#bbc sherlock imagine
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Denial; Mycroft Holmes
Mycroft only seeked you out to deduce you (aka, how Mycroft realised he liked you).
John and Sherlock were, without a doubt, the loudest neighbours that Y/N had ever had.
Gunshots at God only knows what hour, constant stabbing, banging, and so on. Despite this, she still considered them dear friends and the best neighbours that she had ever had. Sure, they were weird and loud, but they were also kind and genuine, at least for the most part. Alongside this, they also appreciated her baking, especially after long cases.
A gentle knock sounded on the door the 221B catching the attention of three people.
“You can come in, Y/N,” Sherlock called from behind the door, greeting the woman with a nod before turning his attention back to Mycroft whilst John smiled at her.
“Hi, Sherly. Hi, John.” She smiled at the two friends before turning to the older Holmes brother. “Hi, Mr Holmes.” Y/N greeted him with a smile. Although she hadn’t met him before, it wasn’t difficult to deduce who he was; the expensive suit and the fact Sherlock was glaring at him gave it away.
“Sherly?” Mycroft spat, grimacing at the nickname given to his brother. “Who on Earth would you let call you that?” He asked.
“This is Y/N, our neighbour. What have you brought for us today? I’ve been looking forward to this all week.” The sweet smile Sherlock gave to the woman made Mycroft feel ill. He had no clue who this woman was and absolutely no idea why they seemed to be this close.
“Chocolate cake, sugar cookies, and love.” She joked, beginning to laugh at the way Mycroft audibly gagged. “I’m only kidding. No love.”
“I should certainly hope not,” came Mycroft’s response, one which simply made her laugh again.
“Are you jealous, Mycroft?”
“Because of the cake, he is.” Sherlock interrupted, waving Myrcoft off. “No, I won’t take the case. You can leave now.”
“This is an urgent matter, brother mine.”
“Don’t care.”
With a groan and a roll of his eyes, Mycroft lifted himself to his feet and prepared to leave.
“I’ll leave these with you, just in case you change your mind. Goodbye brother mine. John.” The hesitation was obvious on Mycroft’s face, despite how well he typically hid his emotions, as he faced Y/N.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr Holmes.” Y/N smiled sweetly, earning a simple nod from him before he left.
Sherlock, who had leaned to grab the tub of baked goods from the woman’s hands, rolled his eyes as Mycroft left and immediately began to eat.
It wasn’t long until Y/N’s entire life had been researched.
There wasn’t much there. No criminal record, a few jobs, occasional moves, but no sign of her posing any danger to Sherlock and, by association, John. However, the way Mycroft felt upon seeing her was unusual, so he decided to do his own investigation.
“Morning, Mr Holmes,” he was greeted before he reached the empty counter. “Welcome to my bakery! Would you like anything?”
“Just a coffee, please. Black.” Mycroft nodded, not returning the smile she had given, despite the odd feeling it gave him. She was evil and he would prove it to Sherlock.
“Coming right up! Take a seat wherever you’d like, and I’ll bring it over.”
As Mycroft occupied a seat, he took a moment to properly assess the woman making his drink.
She didn’t seem threatening: a content smile on her lips as she prepared his coffee, humming a quiet tune that he barely picked up on. In fact, she didn’t seem out of the ordinary at all, but the feeling when he first saw her – a feeling Mycroft couldn’t explain – had him needing to investigate her further.
“Here you go, Mr Holmes.” Y/N said, placing a hot coffee and chocolate cake on the table in front of him. “Sherlock mentioned that you like cake, so I grabbed you some. It’s all on the house.”
“Why?”
With a small laugh, she responded without hesitation. “You’re Sherlock’s brother.”
How odd, Mycroft thought to himself. She doesn’t even know me and she’s giving me things for free…
Despite his thoughts, Mycroft simply nodded, watching as she took a seat opposite him. “I hope you don’t mind. It’s quiet today so I figured I’d try and keep you company the best I can. I’m sure you have better company than me, though.”
“I don’t mind,” he replied before even thinking. It was safe to say that he didn’t enjoy the way his chest felt whilst he watched her smile.
Maybe she’s a witch? No, don’t be stupid, Mycroft. They don’t exist.
“So,” Y/N’s voice broke the man from his thoughts. “It’s a funny story how me, Sherlock, and John met. I was actually working and Sherlock bursts in demanding to talk to me. My baking stuff had been found at a crime scene and he thought it was me!”
“How interesting.” Came Mycroft’s blunt reply, even if he was intrigued.
“You listened to it, so you must care, even just a little bit. I think that’s a win for me!”
Mycroft couldn’t help the tiniest smile that crawled onto his lips, but he internally prayed that nobody noticed it, especially her. She, however, seemed oblivious to the movement, simply staring over his shoulder and out of the window.
“Anyway, what was he like growing up? Was he like he is now? Blunt and rude?” Y/N asked with a giggle.
“He wasn’t, actually. He was rather sweet. He liked playing pretend with his friend; he always wanted a dog too.” Came Mycroft’s reply. “His favourite thing was pirates.” He said with a fond look in his eyes. Sherlock wasn’t going to be happy when he found out that he had told her, but he couldn’t resist answering her question.
Mycroft watched closely as the woman in front of him grinned, the bright and happy smile a nice contrast to what he was used to whilst working with the government. He couldn’t help but smile back, noting how her smile widened further as he did so.
“That’s sweet. I couldn’t imagine that, to be honest,”
It was time to ask the question that was on his mind. “Are you attracted to Sherlock?”
“Sherlock?” Y/N said, bursting into laughter. “No, absolutely not. He’s more like an annoying older brother. Same with John. We’re just friends, and, well, neighbours too.”
Confusion spread over Mycroft as she felt the weight on his shoulders lift at her words; she was telling the truth.
“How is she?” Sherlock asked the moment he answered the phone.
“How is who?” Mycroft’s voice sounded through the device.
“Y/N,”
“Why do you assume that I know?”
“It’s obvious you were there earlier.”
“…”
“Well, that and Mrs Hudson told us.”
“Of course she did.” Mycroft said with an involuntary roll of his eyes.
“So, how was it?”
“It was fine.”
“You like her then?”
“What makes you think that?”
“Well, you went to see her. It’s quite obvious, Mycroft. Come on, I thought you were smarter than that.”
Mycroft simply put the phone down.
He did not like her.
The next time that Mycroft came across Y/N was when it was raining.
He hadn’t wanted to seem ‘creepy’ by seeking her out again for more investigations and deductions, so he simply waited. She was friends with his brother, it wasn’t like their paths wouldn’t cross at some point. Besides, he didn’t want Sherlock to think that he liked her.
“Raining real bad tonight, isn’t it?” The driver spoke to Mycroft. He was new, so Mycroft couldn’t exactly blame him for attempting some type of conversation with him; it was still annoying, though.
Anthea, looking up from her phone was what caught Mycroft’s attention. “I feel bad for her.” She said, nodding towards a soaked woman. It only took Mycroft a moment to realise who it was.
“Pull over,” he stated bluntly, grabbing his umbrella. He simply ignored the look he was receiving from his assistant.
It had been a long day filled with rude customers, and to make it worse, it was raining, and she had forgotten her coat. Today couldn’t be going any worse for Y/N.
Shivering wildly and soaked to the core, Y/N huffed, watching the way her breath instantly evaporated; it was clearly below freezing, but she held out hope that the rain would stop and she would be home soon.
Her hope seemed to pay off, though, since she could no longer feel the rain. As she looked up at the sky, she spotted a familiar face.
“Mycroft?”
“Y/N.”
“What are you-“
“Get in.” He said, pointing towards the car before wordlessly leading her towards it, still holding the umbrella above her, even if he was getting wet.
“You don’t have to, Mycroft.” She said as he ushered her in and shut the door behind them both. “I mean, I’m soaking your car!”
Mycroft, who could feel the heat on his cheeks from their proximity, simply shook his head. He was too focused on the way her leg was pressed against his as she sat between him and Anthea who stared at her phone with a small smirk.
The ride was void of conversation, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, the only noise was that of Y/N shivering.
After a moment of hesitation, Mycroft shrugged off his jacket and handed her it. “Here.”
There was no chance of refusal, Mycroft wouldn’t allow it, so with a quiet ‘thanks’, Y/N popped the jacket over her shoulders. He just found the chattering of her teeth annoying, was what he told himself.
As they arrived at the flats, Mycroft followed her out of the car.
“Thank you, Mr Holmes.” She said as they stood on the door of her flat.
“Mycroft is fine, Y/N.”
“Thank you… Mycroft.” She said with a small smile before bidding him a goodnight.
“I see you gave her your jacket,” Was all Sherlock said as Mycroft entered 221B.
It was hard. Very hard. Harder than anything Y/N had ever experienced. Having a crush was not easy as it was, but having feelings for Mycroft Holmes was the hardest thing in the world: he rarely showed emotion, he was blunt, he was rude, but most importantly to her, deep down, he was nice.
A small sigh left Y/N’s lips as she worked on her latest batch of cookies for the morning. He was on her mind… again. It was a common occurrence by now.
“We’re not open yet, sorry!” She called over her shoulder at the sound of the door opening. As she turned around to see who it was and apologise again, a blush rushed to her cheeks. “Mycroft! What are you doing here?”
Mycroft stood there, umbrella in hand, and gave a simple shrug. “I was on my way to work so thought I would ‘pop in’ as people say.” He explained, earning a laugh from the baker.
“Modern phrases don’t suit you, Mycroft.” She teased.
With an amused shake of his head, Mycroft took a seat at the table nearest her.
“Want some cookies? They’re fresh out of the oven!”
Mycroft nodded with a grateful smile, always glad to have sweet treats. He would never turn down anyone’s desserts, least of all Y/N’s; not because he liked her and didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but because she was a good baker.
The pair sat in a comfortable silence, Mycroft gladly eating his cookies with an appreciative look whilst Y/N worked on her next batch. There was nothing awkward between them, and there, surprisingly, never had been.
“Are you not at work today?” Y/N broke the silence with a question that was bugging her. She could have sworn Mycroft had always worked this time over the months that she had known him.
Mycroft hesitated for a moment. He was supposed to be there right now but had decided to visit you before. It wasn’t like anyone could fire him for it, he was basically the British government, after all.
“Not yet,” he lied, and he was glad that he was a good liar.
“Oh, okay! I’m happy you came then. I don’t want to bother you.”
“You could never be a bother,” the words fell from his lips before he even registered what his thoughts, and he noticed the blush race up her cheeks, as did she with his.
“Thank you, Mycroft.”
As he stared at her and her rosy cheeks, a million thoughts went through his mind, but they were all related to one thing: her. It was in that moment that he realised the truth, he did like Y/N, and he had been attracted to her since the beginning; that was what he was feeling.
Oh dear…
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Sherlock:*opens the body bag*
John: *shocked because he saw Y/n in a body bag with airpods in her ears*
also John: uhm.. Sherlock, shouldn't the clothes or items related to the corpse be separated?
Sherlock: *groan in frust* Y/n! How many times have I told you not to sleep in a body bag!
Y/n: *gets up and yawns while stretching her hands and cracking her spine* nice bed ever
John:...
#benedict cumberbatch x reader#bbc shows#benedict cumberbatch#bbc sherlock x reader#the abominable bride#bbc sherlock imagine#incorrect sherlock quotes#martin freeman#dr john watson#johnlock#sherlock reader insert#bbc sherlock#sherlock bbc#sherlock holmes x reader
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✨ Dropping by to request literally anything sherlock x reader - would love something with awkward idiots in love ✨
🍄 Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader
🍄 Genre: Fluff
🍄 Summary: When Sherlock goes off on a frantic tangent, John knows exactly who to call, the idiot in love with him...
🍄 Word Count: 2084
🍄 Abbreviations: N/A
🍄 Warnings: N/A
🍄 Note: I hope this is what you were looking for Anon! :)
“What’s he doing this time?” you answered the phone as John’s name appeared. You had become so accustomed to the calls at all odd hours of the day, usually all pertaining to your high-functioning sociopath of a friend, Sherlock. Odd hours like the one now.
You had just sat down in your cloud chair, kindle in hand ready to read the next chapter of your gripping (b/g) when the phone had pinged, angrily vibrating against the coffee table-top. A puff of air had moved the stray hairs touching your face as you instantly recognized the personalized ring tone you had installed. You knew that John wouldn’t call you unless it was at least a code blue, blue-in-the-face blue. A colour code the two of you had created to describe the different moods of Sherlock Holmes.
“I’m so sorry-” You rolled your eyes with a little smile. “He’s just off on one. He solved the case, you know the one with the woman and the suitcases? He’s been off the walls since then. Can’t get him to settle, he’s talking about renovating the flat, knocking walls down for more ‘thinking space’. I think Mrs Hudson’s threatened to evict him already,” You couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped your lips at the thought of the sweet old woman threatening your tall friend, knowing very well that she’d mean every word. You could already picture the offended horror on Sherlock’s face at her threats.
“I’m on my way,” you reassured before hanging up the phone and pushing yourself out of the comfortable chair. Slipping your kindle into your bag, you grabbed your keys from the hook and turned off the lights. You didn’t bother changing out of your night clothes,, instead your threw a long coat over your pajamas and slipped on your trainers before heading out of the flat. You weren’t exactly keen on the idea of getting a cab this late at night, but you preferred that over walking the streets alone in the dark.
Thankfully, Baker Street was only a few roads away and the journey was nice and short with the lack of traffic at this time of night. Looking up at 221B you could see tat it was one of the only lights on in the street. You slipped the spare key out of your bag and unlocked the door to 221B.
Mrs Hudson reached the bottom of the stairs in an angry flurry huffing as she passed, a few rushed ‘oh dear’s escaping her lips as she passed you, only briefly making eye contact as she scurried back into her flat, red-faced. Taking that as your cue, you started up the stairs to the flat, fully expecting to see the flat in complete disarray, and you weren’t disappointed.
The papers from the now-closed case were still strewn across the flat, stuck to the walls, laid out on the desk, tucked under the tea cups on the small side table. The tea cups, several sat on the desk untouched and probably growing a few types of fungus that Sherlock could happily describe for you. The pillows from the sofa were thrown about the flat as Sherlock stood on the sofa, feet buried in the sofa cushions and tape measure I hand as he stretched it across the wall in front of him, a HB pencil clenched between his teeth.
“Thank God you’re here!” John poked his head out of the kitchen as if weary of the man in the living room. He gestured for you to step into the kitchen, with a final glance at the tall consulting detective, you slipped into the kitchen.
“How long has he been like this?” you asked, setting your bag down on the cluttered kitchen table. Piles and piles of old experiments were stacked tall, filling up almost the entire surface of the table and from the darkening black patch by one of the chairs you had no doubt that Sherlock had blown something up today, yet another thing to add to the list of problems for you and John.
“A couple of hours now, I stupidly thought that solving the case would change his mood, but it only seemed to make him more antsy for another one-” He sighed. “Sorry it’s so late, I know you usually sit down and read about now. I didn’t want to bother you but with Mrs Hudson threatening eviction I thought it best not to wait.” You smiled at your friend and shook your head.
“Don’t worry about it, it’s been a while since he’s been like this so it was expected sooner or later. Better sort him out before Mrs Hudson really does chuck him out.” The two of you chuckle at the thought of a homeless Sherlock, it’s not really a sight either of you can imagine fully. But you had no doubt that his homeless network would really find him the best spots in London to squat.
“You don’t mind if I take a quick walk do you? I’ve been cooped up in here for a few hours trying to sort him out, just need bit of fresh air.” You shook your head and hurried John out of the kitchen door and down the stairwell. You knew it would be easier to deal with Sherlock without John around anyway. Not that John was a problem, but with Sherlock like this and his habit of making unsavory comments without fully thinking of the consequences, it would be easier than having a row start between the two flat mates.
You paused for a moment and brushed your finger against the black mark on the table top and inspected the pad of your finger. That’ll come off with some polish, you decided. Stepping back out of the kitchen and into the living room, your eyes zeroed in on the consulting detective who had now abandoned the tape measure and was gently knocking against the wall looking for a hollow sounding area.
“No.” You spoke clearly, catching the attention of the detective who had yet to notice you. Spinning on his heels, his eyes flashed at you wide and adorable. It kind of reminded you of a child who had been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. His mouth started to open but you shut him down quickly. “No,” You gave him a stern look. “That wall has all of the major electricity lines and one of the main water pipes. No.”
“There’s no way you could possibly know that just from looking at the wall-” Sherlock argued.
“No I couldn’t. I know because I had to get the schematics for the flat after you started shooting the walls because you were banned from in-person cases and blew the power out in this side of London,” You reminded. “An event that Mycroft still calls ‘The Great COVID Blackout’.” Sherlock’s nose scrunched at the mention of his brother. “Now, are you going to sit down or am I going to have to use that self-defense training program you insisted I go on to incapacitate you?” You could almost see the cogs turning in his head as his eyes narrowed at you, trying to deduce if you were serious or not. Your unwavering stance must have given him his answer as he slowly stepped down from the sofa and settled his feet back on the floor calmly.
“Why are you here?” You were very rarely offended by Sherlock’s blunt words, it just wasn’t worth the energy when you also knew that he rarely meant it to come across in that way. “No, don’t answer that. You’re here in your night clothes, your kindle is tucked in your bag and your hair is done up which means it’s late- John called you. Why?”
“Probably because his roommate was threatened with eviction after planning to renovate their rented flat and set the landlady off.”
“Mrs Hudson wouldn’t evict me. She still owes me for getting her husband executed.”
“Favours do expire Sherlock. They have their limits.” His eyebrows furrowed.
“Really?” You nod. “Oh. Well John wouldn’t let her evict me.”
“Have you been experimenting today?” You think back to the two mugs settled on the kitchen counter, one sporting a brownish green sludge at the bottom.
“Yes, why- Oh.”
“Right come on,” You clapped your hands, moving towards him and grabbing one of his hands to pull him over to his chair. You ignored the sounds of protest from Sherlock as you settled on the chair and tugged on his arm. “Sit down,” you instructed. Sherlock sighed and complied, dropping onto the floor and crossing his legs underneath him. You grabbed the TV remote and switched it on. “What should we watch? Bones or Criminal Minds?” you pondered.
“Why do we have to watch a crime show? They’re always so inaccurate-” You flick the TV onto an episode of Criminal Minds. “Look, the killer’s using tape- what about finger prints? They don’t need to study his behaviour, just find the prints-” You smiled softly, fiddling with a few strands of Sherlock’s curly hair in your lap as he rattled on about the mistakes of the Unsub and the BAU team.
It was around an hour later that John returned to the flat. Pushing open the front door of 221, he was relieved to hear nothing. The light under Mrs Hudson’s door was now off, meaning she had slipped into bed, no longer tormented by her tenant’s renovation plans. The light on the landing let off a soft glow as John started up to the flat.
A heavy wave of relief swept through him as he noticed the lack of banging, drilling, sawing or any construction noises at all. You had managed to talk him out of it for now. He reached the top of the stairs and could hear the muffled sounds of the TV in the flat. Stepping into the kitchen he could see that the place was still a pig sty but at least there wasn’t any knocked down walls or partially constructed extensions. The mess could be dealt with in the morning.
As he turned the corner and peeked - still a little cautiously into the living room - a soft smile graced his face. Your back was pressed against one of the arms of Sherlock’s chair, your legs swung over the opposite side. Sherlock’s was still perched on the floor with his legs crossed, his head dropped back against your stomach, with your right hand resting on top. Your fingers rhythmically threading through his curly brown locks, soothingly. John flicked his eyes up to the TV screen to see an episode of Criminal Minds playing, Sherlock’s face scrunched in distaste as he watched the team profile the murderer. Your other hand held your kindle tightly, your fingers set comfortably around the flower pop socket on the back as you occasionally flicked the pages with your thumb.
John couldn’t help but watch in awe for a moment. No one he knew had ever been able to soothe Sherlock in the way that you could. Not him, not Mrs Hudson and certainly not his brother, not even his parents had this calming effect that you had. He wondered if Sherlock would ever confess to the effect you had on him, or explain why you had such an effect on him. John knew the reason, Mrs Hudson knew the reason… did Sherlock? Did you?
You were always just as oblivious as Sherlock. John had mentioned to you once or twice about how you effected the consulting detective, but you couldn’t see it. You wouldn’t admit to the effect you so clearly had on him nor would you confess to the butterflies that whirled in your stomach whenever you were this close to him.
You caught John’s eye and must’ve made an educated guess of what he was thinking as you rolled your eyes and shook your heads.
Deciding that now was probably not the time to bring up the obvious pink elephant that shared the living room with the three of you, John mouthed a ‘thank you’ to you and you nodded, letting out a quiet yawn. He bidded a quick farewell to the pair of you before shuffling out of the kitchen and upstairs to his room. On his way up the stairs, he couldn’t help but wonder how long the two of you would remain oblivious.
As he reached the top of the staircase he paused and chuckled. Lovesick idiots.
#sherlock x reader#sherlock oneshot#sherlock imagine#sherlock holmes#sherlock#sherlock holmes x reader#sherlock holmes imagine#sherlock holmes oneshot#bbc sherlock#bbc sherlock x reader#bbc sherlock oneshot#bbc sherlock imagine#request#reqs open#requests open#anon ask
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brother dearest
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader
Summary: Mycroft had never considered himself to be overprotective. However, he isn't overly pleased with how smitten his little brother is with you...
Word Count: 1.8k
Warnings: John is the only one with any emotional intelligence and Mycroft is faced with the horrifying ordeal of realising his younger sibling is dating, so they're all idiots really
Mycroft Holmes could practically feel his blood pressure rising. Confidential documents had been stolen from the very hands of the British government, putting the democratic well-being of an entire nation in jeopardy. And his little brother wouldn't answer the phone.
The moment word of the breach had gotten to Mycroft his first plan of action was to call Sherlock. Of course, he could have hypothetically dealt with the issue himself had it not required leg work. But to his dismay, contacting the youngest Holmes seemed to be as unlikely as winning the lottery.
Tossing dignity to the wind in the name of restoring balance to the western world, Mycroft stooped to the, in his opinion, ever embarrassing low of visiting Baker Street himself. He ascended the stairs, his displeasure evident in the weight of his steps, and refused to practice the common courtesy of knocking before entering the flat. Sherlock had lost that privilege when he refused to pick up the bloody phone.
Mycroft tutted with annoyance when he found both the living room and kitchen empty. Sherlock's coat, with whom he refused to go anywhere without, still hung idle on the clothes rack. He was in the flat and Mycroft was going to find him if he had to tear away every brick.
With all the begrudgement of a man who'd had his morning routine seriously uprooted, Mycroft marched towards Sherlock's bedroom and swung open the door.
He almost immediately wished he hadn't.
Sherlock lay sprawled out on the bed, white sheets twisting over alabaster skin. His eyes were shut, his hair a tangled mess of curls and you lay by his side.
Mycroft's jaw fell so quickly he expected it to unhinge and clatter against the floor with all the comedic effect of a nineties cartoon.
Sherlock's head rested against your shoulder whilst the lower half of your face was largely hidden by his curls. Your lips brushed his forehead in a prolonged kiss and Sherlock's arm was thrown over you almost possessively. Your own hand curled softly around the nape of his neck.
Disbelief, embarrassment and anger chased each other across Mycroft's expression before he settled with complete mortification. He couldn't explain it, not really, but seeing his little brother in bed with someone made him feel ridiculously nauseous.
Sherlock shifted, stretching out his limbs like a content cat before nuzzling closer to you.
Having no idea what else to do, the eldest Holmes shut the door. After a quick and failed attempt to purge the last few moments from his memory, he made his way back towards the living room.
He was met by John.
The doctor quickly did away with his fresh bag of groceries in order to make small talk, much to Mycroft's disdain. When John got around to the reason for his visit, and therefore Sherlock's current whereabouts, Mycroft shifted awkwardly.
“He seems to be occupied.”
A look of confusion clouded John's expression. He glanced down the hallway, jutting his thumb in the direction of Sherlock's room.
“I'm fairly certain he's just–” John's words were dissolved by the bitter look that was thrown his way by the eldest Holmes. “–oh, he didn't tell you?”
“Tell me what?” Mycroft asked with a painfully fake smile.
John swallowed thickly, suddenly very unhappy with the fact that he was the one that had to break the news to possibly the most powerful man in Britain that his little brother was seeing someone.
“He uh– he didn't tell you about himself and Y/N?”
Mycroft blinked. “It would appear he left out that minor detail.”
The silence that followed was awkward at best and utterly painful at worst. John, who wanted nothing more for the interaction to end but had no idea how to make that happen, nodded. Mycroft cleared his throat and readjusted his hold on his umbrella.
He glanced back towards his brother's room and John didn't miss the subtle glare he was trying to hide. Ah, so that's what this was about. John may not have shared Sherlock's observational skills but he did have a sister. He knew what overprotectiveness looked like.
“Mycroft, you do realise that Sherlock is an adult.”
“If that's what you would like to call him.”
“Right,” John dismissed quickly. “But he and Y/N are together. They have feelings–”
What was very much beginning to sound like a new rendition of ‘the birds and the bees’ was shortened by a scoff on Mycroft's behalf.
"My brother is barely capable of understanding his own feelings, you think he can handle someone else's?"
“You'd be surprised.”
Surprised was certainly one word for it. Mycroft simply couldn't imagine his brother being emotionally involved with anyone, regardless of how much imagination he tried to employ. He failed to imagine Sherlock in any situation that involved intimacy or vulnerability, let alone with you.
As if the very thought of you had doubled as a summoning spell, you entered the kitchen, steps lazy and eyes tired. If you were surprised to see the eldest Holmes you hid it well.
“Mycroft,” you greeted with a tight-lipped smile.
“Y/N.”
Your eyes moved between him and John, trying to piece together what exactly you'd walked into. John cleared his throat. You fought the urge to just go back to bed.
“Can I get you anything?” You motioned to the kitchen.
“My brother, if it's no trouble.”
“Showering,” you yawned. You decided not to add the bit where Sherlock had mentioned needing to ‘cool off before facing the devil so early in the morning’ upon realising his brother was in the living room. “He won't be long.”
“I see. I hate to show up unannounced. But I tried to call this morning and it seemed he was unavailable.”
You smirked despite yourself. Mycroft's grasp on his umbrella tightened.
After a few agonising moments that consisted of you cluelessly making yourself a morning cup of tea, Mycroft glaring holes into your back and John all but hiding behind his newspaper, Sherlock joined you.
His hair was damp, curls frizzed up due to the warm water. Mycroft hadn't seen it in such a state since Sherlock was a child. The unruly nature of his hair, as well as its tendency to make him look far less intimidating and far more endearing, often led to embarrassment. Which is why Mycroft was so surprised to see him so at ease.
Sherlock didn't so much as acknowledge his brother's existence as he made a beeline towards you, accepting the tea you offered and leaving a lazy kiss against the side of your head. He was smiling fondly all the while.
Said smile immediately fell when he spotted Mycroft. Sherlock muttered something about god under his breath and took a long, almost purposefully so, sip from his mug before speaking.
“Terrorist attack or security breach?”
Mycroft raised an unamused brow.
“It's ten o'clock on a Sunday morning, from my understanding you should be having tea with the prime minister or something–” Sherlock waved his free hand around dismissively. “You wouldn't be here if it wasn't of national importance. So which is it? Suspected terrorist attack or a security breach?”
“That, brother mine, is something you would have already been clued in on if you'd learned how to answer my calls.” Mycroft intended for his words to be somewhat scolding but judging by how Sherlock reclined in his chair and crossed his legs he figured his attempt at exerting some sort of authority over his younger brother had failed. “Now, it's not as threatening as initially believed but still relevant enough to warrant some sort of investigation. Which is why I need you to–”
His words fizzled out at the sight of you moving to stand behind Sherlock's chair. Your stance was relaxed, comfortable, as if you felt you belonged where you stood, as some sort of watchful protector. Mycroft glowered.
You seemed unfazed and Mycroft couldn't tell which he hated more, your hand now on Sherlock's shoulder or the fact that his brother was smirking because of it.
By some miracle, he managed to make it through the rest of the briefing without giving away just how much he wanted the floorboards to open up and swallow him.
He didn't know why the sight of you both together irritated him so much but by god was it getting under his skin. The glances you shared that Mycroft knew had hidden meanings behind them. How his brother, who needed a week's recovery in his room after any social interaction, preened under your touch. The youthful look in his eyes, the boyish smile. It was somehow painful to look at.
Mycroft could still recall when he was the only one that could placate his brother. When they were children, spending hours in their garden estate, finding insects and frogs and recalling their Latin names. Anything to keep their brilliant young minds entertained. He remembered how Sherlock would light up with each new nugget of information Mycroft gave him. Even into their teenage years, he was the one Sherlock trusted, the one he looked to for help and guidance. It had always been him.
But now, now there was you.
He had you to confide in. To talk to. To irritate with a tirade of useless facts that anyone else would think irrelevant. He had you to look out for him and comfort him and Mycroft couldn't understand why this was angering him so–
Oh.
The notion that his little brother had, in fact, grown up and didn't need him anymore came as a very unwelcome realisation. Mycroft had the sudden desire to leave the flat as promptly as he could.
“Well,” he cleared his throat. “I should be getting on. I trust you'll fill me in on your findings?”
Sherlock groaned, in agreement or dismissal it was hard to tell.
Mycroft, who now wanted nothing more than to leave, turned to make his way to the door. “Good day, doctor Watson.”
John nodded, not failing to notice the change in Mycroft's stance.
‘He's copped on then.’
Partially because of your closeness to the door and partially in an attempt to rectify whatever you'd done to wrong Mycroft, you moved to show him out.
He passed you silently but as you stepped back to close the door, he stopped you.
He seemed uneasy, an emotion that looked unnatural and foreign on him. His nerves were infectious and you quickly found yourself growing anxious, expecting him to gift you with some horrific piece of information to pass on to Sherlock to save him from dealing with the mess of telling his brother himself.
His actual request was something much softer.
“Take care of him, will you?”
It took a few moments for you to blink away your surprise. As confused as you were, you nodded all the same.
“Of course.”
Mycroft responded with a nod of his own, offered a surprisingly genuine smile and then turned to leave. He'd descended the stairs entirely by the time you finally closed the flat door.
“What was that about?” Sherlock asked nonchalantly.
You shook your head. “Absolutely no idea.”
John took a sudden interest in his newspaper in an attempt to ignore just how hard he was biting his tongue.
thank you for reading!
Sherlock tag list: @miraclesoflove @ilovefanfictions @mylovelysnowflake @quentawewe @bakerstreethound @andreasworlsboring101 @doozywoozy @xxinvisiblexx @the-worst-critic @the-queer-dungeoneer @jellyfishbeansontoast @starrykitn @starryeddie @ladymercury8 @themorningsunshine @evelynrosestuff @mywellspringoflife @simp-for-scammanders @Xhz17x @allieberries @kealohilani-tepise
#finally starting to clear out my drafts to help me get back in the writing groove#sherlock x reader#sherlock holmes x reader#bbc sherlock x reader#sherlock imagine#sherlock x you#sherlock holmes x you#bbc sherlock x you#bbc sherlock imagine#bbc sherlock#1k
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Imagine Sherlock constantly barging into your apartment…
The key turned in the door as the locked clicked to allow you passage into your apartment. Pulling the groceries into the room, you were busy thinking of which bags held the frozen items when you looked up and saw the calamity being conducted inside by the detective downstairs.
You had told him repeatedly not to enter your home without your consent and most certainly, not to touch anything!
“It’s like you get a kick out of pressing my buttons.” You asked, setting the bags down at your feet.
Your favourite clock had been taken off the wall and dismantled. The books were scattered along the tables and floors and Sherlock appeared to have taken creative liberty with your mantelpiece decor.
Shaking your head, you had had enough. “I can’t do it anymore - you win. I’m moving out.”
Sherlock, not expecting that to be the response, frowned. “What?”
“Moving out.” You repeated. “It’s clear that you hate having me around. I thought that staying here would be nice - that it would be easier to consult with you on cases but obviously not.”
You grabbed your coat from the back of the chair and moved in the direction of the door.
“I don’t come here because I don’t like you. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.” Sherlock said.
Stopping what you were doing, you turned around. Sherlock was now looking at you. His face harbouring a light smile.
“I enjoy spending time with you and yes, sometimes I irritate you and disrupt your life but it’s because I don’t know how to ask for your company.”
~ More imagines here ~
#theladyofmanyfandoms#theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction#gif is not mine#sherlock imagine#sherlock x reader#bbc sherlock x reader#bbc sherlock imagine#bbc sherlock holmes imagine#Sherlock Holmes x Reader#bbc sherlock holmes x reader#sherlock holmes imagine
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Sherlock x reader - my type
Hello, how are you mate, could you do a fic where reader is a pretty young lady with lots of male admirers and Sherlock thinks she’s out of his league. But he didn’t knew she was actually into him. Thanks! - Anon💜
Walking into flat with you looked around for your older brother but you couldn’t find him anywhere, but you did find his flatmate.
“Hey Sherlock, have you seen my brother?”
Sherlock looked up from the laptop.
“John isn’t here?”
You smiled a little, shaking your head at him and you walked over to him, leaning over the back of Sherlocks chair, you looked at what he was doing.
Sherlock glanced at your arm next to him but he said nothing about it.
“Why are you looking for John?” He asked.
“He was supposed to come to the shopping centre with me.”
Sherlock nodded his head and carried on scrolling through whatever webpage he was looking through.
It was silent for a moment.
“Come with me.” You said.
“Why?”
You smiled a little and walked back around the chair, placing your hands on your hips as you looked at him.
“Because I want you to come, it’ll be fun!”
“I’m busy.”
“No you’re not don’t lie to me Sherlock Holmes. Come on! Do you really want to leave a lady walking around the city alone?”
Sherlock went back to looking at the laptop and you huffed a little.
“Please Sherlock? I don’t wanna go alone.”
Sherlock sighed, closing the laptop.
He stood up and grabbed his coat and you beamed brightly at him as your an down the stairs.
“Thank you Sherlock!”
He complained the whole way to the shopping centre, but he went wherever you went even if he didn’t want to.
You were in a store looking for new tops and jackets, and Sherlock stood looking around.
He noticed how a lot of men would stop and look at you and he furrowed his brows slightly.
Sherlock looked at you.
You didn’t even seem to pay the other men any attention, you simply went about your business shopping for what you wanted.
“Hey beautiful, wanna grab a drink later?”
You looked up at the unknown man and blinked.
“Not interested.”
You walked away, grabbing Sherlocks arm so he would follow you.
“This is why you didn’t want to come alone.” He said.
“Yeah, John usually scares them away.”
Sherlock nodded his head and looked at the red shirt you were looking at.
“That’s not your colour. Here.”
He reached out and handed you a light blue version of the top and you smiled slightly.
“Thanks.”
You happily went to pay for everything, and started wondering again.
Sherlock noticed more and more men trying to hit on you, some offering to get you lunch, pay for your things, take you out.
You declined them all, but it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt him slightly.
Sherlock wasn’t one for human emotions.
But you were beautiful, even he had to admit that. You seemed to have a sort of glow about you thay no matter where you were he could easily pick you out in a crowd.
You were absolutely stunning, he was sure if you wanted too you could’ve been a model.
And even though you declined the advances of other men it hurt him they had the courage to hit on you when he didn’t.
He didn’t know how.
But not just that, he was certain that there was no way you would date someone like him. He was sure of that.
He sighed softly, and glanced at you, seeing you stopping by a small bakery.
“Are you hungry?” He asked.
“A little. I just want to look.”
Sherlock nodded and gestured for you to go in, and he followed you, watching as you showed interest in different things.
“I’ll be out in a moment.”
“Okay!” You beamed.
Sherlock went back around and gathered a few of each thing you seemed to like or he knew you liked and brought them.
Walking outside, Sherlock held the bag out to you.
“Sherlock?”
“Well take it then, it’s for you.”
You took the bag and looked inside.
“Aw Sherlock you didn’t have to!”
“You wanted them and couldn’t make up your mind, so I got them all. Are we done shopping?”
You looked up at him and you smiled softly, nodding your head.
“Yeah, we can go home now.”
You got a cab back to the flat with him and happily skipped up the stairs, and you sat on the arm of his chair.
Sherlock walked over and sat next to you, and you held out the bag of baked goods.
He looked up.
“They’re yours.”
“And I want to share with you.”
“Thank you.”
Sherlock took one and you smiled, leaning against him and he couldn’t help the fact his heart skipped a beat a little.
“So, why did you turn down all of those men?”
You hummed a little.
“They’re not my type.”
“You have a type?”
You nodded.
“Oh yeah. Tall, brown messy hair, blue eyes, really smart but kinda oblivious to normal emotions, lives with my older brother and he buys me food from the bakery.”
You jumped up and beamed brightly at him, giving him a wink you grabbed your stuff and ran away while he sat there processing what you said
#bbc Sherlock#bbc sherlock x you#bbc sherlock x reader#bbc Sherlock imagine#Sherlock Holmes#sherlock holmes x reader#Sherlock Holmes x you#sherlock holmes imagine
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Blooming Chemistry
Relationship: University!Sherlock Holmes x reader
Warnings: mutual pining, idiots to friends to lovers, confessions, slight angst, fluff, nervous sherlock
Summary: When Sherlock becomes your Chemistry tutor, you form an unlikely friendship, and an undeniable bond unfolds. Do either of you confess your feelings or continue living in denial? Waiting until the week before finals sounds like the perfect time to muse over these feelings, right?
All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound (Do NOT claim, repost, copy or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username)
Word Count: 3.1k+
A/N: I had a wonderful time writing this story and it was a joy to weave together. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it. Sherlock is only one year above you in University so there’s only a year or two age gap between you. Any chemistry inaccuracies are my fault, I haven’t been privy to a course in a long while. Graphic by @firefly-graphics. As always, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated.
Dull, utterly dull, his mind mutters. At least grasping the concept of Chemistry landed him inconveniently in a tutoring position his professor highly recommended him for and after much beratement, he accepted, not that he was going to enjoy it in the slightest.
That was before you came along a year below him, struggling in the basics, but never did he expect for you to become a colleague, let alone his friend.
The bonding over insufferable professors, a penchant for literature, and peace and quiet made for a lovely beginning to your companionship and you both never looked back since. And since then, you’d both taken up to hiding in the alcoves of the library to study for the last training weeks of the term, the only respite the company you provided each other.
He knew enough you strived hard for academic achievement and had to fight tooth and nail for your grades. You studied harder than anyone he knew.
Something like pride fills him as he watches you and he turns the page of his chemistry notebook, barely reading the notes on chemical bonds, balancing equations, or empirical and molecular formulas.
The thought of his finals doesn’t wear him out in the slightest, he already feels confident enough in his abilities. Though the professor hated him, for the errors he interrupted class for, he had felt confident.
You didn’t expect Chemistry to be your worst subject but Dr. F had recommended Sherlock to you as a peer tutor and as he was a year above you, you were glad you did.
Not a lot of subjects came easy to you especially the gen eds which you thought were a complete waste of time. (they really were, why did you have to waste even more money on them?).
You sigh, taking a sip of the coffee Sherlock deposited on the table before you an hour earlier. You blanch at the taste, long cold and you push the glasses off your face, groaning at your eyes trying to figure out the words on the page.
Between the essays and countless equations, your mind is swimming with questions and muddled beyond measure. Not to mention, the aching of your back increases the longer you sit in the horrendously uncomfortable chairs the library provides.
You look over at Sherlock, laid out on the tabletop on his stomach, textbook open-faced, doodling in the margins. Oh, how you envied him, could only imagine the boredom racing through him.
You have to work twice as hard to earn your chemistry marks, but he makes it easier for you, explaining most concepts better than Dr. F. would, and at a more reasonable pace.
You sigh in defeat, pulling his textbook away. “I’m ready for this week and the next to be over, how about you?” Your piercing gaze meets his as you speak.
He blinks once, twice before hearing your words, another to fully grasp what you’re saying. The week after this is finals, the end of the term, then you’ll part ways until the next one.
His chest aches at the thought of not seeing your smile at nine in the morning before class as you stand in line to buy the outrageously sugary, albeit pricey, coffee you like while he rolls his eyes, a ghost of a smile on his lips, while he looms behind you as if he is your personal bodyguard.
“Yes and no. For one, we don’t have to suffer the atrocities of the cafeteria any longer. No, because I have to deal with Mycroft, you have no idea how insufferable he is.” He sighs, tapping his finger on the table in slight frustration at the mere thought of his brother who always thought so highly of himself. I’m the smart one Sherlock.
“Ah, you’re going to let this infamous brother ruin your holiday? I fear a duel is in the near future,” you snicker, twirling your pen between your fingers. Sherlock’s gaze remains transfixed upon you, all thoughts of Mycroft vanishing at the thought of being closer to you, running his fingers through your hair, wrapping a hand around your waist…
Hell. He tries to get your invasion from his thoughts but he can’t, isn’t listening to a word you’re saying all the breath feels like it’s leaving his lungs the longer he looks at you. Is this what it feels like to be infatuated? He curses to himself, you’re his friend, and colleague, surely you could want nothing more from him.
You deserve better than him, and yet, he still hasn’t seen you ogling over anyone on campus beyond the occasional couple scoping you both did when bored, scoffing at them from afar while sitting on the bench beneath your favorite oak tree at the park.
You notice Sherlock pulling away an almost vacant haunted expression cascading over his eyes. His hands fidget, as he tries to keep them under control. You reach out, your fingers brushing along his knuckles and instantly he pulls away, a burning hot sensation flashing between you at the contact.
“S-sorry.” He says, snapping out of his stupor. You’ve never heard him stammer before in the time you’ve known him. Something is definitely wrong, but you know pushing him now won’t bode well, so you do what you can and ignore it.
“As I was saying-”
His hand falls on top of yours. “Do you perhaps want to join me in the lab tonight?” He swallows, watching you expectantly, bracing himself for your response. He’s sure you’re going to reject him.
He tries in vain to calm his pulse, but he can’t. Did he do this wrong? The seconds turn to minutes, and he feels frozen in time, expecting you to laugh at the absurdity of it all.
If he paid closer attention in his nerve-wrecked state, he’d see the catch of your own breath, the quivering of your lower lip, pupils widening at the prospect,
The question is innocent enough, but the fact you’ve been asked to hang out with your elusive tutor, colleague, and friend was almost unfathomable. You’d tried many times to harbor your crush from him, wondering if he felt the same.
You almost thought it a cruel joke of the universe. But Sherlock is sincere, hopeful, lips hinting at the barest of a boyish grin when you say “Yes, of course. What did you have in mind?”
You watch as he wrings his hands, clearly nervous as he gains his bearings, getting off the table before collecting his textbook, careful to hand your worksheets to you. “Wait and see.” He feels a strange twinge in his chest- perhaps his heart?- fluttering at the prospect.
You didn’t reject him after all. Maybe there is hope for him. And, face it deep down, he realizes he likes you, not against his better judgment, but rather, he never felt like he ever deserves you in the slightest.
******
It’s an agonizing wait until six o'clock when you walk to the Chemistry lab. Thankfully it’s a short walk from your dorm and in a well-lit area of campus. No one in their right mind stayed late there, unless it was dead week, ensuring their chemical compounds and experiments are in tip-top condition.
You know Sherlock vacates the premises often for his own use, but you have your suspicions, it’s one of the places he can truly be himself. Rumors circulated about what he does after hours, but it’s not like he has anywhere else to experiment and the dorms are off-limits, anyhow.
You take a breath before heaving open the heavy door, walking down the massive corridors before turning to the right, down the hall to lab twenty-two.
You recognize his shadowy silhouette by the door and you find yourself wondering, albeit briefly, if this is a mistake. But you think better of your mind, creaking open the door greeted with a sight you never expected.
“Sherlock?”
He says nothing when you close the door, a smile on his lips as he brings an instrument to his shoulder, tucking it beneath his chin, a soft melody of your favorite song reverberating through the room as his bow glides along the strings with ease.
On the professor's instruction table in front of him, two bunsen burners are lit with flame, a beaker filled with flowers sitting between them. A large pizza box and an assortment of your favorite candies also vacate the table and the finishing touch, is his chemistry notebook.
You fight off a silly grin at it, knowing the many conversations you had about threatening to burn it time after time.
“You did all of this for me?” You’re sure you look like a fool as you close the distance between you, the last notes of the melody echoing through the room and you applaud his performance.
He bows, putting the violin away safely in its case. You can’t help admiring the gentleness, the tenderness with which he caresses and lays it into its case for slumber until called upon once more by his fingers to coax out beautiful music from within.
He turns back to face you, his case long put away. “I didn’t know if this is how people say-,” he pauses, and you take a step closer.
He takes a breath, brushing his index finger along the top of your hand, sending goosebumps up your arm in its wake. “I’m uncertain this is how other people say ‘I like you,’ and I read gestures such as this brought it to one’s attention. Your attention, especially.”
“Pizza is good, yes pizza is definitely the way to my heart, Sherlock.” His eyes widen and he beams, showing off one of his dimples. Your heart soars, reaching impossibly higher.
A gesture such as this you would remember for a long while. “This is the kindest thing anyone has done for me and, Sherlock, I like you too.” A smile of your own blossoms along your lips and you reach out for him, linking your index finger with his before standing on your toes to peck his cheek.
“You do?”
“Yes, of course, I do, I’ve only been harboring interest for you all these months we’ve tutored and studied together. You’ve sorta grown on me, like chemistry.”
“It is one of my better subjects.”
“I would hope so since you’re tutoring me in it and Dr. F recommended you to me.”
“They did give me you, yes, the only thing they’ve done right so far,” Sherlock smiles fondly at you, kissing your knuckles. “Thank you for being horrendous in chemistry.”
“No. Thank you. This year was less boring with you, for what it is worth. Plus, I’ve learned a thing or two about chemistry. We’ll see how finals go, alas.”
He scoffs. “We’re far away from them as it is.”
“They’re next week, in case you forgot.” You sigh, trailing your fingers along his bicep, wanting to memorize the feel of him, be lost in him, the way he smells. Nothing matters anymore other than this moment and him and apparently the violent wailing of your stomach.
“Should we eat the pizza?” Sherlock chuckles at your body’s interruption, but you want far more than pizza at the moment, your gaze transfixed on the man before you, your friend, your tutor, the person you’ve come to adore in your way.
You smile, not believing your luck. “The pizza can wait. I’d like to kiss you properly first if I may?”
He nods, tilting up your chin with his finger, his other hand wrapping around your waist, a comforting weight you never knew you needed as the space around you grows smaller and smaller still and you’re part of a universe woven only for you both allowing nothing else in when your lips brush softly, a sigh falling from your parted lips.
He gasps too, his heart hammering in his chest, as you bring your lips closer to his gently, not pressing too tight, giving him room to back away, but he doesn’t, responding in kind to your kiss groaning when your hands wrap around his neck, the weight of you against him comforting and full of warmth.
He doesn’t want it to end, not even when you break for air, he pecks your lips playfully, eliciting a joyous laugh from you. You lean into him more, ruffling his glorious crown of curls, pleased at the faint blush on his cheeks when you do so.
Oh so gently, you bring him in for another kiss and when you break away, it lingers, still so many unspoken words between you. You rest your forehead against him, allowing the stupid grin you’ve tried in vain to suppress breakthrough.
“This has got to be one of the best nights of my life.”
Sherlock quirks his brow. “Even better than when you accidentally slugged Mycroft?”
“If I can recall it was still an accident, even if I had an ulterior motive to get him off our backs.” You roll your eyes, heart full of affection for your beloved chemistry nerd, as you glance about the room, watching the bunsen burner’s glow illuminate your silhouettes on the wall. “It would be best we turn the burners off before we go, yeah? Dr. F would have your head if their lab burned down.”
“Rather they take my head than your, yes,” he huffs, hating to part from you and your warmth to reluctantly snuff the flame.
Once the burners are off he collects his belongings, his coat draped over one arm the violin case in his hand while you grab the pizza box and flowers. You giggle at the absurdity of it all, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.
He pulls you closer by his free hand as he opens the door, a chill swirling around you. You shiver at the contact and he immediately sets his instrument case down, holding out his coat to you.
“There’s no need.”
“I insist. It’s the perfect coat for this weather.” He remains standing, opening it for you giving no indication he’s going to budge if you don’t take him up on the offer.
After everything he did for you this evening, you can’t help but oblige, and when you slip your arms through the coat sleeves, you want nothing but to curl up in it in bed.
It was a stunning coat, no wonder he wore it any chance he could. It was probably the finest thing he owned. It smelled of him, encompassing you in warmth and the scent of him.
You were going to have a hard time parting with it, perhaps you’d steal it to goad him, you think to yourself, adding it to your mental checklist as you pull it tighter around you. You definitely are going to keep it for a few days longer than necessary, you decide.
He picks up the instrument case without another word, wrapping his hand around your waist as you walk together down the sidewalk, inhaling the chilly night spring air, the night feeling all the more a dream to you. None of it was a dream, for it is all too real and you can’t believe your luck.
You smile, leaning into him as he meets your stride with his own, down the winding paths that should lead you to your dorm, but the walk feels all too short, the hours passing more like minutes this particular night. Time moves differently when people are infatuated with each other, or so it has been said.
“We can still keep in touch, right?” You ask as you stop by a bench in the courtyard steps from your dorm.
He looks at you, perplexed you’d even ask such a question. “We have expressed our otherwise more than friend affirmations to each other have we not? Of course, I would like to see you. My parents will be more insufferable than usual. I’ll have to resort to living in the attic. Mycroft won’t let me hear the end of it.”
“He can fuck right off for all I care,” you nudge Sherlock playfully and he sways. “Other than that I mean we can write to each other, text, whatever. There’s only so much we can do over the university’s email. Here, I can give you my information.” You rifle through your pocket producing a slip of paper, scribbling your information down. “Will that do?”
Sherlock chuckles, “It’s more than sufficient, though I do prefer to text.”
“Write when you can, yeah?” You smirk. “I find it classier when my potential suitors take the time to write out heartfelt notes of praise and gratitude.”
“You’re not romantic in the slightest.”
“That’s true, but for the right person, perhaps I can be.”
“By the right person, you mean me, of course.”
A small smirk forms along your face. “Now now, Mister Holmes don’t let that ego of yours take hold just yet. However, you might be on to something.” You whisper in his ear, “Perhaps it’s best we make a run for your room tonight? I’d hate to spend the night alone after being in your company.”
“Feeling a bit more adventurous now? Thought you’d turn in early for the night while reading those cheap paperback romances you buy from the markets.”
You feign an offended gasp at his remark. You kept many of those romances hidden under your bed, hating the covers, knowing you wouldn’t hear the end of it from your roommate, but Sherlock? You should've known it wouldn’t pass his scrutiny, but you're secretly delighted he paid attention to some of your reading habits.
You suspected he rifled through your bag and saw it during one of your study sessions when you decided to break for a short nap.
“Did you learn anything interesting?” You raise a brow at his incredulous stare, a light blush tinting his cheeks.
“Not in the slightest,” he drones on, his arm wrapped around yours, bracing you from the cold and you laugh, continuing on your way to his dorm, which he assures you he has all to himself for the night. You rest your head on his shoulder sauntering along, embracing the cold night air.
If one were to watch a happy carefree couple under the moonlight, there was no doubting the thread of affection that wove between them both, cementing them in the strands of time.
All is bright, shiny, and new like the future before them They would make it out in the end. Their future isn’t set in stone, but the possibilities are endless.
Yes, once upon a time, the great detective did live a tale full of laughter and love.
******
#sherlock x reader#sherlock holmes x reader#sherlock holmes x you#university sherlock#sherlock holmes imagine#sherlock holmes fanfiction#sherlock holmes fanfic#bbc sherlock imagine#sherlock fanfiction#bbc sherlock#benedict cumberbatch#sherlock tv#writing request#blooming chemistry
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Awkward Confessions
Fandom: Sherlock
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader
Warnings: Awkward Sherlock
Sherlock was many things. Some were good, some were bad, some were… interesting, but if there was one thing that Sherlock was absolutely terrible at, it would be admitting feelings. That much became obvious as he stood in front of Y/N, the object of his affection, attempting to express his feelings for her.
“Sherlock?” She asked. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, just be quiet for a minute.” Came his response.
“All right?” She was confused, it was pretty obvious to anyone. Sherlock never looked this awkward.”
“There’s something I need to say, something I should say…” He began, unsure where he was going with this. He lost his trail of thought the moment she looked at him with her wide and worried eyes; they were beautiful. “I know I’m… me, and I’m not exactly the most likeable person in the entire world. I’m rude, blunt, and a smartass, but…”
“There’s no need to put yourself down so much, Sher,” she sighed, shaking her head at his insulting words.
“I thought I told you to be quiet!” He rolled his eyes, shaking his head as she laughed and apologised.
“What I’m trying to say is… I like you. Don’t ask me why because I have no idea why, you’re a moron.”
Y/N burst into giggles at the final sentence. “That was so cute, at least until you called me a moron.” She smiled, stepping towards the, now blushing, man. Lifting herself onto her toes, Y/N placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.
“Don’t worry, I like you too, even if I am a moron.”
#sherlock#sherlock x reader#sherlock imagine#sherlock imagines#sherlock fanfic#sherlock fanfiction#sherlock holmes#sherlock holmes x reader#sherlock holmes imagine#sherlock holmes imagines#sherlock holmes fanfiction#sherlock holmes fanfic#bbc sherlock#bbc sherlock x reader#bbc sherlock imagine#bbc sherlock imagines#bbc sherlock fanfiction#bbc sherlock fanfic
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Secret - S.Holmes; Prologue
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader
Genre: purely angst, upcoming age and some smut
Warning: none
Word: approx 700
main mastetlist | request & ask | prompts | theme song
Chapters index
prologue | part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part night | part ten | part eleven | part twelve | part thirteen | epilogue
You should never have had slept with Sherlock Holmes.
From the moment you mistakenly kissed after a long night of drinking, it was a downhill spiral of secret meetings in the private study room – not studying – and late hours in the lab room – not practising. All of your friends warned you that it would only end in a heap of tears over a destroyed friendship.
But you couldn't help yourself. Sherlock left you wanting more: a junkie infatuated with the pleasure.
Because the way that his thighs bumped against you and his strict tremulous voice empowered you to give him every part of yourself., twice. So far, you both have been quite thirsty.
Everything had been wonderful in your life. You were ready to graduate from high school, you had your entire summer planned out, and when autumn arrived, you were going to pack your paints and go to Liverpool to pursue a career as an artist. And suddenly it was all collapsing around you, one fantasy after another turning to dust and vanish in the blink of an eye.
"Do you have any trophies?" You stuttered in astonishment, your legs giving way from beneath you and allowing your body to fall to the bench.
It was a chilly Tuesday evening, and you were sitting in the park midway between your house and Sherlock, exactly as he had requested. He seemed anxious on the phone, but Sherlock was always like that, like the time he called you at 3 a.m. and forced you to come over just to be sure he didn't have a third nipple. Even so, you hastened to get ready and see him since he was your best friend and you needed him by your side.
And he was about to leave you.
You understood how important this was to him. Even you and everyone else who knows him would agree that the lab is his second home. You knew how hard he had worked for an opportunity like this, and you wanted to be happy for him, but hearing him tell you about the best news of his life made you sick. If Sherlock was accepted into Boston University, he'd leave you behind to cope with your mess of a life.
Sherlock sat down beside you, knees brushing up against yours as he moved as close to you as possible. “Yeah, isn’t it amazing? I was just scolded Mycroft that I hate government jobs when someone from the uni called I should come to Boston and you know, start to prepare myself there. It’s what I’ve always wanted!” He was beaming with so much excitement and happiness.
You didn't want to be the one who got in the way of his dreams, as much as you didn't want to go through it alone. You tried to grin as you drank past the lump in your throat. "That's fantastic news, literally. Sherl!" You cried, attempting to fake enthusiasm. You were still sick to your stomach on the inside.
"I still can't believe it," he said, shaking his head in bewilderment before wrapping his arms over your shoulders and pulling you against his chest. His scent enveloped you in an instant as you buried your face in his coat, holding back the tears that begged to fall. "Thank you for never letting me give up," he muttered quietly, gently cradling the back of your head and running his fingers through your hair.
You were on the point of tears, feeling the salty sting as they gathered in the corner of your eyes, but you swallowed hard to keep them in. "This calls for some celebrations," you burst into tears leaning out of Sherlock and bringing your scarf closer to your face. "How about you go get us some tea from the corner café?"
Sherlock smiled brightly at you and rose to his feet, oblivious to your pain. "I like the way you ponder," he said while directing attention to his nose and then at you. "One green tea for my best friend, coming right up!" He responded, backing away and kissing you.
You finally allowed the tears fall down your cheeks as you watched his figure walk out of the park, sobbing breaking out of your chest. The last shred of hope you had clutched to, the possibility of having him at your side through it all, had slipped from your grasp and broken on the ground. You couldn't be the one to derail his hopes as well.
"I guess it's just me and you," you said to yourself, cradling your stomach with your hands. Inside was a swarm of cells that were rapidly multiplying into something that was totally your responsibility.
The secret you could never tell Sherlock.
#bbc Sherlock#bbc sherlock x you#bbc sherlock x reader#bbc sherlock imagine#Sherlock#sherlock x reader#sherlock x you#sherlock x y/n#sherlock imagine#Sherlock Holmes#sherlock holmes x reader#sherlock holmes imagine#sherlock holmes x you
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B. Cumberbatch Company Collection
Mr. Cumberbatch's character fic log
Sherlock Holmes
Series and Collection
Oneshots and short stuffs
Spiraling
-After an accident during a case, a hostage situation leaves you in a coma for a week. During that week in the hospital, things are going horribly in Baker Street
Stephen Strange
Series and Collection
She used to be mine
-Coming from a wedding of a friend, Stephen reflects on that one relationship that was once his everything and how he fucked that up. It just so happens that everything would come back...
Oneshots and short stuffs
#sherlock#doctor strange#sherlock holmes#stephen strange#bbc sherlock#marvel#sherlock imagine#sherlock fandom#bbc sherlock imagine#bbc sherlock x reader#bbc sherlock x you#sherlock angst#sherlock fanfic#sherlock fanfiction#sherlock holmes imagine#sherlock holmes x reader#sherlock holmes x you#sherlock x reader#sherlock x y/n#sherlock x you#sherlockbbc#sherlock bbc#john watson#stephen strange x you#doctor stephen strange#dr stephen strange#stephen strange angst#stephen strange fanfiction#stephen strange imagine#stephen strange x reader
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First Kisses; BBC Sherlock
Includes: Sherlock, John, Mycroft, Lestrade, and Moriarty.
Sherlock:
It wasn’t rare for Sherlock to come out with the strangest things, but there were times when his requests were so unexpected that one would choke.
“I need to test out a theory,” Sherlock broke the silence between himself and Y/N one day.
“…Okay?” Y/N replied simply, preparing to tell Sherlock that he can’t put a head in the microwave again.
“I require your help.”
That was odd, he rarely ever trusted someone else to help him with an experiment, not even John.
With a raised eyebrow, she responded. “How so?”
“You need to kiss me.” Whilst his words were as blunt as always, Y/N couldn’t help the way that she choked in surprise, all whilst he rolled his eyes. “It is not that serious, Y/N. I simply need to see if it solves these thoughts.”
“These thoughts?” Came her confused response, watching him as he walked towards her seat on the chair opposite him.
“That is what I said, yes. Do keep up.”
Rolling her own eyes, she stared up at the detective who had an impatient look on his face.
“I mean, okay? If that’s what you want.” He smirked slightly at her attempt to seem nonchalant at his request; he didn’t expect her to actually do it.
“I just need to see if t-“He began speaking, only to have his sentence cut short by her lips pressing against his own.
Sherlock’s eyes widened as her hand gently gripped his cheek as kissed him. He was frozen in place, heart racing, and chest heaving once she pulled away.
“Did that help?” She asked, looking up at the startled and silent man as she seated herself back where she was previously. She waited for a few more moments to see if he would respond before giving up. “Anyway, I need to get going. Tell John I said hello whenever he returns.” Y/N said as she reached the door, Sherlock still frozen in place, at least, until the door clicked, and he snapped out of his haze.
“Hey, Y/N, wait!”
John:
Despite his initial dislike for the youngest Holmes sibling, John couldn’t deny the feelings that he had grown for Y/N Holmes over the past few months. It was obvious to everyone besides the woman herself who was, unlike her brothers, oblivious to any and every sign of affection towards her.
It was just the two of them in 221B going through the latest case files whilst Sherlock attended a crime scene. He had originally asked John to accompany him, but the man refused after realising that Y/N was remaining at the flat, something at which Sherlock simply rolled his eyes, having already deduced his friends crush on his sister long before he even knew himself.
It was a trickier case than usual, hence why Sherlock had to return to the crime scene, leaving John and Y/N to search through mountains of files looking for one specific word.
“This would be so much easier if these files were all on a computer.” Y/N yawned, flipping the page over to the other side, John doing the same.
“Agreed.”
“Wait, this might be what we’re looking for!” The woman shot up onto her feet in excitement, turning the paper towards John and pointing at what she was looking at with a smile which was soon returned as he agreed.
In excitement, Y/N’s arms wrapped around John, and she pulled him in for a hug, only to pull away once she realised what she had done.
“I’m so sor-“ she began, only to be silenced by John wrapping his hand around the back of her neck and pulling her into him for a moment, lips pressed against each other.
“Finally,” a deep voice sounded from the doorway, making the pair pull back away from each other in both shock and embarrassment. “Now if you two lovebirds are quite finished, what have you found?”
Lestrade:
It was odd for Greg to enjoy working with Sherlock.
Whilst he didn’t mind John’s company, Sherlock was an absolute nightmare, but their friend on the other hand, Y/N, she was wonderful and Lestrade could not get enough of her.
She was everything that Sherlock wasn’t. Kind, sweet, funny, genuine, and it came as no shock to him, or anyone else for that matter, when he began developing feelings for her. However, despite how obviously reciprocated his feelings were, the man refused to believe that she could ever like him back, even after Sherlock himself told him that she likes him too.
The two had become fast friends, having clicked as soon as they met, and a friendship with Lestrade meant coffee. All the time. Coffee was his favourite time of the day, especially if there were doughnuts involved.
“Your coffee is in the kitchen.” Y/N called as Greg let himself into her apartment, a common occurrence amongst the two, and he shot her a thumbs-up as he passed her to grab his drink.
“Thank you very much.” He grinned, taking a seat beside her on the sofa and turning his attention to the football for a moment. He knew she had no interest in the game, so why she had agreed to watch it with him, he didn’t know.
“It’s no problem, Greggy.” She teased him with the new nickname, one that always earned a blush from the older man.
“Do you have to call me that?” He muttered, both his cheeks and ears tinted red in embarrassment.
“Yep!” She smiled, pinching his cheek as he continued to stare at her, or, more specifically, her lips as she licked them.
He knew he shouldn’t have done it, but he couldn’t resist. He leaned over, his hand resting on top of hers, and pressed his lips against hers, something which she gladly reciprocated.
In his panic, he abruptly pulled back before registering that she had returned his kiss and began rushing out apologies.
“I’m so so sorry, oh my God, I should definitely not have done that. I am so sorry!” He rambled, previous blush darkening as she pushed himself to the other side of the sofa, disgusted with himself.
“Greg.”
“If you don’t ever want to talk to me again, I get i-“
“Greg.” Y/N repeated his name to try and catch his attention.
“I’m just so-“
Sick of his unnecessary apologies, the woman reached out to grasp the fabric of Lestrade’s shirt, pulling his lips back onto hers, her other hand landing on his shoulder.
“There’s no need to apologise.” She whispered against his lips as she pulled back. “I wanted that.”
Greg, too confused and happy to even register what she was saying, just listened to his brain go oh!
Mycroft:
Mycroft Holmes had two soft spots, his brother and Y/N, the latter being one that he was unwilling to admit to himself, let alone anybody else.
“Morning, Mycroft,” Y/N greeted him as he entered the café, one which he was a regular at; only for her, of course, but she could never know that.
“Good morning, Y/N,” came his simple response as she brought him his usually coffee, having already anticipated his arrival; he was nothing if not punctual, after all.
Neither of you knew how your friendship had evolved into him driving you home once you finished work, but there was never a single complaint heard about it. The moment you ended up at his home, however, that was when something shifted.
It wasn’t uncomfortable, just… odd. Having never been this close to someone besides his younger brother, Mycroft wasn’t entirely sure how to act, especially when the tension in the room reached its peak and your lips ended up pressed up against the others.
It was awkward, as to be expected considering that the older Holmes had never kissed anybody before. However, the awkwardness had its own charm about it, especially when he pulled away with flushed cheeks and immediately changed the subject, ignoring what had just happened for his own peace of mind.
“Should we like, I don’t know, talk about it?” You asked him the next time he entered the café, watching him closely for any sort of reaction.
“Talk about what? Nothing weird has happened recently, nothing at all. Nothing out of the ordinary.” Mycroft rushed out, desperately praying that you were oblivious to the shade of pink that now covered his cheeks.
He had no idea how it even happened, it just… did. Myrcroft was never one for affection, or even friendships, so he didn’t know why he kissed you and even worse for him, he didn’t know why he wanted to do it again.
“If you say so,” you chuckled at his embarrassed demeanour. “Either way, I finish in an hour if you like, wanted to go for dinner or something.”
Maybe he would wait around an hour, not for any specific reason. After all, nothing weird had happened.
Moriarty:
For as long as they had worked together, Y/N and Jim had always flirted with each other.
It started off small, almost unrecognisable, but gradually grew into full-blown flirtations with invitations that were never accepted. Co-workers turned into friends, and a friendship turned into longing, it was just how the cookie crumbled.
The two stared across at one another, Y/N pushing a plate of food in front of the criminal. “Eat it, or I’ll shove it down your throat, do not test me.” She warned, although there no malice in her voice; she just wanted him to eat something for the first time in a few days.
“Do I have to?” He pouted like a young child, earning a giggle from Y/N.
“Yes!” She laughed, leaning in closer. “Or I’ll force feed you it.”
“With your mouth, I hope.”
A blush dusted the woman’s cheeks as an idea formed in her mind, one which would solve many problems, including his refusal to eat.
As she leaned in closer, Moriarty couldn’t resist the joke falling from his lips. “Ohh, are we about to kiss right now?” His words were teasing, he didn’t actually expect her to do so, but as she leaned in and pressed her lips against his, he couldn’t stop his eyes from widening.
Despite his initial shock, he was quick to respond to the kiss, his hands moving to cup her cheeks and pull her closer into him, deepening the kiss whilst one of Y/N’s hands moved to his shoulder and the other to his neck.
“I suppose we are,” were the only words spoken with a cheeky smile before she pulled him back in for a kiss to shut him up.
#sherlock#sherlock x reader#sherlock imagine#sherlock imagines#sherlock fanfic#sherlock fanfiction#mycroft#mycroft x reader#mycroft imagine#mycroft imagines#mycroft fanfic#mycroft fanfiction#bbc sherlock#bbc sherlock x reader#bbc sherlock imagine#bbc sherlock imagines#bbc sherlock fanfic#bbc sherlock fanfiction#lestrade#lestrade x reader#lestrade imagine#lestrade imagines#moriarty#moriarty x reader#moriarty imagine#moriarty imagines#john watson#john watson x reader#john watson imagine#john watson imagines
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A detective and a part time dad (SH x wife! Reader ft baby)
Summary: only a detective whose part time job is to look after his son.
Warning: it's Sherlock. He's detective. Sweet, fluff, baby, love, warm, William can be 5 or 6 months years old. (The Sixth Thatcher references ahead)
As usual, I'm sorry if there are any wrong sentences or typos or grammatical mistakes, please forgive me and again English is not my first language, so I try to improve my language and writing in this way.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
"you just need to make his milk and heat his milk if it's cold. And make sure his diapers are always clean" You told Sherlock as you put your wallet in your handbag.
"what if he cries? How to stop him crying?" Sherlock adjusted baby William's support in his arms. Sometimes he took out William's hand that was put in his mouth.
William babbling in protest after his wet hand was removed from his mouth. Sherlock then wiped William's hands and mouth with a napkin.
"Just sway him when you pick him up until he fell asleep or give him that soft cookie or when all that is useless maybe you should give him attention" You cooed at William with a sweet smile while stroking William's cheek with your finger.
"Didn't he always get attention?" Sherlock replied while stroking William's small foots.
"perhaps he needs your attention more." You said then walked to the door of the flat and put on your black jacket. "I won't be gone for long, I just want to settle some files in St's Bart. So you, young man. Be good to daddy, okay?" you muttered to William as you played with his little hand.
William let out a small babbling and then showed a wide toothless smile. Sherlock then sighed a little. Right, this is the first time he took care of baby William. So far only you know how to handle William with what he wants but now it's Sherlock's job.
You noticed Sherlock's concerned face and looked softly at him then you put your hand on Sherlock's cheek. "don't worry, I'm sure Will can cooperate with you. You boys go have fun while I do work, ok?" You stroke Sherlock's cheek and kiss Sherlock's lips passionately.
Sherlock returned the kiss and nodded slightly. You smiled gently and walked out of the flat. The flat door is slammed, signifying that you had left and there was only Sherlock and William left. Mrs Hudson went out to London to visit a friend far away so there are only two people living in the flat for now.
Sherlock then looked at his son who was also looking at Sherlock's face with his mouth and his shirt wet with saliva. Sherlock looked narrowly at his clone.
"Wonder what's going on in your head" Sherlock wiped William's lips.
William wailed happily and patted Sherlock's chest as his feet kicked in the air in Sherlock's arms.
"Ok Will, now.. what should we do?" Sherlock looked around for a moment trying to think of what activity they should be doing. William let out a small cooes trying to get Sherlock's attention. Sherlock then looked at his son's chubby face with calculating on his face.
"fancy a game of Cluedo?"
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
"Already told John the victim could be a suspect but he didn't believe it and said that's not how this game works." Sherlock mumbled to himself as he flipped through the cards in his hand.
William who was sitting on the strap on John's chair (like Rosie's chair in The Six Thatcher) let out a loud wail as if agreeing with his father and waved his hands in the air.
"see, you agree with me"
William babbling while bubbling his lips with saliva creating a bubble. Sherlock wiped William's lips with a napkin.
"well, the rules are wrong"
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
"no you can't put my magnifying glass in your mouth" Sherlock snatched his magnifying glass from William's grasp and put it on the dining table so William couldn't reach it.
William then screamed in protest trying to slap his father's hand with his chubby hand. His feet kicked in the air several times quickly.
"you cannot put that in your mouth, understand?" Sherlock kneeled in front of his son in front of the baby seat.
William then stopped screaming in protest and looked at his father's face with a red face. And immediately his face scrunched up in sadness and started crying loudly.
Sherlock panicked and didn't know what to do and then he got up and lifted William from his seat. His hands held William's small body tightly and swayed left and right trying to calm William down. But it doesn't work. William kept raging and sobbing as he pressed his face to Sherlock's chest. This is tiring. Sherlock was stumped. He doesn't know how to calm his own son let alone persuade him to stop crying.
Soft cookies were given but William still wanted to put something hard in his mouth. What did you say before? William started teething? Is that what you call? Perhaps his gums are already itchy and uncomfortable, that's why he always puts hard things in his mouth to relieve his itchy gums.
Sherlock sighed tiredly. William was still struggling in his arms but his face pushed into Sherlock's chest making Sherlock's shirt wet with his tears and saliva.
Sherlock then gave up and put William back in his seat and walked towards the corner of the living room where there was a toy box and reached one of William's toys. Sherlock then kneeled in front of William and held out a toy magnifying glass towards William with a soft face.
"You can put this in your mouth. At least it's a little soft and won't hurt your gums" Sherlock said softly and put the magnifying glass toy in William's hand.
William, whose face was red and had streaks of tears on his face, looked at the toy in his hand for a long time. Sherlock smiled genuinely at William. Not a few seconds later, William threw his toy magnifying glass at Sherlock's face precisely making Sherlock startled and dumbfounded.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
After a few hours later, Sherlock and William slept together on the couch. William who was lying face down on Sherlock's chest snored slowly while Sherlock had his arms around William's small body protecting him from falling. The father and son were sleeping so soundly that they didn't even hear the flat door being opened by you who had just returned from work.
You expect this flat to be noisy with William crying or Sherlock mumbling to himself but no. This flat is quite quiet. Weird. You took off your jacket and hung it on the hook next to the door then slowly you went up the stairs to flat 221B. As soon as you arrived in front of the door of the flat, you slowly opened the door and were stunned to see your husband and son sleeping soundly on the couch. You refrained from making a sound. This scene is too sweet and it will give you a cavity but what the heck, it's too cute.
You slowly took out your phone and opened the camera and pointed your phone at your two boys and snapped the picture to make memories. This is so cute. You chuckled softly and walked without footsteps to your bedroom to change your clothes and bring a blanket to join the two of them.
#benedict cumberbatch x reader#bbc shows#benedict cumberbatch#bbc sherlock x reader#bbc sherlock imagine#sherlock reader insert#bbc sherlock#sherlock bbc#bbc sherlock x you#sherlock holmes x reader#Sherlock Holmes x wife! reader#sherlock fandom#sherlock fanfic#sherlock fanfiction#sherlock holmes#baby boy#Spotify
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Something You Taught Me
REQUEST PROMPT (from anonymous): Maybe a sherlock fluff where reader is sick and sherlock takes care of them? I just absolutely adore the way you write fluff :)
Thank you so much for this prompt. I love writing fluff especially when it helps me get out of a writing slump! Thank you so much for the request.
Word Count: 1. k
Warnings: Major fluff, sick-fic (mentions of symptoms, the flu, etc.), Sherlock realizes that he is in love.
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There was one thing that was guaranteed with the winter months. One thing that Y/N terribly hated, getting sick. It seemed to be unavoidable no matter how many vitamins they took, how healthy they ate, or how much they exercised. They always seemed to get sick. Now, if it were just the common cold, then it would not be so much of a burden. However, when Y/N got sick, they were bedridden for at least two days.
Two never-ending days where their muscles ached too much to move. Y/N often thought if they tried to move all the bones in their body would shatter…or they’d puke. One or the other. Both are horrible options. But the worst side effect of being sick was boredom. There were only so many books they could read, or hours spent on the couch binging the latest television series before the dread set in.
It was moments like these, that Y/N began to understand why Sherlock would do the things he did: shooting guns, creating bizarre experiments, composing new songs, chasing after criminals, solving case after case, bothering John, having tea with Mrs Hudson, and plotting out new ideas to piss off his brother.
Y/N pondered the idea of being Sherlock for one day. Oh, the things they could do and the trouble they’d get into. Soon the thought weighed on their mind just as the weight of their bones sunk into the soft mattress below them.
Suddenly, there was a knock. A singular knock. It was loud and clear. Then came the silence. A breath was taken before the onslaught of banging began. That knock could only belong to one person and one person only: Sherlock.
Y/N groaned. This was the worst possible time. The sweat on their burning forehead made their hair stick. They were still wearing their pyjamas from two nights ago. Feeling a twitch in the back of their throat, Y/N quickly reached for the tissues next to them, just before a thunderous sneeze ripped through the air.
As their nostrils cleared for the 7th time that day, Y/N realized that the banging had stopped. Instead, the sound was replaced with footsteps heading toward their room.
Sherlock opened the door with a bang. Y/N winced at the sound. The loud noise echoed in their head. Bang. Bang. BANG. BANG!
“Christ, Sherlock. Would you be a bit quieter? I’m …” Y/N coughed. “I’m sick.”
Sherlock’s nose twitched and his blue eyes softened. Y/N sounded as if they were talking underwater.
“Symptoms?” Sherlock announced.
Y/N clutched their head in pain.
“What are your symptoms?” Sherlock whispered. He removed his jack and hung it over the back of the bed. Then he gently sat himself down on the mattress. He was at arm's length now and slowly creeping closer.
“No, Sherlock. Stay back. I don’t want to get you sick.” Y/N whined.
Sherlock chuckled. “Me? Sick. Never heard of such a thing.” He placed his hand on Y/N’s forehead. His hand felt like ice against their skin. Y/N sighed at the feeling.
“High temperature, stuffy nose, and sore throat” he muttered. “What are your other symptoms?”
Y/N brushed his hand away. “I’m fine. I can take care of myself.”
“Y/N.” Sherlock said sternly.
“My whole body aches. It hurts to move. Hurts to do anything and…” Their voice grew quiet.
“And?” Sherlock asked. He took their hands into his and rubbed small circles on them.
“I’m bored,” Y/N mumbled.
Sherlock smiled. His bright blue eyes glistened as if the sun was shining down on the rippling surface of the sea. He wiped away the stray hairs sticking to Y/N’s face before cupping their flushed cheek.
“I don’t think being bored is a symptom of anything,” Sherlock teased. “I think you have a bad case of the flu and I know just the thing to help.”
He began to draw away from them, and Y/N reached out clasping his wrist.
“You don’t have to help me. I can…”
“Take care of yourself. Yes, I know. You’ve told me. However, something I have come to learn is that it doesn’t hurt to let others help.” Sherlock sat back down on the mattress. He brought his forehead to Y/N’s and whispered, “Something you taught me. Let me take care of you.”
Y/N tried to respond but the words got lost in their throat. Instead, they nodded.
“Now, lay down and I’ll go get some soup.”
“Get soup?” Y/N asked quizzically. “Don’t you mean make soup?”
“No. I going to get soup. Mrs Hudson’s cooking abilities are far superior to mine. I’d rather not poison you with my cooking.” Sherlock joked.
“Alright, hurry back,” Y/N whispered.
Sherlock smiled and was out the door.
Y/N’s head fell back on the pillow with a thunk. As they stared at the ceiling, they thought of Sherlock. Their cheeks flushed now, but for a different reason. Sherlock. Who knew the great consulting detective could be so compassionate? Y/N was sure John would love to hear about how kind Sherlock was being to them. However, before they could finish the thought, sleep took over.
Soon Sherlock returned with a steaming bowl of soup. His hand was careful not to spill any of its contents. Y/N needed every ounce of the soup that they could get. He placed the soup on the bedside table turning to the Y/N. He smiled as he took notice of the slowness in Y/N’s breath. Sherlock looked around the room and pulled up a chair, sitting himself down in it. His eyes once again found the sleeping figure. Even in their sick state, Y/N was beautiful. Their lashes fluttered against their rosy cheeks. Their lips lay slightly parted with small sighs exhaling from their mouth.
Sherlock would sit there until Y/N woke up. Sherlock was determined to sit by their side as the soup cooled. He would keep the boredom at bay. Just as Y/N did for him. Though, how could he ever be bored when they were around? Sherlock knew he’d never get bored being in Y/N's presence, carefully watching over them as they slept.
A singular thought popped into Sherlock’s head. I’m in love. How could he ever be bored with someone he loved?
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what a lovely inconvenience
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader
Summary: Sherlock Holmes pushes your buttons like no one else. So when a case leaves you stranded in a hotel room with only one bed you worry that Scotland Yard might have a new murder case on their hands.
Word Count: 1.0k
authors note: Writing a different dynamic between Sherlock and the Reader for a change to acknowledge the fact that irl I wouldn't be able to spend more than ten minutes with him before attempting murder.
“Would you please just go to sleep.”
“If you quit taking up half of the bloody mattress maybe I would,” you bit back, pulling at the covers defiantly.
It wasn't often Sherlock left London for a case but when he did he rarely went alone. And given how you were currently sharing a bed with said detective in an oh-so-unflattering hotel in rural Scotland it would seem apparent that you were the unfortunate soul he'd chosen as a sidekick for this particular outing.
The hotel was dull, exceedingly so. The wallpaper seemed ancient, peeling away at the corners and the aged furniture was placed in such a way that it swallowed up the dismal amount of space the room already offered. The entire setup was worsened further by the hotel's location; unpleasantly sandwiched between a bar and a flat complex whose tenants were... vocal, to say the least.
Not to mention the fact that Sherlock wouldn't. stop. moving.
He pulled the cover back harshly, leaving you defenseless against the cold. “Bold words coming from the one that hasn't gifted me with so much as an inch of blanket. Not to mention you've hogged all the pillows.”
“Hogged all the–” you swiveled to face him. “How many pillows do you need?”
“Another one.”
You blinked twice, already calculating how long you'd spend behind bars if you resorted to murder. “Why? Can't fit your ego on the one you've already got?”
At that, Sherlock turned so you were face to face. His glower contended with your own.
“If you must know I need another to block out the sound of your insufferable talking.”
“I can't deal with this.” You tossed back the covers, begrudgingly snatching up a pillow and thin bed sheet, and strode across the room. Sherlock watched as you sprawled out on the sofa, sinking so far into the poorly made furniture it was almost comedic.
There was a beat of quiet. Then another.
“If you're waiting for me to apologize or rush to trade places you'll be waiting all night.”
"I'm sure I'll survive.” you quipped bitterly.
Sherlock, as he'd promised, didn't argue. He grabbed the spare pillow somewhat victoriously, bundled the covers around him, and turned on his side.
Meanwhile, you were already struggling not to admit defeat. Metal springs dug into your back in three separate places, the fabric caused your skin to itch and it was beyond freezing without the bed cover. You would never have described yourself as a particularly proud person, you could admit when you were wrong. But when it came to Sherlock, you'd rather stay on the couch.
Time crawled by agonizingly slow. The red italic numbers of the alarm clock across the room shone through the dark almost mockingly. You'd given up on sleep, the moment the first light of morning seeped through the poorly hung curtains you were out of there. You'd take sitting in the dingey hotel reception alone and tired over watching Sherlock waking up satisfied with his extra cushions and soft mattress as his spoils of war.
“You look ridiculously uncomfortable,” the detective's voice cut through the quiet of the room.
You pulled your excuse of a blanket over your head. “I'm fine.”
You heard Sherlock sigh, followed by the shifting of the mattress. “I can see you trembling from here.”
“I'm sure I'll soldier on through.”
“If it was a point you were trying to get across then consider it made. Now, will you please just get over here and get some sleep before the sun comes up.”
At the offer, you reemerged from your makeshift cocoon like an easily bribed butterfly. “Relax Holmes, if you wanted me in bed that bad you should have just said so.” You spoke the words into your pillow, slurred from exhaustion and dripping with sarcasm.
Regardless, Sherlock was thankful of how well the darkened room hid his blush. He cleared his throat and turned back on his side. He'd been doing an admirable job at keeping whatever it was he felt about you to himself and he wasn't about to undergo the embarrassment of having you find out simply because he spent more than twelve hours in your vicinity.
Briefly noting to never be the bigger person again, Sherlock closed his eyes and prepared to leave you to your self-inflicted misery. Then he heard feet padding across the floor.
The covers pulled back and the mattress dipped as you silently joined him. You stretched out and sighed in relief when the mattress pressed softly against your aching muscles rather than biting into your back. You pulled experimentally at the covers and Sherlock let you gain an inch. But only that.
“Was that so hard?” He asked.
“Extremely.”
Turning over as quietly as he could, Sherlock noted how your back was to him, how the plane of spare mattress between you was so wide you could easily fit another couple there. How you almost hung from the side of the bed. Sherlock wouldn't have called what he felt in that moment guilt, but it was very similar.
“You know, if it truly makes you uncomfortable I can sleep on the sofa for the night.” His offer was genuine and he hoped you picked up on it.
There was a long moment of quiet, Sherlock giving in to the fact that you'd probably fallen into sleep the moment your head hit the pillow.
“I was kidding, you know.” Your voice came as a surprise. “It's more of a hindrance than anything, sharing a bed with someone that kicks in their sleep."
Sherlock smiled in the dark. “Not as much a hindrance as sharing one with a degenerate blanket stealer.”
There was an unfamiliar tone to his voice, one that, had you not been two blinks from sleep, you would have mistaken for humourous.
“You know, you're kind of endearing when you're sleep deprived,” you thought, too tired to have realized you'd said the words aloud.
“Funny,” Sherlock watched as you turned on your side and rolled towards the middle of the bed. Your nose twitched adorably and with the security the dark offered, Sherlock let himself smile over it. “I was just about to say the same thing to you.”
He was certain you were gone now, chest falling rhythmically and lips parting to make way for quiet snores. He didn't blame you, your alarm had woken you early this morning.
You didn't know he'd noticed, of course, just as you didn't know how he noticed many little things about you. Not things of importance, nothing essential he would have to file away in his mind palace. Just simple everyday things that were unmistakably you. Things he recalled not because he needed to but because he wanted to.
There was something about you, Sherlock simply couldn't shake it. But that was a dilemma he needed at least a good night's rest to solve.
He closed his eyes, not so much as complaining when you stole the covers in your sleep.
thank you for reading!
Sherlock tag list: @miraclesoflove @ilovefanfictions @mylovelysnowflake @quentawewe @bakerstreethound @andreasworlsboring101 @doozywoozy @xxinvisiblexx @the-worst-critic @the-queer-dungeoneer @jellyfishbeansontoast @starrykitn @starryeddie @ladymercury8 @themorningsunshine @evelynrosestuff @mywellspringoflife @simp-for-scammanders @Xhz17x @allieberries @kealohilani-tepise
#*gasps* there was only one bed#clichè but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#also two fics in one night? who do I think I am?#sherlock x reader#sherlock holmes x reader#bbc sherlock x reader#sherlock x you#bbc sherlock imagine#sherlock imagine#sherlock holmes x you#bbc sherlock
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Imagine trying to warn Sherlock that Moriarty is free…
The verdict was in - not guilty. You honestly wanted to shake the jury by their shoulders and ask why they had left their rational thoughts at home. The judge slammed the gavel, signalling for Moriarty to be free of his bonds and when you looked at the man, you could have sworn that he winked.
John nudged your arm, reminding you that it was time to follow the rest of the courtroom out. Once the pair of you were out on the street in much cleaner air, John pulled out his phone and began punching in a number.
“I’m calling Sherlock. He needs to know that this maniac is going to be walking about like a free man.”
Giving him a nod, you pulled out your own device. “I’m going to head back to Scotland Yard.”
John instantly pulled his phone away from his ear as it started to ring.
“What? Y/n we need to stay together.”
“I know but I need to set up a protective detail on Sherlock and Baker Street. Moriarty doesn’t care about collateral damage.” You reminded the good doctor.
Pointing at you, John’s expression was stern and serious. “Okay but be careful. I’ll see you back at the apartment.”
You gave the man a brief hug before turning and bolting down the street to hail a cab. Thankfully, the area was crawling with the vehicle you required. Once you had hopped in, you dialled Lestrade’s personal number and hoped with each ring that he wasn’t otherwise engaged. Your heart was pounding in your ears, the traffic felt slower than normal and the phone wasn’t being picked up as if the matter wasn’t of import.
“Come on.” You edged nervously, staring outside at the pedestrians huddled on the sidewalk.
When the signal turned green, the call was answered by the man you had been trying to reach. “Greg? Oh, thank god.”
“Y/n, I just heard the news. How are you holding up?” The detective inspector asked.
“Honestly I’m pissed but we can get into that later. Listen, I need a favour. I need a-“
“You need a protection detail on Sherlock, I know.” Lestrade guessed correctly. “I filed in the paperwork as soon as Moriarty’s trial started and got it fast tracked. It felt appropriate since you, Sherlock and John have thwart his schemes the most.”
You frowned. Something didn’t feel right about the way he was talking about the detail. “And?” You prompted.
“And it got rejected as soon as Moriarty was acquitted.”
You were mad and disappointed - in all honesty, you wanted to scream. But you pushed it all down and did what you could to tackle the problem. Leaning forward, you tapped the driver on the glass to get his attention.
“Yes, dear?” The elderly man smiled.
“Change of plans - take me to 221B Baker Street please.”
“Y/n, what are you doing?” Shit, you almost forgot Lestrade was on the phone.
As the car turned left onto Baker Street, you kept a tight grip on the device. “If Scotland Yard won’t help, I’ll do it myself.” You told your friend before hanging up just as the taxi pulled up to the curb.
Paying for the ride, you made a mad dash to the front door, pushing it open to get inside. It was mostly quiet. Mrs Hudson was running the cafe and it was clear that John wasn’t home from the lack of his coat from the hallway rack.
There was an absence of people and yet you heard teacups being set upon saucers and very low voices speaking. Heart leaping into your throat, you raced up the stairs and burst into the open flat of 221B.
“Sherlock-”
The rest of your sentence died on your tongue, ice running through your veins when you saw the man who had almost killed you and your friends without any remorse standing in the living room.
“Hi Y/n.” Moriarty greet when his eyes laid on you. “I take it that your little bid for a protection detail fell flat?”
He knew and he was mocking you for it. Stepping into the flat, you scowled at the enemy. “I’ve kept my friends safe from you before. I can do it again.”
Moriarty smirked. He moved away from Sherlock and across to you on his way to the door. His eyes skimmed over your features before he inhaled.
“You’re just delectable. Ready to give your life for a man who isn’t ready to return the favour. A pity really.” He commented and walked off.
~ More imagines here ~
#theladyofmanyfandoms#theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction#gif is not mine#sherlock imagine#sherlock x reader#sherlock holmes imagine#sherlock holmes x reader#bbc sherlock x reader#bbc sherlock imagine#bbc sherlock holmes imagine#bbc sherlock holmes x reader#moriarty imagine#moriarty x reader
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Sherlock/john x reader - you need this
May I request a story with Sherlock and John worried about clumsy reader? Maybe they are just sleep deprived and need a cup of tea and a good long nap? All platonic please. Thank you! - @their-love 💜
Padding into the living room, you stood there without a word.
Sherlock said nothing, but John set his laptop down, and he turned his attention to you.
“Is everything alright?”
“They can’t remember why they came in here, it’s a frequent thing.” Sherlock said.
You shrugged a little.
“Yeah but it’s fine, did I get a parcel today?” You asked.
“Yeah, it’s just over here.”
John got up, making his way to the corner of the room before coming back over.
You were heading to meet him halfway, tripping over your own two feet slightly before regaining your balance, taking the parcel.
“You good?” John asked.
“Huh? Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You just tripped?”
You waved your hand dismissively, making your way over to the couch, you bumped into the table, but said nothing as you sat down.
Setting your parcel on the table, you searched around trying to find something to open it with.
“Under the sofa.” Sherlock said.
You reached under, pulling out a box cutter and looked at him confused.
“You left it there the other day.”
“Oh yeah…”
You went to open your parcel and Sherlock set the book down that he was reading.
“You’re not usually this confused (Y/N).” John said gently.
“Eh.” You said.
Sherlock leant back in his chair, carefully studying what you were doing.
“Your hands are trembling, you have dark circles under your eyes. You have walked into everything going so far and you can’t even remember where you left your favourite box cutter.”
“We all forget things sometimes Sherlock.”
He shook his head.
“Not you. For the past three nights I’ve heard you moving about upstairs, then during the day you’re down here.”
John glanced between you and Sherlock.
“You’re not sleeping, are you?” John asked.
You sighed a little.
“I can’t… I don’t know why…”
“Nightmares, excessive caffeine, too much energy, there’s loads of reasons you don’t sleep.” Sherlock said.
You said nothing, and John got up, leaving the room.
Walking over to you, Sherlock took your new books from you, dropping them somewhere else and threw the box across the room.
You went to stand up.
“Ah. No.”
Sherlock placed a hand on your forehead, and pushed you back on the couch.
“You’re not leaving that spot.”
“Here, I’ve got some tea for you.”
John walked over, setting the cup on the table and he sat next to you, patting his shoulder.
“Come on, you need some sleep. We won’t go anywhere right Sherlock?”
You both looked at him.
“Sherlock!” John hissed.
Sherlock walked back over, throwing his hands into the air.
“Fine! I’ll stay here!”
He dropped himself next to you, handing you your cup.
“Drink your tea and sleep.”
“You’re not my father…” you grumbled.
“Then stop acting like a child.”
You smiled a little at him, sipping from your cup.
You kicked your feet up on Sherlock, leaning yourself on John.
“Will you read to me…?” You asked.
“Yeah, of course.” John smiled.
While he read, you drank your tea, and while John read, Sherlock carried on working on something.
Soon enough you fell asleep, but neither of them moved.
You needed this, you needed sleep, and if that meant the pair of them had to stay there with you sprawled across them, that’s what they would do.
Even Sherlock could manage sitting still for a while if it meant his friend getting some much needed sleep
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