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sardonic-the-writer · 1 year

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SHERLOCK: VALENTINES DAY HEADCANONS <3

• "It's valentines day?"

• That's how the morning had begun. With John exasperatedly running a hand down his face as he tried his best not to shout at his flat mate

• He had been reminding Sherlock that valentines day was coming up for the past week and a half, adiment on getting him out of the flat to go out and do something for once. You were in on it as well, giving Greg the heads up not to send any cases Sherlocks way for the day

• So of course John was a bit pissed when he found Sherlock hard at work at what used to be the dining room table, hunched over some of Moriarty's latest work instead of getting ready for the day

• "Yes its bloody valentines day. Sometimes I wonder how you can be so smart but so fucking oblivious at the same time."

• "Not oblivious, John. I meerly have no room in my brain for such trivial things. And the holiday occasion would certainly explain why Moriarty's latest crime was littered with rose petals and the hearts of the victims. Thank you John, that was percicly what I needed."

• "I know you're being serious right now, but I have never wanted to punch you in the mouth more."

• "You wouldn't be the first."

• Eventually, two hours after John and you had originally planned to drag Sherlock away from his work, the doctor finally got him out the door—where you had been standing for quite a while waiting

• He immediately sighed before outwardly deducing the both of you. Probably just to get on John's nerves even more if you had to guess from how red the latter's face was

• "Ah. I see what's going on. You two have devised a plan behind my back to take me out to some rather bland coffee shop or restaurant today in hopes that I will join into your mindless banter. Now I think I'll pas—"

• "Nope." You had popped the p on the end of your sentence, speaking before John could blow a gasket. "You're coming with us, Holmes. Come on, we're going to that fish and chips place you like. I'll even let you talk about the case I'm sure you stayed up late working on while we walk."

• That had gotten him to start following you down the street, breath showing up as cold puffs of air in the freezing england morning

• True to your word, you had let him talk about the case all along the way there as John occasionally put in his two cents

• "—and you know this all is making a lot more sense now that I'm out and seeing the affect this holiday has on people. I never pegged Moriarty as someone to go for something so trivial, but then again that's just another devious—"

• "Wait, what do you mean trivial?"

• Sherlock paused, both in his rambling and walking, before picking up his pace much slower

• "Well, amongst the blood and roses we found at the crime scene a few short days ago, there was a note for me. Per usual. But this time an actual one, fancy parchment and all. Detailing how I'd eventually loose, how we play cat and mouse, getting odly sexual I might add, that sort of thing blah blah blah. But what really stummped me—" He ignored the way you and John exchanged amused glances when he admitted that "—was the innuendo he left for you, (Y/n). I assume it was to throw me off in a similar fashion to Irene Adler's tactics but—"

• "Hold on." John stopped him in the middle of the sidewalk, eyes wide. "You're telling me, the most dangerous man we know left one of your best friends a note flirting with them, and you didn't think to tell then until valentines day?"

• Sherlock clearly didn't think much of John's steadily increasing tone, just raising an eyebrow in response

• "I didn't see the need to. They have never met before like you and he have at that pool. No reason to worry. Simply a move to get under my skin. Which did not work, I should add."

• You had to choke down laughter at the befuddled look on Sherlocks face, not sure John would appreciate you finding humor in the situation

• The rest of the holiday outing was spent with the two arguing; most of it coming from John as he worried. It wasn't the worst entertainment you had ever had over coffee, so you didn't mind watching your friend fret over something that didn't even concern you. Moriarty had never even known of you until what seemed like recently, so you didn't see reason to fear

• "That's it. You're staying in the flat with us this week. I'm not letting that bastard lay a finger on any of us again." John eventually said, throwing his hands up.

• "Oh come on. It was just a fake out from Mr. Jimmy boy. You heard Sherlock say it himself."

• "Please (Y/n), never call Moriarty that again. And John, leave them be. They're a grown adult."

• "Thank you, Sherlock!"

• "You're welcome (Y/n). Like I was saying, you can move into our flat on your own. No help required from us."

• "You too Sherlock. Really?"

#sardonics valentines day event ♡#sherlock bbc x reader #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x y/n #john watson #john watson x reader #john watson x y/n #john watson x you #jim moriarty #jim moriarty x reader #jim moriarty x you #jim moriarty x y/n #headcanons #fluff #x reader

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frostandflamesfanfic · 1 year

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The Mistletoe Test (Sherlock Holmes x Reader)

The Mistletoe Test (Rated T)

Pairing: BBC!Sherlock x Watson!Reader

Word Count: 1.9k+

Warnings: Brief language, Sherlock being a Scrooge

Summary: It’s your first Christmas at Baker Street and you’re determined to make it the best one ever. When your brother tries to warn you about his flatmate’s aversion to the holidays, you start to see a whole new side to the consulting detective. Will it affect your friendship?

“That is absolutely pointless.” You heard a thunk of porcelain being placed back onto the counter beside you. It was accompanied by the third exhausted sigh you had heard in the past hour alone. Your brother had apparently finished his morning tea, but still made no effort to assist in your plans. “He’s not going to buy into it and you know it.”

Your tongue poked past the corner of your lips in concentration. The small step ladder you had been perched on wobbled under your movements, but you still managed to keep your balance. “Why must you always be such a Scrooge, John?” you retorted, arms outstretched toward the top of the doorframe. There was a smear of something sticky on the wood and you did your best not to imagine its origin. “I think you might just be afraid that you might get caught under the mistletoe with a certain someone and have a bit of an awakening.”

“I’m not ‘being a Scrooge,’” your brother’s hurt bled through his tone. “And again, I’m not gay. I just don’t think you recognize how…against Christmas Sherlock really is.”

“How can anyone really be against Christmas?” You frowned as you attached the sprig of the plant to the doorframe. Leaning back slightly to admire your work, the step ladder groaned against your movements. “It’s a time for family, for light displays…for God’s sake, it’s Christmas!”

“Careful,” John’s hands reached up to your waist to steady you. “You’re going to fall and break your neck if you’re not careful. Besides, I think that is exactly why Sherlock doesn’t like Christmas. Have you met Mycroft?”

You shrugged as you took a step back down onto the messy kitchen floor. “Doesn’t he have parents, though?” you asked. “Surely he enjoys spending time with them.”

“They’re simple minded,” came a familiar deep tone from behind you. Its presence startled both you and your brother, causing John to remove his hold from your waist. Still perched against the edge of the step, you wobbled before falling backwards without warning, sending you toppling against a strong chest.

Sherlock peered down at you with an unamused expression as his arms snaked around your waist to set you down. “Just being around them longer than twenty minutes causes my IQ to decrease significantly.” Without so much as another glance at you, he made his way over to the cabinets to grab a cup for some tea. “It’s especially worse around the holiday season. Positively dreadful time.”

You risked a glance over at John in silent question. What just happened? Your brother merely shrugged in response, shaking his head and raised his eyebrows with lips set in a tight line. Like always, it was obvious he had no clue. He lifted his own cup of tea and set off toward his chair to flip through the morning’s newspaper.

You hadn’t been residing at Baker Street long, but you could tell this was the boys’ typical routine. Every morning, John rose early to have his breakfast and read the paper before trudging off to work. Sherlock, on the other hand, would stay up until ungodly hours playing his violin, staring at the bullet-ridden wall, or doing the Lord knows what before sleeping until noon.

The truth was, you found your brother’s detective flatmate to be a whole mystery in his own right. He was the dark and mysterious stranger who you had only vaguely known secondhand through your brother’s stories. Seeing and interacting with him in the flesh gave you a different perspective. Sure, he drove you mad as all hell, but you couldn’t help but be enticed by his demeanor. You didn’t plan on falling for him. It was just almost attractive how he acted. His tone was sharp and to the point, he didn’t care to be bothered by trivial things. Yet underneath the harsh exterior, you knew he had a soft spot when it came to those he cared about.

So that’s how you came about hatching the plan. It was the infamous mistletoe test, according to your coworker. If one hangs a sprig of mistletoe and stands underneath it. If the object of their affection walks by and doesn’t notice, the attraction is one sided. A kiss of the cheek assumes a platonic connection. Finally, the most obvious sign of shared attraction is a kiss on the lips. It was a stupid idea. You felt it in your bones as you stuck it up on the doorframe. But with John there, it was too late to back out.

Besides, what could possibly happen? If Sherlock really was as opposed to Christmas as John said, there was a good chance the mistletoe wouldn’t even mean anything to him. He could just walk under the plant with no knowledge of the tradition at all. It wouldn’t be a big deal, right? You couldn’t help the pang of disappointment in your stomach at the thought. Would it really be that big of a deal?

“What the hell is this in my lab?” Sherlock’s voice cut through your thoughts and snapped your attention toward him. He was staring at the small wooden trees and garland wreath you had placed in the center of the kitchen table as though it was about to explode. You had needed to clear up the surface a bit after his constant experiments, but you had been proud of the end result.

“They’re Christmas decorations,” you started, but the private detective was quick to cut you off.

“You have your own flat,” he spat back. “I suggest you use it and place your rubbish somewhere that matters to you, hm?”

Your whole frame stiffened as he began to pick up and shove each trinket into the box. He hardly spared you a glance while he continued through with the task. You watched as his upper lip practically curled in disgust at the garland shedding across the table, pinecones rolling out of the wrapped decoration onto the floor below. “Bloody mess,” he muttered to himself.

Like it was any better before, you wished to shout back. Instead, you merely took the box back from him and headed back downstairs to your flat without another word. As soon as the front door shut behind you, you tossed the box onto your coffee table and sunk to the floor. How could you have been that stupid? You were just trying to do something nice for your brother and his friend. You should have known it wouldn’t have ended well – John had clearly warned you.

The next few days, you decided it may be a better idea to spend your holidays doing the things you enjoyed instead of worrying about your brother and his flatmate. So you repurposed some of Sherlock’s discarded decor within your own flat, making sure to help Mrs. Hudson with the garland on the outside banister (she was more than pleased to say the least). Things had been going well, especially after you silenced John’s incessant text check-ins with a simple, I’m fine.

Two days before Christmas, you decided to indulge yourself in a little holiday baking. The idea was to bake gingerbread, brownies, and little Christmas puddings to give out as last-minute gifts for the rest of your friends and coworkers. Molly had been hinting about a craving for gingerbread earlier that morning, so you couldn’t think of a better sign to get started.

Donning your most festive “kiss the baker” apron, you pressed play on a Christmas radio station and got to work. You were so engrossed in your process, you hardly noticed the sound of someone knocking on your front door. It wasn’t until they knocked for the third time– at an increasingly more frantic pace– that you registered the sound and wiped your flour-coated hands on your apron before unlocking the door.

To your surprise, Sherlock was standing outside your doorway, hands behind his back. His glassy green-blue eyes searched your face in what you could only describe as desperation. He seemed almost nervous as he cleared his throat. The private detective lifted an eyebrow before gesturing with his right hand in a silent question as to whether he could enter your flat. When you gave a small nod, he stepped inside and raised an eyebrow yet again at both your attire and surroundings.

“You haven’t been by the flat in two weeks,” Sherlock spoke after a moment, tone unreadable.

“I’ve been…busy,” you replied, arm outstretched toward the kitchen. “You know, with simpleton Christmas celebration things.”

Sherlock stiffened at your response, eyes darting around again. “I see.”

“Why would you care how long I’ve been away anyway?”

The private detective before you cleared his throat. “John is also far less irritable when you visit the flat. I’ve counted that he has checked his mobile roughly twenty-two times this morning alone to check for any missed texts from you,” he explained. “I suppose I’ve also come to find your presence rather…tolerable. I function better with a challenge. ”

The two of you stood in an awkward silence for a moment before Sherlock parted his lips to speak again. “We’re having a small get together at Baker Street on Christmas Eve. It was John’s doing, really. I’ve been instructed to invite you to attend.”

You bit into your lower lip and gave a slow nod in return. “Right. Well, with an invitation like that, however could I possibly refuse?!”

“...I detect an element of sarcasm.”

Yeah, no shit, you thought to yourself. For a self-proclaimed genius, the man before you was fairly clueless. “What time does it start?”

“Seven.”

You gave a small nod and began to lead him back to the door. “I’ll be there,” you said. “Now I really do need to get back to my baking before all I’m left with is ash. Goodbye, Sherlock.”

“I suppose there is one more thing,” Sherlock mused as he stepped backwards in the doorway. He moved his hands in front of him, opening his left hand. “You left this behind at our flat the other day. I’ve only just thought to bring it round.”

You frowned in concern as you peered into his gloved palm. Nestled inside was a small sprig of mistletoe – the same plant you had hung in the kitchen doorway, no doubt. You hadn’t thought much of it since your dramatic departure from your brother’s flat, having just assumed Sherlock would have thrown away whatever remnants of Christmas you had left behind. “You didn’t need to bring it,” you replied smoothly. “It’s inexpensive and won’t do me much good.”

Sherlock gave a silent nod, eyes now locked onto yours. “Most likely not,” he agreed. “However, there is a…tradition.”

You watched as his gaze flickered from you, to your apron, the doorframe, the mistletoe in his hand, then back to you. Your breath hitched ever so slightly as you tried to decipher his meaning. Surely you must be mistaken. Before you had a chance to comment, Sherlock lifted the plant above your head and pressed a quick kiss upon your lips. It was soft, gentle even, but just so Sherlock. It had an air of elegance, yet was commanding enough to be orchestrated perfectly.

When he pulled away, you needed to blink a few times to reorganize your thoughts and look at the man before you – truly look at him. He gave you a smug little smirk and stepped out into the hallway. “Might want to check your oven,” he mused as he placed a foot on the first stair and began to make his way upstairs. Suddenly, he paused and turned his head to face you. “And merry Christmas.”

You gave him a soft smile before stepping back into your own flat and shutting the door. “Merry Christmas, Sherlock,” you whispered to the wood and made your way back to the oven.

Maybe that test wasn’t so strange after all.

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Author’s Note: Well, I meant to post this before Christmas, but I just didn’t get a chance to with my schedule. So why not make this my final fic post of 2022? Damn, that’s weird to say. I haven’t watched Sherlock in forever, but I plan to before I head back to uni for the next semester (hoping it’ll give me inspiration to get back to The Last Three Years). There’s just something about how Benedict portrays this character that makes him so fun to write. Especially around the holidays (:

Like always, if you enjoyed this fic and want to see more like it, make sure to leave a comment, tag a friend, even reblog. Likes are appreciated, but it’s interactions like these that spread the word about my works and motivate me to keep writing/posting content for you all.

Until next time, my little sparks <3

Taglist: @bakerstreethound, @theelmgrove, @severuined, special tag for @sobeautifullyobsessed as a holiday treat 💙

#sherlock fanfic #bbc sherlock #sherlock fic #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock bbc #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock bbc x reader #bbc sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock imagine #bbc sherlock fanfiction #benedict cumberbatch gifs #benedict cumberbatch #gender neutral reader #watson!reader #frostandflamesfanfic #ficmas 2022

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arkytiorwrites · 1 year

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Never Again

Sherlock Holmes x Reader x John Watson

My first BBC Sherlock post, and of course it’s a poly. Because who wouldn’t want them both?

I crept up the stairs to the flat of my boyfriends as silently as I could; not wanting to summon their landlady, Mrs. Hudson. I liked the older woman a lot, but I wasn't in the mood for her now. Right now I needed John's tea and Sherlock's hugs if they were home.

Unlocking the door to the flat , it was quickly obvious that they were out. Their coats were gone and the flat was silent. I left my backpack, coat, and shoes in a pile under the coat rack and curled up in John's chair, pulling on the jumper discarded on the armrest.

God I was so tired.

I sleepily nuzzled the shoulder for the jumper and inhaled as much of John’s scent that I could. He smelled like maple wood, hot sand, and a dash of whiskey. It always reminded me of his silent strength somehow. That John would always be there.

I was unable to continue waxing poetic because I was asleep after a few minutes.

. . .

Sherlock followed John up the stairs home in what John liked to call a 'strop’. Lestrade had called them both away from Baker Street for a case that hadn’t even been a four! Sherlock was even stroppier than normal because their wonderful partner, Y/N, would be coming home from their visit to America today and they both had wanted to be there to welcome them back. Instead, they were probably already back and had come home to a cold, empty flat. Sherlock nearly crashed into John where he had frozen in the doorway.

"John, what are you -"

" Sh!" the doctor scolded, reaching back and swatting vaguely at the lanky detective.

Looking over John, he finally saw what had caused his lover to try and shush him. Y/N had curled up and fallen asleep in John's armchair, but if that wasn't adorable enough, they had put on the dark blue jumper John had discarded earlier that afternoon.

The two men tiptoed toward their love, John crouching down in front and Sherlock kneeling at their feet.

" Baby? Wake up sweetheart," John softly urged.

Shifting a bit and letting out a soft kitten mewl, Y/N’s eyes fluttered and lit up the moment they saw the doctor.

"John?” they asked softly.

"Hi, love," he smiled reaching out and gently brushing their cheek.

They gave the ash-blond man a sleepy smile before looking around the room until they spotted the detective.

"Sherlock?"

"Hello, darling," he murmured, reaching out and gently rubbing their calf in a rare show of affection.

They yawned cutely before asking, "How was the case?"

"It wasn't even a four," Sherlock sniffed, standing and taking off his coat and scarf, hanging them on the coat rack.

"Which never a good thing for Greg,” John sighed standing as well.

"Tea?" he offered as the tempemental detective aggressively flopped onto the couch.

"If you don't mind," Y/N mumbled sleepily sitting up and rubbing their eyes.

John leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his partner's forchread before going to the kitchen.

Y/N stood from the doctors chair and shuffled over to the couch, where Sherlock sat in one of his many thinking poses. At Y/N’s approach, however, he held out an arm in clear invitation and the young American happily snuggled into his side. Sherlock tugged them closer and rested his cheek on their head.

"How was Oregon?" he asked quietly.

“Wet, windy, cold. The usual," they quipped.

"You know what I meant,” the brunet scolded.

"Not any different then when I left three years ago. Hannah’s got herself a contract. Rosemary and the other's are still at home. Mom and Dad haven’t changed theyre just a bit grayer now,” Y/N shrugged. "But I'd forgotten how beautiful it is in spring over there."

Sherlock hummed noncommittally before the two lapsed into a comfortable silence.

A few minutes later, John emerged from the kitchen with two mugs of tea. He doled them out accordingly, giving the loves of his life a kiss each before going back for his own own. He came back and sat on Y/N’s unoccupied side, the three of them happy together.

"You are not allowed to leave us for that long ever again,” Sherlock announced just as Y/N was beginning to drift off again.

“I was only gone for two weeks,” they mumbled, confused.

"Exactly. Far too long," John agreed, nodding seriously.

Y/N playfully groaned as they said, "Of course, I would somehow and up with the most clingy boyfriends in all of the UK."

“You love us, " Sherlock snorted.

“Yeah," they agreed, happily snuggling into the self proclaimed sociopath’s shoulder. "I do."

#johnlock #john loves sherlock #john Watson x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock Holmes x reader x John Watson #polyamory #arkytiorwrites #sherlock bbc x reader #sherlock bbc #these three dorks are in love and it’s beautiful #I would happily date them both

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a-cup-of-earl-grey-please · 1 year

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Mastermind (A Songfic | BBC Sherlock x Fem!Reader)

Word count: 1,797 words

Pairing: BBC Sherlock x Fem!Reader

Summary: Truly a mastermind, Sherlock outsmarts himself and you; at least he thinks so. How will he ask you out, though?

Warning: first fic on tumblr (aka crappy writing/formatting), if you squint really hard with the hubble telescope—the tiniest bit of stalking, just basically fluff though

Gunshots rang through the room as the yellow smiley face on the wall was punctured in its left cheek once again. Sherlock was bored out of his mind. His mind was like a television—flashing with hundreds of different channels at the same time. Yet, none of them interested him.

He could hear John’s habitual limp, along with the slight thump of his walking cane, but another pair of shoes—heels, he noted—were hitting the floor as well. Giggling and oh-so-obviously chippy, you emerged first into his flat, John at your heels. Sherlock kept his head low, still running his fingers over his gun. You were probably John’s new date—whatever, nothing new.

The giggles stopped, and Sherlock felt something disappear from his mind—a small hollow hole was left.

He looked up. What Sherlock saw was nothing short of magnificent. The girl—or woman, should he say—John brought today was definitely not a supermodel, but there was this strange charm around you that brought him to stand up. Except he only did that—stood up and froze like an idiot.

Once upon a time, the planets and the fates

And all the stars aligned

You and I ended up in the same room

At the same time

“Erm, Sherlock, I’d like to-” John pointedly said after a few seconds.

“Oh, John, let me introduce myself—I am very capable of that.” You laughed a little, and Sherlock felt that missing something come back into his mind, full of warmth. He only watched as you approached him confidently.

You stuck your hand out, and Sherlock grasped it—a bit too earnestly, he realized.

And the touch of a hand lit the fuse

Of a chain reaction of countermoves

To assess the equation of you

The first thing he deduced: you were not dating John. John had a habit of rubbing his thumb over the back of his girlfriend’s hand. However, to his confused delight, Sherlock could feel the residue of hand cream—obviously applied to avoid the November weather in London affecting your soft skin—on the back of your hand.

The second thing he noticed? Your hand felt so—what’s the word?—nice in his hand. His mind went a million miles per hour after that realization: you were working an office job that was obviously not satisfying your intellectual desires, your boss was an absolute cock, and you seemed to enjoy Sherlock’s presence.

That last one caught him off guard.

“Y/N, John’s friend from uni. Nice to meet you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.”

He let go of your hand, still dazed by his last piece of deduction. The moment you let go, he knew he couldn’t wait to feel it again. He wondered why.

“Y/N?” He tested out your name—he liked how it felt on his lips. “Call me Sherlock, please.”

Checkmate, I couldn't lose

They did that several times, with a success rate of approximately 73% of seeing you—oh, the conversations you two had were magical and almost dreamy for Sherlock. You offered great insight into frustrating cases, and you had a collection of random facts that he could listen to for hours. You came over to his flat sometimes, giving excuses about something you read in the news about Sherlock or something, just to stay for hours talking with him. One time you two talked about the history of dish soap and how it affects what parts of their hands people dry with a towel after doing the dishes—leading him to a victorious solution to a serial killer case a few minutes afterward.

And of course, on this random Tuesday, Sherlock and John were at your favorite cafe again, strategically near your lunch break.

“Oh hey, Sherlock—and John.” You hastily added John, as if your eyes had simply glazed over poor John. “Didn’t expect to see you two here again, huh. I mean-” You approached them with your signature grin. John stood up to get another chair for you, cheerfully muttering about bloody coincidences.

What if I told you none of it was accidental

And the first night that you saw me, nothing was gonna stop me?

A smug smile crept up on Sherlock, only to quickly drop when he saw the coffee stain on your blouse.

“Who did that?” He quietly interrupted. His eyes were transfixed upon that small stain.

“What?” Your eyes dropped down to the stain he was staring at. “Oh, that was my boss, but it was a mistake.” You said hastily, as you sat down. He saw your smile falter, however, as if you were insecure all day about the stain.

“No, it wasn’t. The shape of the stain is too lopsided for an accident that happened because of the sudden loss of balance. He just wanted to humiliate you. Look at where he spilled it. Almost strategically right in the middle of your—ehem—chest.” He cursed internally as he felt himself blush slightly as he said the word chest—hell, he might as well be a schoolboy with a crush.

Before you could escape your shock, he offered: “Why don’t we get you a new blouse, a better one, just to spite him? To show him that it does not affect you.” John stared at him as if Sherlock suggested that they take Mrs. Hudson to a nightclub. Sherlock Holmes never volunteered to go shopping with someone—especially not for someone.

“Oh, but my lunch break ends in a few minutes. Thanks for offering though. It’s all right, I guess.” You gave him a little smile—which did not reach your pretty eyes, he noticed—and stood up to leave. Sherlock froze, his mind going faster than ever. Without even realizing that John, confused as always, said goodbye to you without him, Sherlock sat there, thinking.

I laid the groundwork and then, just like clockwork

The dominoes cascaded in a line

“John, come on. We’re getting Ms. Y/L/N a new blouse because her boss is an absolute jerk to her. We can’t let that get to her head, can we?” Sherlock abruptly stood up, pulled his coat on, and left the cafe. John hurriedly caught up with him, carrying two coffees behind him, sarcastically grumbling about how Sherlock had once thought sentiment was a loser’s virtue. Sherlock dismissed the implications his statements had.

What if I told you I'm a mastermind?

In the bitter cold of London, Sherlock thought: Why was he doing this? What was going on? Was this—god forbid—love? Was he in—it hurt him to say the word—love? After interacting with you for less than three months? Sherlock lied to himself, pretending to think hard. No matter how hard he thought about you, the answer to those questions was clear.

“John, I’m in love.” He turned to John, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk.

John promptly dropped a coffee, and the other one dripped onto his beige jumper. Even in that situation, Sherlock proudly noted that his mental simulation about coffee stains had pinpoint accuracy.

“With Y/N, I presume?” John asked, exasperatedly attempting to get the stain out of his jumper.

“Yes, and intentionally so, I must admit.” Sherlock realized his mind had known all along that you were the one. He had absentmindedly figured out where you worked and your favorite cafe just so that he could fall in love with you. That bastard brain.

“So you dragged me along to this cafe three times a week, which coincidentally happened to be Y/N’s favorite as well?” John laughed, resigned. “You absolute bastard, you planned to fall in love with someone?” John asked incredulously as he absentmindedly followed Sherlock into a women’s clothing store. “So I was a blind idiot who just came along to your potential dates?”

If you fail to plan, you plan to fail

Strategy sets the scene for the tale

“Yes, and what do you think of this one?” Sherlock held up a peach-colored blouse. He knew your size, because of that one time you left your jacket on his sofa. His mind palace had immediately dedicated a whole room just for you, since the first time you two had met.

He had truly outsmarted himself. He had truly, once and for all, planned something without consciously planning, outsmarted himself without thinking, and fallen in love with someone without even registering a hint of romance in his mind. If he wasn’t dazed by this revelation, he would have been laughing for once.

No one wanted to play with me as a little kid

So I've been scheming like a criminal ever since

To make them love me and make it seem effortless

“Wrap it as a gift, please.” Sherlock said, as he approached the cashier with his credit card. “Oh, and throw in a card, please? I could also use a pen as well—if you don’t mind.” John threw him a strange look.

This is the first time I've felt the need to confess

And I swear

I'm only cryptic and Machiavellian 'cause I care

So I told you none of it was accidental

And the first night that you saw me, nothing was gonna stop me

His small note wrote—hidden inside the gift box:

“A date. 5 o’clock, Friday. Your favorite cafe. Just me and you.

-SH

P.S. I must admit, I planned all the coincidental meetings we had so far. Forgive me.”

You had to cover your mouth to stop yourself from laughing out loud. First of all, that note was just so purely Sherlock—except for the “forgive me” part. Secondly, of course, you knew already! Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday—John and Sherlock were at that cafe. That’s a bit unusual, isn’t it?

I laid the groundwork and then saw a wide smirk

On your face, you knew the entire time

You knew that I'm a mastermind

You texted Sherlock: “Not the cafe again, I’ve had more than enough of that in the past two months you’ve been pursuing me. Angelo’s at 6 o’clock. Let’s have dinner. I won’t let you plan our first date as well. I’ve played along nicely for long enough.”

And now you're mine

Yeah, all you did was smile

Sherlock smiled with a warm glow of happiness as he heard the long-awaited ding from his phone.

And obviously, the night ended in a shy little peck on your lips from your new boyfriend.

‘Cause I’m a mastermind.

#earl's cup of tea #bbc sherlock #sherlock bbc #sherlock x reader #sherlock reader insert #sherlock bbc x reader #sherlock fluff #taylor swift #songfic #Spotify

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thepaperpanda · 2 years

Text

𝓓𝓪𝔂 14 - Solving A Case || BBC Sherlock Holmes x fem!reader

Masterlist

Summary: Sherlock insists that you visit him, but his motives are rather unclear.

Warnings: some undressing

Word count: ~ 800

Authors: Cass & Fenrir

A/N: the prompt for today is: Undressing

"Good morning, Mrs. Hudson!" You shouted before going straight to Sherlock's apartment.

A completely unknown reason prompted him to contact you, asking you to go to his house immediately.

Sherlock walked down the front hall and glared at you, cocking his one eyebrow up, as soon as he heard your sweet tone echoing off the walls. "You're running late, Y/N."

As you tried to remove your scarf, you nodded. "I know, I am so sorry, it wasn't my fault..."

"You say it wasn't your fault?" He inquired.

"Of course it wasn't. They fixed a sidewalk on the way from my flat, so traffic was a little chaotic," you said finally as you removed your coat and scarf.

His frown had been replaced by a smile on his lips. "Don't worry, I'm aware of it, and I calculated that you might be late. Let us not waste any more time. Please follow me."

After throwing your stuff on the couch, you followed him quickly with an eye roll. "We were going to meet later anyway, so what's the big deal?"

Sherlock looked at you as soon as the door to his office closed behind you and said, "Undress."

Not sure if you heard it right, you blinked and looked around awkwardly. "Excuse me? What?”

"You heard me. Undress, Y/N," he repeated, looking at you.

As you took off your shoes, a look of confusion still appeared on your face. "Like, you want me to take off everything?"

Sherlock cocked his eyebrow at you. "Did I tell you to take your shoes off? I told you to undress."

"I wouldn't take off my skinny jeans with shoes on," you rolled your eyes and then smiled.

It hit you then - there was no doubt your dear boyfriend was eagerly awaiting tonight's date. Revealing your bra, you slowly took off your shirt. It was only a matter of time before your pants followed, revealing matching bottoms. "Sherlock, you might have told me earlier that you cannot wait to see me that much."

He walked to you and traced his fingers along the stripe of your bra, humming to himself. He put hands on your shoulders and slowly turned you around to take a look at your bun.

There was something odd about this, but Sherlock was always odd, so you didn't pay much attention, but when you didn't reach any good conclusions, you started to wonder. "Sherlock? What are we doing exactly?”

"I'm undressing you," he told you simply, pushing his hands beneath the straps of your bra, tugging them down your shoulders, cupping your breasts after.

You gasped and bit your lips, smiling at him. "Well, I can see that. You want to take stuff slowly today?"

"Maybe," his response was brief.

Playing with your bottom lip, you nodded, staying quiet, enjoying his touch.

Soon, his hands moved from your breasts down your body, through the stomach, until they reached your thong.

As his hand reached lower, you let out another soft gasp that filled you with goosebumps.

Sherlock's hand played with your thong, and soon he pushed the material down your legs, slowly and constantly, humming at the softest of your skin under his calloused fingers.

When you stepped out of the panties, you realized you were fully naked in front of him. Like every time, it made you blush. "Sherlock, stop playing with me."

He put hands to your shoulders and slowly caressed down them; his touches soft and delicate like a summer rain. "Good, good, very well." Soon, he turned you around and took one more glance over your curvy hips and fully breasts and thighs.

As you stared at the door in front of you, you were confused. Usually, Sherlock took things slow and unexpectedly, but this was getting silly.

Suddenly, he sent you a warm smile. "Ok, I'm done, you can get dressed, if you want, of course."

"What?" You asked quietly, looking at him. "Excuse me? What do you mean you are done?”

"I am solving a mysterious case. The deceased woman was your size and I had to check something. Thank you for helping me get the clue that the killer had to be left-handed."

"Wouldn't it have been easier to go touch the actual body instead of dragging me all the way here?" You asked.

"Why touch some random, cold Noddy when I have you in my reach, my beautiful?" Sherlock walked back to you and kissed your cheek.

"Well, it seems like your hobby," you grumbled, annoyed by the kiss. "But maybe you could take a little break?"

His eyebrow went up slowly and a cocky grin appeared on his lips. As Sherlock started unbuttoning his plain shirt, he nodded. "I like this idea, Y/N."

#sherlock x reader #reader x sherlock #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock bbc x reader #bbc sherlock x reader #sherlock imagine #sherlock x you #bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes x you #writers on tumblr #paperpanda kinktober #kinktober 2022

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ssanovak · 1 year

Text

Characters & Fandoms I write for;

I am willing to write pairing fics of a character x reader, or general scenario fics with reader inserts.

Reader will be male with he/him pronouns as a default, so please specify if you’d like a female or gender neutral reader!

I will write LGBTQ+ and straight readers & pairings, just let me know what kind of thing you want in your request! I will not write smut.

I am Autistic and have ADHD, I will happily write either of these into fics.

I will write mental health issues, I personally suffer from OCD, CPTSD, Depression, and have previously dealt with ED tendencies, so I can write those with relative ease, request other mental health stuff and I’ll give it a go if I can or let you know if I don’t feel able to write it.

Characters not on my list are probably either not there because I don’t feel I know the character well enough to write them or am not comfortable writing them as pairings, but it’s always worth checking just in case I forgot to add someone!

Criminal Minds

Spencer Reid

Aaron Hotchner (Hotch)

Jason Gideon

David Rossi (Dave)

Jennifer Jareau (JJ)

Emily Prentiss

Derek Morgan

Penelope Garcia

NCIS

Leroy Jethro Gibbs

Anthony DiNozzo Jr. (Tony)

Timothy McGee

Abby Sciuto

Jimmy Palmer

Ziva David

Ellie Bishop

Nick Torres

BBC Sherlock

Sherlock Holmes

John Watson

Mycroft Holmes

Greg Lestrade

James Moriarty (Jim)

Supernatural

Dean Winchester

Sam Winchester

Castiel

Gabriel

Crowley

I will probably add more characters as I get further into shows I am watching or if I find a new fandom to obsess over! Have fun writing requests!

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kl4us4 · 2 years

Text

KL4US’s MASTERLIST

stranger things, umbrella academy, sherlock, the 100, daredevil blog previously known as: octavia-marie-blake.

DAREDEVIL

MATTHEW MURDOCK

fear of god (x f!reader, on-going) - working as an investigative journalist, trailing a string of murders has you running to matthew murdock - and daredevil - for help

can't let you go (x f!reader) - when matty shows up beaten and bruised - again - you’re not sure how much more you can take.

STRANGER THINGS

STEVE HARRINGTON

shoot to kill (x f!reader) - my words shoot to kill when I'm mad, I have a lot of regrets about that

caught (x f!reader) * - fucking bf!steve in front of billy

morning (x f!reader) * - morning sex w bf!steve

a new hope (x reader) - forcing steve to watch star wars so that he can get a job at the video store

EDDIE MUNSON

the chain (x f!reader) - hawkins, indiana. 1986. it's your senior year at Hawkins High and everything's supposed to be easy - until a night in Eddie's trailer has you both running for your lives.

begin again (x reader) - dealing with the aftermath of eddie surviving, but not being accepted back into hawkins

everything (x f!reader) - your family don’t seem to care much about your birthday - but there’s one person willing to make it extra special for you.

light and high beauty (x f!reader) - a calm afternoon spent listening to eddie read aloud at his place.

mr. rager (x f!reader) - eddie's desire to fit in has never resurfaced as much as it does while watching you gain attention from the popular crowd. things get messy when jason targets eddie, yet again

'broken nose' kind of protective (x f!reader) - eddie loves his uncle - he's almost a father to him. he just hates when he brings his rowdy, disrespectful friends to the trailer park.

matilda (x f!harrington!reader) - you had held off from telling your parents about your metalhead boyfriend. at the cusp of your anniversary, eddie feels like your parents should know about the two of you.

UMBRELLA ACADEMY

KLAUS

churchyard (x f!reader) - he communicates with spirits, you communicate with angels

a perfect world (x reader) - reader dies suddenly but is still able to see klaus

quiet (x reader) - your power gives you the ability to create silence

caught (x reader) - being caught by klaus stealing from the happily departed reginald hargreeves

the same (x f!reader) - leaving rehab at the same time as klaus and being there for him during s1 [I II III]

close and beautiful (x reader) - being back by klaus' side through difficult and confusing times

action (x reader) - a city akin to gotham yet no vigilante to guard its citizens - until one day, there is

11 years older and 22 inches taller (x reader) - you're happily dating klaus but five seems to have a small crush on you [I II]

hold on (x reader) - as Klaus’ best friend, you had to deal with your fair share of incidents where he’s pushed himself over the edge - but none like this

BEN

landslide (x reader) - trying to live life without him

perfect (x f!plussize!reader) - ben is so certain you're perfect, he wishes you knew it too

FIVE

go best friend (x bestfriend!reader) - being friends with five is always fun

DIEGO

take care of you (x gn!reader) - after diego comes home late, you share some cuddles and love

nothing breaks like a heart (x f!reader) - you and diego are in love but it breaks his younger brothers heart

meeting grace (x reader) - you finally get to meet your boyfriend's mom

the whole truth (x lawyer!reader) - diego is on trial, you're his lawyer and he does not make it easy

beautiful boy (x m!reader) - you never miss a chance to tell diego how beautiful you think he is

alone now (x reader) - diego asking you to marry him

read all about it (x journalist!reader) - when you see a former superhero from the Umbrella Academy follow five armed robbers into a bank, you just know you have to get the full story

SHERLOCK HOLMES (BBC)

bad men (x f!reader) - sherlock needs your help - after all, you're the best assassin in london

bearer of bad news (x f!reader) - it's all too much - the cases, the heinous crimes, handling Sherlock's cold remarks - and you snap

#steve harrington x reader #klaus hargreeves x reader #diego hargreeves x male!reader #diego hargreeves x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock bbc x reader #ben hargreeves x reader #matthew murdock x reader #matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader

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readingbookelf · 2 years

Text

A Threat on My Heart - Sherlock Holmes

Summary: During his latest case Sherlock gets a threat on his life. Instead of going to a safe house, Mycroft offers a couple of rooms in his home. Your anxiety gets the better of you so you go to Sherlock to put your mind at ease.

Pairing: reader x Sherlock Holmes

My Writing | Join my taglist

When you’re almost home, you see half a dozen policemen in front of the home you share with Sherlock and John. None of the officers will let you through the barricade even though you told them you live there.

At first glance you don’t see Sherlock on the scene of whatever’s happening which is odd. Oh no did something happen to them? It’s always a possibility, but with Sherlock’s mind you never thought --

Before your mind can go any further you hear his voice.

“There you are! Why aren’t you at work,” he asks exasperated.

Relief floods through you when you recognize Sherlock’s voice. You turn around, away from your home. Your eyes meet his blue ones and calm you down. John’s walking next to him. Relief takes over every part of your body because they’re safe.

You furrow your eyebrows at Sherlock’s question. He’s usually pleased when you get home earlier, it means he can share his theories on their latest case.

“They let me go early. It was a slow day,” you timidly answer the consulting detective.

“We were worried when we didn’t find you at work,” John explains.

“Why would you come and get me at work? What’s going on with the apartment?”

Sherlock sighs: “We’ve received a threat during our latest case. Lestrade is a pain in the arse and wanted to make sure there weren’t any bombs or whatever in the building.”

Your mouth falls open and before you can close it yourself, Sherlock closes it with his index finger.

“How long until we can go home?” You hear the whiny note in your own voice and it makes you wince.

Sherlock’s hand reaches out and pats your shoulder. John takes your arm and puts you between the both of them while you look back at the police running around.

A couple minutes later, Lestrade walks towards you and when he stops in front of you, he says: “I’m afraid I can’t let you in the apartment until this case is over. The threat is too severe. There were no explosives in your home right now, but who says they won’t come back later.”

Sherlock lets out a deep sigh. Where are you supposed to stay? 221b Bakerstreet is the only home you know. It’s clear the news completely deflates your spirits. Sherlock wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you into his side. He isn’t one for physical contact, but he knows it helps you when you’re anxious. You lean into his side for comfort.

Lestrade continues: “We can put you in a safe house until the case is solved.”

“That won’t be necessary. They can stay with me.”

You back goes rigid when you hear Mycroft’s voice. That man gives you the chills. The way he demands things and everything has to be his way. You can feel Sherlock’s hand squeeze your side in an attempt to silence your nerves.

“That won’t be necessary, Mycroft,” Sherlock hurriedly answers his brother.

After a heated discussion, you’re told to get some necessities from the apartment and that you’ll be staying with Sherlock’s brother.

---

Sherlock’s still grumbling when you arrive at Mycroft’s home. You’re uttered into your respective rooms without a second glance. Your hands are shaking when you take in the room. You’re in a house you don’t know. You’re in a room you don’t know. There’s a threat on Sherlock’s life, by extension everyone he lives with. Oh, this is bad.

You can feel your anxiety rumble in your chest. You’re all about routine and familiarity. It took you a while to get used to the space above Sherlock’s apartment, but you fell in love with the space the second you looked at it, making the transition easier. But this situation, it screams at your nerves to go haywire. This cold house, the coldness of the relationship between the two brothers, being alone, the threat.

You get ready for bed, but stay seated on the edge of the gigantic bed. Anxiety swirls through your body. You don’t know what time it is when you go look for Sherlock, hoping he can silence your thoughts. He’s probably still awake, trying to figure out the case so you can go home.

Luckily for you, he was assigned the room across the hall from you. You knock on his door, but there’s no answer. Did he go out to research something? Did he leave you all by yourself in a home you’re not familiar with? Panic seizes your chest and you fire three rapid knocks.

After some shuffling, the door opens revealing Sherlock clad in pyjamas and his hair tousled.

“Oh no, I woke you didn’t I? I’m so sorry. Please go back to sleep. The one time you voluntarily rest, I wake you,” you ramble already turning around towards your room.

Before you can move away, Sherlock’s fingers wind around your wrist pulling you into his room.

“Having trouble containing your anxiety, love,” he asks, sleep still clear in his voice.

You sheepishly nod at him.

“That’s alright. Come on, crawl under the covers so we can get some sleep, alright,” he says gently.

He lets go of your wrist and opens the sheet on the side that hasn’t been slept in.

“Are you sure it’s alright? I know you like your space,” you whisper.

“Yes, I’m sure. Now get your butt in bed so we can get some sleep.”

He sends you a smile before moving to his side of the bed and crawling under the covers. You hesitantly take your place next to him and get comfortable. Sherlock’s presence eases your anxiety and pushes down the thoughts. He moves around a little before grabbing your hand. You let out a gasp. It’s true that touch grounds you and silences your thoughts. But you can’t believe he’s doing this too.

“Let’s squash those thoughts am I right,” he chuckles.

“Yeah, you are,” you laugh and then more serious, “Thank you for doing this.”

“It’s my fault we’re not in the apartment. The least I can do is set your mind at ease.”

You move a little closer to him, your sides are touching now. Your joined hands are laying on his chest. You move on your side and rest your head against his shoulder, basking in his warmth. A light kiss is pressed onto your forehead before sleep takes you. How you wish you could share your bed with Sherlock every night.

#sherlock bbc #sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlock imagine #sherlock bbc x reader #sherlock bbc imagine #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x y/n

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ebiemidnightlibrarian · 23 days

Text

𝕺𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝕱𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖔𝖒𝖘

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐋

𝑻𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒔

𝑳𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝑻𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 | 𝑻𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒔 𝒙 𝑴𝒖𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕!𝑭𝒆𝒎!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 — 𝑻𝑩𝑨 [𝒐𝒏𝒆-𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕]

𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒗𝒆 𝑹𝒐𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒔

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒆𝒔𝒕 | 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒗𝒆 𝑹𝒐𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒙 𝑭𝒆𝒎!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 — 𝑻𝑩𝑨 [𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒕-𝒇𝒊𝒄]

𝑫𝒐𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒓 𝑺𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆

𝑳𝒂𝒅𝒚 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒖𝒔𝒕* | 𝑫𝒐𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒓 𝑺𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆 𝒙 𝑭𝒆𝒎!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 — 𝑻𝑩𝑨 [𝒐𝒏𝒆-𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕]

𝑫𝒓𝒚𝒂𝒅* | 𝑫𝒐𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒓 𝑺𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆 𝒙 𝑭𝒆𝒎!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 — 𝑻𝑩𝑨 [𝒐𝒏𝒆-𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕]

*the names might change later

𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝

𝑫𝒓. 𝑷𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒑 𝑲. 𝑫𝒆𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒌𝒂 𝑶𝒍' 𝑩𝒖𝒕𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒆

𝑭𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒉 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝑭𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒚 | 𝑷𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒑 𝑫𝒆𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒓 𝒙 𝑵𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒅!𝑭𝒆𝒎!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 — 𝑻𝑩𝑨 [𝒐𝒏𝒆-𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬

𝑫𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒚 𝒁𝒃𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒌

𝑯𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒂 𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 | 𝑫𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒚 𝒁𝒃𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒌 𝒙 𝑳𝒊𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒏!𝑭𝒆𝒎!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 — 𝑻𝑩𝑨 [𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒕-𝒇𝒊𝒄]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞

𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝑯𝒖𝒎𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒌

𝑷𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒔 & 𝑺𝒆𝒂 𝑾𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒔 | 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝑯𝒖𝒎𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒙 𝑷𝒊𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒆!𝑭𝒆𝒎!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 — 𝑻𝑩𝑨 [𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒕-𝒇𝒊𝒄]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐰

𝑫𝒓. 𝑭𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝑵' 𝑭𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒓

𝑰𝒏𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒚 | 𝑭𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝑵 𝑭𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒙 𝑭𝒆𝒎!𝑺𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒔𝒕!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 — 𝑻𝑩𝑨 [𝒐𝒏𝒆-𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕]

𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐁𝐁𝐂

𝑺𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌 𝑯𝒐𝒍𝒎𝒆𝒔

𝑴𝒖𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝑰𝒔 𝑶𝒏 | 𝑺𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌 𝑯𝒐𝒍𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒙 𝑭𝒆𝒎!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 — 𝑻𝑩𝑨 [𝒐𝒏𝒆-𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕]

#sherlock bbc x reader #frank n' furter x reader #prince humperdink x ofc #prince humperdink x reader #dr. decker x reader #dr. decker x ofc #dorothy zbornak x ofc #dorothy zbornak x reader #talos marvel x reader #talos marvel x ofc #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x ofc #doctor strange x ofc #doctor strange x reader #ebie's masterlist #ebie's writing

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theidioticspirit · 2 years

Text

MCU Masterlist

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader - Fluff, no warnings

Mauraders+Golden Trio Era Masterlist

James Potter x GN reader - Fluff, no warnings

Sherlock BBC Masterlist

I swear I'll write

Saiki K. Masterlist

Maybe...

Shifting Scenarios Masterlist

empty AKSL

RTC Masterlist

soon maybe!!

Misc. Masterlist

I need to write more??

#mari's masterlist #marvel x reader #mcu x reader #hp x reader #golden trio x reader #mauraders x reader #sherlock bbc x reader #saiki k x reader #shifting scenarios #tua x reader #ride the cyclone x reader

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frostandflamesfanfic · 2 years

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The Last Three Years (Sherlock x Reader) - Chapter 8

| | Masterlist | |

Chapter 8: Evergone

"In your hopes and dreams, in your memories, in the songs we sing, in the ones we leave. We carry on where no one is ever gone" -Christina Perri (evergone)

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes (BBC) x Watson!Reader

Word Count: 3.2k+

Warnings: IMPORTANT TRIGGER WARNINGS: Mentions of miscarriage, description of pregnancy, mentions of abusive/toxic relationship

Summary: Sitting in the park with Elora, It's time for you to finally confront and open up about just what happened to send you spiraling over the edge. But can she finally help you let go and look toward a future that seems far less dark?

Author's Note: I just want to provide a solid warning to readers, as it's been a while since the last chapter (please go back and read chapter 7 if you haven't already! -- masterlist is coming soon, I promise!): there is a description of miscarriage, although, it may not be entirely accurate. Given the current situation within the United States, I thought it was important to mention the importance of knowing your options if you are ever faced with a situation like this...and stay safe!

Just when you think you’re safest, the world crumbles beneath your feet. When Elora found you, you were perched in front of a park water fountain with a heaving chest. You had no clue how long you had been running. Hours, minutes, seconds. . .they had all just flown by without meaning. The only thing you could do was stare silently at the water flowing against the structure. It all looked so tranquil, a luxury you hadn’t been able to afford for the past year and a half.

You heard Elora call your name again, much softer this time. When you didn’t respond, you felt the weight of something heavy against your shoulders. It was followed by a gentle touch on your arm. In the time you had known Elora Holmes, she wasn’t entirely known to be sentimental. Yet here the two of you were, sitting silently in a park, wishing you could turn back time to get someone back that meant the world to you. It should have been easy to talk to her. She was his sister, for God’s sake, and she had a right to know. You just couldn’t bring yourself to let the story fall from your lips.

“You lost it,” your friend said after a while.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you stared out at the water feature, motionless.

“You lost it,” she continued, “and no one was there for you. I wasn’t there for you.” Her voice faded to a whisper. “That’s why you were on the roof.”

Warm beads of tears trickled down your cheeks, leaving cold trails against your skin in their wake. Once you broke the floodgates, there was no stopping the obnoxious sobs that ripped from your throat again. The two of you sat there as you let out all of the pain, grief, and anger you had kept hidden away for so long.

“What happened?” Elora pressed again, gentler this time.

A hiccup escaped your lips as you wiped your nose with the back of your hand, careful not to mess up the woollen Belstaff coat. “Sometimes,” you started in a quiet and raspy voice. It was a tone you hadn’t heard from yourself in a long time and it scared you. “Sometimes there’s only so long before your past catches up with you.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You had been sitting in the urgent care unit for some time now, a packet of ice against your face when it first happened. The thrumming pain across your body caused you to ache in ways you hadn’t experienced since before you left America. You were confident that it had had something to do with Xavier’s reaction, but Greg had still insisted that he bring you to hospital after the attack. After everything that had transpired, he wanted you to get checked out. “You know,” he had tried to be delicate, “with the baby and all that.”

On the car ride over, he had asked you questions about life before London. You knew he didn’t mean to push or pry, but he wanted to keep you safe. Safety was but an after-thought for you now. Sure, you were scared, also saddened, by the experiences. Your only concern was making sure you could survive long enough to bring this new life into the world. Anything else was unimportant.

Upon initial physical inspection, the nurses said everything had looked fine. Given your condition, they wanted to run some additional checks- make sure there were no other reasons for concern. While you waited, you thought about your freedom and Xavier’s promise of a less-than-happy reunion in the future. Maybe it really could be over, you thought to yourself. Maybe this is the fresh start I needed. The idea almost brought a full smile to your face.

Later that day, you were walking along the streets of London with two pints of paint swinging in your arms. You had hoped to catch a cab, but you weren’t having much luck. During the warm summer months, it was almost impossible to hail one in the rush of tourists. After helping Greg with the case, he suggested you go home and take care of yourself. Your brilliant idea? Begin to redecorate the spare room in your flat. You had settled on a neutral cool grey tone for the walls. It was something simple which matched well with the mouldings you just had redone, courtesy of Uncle Mycroft. If you were going to be welcoming a baby into the fray, it was better to be over- than under-prepared.

Regardless of the events earlier that day, you couldn’t prevent the small skip in your step as you went through the streets. With Moriarty dead and Xavier currently held in custody, you had a bit of relief knowing you and your growing family would be safer. You still just wished the people you cared for the most would be there for you during that time.

John was still radio silent. He had no idea what changes were happening in your life. In fact, you were pretty sure if you told him what had happened, there would be more blood on the pavement. Xavier wouldn’t stand a chance for his attack and Sherlock. . .even if he had been alive, he would have soon been a dead man walking. He hadn’t known about how serious the relationship between you and your private detective really was. John wasn’t a complete idiot. He had noticed Sherlock’s acceptance of your gentle touches against his arm and shoulders. One time he mentioned how he had never seen his flatmate be so open with someone, half-joking that maybe you should switch places with him in 221B.

“I’m not sure what it is,” John remarked, “but he’s quite taken with you, Pip.”

You had merely scoffed and shook your head with a shrug. “I think it’s just the Watson genes.”

“Oh, please. I’m a Watson and he hasn’t been treating me like I’m serving him tea and biscuits with the bloody Queen!”

As you crossed the street, your gaze continued to shift constantly. Life with the Holmes’ taught you to always be vigilant. With the recent encounter with your past fresh in your mind, you didn’t want to take any chances. Though scary, it was a helpful reminder that you still had enemies in the world. Sherlock and Elora Holmes were some of the most powerful and genius people in London; it was no surprise they had an enemy list the length of the abandoned London Docklands. When their battle with Moriarty took a turn for the worse, the ever-faithful Watsons were fortunate to inherit the enemies they left in their wake.

It meant you were always on edge. Even though you knew Xavier would be locked behind bars until a trial, you got a sickening feeling in your stomach as you neared a bus stop that you weren’t entirely safe. Shadows took on minds of their own, morphing into tall frightening stalkers. Whispered voices of pedestrians in the street turned into plans to attack you when you least expected it. As you were about to step onto the bus, your heart stopped and you felt a burning sensation flood your body. You had never felt anything quite like it before; it bloomed in your stomach and shot throughout your system like lightning. A shaky cry left your lips as you sank onto the transport step.

The sympathetic voice of the nurse barely registered to you as she told you what you had already suspected. You weren’t an idiot. John was a doctor and he shared the risks of what could happen with you years ago. It had always felt like something you needed to prepare to help someone else through. But now that it was happening to you, you just felt. . .nothing. You felt hollow, as though you were living in a shell of your former self or another person’s body. For the third time in your life, you had seen the world crash down around you.

The empty feeling inside of you sent you spinning in a downward spiral. Walking into your lonely flat to see the assembly kit of a cradle didn’t help matters, either. Everywhere you looked at Baker Street, there was some reminder of your failures. You were constantly reminded of how you were truly alone. There would be no fixing this loss. You could never bring them back. Second chances didn’t exist for you and the thought of losing your last tie to Sherlock. . .

It was all too much. You didn’t care what happened to you any more. Not long after you had received the devastating news, you had sought comfort in the form of little orange pill bottles. It was your new escape; you didn’t need to think about the problems of the world. The only concern you had was making it to see another sunrise, even though there were some days where even that felt pointless.

As you relieved the memories, Elora sat with you in front of the fountain. Her hand gently rubbed circles against your back as a form of comfort. It was rare to see a Holmes sibling express any emotion. However, given the hell you had both experienced over the last year, it was safe to say things were different now. The two of you had grown in a variety of ways. You weren’t the same people you were before his death or when you moved in together all those years ago. It was something that you were grateful for. Having been alone for so long, the presence of another person- especially someone close to him- made a world of difference. You weren’t looking for sympathy, nor did you desire any sort of pity. The comforting silence that enveloped the two of you into your own personal bubble was enough.

“You didn’t fail him,” Elora allowed the words to leave her lips slowly after a while of people watching. Much like you, she had been lost in her own thoughts. You didn’t blame her; it was a lot of information to process. “You were trying to protect yourself. The stress must have been-”

“Don’t,” you cautioned as you caused your ex-flatmate to subconsciously flinch. Your eyes pricked with the promise of impending tears. Realising your mistake, you apologised profusely. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to be like that. It’s just. . .it’s been getting easier and easier to fall down that rabbit hole again.”

Even though you knew she didn’t mean it to be, Elora was taking you down a familiar path – one that had left you to grow distant after tragedy. Others tried to explain the causes to you. What had happened to your- to Sherlock’s- child wasn’t your fault, they said. There was nothing you could have done to prevent it. The stress from seeing Xavier created an excess in adrenaline. A chemical imbalance can be catastrophic to a foetus, especially one so young. Even with the facts and scientific evidence right in front of you, it was incredibly easy to take responsibility for what happened. It had taken some time, but after putting Elora first in your life, you started to be able to move on. Now that you needed to confront it again, the urge to fall back into old habits was becoming increasingly more difficult to ignore.

“Hey,” Elora looked up and away from you while she removed her hand from your back. “There’s, uh, something. . .from my group- Seb and I’s group, I mean- that might be worth trying.”

When you glanced over at her, you watched as she ruffled through a bag you didn’t recognise on her person before. She must have grabbed it after you fled like a coward. It was a worn grey leather with tears in random spaces. The buckles were dull in serious need of replacement, but out of sentiment, she hadn’t bothered to fix them – another out-of-character act. As Elora opened another flap to pull out a grey notebook, that’s when you caught sight of a singular embroidered name: Holmes. It was common for primary school students to have their names stitched on personal belongings, providing a way to end the stealing of another child’s item in class. However, given the fact that it had been decades since any of you had been in a primary classroom. . .

“Is that his?” You hadn’t meant to pry, but you couldn’t mask your curiosity for long.

Elora went silent for a moment, gaze transfixed upon the book she had been about to hand you merely moments prior. “I found it in an old box of things from our flat,” she replied with a nod, voice as gentle as a falling feather. “I don’t know why it was still there or why I would have even thought to have kept the rubbish old thing.” A sad smile flickered across her features. “I suppose I just thought it might be nice to have. . .something. It’s been nice because now I have somewhere to carry my chemicals without Sebastian always berating me over it.”

You couldn’t stop the snort that escaped your lips. “Glad to see some things never change.”

Elora nodded again, although she barely agreed with your amusement. She slid the notebook into your lap soundlessly. “There was this exercise we needed to do in order to complete the program,” she explained. “We needed to write a letter. We could burn it if we wanted to, but it was meant to help us let things go. I think. . .it might help you. . .with everything.”

“Oh.” At first, you weren’t sure if you should take up the offer. This wouldn’t be the first time you had written a letter. The last time you had put pen to paper, you had been contemplating a much darker task. Although, you had never written to the dead before. You reached over to slide the notebook Elora offered further into your lap. “How did you start yours?”

The younger Holmes hesitated. “I honestly can’t remember that much,” she answered with a grim smile.

“Deleted it?”

“Uh, no. No, actually. The, uh, the memories haven’t been so. . .good recently.” Elora looked out to the group of people walking by the fountain. There was a couple with their daughter, about five. She was smiling as her parents lifted her into the air by her arms. They were happy, a feeling that was clearly elusive to you and the woman beside you. “You know I can’t even make deductions anymore?” A sad chuckle escaped her lips. “It’s all noise now. I’m just as pathetic as the rest of you ordinary lot.”

“Hey, being ordinary isn’t all that bad.”

“It is. It’s all sentiment and emotion. . .and people.” Elora made a face at that. “How did you ever manage to survive in that office? Graham is an utter idiot, Donovan is a pain in my arse, and Anderson. . .”

You smiled a bit at your friend’s reactions. “Philip isn’t entirely that bad now-”

“Oh, Philip is it? I swear if you move onto him after my brother,” Elora warned, “you truly are an idiot.”

Even though she meant no harm, you couldn’t stop the flinch. “I could never replace Sher- your brother. I really. . .I really think I loved him with all of my heart. What we had wasn’t ideal, but it was something I can’t have with anyone else.”

“That.”

You frowned and knit your eyebrows together. “What?”

“What you just said,” Elora urged. “Write that. Tell him everything.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

My Dearest Love Sherlock,

Writing this may be the hardest thing I ever have to do. Well, that’s not entirely true, is it? That would probably be watching you be taken to the morgue, where I needed to be called in to confirm it was you. Elora couldn’t do it, seeing as she was in the hospital. John. . .I don’t understand where his mind was at. It always had to be me. Anyway, I’m getting off topic here. Why is this so hard? Because I have to say goodbye.

Elora gave me this notebook if you’d believe it. She told me it’s time to let you go. I’ve suffered enough- we both have. It’s not fair that our story had to come to an end. But it did. I want you to know that I will always love you, though. Even if you were an arrogant arsehole who never knew when to shut up and not show off, I still loved you. No one will ever be able to replace you. Not that like, you cocky bastard. You would roll your eyes at me, but there is this void in my heart now. You have the piece that’s missing and I don’t ever want it back. I want you to keep it – it’ll be like a part of me that only you will ever get to see.

I’m sorry I couldn’t bring our little one into the world. I suppose, in part, this letter is for them, too. They deserve to know their parents would have loved them. Even if Daddy wouldn’t have been here, I would have done my best to make sure you were happy. You want to know the saddest part, Sherlock? Every morning I woke up, I would think about how you would have been with children. Probably atrocious, but we could have worked on that. It wouldn’t have been long before he or she had you wrapped around their chubby little fingers. When they were a bit older, maybe we could have had them in a wedding ceremony if we ever decided to make it official. A mini ring bearer or flower girl that was your duplicate. Wouldn’t that have been something?!

But in the end, it was only a dream. That happily ever after wasn’t in the cards for us.

I can’t change what happened. I can’t bring you back. The only thing I can do is tell you I love you and I’m sorry. Our story shouldn’t have ended this way. But it’s time to begin a new chapter. I think I deserve that much, don’t you? I’ll do what you would have wanted; I’ll be brave, I’ll be strong.

You always said sentiment was a chemical defect often found on the losing side. I guess I’m about to lose pretty hard then, hm? Maybe we both did. I’ll forever love you, my darling. I hope you rest easy. I hope we both can, actually. Thank you for making me a better person; for turning me into the person I’ve always wanted to be.

I love you.

You signed your name with a flourish and folded the cream-coloured stationary to fit within the envelope. There was a moment’s hesitation before you decided to pick up one of the slippery sonogram images in your hand. You grabbed the pen and in your fanciest penmanship, you scrawled the words Rowan Spencer Watson-Holmes across the bottom white outline before slipping it into the envelope as well. Walking up the stairs into his flat to deliver the note was actually the easy part; the leaving proved to be much more difficult. You weren’t just leaving behind a letter, you were choosing to put a life behind you that had meant so much. Your story with Sherlock may not have had the happiest of endings, but it did create an opportunity for a new story to begin.

You just needed to be able to have the strength to turn to the next page.

-------------------

Author's note: My lovely little sparks!! I'm so sorry it's been so long since the last chapter. Life got super busy and I needed to play catch up on writing new chapters. I'm in the middle of editing the next chapter, but will complete it after my week-long writing hiatus. Hopefully it'll be up next Tuesday, but we may need to wait a week. So sorry to leave you in suspense...kinda.

This chapter was really bittersweet for me as we finally got to understand everything that happened for our reader over the last year or so since Sherlock "died." They're finally getting ready to move on and head into the next chapter -- maybe they'll allow themselves to find happiness with something else...or rather, someone else. *wink*

As usual, if you enjoyed this chapter, make sure to leave a comment and a reblog! Likes are nice, but it's the reblogs that really help a writer like me out. The Last Three Years is one of my least popular offerings on this blog, and I'd really like to change that. You can help me by reblogging and tagging your friends in the comments! <3

One last announcement, if you want to keep up with the latest updates on this series and any of my other works, head on over to my new sideblog -- @frostandflamesthoughts!

Until next time, lovely little sparks!

SH Taglist: @ohchoices, @severuined @southernhippie10198, @bakerstreethound

#the last three years: our long game #tlty sherlock #frostandflamesfanfic #benedict cumberbatch #bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock fanfiction #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock x reader #sherlock imagine #gender neutral reader #afab reader #watson!reader #sherlock bbc #sherlock bbc x reader

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arkytiorwrites · 1 year

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It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Crackmas!

Seasons Greetings and Happy Holidays to everyone!

After careful deliberation, consultation, and existential crisis with the gods of Strange Thirst, @feral-for-strange @ironstrange1991 @dino-fart and the delightful @sanctumsanctorumshenanigans, I am pleased to announce that I will be doing my 31 Days of Crackmas Event!

What is Crackmas, you ask? In short, I will be posting ONE (1) fic a day of varying length inspired by a song on this playlist that I have compiled. It shall range from ridiculous, to angsty, to fluffy, to oh my god is this person OK?

I can’t wait to share this with you all!

Day 1: Beneath a Moonless Sky, Sinister! Strange x Reader

Day 2: If You Love Her, Tony Stark x Reader

Day 3: Until I Found You, Defender! Strange x Reader

Day 4: good 4 u, Supreme! Strange x Male! Reader

Day 5: Can’t Help Falling in Love, Strange Supreme x Reader

Day 6: Classic, Khan Noonien Singh x Reader

Day 7: Ways to Be Wicked, Khan Noonien Singh x Mirror! Jim Kirk x Reader

Day 8: Evermore, Sinister! Strange x Reader

Day 9: On the Day We Fell in Love, Tony Stark x Reader

Day 10: Sorry, Defender! Strange x Reader

Day 11: Not Another Song About Love, Supreme Strange x Male! Reader

Day 12: Heaven Can Wait, Strange Supreme x Reader

Day 13: Imagination, Richard III x Reader

Day 14: Heaven’s Light/Hellfire, Richard III x Reader x Khan Noonien Singh

Day 15: Choke, Sinister! Strange x Reader

Day 16: You’re the Devil (in Disguise), SIM! Tony Stark x Reader

Day 17: You Should Be Sad, Supreme! Strange x Reader

Day 18: I Love You Still, Strange Supreme x Reader

Day 19: Immigrant Song, Khan Noonien Singh x Reader

Day 20: Like My Father, Richard III x Reader

Day 21: LA Devotee, Pre-Powers Tony Stark x Reader x Stephen Strange

Day 22: I Dreamed a Dream, Sinister! Strange x Reader

Day 23: W.I.T.C.H, Defender Strange x Reader

Day 24: Hate Me, Alan Turing x Male Reader

Day 25: Sway, Defender Strange x Reader

Day 26: Really Wanna Dance With You, Yelena Belova x Reader

Day 27:What A Shame, Khan Noonien Singh x Reader

Day 28: Seaside Rendezvous, Khan Noonien Singh x Reader, Sinister Strange

Day 29: Heather, Richard III x Reader

Day 30: Roses, Sherlock Holmes x Gangster Reader

Day 31: Once Upon A Time, Richard III x Faerie Reader

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saturncodedstarlette · 1 year

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Detective!Ghost : Punch me in the face!

Y/N : …punch you? 🤨

Detective!Ghost, points to his face : Yes, punch me. In the face. Didn’t you hear me?

Y/N, squints : I always hear “punch me in the face” when you’re speaking, but it’s usually subtext.

Detective!Ghost, rolls his eyes : Oh, for god’s sakes.

Detective!Ghost, smacks them hard across the face :

Y/N, gasps : 😨😵‍💫

Y/N, returns the punch to his face :

Detective!Ghost, stumbles a bit : Thank you. That was …that was…

Y/N, continues to punch him in the gut :

Y/N, puts Ghost in a headlock : You ought to remember, Ghost, I was a soldier! I killed people!

Detective!Ghost, struggles to break free : You were a doctor!

Y/N, grips harder : I had bad days!

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starks-hero · 2 years

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brother dearest

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Summary: Mycroft had never considered himself to be overprotective. However, he isn't overly pleased with how smitten his little brother is with you...

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: John is the only one with any emotional intelligence and Mycroft is faced with the horrifying ordeal of realising his younger sibling is dating, so they're all idiots really

Mycroft Holmes could practically feel his blood pressure rising. Confidential documents had been stolen from the very hands of the British government, putting the democratic well-being of an entire nation in jeopardy. And his little brother wouldn't answer the phone.

The moment word of the breach had gotten to Mycroft his first plan of action was to call Sherlock. Of course, he could have hypothetically dealt with the issue himself had it not required leg work. But to his dismay, contacting the youngest Holmes seemed to be as unlikely as winning the lottery.

Tossing dignity to the wind in the name of restoring balance to the western world, Mycroft stooped to the, in his opinion, ever embarrassing low of visiting Baker Street himself. He ascended the stairs, his displeasure evident in the weight of his steps, and refused to practice the common courtesy of knocking before entering the flat. Sherlock had lost that privilege when he refused to pick up the bloody phone.

Mycroft tutted with annoyance when he found both the living room and kitchen empty. Sherlock's coat, with whom he refused to go anywhere without, still hung idle on the clothes rack. He was in the flat and Mycroft was going to find him if he had to tear away every brick.

With all the begrudgement of a man who'd had his morning routine seriously uprooted, Mycroft marched towards Sherlock's bedroom and swung open the door.

He almost immediately wished he hadn't.

Sherlock lay sprawled out on the bed, white sheets twisting over alabaster skin. His eyes were shut, his hair a tangled mess of curls and you lay by his side.

Mycroft's jaw fell so quickly he expected it to unhinge and clatter against the floor with all the comedic effect of a nineties cartoon.

Sherlock's head rested against your shoulder whilst the lower half of your face was largely hidden by his curls. Your lips brushed his forehead in a prolonged kiss and Sherlock's arm was thrown over you almost possessively. Your own hand curled softly around the nape of his neck.

Disbelief, embarrassment and anger chased each other across Mycroft's expression before he settled with complete mortification. He couldn't explain it, not really, but seeing his little brother in bed with someone made him feel ridiculously nauseous.

Sherlock shifted, stretching out his limbs like a content cat before nuzzling closer to you.

Having no idea what else to do, the eldest Holmes shut the door. After a quick and failed attempt to purge the last few moments from his memory, he made his way back towards the living room.

He was met by John.

The doctor quickly did away with his fresh bag of groceries in order to make small talk, much to Mycroft's disdain. When John got around to the reason for his visit, and therefore Sherlock's current whereabouts, Mycroft shifted awkwardly.

“He seems to be occupied.”

A look of confusion clouded John's expression. He glanced down the hallway, jutting his thumb in the direction of Sherlock's room.

“I'm fairly certain he's just–” John's words were dissolved by the bitter look that was thrown his way by the eldest Holmes. “–oh, he didn't tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Mycroft asked with a painfully fake smile.

John swallowed thickly, suddenly very unhappy with the fact that he was the one that had to break the news to possibly the most powerful man in Britain that his little brother was seeing someone.

“He uh– he didn't tell you about himself and Y/N?”

Mycroft blinked. “It would appear he left out that minor detail.”

The silence that followed was awkward at best and utterly painful at worst. John, who wanted nothing more for the interaction to end but had no idea how to make that happen, nodded. Mycroft cleared his throat and readjusted his hold on his umbrella.

He glanced back towards his brother's room and John didn't miss the subtle glare he was trying to hide. Ah, so that's what this was about. John may not have shared Sherlock's observational skills but he did have a sister. He knew what overprotectiveness looked like.

“Mycroft, you do realise that Sherlock is an adult.”

“If that's what you would like to call him.”

“Right,” John dismissed quickly. “But he and Y/N are together. They have feelings–”

What was very much beginning to sound like a new rendition of ‘the birds and the bees’ was shortened by a scoff on Mycroft's behalf.

"My brother is barely capable of understanding his own feelings, you think he can handle someone else's?"

“You'd be surprised.”

Surprised was certainly one word for it. Mycroft simply couldn't imagine his brother being emotionally involved with anyone, regardless of how much imagination he tried to employ. He failed to imagine Sherlock in any situation that involved intimacy or vulnerability, let alone with you.

As if the very thought of you had doubled as a summoning spell, you entered the kitchen, steps lazy and eyes tired. If you were surprised to see the eldest Holmes you hid it well.

“Mycroft,” you greeted with a tight-lipped smile.

“Y/N.”

Your eyes moved between him and John, trying to piece together what exactly you'd walked into. John cleared his throat. You fought the urge to just go back to bed.

“Can I get you anything?” You motioned to the kitchen.

“My brother, if it's no trouble.”

“Showering,” you yawned. You decided not to add the bit where Sherlock had mentioned needing to ‘cool off before facing the devil so early in the morning’ upon realising his brother was in the living room. “He won't be long.”

“I see. I hate to show up unannounced. But I tried to call this morning and it seemed he was unavailable.”

You smirked despite yourself. Mycroft's grasp on his umbrella tightened.

After a few agonising moments that consisted of you cluelessly making yourself a morning cup of tea, Mycroft glaring holes into your back and John all but hiding behind his newspaper, Sherlock joined you.

His hair was damp, curls frizzed up due to the warm water. Mycroft hadn't seen it in such a state since Sherlock was a child. The unruly nature of his hair, as well as its tendency to make him look far less intimidating and far more endearing, often led to embarrassment. Which is why Mycroft was so surprised to see him so at ease.

Sherlock didn't so much as acknowledge his brother's existence as he made a beeline towards you, accepting the tea you offered and leaving a lazy kiss against the side of your head. He was smiling fondly all the while.

Said smile immediately fell when he spotted Mycroft. Sherlock muttered something about god under his breath and took a long, almost purposefully so, sip from his mug before speaking.

“Terrorist attack or security breach?”

Mycroft raised an unamused brow.

“It's ten o'clock on a Sunday morning, from my understanding you should be having tea with the prime minister or something–” Sherlock waved his free hand around dismissively. “You wouldn't be here if it wasn't of national importance. So which is it? Suspected terrorist attack or a security breach?”

“That, brother mine, is something you would have already been clued in on if you'd learned how to answer my calls.” Mycroft intended for his words to be somewhat scolding but judging by how Sherlock reclined in his chair and crossed his legs he figured his attempt at exerting some sort of authority over his younger brother had failed. “Now, it's not as threatening as initially believed but still relevant enough to warrant some sort of investigation. Which is why I need you to–”

His words fizzled out at the sight of you moving to stand behind Sherlock's chair. Your stance was relaxed, comfortable, as if you felt you belonged where you stood, as some sort of watchful protector. Mycroft glowered.

You seemed unfazed and Mycroft couldn't tell which he hated more, your hand now on Sherlock's shoulder or the fact that his brother was smirking because of it.

By some miracle, he managed to make it through the rest of the briefing without giving away just how much he wanted the floorboards to open up and swallow him.

He didn't know why the sight of you both together irritated him so much but by god was it getting under his skin. The glances you shared that Mycroft knew had hidden meanings behind them. How his brother, who needed a week's recovery in his room after any social interaction, preened under your touch. The youthful look in his eyes, the boyish smile. It was somehow painful to look at.

Mycroft could still recall when he was the only one that could placate his brother. When they were children, spending hours in their garden estate, finding insects and frogs and recalling their Latin names. Anything to keep their brilliant young minds entertained. He remembered how Sherlock would light up with each new nugget of information Mycroft gave him. Even into their teenage years, he was the one Sherlock trusted, the one he looked to for help and guidance. It had always been him.

But now, now there was you.

He had you to confide in. To talk to. To irritate with a tirade of useless facts that anyone else would think irrelevant. He had you to look out for him and comfort him and Mycroft couldn't understand why this was angering him so–

Oh.

The notion that his little brother had, in fact, grown up and didn't need him anymore came as a very unwelcome realisation. Mycroft had the sudden desire to leave the flat as promptly as he could.

“Well,” he cleared his throat. “I should be getting on. I trust you'll fill me in on your findings?”

Sherlock groaned, in agreement or dismissal it was hard to tell.

Mycroft, who now wanted nothing more than to leave, turned to make his way to the door. “Good day, doctor Watson.”

John nodded, not failing to notice the change in Mycroft's stance.

‘He's copped on then.’

Partially because of your closeness to the door and partially in an attempt to rectify whatever you'd done to wrong Mycroft, you moved to show him out.

He passed you silently but as you stepped back to close the door, he stopped you.

He seemed uneasy, an emotion that looked unnatural and foreign on him. His nerves were infectious and you quickly found yourself growing anxious, expecting him to gift you with some horrific piece of information to pass on to Sherlock to save him from dealing with the mess of telling his brother himself.

His actual request was something much softer.

“Take care of him, will you?”

It took a few moments for you to blink away your surprise. As confused as you were, you nodded all the same.

“Of course.”

Mycroft responded with a nod of his own, offered a surprisingly genuine smile and then turned to leave. He'd descended the stairs entirely by the time you finally closed the flat door.

“What was that about?” Sherlock asked nonchalantly.

You shook your head. “Absolutely no idea.”

John took a sudden interest in his newspaper in an attempt to ignore just how hard he was biting his tongue.

thank you for reading!

Sherlock tag list: @miraclesoflove @ilovefanfictions @mylovelysnowflake @quentawewe @bakerstreethound @andreasworlsboring101 @doozywoozy @xxinvisiblexx @the-worst-critic @the-queer-dungeoneer @jellyfishbeansontoast @starrykitn @starryeddie @ladymercury8 @themorningsunshine @evelynrosestuff @mywellspringoflife @simp-for-scammanders @Xhz17x @allieberries @kealohilani-tepise

#finally starting to clear out my drafts to help me get back in the writing groove #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #bbc sherlock x reader #sherlock imagine #sherlock x you #sherlock holmes x you #bbc sherlock x you #bbc sherlock imagine #bbc sherlock #1k

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lilmoonbunny · 4 months

Text

Denial; Mycroft Holmes

Mycroft only seeked you out to deduce you (aka, how Mycroft realised he liked you).

John and Sherlock were, without a doubt, the loudest neighbours that Y/N had ever had.

Gunshots at God only knows what hour, constant stabbing, banging, and so on. Despite this, she still considered them dear friends and the best neighbours that she had ever had. Sure, they were weird and loud, but they were also kind and genuine, at least for the most part. Alongside this, they also appreciated her baking, especially after long cases.

A gentle knock sounded on the door the 221B catching the attention of three people.

“You can come in, Y/N,” Sherlock called from behind the door, greeting the woman with a nod before turning his attention back to Mycroft whilst John smiled at her.

“Hi, Sherly. Hi, John.” She smiled at the two friends before turning to the older Holmes brother. “Hi, Mr Holmes.” Y/N greeted him with a smile. Although she hadn’t met him before, it wasn’t difficult to deduce who he was; the expensive suit and the fact Sherlock was glaring at him gave it away.

“Sherly?” Mycroft spat, grimacing at the nickname given to his brother. “Who on Earth would you let call you that?” He asked.

“This is Y/N, our neighbour. What have you brought for us today? I’ve been looking forward to this all week.” The sweet smile Sherlock gave to the woman made Mycroft feel ill. He had no clue who this woman was and absolutely no idea why they seemed to be this close.

“Chocolate cake, sugar cookies, and love.” She joked, beginning to laugh at the way Mycroft audibly gagged. “I’m only kidding. No love.”

“I should certainly hope not,” came Mycroft’s response, one which simply made her laugh again.

“Are you jealous, Mycroft?”

“Because of the cake, he is.” Sherlock interrupted, waving Myrcoft off. “No, I won’t take the case. You can leave now.”

“This is an urgent matter, brother mine.”

“Don’t care.”

With a groan and a roll of his eyes, Mycroft lifted himself to his feet and prepared to leave.

“I’ll leave these with you, just in case you change your mind. Goodbye brother mine. John.” The hesitation was obvious on Mycroft’s face, despite how well he typically hid his emotions, as he faced Y/N.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr Holmes.” Y/N smiled sweetly, earning a simple nod from him before he left.

Sherlock, who had leaned to grab the tub of baked goods from the woman’s hands, rolled his eyes as Mycroft left and immediately began to eat.

It wasn’t long until Y/N’s entire life had been researched.

There wasn’t much there. No criminal record, a few jobs, occasional moves, but no sign of her posing any danger to Sherlock and, by association, John. However, the way Mycroft felt upon seeing her was unusual, so he decided to do his own investigation.

“Morning, Mr Holmes,” he was greeted before he reached the empty counter. “Welcome to my bakery! Would you like anything?”

“Just a coffee, please. Black.” Mycroft nodded, not returning the smile she had given, despite the odd feeling it gave him. She was evil and he would prove it to Sherlock.

“Coming right up! Take a seat wherever you’d like, and I’ll bring it over.”

As Mycroft occupied a seat, he took a moment to properly assess the woman making his drink.

She didn’t seem threatening: a content smile on her lips as she prepared his coffee, humming a quiet tune that he barely picked up on. In fact, she didn’t seem out of the ordinary at all, but the feeling when he first saw her – a feeling Mycroft couldn’t explain – had him needing to investigate her further.

“Here you go, Mr Holmes.” Y/N said, placing a hot coffee and chocolate cake on the table in front of him. “Sherlock mentioned that you like cake, so I grabbed you some. It’s all on the house.”

“Why?”

With a small laugh, she responded without hesitation. “You’re Sherlock’s brother.”

How odd, Mycroft thought to himself. She doesn’t even know me and she’s giving me things for free…

Despite his thoughts, Mycroft simply nodded, watching as she took a seat opposite him. “I hope you don’t mind. It’s quiet today so I figured I’d try and keep you company the best I can. I’m sure you have better company than me, though.”

“I don’t mind,” he replied before even thinking. It was safe to say that he didn’t enjoy the way his chest felt whilst he watched her smile.

Maybe she’s a witch? No, don’t be stupid, Mycroft. They don’t exist.

“So,” Y/N’s voice broke the man from his thoughts. “It’s a funny story how me, Sherlock, and John met. I was actually working and Sherlock bursts in demanding to talk to me. My baking stuff had been found at a crime scene and he thought it was me!”

“How interesting.” Came Mycroft’s blunt reply, even if he was intrigued.

“You listened to it, so you must care, even just a little bit. I think that’s a win for me!”

Mycroft couldn’t help the tiniest smile that crawled onto his lips, but he internally prayed that nobody noticed it, especially her. She, however, seemed oblivious to the movement, simply staring over his shoulder and out of the window.

“Anyway, what was he like growing up? Was he like he is now? Blunt and rude?” Y/N asked with a giggle.

“He wasn’t, actually. He was rather sweet. He liked playing pretend with his friend; he always wanted a dog too.” Came Mycroft’s reply. “His favourite thing was pirates.” He said with a fond look in his eyes. Sherlock wasn’t going to be happy when he found out that he had told her, but he couldn’t resist answering her question.

Mycroft watched closely as the woman in front of him grinned, the bright and happy smile a nice contrast to what he was used to whilst working with the government. He couldn’t help but smile back, noting how her smile widened further as he did so.

“That’s sweet. I couldn’t imagine that, to be honest,”

It was time to ask the question that was on his mind. “Are you attracted to Sherlock?”

“Sherlock?” Y/N said, bursting into laughter. “No, absolutely not. He’s more like an annoying older brother. Same with John. We’re just friends, and, well, neighbours too.”

Confusion spread over Mycroft as she felt the weight on his shoulders lift at her words; she was telling the truth.

“How is she?” Sherlock asked the moment he answered the phone.

“How is who?” Mycroft’s voice sounded through the device.

“Y/N,”

“Why do you assume that I know?”

“It’s obvious you were there earlier.”

“…”

“Well, that and Mrs Hudson told us.”

“Of course she did.” Mycroft said with an involuntary roll of his eyes.

“So, how was it?”

“It was fine.”

“You like her then?”

“What makes you think that?”

“Well, you went to see her. It’s quite obvious, Mycroft. Come on, I thought you were smarter than that.”

Mycroft simply put the phone down.

He did not like her.

The next time that Mycroft came across Y/N was when it was raining.

He hadn’t wanted to seem ‘creepy’ by seeking her out again for more investigations and deductions, so he simply waited. She was friends with his brother, it wasn’t like their paths wouldn’t cross at some point. Besides, he didn’t want Sherlock to think that he liked her.

“Raining real bad tonight, isn’t it?” The driver spoke to Mycroft. He was new, so Mycroft couldn’t exactly blame him for attempting some type of conversation with him; it was still annoying, though.

Anthea, looking up from her phone was what caught Mycroft’s attention. “I feel bad for her.” She said, nodding towards a soaked woman. It only took Mycroft a moment to realise who it was.

“Pull over,” he stated bluntly, grabbing his umbrella. He simply ignored the look he was receiving from his assistant.

It had been a long day filled with rude customers, and to make it worse, it was raining, and she had forgotten her coat. Today couldn’t be going any worse for Y/N.

Shivering wildly and soaked to the core, Y/N huffed, watching the way her breath instantly evaporated; it was clearly below freezing, but she held out hope that the rain would stop and she would be home soon.

Her hope seemed to pay off, though, since she could no longer feel the rain. As she looked up at the sky, she spotted a familiar face.

“Mycroft?”

“Y/N.”

“What are you-“

“Get in.” He said, pointing towards the car before wordlessly leading her towards it, still holding the umbrella above her, even if he was getting wet.

“You don’t have to, Mycroft.” She said as he ushered her in and shut the door behind them both. “I mean, I’m soaking your car!”

Mycroft, who could feel the heat on his cheeks from their proximity, simply shook his head. He was too focused on the way her leg was pressed against his as she sat between him and Anthea who stared at her phone with a small smirk.

The ride was void of conversation, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, the only noise was that of Y/N shivering.

After a moment of hesitation, Mycroft shrugged off his jacket and handed her it. “Here.”

There was no chance of refusal, Mycroft wouldn’t allow it, so with a quiet ‘thanks’, Y/N popped the jacket over her shoulders. He just found the chattering of her teeth annoying, was what he told himself.

As they arrived at the flats, Mycroft followed her out of the car.

“Thank you, Mr Holmes.” She said as they stood on the door of her flat.

“Mycroft is fine, Y/N.”

“Thank you… Mycroft.” She said with a small smile before bidding him a goodnight.

“I see you gave her your jacket,” Was all Sherlock said as Mycroft entered 221B.

It was hard. Very hard. Harder than anything Y/N had ever experienced. Having a crush was not easy as it was, but having feelings for Mycroft Holmes was the hardest thing in the world: he rarely showed emotion, he was blunt, he was rude, but most importantly to her, deep down, he was nice.

A small sigh left Y/N’s lips as she worked on her latest batch of cookies for the morning. He was on her mind… again. It was a common occurrence by now.

“We’re not open yet, sorry!” She called over her shoulder at the sound of the door opening. As she turned around to see who it was and apologise again, a blush rushed to her cheeks. “Mycroft! What are you doing here?”

Mycroft stood there, umbrella in hand, and gave a simple shrug. “I was on my way to work so thought I would ‘pop in’ as people say.” He explained, earning a laugh from the baker.

“Modern phrases don’t suit you, Mycroft.” She teased.

With an amused shake of his head, Mycroft took a seat at the table nearest her.

“Want some cookies? They’re fresh out of the oven!”

Mycroft nodded with a grateful smile, always glad to have sweet treats. He would never turn down anyone’s desserts, least of all Y/N’s; not because he liked her and didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but because she was a good baker.

The pair sat in a comfortable silence, Mycroft gladly eating his cookies with an appreciative look whilst Y/N worked on her next batch. There was nothing awkward between them, and there, surprisingly, never had been.

“Are you not at work today?” Y/N broke the silence with a question that was bugging her. She could have sworn Mycroft had always worked this time over the months that she had known him.

Mycroft hesitated for a moment. He was supposed to be there right now but had decided to visit you before. It wasn’t like anyone could fire him for it, he was basically the British government, after all.

“Not yet,” he lied, and he was glad that he was a good liar.

“Oh, okay! I’m happy you came then. I don’t want to bother you.”

“You could never be a bother,” the words fell from his lips before he even registered what his thoughts, and he noticed the blush race up her cheeks, as did she with his.

“Thank you, Mycroft.”

As he stared at her and her rosy cheeks, a million thoughts went through his mind, but they were all related to one thing: her. It was in that moment that he realised the truth, he did like Y/N, and he had been attracted to her since the beginning; that was what he was feeling.

Oh dear…

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