. Fuck, so close!”
“Sherlock, please! Need you to fill me with all you have to give!” You surprise yourself and your lover with those words.
Sherlock’s answering grunts as he makes mincemeat of your pussy are music to your ears. His punishing thrusts falter and he pulls you flush to him. He’s deep enough to kiss your cervix with the tip of his dick. You feel him swell inside you and it’s enough to make you climax again, milking him through his release.
And the noises he makes when he comes are more intricate than the 24 Caprices. You’re sure that Sherlock would disagree but you don’t even care. You revel in the melody of his moans and surrender to its hold on you.
Sherlock’s hands roam over your back, your hips, your ass, and your thighs. As if he can’t get enough of you. He doesn’t pull out until you wiggle your hips, a sign that your legs are tired. Extricating himself from your sensitive folds allows his spend to escape. He catches what slips free and pushes it all back in before helping you lay down on your front.
He lays down next to you, pulling you close to him with one arm while the other rests behind his head. He looks so peaceful as he closes his eyes and hums. The feminine urge for pillow talk is high, but so is the need to just bask in this moment.
You’re in the arms of the man you care for, who also adores you. You rest your cheek on his shoulder and tangle your fingers in his chest hair. You breathe in his smell, his pheromones are surely on high alert from your activity. When he rests his head against yours, you feel at peace.
You do plan on talking to Sherlock later about everything. But, for now, you can take pleasure in the simplicity of the harmonization of your heartbeats.
A/N: The title of this fic is taken from The Neighborhood’s Sweater Weather. There is an amazing violin version of this song by Joel Sunny. And anything violin makes me think of Sherlock.
A/N: Also, I know Ms. Hudson wasn't featured in Enola Holmes, but I love her as a character and I wanted to use her.
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.⋆｡A Lesson in Perseverance｡⋆.
Sherlock Holmes x plus size reader
The day has come where Sherlock finally takes you, even if he is far too big
Warnings: size kink, established relationship, virgin!reader, wedding night, Sherlock is a teasing shit, fingering, smut, unprotected sex
WC: 684
Minors DNI
Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library
He looked godly like this, doused in flickering candle light, his curls wild atop his head as sweat dripped down his brow. He flooded your vision, he was the only thing you could see, the only anchor you had left to reality.
Pleasure had easily built in your belly, your husband driving you to the edge just as easily as he would solve a case or string the bow for his violin. You grasp for him, needing to touch his skin, to know he’s real. “Sherlock.” You mewled, your voice already fucked out and raspy.
He smirks. “That’s it darling.” He cooed, his voice dropped even lower, a mere rumbling growl in his broad chest. He had waited oh so patiently for this day and now that it was here, he would savour every delicious second of it. “Give in, let yourself open up.” A thick finger moved from your bundle of nerves down to your opening.
His thick body was nestled comfortably between your thighs, keeping you spread open and vulnerable for him. One large hand cupped your mound possessively as his fingers explored the soft flesh. You whimpered and whined with each touch, desperate for more but terrified of what was to come. The cold metal of his wedding band cutting through the heat between your legs. The ripped remains of your wedding gown lay beneath you like a white flag of surrender, evidence of your husband’s need for your body.
With trembling hands, you reached for him again but he smirked wickedly, his blue eyes glinting in the low candlelight and pushed your touch away, pinning your wrists to your plush stomach with one mighty hand. “Do not be so impatient. I have been waiting for this day since I first saw you- you can handle a few more moments.” You attempted to disagree but instead a moan slipped from your lips as his middle finger finally breached you.
Your cunt burned even with a stretch as small as one of his fingers but as your husband curled his knuckles, ecstasy washed over you like a comforting wave. Your eyelids fluttered as you struggled to take in a breath. And right as your back arched from the bed, your lungs finally filling with air, a second finger joined the first.
Pleasure ricocheted through you, tearing you apart and pulling you back together all at the same time. Sherlock’s smile grew darker as he watched you crumble. He had spent months thinking about this day, this moment. You were bound to him for all eternity, the perfect bride meant for him.
“I think you’re ready for me now my darling.” Sherlock withdrew his hand slowly, drinking down the gasps that escaped your lips, savouring each and every mewl. His fingers shone with your release which he eagerly licked up. “Divine. I think I will feast on you every chance I get.” You gave an embarrassed whine and turned your head away from your husband.
“Now now wife. I won’t have any of that.” He guided your gaze back to him, forcing you to look upon his large frame as he towered over you. “Your eyes will remain on me as I fuck that perfect cunt of yours.”
After a moment, he seemed satisfied that you would not look away again, so he released your jaw, letting his hands wander down the length of your soft body until he reached your wide hips. “My beautiful wife.” That was all the warning he gave before the crown of his cock was notched at your entrance and he slowly thrust into your weeping cunt.
Pain. That was all you felt, like the sting of an insect that only grew more intense with each passing second. Your fingernails bit into Sherlock’s broad side. “Too big.” Your body was on fire, an uncontrollable flame that your husband’s lust fuelled.
His head rolled back between his broad shoulders as he moaned, his hands gripping your wide hips even tighter. He forced even more of his considerable length inside you. “Do not fret wife, we have only to persevere.”
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═๑♡𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬♡๑═
WC:4.7k+ GIF by gay-bucky-barnes
dark!Sherlock X reader
{warnings: NONCON/DUBCON!! reader is sold!! mentions of prostitution in Victorian era!! misogyny!! age gap!! blood but not a lot at all!! dirty talk!! virginity loss!! breeding kink!! insane Sherlock!! murder!! like this is dark baby!! manipulation!! brainwashing?/Stockholm syndrome!! kind of a sugar daddy?!! dacryophillia!! spitting!! }
Sherlock was accustomed to lady company quite often but the problem was the fact he didn't get satisfaction from any of the the ladies. After every intimate moment he shared, a numbness settled over him faster than he expected and he would lay there miserable all while his company was perfectly satisfied.
Sherlock heaved a sigh over his problem. He didn't want to be detached from his emotions during sex anymore. He craved to be wrapped up in pure bliss with the overwhelming feelings of love too. And that was apparently too hard for the detective to find. So he had decided to take on this problem like a case.
He stood at his desk staring down at the chart of paper. He needed someone who would fit his type perfectly, and even he didn't know what it was. He grunted frustrated over this. That didn't help him get any closer. By the time he had decided to just look at a local whorehouse, convinced that there would be a lady there who would help him due to their experience, night had fallen over the London streets.
Sherlock grabbed his coat and left his cane behind, trying his hardest not to be noticed by any that would recognise him. He headed down to the pleasure house that is simply known as 'THE PINK STRAWBERRY.' Apparently there, all the women smelt and tasted of strawberries and Sherlock was positively excited to see if this was true. He entered the establishment, allowing his eyes to drag along the men that were sat in the velvet chairs.
He headed to the desk where a man dressed in a dark 3 piece sat. He looked up at Sherlock and smiled. "What can I get ya' sir?" He spoke nasily and it made Sherlock irritated yet he hid it, determined to solve his issue. "Do you have anything new? Any new deals? Anything intriguing?" The man looked around before looking Sherlock up and down. "You ain't a pig are ya'?" He whispered the question and Sherlock leaned forward, "I am not." Technically not a lie, he was a detective not a police officer after all.
"Good then. I got a new deal indeed. A new girl just came in. Innocent as can be. Naive and dumb, perfect for molding. You can have her for the night. Or you can have her forever at the right price." Sherlocks interest peaked as he thought about the offer. The molding part definitely appealed to him. Don't get Sherlock wrong he was glad that feminism was making a move into society, but he needed a submissive wife. He had worked hard and supported enough so he deserved a reward.
"I'd have to meet her." The man stared at Sherlock suspiciously before he heaved out a sigh and slid a key to him. "You get five minutes. And then it's decision time. Got it?" The man stated it all firmly all while staring Sherlock down. "Understood sir." With the agreement made the man directed Sherlock to the room where this new woman was.
He unlocked the door feeling his palms slightly sweaty from nerves and excitement over the prospect that there might be someone by his side soon. He kept his eyes on the floor as he entered the room and then turned to close the door, preparing himself to see you. He turned and his breath was instantly knocked out of his chest.
You sat in the messy silk sheets. Clad in a white nightgown that was short on you and only just hid your lady parts. The sexy lingerie pushed your breasts together perfectly and you looked like an angel. Your hair framed your face perfectly and your big doe eyes stared up at him questioningly. Scared even. He scanned the rest of you, your lips were big and plush, your skin looked soft and your legs looked positively sexy to him.
Sherlock moved to the bed and sat in front of you, cooing as you slowly moved away from him, cautious of the strange man. "Do not worry angel. I am not here to hurt you. I wish to get to know you. My name is Sherlock, what is yours my darling?" You continued to stare up at him with those big eyes, mesmerising him. You whispered your name to him, your voice a melody to his ears. He repeated your name, feeling his heart flutter over how he pronounced every syllable of your name and how it would perfectly match up with his last name.
You stared at the hulking form of the man that sat on the edge of your bed. He was handsome yet he intimidated you. His eyes were a beautiful cold stormy blue, yet the way they observed you made you uneasy. It was like he knew everything about you just from a glance. His dark brown locks looked so soft and you couldn't help be drawn into the contrast of how he looked both hard and soft at the safe time. His broad shoulders and muscular arms that were tight against his suit had you squirming over how he looked almost godly. He was a specimen of a man, but you knew he was here for something you had tried to save. Your virginity.
"Is it okay if I call you angel?" He asked gently soothing you to a degree and you nodded your head at him. Still keeping your eyes on him. "You know angel, I was given an offer to buy you. I can get you out of this place and keep you safe and warm. All you'd have to do is be my wife. I can assure you there are no bad intentions behind this. I simply wish for a pretty girls company." His voice was soft the whole time and he allowed himself to reach out and hold your small soft hand in his large one. Embracing the size difference between the two of you and how he would have to go easy on you.
"I-I wanna get out of here. But I don't even know you sir. How can I trust you?" Your curious gaze lingered on him and he smiled softly bringing your hand to his lips and placing a gentle kiss on your knuckles. "You just have to trust me angel. You can ask me anything you want and I shall answer." You examined him and his soft demeanour trying to conclude if it was fake or real.
"O-okay. Why do you want a wife sir? You're already h-handsome enough. I am confused as to why you've come to a whorehouse to find a wife. It's almost ironic." Sherlock chuckled at your mumbles. "I need someone pliable to my needs. I've struggled with connecting my emotions to sexual activities so I'm seeking an emotional bond first. A whorehouse is where women are used to finding a man's pleasure, I believed they helped me. And indeed they have, they've brought me to you."
You blushed at his words, yet you remained confused over them. You had no idea what to expect from the hulking man and if you rushed into a relationship with him, you were scared of where you'd end up.
"Can I confess something Mr. Sherlock?" He resumed his soft smile allowed his gaze to soften too. "Ofcourse angel, anything to keep hearing your heavenly voice." You blushed at him before bringing your gaze to his, allowing your eye contact to hypnotise him. "How do I know you won't hurt me?" Sherlock got off the bed before he kneeled down with his hand on his heart staring up at you in the bed from his bowing position and spoke confidently. "I promise you, I would never raise my fist at a woman and I would most certainly never even dream of hurting you angel." You smiled finally and nodded at him.
He stood up and resumed his place on the bed, allowing his final few minutes of getting to know you be filled with you shy mumbles of what you liked and who you are. A knock on the door startled you and he placed a large hand on your leg comforting you. The door then opened revealing the man from the front of the house.
He started displeased of Sherlocks hand on you thigh and spoke loudly and confidently. "So, do we have a deal?" Sherlock turned his head to look at you and you stared at him. You saw his eyes scanning your reaction and you looked away with a blush, not wanting to give away the fact that you were hopeful to be leaving here and even excited to become a wife. Sherlock grinned at your shyness. "Yes we do have a deal." And with that Sherlock threw a bag stuffed with coins and notes at the man making him gasp at the amount inside.
Sherlock turned to you, and grinned making you smile too. "Come angel, let's go home."
✧──────────────────────────────────✧
Adjusting to life with the detective was a hard one, a terrifying one. You never really agreed to be with Sherlock, you felt like a cattle being sold off to the next consumer where you would eventually be slaughtered and devoured. You were forever grateful to God above for saving you from marrying Sherlock as he had no time at the moment or the coming moments to take your hand.
He had often argued with himself over it and you stood looking at him. You remember when you came into his office and saw him staring at his chalk board filled with writing and conclusions and you heard his frustrated mumbles clearly. "Stupid fucking pricks. I will marry her, she will be mine and that'll show them. I'll make sure she's fucking filled with my kids, so that then you can't deny letting me marry her. And I'll ofcourse get kids. What a perfect scenario." You gulped and tiptoed away terrified.
You were often alone at Baker Street, staring longingly out of the window trying to figure a way out of this hell hole. Yes Sherlock never raise his hand at you but his insults were vile and left you heartbroken and self conscious. He often reprimanded you for ending up in the whorehouse rather than waiting for him, and when you went to respond about your father selling you he would cut you off with a glare filled with a darkness that filled your stomach with dread.
Because of the long periods of time being locked up in his house, you had become accustomed to the lay out and began to hatch out a plan of escape. You had to plan it carefully making sure that the detective didn't suspect and that you were 2 steps ahead of him. You mapped out the floorboards and the windows, even single structure of the place and began planning any route that would lead you to the streets where you would bolt and never look back.
After you had planned four pathways perfectly so that even the mighty Sherlock Holmes wouldn't even suspect, earth shattering news was given to you. You see while you thought you were cautious and cunning, you were actually sloppy. Sherlock noticed every move you made, he overlooked your plans while you slept and chuckled at how silly they were. From going under the floor boards to jumping out the window.
He knew he had to find a way to discourage this, afterall he had spent money on you and was promised a moldable doll that would fulfill his needs. And don't get him wrong, he was most definitely attached to you emotionally. Everything you did drove him crazier in love with you. From something as simple as you gentle morning breathing when you were at peace to your more fiery moods when you were planning an escape erratically. He loved your passion, your gentleness and your ever growing desires to escape.
See he also had a plan too which would boost his love for you and unite you both. Yet first he had to discourage you, crush you. And he did this by killing your parents, making sure it ended up in the newspaper where he then gave it to you. He watched with sadistic pleasure as your eyes filled with tears over their deaths. Yet he did not predict you throwing yourself into his arms and sobbing.
You longed for some form of comfort, even if it was with the man that held you prisoner. His arms were warm and for a small second that bled into a week, you felt safe. You felt comforted grieving in his arms, he promised to take care of you and he had. He was. "My Angel, you know that I adore you. I will keep you safe forever, you just have to stop fighting. Let yourself fall into being Mrs. Holmes and I'll promise you whole the world." He whispered gently into the crown of your hair, you hummed, your throat aching from crying so loudly.
And after hearing his words of adoration, you let yourself sink into him. Into his love and his comfy and soon he began surprising you. He brought you home beautiful dresses, jewelry. Anything you wished for he would bring to you. It was then that Sherlock realised the key to your heart was through money and beautiful things, so he decided to spoil you in hopes to catch you when you fell deeply in love with him.
He remembers the time he got you to wear your potential wedding dress. A long white dress covered in lace with long arms. You walked out shyly and coughed quietly. Sherlock turned and his mouth opened slightly, his eyes widened slightly and a blush coated his cheeks. With quick firm steps, he headed towards you and placed his large hands on your waist. You looked down meekly, mumbling, "What do you think?" Sherlock brought his hand up to your chin, tilting your head up to look into his eyes. He flashed you a charming smile before he gently spoke with passion and love swirling around his eyes. "You look perfect angel. Truly sent from heaven."
All too soon you found yourself surrounded by gold and rubies, and as beautiful as they shined, but it only helped prolonged the aching in your heart. The need to run free and choose your own fate began to rise up in your blood again and you began devising your escape again. And Sherlock caught on immediately feeling his heart ache that his gifts weren't enough to satisfy you. But it was no matter, you would be thankful soon, you would worship him for the gifts he bought you.
✧──────────────────────────────────✧
Tonight was the night that you escaped. You were ready, Sherlock had told you he would be working late and you faked a pout and spoke gently, "I hope you hurry home soon, I get lonely with you honey." To which he placed a kiss on your forehead and then on your lips before rubbing your noses together and replied in his soft gruff voice, "Don't worry angel, I'll be with you sooner than you think." And then he headed out the door locking it.
You looked outside and saw the darkness spread down the streets and the with a sigh, you dragged yourself to the kitchen and grabbed a knife. You were prepared to fight for your freedom. You stared in the mirror, you were dressed in your comfiest dress and you were thankful you took your corset and other accessories off. You put on sensible shoes and then heaved a breath in and out and started to undo the window lock. You heard a click and smiled.
You got up and pushed yourself out of it so that you were sat on the ledge. A cool breeze swept past you and you breathed it in. You looked down your heart hammering at the giant drop that you faced. There was a large bin beneath you thankfully yet you were still terrified. You closed your eyes and pushed off the ledge suppressing your scream the best you could. When you peaked your eyes open you saw your in the large dumpster and saw that many pillows were stacked in here to cushion your landing.
Your blood turned cold at this and you quickly scrambled out. You fell out and as you pulled yourself up, you heard the familiar taps of a cane. Sherlock knew. You froze and turned to stare at him. His face was blank and he stared at you. He spoke clearly. "You may have thought you were 2 steps ahead of me angel. But I am always a leap ahead of you. So I give you the choice. Go back to our room and your punishment won't be that bad and I will forgive you for your temporary lapse in judgement."
A pause played between the two of you and you felt tears gather in your eyes. You had come so far, you were so close. You waited for him to speak feeling your heart hammer. With a heavy sigh from Sherlock, he spoke again, his voice deepening a warning evident in his tone. "And if not, then try running and see what will happen angel. Because I can promise you, I will tear your wings off and break your halo before you can even apologize."
Your heart raced and you slowly turned gulping. You had worked too hard and with that one thought playing through your mind you sprinted and a dark laughter soon followed you. And before you could even make it to the first lamp post you were tackled onto the ground by his hulking figure. He spoke hotly into your ear, "I warned you. Now you're gonna deal with the consequences." He pulled you up over his shoulder and stomped to your shared apartment. He kicked the door down and the kicked it closed.
He stormed to the bedroom and threw you onto the bed. You gasped trying to catch your breath from crying and the fear that was vibrating in your chest. You watched as he quickly stripped from his clothes in anger. His predatory gaze settling on you immediately after his cock sprang free. You couldn't bring yourself to look at it. Instead you continued begging with your eyes to stop this but you were only met with his cold, dominating gaze.
"Strip." He said, his voice a hiss. You shook your head crying more. "Do it or I'll do it for you." You let out a pitiful sob and within seconds he was upon you and tore your dress open. Buttons popped off and seams torn, your breasts spilled free and within a few moments of them being exposed, Sherlock brought his head down and took a nipple into his mouth. Licking and sucking it, you felt yourself grow wet for him yet you held back your moans. A squeal left your lips as he quickly bit your nub and smirked. All the hike his thumb was pinching and caressing the other.
He pulled away and stared down at your tits. "Just wait til these are full of milk for our children. Your breasts will get so heavy, and I'll happily hold them. Fuck this little body is so perfect. Pretty tits to match your pretty face. I can't wait to mark them up with my bites and my cum. And don't give me any crybaby shit, this was your choice whore."
He soon tore the rest of your dress off followed by the rest of your clothing. You quickly tried to shield yourself but he was too fast. He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head and smiled wickedly at seeing your naked body on display to him. You slowly brought your gaze down his body, getting wet at the sight of his muscular arms and his chiseled body. And then staring in shock over his big cock. It was long and girthy. A prominent vein running from the bottom to just under the tip.
Sherlock settled between your legs, you were hip to hip and with a grunt, he grabbed his cock, and slid it up and down your folds before pushing into you ripping the air from your lungs and replacing it with a scream which was quickly muffled by Sherlock's massive hand. He stared down at where you both connected and groaned feeling your pussy tighten around him trying to lubricate itself around his massive cock.
"Fuck. You're tight little pussy is fucking perfect. So warm, so tight. It's fucking hugging my cock. Your pussy is a big a whore as you. You wanted this, you wanted me to fuck you. You wanted me to shove my big cock into your little pussy. Awwh look at your tears, you look like such a slut. Maybe that's why you were in the whitehouse, cause you're just a fucking slut."
He looked down at you and smirked and your closed eyes, he moved his hand from your mouth to your chin and then pried your lips open with his thumb and then spat into your mouth. He then held himself up with one hand, remaining perfectly still letting you adjust to his cock. He then spat on two fingers and brought them down to you clit and began rubbing viciously. He then stared down at you again and pressed his mouth to yours.
He swallowed your groans and moan and let his tongue swipe around you mouth letting him taste every part of you before pulling away while sucking on your tongue. When he pulled a way a wire of spit attached you both for a second before it broke and splattered on your face. He smirked and the felt how wet you were and licked from your cheek to your temple. You fluttered your eyes closed until his hand gripped your jaw, and took away the small bit of pleasure you were feeling. You stared up at him mortified.
"You will look at me. Understood, I'm warning you. You keep your pretty eyes on me. With your fucking pretty crocodile tears. You keep looking at me or else it will get worse. I'd hate to lay my hands on your pretty face an leave a nasty mark there."
He then began to rock his hips and let his thrusting start slow and steady. Letting your virgin cunt get used to his cock and his thrusting. He moved his gaze from your eyes to where he was in you. As he pulled out he saw bits of blood on his cock and he groaned feeling a sense of glory over taking your virginity. And after he felt that glory he let himself go and began thrusting with wild abandon.
"You were a fucking virgin. God that's so fucking perfect. My good girl. You saved this cunt for me didn't you. Ofcourse you did, you had no idea what to do with it until you met me. This is my cunt now. I'm gonna cum in it, so it's fucking mine!"
You began moaning and whining feeling bliss wrap around you everywhere. You brought you legs up to knot around his hips, needing more of him even though you didn't want more. Your small hands travelled to his broad back and began scratching it, needing to grasp something to hold onto reality from the pleasure you were feeling. You felt the knot in your stomach and unwinding and then you finally felt go and came all over his cock with moan that echoed in his head.
He placed his head in your neck and planted kissed and sucks everywhere. Covering you in his love bites and the pure fact that you were purely his in that moment nudged him closer to his climax. And then he felt your pretty pussy flutter around his cock and cum all over it. And soon he lost control and came in you. Making sure to fill you up and not let one bit go to waste.
"Fuck did so good. Did perfect. Gonna make me a father aren't you. Such a perfect little angel, such a good girl for carrying all my kids. Did so fucking good taking my cock, gonna get a ring on that finger tomorrow and then I'm gonna fuck you until you can't think of anything but me. My angel. Gonna make you love me as much as I love you."
He laid on top of you and peppered your face in kisses, whispering things into your ears that you didn't hear as you were too blissed out and were close to falling asleep while he still had his cock in you. You let your eyelids close and your breathing slow as you drifted to sleep with Sherlocks cum dribbling out of you.
✧──────────────────────────────────✧
You and Sherlock had moved into a much more spacious home and it was truly wonderful. The garden was big and filled with flowers and he would pick one single flower a day and present it to you before explaining the meaning. You were positively drowning in his love. So much so that you had stopped fight against it and allowed yourself to sink into it. And in return you gave Sherlock all the love in your heart too, allowing for your mind to be vacant with everything except Sherlock and your family.
Enola adored staying over to play with her nieces and nephews. In total you and Sherlock had 5 children, not counting the one that was currently in your stomach. With 3 strong boys and 2 gorgeous girls it seemed like life was complete. Enola taught them key things even if they were little, but they understood. You blamed that on Sherlocks genes afterall he was the smart one.
Speaking of, you just heard the front door close and the sudden parade of small feet dash down the hall to see their father. You giggled and continued making dinner for everyone all while pregnant and a baby in your hip. Little James was quite the mother's boy and he was clingy. Yet they all were at his age. He babbled to you as you stirred the stew, he listed colours and insects trying his hardest to remember what insect came out of a cocoon.
You heard the childish laughter getting closer and the heavy footsteps of you husband. Sherlock watched you, absolutely mesmerized by how perfect of a mother and wife you were. Don't get him wrong he still supported the feminist notion slowly rising, but he could not bring himself to allow you to do any of it. Seeing you as a reward for all his hard work. He drew his attention to James sat on your hip listening to his confused babbles.
"A butterfly my dear James." Your son's eyes lit up and you gently placed him down for him to wobbly toddle towards his dad for his daily cuddles. You smiled content at the homely and domestic atmosphere. You zoned out looking at the blue sky, still stirring the stew, completely missing Sherlock dismissing your children to go and wait in the dining room.
With gentle steps, Sherlock curled himself around you, and you leaned back into him and turned your head up and slightly turned it, and he placed a soft gentle kiss on you lips and gazed into your eyes lovingly. "How were the children, Mrs.Holmes?" You smiled, "Enola came over and kept them busy drawing, yet James decided to cling to my side and question me as to why my stomach has gotten so big."
Sherlock chuckled and moved his large hand up to your stomach cradling your pregnant belly. He placed a soft kiss in the crook of your neck before gently whispering, "And how are you my love, is our little one treating you okay?" You sighed happily feeling peace radiate through your bones and into Sherlocks. "I'm fine, they were kicking up a storm this morning but I think that's because they weren't ready for daddy to leave for work."
He hummed, "I apologize my angel. Truly, this one is going to be a little devil and I think that's my fault entirely." He said smugly. You giggled at him, and allowed him to keep cuddling you as you made dinner and settled into your husbands embrace and his dark love.
#henry!sherlock#henry!holmes#henry!holmes x reader#henry!holmes x black!reader#henry!holmes x woc!reader#henry!holmes x plussize!reader#henry!sherlock x reader#henry!sherlock x black!reader#henry!sherlock x woc!reader#henry!sherlock x plussize!reader#sherlock x reader#enola 2#enola holmes#henry cavill#henry cavill x female reader#henry cavill x plus size reader#henry cavill x black reader#henry cavill x woc reader
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Letters
2022 Month of Writing: Day 5
Pairing: Henry!Sherlock Holmes x reader
Prompt:
Word Count: 2,551
Author's Note: please don't steal my work! you can choose to respond to the prompt as well, but don't steal my work.
I just watched Enola Holmes 2 last night and felt inspired to write a Sherlock Holmes (Enola Holmes style) fic today.
“Thank you so much, Mr. Newman,” y/n said with a smile.
“Not a problem, dear!” the man said. “It’s always a pleasure to see you around. Feel free to stop by again soon!”
“I’ll do my best. Good day!”
She stepped out on the cobble street, still smiling. Mr. Newman was a pleasant man. He was old enough to be her father, and greeted every customer that walked into his shop with a smile. He sold a variety of items, but she primarily stopped in for art supplies. She would send him a telegram, detailing the items she wanted, and within a week, Mr. Newman would make sure to have them for her.
Painting was a hobby of hers, one she didn’t get to do often but greatly enjoyed. She had learned at a young age from her mother and had continued to enhance her skills as she grew older. However, painting now remained a thing to do in her spare time.
She quickly ran the rest of her errands, making her last stop in the local market. She greeted the usual stall owners as she bought her groceries for the week. She knew that some people found it odd that she did her own shopping, but she enjoyed the hustle and bustle of the market. The people were pleasant for the most part and it gave her a chance to get out of the house.
Once she had all that she needed, she began making her way back home. She hummed lightly to herself and smiled at people as she passed by them. She always felt that it was right to smile at people, because you never knew if they needed a little bit of happiness. Not everyone responded to her smiles, but she was never offended by it.
Just as she turned a corner, she heard someone shout her name.
“Miss l/n!”
y/n turned her head quickly to determine the source and smiled. Lilliana, a local florist, waved at her. y/n walked over to her, carefully crossing the street.
“Lilliana, it’s so good to see you!” y/n said. “How are you? Is your sister doing all right? Better I hope?”
“Much, thank you. Seemed to have just been a little cold. She’s back to causing chaos, that one.” Lilliana took in y/n’s bags. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full.”
“I’m afraid so. Otherwise I would be more than happy to buy some flowers off of you today. They look absolutely lovely.”
Lilliana smiled at the compliment.
“Well at least take a look around,” she invited. “If you’re not in a rush, that is.”
“All right, I’ll take a look.”
The girl cheered and left y/n to attend to another guest. y/n slowly walked through the selection of flowers, admiring the colors and scents. She carefully knelt down next to a basket full of (favorite flower). They were beautiful. She felt a little silly buying flowers for herself, but she couldn’t resist.
She waved down Lilliana and requested a small bundle of flowers. She smiled as she watched Lilliana build a small bouquet for her. Lilliana always treated her too well, giving her more than she paid for. As Lilliana carefully picked flowers to put together, she glanced at y/n.
“You know, y/n,” she said, “you seem to have an admirer.”
y/n looked at her, puzzled.
“I’m sorry?”
“An admirer. Since you started browsing, there’s a gent across the street that’s had an eye on you.”
Now that she mentioned it, y/n could feel the gaze. She was used to the occasional glance, but this felt different. It was… more persistent, curious even. y/n glanced around, making sure not to make it obvious. She didn’t notice anyone terribly out of place, but the street was filled with people. However, she knew not to question Lilliana. The girl saw these people almost every day. She would know when someone breaks routine.
y/n simply smiled, playing it off. She carefully adjusted her bags so she could get out a bit of money to pay Lilliana. They exchanged the money for the bouquet and y/n smiled.
“It’s beautiful, Lilliana,” she said. “Excellent job as always.”
“You flatter me. Have a lovely day, y/n.”
“You too! I’ll see you soon.”
y/n started back down the street, ready to get home. Her shoulders were starting to hurt from the weight of her bags. Luckily her flat was only about a block away. She briefly wondered about her mysterious admirer, but chose to forget about him.
She made good time and got to her home in no time. She unlocked the door and stepped inside. It was moments like this when she disliked living on the third floor. She waved briefly to the landlord’s wife, slowly made her way up, and was soon back in her comfortable home. She laid her things out on the dining table, sorting them briefly before beginning to put things away.
The food went in their respective homes, organized in a way that would be easy for her to access later. She cut the bottoms of the stems of her flowers and placed them in a vase, which she left by the window.
She then went to her bedroom and shed her overcoat. It had been cold, so the coat had been welcome on her outing. Her gloves and hat were put away, and her purse stored. She proceeded to make herself comfortable. She changed into slightly more comfortable clothing, a skirt and shirt that allowed her more movement. She pulled the pins out of her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders. Finally comfortable again, she went back to the main room and stored her new paints and canvases.
Suddenly, she heard a knock on her door. She paused for a moment before slowly making her way to the door. She rarely got visitors, so questions started filling her mind.
y/n undid the lock and pulled the door open a little. A rather tall man stood in the hall. He looked a little awkward due to his height and broad shoulders. He turned to look at her and offered a small smile.
“Good afternoon,” he greeted.
“Hello,” y/n said. She remained partly behind the door. “Can I help you?”
“Ah, yes. I, um, well…” He fiddled slightly with his cane and hat, something she wouldn’t typically expect. “You are y/n l/n, correct?”
She raised an eyebrow at him.
“Yes?”
“You used to live near Ferndell Hall.”
He sounded more sure of his statement this time, meanwhile she became slightly more wary.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?”
“I’m Sherlock Holmes. I used to live at Ferndell with my mother and siblings.”
Of course!
“Oh my word!” y/n exclaimed, opening the door a little more. She could see it now. Those bright, intense eyes so full of wonder and never missed a thing. “I didn’t recognize you, it’s been so long!”
“Indeed it has. Might I come in?”
“Yes, forgive me.” She opened the door wider and watched him step into her home. Once he was in, she shut the door. “Can I get you anything? Tea?”
“Thank you.”
She went to the kitchen and started a kettle of water to heat. When she went back to check on Sherlock, she found him wandering around her flat, looking at her belongings. She didn’t say anything and simply let him observe.
It had been so long.
Sure enough, they had been neighbors. The two of them were close in age, so they frequently played together as children, running through the fields and climbing trees. They would occasionally study together too. Sherlock’s older brother Mycroft had often thought of her actions as “unfit for a lady”, but their mother Eudora encouraged the behavior for many years. They had been the closest of friends for many years. y/n smiled slightly; those were some of the best years of her life.
He had changed so much from the boy she knew. They were once the same height, now he towered over her. His dark hair was still curly and his eyes were still the same, if not more intense now. He definitely filled out. It was hard to tell with his suit jacket on, but he looked like he had gained a lot of muscle. His features became more defined. He looked handsome. She almost blushed.
“I see you still paint,” Sherlock observed. He was looking at her new and old paints, then her recent painting. “It’s lovely.”
“Thank you.”
He continued on, only briefly, and stopped at a collection of photographs. There weren’t many, but y/n loved them. One of her parents, one of her old home, one she had taken of London when she first arrived, then one of…
“Is this Alexander?”
y/n nodded sadly.
“Yes,” she said.
Alex had been her brother. He had died when she was early in her teen years. An accident. He had been on the road when his carriage was attacked. Those responsible had shot him and stolen most of his belongings. He hadn’t made it through the night. He had been only an hour from home when he was attacked.
“I am sorry,” Sherlock said, bringing her back once again. “He was a good man.”
She nodded, blinking to get rid of the tears that threatened to spill.
“Yes, he was.”
He had been her biggest supporter. He included her in all of his activities and lessons, never wanting her to feel excluded. He was the reason she knew the Holmes family. He would drag her out of the house and take her with him to visit Mycroft and Sherlock.
Just then, the kettle started to whistle. She went to the kitchen and started on the tea. She heard Sherlock’s footsteps continue to move around somewhere behind her.
“You receive letters from Enola?” he suddenly asked, loud enough for her to hear.
“Yes, I do,” she replied. She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of the youngest Holmes. “She is quite a character. I met her briefly when I returned from finishing school and spent many weeks with her and Eudora. We’ve kept in contact, so I’ve been up to date on her adventures.”
She joined him again and passed him his cup. He took it with a nod. y/n sat down in one of her chairs, reclining comfortably. She supposed she should be a little more polite with the way she sat, but she couldn’t really bring herself to care.
Sherlock cleared his throat.
“Do you remember when we used to write to one another?” he asked.
y/n smiled a little and nodded.
“Yes. We lived only a mile apart but we sent letters almost daily. I looked forward to those moments. Your stories were quite interesting.”
“As were yours. We could have written a novel.”
y/n laughed.
“What a story that would have been. The tales of two children and their imagination.”
Sherlock hummed.
“You know,” he continued slowly. He didn’t look at her and instead stared into his cup. He cleared his throat with a hum. “After Alex’s passing, and you went off to finishing school, I still tried to write to you.”
y/n froze, teacup lifted halfway to her lips. But Sherlock surprisingly didn’t seem to notice.
“I wrote to you, daily at first. I had hoped you were well for I knew you were still grieving when you left. I wanted to continue our stories, as a way to distract you or perhaps give you something other than your schooling to think about. When I didn’t receive a response at first, I thought it was just because you were busy. So I wrote weekly. Then monthly. Then…” He sighed. “I know I really have no right to ask you this, but why didn’t you answer any of my letters?”
He finally looked at her and his deduction skills kicked in almost against his will.
Her grip was tight on her cup, yet her hands were shaking. Her eyes were wide. There were tears in them. She looked like a deer. Her expression was a little harder to read: shock, sadness, and puzzlement were the primary emotions. She gaped at him for another moment before swallowing.
“Sherlock,” she said, her voice thick. “You wrote me letters?”
Now it was his turn to be confused.
“What? Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I?”
She shook her head slightly.
“I never received any letters, Sherlock.”
His eyes widened.
She blinked and the first tear fell. She quickly wiped it away.
“My going to finishing school was not by choice,” she said. “I was perfectly content to learn at home, like how your mother raised Enola. My parents were the ones who sent me away. Alex was the only thing keeping me home.” She paused to collect herself a little. “At finishing school, I would talk about you and our adventures, and I would get reprimanded by the headmistress. It’s apparently frowned upon to remain friends with a boy after a certain age.”
She looked at him and continued: “If you sent letters, Sherlock, I never saw them. I would presume the headmistress got rid of them..”
Sherlock set down his cup and moved to kneel in front of her. He gently grabbed her hand.
“I never wanted that. I wanted to keep in contact with you, to remain friends.” He paused for a moment. “Why didn’t you try to find me afterwards? You went back to Ferndell to see my mother and sister, and I was solving cases at the time. Surely…”
“I had thought you didn’t want to be friends any longer and never wanted to speak to me again. I became different after finishing school.”
He chuckled a little.
“I never wanted that. And I don’t think you’re much different now than you were then, y/n. As a detective, I can tell you are the same woman. Perhaps to an outsider you are one of society’s polite women, but here, deep down, you are the same spitfire girl I used to play with. Perhaps even more so now. If you’re friends with Enola, then I know that to be true.”
y/n laughed a little. She had to admit, he was right. Finishing school had taught her how to act in public, but had little effect on her interests and personality. She wiped away her tears and took a deep breath to calm herself. She looked back at him. He was still kneeling beside her, his large hand wrapped around hers.
“So what now?” she asked.
“Whatever you wish, I suppose. Personally, I want to get to know you again. I want to catch up on all we missed. And perhaps, make something new with it?”
y/n smiled and squeezed his hand.
“I would love that.”
She leaned forward a little and pressed her forehead to his, closing her eyes. He sighed and closed his own eyes, enjoying the new peace that settled around them.
“Just wait until Enola hears about this,” y/n then muttered. “She will lose her mind.”
“Let’s hold off on telling Mycroft then, yes?”
#month of writing#writing prompt#Henry!sherlock#Henry!sherlock x reader#sherlock x reader#Enola holmes#Enola Holmes 2#angst#Cavill!sherlock#Henry!holmes
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idk if anyone's brought this up but came across the first enola movie bloopers and this confused henry is just– chef's kiss
#henry cavill#sherlock holmes#enola holmes#sherlock holmes x reader#enola#henry!sherlock#henry!holmes#enola holmes 2#lord tewksbury
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Utmost Merit, Part I
Fandom: Henry Cavill as Sherlock in Enola Holmes
Summary: Sherlock presents the Reader with a most unconventional proposal.
Content: For this first chapter, 18+ for suggestive language, sensual tension, and frank discussion of a hypothetical pregnancy.
Notes: I prefer giving a name to the Reader rather than using Y/N, but I hope you will make the appropriate substitutes in your imagination. Your kind comments and reblogs are so, so appreciated…please don’t hesitate to reply or send me a message with your feedback if you enjoy! I’m especially grateful to @a-panda-doll , @donutloverxo , @ghotifishreads , @inlovewithhisblueeyes , and our Lord and Savior @littlefreya for giving such kind, expressive feedback on my previous tales!
“I am very much obliged to you for seeing me, Miss Marlow.”
“Of course; you are very welcome, Mr. Holmes. My brother is in his study with the solicitor and shows no signs of resurfacing—perhaps I might offer you tea while you wait?”
“It in fact is you whom I wished to see. Privately, if you will permit the liberty.”
You had never before entertained Sherlock Holmes at your family’s London home, let alone privately; until today you had only seen him socially, when he could be seen at all, hovering about the fringes of a well-heeled client’s ball or examining the flowers with more interest than the guests at a garden party. The few times you had spoken, generally in the presence of your respective elder brothers, he had proved amiable, in a reserved, thoughtful sort of way, with the occasional glint of good humor shining through. But he was not one of your regular circle of friends, and you could only assume it must be some sensitive matter that brought him here—one of his cases involved someone you knew, perhaps—and you obligingly escorted him to the drawing room, hoping the matter was only delicate, rather than dire.
“I am at your service,” you say him, pouring a cup for each of you. “Sugar?”
“Just cream, thank you.”
“Of course. What brings you here, sir?”
“I would like to ask you to be my wife.”
Well.
This is most interesting indeed.
“You are a man wholly devoted to your vocation, Mr. Holmes,” you respond carefully, managing your expression into one a little less surprised than you feel in order to match his calm demeanor. “And one often referred to as ‘a confirmed bachelor’. May I ask why now, in particular, you find yourself desirous of a wife?”
“I do not, particularly,” he answers honestly, and though his words are somewhat severe, his tone is very gentle. “I am not a romantic in search of love, nor do I feel it necessary to conform to a particular mold or custom society may define as necessary or desirable for a man of my station. But—I hope you will forgive me my candor, Miss Marlow—I have lately realized that I very much wish to have a child. Or children. Whatever your—forgive me; I am too bold. Whatever my wife’s preference might prove. It is not so much a legacy I look for as…an opportunity. There are few honors in the world greater than to raise a child…and as I seek to bring a greater share of justice and peace into this world…well, this might be one means by which I might do so, if I can nurture a child to hold those same values as sacred.
He pauses for breath at the end of this eloquent speech, looking almost surprised to have revealed such a personal sentiment. But your immediate smile seems to comfort him, and you can tell he is hoping for a response, which you are all too happy to offer:
“I have always thought that, if one can raise a little human being in love and respect, and teach them how to give their best to others, it is a tremendous service one can render unto the world. You are to be commended, sir, for not seeing it simply as your right, but as your responsibility.”
“Quite so. I am happy to find we are in such perfect accordance,” he responds, a look of hopeful expectance now gracing his features.
“May I ask you another question, sir?”
“You may ask me as many as you wish.”
“Thank you. I think it not out of turn to say you do not want for feminine attention, sir, so…why me?”
“An excellent question. I have chosen you as my ideal match based upon three merits: you walk several miles around London every morning, you have many friends, and your younger brother is an excellent pianist.”
“You make a refreshing case for yourself, Mr. Holmes!” you laugh, charmed by his bluntness, and wildly curious to know more. His reasoning was novel indeed, and this was not the first time you had received an offer of marriage, though it was the first time someone had approached you directly. Previous attempts to hazard for your hand had first faced, and been turned away by, your elder brother, and for good reason. “Most would list the substantial inheritance left me by my parents in all three places of merit.”
“The money is of no consequence to me, I assure you,” he scoffs with a dismissive gesture, as if he were grievously offended by the very notion. “If you wish for a copy of my bank slip to demonstrate that my finances are entirely in order, and more than ample enough to provide for yourself and our family in the comfort you are deservedly accustomed to, allow me to—“
“Oh, no, no—I believe you!” you assure him, unable to resist a smile at his earnest indignation. “What about these particular qualities of mine have seized you into so violent a passion?”
He starts to answer out of polite instinct, then catches himself and looks at you askance.
“Are you making fun of me, Miss Marlow?”
“Only a little. Please, forgive me. I am more gratified by your honesty and plainness than any feigned fit of infatuation…as well as quite curious.”
“Another quality to recommend you.” He nods approvingly. “As to the initial three, your walks are a testament to your health and heartiness; I have every hope that we would be blessed with a strong, healthy child, borne without undue peril to either of you. The second merit—your many friends—I confess say appeals to me selfishly. I am not a sociable, or oftentimes even an agreeable, man, and do not always converse comfortably or on subjects of interest to anyone save myself. I would hate to disappoint a woman who hoped to be kept entertained by someone more charming, but what I cannot offer in way of easy companionship you have the full measure of already in your friends.”
“I do, indeed. What you call selfish, I call self-knowledge, and what is more considerate to someone with whom you choose to share a life.”
“A wise observation. And perhaps we should not find one another’s company completely intolerable, on occasion.” This with a smile of his own. “But finally, as to your accomplished brother, I am myself a musician given to practice at all hours, but especially very late at night. Something similar must be required of anyone at your brother’s level of proficiency and artistry, therefore I’ll wager you could sleep through my own nocturnal etudes without aggravation.”
“You are entirely correct; I haven’t heard him practice in years! But we may have to negotiate the midnight cadenzas once the baby arrives—oh…”
Sherlock raises an eyebrow, a nearly imperceptible smile quirking up the corner of his mouth.
“I beg your pardon,” you correct yourself frantically, looking away as a furious blush burns across your cheeks. “Now I am too bold.”
You make the mistake of glancing back at him, and find his eyes intently fixed upon you, meeting your gaze with a composed, but clearly intrigued contemplation. For a wild, unfathomable instant, you are seized with a traitorous thought: all the polite conversation in the world cannot summon a child into existence. This man is not asking you only to raise a child with him, but to make one. With all the intimacy that requires.
You have never quite looked at him this way before, but now there is no denying it: Sherlock Holmes is a breathtakingly handsome man. And the very scent of him, masculine and heady, is suddenly as necessary to you as the very air you breathe. What would it be like, you wonder against your sense of propriety, against your sensible nature—what would it be like to lay in his arms, to feel his skin against your as he fills you with his—
“Miss Marlow, what has set your mind awhirl?”
You cannot possibly tell him.
“I…I hope that you have found me in practice to be as meritorious as in theory,” you manage.
“Absolutely,” he affirms. “You confirm my hypotheses one after the other. And, if I may presume, you appear as satisfied with the answers you have received as I am.”
“Very much so, thank you.”
“To conclude, Miss Marlow, while I cannot never promise to be an adoring swain, I intend to be more than a distant provider. My parents’ marriage and their raising of the three of us was unconventional to say the least, but from it I would take the best, and try to fill in the considerable gaps, as a staunch ally to you and dedicated father to our child. If such an arrangement is not to your taste, I would understand perfectly and I will depart with nothing but the utmost respect for you. But if you wish to consider my proposition, please take all the time you wish, and let me know of your decision at your leisure.”
“I will certainly consider it, most thoughtfully.” Yes. Thoughtfully. You have quite recovered your wits. Haven’t you? “And I will say at once that I am very grateful that you have sought me out at such a delicate and critical moment; I have tremendous respect for you, too, sir, and count myself most fortunate that you chose to approach me.”
“Thank you for your time, Miss Marlow.”
“Please, forgo the honorific,” you suggest, offering your hand.
“Then you must call me Sherlock.”
He takes your extended hand eagerly between his. It is not quite a handshake, but nor does he endeavor a kiss…the gesture is neither strictly businesslike nor romantic, much like his proposal. Very apt, you think, and you gently squeeze his fingers before you can stop yourself. Clearly, the sensual tension that sparked moments before has not died away. Not at all. His hands are so large, but somehow graceful, too. A musician’s hands. Tactile. Expressive. A little roughened from playing the strings, just perfect to incite such raptures in your body as would welcome his seed...
“Sherlock,” you breathe.
“Rosamund,” he returns, and with a somewhat knowing smile, he takes care to slide his fingers lightly across your skin as he lightly lets go. It is absolutely the most stirring thing you have ever experienced and now you must somehow let him walk away as if it had never happened.
“Good day.”
“Good day.”
It does not take you very long at all, in the end to consider your answer, and a brief conversation with your brothers later, your find yourself seated at your desk to write:
Dear Sherlock,
I am most delighted and honored to accept your proposal. My brothers support us fully, and we may name the day and proceed with all legal and logistical matters whenever convenient. Perhaps you night dine with us at our home tomorrow to discuss?
Yours, sincerely,
Rosamund Marlow
Thank you for reading! Here’s Part II!
#Sherlock Holmes#sherlock holmes fanfic#Enola Holmes fanfic#Sherlock Holmes x Reader#sherlock holmes x ofc#sherlock holmes x you#henry cavill#henry cavill fanfic#henry cavill sherlock holmes#henry!sherlock#henry!sherlock holmes#Henry!Holmes
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Being attracted to Henry!Sherlock headcannons:
* of course, his face is very attractive, but his brain, oh Lordy his intellect - the first time time he threw out a deduction you about swooned.
* And of course, he notices what your reaction is, how his intelligence affects you, but he doesn’t really have the time or mindset to do anything about it.
* So you start scheming. You plant yourself outside everywhere you see him. You try and pipe up when you notice something, offer your input on cases.
* Sherlock notices and eventually starts to do something about it.
* It’s subtle at first, too subtle for you to notice.
* You think that he’s pushing you away, that he thinks you’re not smart enough for him, so you start pushing him away.
* He’s confused and steps up his game. Little gifts, notes, flowers, and then, he starts to complement you.
* That’s when you finally understand what he’s been doing.
* He apologizes, stating that he’s new at this, but you just kiss him and hope for the best.
* The best being, he kissing you back, which he does.
* It’s glorious and amazing and you’re seeing stars, but then Enola walks in and breaks you two apart.
* Which then broached the subject of a relationship between the two of you and having to explain it to Enola.
* She’s supportive and excited, having wished that you and her brother would’ve started courting ages ago.
#sherlock x you#sherlock imagine#henry!sherlock x reader#henry cavill#henry!sherlock#henry!holmes#sherlock x reader#headcanon
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Henry Cavill’s Characters’ Zodiac Signs
This is (in my opinion) the zodiac vibes I get from each Henry Cavill character. I am not an astrologist, this is just based off my observations of each sign and the energy I get from these characters. If there’s a character I missed or you wanted to see on this list, let me know!!!!
So it’s basically canon that Sy is a bull, and understandable. He gives HELLA Taurus energy. He’s strong, sturdy, a little cocky, but only because he can back up all the hype. He can be stubborn as all hell, which is to be expect from the bullheaded Taurus (my brother was born in May and the boy will never budge in a fight). Negotiations during deployments is hell for his fellow comrades. And just like the grounded earth sign it takes awhile for him to soften up, but when he does, he would do ANYTHING for those he cares about, and that passion can be overwhelming to some. He’s a hard worker, but when he’s not overseas he’s DEFINITELY take some leisure time to himself, he deserves to be lazy! And don’t get started on a Taurus’ appetite. Just like the bull, I see Sy as a grazing type, munching on little snacks throughout the day, but will not hesitate to tear it up at dinner time, and his desert ;)
August is a Scorpio. I feel like this doesn’t need an explanation, but I’m gonna give you one anyway. As a CIA Agent/Terrorist, the man can’t trust anyone. Ever. Just like how a Scorpio takes forever to trust, he makes sure to know every detail about anyone he encounters. Scorpios also shroud themselves in mystery and secrecy. He’s proved time and again in the movie that he would kill to keep his secret diabolical plan from getting out. And it’s also cannon on tumblr that he’s obsessive. God help you if a Scorpio catches a liking to you, cause once they do, you are theirs FOREVER, whether you like it or not. Oh, and don’t even THINK about trying to have the control around August, it’s just not gonna happen.
Charles is a Leo, through and through. Those who meet him think he’s arrogant, self-centered, and in those first couple seasons, they were right. He’s definitely full of himself, but we do get to see little peeks at the insecurity he feels deep down at being born lower class. Leos are very insecure, though they try to hide it (trust me, all of our confidence is fake, coming from a Leo herself), but the way his face falls when his title (or lack of) is brought up in the first season, not to mention in the later seasons when he starts to contemplate his own actions and morals after doing what he did on Henry’s orders. Now, I know what some might say, “but Tay, Leos are so loyal!” And they are! His infidelity to Margaret was born of his own ego and arrogance. But his loyalty to HENRY?? After all the bullshit he put Charles through? Only a Leo could have a heart so big as to still love and advise a friend who treated them so. And the way he lights up a room! Much like the sun, Leo’s ruling planet, Charles lit up court. He always looks good, outfits pristine and his hair always so perfectly groomed. I can go on forever, but Imma stop here.
Walter just ooooozes Virgo energy. Work-aholic, perfectionist, never relaxes. Sometimes a little blunt, but only because they don’t have time to sugarcoat shit. But also like the earth sign, he’s consistent. You can always trust he will do the right thing and be there at the right time. Can also smell bullshit from a mile away, which is a wonderful skill set for his job. I also feel like he’s really good at budgeting and money management.
Mikey is a Sagittarius, there’s no changing my mind. His wild and care-free personality really shines through in the movie. And just like Walter he’s blunt. “He’s dead Chelsea, time move on.” Only a Sagg has the audacity! And the entire movie all he is concerned with is having a good time and hooking up. In my limited interactions with Sagittarius men, that’s really all they cared about. I feel like if he wasn’t killed off in the movie, he could have definitely evolved into a more defined character.
Geralt just gives Capricorn energy. So focused on his work, and very stoic in his emotions. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel them, he just buries them, deep, deep, DEEP down. And just like Scorpio it takes ALOT for him to open up. But when he does, BOYYYY. Fuck with the people he loves. I’ve also never met a Cap that isn’t determined to do EVERYTHING on their own (my sister is the best example. Full time vet student on top of two full time jobs, constantly refusing help when offered). He’s definitely an over-thinker. He stays up at night thinking through every scenario and preparing for any situation. But he’s sturdy and strong and loyal, if a little abrupt and abrasive at times. Hates people and gets along so much better with animals, and again, I’ve never met a Capricorn who like human beings over dogs, or in his case, Roach.
Sherlock is an Aquarius. It just makes the most sense to me. Not good with emotions at all, and this is coming from experience of having an Aquarius mother and dating an Aquarius man for three months. He’s an intellectual, and individual, and values that individuality. Not to mention the job that is very outside of the social norms. Aquarians are uninterested in being like the rest, which is a perfect description for Sherlock. Also doesn’t miss a single detail, can pick up on the slightest change in energy. Most people see Aquarius as strange, almost alien-like, and Sherlock for sure stands out. He values his solitude and alone time. I feel like if he were to be in modern times, would hella ghost someone if he felt like they were getting to close and encroaching on his privacy.
Clark Kent. My sweet baby, my Kansas farm boy. He’s a Libra, absolutely. His sense of justice and constant battle for balance wouldn’t allow him to be anything else. His need to use his powers for good to save people shines just as bright as the sunlight he gets his strength from is sometimes overshadowed by his darker side of just finally snapping and becoming the GOD he knows he is. And have you ever seen a pissed off Libra? Those red eyes are not just for show. Momma Kent did a good job of raising our boy to be a good-hearted man, but that Kryptonian blood will not relent so easily. But he loves deeply and won’t hesitate to make decisions when it comes to those he loves. Making sure they are well and safe and happy is not something he has to make a pros and cons list for.
I know I’ve made a post saying I think Napoleon is a Leo, and I still kinda feel that way. But I can also see him being a Gemini. Now the big stereotype surrounding Geminis is that they’re two-faced. But in reality they’re a mirror. The energy you give them is the energy you are gonna receive. Being a spy, he has to learn to be a chameleon, he changes with every environment but can also blend in and be unseen. He’s only loyal to the CIA because he has to be, you can bet your lucky stars when those chains are gone he can flip the script on them in a heartbeat. But also like a typical Gemini he’s charming, knows exactly how attractive he is and uses that to his full advantage.
#henry cavill#henry cavill fanfic#henry!sherlock#captain syverson#captain sy#august walker#detective walter marshall#Napoleon Solo#Henry!Holmes#geralt of rivia#hellraiser mike#zodiac signs#astrology#fan fic#fan fiction
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A Detective's Research
Inspired by several conversations with my friend @fantastic-fantasy-fanfics . I’ll do my best to be as cannon as possible while still indulging, so please be patient with me with my first attempt at our favorite detective.
Warnings: Nsfw, tickling but… erotic tickling
Masterlist Buy Me a Coffee
You smooth the cotton skirt of your thin dress down, thankful your husband isn’t here to see you snooping in his study while he’s away. Though you’ve only been married a couple of weeks- a decision your family deemed appropriate despite never meeting the man- you knew he was extremely focused when it came to his work. On the rare occasions he was home for the day, he switched his focus to you- your hobbies, past times, what your interests were, anything and everything. It was strange being able to relax, and having someone so genuinely interested in your hobbies and passions made you feel oddly cared for.
Tilting your head, you spot a letter addressed to a local furniture store, catching your attention. Rarely do people make special requests, and you can’t help but be excited to see if there was something special required for his case, hesitating when you see plans for an integrate table with-
“Do you see something that interests you?”
You startle, dropping the letter and spinning to see your husband leaning against the doorway, a slight smirk teasing his lips and curls slightly out of place as he studies your every move. “Sherlock, I-”
He raises a hand, stopping you. “Do you know what that letter was, my little minx?” He pushes off of the doorframe, a finger tilting your chin up. “It’s a custom table for you.”
You blink, frowning. “I don’t understand.”
He hums, lips grazing your ear. “I am the world’s greatest detective for a reason. I’ve seen how you squirm at my my ministrations.” You shiver, feeling his smirk against your skin as his lips continue to travel down to your neck. “I’ve seen first hand how sensitive you are to my touch, in bed and otherwise.” He nips your pulse, making you gasp softly. “Perhaps you would like to admit that you enjoy this?”
You flush, unsure when your fists began to cling to his vest but unable to let go of him. “I- I don’t-”
He tsks softly, leading you down the hall. “My love, you mistake my curiosity for mockery,” He keeps a grip on your hip, not letting you squirm away as he leads to to a previously locked room, his hand turning it to lock it behind him. “I wish to explore this… attraction of yours.”
You shiver, unable to meet his eyes. “I- I’m not-”
“Don’t lie to me, little one.” He tilts your chin up, baby blues dark with desire. “I know when you’re lying to me.” He pushes you onto the bed, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt and watching as you try to squirm away. “Will you deny me again, my love? Or do I need to persuade you to obey your husband?”
You swallow but shake your head, seeing Sherlock reach for your hands and immediately giving them to him. “What are you planning, Mister Holmes?”
He smirks a bit, tutting as he ties your wrists together with one of his own ties and gently laying you back, always so gentle until he can’t control his own desires. “Patience, my little dove,” He kisses you deeply, not letting you protest as he reaches behind you to untie the thin strings of your gown. “You’ll see soon enough.”
You arch as he tugs the thin fabric down your body, kissing over every exposed inch as he slowly tugs it down, pulling it off your body before leaning back to admire you. “Sherlock, please…”
He chuckles, leaning off the bed and rummaging through a chest of his. “Begging before I’ve even touched you… It’s a shame my commission won’t be ready for several weeks.” He grabs a feather, studying it before teasing your chest, making you arch and gasp. “I want to test a theory, little one.”
You squeal and jerk a bit as the feather kisses your nipples, unable to help giggling hard and trying to escape. “Sherlock!”
He smirks, eyes dark as he lazily moves back and forth across your chest, watching you writhe and laugh beneath him. “So sensitive…” He rolls his hips, letting you feel his hard member. “And soaking, darling, as I expected. Such a small touch to drive you mad.”
“No!” You squeal as he saws the feather along the tip of one nipple, laughing hard before he returns to teasing you. “Don’t do that!”
“No? Perhaps I should move elsewhere then.” Sherlock slowly trails it between the valley or your breasts, letting you squirm as he passes your stomach and down to your soaking core, watching as you gasp and roll your hips into the touch. “Behave, darling, you don’t want to make me replace this with something else.”
“Please!” You gasp, giggling when he teasingly flicks your clit. “I can’t!”
“You can and you will,” He tilts his head, watching you writhe and soak through the feather. “Look what you’ve done, my love.” He tuts, setting it aside and reaching for a firmer one. “You know what happens when you break the rules, do you not?”
You squeal when the firmer touch reaches you, laughing hard and squirming beneath him, hearing him moan. “Please!”
“Please what?” He nearly growls, spreading your lips as he focuses his ministrations to a more sensitive area.
You shriek, yanking at your hands. “Let me cum! Please!”
He tosses the feather aside and yanks his trousers down, filling you roughly while his lips find yours, barely letting you breathe as he rocks his hips into you. “You’re soaking for me, my dove, all from some teasing?” He moans, thumb finding your clit and his free hand pinning your wrists down so you can’t attempt to reach for him anymore. “Let go for me darling, let me feel you around my cock.”
“Sherlock!” You cry out, releasing hard and registering him letting go with you. You gasp for breath as he stays inside you, fingers swiftly untying your wrists and kissing each one.
“Are you alright, darling?” He watches you carefully, searching for any pain or distress.
You shake your head. “I’m fine,” You smile shyly, leaning into his palm as he strokes your cheek. “I didn’t realize a bit of tickling would have that affect on me.”
He chuckles, nosing you gently. “They don’t consider me the best detective in the world for nothing.” He grins as you laugh, gently stroking your hair. “Perhaps we need a bit more… research to test it’s effectiveness.”
You smirk, seeing the playful spark in his eyes. “Perhaps we do.”
Tags: @janeyboo @mylittlefandomfanfictions @palaiasaurus64 @averyrogers83 @guera31 @soulmates8 @coffeebooksandfandom @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @pegasusdragontiger @mizzzpink onetwo3000 @see-you-again-my-sun-and-stars @sleepylunarwolf @wheresmyplums @smoothdogsgirl @marvelouslyme96 @esoltis280 @jtargaryen18 @k-evans-writes @rainbowkisses31 @buchanansebba @katiew1973 @patzammit @time-for-a-lullaby
@saiyanprincessswanie @thelastsock @littlefreya @cas-kingdom @cavillsthighs
#tickle tuesday#sherlock#sherlock holmes#henry holmes#sherlock x reader#sherlock holmes x reader#henry holmes x reader#henry!sherlock#henry!holmes
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Chance Encounter
As I entered the small Strand restaurant where I had asked Watson to meet me, I saw at once that it was unusually crowded for that time of day. As I searched in vain for a table with two empty chairs together, I noticed a young woman sitting by herself at a table for two, reading a recent issue of the Strand. Her molasses-brown hair was up in a loose coif, though a few locks had come free. Her apparel was fashionable, but not extravagant, and her boots were of a style not frequently seen in London.
I stayed where I was, intending to wait until she had left before claiming the table, but presently she glanced up and caught my eye. She indicated that I should approach, though I did not recognise her and she gave no indication of recognising me. Out of curiosity, I walked over to the table.
"I will be leaving shortly," she remarked once I had arrived, "So you needn't worry that you or your friend will be left standing."
"What led you to believe that I was expecting someone?" I asked, my curiosity piqued by her comment.
"If you expected to remain alone," she replied, "you would have simply taken one of the solitary seats in the restaurant. As it was, you hesitated in the doorway and scanned the entire dining area, apparently looking for a table with two or more chairs together. It isn't usually this crowded at this time of day."
"I hadn't noticed you here before," I said as I sat across from her.
"I haven't been here before. You glanced at your pocket-watch as you came in, and you looked annoyed at the crowd. Hence, you were expecting it to be empty enough now for both of you to sit."
Not to be outdone, I observed, "You're very keen, for a left-handed, unmarried, secretary,recently returned from a travel to America who hadn't the foresight to take a cab here on such a windy day."
She arched an eyebrow at me. "How do you know all that?"
"The indentation of a pen is plain upon the second joint of the middle finger of your left hand, though even had I not observed that, one can see that you turn the pages of your magazine with your left hand rather than your right. You also do not wear a wedding band, nor is there the shadow of where one might otherwise be. The skin on both hands is overdry, as might be expected when one handles a lot of paper in their profession.
"Even before you spoke I noticed your boots, which are of a style manufactured chiefly in America, which told me that you had certainly been there when you purchased the boots. I could see you had walked here, as there is road-grime splashed on your boots, and the stiff wind has blown some of your hair free of its pins."
"Hum!" she said when I had finished, and she sat back. A slight smile played at her lips. "Well, even a left-handed, unmarried, secretary - whether or not she has the foresight not to walk in the wind - can easily spot someone who smokes tobacco, favoring the pipe when he is feeling meditative; who is a deep thinker on many puzzling issues and has a very keen eye for the minutest details; who is a lover of classical music and in fact plays the violin himself; who is a bachelor but takes a roommate; who takes a great interest in chemistry; who is a master in the art of theatrical makeup and disguise; who is a pugilist and fencer; who takes little interest in anything which he finds boring or irrelevant or which does not otherwise engage his intellect; and who is quite disinterested in romance or in fact in women as a gender outside of the necessities of his line of work."
She picked up the magazine and continued reading as I sat, slightly stunned. Finally my curiosity overcame my pride, and I said, "That is quite a detailed catalogue. Perhaps you might explain how you came to these conclusions."
"Well, there are two possible answers to that question," she said, "A long answer and a short answer."
"The long answer first, then."
"Certainly," she replied, "The smell of pipe tobacco is dreadfully difficult to get out of one's clothing, particularly if one smokes heavily at a stretch, so it has quite permeated your clothing, defying all efforts to remove it.
"Your powers of observation were quite clear from your own remarks about myself, but as they were quickly deduced it was clear that this process takes very little time at all. Nonetheless, there is a pronounced furrow between your eyebrows which naturally forms when one knits the brow in deep concentration.
"Your choice of musical instrument is evident by the broad callouses on the pads of the fingers on your left hand where they would touch the strings, and the narrower callouses on the fingers of your right hand where they would grasp the bow, and the slight indentation on the underside of your chin where it would rest on the body of the instrument. One who plays the violin could hardly be uninterested in classical music.
"The lack of a wedding band indicates that you are not married, but your clothing is well-worn, indicating that your income has not been substantial enough for you to afford new clothing for some time. The only way a gentleman in such a financial situation might afford reasonable living quarters is by going halves with a roommate.
"Your interest in chemistry is as plain as the chemical-stains and acid- burns on your hands, though I daresay a home laboratory would cause your roommate no little annoyance.
"Your lean frame is not indicative of a sedentary lifestyle. Furthermore, your upper body appears to be well-muscled, as would be necessary in boxing, and your right arm is slightly more developed than the left, which would occur in someone who practiced in fencing or played singlestick.
"Your interest in theater is evident by the slight smell of cold cream, used by professional thespians to clean off their greasepaint. All the same, there is a thin line of greasepaint at your hairline - hardly noticeable, mind you - which might result if you had washed it off your face in poor light.
"Your selective interest in most topics underlies most of these, particularly the fact that you have a keen interest in such diverse topics as chemistry and theater. It would be difficult and frustrating to cultivate such a level of expertise in all topics, so you pick and choose those which are most interesting and useful to you. The fact that this list does not include women was indicated by your bachelorhood, the lack of any indications - such as the use of cologne - that you are courting anyone, and your apparent reluctance to approach this table in the beginning and ask me if the seat you are now occupying is taken."
She thus concluded her explanation, and returned to her magazine. I sat silent for several minutes, digesting her essay on my personal habits, until I could no longer contain my curiosity.
"The long answer covers every detail," I said, "So what could be the short answer?"
She glanced up at me over the edge of her magazine, and silently folded back one half of it to reveal the full-colour title page of "The Adventure of the Speckled Band," which depicted me thrashing away at a rearing adder with my stick
"Occam's Razor," she said quietly, "How quickly you forget your own fame, Mr. Holmes!" With that she got up and left.
I was still laughing when Watson joined me and asked me if I was quite all right.
Head on to my sequel
the adventure of the trading trinkets
To find out more about her.
#sherlock x y/n#sherlock holmes#sherlock hound#sherlock holmes x ofc#sherlock holmes x reader#sherlock holmes x you#sherlock holmes x oc#sherlock x you#sherlock x reader#sherlock holmes fanfiction#sherlock holmes fic#sherlock holmes fandom#sherlock holmes fluff#henry!sherlock#henry!holmes#henry!sherlock x reader#henry sherlock#acd sherlock holmes#acd sherlock#victorian sherlock#ronald howard#ronald howard holmes#sherlock holmes 1954#1954 Sherlock Holmes
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Sherlock Holmes? [Yes…?] I’m here for my appointment. You’re seeking a flatmate?
ENOLA HOLMES 2 (2022)
#henry cavill#himesh patel#enola holmes#enola holmes 2#enolaholmesedit#enolaholmes2edit#sherlock holmes#john watson#perioddramaedit#filmedit#perioddramagif#perioddramasource#filmgifs#moviegifs#netflixedit#dailynetflix#himesh being employed#love that for him#this will be a great dynamic#enola holmes 2 spoilers#mystuff#1k#5k#mine: movies#10k
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Hi, can I ask for some Sherlock Holmes with a side of spanking and cuddles?
Title: The Paganini Problem
Rating: Mature, 18+, Minors - DNI
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Wife!Reader
Fandom: Enola Holmes series
Word Count: 1.3K
Summary: Being Sherlock’s wife proves to be difficult when a case stumps him. For @princessphilly, I hope this works!!
Warnings: female!masturbation, spanking, softDom!Sherlock
A/N: I listened to “24 Caprices for Solo Violin, Op. 1, MS 25: No. 24 in A Minor” while writing this, you do not have to. But it is quite good if you like violin and suspenseful music. Also, Enola correctly guesses that Paganini is Sherlock’s favorite composer in the first Enola Holmes film, so like, research! Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best.
Dividers by: @firefly-graphics
Support/Reblog banner by me
Cover Art by me
My Masterlist
The sounds of violin wafted through 221B Baker Street. You loved to hear Sherlock play most days. But, today was different. This was day three of a Paganini marathon, which could only mean one thing.
He was stumped on a case.
A case he refused to talk to you about. No, he could only converse with his beloved violin about it. However, that’s not how you see it. No.
Your perception? He decided to play instead of paying attention to you. Being the brat that you are, you are determined to make him regard your presence.
You don your tightest bodice and skirt, the deep sapphire one that Sherlock purchased for you as a gift when he asked you to move into Baker Street. He specifically had it tailored to your measurements, showing off your ample bosom and child-bearing hips.
You make your way from your shared bedroom into the drawing room where Sherlock is playing. His violin is tucked between his chin and shoulder. His left hand bows at a speed that makes the messy curls on his head dance along to the music. His right hand holds the violin at the neck so delicately, it’s almost loving.
You step around several stacks of papers, narrowly missing a tower of books. You remind yourself to have that talk again with Sherlock about the difference between organization and chaos.
You finally make it to the chair next to his music stand, his eyes never leaving the sheet music. You make sure to sit down in a way that makes a squeak that Sherlock has commented on many a time. He’s actually shown you how to sit so that said squeak does not occur. You remarked that he could just get rid of the chair, to which he replied that you can sit elsewhere if you’re going to complain.
No reaction.
You seethe, watching as he continues with 24 Caprices. You kick over the music stand and the sheets dance gracefully to the floor.
Nothing.
He simply closes his eyes and plays from memory. He plays it perfectly, of course. Paganini is his favorite composer, after all. He would know it forward and backward.
You were growing impatient, running out of options for how to get this man’s attention. Until it hit you. The idea was just ridiculous enough to work. It would be depravity in polite society, sure. But clever enough to get him to at least acknowledge your presence. And that would be enough.
You get up from the chair and make your way over to the chaise lounge. Arranging a few pillows to rest your head upon, you then lie down and pull your skirt up enough to get to your drawers. You pull them down and toss them out of the way, Sherlock being none the wiser as he continues playing.
You let your hand wander down to your folds, already slick with the frustration of being untouched for days. You allow yourself time to tease, playing with your swollen bud before dipping lower to enter a single finger within yourself. A sigh escapes your lips as you explore your inner walls. As another finger joins the first, Sherlock’s name falls from your lips.
Sherlock’s sense of smell is what pulls him out of his hyperfocus. He smells your arousal as he hears his name in the air. In an instant, his fixation becomes all about you.
He places down his violin and bow next to the fallen music stand, not putting it right-side up. Not bothering to be quiet, as your moans now fill the room louder than his playing did, he stalks over to you and clears his throat loudly.
Your hand stills and you open one eye looking up at your husband. The look on his face of disappointment is enough to cause heat to flare behind your cheeks. Then, his face changes to that of…impatience?
“Well? Are you going to finish then? Or must I intervene?” Sherlock’s words have a bite to them, and you can’t say you’re surprised. Well, you are stunned he is offering to help.
At least you were under the impression that he is offering to help. And that is why he is the expert detective and you are...well, not.
Before you can ask for assistance, Sherlock is lifting you off the chaise and throws you over his shoulder. He takes you into the bedroom and set you down on your feet before sitting on the edge of the bed.
He points to you and beckons you with a curved finger in a ‘come hither’ motion. You begin to sit next to him, but he blocks your path.
“I don’t believe bad girls get to sit down next to Sir. Over my knee with yourself, girl. You’re going to practice your counting. And don’t make me repeat myself.” Sherlock’s voice is stern and you involuntarily gulp before settling your middle across his lap.
Sherlock pulls up your skirt so it rests along your back and the cool air of the room produces gooseflesh along your bare bottom and legs. No sooner do you register that feeling does the first blow land. You grunt as Sherlock’s hand grazes the skin of your left cheek.
“One, Sir!” You cry out, surprised at the white-hot heat of the smack.
“Good girl,” he praises.
He raises his hand again. He waits until your ass relaxes and brings down his hand upon your right cheek. This time harder than the first.
“Two, Sir!” You shout, the sting radiating through you.
“Good girl, I think you deserve one more though,” Sherlock informs you and you nod, “Use your words, girl. Do you deserve another?”
“Yes, Sir, I deserve another,” you whimper, clenching your thighs to try and gain some sort of friction.
“I wholeheartedly agree, my dear,” he laughs, punctuating his sentiment with one last swat to your left cheek.
“Three, Sir!” You gasp, clutching onto Sherlock’s pant leg as his hand finds its way between your legs to find you soaked.
“That’s my good girl, look how soaked you are for me. I bet you’re right on the edge. All you need is one…last…push,” Sherlock plunges two fingers into your sodden cunt and expertly finds your inner bundle of nerves. He massages it while praising you for taking your punishment so well. “You’ve been so good for me, my love. You take all the attention you need, girl.”
Before long, you are clenching around Sherlock’s fingers and he is working you through your orgasm with his skilled fingers. You send thanks to the heavens for marrying a man who understands the female anatomy.
As you come down, Sherlock pulls down your skirt. He pulls a pillow from the bed for you to sit on as he turns you around in his lap. He kisses your forehead and presses your head down to lean on his shoulder, resting his head upon yours.
“Now, my dear little one. Care to explain what that little show was for?” His voice is calm as his arms wrap around you, holding you flush to him as he rocks a bit back and forth.
“I hate it when you’re stuck on a case, you don’t pay any attention to your wife, my love,” You don’t attempt to hide the sorrow in your voice.
“You’re so right. I’ve neglected my dearest. She even had to turn to her own ministrations in the wake of my absence,” he pulls back and looks down at you, holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger, “As frustrating as a case may be, it is no excuse to ignore you. I promise you, my love, it will not happen again. You have my word.”
“Thank you, Sherlock,” you twirl your finger around a curl of his hair and watch it spring back, “I love you.”
“And I love you, dear one. Now, shall we solve this case, Mrs. Holmes?”
“That we shall, Mr. Holmes.”
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HENRY CAVILL as SHERLOCK HOLMES
Enola Holmes (2020) | dir. Harry Bradbeer
#enola holmes#sherlock holmes#henry cavill#arthurpendragonns#cinemapix#cinematv#dailynetflix#dailytvfilmgifs#dilfgifs#dilfsource#filmedit#filmgifs#filmtv#flawlessgentlemen#fyeahmovies#hcavilledit#henrycavilledit#mancandykings#mensource#movieedit#moviegifs#netflixdaily#netflixgifs#henricavyll#userstream#mine
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Hello! how about Sherlock getting jealous of the man the reader is spending time with and his deduction skills go out the window so he doesn't realize they aren't romantically involved 👀
═๑♡𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧♡๑═
WC:1.3k+ GIF by strdstpixie
{srry I got way too carried away in this little plot and I hope you like it anon even though I got side tracked}
{Warnings!! The most fluff!! The love language of flowers!! Literally just heartwarming!!}
♡being engaged to Sherlock could be hard sometimes. He was the most sought after bachelor before he met you when suddenly, he was ready to give his life to you.
♡Sherlock fans would often send you rude mail and menacing glares. Yet Sherlock would always tell you to ignore them.
♡Yet how could you ignore them when you got them everywhere. With Sherlock always at work, you decided to confide in your closest friend: Max.
♡You had grown up with Max and he was your dearest friend. He never upset you and often supported your ideas, he was truly lovely. Yet you both never saw each other in a romantic light.
♡One morning, after you had woken up alone due to Sherlock going to work. You decided to go and visit Max and see how he was doing as he was currently trying to woo a woman.
♡When you got there you were immediately encased in a hug and Max dragging you down the streets of London to go shopping while he spoke about how he was going to find the perfect bouquet of flowers to woo his lady.
♡As you were both strolling down the market with your arms linked, you felt eyes watching you. No doubt the folks that detested you for stealing Sherlock from his work.
♡When you turned to look you were shocked to see, Sherlock and Ebola stood there. Enola was talking to him yet he had his eyes dead set on you. You could see his jaw tighten and his hands crumple into fists.
♡You felt your heart race, Sherlock had never been angry, let alone angry at you which is why you were so nervous to see him angry now.
♡Max pulled your arm and dragged your attention away from your fiance babbling excitedly about seeing the perfect bouquet.
♡As you stood next to Max as he was looking at the variety of flowers, you heard the familiar voice of Enola grow closer.
♡Before you could even turn to see the girl, a hard chest was pressed against your back and an arm wrapped around your waist making you gasp. You turned and there was Sherlock.
♡He wasn't glaring at you, rather at Max. He jaw still clenched. You squeezed his bicep and he focused his attention on you. You raised an eyebrow at him.
♡Max turned his attention to you both and Sherlock spoke, "Dove, come on we must return home. We must continue planning our wedding. Enola had a few ideas."
♡You looked at him shocked, "My darling, can it not wait? I am busy here trying to help my friend."
♡"My dear, I do not care if he is your friend, I am your fiance and I require your attention more than him."
♡You glared at him, "Sherlock how hypocritical of you. You never pay me any attention so why should I give you any? If you are going to let your foolish jealousy talk for you then I suggest you stay away from me."
♡Max stared and looped his arm through yours and you continued strolling down the street, all the while Sherlock felt his heart crack.
♡He turned to Enola, "Have I really not shown her how much I adore her? Does she feel that deprived of my presence?"
♡Enola stared at him, placing a hand on her hip before glaring at him, "You are silly dear brother. You often go to work rather than talk to your dear future wife. You haven't even professed your love for her you stupid man."
♡Sherlocks eyes widened, "Help me Enola, help me fix my wrong."
✧──────────────────────────────────✧
♡It had been a day since you had seen Sherlock and you felt your heart ache a fraction over not seeing him.
♡Max had been wonderful and allowed you to stay at his house for the night where finally revealed he was trying to woo Lady Ristunberg.
♡You were awoken by a knock at the door. You grabbed a night coat and sorted yourself out so you looked mildly decent and opened the door.
♡Your heart hammered at seeing Sherlock stood there with a bouquet of flowers in his hand.
♡"Sherlock? What are you going here? It's so early." You stared at his beautiful puppy dog eyes and how he was starting to get eye bags. "Have you slept?"
♡He stared at you, "I have not my lady. You see I require you to be happy with me so that then I can sleep peacefully. And due to the fact you are not, I have not slept and have dedicated the night to searching for ways to prove my love for you."
♡You stared at him and then at the flowers in his hand. "Will you give me a minute to change so that then we may return home?"
♡A sigh left his lips, and he nodded relieved.
✧──────────────────────────────────✧
♡When you arrived back with Sherlock hiding in your shadow, you were surprised to find the flat organised.
♡You watched as Sherlock walked past you and handed you 5 books. All the books that you had given him to read while he was trying to court you.
♡"What is this Sherlock?" He walked over to you and took the first book you ever gave him from your hands.
♡He opened the book and flicked to a page where a flower rested. A pink camellia. You looked at him, "A pink camellia. It symbolises longing. The first book you ever gave me when I was courting you. I marked the pages with how I longed for your love."
♡He took the second book, and there rested a blue salvia. "The second book, where you started to slowly give in to my advances. And then the first time I heard your laugh, your cute little giggle. I marked it that day with a blue salvia, it means thinking of you. I thought about the beauty of your voice for days on end."
♡The next book was taken and the next flower shown, a pink rose. "Happiness. A pink rose is happiness because everything you did, you do, makes me happy."
♡You felt tears gather in your eyes, as the fourth book opened and there was a red rose. He smiled shakily, "The day you agreed to court me I marked it with a red rose. It means I love you. Truly my heart belong only to you."
♡You felt a few tears slip at finally hearing those words. Sherlock leaned forward and wiped your tears before he took the last book from your hands and opened it.
♡Held between his fingers was a red flower, he handed it to you and you took it before staring at him. "A red salvia."
♡"What does it mean?" Your voice was so soft.
♡He chuckled, "It means forever mine. The day you agreed to marry me, you were forever mine. But the day you first spoke to me, I was forever yours. You held my heart before you even knew it. I know I am a hard man but my love,"
♡You watched as he got on he knees infront of you and stared up. You placed the flower on the side close to you, and put your hands on his face.
♡"I love you. I worship the ground you walk on. I am thankful to be near you. I adore you, and though I am terrible at showing it, I hope you know that I truly mean it."
♡You got on your knees and kisses Sherlock embracing the overwhelming amount of love that was in the room.
♡When you both pulled away, you placed your forehead against his and closed your eyes. You felt him take your small hand in his and you smiled.
♡"I love you too Sherlock Holmes so very much, all I ask is that you come home and spend time with me more."
♡"My dearest dove, I promise you I will. I will make sure you wake up drowning in my love. And then when your Mrs. Holmes you will carry our love." He chuckled and you blushed.
♡"You were quite attractive jealous though I must admit."
♡A laugh echoed around the room and he pulled you up against him and he dragged you to the bedroom. "Well then I must admit you're quite attractive covered in my marks."
#henry cavill x plus size reader#henry cavill x woc reader#henry cavill x female reader#henry cavill x black reader#henry cavill#henry cavill x reader#henry!sherlock#enola holmes#henry holmes#henry!holmes x woc!reader#henry!holmes x black!reader#henry!sherlock x reader#henry!holmes x reader#henry!holmes#sherlock x reader#sherlock holmes#sherlock x you#sherlock x black!reader#sherlock x woc!reader#henry!sherlock x plussize!reader#henry!sherlock x woc!reader#henry!sherlock x black!reader
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HENRY CAVILL as Sherlock Holmes
In Enola Holmes 2 (2022), Dir. Harry Bradbeer
CHAOTIC SHERLOCK BONUS:
#henry cavill#henry cavill gifs#hcavilledit#henrycavilledit#sherlock holmes#enola holmes#enola holmes 2#**#**gifs#henrycavill**#chaotic sherlock is someone i never thought needed but did
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Anyone care to share their favorite Henry Sherlock fics?
(my asks are open btw)
#henry cavill#enola holmes 2#sherlock holmes#henry!holmes#henry!sherlock#sherlock holmes x reader#henry cavill x reader#enola holmes
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