#holmes family estate yes
Note
Prompt because your work is aMAZing: when it’s before Sherlock and y/n’s wedding day, and he’s being an insufferable gentleman but she bats her eyes going “do you not want me” and he absolutely loses it 😏😏
Your Only Warning
Character: Henry Cavill as Sherlock in Enola Holmes
Summary: Alone in the library with his betrothed, the Reader, Sherlock fights to remain a gentleman…with limited success.
Content: 18+ for incredibly filthy language, explicit description of future sexual intimacy, dominant, angsty “I AM A GENTLEMAN” Sherlock, with a side of mild “look what you’ve made me do” rhetoric from our dear detective, but for the benefit of the very eagerly consenting Reader who absolutely intended to make him do precisely what he’s done.
Notes: Thank you so much for the prompt; I loved it, and hope you like the story, Anon!
It is a rare occasion that your future husband allows you to be alone with him.
Ever the gentleman, ever possessed by the fine arts of propriety, justice, compassion, and self-discipline…all the qualities for which you find yourself more deeply in love by the day…Sherlock has become increasingly distracted, sometimes even dismissive, of your endeavors to cultivate closeness, as the day of your wedding draws near. You do not know what precisely has caused his detachment; never once has he expressed any regret for his proposal, nor suggested he does not wish to proceed with the marriage, but something has changed.
You cannot recall the last time he was tender—if ever he truly was. No soft words, nothing of your beauty, certainly, rise to your memory, even as you entertain the recollections of shared laughter, discussions of books or music, your eager interest in his cases and his equal enthusiasm to share his work with you. Meanwhile, you long to pour out your heart on the subject of his handsome face, his gorgeous eyes, how much you long for his touch, his kiss, his…
Well.
Sherlock’s true feelings for you are a mystery that only he could solve, and finding the time alone to ask him to unravel his secrets has been nigh impossible. But tonight, at another interminable dinner party for your family and his, a challenge from Enola to discover the secret passages of the Holmes estate has led you to the library, opening a hidden door behind a bookshelf to your delight…and the surprise of Sherlock, whom you discover pensively staring out the wide window behind his desk. He looks back over his shoulder, slightly startled, but smiles when he recognizes your familiar form emerging from the shadows.
“Very well done, Miss —,” he praises you, and your heart flutters happily at the accolade. “My sister will be most pleased to have such a companion as yourself with whom to roam these halls. When we can coax her back home, that is.”
“I hope you will find me a fine companion, too,” you offer, stepping out from the passageway and into the library proper. You look about you: no one else is there. Good.
“Naturally,” he replies, leaving the sanctuary of his desk, but still keeping a polite distance. “It will be entirely pleasant to share a home with you, here or in London. I have too long breakfasted alone, beginning the day in sullen silence, only to let supper grow cold, too, for want of more companionable nourishment.”
“Yes, I quite look forward to that, too,” you reply politely, a few tears of disappointment pooling in the corners of your eyes. His once ardent interest truly does seem to have waned into a wish for company over meals. Still, your hope preservers; perhaps this is only a gentlemanly demurring from more intimate matters? You have had some success in delving into his captivating mind. What line of inquiry might unlock his heart?
“And you must never hesitate to make use of this library.”
“Thank you. But…Mr. Holmes…”
“Yes?”
“I mean…certainly we shall share other…other rooms, too?”
“Of course. You must be honest with me in the correction of my bachelor habits.”
“Yes, and you must similarly address the conventions of my customary solitude.”
These mirrored platitudes are maddening. You steel your courage and make a bolder proposition.
“But is it not true that, as is only proper, to my understanding, that when we marry, we will be…as one?”
At this, he meets your eyes for a brief, flickering moment, then turns away from you entirely, and begins to meticulously examine the books on the shelves, uttering a monosyllabic: “Ah.”
You wait.
And wait.
And wait.
At long last, he clears his throat slightly and says, “I hope that if you should have any concerns of that nature, you might seek out the counsel of a recently married woman of your own age—Mrs. Watson, for example, is a lady of faultless virtue and excellent education, and might allay your fears—“
“I have no fears!” you exclaim. “I have…great anticipation. Longing, for a closeness I thought you equally desired. Sherlock, please I long to know and be known as a wife, to share with you every facet of my life, including—my…our—“
“Please, Miss —“
“But of late you scarcely look at me—“
“Dear girl,” he interrupts again. “I beg you to cease this line of inquiry!”
Your frustration bubbles over. Determinedly, you cross the room to where he stands, and slip around his hulking frame, insinuating yourself betwixt him and the bookcase, demanding his attention whether he will or no.
“What is it, Sherlock?” you ask, gazing up at him through your eyelashes, feeling your pulse quicken at his nearness. “Do you not want me?”
“Do I,” he growls through gritted teeth. “Not want you?”
In an instant, he has you restrained against the bookshelves, one hand pinned above your head and the other left to grasp frantically at his lapel, feeling the hard muscle and pounding heart beneath his fine coat, like an ember burning beneath your fingertips.
“Every moment I am plagued with wanting you! Do you not understand why I have withdrawn from you, why I must keep my distance from the woman I love?”
Sherlock lays his palm against your cheek, then slides his fingers down your neck, across your collarbones, coming to rest against the heaving swell of your breast over your gown.
“This is why. To prevent this.”
Hands over hearts, you are more closely entwined than you have ever been, and you can see with perfect clarity that his eyes burn with deep, profound emotion as well as increasingly unbridled yearning. Pinioned there by his full weight and bulk, you are completely helpless to his whims, and nothing has ever felt so freeing in your entire life. Finally, finally, finally, you exalt in your mind, and you sigh his name, unable to suppress a slight moan, which only seems to afflict him further.
“Oh, Sherlock…”
“I am a gentleman of unimpeachable conduct, but you would turn me into a brute. The more time I spend in your presence, the closer the day draws near when you will be mine, the more I find my resolve tested,” he despairs, drawing in a deep breath, and shuddering as the scent of your hair, your skin, permeates his senses. “Look at us, look what you have done! All this time I have resisted, but you undo it in a mere minute…”
His lips are practically touching yours, his grip on your wrist grown tighter, the press of his unmistakable hardness against you firm and unyielding.
“This,” he explains, his voice gone ragged and low. “Is your only warning, my dear sweet bride. If you speak another word of wanting before I may lawfully, licitly show you every way a man may possess his wife, if you touch me—or, or, you perfect minx, my gorgeous tormentor, if you with all your whiles force my hand…if you insist I kiss your glove in public, or ask for my arm to cross the street…I will make you pay for it the minute we are wed. I will turn you over my knee and spank your backside bruised. I will have you in every room of the house; damn who might see us. I will hunt you down across the estate and take you in the fields or the forest like an animal, for so you make me, darling. I will bind your hands to my bed and make you come for me over and over again until you have not a single thought left in this brilliant little mind, and then I will fuck your pretty weeping cunt until I’m sated and you are dripping with my seed. And that for a start.”
Sherlock, eyes glittering with his barely leashed lust, presses a light, chaste kiss to your cheek.
“Are we understood, Miss —?”
“Yes, yes,” you gasp, and, with the final indulgence of skimming the pad of his thumb across your trembling bottom lip, he very gently, courteously releases you, and then promptly flees to the opposite side of the room to pour himself a substantial drink. He downs it in one gulp, then takes several very deep breaths, and though he keeps his back to you, you can tell, with a secret thrill down your spine, that he is adjusting his clothes in a futile attempt to disguise his arousal.
“You were best return to the drawing room at once,” he instructs, almost bashful at his body’s insistence against his mind’s prudence. It is incredibly endearing. “I must compose myself.”
“Of course. Forgive me, sir, that I have discomposed you so.”
“No, no, it is I who must apologize. Can you forgive me, dearest girl, that I have not made clear to you that you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen? I was never a man of sentiment until now, and feared that to linger too long on the object of my desire, might make me lose all control. But I will tell you every day, ten times a day—from now until the end of my life, that your loveliness of body and soul is to me as vital as the air I breathe.”
“Are you becoming a poet, Sherlock?” you tease, melting all the more at his rush of tenderness, so looked for and longed for.
“Only for you,” he sighs, and you almost faint away as his hand drops to palm the outline of his cock through his trousers. Realizing the nature of his reflexive gesture, he gives a frustrated groan and points at you accusingly. “Only a romantic fool, and only a devious, seducing scoundrel, because of you.”
You laugh together, and, sneaking one last fervent look over your shoulder as he sinks into his chair and begins to unfasten his trousers, you close the door behind you depart, practically skipping through the halls of the home that will soon be yours, too, to rejoin both sides of the family in the parlor.
About ten minutes later, Sherlock rejoins the party, too, and no one seems to suspect anything untoward, clearly a relief to you both as your eyes meet across the table with a shared, secret glow. Once all parting pleasantries are exchanged, Sherlock follows you and your family out to the carriage, keeping a painfully respectful distance all the while. He offers only a formal bow and a stern, “Good evening” by means of farewell, but you have other designs.
“Good evening to you, too, Mr. Holmes,” you reply with a cheerful smile, and then, in front of the whole company, you elegantly present your hand to your fiancé to be kissed…
I am so, so honored by all your kind replies and reblogs! Thanks to those who commented on my other prompt fic, Pulse Point:
@fluffycutecevans @madeanaccounttoreadfanfics @nana1000night @writing-for-marvel @raccoon-eyed-rebel @sarcastic-coffeedrinker-reads @holmesbunny @peachyvulpixie @sillyrabbit81 @mayloma @inlovewithhisblueeyes @kingjuli3n 🥰 🥰 🥰 🥰 🥰 🥰
#Sherlock Holmes x Reader#henry cavill sherlock#henry!sherlock holmes#sherlock holmes x you#sherlock holmes x ofc#enola holmes fanfic
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Art by @tsukihasnolife
Story by @scoobydoo-ghoulschool
Read it on AO3!
INT. WATSON’S ROOM
JOHN
Hello, Hello, Hello! It’s Doc Watson here to uh- or just John, John is fine too. Um, but I am here to share another spine chilling case with you lovely listeners. This was a dark one folks, so be cautious. Warnings for death, a couple of those, uh parental abuse, some light usage of the S word, and one inflammatory F bomb by yours truly. If none of that is enough to scare you off, well then, good luck and enjoy the adventure of the Speckled Band.
AUDIO CUT
INT. WATSON’S ROOM
Door opens with a bang.
SHERLOCK
Your presence is required in the living room.
John gasps awake. Sherlock removes John’s bed covers.
JOHN
Huh? What?
SHERLOCK
We have a client. In the living room. Ms. Hudson informed me at 6:45, I let you sleep an extra half hour but you really must be up now.
John yawns.
JOHN
It’s 7:15? And you’re awake?
SHERLOCK
(darkly)
Like I said, Ms. Hudson woke me.
JOHN
Alright, alright, uh- let me just get some trousers on.
Sherlock moves to leave.
JOHN (CONT.)
Hold on, is that my microphone?
SHERLOCK
I assumed you’d want it.
JOHN
(pleasantly surprised)
Well, uh, yes, thank you.
SHERLOCK
You’re welcome. Now come along, Ms. Hudson is bringing up tea.
Intro music plays
INT. 221B BAKER STREET - LIVING ROOM
John enters the living room, trousers successfully retrieved.
JOHN
Hello there. John Watson, nice to meet you.
HELEN
(quietly)
Helen Stoner.
John takes a seat.
JOHN
So you're a fan of the podcast?
HELEN
Sorry, what?
JOHN
Oh I just- the Sherlock & Co podcast. It’s my, well, part of our business. I assumed that’s how you found us.
HELEN
No, uh I found you on Reddit actually. r/Holmes. I read about a case with these missing opals, from the account FarintoshRed. I thought Mr. Holmes might be able to help me too.
SHERLOCK
I vaguely remember the name Farintosh, the opal tiara even more. Now Ms. Stoner what is it that brings you all the way from Surrey this early in the morning?
HELEN
I- Did someone tell you I was coming?
SHERLOCK
The return ticket is sticking out of your purse.
HELEN
(nervously)
Oh, right.
Mariana enters the room.
MARIANA
I have several cups of very caffeinated tea and a couple of day-old scones. They're only half rock hard.
JOHN
Ah, Mariana, you're an angel.
SHERLOCK
Yes, thank you. Although I’d prefer something a little stronger than caffeine…
JOHN
Not this early in the morning, please. I’d at least like to keep the substance abuse to an afternoon activity.
MARIANA
(to Helen)
You can just ignore them.
HELEN
Um, thanks.
SHERLOCK
So early train, and by the mud on your coat, a taxi before with an unexpected rain shower. A little dangerous to be out by yourself before the sun's up. I assume you took this trip without permission?
MARIANA
(whispered to Sherlock)
Sherlock, that's a little patronizing.
SHERLOCK
It would be if our client wasn’t a teenager.
JOHN
(also whispered to Sherlock)
Mate she’s got grey hair.
HELEN
No he’s right, I’m 17.
JOHN
Oh! I’m- God, sorry I just didn’t. Blimey.
HELEN
I get that sort of reaction a lot. The hair’s genetic or something. My sister had it too. But that’s sort of why I’ve come. Not because of my hair but um… My 18th birthday’s in a couple weeks and… I think maybe I might be dead before then.
MARIANA
(tentatively)
And… why do you think that?
HELEN
Because it happened to my sister, 2 years ago.
Pause.
HELEN (CONT.)
I live with my step father, Greg Roylott, uh in this old family estate of his, Stoke Moran. My mum married him when my sister and I were both two. And you know, everything was fine, we were a totally normal family, but when my mum died, when we were about eight, uh, well Greg got really depressed. We were all torn up about it, but he… he could get really, really angry. The last couple of years my sister and I had to get him out of a lot of bad situations. Julia- my sister, she had a really hard time with it. Kids at school could get pretty nasty about it all, and I mean everyone in our village talks. It was a lot, still is a lot. But she decided, two years ago, that she'd had enough. She snuck off one night to stay with one of my mum's old friends, Honoria Westphail, for a couple of weeks.
SHERLOCK
And you stayed?
HELEN
Greg is- he's the only father I've ever known. I thought you know- everyone deals with grief differently, if I just gave him enough time... He never touched me or Julia.
SHERLOCK
But Julia ran away.
HELEN
Yeah, and not just. Ms. Westphail was helping her file for emancipation. We were both 15, and she didn't even have a bank account yet, but she wanted to get as far away from Greg as possible. She needed the money from our mother's inheritance.
SHERLOCK
Which neither of you receive until your 18th birthday.
JOHN
Or you're legally declared independent.
HELEN
Right. But then Greg, he, well he reached out to Julia, said he wanted to make amends, that he'd been talking with people, trying to get better. I thought he was telling the truth, I mean at that point it had been weeks since he'd gotten into a fight in town, or come home drunk from the pub.
Helen pauses.
HELEN (CONT.)
(voice choked)
I convinced Julia to come back when he asked her over for dinner.
MARIANA
If you want to take a moment-
Helen sniffs.
HELEN
No it's- I can keep going. Dinner went fine, I mean Julia and Greg were never the closest, but you could tell he was trying. He didn't even bring up the whole emancipation dealings. We all went to bed around the same time, but Julia had come into my room complaining of a headache pretty soon after that. Greg likes smoking these Indian cigars before bed, and Julia and his rooms have connected ventilation, and she, uh, was always sensitive to smells like that. I didn’t mind the company, there was this awful storm going on outside, and in a house as old as ours, it gets kind of spooky.
JOHN
Old manor house on a dark and stormy night? I bet.
HELEN
Exactly. And um, Julie only stayed for a bit but- she asked me if I'd heard any whistling at night while she’d been gone. Like a tea kettle going off, I remember her describing it. It was such a weird question, and I know I hadn't heard anything like it before, but like I said the house is really old, and we don't have the money for many repairs. I just told her it had to be some drafty part of the house. I don’t think she actually ever believed me… and then uh, that's when she went back to her room. I watched her lock her door.
SHERLOCK
Did you both routinely lock your doors at night?
HELEN
Yeah, force of habit I guess. When we were younger we were always scared the Cheetah or Baboon would escape in the middle of the night.
Weighted Pause.
JOHN
Er- Cheetah and Baboon?
HELEN
Sorry, yeah, Greg's dad, back in the 80's was mad obsessed with India I guess? He lived there for a while, and he decided to like- make an attraction of the old Manor. There used to be a pretty massive menagerie of Indian wildlife attached to the house. Honestly it's why Greg had no money coming into the marriage with my mum. His dad spent it all. These days all that's left are the Cheetah and Baboon. Just one more reason for people to talk, you know?
MARIANA
I can imagine...
SHERLOCK
So the door was locked.
Helen takes a deep breath.
HELEN
I woke up to her screaming. It was- I've never heard anything like that scream. Then there it was, a whistle, like a tea kettle, and uh then this large metal clang, and it shocked me enough I was able to get myself out of bed.
SHERLOCK
The locked door-?
HELEN
She was able to open it herself. That’s how I found her, the door opened before I got to it. She was- her eyes were bulging, and I could- I could see the veins in her forehead. The storm had knocked out the power by then but she was holding her phone flashlight. I- I caught her there, in the hallway. She fell into my arms and I could tell she couldn’t breath, she couldn’t- but she managed to tell me “Helen! It was the band! The speckled band!” That’s how Greg found us, I don’t remember much after. I think he tried to do CPR, and I called 999… She was dead before they got there.
MARIANA
(very sincerely)
I am so sorry.
Helen continues as if she hasn’t heard.
HELEN
I was… shell shocked. Everyone was pointing fingers at our step-dad, and even then I couldn’t, I couldn’t really believe. The windows of her room are barred, the fireplace was bricked up, the door was locked. There’s nothing he could have done to her.
JOHN
The coroner couldn’t find anything? No foul play, no poison in her system?
HELEN
I know they did a thorough search, like I said everyone was sure Greg had something to do with it. There wasn’t anything. Eventually they marked it down as a “cerebral embolism”.
Helen gives a very sharp laugh
HELEN (CONT.)
She was 15!
Heavy pause. Helen collects herself.
SHERLOCK
This all happened two years ago, you’ve had time to doubt him, to look for help elsewhere- but something changed recently. Ms. Stoner, what happened?
HELEN
Last week, Greg said that- there was some work around my room that needed to be done. Structural stuff that needed to be fixed. He moved me into Julia’s bedroom and-
(Helen takes a shuddering breath)
I heard the whistle. Last night, Mr. Holmes, I heard the whistle again.
AUDIO CUT
Interlude music plays briefly.
INT. 221A BAKER STREET - MARIANA’S OFFICE
MARIANA
I’ll make sure she gets to the train station alright. I have a bad feeling about leaving her alone.
JOHN
Thank you, Mariana… God I can’t- doesn’t this feel a little wrong? That we’re her last line of defense I mean?
MARIANA
I suppose, it is frustrating that it’s taken all this for something to be done. But there’s no one I trust more than Sherlock to help her. She only has us, but at least it’s us.
JOHN
Right. No you’re right.
Pause.
MARIANA
I’ll see you in a bit.
JOHN
Be safe.
The front door to 221 Baker Street opens. The sounds of the street filter in. The door closes and it is quiet once more.
JOHN
(to the listeners)
So, we’ve taken the case. Obviously. There’s still a part of me that can’t quite believe it, but well- it was hard to say anything but yes.
John enters the flat.
INT. 221B BAKER STREET - LIVING ROOM
JOHN
I’ve got us train tickets leaving in an hour. You better start packing.
SHERLOCK
I’ve already finished. I’ve got noise canceling headphones, my pistol and my toothbrush.
JOHN
(john laughs)
Ah, planning on shooting your mouth off then?
SHERLOCK
(baffled)
What? No, of course not.
JOHN
No its- it’s a joke from M*A*S*H. Ya know- Frank took his gun and his toothbrush, there he goes shooting his mouth off again… I’m realizing, suddenly, this was one of my more obscure references so I am… going to stop.
SHERLOCK
Good.
Pause. John takes a deep breath in.
JOHN
You don't think we're being pranked do you? I mean, that was all- a little mad. I mean the Cheetah and Baboon detail? It sounds like something that would go viral on TikTok.
SHERLOCK
You’re only saying that because she’s 17. It was the truth, every detail of it, there's no doubt in my mind. Besides, the Indian menagerie in Surrey is about the easiest detail to corroborate, here look.
Sherlock hands over his phone.
JOHN
“They Bought a Zoo Before it was Cool: the sordid tale of Surrey’s oldest family and their lost fortune” Jeeze, okay. So not a TikTok prank then.
John sighs.
JOHN (CONT.)
Maybe I just don't want to imagine someone willing to kill a 15 year old girl. I mean… why?
SHERLOCK
Why else Watson? Money. In both instances, Julia’s emancipation, and Helen’s 18th birthday, he loses the money from their mother’s inheritance.
Pause.
JOHN
You don't think Helen was lying about Roylott not... not hitting them do you?
SHERLOCK
(carefully)
No, she was telling the truth there too, I assume that would leave too much evidence for the courts. There are other ways to keep someone under control...
JOHN
Well Roylott better hope we don't meet up with him anytime soon, I swear I see his face and it's one, two lights out.
SHERLOCK
You may be getting that wish sooner than later.
JOHN
What do you mean?
SHERLOCK
Greg Roylott is on our front stoop-
The downstairs door slams open. Muffled yelling. Heavy footsteps.
JOHN
Oh God, I forgot to lock it when Mariana left.
SHERLOCK
(harshly)
Get back from the door.
The heavy footsteps approach faster.
JOHN
Well this one is locked-
The door to 221B is thrown open with a crash.
JOHN
Shit!
DR. ROYLOTT
Where is she? Where the Hell is my daughter?!
JOHN
Sir you can't just barge in here-!
DR. ROYLOTT
Which one of you is Holmes?
SHERLOCK
That would be me, but I'm afraid you have the advantage, I don't know you.
DR. ROYLOTT
Dr. Gregory Roylott, as if you don't know you slippery bastard.
SHERLOCK
Of course Doctor, please have a seat. We were just finishing our morning tea.
DR. ROYLOTT
I'm not here for tea, my step-daughter's been here. I tracked her phone so don't try and lie Holmes. She was here not 4 minutes ago.
JOHN
Now hold on-
SHERLOCK
You know, it is a little cold for this time of the year.
JOHN
(under his breath)
What?
DR. ROYLOTT
What's she said to you?!
SHERLOCK
But I have heard we'll be getting an early spring, the crocuses are close to blooming. I have a feeling it's going to be quite lovely.
DR. ROYLOTT
Oh come off it, I know what you’re doing! I looked you up online, you're a couple of con artists looking to make a buck off my girl, huh? Put her on your bloody podcast right? She's 17, what are two men of your age doing letting her into your flat? I could have the police-
Sherlock laughs. It goes on longer than it should.
SHERLOCK
Your conversational skills are entertaining, when you leave, mind closing the door. Like I said, it is cold for this time of the year.
Pause. Dr. Roylott chuckles darkly.
DR. ROYLOTT
Alright, have it your way. But hear this, stay away from my girl, I'm a man of means, I wouldn't take my threats lightly gentleman.
Dr. Roylott turns to leave.
JOHN
(very sarcastically)
Great meeting you Mr. Roylott.
DR. ROYLOTT
It’s Dr. Roylott to you.
JOHN
Yeah well, it’s Dr. Watson to you, you pratt.
Dr. Roylott leaves. The door is slammed with tremendous force.
John lets out a very relieved sigh.
Sherlock laughs again.
SHERLOCK
Fine fellow, we’ll have to have him round again.
JOHN
(not paying attention)
I think he broke the door hinges!
SHERLOCK
I suppose it’s best it didn’t come to anything physical, but I’m fairly certain I could have taken him. He lagged slightly to the right.
JOHN
(still not paying attention)
He definitely broke the door.
SHERLOCK
Grab your stuff Watson, I think it’s time we were on our way as well.
JOHN
You know I’ll have to call Mariana about this.
AUDIO CUT
INT. LONDON WATERLOO TRAIN STATION
The noises of a busy train station. The intermingling of engines, voices, and footsteps.
JOHN
Yeah, I know- clear off the hinges. Forced the lock through the door frame-
(pause)
Alright. Thanks Mariana. Yep. Yeah. Talk soon, bye.
(to Sherlock)
The whole door’s gonna have to be replaced, can you believe that?
SHERLOCK
Yes, I think you’ve mentioned it once or twice now.
JOHN
Sorry, I’m just coming to the realization I live in a world where a man can literally break down my door in one go.
John sighs. A distant intercom plays.
JOHN (NARRATING)
I suppose now is as good a time as any for some shout outs. I’m still new to Tumblr but the community on there has been nothing but supportive, so I’ve some awesome people I’d like to mention from there. So special hello to @tsukihasnolife who I’ve already commissioned to do some incredible art for this episode. We’ve also got @eardefenders, @starfruitsomething and @littleoceanbabe who I hear are all working hard on a flash bang for other fans of Sherlock & Co. Not sure what a flash bang is, but I appreciate the publicity and support! And lets see maybe some people from Twitter or er X now-
SHERLOCK
Watson the train.
JOHN
Oh God, yeah. Uh, bye! Thanks again.
AUDIO CUT
INT. UBER
The car drives alone on the road, engine humming softly.
JOHN
We are back in Surrey listeners, you may remember the last time we were here was for the case of the Solitary Cyclist.
(to Sherlock)
You know maybe we should check in with Violet-
SHERLOCK
I sincerely doubt Ms. Carruthers would enjoy seeing us Waston. We were at least slightly culpable in her brother's outburst.
JOHN
(muttered)
I wasn't the one with the gun.
(John coughs)
But Uh- yeah, yeah that's probably for the best.
DRIVER
So where are you guys headed exactly?
SHERLOCK
(in his just-one-of-the-mates voice)
Stoke Moran, I've heard it's a real piece of work.
DRIVER
Yeah, the place should be demolished if you ask me, it’s a death trap.
SHERLOCK
Well that's why we're here, come to make a couple of estimates for the bloke who lives up there.
DRIVER
Fair warning mate, lots of contractors have been through there. The Doctor, Roylott, he doesn't have the money to pay.
SHERLOCK
Really? Big family estate like that with no money?
JOHN
Sherlock, look-
SHERLOCK
Sorry, would you mind stopping here?
DRIVER
We're still a mile out-
JOHN
We like the fresh air, thanks for the ride. Uh- five stars!
John and Sherlock exit the car. The car drives off.
EXT. THE GROUNDS OF STOKE MORAN
JOHN
That is Helen over there isn't it?
SHERLOCK
(in his normal voice)
Yes. Probably best we catch her here, I don't want to get too close to the house until we're sure the good Doctor is nowhere near.
(voice raised)
Ms. Stoner!
Sherlock and John walk to catch up with Helen. Helen approaches, slightly out of breath.
HELEN
Hi. I was hoping I’d catch your car on the way in.
SHERLOCK
We had a visit with your step-father this morning, just after you left.
HELEN
(taken off guard)
What but I- he’s barely ever up by 11, and no one would have told him-
SHERLOCK
You’re phone Ms. Stoner, I’m afraid he’s been tracking your phone. I would suggest checking your settings for the parental controls he installed without your knowledge.
HELEN
If he knows that I- that I came to you-
SHERLOCK
If he makes any motion to harm you Ms. Stoner we will personally escort you to Ms. Westphail’s house tonight. But I doubt with the way things are turning out he will try anything that obvious.
JOHN
Like busting down a door.
HELEN
What?!
Sherlock clears his throat pointedly.
SHERLOCK
We’re getting ourselves a room at the village Inn, we have no intention of leaving you alone. Now Ms. Stoner is it possible we could enter the house undetected? I would very much like to see your sister and Dr. Roylott’s rooms.
HELEN
Yeah, yeah I can manage that. He had work in London today, I thought- anyway he won’t be back till this evening.
SHERLOCK
Lead the way Ms. Stoner
AUDIO CUT
EXT. STOKE MORAN
JOHN
(out of breath)
We are just now approaching the manor. It's uh- it really is something to see. Which since you can't see listeners, you'll have to take my word for it. Stoke Moran is uh grey, and big. Uh- I can do better than that, hold on. It's... lichen-blotched stone, with a high central portion and two curving wings, like the... claws of a crab. Sort of. Like if a crab had its pincers raised, you know? The left crab claw has broken windows blocked with wooden boards, and the roof is partly caved in, a uh picture of ruin. The middle bit- the body I guess? It’s in okay shape, it’s got some large observation windows near the ground floor. The right-claw looks to be the only section of the house that's still livable. Pretty modern, at least it's got blinds in the windows, and appears to be standing on its own.
HELEN
What’s he doing?
SHERLOCK
Narrating. He does it when he’s nervous.
JOHN
I do it because a podcast is an auditory experience. Can’t exactly wave a camera around to show them- hold on, what’s this over here?
HELEN
Oh I wouldn’t-
An animal screeches, a mammal howl, and it slams itself into its glass walled enclosure.
John screams.
The microphone falls. Helen and Sherlock break out into surprised laughter.
HELEN
(through laughter)
That's the menagerie. Sorry.
The Baboon calls out softly through the glass. There's rustling as John quickly retrieves the microphone.
Sherlock and Helen continue to laugh.
JOHN
Seriously, how is this even legal?
AUDIO CUT
INT. STOKE MORAN MANOR - JULIA'S ROOM
A door creaks open slowly. Helen, Sherlock and John enter the room, footsteps echoing loudly.
HELEN
So this is- this is Julia’s room. Mine’s just next door to the right, and then to the left is Greg’s room.
SHERLOCK
And this is where you’re currently staying because of the restoration work?
HELEN
Yes.
Sherlock walks around the room.
SHERLOCK
These bed drapes- were they Julia’s?
HELEN
Uh- no. No they weren’t really her taste. I think Greg had them put up when she was living with Ms. Westphail.
JOHN
(darkly)
He seems to have a habit of making living decisions for you.
Sherlock steps up onto the bed, bed springs squeal.
JOHN (CONT.)
(pained)
Sherlock, your shoes on the bed-
SHERLOCK
(ignoring John)
This ventilator, right above the bed, does it work?
HELEN
Oh that, no, at least not since I’ve moved in. It’s completely freezing here at night.
SHERLOCK
Interesting for such a recent refurbishment. Do you remember when this was installed?
HELEN
Uh- it- it actually may have been around the same time as Greg hung the bed drapes. When Julia was gone.
Sherlock jumps down from the bed.
SHERLOCK
I think I’ve seen enough here. Would you mind leading us to your step-father’s room?
HELEN
Sure, like I said, It’s right next door.
Helen, Sherlock and John leave the room.
INT. STOKE MORAN MANOR - DR. ROYLOTT’S ROOM
The door to Roylott’s room opens.
John gives a low whistle.
JOHN
Well. This is- something.
HELEN
Yeah, it’s a lot. Mostly stuff he inherited from his dad.
JOHN
For our listeners, the Doctor has, well lots of… collectables lets say, I am presuming from India. Almost every wall and shelf is covered in Hindu icon paintings and sculptures.
SHERLOCK
Murtis, not icons. They’re meant to be used in homes and temples for worship. Not... as collectables.
JOHN
Yeah, so- it’s extremely distasteful. Not like I needed another reason to dislike this guy. Besides all of the uh- memorabilia in the Doctor’s room, there’s this massive safe- and uh, a bowl of milk is set on top. Helen, do you happen to have a cat around here?
HELEN
(pause)
No. I’m allergic.
JOHN
Could be for the Cheetah, maybe?
SHERLOCK
Perhaps… Helen, is it your step father that deals with the animals?
HELEN
Er, not really. He feeds em, but he stays out of their enclosures. Honestly he doesn’t pay much attention to them these days. He’s got a vet who comes to see them every couple months or so- but she comes by with her own equipment.
Sherlock moves further into the room.
SHERLOCK
Have you ever seen him use this?
HELEN
No. What is that?
SHERLOCK
It’s a catch pole. Normally these are used by professionals in animal control.
HELEN
Right- well maybe the vet left it behind last time she was here?
Pause.
SHERLOCK
Possibly… Well Ms. Stoner, I have seen what I’ve needed.
HELEN
Well, do you know how it happened? How he did it?
SHERLOCK
I can’t answer that quite yet. But we will be back tonight. Your old room, you can still comfortably sleep there at the moment?
HELEN
(guardedly)
I could…
SHERLOCK
Good. Tonight, when your step-father falls asleep, shine a light through your bedroom window, and then leave to sleep there. Watson and I will be spending the night in your place. We will see for ourselves what plans he had for you.
AUDIO CUT
Musical interlude.
INT. SURREY INN - JOHN AND SHERLOCK’S ROOM
The room is quiet. John taps absentmindedly at the microphone. It is super annoying.
SHERLOCK
You have a question?
JOHN
No. Nope, just… thinking.
SHERLOCK
(begrudgingly)
I’m not certain what it is.
JOHN
But you have a pretty good idea.
SHERLOCK
I’ve been wrong before.
JOHN
(skeptical)
Rarely. If ever.
SHERLOCK
You have theories I’m sure.
JOHN
Not- not really. The new heating vent that doesn't work… that’s unusual, and purposeful. I thought maybe a nerve gas agent-
Sherlock makes a quiet noise of dissent.
JOHN
But- I know that makes no sense, so I’ve got nothing. And then there's the whole issue of the speckled band... a clothing item, a poison...
SHERLOCK
You’re picking up on the important details.
JOHN
So are you going to share with the class what's actually going on?
SHERLOCK
We’ll see tonight. Or we won’t.
JOHN
(joking)
I see how it is, plausible deniability. Can’t be wrong if you don’t say it out loud.
SHERLOCK
John.
JOHN
Yes?
SHERLOCK
I think you should get some sleep before tonight.
JOHN
Right, yeah.
(pause)
You’re not wrong though, whatever you're thinking, I know you’re not wrong.
Pause.
JOHN (CONT.)
Goodnight.
Pause. John settles into bed.
SHERLOCK
Thank you.
AUDIO CUT
Musical interlude
SHERLOCK
Watson. Wake up, Ms. Stoner has given us the signal.
John shifts in bed. He yawns.
JOHN
I really hope this isn’t a habit you're developing. Waking me up in the early hours of the morning I mean.
SHERLOCK
Come along, Watson, no time to dawdle.
JOHN
Dawdle. Funny word, dawdle. Dawdle. dawdle... and now it just sounds fake.
(pause)
Hang on… where did you get a cane?
AUDIO CUT
EXT. STOKE MORAN
JOHN
(out of breath)
We are back on the grounds of Stoke Moran, making our way up to the house. And- I am really wishing we could pick cases that didn’t require so much walking in the dark.
SHERLOCK
We’re close to the door Helen said she’d leave open for us. Keep quiet, and keep your flashlight down.
JOHN
Yep. Yep got it. Uh- aren’t we also close by to the-
Something thumps against the glass wall. Sherlock yelps.
The Baboon gives a howling laugh, tearing away from the window.
Sherlock takes in several gasping breaths. John snickers.
JOHN
See? Not so funny when it’s you, the Baboon jumps.
SHERLOCK
No. Comment.
John laughs quietly. He moves forward.
JOHN
The doors over here by the way.
AUDIO CUT
INT. STOKE MORAN MANOR - JULIA’S ROOM
JOHN
So we took a back entrance that Helen showed us early today. We have safely made it into Julia’s old room. So… now we just wait and listen for a whistle I guess.
SHERLOCK
I’ll take the bed, under the vent. For your safety, the rocking chair in the corner is best.
JOHN
You just don’t want me to accidentally fall asleep on a stake out again.
SHERLOCK
(whispered)
It is imperative we stay as quiet as possible now.
JOHN
(whispered back)
Of course.
SHERLOCK
Which means we’ll be sitting in silence for a good portion of the night.
JOHN
Yeah mate, I know how quiet works.
SHERLOCK
I thought a warning might be nice.
JOHN
Well, thanks, I appreciate that.
(to himself and the microphone)
Of all the things he chooses to warn me about and- oh Christ, the listeners, right-
AUDIO CUT
JOHN
(whispered)
It is… currently four in the morning. We haven’t heard a peep. I don’t know if we scared Roylott off today, or threw him off his game, but I don’t know if it’s happening tonight.
SHERLOCK
Watson.
JOHN
What? Did you hear something?
SHERLOCK
No.
JOHN
Alright. Yeah, quiet. I can do quiet.
SHERLOCK
Watson...
JOHN
Sorry yeah-
SHERLOCK
No, listen!
A high pitched whistle blows softly from above.
SHERLOCK
Stay back.
JOHN
Hold on, let me get my camera light on, I can’t see.
SHERLOCK
No, John the vent is opening!
A large CLANG as Sherlock’s cane hits the vent. A hiss, something slithers back through the vent away from them.
Dr. Roylott SCREAMS from the other room.
JOHN
(panicked)
What on Earth was that?
SHERLOCK
We’ll need the light Watson, hurry.
INT. STOKE MORAN - DR. ROYLOTT’S ROOM
Rushed footsteps. A door bursts open.
Roylott moans.
JOHN
Fuck! Is that-?
DR. ROYLOTT
(strained and slightly slurred)
Get it off me!
JOHN
A snake, the speckled band was a snake?!
SHERLOCK
Hand me the catch pole. By his leg, there!
JOHN
Right-
John moves, he grabs the catch pole. Sherlock takes the pole. The snake hisses, Roylott blubbers in panic and pain.
SHERLOCK
The safe, open the door to the safe!
JOHN
The- oh! There’s a whole terrarium in there.
The snake hisses again. Louder.
SHERLOCK
Watson!
JOHN
Got it!
The safe is forced open more. Sherlock places the angered snake inside. John closes the safe with a loud METALLIC CLANG.
John gives a sigh of relief. Roylott moans again, and then tumbles to the floor.
DR. ROYLOTT
(gasping)
It’s- Swamp Adder- the venom- it bit me.
JOHN
Oh God, right, okay, just, hold on- Dr. Roylott, I need you to stay calm.
(to Sherlock)
Call emergency services! He’s going into anaphylactic shock, I can’t-
SHERLOCK
(seriously)
They won’t have the anti-venom.
JOHN
Just call! I don’t- Maybe I can do another tracheotomy, there’s got to be a pen around here, maybe a letter opener.
John stands. He looks frantically for tools to help.
SHERLOCK
John-
JOHN
I’m thinking!
SHERLOCK
John!
JOHN
What?!
SHERLOCK
He’s dead.
JOHN
But he-
(pause)
His pulse stopped.
SHERLOCK
I’ll call now.
JOHN
Um- yeah. Okay.
(pause)
I’ll- I’ll go get Helen. I’ll see if we can get a hold of Ms. Westphail.
Tense pause.
SHERLOCK
He did it to himself, John. He did this to Julia, and he was going to do it to Helen.
JOHN
(strained)
You’re right, yeah.
(John sniffs)
I’ll go get Helen.
John leaves, the door closes softly behind him.
AUDIO CUT
Musical interlude.
INT. JOHN’S ROOM
JOHN
Well folks, that is the end of the case. Say au revoir to the speckled band, which is now, along with the Cheetah and Baboon being safely handled by some animal conservationist group. Apparently cheetahs are a very endangered species so, Roylott was definitely keeping that illegally. Um, as for Helen, she is now happily settled with her aunt. Obviously, this was a bit of a shock for her but… she’s, she’s in a better place now thank God. And Roylott, well you all know how he ended up. I don’t uh- I don't have much else to say other than that. The Swamp Adder venom really-
The door to the bedroom opens. Sherlock walks in.
SHERLOCK
Oh, you’re not done yet.
JOHN
Nope, just doing the wrap up.
SHERLOCK
Do you mind?
JOHN
No, come on in. I was just talking about the Swamp Adder.
Pause.
SHERLOCK
You know... there’s no such thing.
JOHN
What?
SHERLOCK
He misidentified the snake, there’s no such thing as a Swamp Adder.
JOHN
But we saw it-
SHERLOCK
We saw an Indian Saw-Scaled viper, Echis Carinatus if you want to be technical, and while extremely venomous, it is by no means the most venomous snake in India. That would be the Common Krait.
JOHN
You know all that, but you couldn’t name one Madonna song last week at the pub?
SHERLOCK
Well the next time Madonna gains the ability to inject 12 milligrams of venom into her victims in one bite, then I’ll try my best to remember her discography.
JOHN
Right okay, well you heard it here folks, world class detective, violinist, podcast co-host, Sherlock Holmes, can also add snake expert to his list of accomplishments.
SHERLOCK
Herpetologist.
JOHN
What?
SHERLOCK
An expert in reptiles and amphibians, a Herpetologist.
JOHN
Okay that- that can’t be real.
AUDIO CUTS. OUTRO MUSIC PLAYS.
END OF PART ONE OF ONE
#submission#sherlock and co#sherlock & co#flashbang event#sherlock homes#john watson#mariana ametxazurra
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A Galling Yoke, Part 1
Next ->
for the Cutting Communication or Can’t Talk Right Now square on my July Break Bingo card
See this post for main info, including a masterlist and synopsis. See this post for warnings.
Word Count: 1.9k
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x f!Reader
Rating: Teen (and really only that ’cause angst tbh)
“Ma’am?”
You looked up from your needlework and smiled at Mrs Rogers, who was currently dusting your sitting-room windowsill. Such work was naturally a maid’s, but your housekeeper enjoyed your company and you hers.
“Yes, Mrs Rogers?”
“I believe I hear knocking below-stairs.”
You let a bit of impertinence tinge your smile. “’Tis perfectly respectable calling hours.”
She gave you an exasperated look but, with that Rogers forbearance you so admired, refrained from rolling her eyes. “I see your family crest on the street, ma’am. Two gentlemen have alighted from the cabriolet.”
Perking up, you set aside your needlework. “William?”
Mrs Rogers leaned back to take a furtive glance out the window. “I could not say, ma’am. Neither of the gentlemen cuts the familiar figure his lordship does, but I could be mistaken. It has been an age since Lord Pashbroke visited us.”
You nodded with a frown.
As much as your brother’s fortnightly visits had irked you, you were still his older sister, so you still fretted when he had failed to show his ugly mug all autumn. You knew the end of this year’s Season had been rough on him—he had gone back to the family estate, back to your father, yet again without a bride—but you didn’t imagine that would keep him away. If anything, he ought to have been visiting all the more frequently to escape your father’s disappointed glowers and unhelpful lectures.
Just the thought of having to put up with those made your lip curl with displeasure, even though it had been over a decade since you’d been under your father’s authority.
Your butler swept into the room, sparing Mrs Rogers a soft smile before turning to you and reading the calling-cards in his hand: “Lord Coltidge and Mr Holmes.”
A slight gasp slipped past your lips, and as Mr Rogers stepped aside to let the two gentlemen enter the sitting-room, only the decades-old and deeply ingrained strictures of decorum moved you to your feet. Your guests returned your curtsy with bows, the former’s being shallow and almost begrudging, the latter’s being low and almost humble.
Your butler cleared his throat. “My lady, may I introduce you to Mr Holmes?”
You were too dizzy to know if you had actually nodded, but you must have, for Mr Rogers went on—
“Mr Holmes of Baker Street, younger son of the late Mr Holmes of Ferndell Hall. Mr Holmes, this is the daughter of Lord Coltidge, Lady—”
Before even a syllable of your name could get past the man’s lips, Sherlock—Mr Holmes, you admonished yourself—had the nerve to smile and say, “Little petal.”
Your every muscle tensed, your butler’s jaw slackened, and your father’s head whipped around to stare at his… Yes, what was Sherlock to him? Friend? Guest?
In the interest of finding out, you forced out a light chuckle. “Worry not, Father,” you said. “If you recall, Ferndell Hall is neighbours with our family’s estate in Shropshire. As such, the Holmes brothers and I are…acquainted.”
The word tasted bitter on your tongue, and you averted your eyes when you glimpsed the hurt in Sherlock’s own.
“Yes, acquainted…,” he said, all his audacity from moments ago deflating. “I—that is, Mycroft and I—took to calling her ladyship little nicknames. Childish things.”
Turning his nose upwards, your father sniffed. “Childish indeed. You would do well to remember I have brought you here for business, not pleasure.”
Sherlock seemed unaffected by Lord Coltidge’s reprimand, his focus weighing down on you instead. To regain your equanimity, you turned to your servants and nodded in dismissal; Mrs Rogers offered you an encouraging smile before ushering out her husband, who was harrumphing quite dramatically at being asked to make an introduction that had, apparently, been unnecessary.
Gesturing for your callers to sit, you returned to your own chair.
“What business, Father?” you asked, pointedly looking at Lord Coltidge and not the other man in the room. “Could William not have made this trip rather than trouble you with the journey here? I imagine Mr Holmes has quite the schedule, being expected all over London for his cases.”
Sherlock’s gaze sharpened. “You pay attention to my work, ah—” He faltered, and you realised his uncharacteristic stumble was because he had almost called you your Christian name. “My lady?” he amended quickly; your heart twisted, both wanting to leap in gratitude and crumble in disappointment that he and his brilliant mind had so swiftly figured out your desire to act with more formality than the two of you were accustomed to.
Had been accustomed to.
Mr Holmes must be reminded of that, you resolved.
“I hardly have to pay,” you quipped, “when your exploits—and, now, your sister’s exploits—are the talk of the ton every few weeks.”
The look on Sherlock’s face was unfamiliar to you, but before you could puzzle out what it meant, your father’s stern eyes berated you for your impertinence. Demurely—and resentfully—you folded your hands in your lap and looked down at them.
Lord Coltidge hummed nasally. “I see you have felt William’s absence; I concede he has not been himself. ’Tis my concern, however, not yours. No, your concern is this: I have received troubling intelligence that our dear Edmund’s death may not have been the accident we believed it was.”
Ice water soused your already fried nerves. Edmund. Our dear Edmund. Shall I never find peace from him?
“Naturally, I have engaged Mr Holmes’s services to look into the matter. You shall help him in whatever way he requires, madam.”
You clasped your clammy hands together to keep them from shaking. “Of… Of course, Father.” Blast your trembling voice!
“It has been so many years since his passing”—over a decade, your mind specified; over a decade of a widow’s freedom—“but Mr Holmes assures me that this shall be no obstacle. You shall be grateful to him, for he is being generous in taking on this case so unlike his others. I should have realised such generosity was because of a prior connection.”
Your father’s voice turned disdainful; you did not dare look up to gauge whether he was disdaining you or Sherlock.
“Indeed,” he continued, his tone suddenly and surprisingly darkening, “I do not expect this to be a terribly puzzling case.”
“I am—happy, to take it on, nevertheless,” said Sherlock rather hurriedly. Even without looking, you knew his gaze was darting between you and Lord Coltidge. “May we— May I begin, my lord?”
As your father stood and made his way to the door, you finally permitted yourself to raise your eyes. Instantly, they met Sherlock’s; to your surprise, he looked away first.
“Good day, daughter,” your father said, his back already towards you as he exited the sitting-room. You allowed your lip to curl in displeasure once again; had you not seen for yourself just how proper Lord Coltidge could be when he had an audience worth pleasing, you would have thought the man genuinely incompetent at basic courtesy. But no, you knew his rude leave-taking was entirely designed for you.
Yet you had bigger concerns than your father’s scorn. Namely, being left alone with one Sherlock Holmes.
Standing up with all the ladylike poise you did not feel, you regarded your old friend. You had not seen Sherlock in a decade and a half—not even heard from him, which was an abrupt adjustment after years of sharing everything—not since the train platform where promises destined to shatter like tungsten were forged, but he had not changed overmuch. Though his manner of holding himself had matured and his form now filled his stature more neatly, his soft hair still curled disobediently across his forehead and his dark eyes still drank in everything in his view with neither dispensation nor discrimination. His character could not have changed all that much, either, if you could still recognise your childhood companion in his diction, in his appraisal, in his society.
You clung to the hope that you had changed enough for the both of you.
“What do you require, sir?” you asked.
“It has been a while, petal,” he said at the same time.
You winced with the belated understanding that he had been inspecting you as tentatively as you had been him. He winced with the, you presumed, embarrassment of learning you did not intend to reinstate your old familiarity even in your father’s absence.
“I apologise,” he said, his brow furrowed. “It…truly has been a while, your ladyship.”
Yes. For better and for worse, it had.
“I should like to see your husband’s effects to begin,” he went on, regaining his footing with every word. “Have you kept any with you?”
With a nod, you led Sherlock out of the sitting-room. “The master’s chambers and Edmund’s study are largely untouched. A solicitor went through them to carry out his will and a maid ensures they remain clean, of course, but his personal belongings are quite undisturbed.”
“Good. Very good. That maximises the insights I shall gain from perusing them, although—”
You glanced at Sherlock, his hesitation rather unlike him. “Although?”
Blinking slowly at you, he did not speak for a few moments. “You must have been truly fond of him.”
In spite of yourself—or, truthfully, in spite of your quality lady’s education—you scoffed. “What an idea, Mr Holmes. Even my father, who thinks himself wise enough to give me exactly what shall make me happy, no matter whether I asked for it, does not entertain the notion that I was fond of Mr Sulyard.”
Scowling now, Sherlock argued, “I have often noted that when a parent loses a beloved child tragically, they maintain the child’s nursery bed and chest of toys exactly as they had it.”
“I am not a parent, and I did not lose a beloved child,” you countered. “Simply, I did not want to give Edmund any more space in my mind than necessary. Have I need for his bed or his chest of toys? No. Therefore, have I need to spend time and effort on clearing them? No.”
Sherlock opened his mouth, but you cut him off with a grand sweep of your arm.
“And here we arrive at his study,” you announced. “Ring for assistance if you would like to see anything else today. As my father said, I shall help you in whatever way you require, so you may visit multiple days should this afternoon not suffice. Concern yourself not with calling hours—I shall instruct my butler to let you in at any time of day, and you need not greet me. Good day, Mr Holmes.”
Not waiting to see if he would try to get another word in or whether he would bow to your insolence, you curtsied and turned on your heel.
As soon as you were a safe distance from the study, far enough away to not feel suffocated by the knowledge of Sherlock’s presence, of his nearness, you leaned against the wall and squeezed your eyes shut. A visit from a hovering younger brother would indeed have been preferable to this—to the reopening of a thousand wretched wounds.
Thank you for reading. I hope you will keep up with the coming chapters! I’ve got plenty in store for y’all haha. Please let me know if you would like to be tagged. :) Feedback is always welcome!
#sherlock holmes x reader#sherlock holmes x you#henry cavill sherlock x reader#enola holmes#a galling yoke#the dimensions of fandom
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Who the hell are these people? (I got inspired by a Twitter post) It doesn't make sense at times, but I wanna make this theory.
As you can see here in the photo, 9 people attended Sherlock's funeral. We know that Louis and Mycroft attended (the one kneeling down and the one standing first of the line). Lestrade would probably attend too and is the third of the line up, Wiggins next (you can tell from the short stature), and so on and so forth. So I concluded that all of 221b Baker Street Gang attended the funeral. You can make out who is who.
But it begs the question, who the fuck are these two in the last part.
Father or Uncle Theory
It makes sense for the father or uncle to come around the funeral. Mycroft is the eldest child, yet according to something I read on the wiki (https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Minor_Sherlock_Holmes_characters) before: "Holmes once stated that his family were country squires, which means that the eldest brother would have to stay to manage the estate. If Mycroft were the eldest, he could not play the role he does in four stories of the Sherlock Holmes canon, so Sherrinford frees them both. This position is strengthened by the fact that Mycroft's general position as a senior civil servant was a common choice among the younger sons of the gentry."
And Mycroft did focus his job, I have to wonder who was managing the estate (if they have one) while he's gone. If the father died and Mycroft had to take up position, it could be an uncle who took care of that. But what does it mean for Sherlock. I had a theory that he's estranged from his father (or uncle) because of his unruly habits (it's possible that he got kicked out) and could be a reason to why he's at the very back instead of standing next to Mycroft. It could be anyone but 🤷♂️. (It's possible that Benjamin and Michelle are at the back, but idk about that. Please share your thoughts).
Madam X
This is my favorite part because it has a lot of possibilities. As far as I know, there are only 3 significant women in Yuumori who are alive and around (Mary, Miss Hudson, and Moneypenny). I originally thought that the woman was maybe Moneypenny, but...
You can see that she's a little shorter than her, and from the wiki:
Miss Hudson's height:
Moneypenny's height:
So it's probably not her (unless Miss Hudson is wearing high boots).
That begs the question, who is she. She could be the wife who's with her husband at the time or... maybe Sherlock is estranged to her as well. That kind of doesn't make sense because of this:
And the fact that she would have definently be at the forefront. I fully believed the reason why Sherlock likes wearing his skull ring (possibly a memento mori) was because his mother died, and he honored who she was. Also, he talks to it, so it's also maybe a form of coping.
So maybe it's actually a sister. Maybe Sherlock left so suddenly from her life, had a big fight, or something. Whatever the case, she stayed at Northriding with either her dad (or uncle). That's a possible reason why she's at the back line up. So, taking to all what I've said before about the possible circumstances, it feels familiar, doesn't it (yes, I am still in my Third Holmes for Louis phase). Yuumori did take some inspo from the bbc show, but that's just me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
To conclude this theory, we will probably see them in Part 2 or never again. What are your thoughts, guys?
#moriarty the patriot#yuukoku no moriarty#yuumori#sherlock holmes#ynm#yuukuko no moriarty#mtp#theory#possible theory#yes i am calling upon the ancient gods
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Detectives Love- Chapter 3
Pairing: Henry!Sherlock Holmes x Female!reader
Chapter summary: You have an awkward tea with the Holmes brother’s
Quote: None
Your outfit: (it does not have to be this one I just like it)
You were quite surprised when Mycroft asked you to join them for tea. You were under the impression that he didn’t like you at all, but you gladly excepted the invitation. He had invited your sisters and their husband and fiancé, so now they're all 5 of you sitting in the carriage.
Your eldest sister was married to a rich man with a big estate. The marriage was arranged but she had been lucky enough to fall in love with him and have him reciprocate the feelings.
Your youngest sister was newly engaged to a man she met at a ball you all attended. He had good money but did not have a significant amount. Your parents were not completely on board with this marriage, but he had a good enough name that they didn’t try to stop it, and besides, they loved each other.
You are happy for them, to be able to find wealthy men and fall in love, yet you still had the slightest amount of envy wanting what they had. You had been courted before, but each time the men were either horrible or had found someone besides you. This season your parents are more than eager to get you married. You did not mind the thought of marriage, and you knew that you must be married soon if you would like to have a decent life. You had thought about working but knew that you would never be paid a livable income just because you are a woman.
Your train of thought stopped as the carriage paused at the Holmes house.
~
“Miss Y/l/n, have you both set a date for the wedding?” Mycroft asked your youngest sister.
“Yes, we are thinking March 18th” your sister smiled.
You had been at the Holmes for about 15 minutes and you had barely said anything and neither had Sherlock. You hadn’t said anything because you didn’t know what to say and Sherlock wasn’t speaking because he knew his brother was just trying to get him to court you.
Mycroft looked at Sherlock giving him a face that meant he should say something.
Sherlock sighed and said, “So, Mrs. Howard, how long have you and Mr. Howard been married?”
“2 years next month” your sister replied as her husband took her hand in his and smiled.
“That’s lovely” Mycroft replied, while Sherlock just nodded.
“Miss Y/l/n” Mycroft said Turing his head towards you, “how have you been?”
“I’ve been quite well, thank you,” you said setting your tea cup down and smiling, “and you?”
“Very well”
This was an odd conversation and you were just hoping that Enola would walk in.
“Where may Enola be?” You asked
Mycroft looked at Sherlock so that he could answer.
“She should be arriving soon,” Sherlock said looking up at you.
You smiled at him and then averted your gaze toward the hand in your lap.
After a few minutes of talking Enola still hadn’t come down, so Mycroft went upstairs to get her annoyed by her ill manners.
He came back downstairs furious but tried to cover it to be polite.
“Unfortunately we will have to cut this short,” he said to you and your family then looked at Sherlock, “We have a slight problem,” he said gritting his teeth.
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✪ for 1. Arranged Marriage AU
I’m combining this with another prompt I got, from an anon: "Spiteful arranged marriage AU (not true, they totally want to bang each other)”. I made this into a sequel to another little prompt fill I did, which was a Victorian version of The Decoy Bride, where Sherlock finds himself marrying old almost-flame Molly Hooper. Read it here.
---
Molly paled. “My wedding night… Heavens, our wedding night…” Her pale cheeks flooded pink. “How will I get through it, Mary?”
Mary, up until that moment, had portrayed a sympathetic manner, tinged with the softest amusement, but when she heard Molly's question, all amusement left her. Her lips thinned, her features becoming stern.
"Yes. Dash it all, but I hadn't thought of that. I don't think Mycroft did. John certainly didn't." Mary sighed. The wedding feast was a melee of cheerful conversation and some dancing--a lively galop, followed by an equally sprightly polka--had broken out at Molly's request, so Mary felt no qualms about ushering her newlywed friend out of her seat and into a small alcove, out of earshot of the main party.
"I confess," she began, in a hurried whisper, "I had your fears. I had no one to teach me what to expect, and mothers, in general, I think, are afraid of exposing their daughters to such realities..."
"Mine certainly was," Molly muttered bitterly. Now away from the main wedding party, she'd let all pretence drop and her face, framed by her veil, was drawn into a concerned frown. She worried her bottom lip. "This is all so sudden -- oh, I cannot bear it! No, no," she said, barely letting herself breathe for the speed of her thoughts, "it will be alright. I shall claim a headache. Then he shall not have to consummate the marriage, and he can divorce me on the grounds of non-consummation. Yes, yes, that is the correct path---"
"Molly?"
Miss Hooper, Mrs Holmes as she was now, finally stopped in her chattering, looking to Mary. Her look, Mary was fascinated to note, did not carry relief. It instead carried a sort of... regret. Or perhaps not even regret, but a note of a wish made and lost in the same second.
It was not her place to make that observation out loud, however. Molly was close to fainting as it was, and Mary pointing out that perhaps the reason she felt so nervous was not the characteristic nerves of a new bride, but in reality, the fear that her new groom would reject her---that would be enough to make Molly swoon.
So instead, Mary Watson calmed her friend with a pat on her back and nodded.
"Yes. A headache solves all ills," she said, growing pleased when Molly managed, at least, a laugh. "There," she continued. "I'll distract the party while you calm yourself."
Molly nodded, thanks shining in her eyes and quiet smile. Content, Mary headed back into the fray.
---
The newly married couple of Holmes wore their mutual smiles for as long as it took them to reach the end of the drive. As soon as they knew they were out of sight of the wedding party (each one delighted by the success of the ruse), both Mr and Mrs Holmes' dropped their feigned delight and set about their individual business.
Sherlock leaned back against the carriage seat, closing his eyes and losing himself in thought, his palms steepled under his chin. Mrs Holmes, seemingly unknowing of what to say or how to start any kind of conversation, watched the scenery go by.
They were heading to the Holmes' familial estate, Petworth. Even without the silence between bride and groom, it would be a long journey, and as a result, prior arrangements had been made to stop at an inn. The innkeeper was a genuine sort, welcoming but not to the point of being suffocating. The rooms too, Sherlock observed, were of a good size and to the back of the property, giving sleeping guests privacy from any ribaldry around the bar.
Mycroft had organised everything perfectly.
I'll give it a month. His words haunted him as he stood in the same room as his new wife, both of them mute and useless while the innkeeper's maids unpacked their trunks and put away their clothes.
The maids bid them goodnight with a solemn curtsey, but the second of them -- dark-haired, dark-eyed -- let out a giggle as she closed the door.
The silence was unbearable; like he was trapped in a bed with too many blankets and furs upon it.
Lord, he was thinking of beds. Why was he thinking of beds? Such impropriety!
And yet, still struck silent.
If he remained this quiet for a moment longer, Miss Hooper (Mrs Holmes) would think him a mad fool, as well as cruel.
Six years. Too long a time, and yet, with her stood before him, now carrying his name, all too short a time as well.
Sherlock cleared his throat, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
"I..." His voice was ragged after so much quiet.
"I have a headache!"
Sherlock blinked. His wife immediately blushed. Her outburst hung in the air between them.
"Oh." His wife was ill. Even if they were only to be a marriage of convenience, he needed to... remedy that. It wouldn't compensate for those six years but it would be polite. He could do polite. For a time.
He would definitely try to be polite. It was the least she deserved.
"I hear that lying down can help soothe a headache." Standing to the side, he gestured to the chaise longue that was situated underneath the window. The summer evening was ending, the sunset casting orange and purple hues across the sky and green grounds. Sherlock kept his eyes on it as he spoke. "Maybe here would be ideal."
"Yes. Yes, I think it could be." Out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock watched as this new bride, like a newborn babe learning to walk, stumbled and then hurried to sit upon the chaise. Every movement she made was awkward, too stiff or too loose, clearly so aware of his presence, of their... situation. Of what was expected.
Heavens, what had her mother taught her? That the man she would marry would pounce as soon as she was alone and demand his rights?
A beast, that was what she expected. Instead, she'd got something worse; she'd got him. The man who'd let her hope, and then snatched it away from her when he'd become scared. Fearful of a little chit like her because she'd spoken openly, unfolding her heart as easily as breathing. She'd dared to feel something for him beyond what he wanted her to feel, and such defiance had set him running.
"Oh dear--" Her soft voice pulled him back to the real world, this room and this sky. "The sun - it's in my eyes--"
Sherlock leaned over her and immediately tugged the curtains shut, bathing the room in darkness. He fumbled for a lamp and match and breathed easier when he achieved his goal.
Dragging the bedside table closer to the chaise, he placed the lamp on it and stood, staring down at his wife.
She was laid out, but not in any manner seductive. Instead, she was merely herself, at long last, settled and her features softened by the low glow of the lamp. All while he'd fumbled and fussed for light.
Unsure of why, but certain that he had to do it, Sherlock strode towards the footstool by the bottom of the bed and pulled it over to the window, uncaring of what scraping and banging might result. Removing his coat, finally relieving himself of such heavy a weight, he unbuttoned his cuffs and loosened his collar to sit by his wife.
His wife frowned curiously at him.
"Mr Hol -- Sherlock." She wrinkled her nose slightly, a soft laugh escaping her. "What are you doing?"
"However you feel about me, we are husband and wife, at least for this night, and rules of etiquette dictate that a husband should at least be kind to his wife. I don't have much knowledge of kindness, God knows I have been told that many a time, but what knowledge I do have, I learned from you so---"
"Why are you being so nice to me? We are only meant to be married a month."
Sherlock's words died on his lips.
"I -- uh," a strange noise came up from his throat, a noise of confusion and denial all at once while his mind tried to reset. "Pardon?"
Molly sat up, suddenly miraculously cured of her headache. She glanced down at her hands, fiddling with the hem of her shawl.
"The wedding breakfast. Mary engaged me in some conversation, away from the main party and she, well, she departed after a bit, and I was left alone. Such madness, such chaos… I was relieved to have a few moments by myself. There was a window nearby that was open to let in a little air. And it… it let in voices as well."
"My voice."
"And your brother's... and Mr Watson's," replied Molly, a soft, knowing smile forming on her lips. "I heard the full conversation, Sherlock."
Sherlock felt as if he'd been caught in a winter rainstorm, chilled to the bone.
He buried his head in his hands.
"My tongue is sharp, Molly. A weapon I wield to keep away some and imprison others. I am... sorry, for what you heard. It was said in anger. But..." he ventured as she sat quietly, patiently, openly, as she had six years ago. He shifted in his seat, facing her fully. "That anger was not for you. It was for my brother, and it came from jealousy. I envied that he knew... he knew what I wanted before I knew myself."
Molly swallowed. Leaning forward, her small hand encapsulated his large one, turning his palm upwards. She stroked her thumb along the lines of his palm and counted each of his long fingers. She was no longer smiling but there was a certainty, beginning to bloom from within. In the little light of this room at an inn, she sat up straighter and held his gaze. Her eyes were warm and soft, the colour of the earth; she looked at him with a growing glint in her eye.
"Don't think I have forgiven you yet, for running away these last six years."
"Can I earn forgiveness? For it seems I've been running in circles, right back to you."
Quite without warning, his wife -- Mrs Molly Holmes -- leaned forward, cupped his cheek and joined their mouths in a delicious kiss. A reunion, a reclamation of what, if he was to be honest (finally) with himself, had always been hers.
"A kiss," she murmured against his lips, laughing as he chased her for another, "is the beginning of forgiveness, Mr Holmes."
"And what comes after it, Mrs Holmes?"
She gave a wicked grin. "I don't know. But I'm very happy to find out with you."
Sherlock brushed his lips against her cheek, dropping his head to press a kiss on her shoulder as he moved her to lie back on the chaise, clambering over her. Her fingers were already on the buttons of his waistcoat.
"By the way," she said through a breathy sigh as he knelt before her, "your brother lied about the merger."
"You know..." Sherlock replied, his voice a low rumble as his hands caressed her, pushing away the skirts of her dress to expose her lily-white thighs, "I'm rather glad he did."
#mizjoely#sherlolly#mollock#sherlock x molly#sherlock#eleanorwrites#victorian!sherlock fluff written while getting all emotional watching sense and sensibility for the 15 squillionth time#so the characterisation is a wing and a prayer basically#anyway it's me#ya girl mollymatterrs#aka luminoustico#aka OccasionallyCreative (on AO3)
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The Rules of Property and Sentiment
Sherlock Holmes:
The only thing I could follow up on was father, so I decided to visit her prior residence and inquire there. I left in silence but not before reassuring Mrs Croft of my innocence in the whole matter. She begrudgingly trusted me, my earnest nature winning over her distrust of me. Her wary gaze followed me as I hailed a hansom and made my way to the Cartwright estate.
On my arrival, I was greeted by the kindly looking, silver haired butler, Leopold who of course knew me. He greeted me courteously, always the professional and impeccable at his job.
“Mr Holmes, I did not expect to see you here. How can I be of assistance?” he said.
“I’m here to see Miss Cartwright.” It was a shot in the dark but I did not want to distress her family.
“Oh, she moved closer to the city.” He tactfully omitted the part where she had grown tired of the continuous lash of suitors her father hurled at her before she decided to get away. Perhaps...
“Was she being courted?” I knew full well the answer to this unless there had been a recent development.
“Quite the contrary”
“Very well. May I speak to Mr Edmund Cartwright then?”
“He is to leave for an important business affair in France. As per his custom, he shall be at the Diogenes club at this hour before he boards the train after dining there.” Leopold informed me evenly.
The Diogenes Club? I must say I was surprised. I didn’t take the man to be one for such stringent silence.
“And there is no possibility that Emily accompanied him?”
“Miss Cartwright is in London to the best of knowledge. She despised accompanying her father on business ventures. She found it drab.”
I couldn’t escape his rather forceful and pointed emphasis on propriety. Within social boundaries I did not have the right to refer to her by her Christian name.
“Thank you, Leopold,” I bowed slightly before making my way to the Diogenes club, in the hopes of encountering her father.
Alas, I was too late to catch the gentleman who after breaking his fast had already made his way to the station. If my calculations were current, his train was well on its way.
I sighed, taking a seat, too anxious to smoke so I settled for a drink. Usually, it was only with considerable ire that I consulted Mycroft. The matters at hand, the precious lady in question and the terror at any harm coming her way pushed me to gather some insight from my brother.
I walked into the stranger’s room, taking up a spot opposite my brother, who sat with his fingertips together, his watery grey eyes clouded with introspection.
“Yes, brother mine? What agitates you?”
“What makes you think I am agitated?”
“Really Sherlock, I thought you could see the signs yourself, it’s quite obvious. Firstly...”
“Never mind, let’s get to the matter at hand.” I did not have time for this childish play.
“Which is?”
“Emily is missing. I was to meet her on Thursday…” I continued filling him up with the details, realising far too late that I had said too much. Mycroft chuckled, smiling amusedly before smugly replying.
“Surely you mean Miss Cartwright. You were to meet her? Is that sentiment I detect on account of her?”
I internally groaned, propriety slipped my mind while addressing her. As for the sentiment, I preferred to keep Mycroft in the dark.
“Pray, how are you acquainted with Miss Cartwright?” I pointedly questioned.
“Her father is a member of the club, I made her acquaintance right here, in this very room. Brilliant I must say, with a knack of getting into quite the scrapes. Something to do with her jumping over the back fence after locking a potential suitor in the wardrobe.”
“That sounds just like her.” The words left my mouth subconsciously.
“So, you know what she is like?” Mycroft quickly picked up on it.
I gritted my teeth in frustration. This girl shall have me humiliated in front of everyone before long.
“Mycroft, just tell me what you think of it.” I answered sternly, dangerously close to losing my nerve.
“I think you are positively swooning and have scared her off. If I’m to guess correctly she shall be back in your arms in no time unless you cease this line of inquiry.”
“I hope so too.”
Again, I realised my folly only too late. Mycroft’s raised eyebrow and amused mirthful expression left me quite red in the face. I quickly got up, trying to regain my composure.
“Goodbye.” I huffed.
“Give my regards to Emily.”
I merely ignored his jests, finally making my way to Baker Street after the day’s excursions. I now had to deal with Watson, who I realised could read me better than he let on.
#sherlock holmes#sherlock holmes x ofc#sherlock holmes x reader#sherlock x y/n#henry sherlock#henry!holmes#henry!sherlock#henry!sherlock x reader#sherlock holmes x oc#sherlock holmes x you#victorian sherlock#sherlock fluff#sherlock holmes fic#sherlock fanfic#sherlock hound#acd sherlock#acd sherlock holmes#acd canon#sherlock imagine#sherlock x reader#sherlock holmes 1954
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More Read Alikes: Book Lovers by Emily Henry
Nora Goes Off Script by Annabel Monaghan
Nora Hamilton knows the formula for love better than anyone. As a romance channel screenwriter, it's her job. But when her too-good-to work husband leaves her and their two kids, Nora turns her marriage's collapse into cash and writes the best script of her life. No one is more surprised than her when it's picked up for the big screen and set to film on location at her 100-year-old-home. When former Sexiest Man Alive, Leo Vance, is cast as her ne'er do well husband Nora's life will never be the same.
The morning after shooting wraps and the crew leaves, Nora finds Leo on her porch with a half-empty bottle of tequila and a proposition. He'll pay a thousand dollars a day to stay for a week. The extra seven grand would give Nora breathing room, but it's the need in his eyes that makes her say yes. Seven days: it's the blink of an eye or an eternity depending on how you look at it. Enough time to fall in love. Enough time to break your heart.
Filled with warmth, wit, and wisdom, Nora Goes Off Script is the best kind of love story - the real kind where love is complicated by work, kids, and the emotional baggage that comes with life. For Nora and Leo, this kind of love is bigger than the big screen.
Adult Assembly Required by Abbi Waxman
When Laura Costello moves to Los Angeles, trying to escape an overprotective family and the haunting memories of a terrible accident, she doesn’t expect to be homeless after a week. (She’s pretty sure she didn’t start that fire - right?) She also doesn't expect to find herself adopted by a rogue bookseller, installed in a lovely but completely illegal boardinghouse, or challenged to save a losing trivia team from ignominy… but that’s what happens. Add a regretful landlady, a gorgeous housemate, and an ex-boyfriend determined to put himself back in the running and you’ll see why Laura isn’t really sure she’s cut out for this adulting thing. Luckily for her, her new friends Nina, Polly, and Impossibly Handsome Bob aren't sure either, but maybe if they put their heads (and hearts) together, they’ll be able to make it work for them.
Flying Solo by Linda Holmes
Smarting from her recently cancelled wedding and about to turn forty, Laurie Sassalyn returns to her Maine hometown of Calcasset to handle the estate of her great-aunt Dot, a spirited adventurer who lived to be ninety. Along with boxes of Polaroids and pottery, a mysterious wooden duck shows up at the bottom of a cedar chest. Laurie's curiosity is piqued, especially after she finds a love letter to the never-married Dot that ends with the line, "And anyway, if you're ever desperate, there are always ducks, darling."
Laurie is told that the duck has no financial value. But after it disappears under suspicious circumstances, she feels compelled to figure out why anyone would steal a wooden duck - and why Dot kept it hidden away in the first place. Suddenly Laurie finds herself swept up in a righteous caper that has her negotiating with antiques dealers and con artists, going on after-hours dates at the local library, and reconnecting with her oldest friend and first love. Desperate to uncover her great-aunt's secrets, Laurie must reckon with her past, her future, and ultimately embrace her own vision of flying solo.
The Roughest Draft by Emily Wibberley and Austin Siegemund-Broka
Three years ago, Katrina Freeling and Nathan Van Huysen were the brightest literary stars on the horizon, their cowritten books topping bestseller lists. But on the heels of their greatest success, they ended their partnership on bad terms, for reasons neither would divulge to the public. They haven't spoken since, and never planned to, except they have one final book due on contract.
Facing crossroads in their personal and professional lives, they're forced to reunite. The last thing they ever thought they'd do again is hole up in the tiny Florida town where they wrote their previous book, trying to finish a new manuscript quickly and painlessly. Working through the reasons they've hated each other for the past three years isn't easy, especially not while writing a romantic novel.
While passion and prose push them closer together in the Florida heat, Katrina and Nathan will learn that relationships, like writing, sometimes take a few rough drafts before they get it right.
#fiction#contemporary romance#bookrecs#book recommendations#reading recommendations#library books#TBR pile#tbr#to read#booklr#book lovers#readalikes
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Dinner With the Family
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x fem!Reader
Summary: You accompany Sherlock to the Holmes family home for a holiday dinner.
Word Count: 2,200
Warnings: none
a/n: this could technically be considered a long over due part 2 to this fic. But it can 100% be read as a stand alone!
16 Days of Christmas
It felt as though you'd been sitting in the stuffy cab for an eternity. The tall buildings of London city had long since been replaced with rolling fields and small country lanes as you neared the Holmes family estate. It had been a long drive, enough time for your small talk and stolen glances to shift into anxious silence. Sherlock had grown quiet and the rhythmic bounce of his leg was a clear indicator that stress was setting in.
“I'm fairly certain I'm the one that's supposed to be nervous.” You gently caught his hand. “I've met your parents before, remember?”
“Yes, and it was horrid.”
You recalled meeting Sherlock's parents for the first time and being completely stunned by how incredibly sweet and welcoming they'd been. You then recalled that you and Sherlock remembered that day very differently.
“Well, then the worst part is already out of the way.” You tried to comfort him. “Let's just try and enjoy ourselves, yeah?”
“I'm about to be subjected to three days spent with my parents and brother with our relationship undoubtedly being the main topic of conversation and you expect me to enjoy myself?” Sherlock's incredulous glare thawed into a look of fondness when your optimism didn't falter. His hand found yours and tightened around it. You knew it was his silent, pleading way of asking you to stay by his side throughout the next nightmarish few days. You squeezed back.
You arrived at the cottage not long afterwards. It was the perfect piece of home stitched neatly into the surrounding countryside. The scent of pine and lavender perfumed the crisp air and the longer you took in the sight of the cottage the more you thought that perhaps one day you and Sherlock would retire to some quiet corner of the country like this.
After what felt like a lifetime to Sherlock, you finally reached the front door.
“Ready?” you asked.
“As I'll ever be” Sherlock grumbled, before reaching out and gently knocking the finely painted wood. He inhaled sharply at the sound of rustling on the other side of the door. “Three, two, one...”
The door opened and you were greeted by Sherlock's mother. Her expression blossomed into one of complete, childlike excitement at the sight of you both.
“Oh, my darling boy,” beamed, pulling Sherlock into a warm, motherly hug. Sherlock greeted just as warmly, his unbothered facade thawing as he reluctantly pressed a kiss to the woman's cheek. You knew he was a mama's boy at heart.
She turned to you and the softness of her expression filled you with a sense of welcoming. Your attempt at a greeting was cut short as you were enveloped in a kindly embrace.
“Y/N, my dear! How wonderful it is to see you.” As Ms Holmes hugged you, you glanced at Sherlock from over her shoulder.
A fond smirk played on his lips, betraying him. His attempt to spend every moment at his parents home wallowing in self-pity was already being undermined by the precious sight of you with his mother.
“Let me have a look at you. Oh, you're just as beautiful as I remember.” The woman's hand gently fell against your cheek and you felt the skin heat beneath her palm as a result of her affection. You would never truly get over Ms Holmes ability to make you feel incredible about yourself.
Once the greetings were out of the way, you were both ushered inside and surrounded with the feel of home. The interior of the home was beautifully decorated with finely painted ornaments and colourful lights and you felt bashful due to just how much you were staring. The scent of cinnamon was strong in the air and you couldn't wipe the grin from your face. Sherlock could feel the joy radiating from you from where he stood at your side. Maybe the holiday wouldn't be so bad after all.
“Why, if it isn't my future daughter-in-law.”
He spoke too soon. This week was going to be unbearable. Sherlock barely withheld the urge to pry you away from his father, who was already doting over you as if you were his own daughter. The only thing that kept his aching hands from pulling you behind him was the excited expression you offered him over your shoulder as his father led you into the living room.
Reminding himself that the entire point of this visit was for you to get to know his family together, Sherlock left you and his father be (despite how much it pained him.) The moment Sherlock stepped into the kitchen he wished he hadn't.
“Hello, brother mine.”
“Mycroft.” Sherlock greeted dryly.
The elder brothers expression mirrored that of a cat that planned on toying with the family budgie. “So nice of you to join us. And I see you've brought Y/N along. Tell me, what has the poor girl done in order to have to suffer through Christmas here?”
“For goodness sake, Mycie have some manners!” Ms Holmes scowled from across the room and Mycroft frowned at the nickname. “Y/N is a part of this family now and it's important she knows she's welcome.”
“Part of the family? Last time I checked the records Sherlock hadn't married her.” Mycroft stated matter of factly.
His mother glared at him as if warning him to keep his voice down. “Married or not, Y/N is a Holmes now. Although there's still time for you to make it official,” she smiled, tapping Sherlock's shoulder.
Realising Pandora's box had been flung open, Sherlock escaped under the false pretence that he had to find you. Well, not entirely false.
He found you sat in the couch as his father handed you photo after photo of Sherlock in his youth. His father appeared to be filling you in on every embarrassing story to go along with each photograph and Sherlock swore at that moment that whatever amount of dignity he'd shown up with he'd just lost. Noticing his sons displeasure, Mr Holmes excused himself, leaving you both alone.
Taking a seat beside you, Sherlock was surprised to find you'd abandoned the embarrassing baby photos in favour for the picture you currently held in your hand.
“How old were you here?”
“Eighteen,” Sherlock shrugged. “It was the year I left for college.”
You admired the picture intently, unable to look away from the lighter, chocolaty curls that sat on Sherlock's head, his sharpened jawline and the youthful glint in his eyes. He looked implishly boyish and you couldn't help but wish you could have known him all those years ago.
“You wouldn't have liked me then,” Sherlock said, reading your mind.
“Why not?”
“I was a complete arse,” Sherlock stated plainly and you couldn't stifle the laughter that escaped you.
“It's comforting to know that some things never change.”
It wasn't long before Sherlock was torn from your side to speak with his father and you found yourself stood alone in the living room of the Holmes house. You were still struggling to believe that you were there. You began to walk through the halls, taking your time to glance at every picture and photo hung neatly on the wall.
As you stepped back into the kitchen, you found Ms Holmes battling to prepare a bowl of vegetables on her own
“Here, let me help,” you offered and Ms Holmes offered you a grateful smile.
“Oh thank you, dear!”
She handed you a knife and you grabbed the nearest carrot, peeling off a thin layer with a flick of your wrist. You allowed yourself to feel oddly proud of yourself, standing next to your partner's mother and doing something as simple as preparing dinner. It filled you with a sense of domesticity as if all the awkward small talk was out of the way and you were finally part of the family.
“I know he doesn't like me saying this but I am glad that Sherlock has found someone so lovely,” Ms Holmes said, leaning in so that your arms brush. The smile her words elected was so wide you felt as though your cheeks would burst. “He needs someone like you. Someone that sees the method to his madness.”
Ms Holmes smile begins to falter as you watched her expression become clouded by grief. “I worried about him often, given how much time he'd spent alone.” The usual jovial tone of her voice began to disappear as her words trailed off. “So much time alone...”
Your heart ached at the sight. It reminded you that beneath it all, Sherlock was simply her son. Not the world-famous detective or one of the greatest intellects of the last century but simply the boy she'd raised. And naturally, she worried about him.
You rested your hand over hers and she seemed to find comfort in the gesture.
“I'm lucky to have Sherlock,” you started. “In fact, I find it difficult to believe people weren't throwing themselves after him. He's charming and brilliant and he cares in he's own oddly wonderful way–” You stopped yourself as you noticed Ms Holmes watching you rather intently. “– I'm sorry, I'm rambling.
“No, no, it's not that, dear,” Ms Holmes said quickly. “It's just hearing you speak about him like this, it makes me glad. Not many people see him the way you do.”
Her hand squeezed yours comfortingly. “It makes me happy that you both have each other.”
You were overcome with the need to thank the woman before you for not just her words, but also for doing everything to welcome you into the family from the moment you'd met Sherlock. However, you were cut short.
“Will I still have a partner by the end of this conversation or have you suceeded in scaring her off?” Sherlock asked from the doorway.
“Willaim, always so melodramatic!”
You watched as Sherlock visibly cringed at the name and you struggled to swallow your laughter as you stepped towards him. “Your Mother and I were just talking. Trust me, you don't have to worry about me going anywhere.”
Sherlock smirked, his hand uncharacteristically brushing against yours, his slender fingers trailing your palm before falling away. Sherlock had never been a huge fan of PDA.
You turned and found Ms Holmes watching you both, tears in her eyes and hand placed over her heart.
“Mother, is everything alright?” Sherlock asked.
Ms Holmes chuckled, nodding and waving her hand through the air as if dismissing her reaction as a folly.
“It's just nice to see you both side by side. You look happy together.”
You expected the comment to fuel Sherlock's irritation. You expected him to groan, scoff or at the very least, half-heartedly roll his eyes. Rather, Sherlock smiled. His hand brushed against your own again and he nodded.
“We are.”
You and Sherlock aided Ms Holmes in preparing the rest of the dinner before Sherlock showed you to where you'd be staying. His room was at the back of the cottage, nearest to the garden. It hadn't changed much, the same old newspaper articles, papers and occasional scientific poster pinned to the wall. The bookcase was crammed with novels and the shelves were stocked with objects that could be placed under no category other than 'distinctively Sherlock.'
You felt as though you were being offered the rare opportunity to catch a glimpse of Sherlock's childhood. It was as if you had stepped back in time to the years of Sherlock's youth. Sherlock himself appeared younger standing in the middle of the room.
Sherlock watched you take in the room he'd grown up in with a fond smile, surprised by his own lack of embarrassment.
“My parents adore you,” he said suddenly
“They're good people.” You were trying and failing to hide your smile.
“Well according to them you're the greatest person to ever set foot in my life–” Sherlock reached out and took your hand. “–and I find myself unable to disagree with them.”
Sherlock continued, donning a rather uncanny impersonation of the eldest Holmes.
“You don't come across many people like that, Sherlock. Don't let her go, Sherlock. She's the one, Sherlock.” Sherlock smiled at your expression of disbelief. “My father's own words.”
He watched as you lit up like a Christmas tree, despite trying your best to hide just how much hearing those words had meant to you. Sherlock closed the distance between you and you could faintly smell the scent of smoke that clung to his clothes from the cigarette he'd smoked earlier in the day to calm his nerves. “My parents almost regard you as fondly as I do.”
“Almost?” you teased.
“Their fondness for you, albeit touching, pales in comparison to how I feel about you,” Sherlock said simply, and the feel of his lips against your cheek sent shock waves through your body. “And during the duration of our stay, I assure you I will prove it.”
You couldn't think of anything more in character of Sherlock than him competing with his own parents for your affection, but you'd be lying if you denied finding the sentiment behind the challenge endearing. This family visit would certainly be one to remember.
Thank you for reading!
Christmas tag list: @ask-the-elf-stuff @madgep
Sherlock tag list: @miraclesoflove @fanfictionsilove @mylovelysnowflake @quentawewe @bakerstreethound @andreasworlsboring101 @doozywoozy @leftperfectionmoon @xxinvisiblexx @the-worst-critic @the-queer-dungeoneer @jellyfishbeansontoast @simp-for-scamanders @starryeddie @bebana-7913 @alliesberries @xhz17x @kealohilani-tepsie
requested tags from part one: @samo-drsko-na-fin-nacin
#sherlock x reader#sherlock x y/n#sherlock x you#sherlock holmes x reader#bbc sherlock x reader#bbc sherlock imagine#16 days of christmas
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Dreaming
Pairing: soft!Sherlock x 2nd pov reader
Warnings: fluff, pure fluff.
Not beta'd and written in Tumblr so no word count.
Enjoy 💕 and please like, comment and reblog if you liked it, writers live off validation 💖
You couldn't say how exactly you ended up here. One day you knock on the door of the great detective Sherlock Holmes, for a stolen purse of all reasons (not a spectacular case, but he took it anyway), and the next thing you know... you're with him on his family's estate.
He took you for a stroll through the gardens after tea, showing you his favorite places growing up. It surprised you, if you were completely honest, how much he seemed to enjoy nature. You've only known him as a man of the city. Here, he was an entirely different man; almost. He was still yours. Your Sherlock. The man who captured your heart almost right away. And how it seemed, you did the same to him.
"Here," the smooth baritone of his voice calles you back from your thoughts, "I used to come here a lot."
He lets go of your hand and steps closer to the old tree. Closer, until he sits down in the shade beneath it, on the soft grass.
"Come here, love," he tells you, holding out his hand, which you take. He helps you sit down, slings his arm around your waist and pulls you close against him. You let out a sigh at his warmth, and rest your head against his shoulder, your hand on his stomach.
"How do you like it?" he asks after a comfortable moment of silence.
"It is beautiful," you chirp, "you must have had a wonderful childhood here."
"Hm," he hums. Then, "would you like me to read, love? I brought our book."
You nod and smile. You read together every night before bed. It's your favorite part of the day. "Yes, please."
"Where were we?" Sherlock mutters to himself, flipping through the pages, the paper rustling. It mingles beautifully with the birds' song and the melody of the wind in the crown of the old tree. "Ah yes, here."
He begins reading, but you hardly can focus on the story, your mind occupied with thoughs of your lover coming here as a child, reading in the exact same spot you're sitting now. He must have had a happy childhood here. A part of you wishes you could raise your own children here, with him.
Soon, you don't hear words anymore, just his deep baritone and the song of nature, lulling you to sleep. How could you not? He's warm, his big body comfortable as you lean against him, making you feel loved and safe.
Once Sherlock realizes you're asleep - late, considering he's the famous detective - he puts the book away, smiling down at you. Emotions were strangers to him before you came along, but now... He can't imagine a life without you in it. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, needing to touch you, but afraid he'd wake you.
So he listens to your even breath and the quiet sighs leaving your lips once in a while. From time to time, he looks down at you, seeing your lashes flutter. You're dreaming.
And he is too. Of a life with you. Then and there he makes up his mind. He wants to spend the rest of his life with you. He will. Back in London, he's going to buy you a ring, work a few cases so you won't get suspicious - you've got a sharp mind after all - and then take you back here to propose, right here beneath this tree.
#henry cavill sherlock holmes#sherlock holmes x reader#Sherlock Holmes x you#enola holmes fanfic#Henry!holmes x reader#Henry!holmes x you#henry!holmes#henry cavill
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Why do you call yourself 'Holmes'? You're Herlock Sholmes!!! If you call yourself Sherlock and show even a slight emotion, you'll have to pay a lot if money to the Conan Doyle Estate. I'm sure that you're broke, good sir
What is this "Conan Doyle Estate?" They don't OWN THE RIGHTS to my ACTUAL NAME, do they?!
And yes, maybe I am often times broke! All of my tenants live in my flat free of charge! They're my family, what of it?!
I am not paying for some unknown estate to steal my name. The joke name of "Herlock Sholmes" itself has gone on long enough. If they do attempt to do such things, I have quite the reliable group of lawyers on my side.
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The Disappearance of Sherlock Holmes (Part 5):
As Sherlock gradually regained awareness, he felt the constricting bag around his head. In the dim light of the abandoned bunker, he began to piece together his surroundings. A muffled sound reached his ears, prompting him to listen more intently.
A voice, distant yet distinct, echoed in the confines of the bunker. "Ah, Mr. Holmes, finally awake, are we?" The tone carried a mixture of amusement and menace.
He, with a wry smirk despite the circumstances, responded, "Capturing me in such a clichéd manner? You must be running out of original ideas."
The unseen captor chuckled. "Oh, Sherlock, always the witty detective. You're in a situation far more intricate than you might think."
His mind raced, trying to identify the voice and discern the motive behind this abduction. "I assume you have a reason for this little abduction. Care to enlighten me?"
A brief pause filled the air before the voice continued, "All in good time, Mr. Holmes. Patience has never been your strong suit, has it?"
His mind raced as he strained to recall where he had heard that voice before. It teased the edges of his memory, a nagging familiarity that eluded immediate recognition.
"I see you've contacted your sister, that spoiled princess. Me and my men will take care of her," the voice stated, the words hanging ominously in the air, and make her pay for what she did.
A surge of anger and concern surged through him. Despite the bag over his head, he tightened his jaw, his voice firm and commanding. "Don't you dare lay a finger on my sister or my family!"
His struggles against the restraints intensified, fueled not only by the need to free himself but by a protective instinct for Eurus. The unseen captor's words fueled his determination to escape and ensure the safety of his sister.
"Be safe," he said as he fell into unconsciousness.
On the eagerly anticipated day, Eurus packed her belongings, determination bubbling within. Seated on the train, she watched the scenery change as it began its journey toward London, marking a departure from her usual routine of mansion confinement and busy work.
Solomon, her faithful cat, nestled comfortably beside her, providing reassuring comfort amid the newness of the journey. She reveled in the prospect of exploring London, liberated from the responsibilities tethering her to the estate. Her butler, adept at handling matters in her absence, allowed her the luxury of a carefree adventure.
As the train rolled along, Eurus engaged in casual conversation with Louis. Her fingers gently stroked Solomon's fur, and she shared anecdotes about her life at the mansion. The rhythmic hum of the train created a soothing backdrop for their exchange, fostering an easy camaraderie.
"Eurus, I couldn't help but notice you seem a bit worried. Is everything alright?" Louis inquired, observing the subtle tension in her expression.
She sighed, her gaze momentarily clouded. "It's Sherlock. He's been missing, and I'm scared for him. But I promise, once we're in London, I'll do everything I can to help bring him back home."
Louis nodded sympathetically. "Don't worry, Eurus. We'll figure this out together. Sherlock's the most determined and arrogant man I know. I'll make sure to get him back, for William and for you."
She perked up, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. "William? Who's William?"
He grinned, "He's my older brother and a dear friend of Sherlock's. They're more than just friends, actually."
She raised an eyebrow, "Oh? Sherlock never falls in love."
"I beg to differ. You should have seen them together," Louis replied, a fondness in his tone.
She couldn't resist a mischievous grin. "Sure, and what's next, you have another older brother that my brother Mycroft fell in love with?"
Louis chuckled, "Well, as a matter of fact..."
Mycroft, from his seat, blushed as John nodded. "Yes, he's in love with Albert."
Back on the London end, Albert sneezed, prompting William to ask if he was okay.
As the train pulled into London, Eurus accompanied Mycroft to Parliament, her brain thinking of ways to find Sherlock. Mycroft led her into a room where William and Albert were waiting, attempting to signal them not to reveal their identities. However, it was too late.
"William James Moriarty, at your service," William bowed respectfully. "Dr. Watson, how was your journey?"
"Moriarty?!" Eurus gasped. "Mr. Sacker, you're the Doctor Watson?!"
"This is why I told you not to reveal your identities!" Mycroft groaned, shooting an exasperated look at William and Albert.
"I've read the Final Problem so many times, I can't believe it!" Eurus squealed. "I actually hated you at first because I thought you killed Sherly three years ago, but now that he's alive and Mycroft wrote a letter to me about the truth, I've been dying to meet Watson and Moriarty!"
"You read my books?" John asked, flattered.
"And you must be the coveted East Wind," Albert said, taking her hand and kissing it. "We're happy to work with you on this case."
"Oh my god, I finally get to meet Colonel James Moriarty from the first page of the Final Problem." She smiled widely.
Mycroft was taken aback by how out of character she was acting, surprised at her fan-like excitement for the characters she had once perceived differently. William and Albert, amused by his sister's genuine enthusiasm, exchanged amused glances.
Eager to involve herself in the investigation, she quickly regained composure. "Alright, let's focus on Sherlock. Because I have a feeling that our next enemy will strike. Fortunately, if we're lucky, they'll drop a clue for us.
#moriarty the patriot#yuukoku no moriarty#yuumori#sherlock holmes#yuukuko no moriarty#ynm#louis james moriarty#albert james moriarty#william james moriarty#sherliam#au#from twitter#mtp#eurus holmes#mycroft holmes
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Valentine Recs: Singles Edition
Here’s a random little collection of gen stories featuring single people living their lives with passion, which is also fun to celebrate :)
In the Doldrums by Dorinda (Master and Commander). Up the skiff went again, and down. As if the sea—this spot in the sea, only—breathed.
I trust the sanity of my vessel by karanguni (Bat!family) There's old laughter underneath the cape and cowl, somewhere. You don't have to hear it to know it's there.
An Evening of Little Luxuries by otherhawk (Man From UNCLE TV). Before the war he'd been more or less bilingual. He'd grown up speaking Ukrainian at home to his family and Russian everywhere else. After the war there had been no home left, and Russian had been the only language he heard, the language he thought and dreamed in. Now Ukrainian was simply another language he spoke, no different in his head from German or Japanese. His heart was a different matter, and he regretted that loss, regretted that when he dreamed of his parents, his sister, they spoke to him in a language that was no longer his own.
The Birthday Present by copperbadge (Vetinari, Discworld). "Well, it's not as though you can give it a human name. I detest people who give their pets names like Adam or Maxwell. It shows a disrespect for the human condition." Havelock, having been woken that morning by a wagging tail in his ear, rather thought that you could keep the human condition.
The Way Out by pyramidine (Inception). Arthur shrugs again. “This is my first job, but I think I prefer to be in the background.” “You’re a bit uptight, aren’t you?” Eames comments. He makes it sound like an extremely good thing. “Yes, I agree,” Arthur replies.
Sally Donovan Investigates by spycandy (BBC Sherlock). There was only one set of footprints there, but there were a lot of them. Someone in kitten heels had paced on the damp ground for some time. Tiny flakes of ash trodden into the prints meant that... yes! There it was.
No Ordinary Cats by philalethia (BBC Sherlock). “Hey!” Mrs Hudson shouted. “What’ve you done to my bloody wall?” The purring stopped, and Sherlock sat up, his eyes going wide and his ears perked in alarm. Then, when Mrs Hudson eased herself to her knees to examine the damage—there were dozens of claw marks in the plaster, the little bastard—the purring started up again, and Sherlock lolled and rolled like he’d never been happier.
Child’s Play by bendingsignpost (BBC Sherlock). “You’ve been shopping, but not for groceries. You don’t have much in the way of funds, so something cheap, but not an impulse purchase—you’re much too disciplined for that. Something—” John puts down the plastic bag on the coffee table. A palpable shift occurs in the air. “...You bought a puzzle from a charity shop,” Sherlock states.
Postcards from Naxos by Elizabeth Culmer/edenfalling (Inception). In the months after the inception job, Ariadne slips from one life to another.
The Only Emperor by coloredink (BBC Sherlock). It never occurred to Sherlock Holmes that an ice cream shop might attract children.
Talent and Genius by sanguinity (New Russian Holmes). I exhaled, and trusted him.
Common Ground by arcapelago/arcanewinter (X-Men prequels). When a dinosaur fossil is found right on the Xavier estate, Raven is surprised at Charles' indifference.
Certainties by Nomad/nomadicwriter (Discworld). Only two things in life are certain: death and taxes. The anthropomorphic personification of one meets the man behind the other.
Prayer Before Battle by 2ndary_author (Firefly). In which Simon does Inara a favor.
A Study in Rehabilitation by TheWhiteLily (BBC Sherlock). In a rehabilitation clinic in London, John Watson is just home from Afghanistan and having a difficult time coming to terms with the bullet in his shoulder’s devastating impact on his life. But now there’s a serial killer on the loose—and a certain consulting detective is on the trail…
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By the fireplace
Summary: Christmas Eve is not going as planned, when Mr. Holmes finds he’s not quite as home-alone as he expected.
Author’s note: I know it’s the dead of summer. I know. But this fic has been gathering dust in my draft list for months now. I hope you may like a little bit of Sherlock-does-not-know-how-to-deal-with-women-fluff.
Word count: 1563
Disclaimer: Nothing much. Fluff, with some mild Sherlock being a dumb nut when it comes to dealing with women.
--
The winter whispered against the frozen window panes and the fireplace was hot with flames. The hour was late and despite his staff having left for family visits on Christmas Eve, Mr. Holmes was fairing well. With a platter of cheese and bread waiting, and red wine at his fingertips, he was nosing through a new file of paperwork that had come in from London.
It was difficult not to work. Especially when other well-liked activities were little and few in offering. Horse riding and walking wasn’t quite the same when you were freezing your wits off; and so it was that Holmes remained in his oak-panelled office for most of the day. Here he was warm and well entertained. And alone - blessed be.
With a puff from his pipe he raised up, deciding a break was in order. His fingers had grown cold despite the roaring fire and lest he not move, he might just be found frozen by his personnel when they’d return later tomorrow. His chair scraped the floorboards, and with a few strides he was out and about in the halls that stretched before him.
Mr. Holmes didn’t mind the lack of heating here. The heavy winter robe he had made by his maids was perfectly warm. Pulling the tie a little more tight, he started towards the Northern wing.
Whenever he walked here, he could hear Microft’s voice. What a perfectly sensible estate for family rearing. But that was simply not a thing Mr. Holmes expected from life. Women were the one thing he could never quite figure out. No books, scrolls or magic fairy dust could help him in that department. Mysterious creatures they were. Irene Adler for instance; marvelously splendid, but absolutely daunting to be near. These women all were so dainty and dazzlingly different from reason and words and..
*CLANG*
Mr. Holmes stiffened. He was not a frightened man - not easily, but surely he had not imagined that sound just now, right? Halting his steps he cautiously looked out into the rest of the dimly lit hallway. He had to admit that he had not really paid attention when his personnel left. Too occupied with the new case to be bothered with who left, when and where-to.
He listened in on any further sounds: a soft swearing was heard. Female. Definitely female. A..female intruder? Perhaps stealing something? Ha! Wouldn’t that be the charmer. With a click of his tongue, Holmes set out to the source of his female visitation.
A few steps later he was there, hand on the doorknob and shoulders stiff as he quickly switched the knob to enter. Inside it was not some smidgy burglaress, but a familiar face he found.
Minnie.
She just stood there, wrapped up in all the clothing she probably owned, lips blue and hands awkwardly trying to clasp around her chest. Minnie had been at the estate for quite some years now, as part of Mr. Holmes’ staff. And thus it surprised Mr. Holmes to find her blue with frost in his library.
‘I-I...’ Minnie’s jaw clattered with cold, hands gripping quickly to her chest.
Mr. Holmes blinked. Minnie of all people. Why hadn’t she gone off to..whomever it was she wanted to see? Didn’t she have family around?
With cautious eyes he eyed the rest of the library. No glass broken, no signs of intrusion. Just... Minnie. Minnie the quiet dear help -- it was why he hired her way back when. He enjoyed quiet staff.
Returning his studious gaze to Minnie he quirked his head.
‘You’re..cold.’ He stated.
No shit Sherlock.
Minnie gulped, teeth clattering and tears brimming at the rims of her eyelashes. ‘I’m - I’m sorry Mr. Holmes, sir. I - I..’
‘You need warming.’ Sherlock didn’t hear a word she said, hands quick to move to her upperarms, rubbing them with sheer focus.
‘I didn’t mean to..’ Now she was truly crying.
Goodness. The girl was practically freezing! Frowning, Holmes checked her pulse, complexion, pupils. Quite terrible indeed!
The decision next taken was perhaps a shock to Minnie, but to Holmes perfectly logical.
‘Alright. Up you go.’ With a swoop Mr. Holmes picked her up bridal style, his feet not once losing their stride. He quietly congratulated himself on keeping up with his physical well-being despite his love for the academic pursuits. Without much effort he had lifted the plump little woman in his arms, eyes focused on the flickering light that came from his study.
‘I just..’ Minnie sobbed quietly, lips chattering loudly in the echoing hallway. She barely noticed herself how she held on tight to Holmes’ robes, her small fingers eagerly grasping onto the smooth velvet that carried his warmth. But, it was not the only thing she kept close to her.
As Holmes returned the two of them to his study, the hearth still burning gently in the corner, his eyes noticed something else, sticking out from beneath her wrapscarf. It was either a book OR the poor woman had a particularly square chest all of a sudden.
A book? Minnie with a book? The poor woman never even had a day of education in her LIFE!
Lowering her to the carpet before the fireplace, Holmes continued to stare at her bossom. And though still cold, he did receive a first blush from her cold cheeks.
‘Sir..’ She gulped, realizing just a touch too late why he was staring. Her blush became even more fierce, mouth falling open in a shocked little expression. ‘Oh..!’
‘You read?’ Holmes asked dumbfound.
Minnie’s shivering worsened despite the warm room. ‘I- I. Oh sir please. I just wanted to..’ She doubled over before his feet, hands reaching up the book she had kept close.
The Fairytale rendition his mother had once read to him.
Sherlock frowned. ‘You wanted to ..what, Minnie?’
She swallowed harshly and looked up, tears now billowing down her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry sir.’
‘No no no, none of that.’ Sherlock settled down before her, lowering himself to her haunched over figure. ‘I’m intrigued. Do. You. Read. Minnie?’
She blinked at him, thin eyebrows knitting together in confusion. ‘You are not mad sir?’
Sherlock carefully studied her a moment longer before he let his gaze return to the fire. Suddenly her female-ness became overwhelming with all the tears and blushing cheeks and..good awful dwellings up above he should STOP looking at her chest.
Clearing his throat he dryly shook his head. ‘No, no. Not mad.’
‘Disappointed then? Sir?’ Minnie followed his gaze into the fireplace, curious what he was staring at with such thoughtful focus.
‘You taught yourself?’ He finally asked, returning his gaze to her, then the book.
Her shivering lip curled in a little smile. ‘Sir, not really. I mean. I wish to. I---’ She bit her lip and opened the book. With a tentative finger she stroked one of the richly adorned illustrations. Next up her finger moved to the text. With stunted focus she recited a few of the words she recognised.
‘Ah.’ Sherlock sighed, nodding in understanding. He let Minnie struggle on for a few words more, turning his head ever so slightly so he could read along. The darling woman relaxed a little now repercussions didn’t seem evident. With more excitement she let her finger slide over the words.
‘Then...s-a-i--d..said..the!..ehhh’ She frowned at the long word that followed.
Sherlock puffed up his cheeks and tapped her hand. Minnie blinked at him.
‘Sir are you alright?’
With still puffed up cheeks Sherlock nodded, then puffed up his broad shoulders as well, arms rounding like he was enormous.
‘Grand?’
Sherlock released his puff and smiled. ‘Yes, yes.. And then..’ He made sure she paid attention to his right hand, which he stroked reverently over his belly.
‘Hungry?’
Sherlock chuckled. ‘In a fact yes. But, no.’
‘Yes, but no?’ Minnie looked at him with confusion.
‘That’ll come later. First “grand”.’ He pointed that part of the word out on the page. Minnie nodded.
‘Then..’ He slid his finger over the next part of the word, before he tried again, this time using both hands to cradle an invisible child in his arms.
‘Child?’
Sherlock chuckled. ‘Almost..but..’ He pointed his finger at himself before craddling his arms again.
‘Mother!’
Sherlock beamed with joy. ‘Perfection!’
Minnie sniffled and blushed again. ‘Sir..’
‘Minnie?’ He felt his smile melt away as he noticed how her facial expression changed. This one, he could not quite read. Her pupils dilated, her lips parted and for a moment her gaze flickered to his lips.
‘Sir.’ Her voice became more stern and with a swift move she raised back to her feet. ‘I’m so terribly sorry for intruding on your night. I’ll...’
He caught her hand before she could storm off. So small!
With large eyes Minnie watched at the way his large hand encapsulated hers. Even now by the fire, his hand was still warmer than hers. Without words their eyes met.
‘I can --ehh.. teach?’ Sherlock tried.
Again they just stared for a moment longer. And though probably inappropriate, Sherlock held onto her hand without hesitation.
Minnie sighed. ‘Perhaps some food first, sir? You said you were hungry?’
Sherlock released her hand. A dry chuckle escaped his lips.
‘For books...’ He looked up and had to catch himself as his gaze drifted back to her now book-free chest. ‘..always.’
--
General Tagsquad: @harrysthiccthighss @tumblnewby @magdelen69 @thereisa8ella @mary-ann84 @darkbooksarwin @summersong69 @madbaddic7ed @luclittlepond @maroonmolly @just-a-normal-fangirl18 @hell1129-blog @agniavateira @tillthelandslide @elinesama @maddyreads14 @aletheladyinred @moonlacebeam @kebabgirl67
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Total Eclipse (P.3)
Title: Total Eclipse (Part Three)
Summary: Fem!Reader x Sherlock Holmes (RDJ). Sherlock had an impression on the reader from a formative age but he was always so busy running with cases. Their moments of passions were coveted between the two but they were few and far between. He left with Watson on a case and in that time, her parents found her a suitable man to give her to. Wealthy and accomplished. Sherlock and her have not been able to let go of each other though.
Words: 5,365
Warnings (for the whole fic): Angst, infidelity, smut, swearing, substance abuse, non liner storyline, character death, 18+ as always
Author’s Note: This whole chapter is backstory, hence why it’s all italics. I got really carried away, my b. The next chapter will resume current time and the plot will move on there. Heavy angst this chapter and smut!
Part Two || Part Four || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost
Your family left you in London when they went back to the country estate after the season had ended. Your mother was hell bent on finding you a suitor and even in the off season, she wanted you in sights on the streets, at cafes, restaurants. She wanted you out of the house too, one less mouth to feed. Your family was well off enough, but she was growing more embarrassed about an imagined slight against her of you not marrying off younger. As if your martial problems were a reflection on her…. But that is what society saw it as and it was how she reacted.
Despite the passive aggressive hostility between the two of you, this was going to be a blessing. Your great aunt retired early in the night, and you were given more freedom. Not to mention your great aunt was far more progressive in her views. It was shocking to you in the first place your mother allowed you to stay with her at all without supervision, but you kept your lips sealed. You were not going to pass this up.
Standing beside your aunt outside the florist shop where she was examining the seeds for her spring garden to plant this fall, you listened dully to Emily, the florist, tell her the layout to have them planted for the best coloring. You felt the uncomfortable feeling of someone watching you. Turning nonchalantly, your eyes scanned the square lazily. You spotted a man across the square with curly hair and a large, overgrown mustache. You furrowed your brow if only for a moment at his blatant staring.
Tearing your eyes away from him to not invite conversation or any indication you were interested, you looked back to your aunt still speaking with the florist.
“Love, would you go across the square to get me a bun? It is driving me insane to smell them fresh,” your aunt told you, touching your arm gently. “And get one for Emily too.”
The last thing you wanted to do was walk away from her and have this man approach you, but you nodded. You made sure to not look in his direction as you walked across the cobblestone towards the bakery. Out of your peripherals, you caught movement in his general direction, and you scowled. You hated brushing off advances, but it seemed you were going to have to do it. He was certainly following you.
Walking into the bakery, you waited patiently while the baker helped the two people already ahead of you.
The air shifted at your back and you closed your eyes, readying for the drawling of a desperate man.
“So, you were left behind.”
The whisper caused you to burst your eyelids open and you turned halfway to face the man. You found it was the man with the large mustache but that was certainly Sherlock’s voice. You scanned his face and realized immediately you recognized his eyes.
Stammering, you asked, “W-what are you doing?”
“Is there a problem, miss?” one of the men who had been being assisted asked, stopping when he saw your state.
You recovered quickly and straightened. “No, no, sir. Sorry. I was just startled by my acquaintance. I did not expect to see him out and about… like this. I apologize.”
The man nodded and walked on, leaving you to narrow your eyes at Sherlock.
“Give me a minute,” you told him before turning back and walking up to the counter. You ordered your buns, adding a fourth, before coming back to him waiting. He gave you a curt nod gesturing towards the door.
As soon as you were outside, you stepped off to the side, out of sight from the window of the bakery.
“What are you doing? What is this? Are you alright?” you asked, throwing all these questions at him in a hushed voice. You held out the fourth bun to him and he eyed it before taking it.
“Much obliged. I haven’t had breakfast,” he told you. He touched at his mustache and said thoughtfully, “Although, I will have to save it. This will make it difficult to eat.”
“It makes you difficult to recognize!”
“That is the point of a disguise, Miss Y/N.”
“Why are you wearing a disguise at all?”
“Well, I can’t just be myself all the time following you can I? That would be suspicious. Especially if your escort continued catching sight of me.”
“And following me in a disguise does not scream ‘stalker’ to you?”
Sherlock looked taken aback. “’Stalker’?”
“Is that not what you’re doing?”
Sniffing, he said, “I was merely checking up on you. I hardly would refer to that as stalking.”
“How did you know I was staying with my great aunt then and not at my family’s home?” Sherlock was silent and you intoned, “That’s what I thought.”
“Well, I was going to invite you to a play but now I am having second thoughts.”
Your eyes lit at this, and you said, “What play?”
“I said I was having second thoughts.”
“Well, maybe I’m having second thoughts about getting you a bun,” you retorted, immediately holding out your hand for him to return it.
He frowned and held it tighter, causing you to smirk.
“You would need to sneak away from dinner tonight.”
“I’m going out to Sweetings with my aunt.”
“Makes it more difficult. What if I told you the play was tonight, and you could use that as an excuse? A date with a gentlemen?”
All it took was him walking you back to outside the florists shop and the two of you exchanging pleasantries, him inviting you to dinner, you telling him you would have to check and that you would send word. Of course, your aunt did not know he had given a fake address. She was questioning of his name you gave but she did not pry too deeply.
<><><>
Seeing Sherlock was again not looking at the stage, instead his eyes wandering around the theater, you leaned over, lips close to his ear.
“You’re distracted,” you whispered.
He turned his head and now your noses were almost touching. Your lips parted, eyes locked with his. He swallowed sharply, blinking.
“That I am,” he responded, flustered before pulling away much to your disappointment.
He grasped your hand, “Come with me.”
You almost protested as he pulled you from your seat. It was terribly rude to leave in the middle of a play, not only towards the actors and actresses but the people you were having to walk by. Sherlock did not seem to care though.
A man was following the two of you up the aisle and out the doors. When he started following the pair of you up the stairs to the second floor and down the hall, keeping distance though, you cleared your throat.
“Sherlock, I think we have a tail,” you whispered out the corner of your mouth, keeping stride with him.
“I’m aware,” he returned quietly. Louder in his normal voice, he asked, “Love, do you need to use the lavatory?”
“No?” you hissed at him, confounded.
He shot you a look and you took the hint, nodding. “Yes.”
Sherlock took a sharp left with you down the hall. “Well, let’s find them for you. I’ll wait here.”
He egged you on with an encouraging hand at your waist. You did what he asked to continue down the hall, your heart beating. He pointed at a door and gesture for you to go inside. As the door closed behind you, you were thinking wildly about what was going on? Did he even have a plan?
“You shouldn’t be here,” an unfamiliar voice said from down the hall back where Sherlock was standing. Your ear was pressed up against the door.
“And your employer shouldn’t have taken what he did. It has been quite the goose chase figuring out where the piece was.”
“Where’s your lovely friend?”
“Went on to find the lavatory.”
Suddenly you heard a loud grunt and a crash. There was scuffling outside, and you pressed your hands against the door, debating if you should open the door or not. What if he was getting hurt?
The noise stopped and all you heard was your pounding heart.
Until to your immense relief, you heard Sherlock said, “Took you long enough. Were you too caught up in the show?”
You barely got out of the way before the door was opening, Sherlock thrusting it open. You stumbled a little as you flung yourself backwards and he reached in quick, steadying you. There was not a mark on him.
He pulled you from the room and you were faced with the man that had been pursuing the two of you, slumped against the wall. And another man standing there, pushing his hair back into place to look presentable again.
“Watson saved the day,” Sherlock told you, giving you a grin. “Flatmate that I mentioned. He can be helpful at times.”
“Holmes,” Watson said exasperated.
“’Holmes’?” you questioned, smiling slyly at Sherlock.
He looked entirely displeased at you before he shot Watson an annoyed look.
“Yes, John?”
Oh… he was getting back at John Watson then for exposing him as either Holmes Sherlock or Sherlock Holmes. You believed the latter sounded more plausible.
Realization dawned on you then.
“Hey, I’ve heard of you!” you said in an excited whisper and your breath caught when he jerked you towards him.
“Darling, we must be quiet now. Watson caused some ruckus out here,” he informed you. That was until it registered to him what you said, and he cocked his head. He leaned in, eyes narrowed in scrutiny, and whispered, “Heard of me where?”
“The newspapers!”
“What newspapers?”
“Where you solved a case with Scotland Yard! You hid your face—”
“I always hide my face.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were an investigator?” you asked.
“I wouldn’t say investigator—"
“Holmes, we do not have time for this,” John cut in impatiently in a harsh whisper, catching both of your attention.
“Right,” Sherlock answered, looping arms with you, cutting your conversation off. That was intimate, it was unproper for men to do this for women they were not engaged, married, or related to.
Watson led you back down the hall towards the main drag. He was cordial to the passing workers who were fetching refreshments for the people in their boxes. He led the two of you up another flight of stairs to the third floor.
Sherlock leaned in and whispered in your ear, “Now, dear, there might be some more violence. I may have to shove you in another closet.”
“Or I can stay out here.” Sherlock looked at you surprised, and you told him. “I can be useful.”
Suddenly, he pushed you up against the wall as loud applause erupted, putting a hand up to block your face. John was beside the two of you now, further blocking you from seeing down the hall.
“He’s leaving the box. It must be in between acts. It has to be happening now. Now, there is that room at the end of the hallway. Is he heading there?” John said in hushed tones to Sherlock.
Sherlock peeked around Watson’s shoulder, eyes searching. “He’s going to the room. He’s got two men with him. Broad. Should be a good time. You’ve needed that jacket mended on the hem for quite some time though, so perhaps it’ll serve well to have it fully needing to be tossed out.”
Watson looked completely unamused at Sherlock’s comment directed at him.
To you now, Sherlock implored, “Seriously, Miss Y/N, I would encourage you to heed my advice and stay out here. It should not take too long for Watson and I to retrieve what we need to.”
Sighing disappointed, you told him, “Fine. Don’t get yourself hurt.”
Sherlock smirked, “That would be incredibly rude of me considering I need to escort you home.”
“It would,” you agreed, and he pulled away from you.
Watson was watching the two of you closely, looking interested.
They left you.
The minutes dragged on after they disappeared into the room. People were milling about in the hall, waiters offering drink. You meandered closer to the door, curious about what exactly it was that Sherlock was retrieving.
Suddenly, the door burst open, two figures coming tumbling out. People yelled in alarm, the crowd dispersing as they jumped back up to your feet. You recognized Sherlock immediately as one of them. He had blood on his cheek and he was disheveled. They came at each other again and tangled up, throwing punches. He was tossed back towards the door.
Looking around wildly, you spotted a large bottle of vodka on one of the waiter carts and grabbed it. Before the man could advance again, you brought it across the back of his head, the glass shattering and the vodka spilling all over the man’s clothes. But he was knocked out, his knees buckling beneath him and falling to the floor.
Sherlock was back on his feet, looking at you in shock for just a moment before he came forward in a rush, grabbing your arm. “Quickly now,” he told you breathless. “We haven’t much time until the authorities show up!”
In awe at what you had done, you let him drag you along.
“Where is Watson?”
“He’ll be along shortly.”
The two of you were out of the theater and out onto the street. You were stumbling trying to keep up with his fast pace. He led you a few blocks down before turning the corner into an alley. That was when he finally began to slow down.
“What happened?” you demanded after you caught your bearings.
“More than the two men that went in there with our target. Things got a little tricky.”
You took your glove off and used it to wipe at his cheek. He winced and he commented, “You’re ruining your gloves.”
“Your face is bleeding!” you protested. You saw the blood was originating from a rather large cut.
“Hardly noticed,” Sherlock responded. He cocked his head and said, “You certainly made that other man bleed with that bottle.”
“I told you I could be useful.”
“It seems that is so…”
You had cleaned up most of his face. There was nothing to do about his hair but that was no matter.
The further you were from the theater, the more you realized what exactly had happened, your excitement thrumming beneath your skin was switching from shock to thrill. You had been in a fight. There had been henchmen. Sherlock was a detective and had taken you along on one of his cases. Which raised the question.
“Why did you bring me along?” you demanded. “Did you know it would be this dangerous?”
“I needed a date for entrance. And one I believed I could trust. As for danger, it is usually lurking around every corner, so of course I anticipated it. But, the degree is always in question.”
“Trust? You barely know me. Also, Watson didn’t have a date?”
Sherlock pointedly ignored the last point you made, “I’m good at reading people. And you proved I could trust you, especially in a fight. Plus, you said you wanted adventure.” He tilted his head towards you, asking sincerely, “Tell me, how am I doing providing that for you?”
You yanked him to you by the lapels of his coat, your lips crashing together. He was stunned as you pulled away.
“That was so exciting!” you said, caught up in your emotion.
Someone cleared their throat. Watson was standing there further down the alley. Sherlock hands came up to yours still grasping his lapels and he pulled your hands away. His thumb caressed the hand further away from Watson, concealing the touch, before he let you go.
“Right, well, we’ve retrieved the stolen items. That’s what we came here to do, correct?” Sherlock asked, reaching into his coat, pulling out an extravagant necklace and earring set. “Shall we move further away from the scene of the crime? Preferably to make sure Miss Y/N gets home safely.”
He barely saw Watson move towards the pair of you before he looped arms with you again and began walking. The trio of you caught a Hansom cab to return you home. On the trip, you offered Watson your other glove and said, “Sherlock’s already bloodied the other one. They might as well match.”
Watson actually chuckled at that and took it from you gratefully, wiping at the cut on his forehead. You caught Sherlock was amused by your comment and you sent him a quick, close lipped smile before pointing out to Watson he had missed a spot.
When the carriage pulled up outside, you looked at Sherlock and said, “However will I contact you if you do not give me an address?”
“Bold of you to ask for a man’s address,” Sherlock commented.
“You’ve been using that adjective to describe me since the moment we met. And I’m merely asking in case I need a date somewhere and need one for entrance,” you said, turning his words back to him.
Sherlock’s eyes crinkled and he said, “Touche.” He leaned out the window, “The lady is getting out. After she does, 221B Baker Street.”
You opened the door yourself and got out before either of them could react. You turned back to the door and said, “Expect a letter then. Pleasure to meet you, John. Thank you for the invigorating night, Sherlock. I surely will not forget it.”
With that you closed the door, and turned, leaving them.
Inside the cab, Watson looked across at Sherlock who was watching Y/N go through the gate and up the stairs as the carriage took off again. Sherlock felt Watson staring and turned his head back when Y/N was out of sight.
“Wherever did you meet her, Sherlock? And how long has this been going on?”
<><><>
There were small get togethers still held in the off season, especially underground, and you had sent Sherlock a note, letting him know you would be at it, extending an invitation. You were on the minds of the hosts as one not to report debauchery, which is what this party consist of. And through them, you had secured that invite for Sherlock on your word he would not speak of what transpired there either.
You were accompanied by three girls younger than you, who were eager to meet some of the men attending. They cared not you were a tad older, actually were relying on you to give them guidance. They knew you were not a virgin and one confided to you she was not either. Your advice to them was to stay away from Lord Timothy and Mister Wilhelm… they both carried disease. The girls had giggled at first before they realized you were serious. You had been warned yourself by someone older than you during your first season.
You found yourself wandering through this party, keeping an eye out. He had responded he would attend. It would be the first time you would see him since Watson and him had dropped you off at your aunt’s after that night at the theater. It had been over a week.
There were card games going on, women sitting in men’s laps, libations and drugs passed around freely.
“My, my, a woman without thick or long sleeves and baring shoulder,” you heard him comment from behind you. Turning, he was standing, hands clasped behind his back. “You’re barely wearing anything at all… what would your mother say?”
“Barely wearing anything?” you repeated, coming to him. “I have a dress on!”
“But it is improper. The scandal!” Sherlock commented dramatically.
“You don’t approve?”
“I prefer it. Your skin is beautiful.”
That was the first time he had commented on anything other than your clothing and your heart jumped. You kept your bearings though.
Cocking an eyebrow, you asked, “Sir, I thought you said it was inappropriate to comment on features. You are so indecent!”
“Yet, you’re still standing here with me.”
“That I am… How satisfied you must be.”
“Quite.” His eyes were alight.
You shook your head, unable to stop yourself from smiling. “Well, are you going to offer to find us drinks?”
Offering his arm, you took it, allowing him to take you towards a table where one of the servers would come by to take an order. The two of you spent the next couple hours drinking and speaking in hushed tones about his work and what was going on with you and he even engaged in politics with you. Throughout the conversation, you had gotten closer to him in the booth, your bodies almost touching.
“You’re here with others…” he commented out of the blue. You confirmed you were and he asked, “Do they need you here?”
“Why?”
Sherlock’s eyes ran over the room quickly before he said, “I am growing tired of the crowd. You could sneak away with me? I have a carriage waiting outside and there is a vintage bottle of brandy at my residence.”
He was… inviting you back to his place? You would be lying if you said you had not been living that kiss over and over again.
Coy, you asked, “That seems a long time to ‘sneak away’.”
“Well, then you could go tell them you are not feeling well. I could pretend you spilled on me, offer to take you home…” he made a face and said. “Honestly, I could handle you even geting sick on me cause I packed a second waist coat.”
Laughing, you asked, “Did you plan this?”
“What would your reaction be if I did?” He examined you closely. He grunted lightly as you came close, your body flush against his. He looked at you in interest. “Forward as ever, are we?”
You slapped his chest and he grinned, taking that as a yes.
<><><>
“This is your place?”
“Well, I rent this room specifically. Watson has another,” Sherlock answered, tossing his coat on the back of a chair. His vest followed suit, leaving him in his dress shirt and suspenders. “You are not shocked by how unorganized I am?”
“There is a lot of things to look at,” you said honestly, picking up a leaf and touching the soil. “You could certainly water more though. That I will judge.”
“You’re quite mouthy.” You heard him popping the cork out of the brandy he had mentioned. “Especially for being the guest.”
“Are you complaining?” you questioned, throwing a look over your shoulder, watching him pour the pair of you small glasses. You were unsure you would be able to handle another drink; you were already buzzed, and you did not want to be too drunk for what you were expecting to come. You wandered further into the room, finding his bed.
You noticed the light film of dust across the pillow you were closest to. “Where do you even sleep? Do you ever sleep?” Running your finger across it, you rose your brows. You flicked the small dust gathering from your finger.
“Yes. But not there.” He was closer now, holding both glasses.
“Well, I hope to change your stance on that,” you said carelessly, tossing the covers back. You grabbed one of the pillows and shook it out before tossing it back.
Sherlock commented, “You are trouble.”
“Am I?” you asked, not looking at him still as you shook out another pillow.
Sherlock was quiet behind you as you began to undress. Your bodice was tossed carelessly to the side and you pulled your skirt over your head, leaving you in your undergarments. You tossed a look over your shoulder, finding him looking at you with rapt attention, his knuckles white on the glasses he was clutching so hard. Your lashes brushed your cheeks as you looked down at your petticoat, releasing it. Your corset and chemise followed, you kicking your heels off.
You turned, facing him, completely nude. You were baring your dignity and your body to him, hoping he would respond in like. He was transfixed and you took that as an invitation to crawl onto his bed, sitting back on your calves. You would be the one to mess it up, get him to sleep in it for the first time in a long time.
He placed the glasses down before turning back to you. He walked forward and you got up onto your knees as he approached. You gestured him closer, and he came to you. You pushed his suspenders off his arms, letting them fall to his sides. Your fingers found the buttons on his shirt, unbuttoning them, the two of your gazes locked. He let you tear it off, throwing it aside before you went to work on his sacks. His hand gripped your wrist as you went to free him from his slacks and a grin broke out.
You kissed the tip of his nose and asked, “Why are we stalling?”
“I’m just thinking of you getting caught. And your family asking for me to hang—”
You silenced him by shoving your lips to his, and he grunted at the impact. He quickly fell into it though.
Good. You had succeeded in getting him to shut the hell up. If even for a moment. You pushed at his slacks and he got the message, pushing them down himself and kicking them off along with his shoes.
You pulled at him, and he followed you, not wanting to let you go. His dick was growing hard, brushing against your skin as you brought him onto the bed. Lying back, he came in between your legs, hovering over you as the two of you were locked in passionate kisses.
His lips trailed up the inside of your thighs. His lips were soft, yet you shuddered at the brush from the stubble of his beard. He kissed up your stomach again, coming up between your breasts. He found your mouth again, his tongue slipping in.
He sunk into you slowly, and your fingers dug into his shoulders as you took each inch, breathing steadily. His lips peppered your shoulder, before sneaking back up. Sucking roughly at your neck, his teeth drug as he drove into you at a slow, steady pace. Small noises left you as you adjusted to his width.
Sherlock was lustful but he relied on passion rather than rough thrusts. He drove deep, holding you securely.
“On your back,” you rasped, wanting to please him.
He followed your order and you found yourself on top. You took him again, sinking into his length. You rode him, moaning, fingernails digging into his chest. His hands were gripping tight at your thighs and hips, low groans emanating from deep in his throat.
You stared into his eyes as you repeatedly sunk onto him, breathless and full of him.
<><><>
Nervously, you sat down on the bench beside Sherlock. He had sent you a note, somehow getting it into your bedroom without anyone in the house noticing. He had been away on a case and during that time, your hand had been forced finally. He looked bleak.
“I saw you are engaged.” He sniffed indignantly, looking out over the water. So, that is how he was going to greet you, cut right to the chase.
“You had time to be the name opposite of mine in that announcement.”
The two of you had been sneaking around either to meet each other for midnight trysts or accompanying him for over a year and a half. And during that time, you had convinced your mother to let you stay at your aunt’s, which granted you the freedom to do so.
He looked piqued. “I told you I was not ready. And I told you I would not be suitable for your parents. You needed to allow me to assist you in finding fortune to raise funds for yourself before moving out.”
“I was caught sneaking out with you.” He looked at you stunned, and you said, “Yes. Our time at The Everlade. Right before you went on this last case. I walked back inside the back door and my aunt was waiting there. There had been too many late nights and the staff had gossiped to her. It was the last straw… I was cornered and I was accused of sleeping around and I didn’t get out to or send you a note to tell you before you left.” He was silent still and you said, “I didn’t give your name up if that is what you are worried about.”
“Of course that’s not what I’m worried about,” Sherlock scoffed immediately.
“I had to choose between my great aunt telling my parents I had been sleeping with someone or behave and take the proposal she had been offered on my behalf.” You noticed the look on his face and sighed heavily. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Sherlock. I had no choice! And did you expect me to become a spinster?”
“I am years your senior and I’m still single,” he argued.
“You’re also a man.”
“You evaded it — marriage, the dredges — for years.”
“I did. At the whim of my parents! I cannot get a place on my own. And if word got around that I was being… loose,” Sherlock bristled at the term because sleeping with one man was not being loose but outside of traditional marriage – something he did not abide by which influenced his feelings on the matter – you were as good as a harlot. And that is what society believed so it was what you had to play by. “I would have been ruined.”
Sherlock huffed.
“It’s true and you know it! I was stuck under their roof! All that time. And we had something, something great. And then I got stuck under that proposal!”
“You could have moved in with me.”
“Oh? To a place with two men? That’s what I could’ve done? That would have looked savory, Sherlock! So then not only would it have been one man I was sleeping with, it would have been two!”
“There’s an attic!”
“You wanted me in the attic?”
“Of course not!” Sherlock snapped sourly. “But it would have been the convenient excuse.”
“Except for your house maid.”
Sherlock scowled at the mention of Mrs. Hudson.
You turned to face him more fully and for the first time he looked at you completely. “Propose to me.” He was stoic and you reached for his hand. “If I had another proposal—"
Sherlock pulled his hand away and you felt a deep pang of hurt. He was gruff when he said, “Your parents won’t accept it. I know who Arthur Cole is. Read up on him. He is drowning in his lineage’s fortune.”
Of course, he was right. They had been overjoyed at the proposal, knowing not only that you would be set financially but they would benefit from it as well.
Your voice was meek when you agreed, “No… they won’t.”
“Then it’s settled then. I knew how this would end.” He cleared his throat and you saw his eyes were wet and your own were following suit, devastated at what was happening. He could not even look at you when he said, his voice barely above shaking, “It does not make it hurt any less.”
He got up from the bench quickly. “Good day.”
“Sherlock. We do not have to end like this,” you protested, reaching for him again but he was out of your reach. You got up now and pleaded, “I do not want to not see you.” He continued walking off and you followed a few steps, trying again. “Sherlock, please!”
You were only met with silence and your feet came to a stop. It would not look good for you to be running after him, especially now since that word could get back to your fiancé. So, your breath shuddered, watching him walk further and further down the path, leaving you behind.
~~~
Fic tags: @undecidedsworld @mcnegan
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