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espinosaurusrexex · 1 year

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If Only You Would Know

HenryCavill!Sherlock x Female!Reader

summary: You and Sherlock are in love, Enola is sure of it. But she is forced to watch you tiptoe around the topic for an eternity. So when the opportunity arises, and Sherlock is forced to confront his feelings towards you, she does not hesitate.

a/n: we're diggin' out old old drafts for this one, but I needed a little Sherlock again :)

word count: 4k

warnings: a little arguing, pining, someone gets injured, idiots in love™️ (it's a new genre of mine)

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ

You sighed as Sherlock moved about his office with hasty determination. He was a strange man. Oblivious, too, time and time again. But that did not matter for you loved him. You loved him and every strange habit he harbored. Whether it was the way in which he arranged his coats on the brass hanger by the door or that godawful pipe he seemed to always have hanging from his lips. He did not even like it - he had told you one time. “’tis just a habit, dear,” it would muffle past the brown bit in his mouth before he would clip it back between his teeth.

But you did not care. And that must have been the very fact telling you just how deeply your heart had already fallen for the famous detective. Not a care in the world, especially not for what other people thought to say the least. Because all you ever thought about upon seeing him was love, warmth, and endearment. Nothing less. Not even a wretched criminal could ever shoot these feelings out of your heart.

Oh well, it did not matter, anyhow. For there was one issue keeping this fairytale from becoming reality. And this issue was that Sherlock Holmes, the brightest man you knew, was blatantly oblivious to the feelings you had harbored in your chest. To be fair, you had never mentioned it to him before. For you were simply terrified of the consequences such a confession would hold. It was one thing to pine over a man who you were lucky enough to be in the same room with, but it would be undeniably humiliating to be rejected by said man as well. So you had chosen not to act on the fiery desire burning within your veins whenever your eyes hushed a glance at him.

As much as that decision was made to protect your heart, it had turned out the circumstances provided the opposite of the desired effect. You were hurting more and more with every day you had to live with the realization that Sherlock Holmes did not love you back. In fact, he loved other women - many of them. And every single one more beautiful than the other. Sometimes you found yourself wondering if they were human at all. Never before had you seen such luscious hair as that of Sibyl or such a beautiful smile as that of Amelia. It was difficult to settle with these gorgeous women having a place in his bed and possibly his heart, but soon, you realized the importance of seeing him happy trumped your own desires. If he was happy, so were you. And if you weren’t the one making him happy, so be it.

You had just come here to see Enola from her home to the city. Stopping by her brother’s apartment had not been on the agenda, at least not yours. But Enola was adamant to have you come when she raced up the stairs to his door. You had gasped when Sherlock had opened, his hair slightly disheveled and the shirt loosely tugged in his trousers. Your heart was pounding - it always happened when you saw him, and you swiftly averted your eyes to hide the flustered look on your face from him.

Now you were standing in his messy home as you listened to Enola convince him to let her help him on a particular case of his - one she had a personal attachment to. Mixed emotions crawled up your spine at the sight of this professional yet intimate space. Not only one room over, Sherlock's bed was mockingly standing beyond the door, messy sheets indicating his prior endeavors, but there was no Sibyl or Amelia in sight. Still, your hands clamped around the silky material of your skirt, wrinkling the fabric harsher with every minute you spend in the deep-colored room. It smelled of musk and tobacco. Two things you had grown to miss whenever they were not surrounding you, but now, it was a shiver too much.

Sherlock stood before you and Enola with his hands on his hips, a look of annoyance and disapproval etched on his features, but nonetheless, a sense of amusement in the edges of his frown. You knew him too well not to notice the slight pride swelling from his chest at his little sister’s determination.

“I believe it is too dangerous for a girl like you to wander the streets, chasing criminals through London, Enola.”

“And I believe that you are an idiot, brother.”

“Perhaps,” your finger lifted in suggestion, stopping Sherlock’s head from tilting in disapproval at his sister’s array just in time. “She can be accompanied in her wandering?”

“And who would this accompany be?”

You knew it was not your place to negotiate, but you cared for Enola too much not to. And even though Sherlock’s stern eyes bore into your frame, you began to talk again: “I could-“

“Oh, dear lord. That is out of question.”

“Why brother? Do you not think Ms. Y/N and I can defend ourselves?”

A short silence lay upon the siblings as you watched the man’s shoulders draw up with a tense jaw. “I said no.”

“You are being irrational.” Enola cried. She was not one to accept defiance easily, you were well aware of it.

“No, you are being irrational. I will not vouch for having two women hurt on a mission to gather intel for my cases.”

“You cannot stop me.”

There was something itching in the glimmer of his eyes when the words left his lips, though you weren’t quite sure what to make of it.

“Enola!” Almost fearfully, Sherlock turned to you, his eyes wandering and desperation conveyed in his stare when you heard the young girl open the door.

“I am sure we can negotiate a way to have both parties satisfied.” Enola halted as you spoke. “I am certain your bother has other tasks that need fulfilling and are less prone to danger. Isn’t that right, Mr. Holmes?”

Sherlock was not entirely satisfied with this turn of events, but his sagging shoulders told you that he accepted the compromise. A sigh eluded from his lungs and Enola turned to the dark-haired man with excited eyes. “I presume, there would be things you could do.”

“Thank you–“

“But,” his eyes turned stern again, “In the office only. No more wandering, is that clear?”

Enola beamed. “Yes.”

❁ ❁ ❁

It was not long after the discussion when you and Enola went about home from the city. Still, however, despite the seemingly fair compromise negotiated just minutes prior, the younger woman sloppily trudged next to you.

“He is an idiot, that is what he is.” Enola stomped past you with a pouty face. It was not ladylike, but luckily, she knew that you were not one to care about that.

You understood Enola’s frustrations, but simultaneously, your heart were to break if anything ever happened to her. So you understood the settled worry in her brother’s words as well. He was a good man. “He is just worried. It means he cares.”

“Well, he could care a little less and let me do my job.” You hid a smirk. Only Enola would be as adamant about saving a boy she had only met days ago. She was just as goodhearted and justice-seeking as Sherlock, and your heart warmed at the similarities the siblings shared.

“It is not your job, Enola.” Sometimes you genuinely admired her fixation, though it mostly converted into trouble, still. Enola had a lot more freedom than you did when you were her age, and you too would have sprung at any chance to go and wander about, seeking adventures and perhaps a little more than that. Which was in turn, why your heart felt torn between the fulfillment of having her seek childhood dreams, and the subtle but strong tug Sherlock Holmes held you with.

“Did you forget what we just found out yesterday? It seems no one cares about him. And if nobody else will do it, I consider it my duty to help.”

“Enola, dear.” You held her shoulders gently. “I understand your worries, but I understand your brother’s as well. I would be just as worried about you if something were to happen, and I do not want to see you hurt, either.”

“But we have to do something!” This was true. It would not be right to leave the boy framed with false accusations when you had the power to change his fate. There was something you could gather - information that may help him be acquitted.

“How about I go?” You silently cursed your good intentions as Enola’s eyes lit up. It was a blessing and a curse. But other than Enola, there would be nobody worrying for you, and in turn a lot less hearts broken if something were to happen - which it surely would not. “You can stay in the study and I will see to it that we may gather more information.”

“Alright, but be careful. And make sure to come back by five. Otherwise, someone will get suspicious.” The girl smiled, but her shoulders shook with excitement.

“What? Do you think I’m stupid?” You teased, awaiting a sassy ‘of course not’ which you returned with a wink.

❁ ❁ ❁

Enola watched the clock next to the window. Seconds, ticking by too fast for her liking. She needed more time - you needed more time. Her brother had given her files to sort and he would be coming back soon. Upon your agreement yesterday, you had gone out to gather information on the woman who accused the boy. But you would be back soon, she told herself.

“Is Ms. Y/N not here with you?” Sherlock’s voice called through the room and his steps approached her steadily.

Enola was stiff. “She is out,” she told him while her fingers counted the pile of files on the desk.

“Out? With who?” He stepped around the polished mahogany, settling in front of her with his hands behind his back. “I didn’t realize she was being courted.”

Oh. Enola’s eyes sparkled with amusement when she obtained a glimmer of jealousy in her brother’s. She had always had her suspicions. And she knew of your being madly in love with her brother, but Sherlock had always been secretive regarding the topic of love.

“She went to shop,” she smiled, averting her eyes. Waiting - no, anticipating a response from him.

“So she is not with anyone.” Sherlock leaned forward with squinted eyes. For a man as good at solving puzzles as he was, he did need an awful lot of confirmation.

Enola finally looked up. “Ugh, you really are an idiot.”

“Would you quit calling me an idiot?” Disapproval swept his features and made a frown settle instead.

“I would, but you won’t quit being an idiot.”

“Whatever do you mean?” It was quite amusing to see him clueless for once. And even though you tried to hide your feelings or the way you responded whenever he was as much as in the same room as you, it did not go past Enola how long your eyes lingered on his frame or the way the sadness overtook your features at the mention of another woman.

“Ms. Y/N is head over heels in love with you. And I do not understand why you refuse to see it, she is not hiding it very well, you see?”

Sherlock stumbled back, his hands seemingly finding their pace over his heart when he repeated her words. “Ms. Y/N? In love with me?”

“And you really call yourself the greatest detective of our time.” Enola shook her head. Still, the thought of the two of you together was one she liked to entertain. And she asked herself just how much you could talk Sherlock into once you were together. He was already caving when you suggested things - the possibilities of Enola getting her way when the both of you finally gave into the pining were endless!

“Oh, hush. I just never thought she would...” Sherlock trailed off, and if Enola was not mistaken, she caught a whisper of pink settle over his cheeks. Could it really be? The great Sherlock Holmes in love? Even better with a woman Enola adored as well?

“This is exactly the problem, brother. You don’t think when it comes to women.” Her mind wandered back to the women you had seen leave his chambers by the break of dawn. And just like then, Enola noticed a familiar sense of sadness wash over her brother’s eyes - the same one you hid from her in these moments.

“Enola...” But his words died on his tongue and Enola thought it wiser to resume her task. Sherlock was aware of his idiocy. For Enola knew just how insignificant all the other women were to him. And she hoped he had realized this fact.

A moment or two passed in which Sherlock paced the room mindlessly. His hands disappeared behind curtains and in bookshelves, until they reached for the pocket watch in his coat and a subtle grumbling eluded his lungs. “She should be back soon, anyhow. Should she not?”

“I suppose, yes.”

“Well, it is quarter past five already. The shop is closed well over an hour now.” Sherlock did not hide the impatience in his tone, now. And Enola felt a wave of success wash over her.

It was difficult to hide her nervousness, though, for she now worried about you as well. But you were fine - she consoled herself. You were tough and intelligent, simply a little late - that was surely it. “She will come soon.”

An unusual tension fell over the room and Enola was certain, her brother had already dismissed her little story. But she would not falter. Her fingers kept cramming through the papers, counting pages she had analyzed and sorted two times by now. Her movements, however, became more frantic, and soon, her heart was pounding in her wrists.

“Enola, what in heavens did you do?” Sherlock urged impatiently, a look cold as a stone set on his face.

“Nothing.” She did not look at him, then he would know instantly - the little lie she told.

“You sent her out to spy didn’t you?”

Why did he keep asking if he already knew the answer? Enola did not speak. She was fairly ashamed, though. She wanted to show her brother just how capable she and you both were. But having you not come back made for a serious difficulty to her plan.

She looked up at him now, just in time to see his shoulders sag and his head tilted up in frustration. “After I told you not to?”

“You only ever forbid me from going!” She cried, suddenly feeling attacked by his irrational outburst.

“I did not want Ms. Y/N out in the streets alone, either.” Sherlock was pacing again, his shoes clicked on the polished wooden floor until the reached the coat hanger by the door, only to gruffly rip the dark cloak from its place.

An accusing finger reached in his direction and a small smirk appeared on his sister’s lips. “So you are in love with her.”

The man frowned and his chestnut locks shook with annoyance. “That is not important right now. We need to find her.”

He did not deny it and Enola Holmes viewed it as a success.

❁ ❁ ❁

Sherlock swept through the streets as fast as his feet could carry him. Never had he thought that he would need to worry about your well-being. Enola’s? Yes, constantly. She did dangerous things all the time. But you were the one with the rational mind, the trait he adored most above all, for it eased his own every so often. It was enough to look out for Enola as much. He loved her and that was what love did: It made for weaknesses. Though Sherlock never wished to not adore you as much as he did, at this moment, it would have spared him trouble.

He passed another alley filled with dubious fellows and willed his thoughts not to stray to dark paces. Normally, he could stay focused. Normally, he was able to separate his feelings from his tasks very well. Normally, he needn’t worry about you, however.

Enola was many steps behind, he could hear her heels clicking in haste in her catching up, but Sherlock would not budge. He would keep on searching, keep on going straight until his sister gave him another direction to follow. She knew where you were after all, and he could not even begin to indulge in the worry-consumed anger this fact fueled him with.

It did not take long for the detective to reach the house of the last suspect he had abandoned in his search for answers. You must have gone there. Enola had been especially furious about his dropping the woman upon questioning, urging her brother to stay on the lead. But Sherlock had already gotten enough information to place her in the entire scheme. Enola did not know this of course - he had never told her. So it was only plausible to send you to spy on said woman. What you had not known, however, was the dangerous affiliates this woman had, and the little to no hesitance of hers to pursue them.

The house lay empty on the street once the siblings reached its steps, no light shining through the glass windows, not the smell of dinner lingering in the air. It was odd, though nothing to be upset over. You had been here, Sherlock knew it. He was disappointed to find out, however, that you were not anymore. Of course, you had realized the danger of the situation and left, but where to?

His head jerked to the left once Enola caught up to him, following the rattling of bins coming from the alley close by, where a faint trail of blood droplets mixed with the rain.

“Bloody hell,” the detective mumbled with every inch it lead him further to your location. And sure enough, beyond the shielding confines of a wooden palette, he spotted your coat pressed into the wall.

A small hiss, and then: nothing when he called your name.

“Ms. Y/N, heavens!” He rushed over once his eyes caught your distraught face behind the wood, your entire hand covered in blood, pressed to your head, where more seemed to have already dried on your scalp.

“Mr. Holmes?” Your voice was weak, your eyes hazy - growing in the confusion the head injury most likely brought to you.

Sherlock's arms reached out to engulf you, a handkerchief quick to be pressed on your head as he knelt beside you and let your body rest against his torso. “Enola, go and get help, immediately!” He commanded with urgency, having the young girl run off with a shocked nod.

His attention traced back to your body, where his eyes focused on your heavy lids and his heart clenched at the sight. You were hurt - seriously hurt - and Sherlock could not shake the feeling of it being his fault. Had he only consulted you in his case, had he talked to Enola, had he been less cowardly and finally admitted to his feelings. This all might have never happened.

“You should not have gone out alone!” He cried as he rocked you back and forth, his arms held you a little tighter, and he was certain that his heart beat through the several layers of clothing separating you.

“You have no right to rule over me.” Your hands pressed against his chest, forcing him to let you pull away from his embrace, and Sherlock instantly missed the warmth holding you had given him. He needed it back - confirming you were fine.

“But I told you not to go!” Big eyes stared up at him, but there was disappointment simmering beneath the sheer gleam of anger.

“Why are you upset? I can do whatever I desire!” It was meant to come out strong, but not even a woman as tough as you were able to hide the weakness taking over your body.

“But you got hurt!” Sherlock was juggling with empty arguments, he knew this much. But there was no right way to express what he wished to pursue with his words. It was all too much and not enough, all the same.

“Mr. Holmes, I can take good care of myself. I have done it my whole life.”

“And you shouldn’t have.” This seemed to have caught you by surprise. For you stopped in your shuffling away and held his gaze equal in confusion and intrigue.

“Whatever do you mean?” You shrieked softly, your breath staggering when he came closer to you.

Sherlock found it incredibly difficult to talk, suddenly. His hands were clammy and that stupid tie around his neck seemed just a tad too tight. Christ, he could not even look at you. He was left staring towards the wet grounds with his hands wringing beneath him.“I- it has come to my attention that I lack perception in some categories.” He hushed a look at you and was not surprised to see utter confusion seeping through your stare.

Sherlock sighed and his shoulders jumped heavily once he mustered up the courage to explain: “I do not wish to see you hurt.”

“Why?” Your eyes were big and wondrous, much like a curious child prying up in awe over what it was to become privy of.

Sherlock tried, he really did, to be steady and informative, but there was no use, for his heart had decided otherwise. “Because... because, I- my heart hurts when I imagine something happening to you.”

“But what about Sybil or Amelia… or Babette?” Every name stung another hole in his heart as your eyes saddened naming the woman he had spent previous nights with in order to get over you. He never loved them, never adored them the way he did you. They were simply a distraction. A petty compromise for the actual being he was sure would never return his affection. Now that he found out the opposite, Sherlock was uncertain about how to act.

“These women... they were just compensation for the one I couldn’t have.” He confessed slowly, his hand reaching for you and finally getting ahold of your chin. “I did not think you would be interested in me.”

“Oh but I am, Sherlock.” Your fingers came to cover his. “I am.” And an unbelievable force of warmth and calmness washed over him. Despite the blood, despite the worry. Despite everything being wrong at this very moment, he was calm. You had this effect on him.

“I know that now. My sister told me.” Sherlock sent a silent prayer to the stars. Had his sister not been as persistent he would have never gotten the opportunity to hold you close - feel you the way he desired.

“She is quite a smart lady isn’t she?” A low chuckle echoed through the darkening alley, though a shy blush crept upon the detective’s cheeks.

“As much as I hate to admit it, she is a good detective.” His thumbs stroked gentle swipes over your skin, a sliver of warmth tasting your body with every movement, and it felt good to have you indulge in his touch. He would have never dreamt of having you this close, having you feel the same feelings he did. And to be perfectly honest, experiencing it, in reality, was a hundred times better than anything he had ever imagined. “God, Y/N. If only I had known earlier.”

“Let us not grieve what is already done. Embrace the possibilities of the future with me.” Your eyes locked with his once again and your aura seemed to pull him even deeper into a trance. Sherlock could not look away. He was captured by every loving emotion radiating off of you. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. But he would keep it guarded in his chest for eternity, even if nobody were to ever ask him about it. It was precious - this moment was worth hundred terrible ones.

“You are right,” he agreed, and then, beyond his control almost, Sherlock pulled you into a warm kiss.

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french-vanilla-in-the-clouds · 4 months

Text

𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: It is finally Y/N's turn to walk down the aisle. Sherlock can't keep his eyes off of her. She is certain that the man waiting at the alter is the one she will spend the rest of her life with. Is he?

wedding fluff and angst

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

Sherlock stood at the alter, hands clasped behind his back. To the wedding guests, his sharp stance would suggest ease. In truth, each deep breath he chased was laboured and unsure.

She was a vision in white. Precious in deep sheets of ivory.

Sherlock had never seen such perfection.

Y/N took measured steps down the aisle in time to the music's pace. A few steps further and the bride would become somebody's wife.

Sherlock promised himself he would not cry today. Not one tear, he swore. He was better than that. Still, as Y/N drew closer, step by step, he wasn't certain he could keep a dry eye.

He considered turning away or focusing on the flower arrangements set behind her shoulder. Anything to keep the strain in his chest at bay.

It was in that moment of deliberation that Y/N chose to wink at him. A small gesture, hardly visible behind her veil but even so, he caught it.

Propping his shoulders back, he chose to keep looking. Better to face the music than miss a flutter of her lashes or the quiver of her lip when she smiled.

Though his throat felt constricted and his chest heaved for breath, Sherlock Holmes could not turn away from the bride.

He registered John shoot him a grin from the left. He wasn't sure that he returned it.

"She's beautiful," John said in a hushed tone.

"She's beautiful," Sherlock repeated.

Three years earlier, Sherlock had met Y/N for the first time. Since then, she had stumbled through the flat each day, always with a shy smile and a soft spoken, "hello".

He loved her from the start.

Their highs and lows, they would experience together. When she threw her head back in laugher, teeth gleaming at something her lover said, Sherlock would see it. He often revealed his experiments to her, if only to see the wonder shine in her eyes.

Even after every lover's spat, Sherlock would wrap his arms around her and swear that things would look brighter in time.

He was right. By God, he was right. He had to be, for now, she stood just steps away from him, at the alter, incandescently happy in her wedding gown.

A slow tear trailed down Sherlock's cheek.

Y/N finally reached him and there was silence in the cathedral when the music at last, had died.

"You're crying," she said.

Sherlock choked out a laugh that hurt his head. "I'm not," he replied. He tightened his lips together to ease the line of worry that had suddenly appeared on Y/N's brow.

"You're beautiful," he whispered. Closing his eyes, Sherlock shifted her veil aside. His hand trembled as he pushed it just far enough to kiss her cheek.

Though he gave her the softest of kisses, he felt a sharp stab in his heart, as arduous as the touch of his lips on her skin was brief.

He dropped her veil again and opened his eyes. "Every happiness," he said to her. His gaze steeled into her own. He hoped she wouldn't understand but she did.

Y/N nodded and her veil rustled. "Every happiness," she said back to him.

Sherlock clenched his jaw and feigned a smile for the wedding guests that stared from the pews. Then, he took Y/N's hand in his own and walked with her for three final steps.

John waited beside the priest.

Sherlock presented the groom with his bride and took his position as best man.

He was good at that, after all; standing on the outside, looking in. It's how he captured so many of his friends' most private moments in the small space of 221B.

Throughout the ceremony, the words, "every happiness" rang in Sherlock's mind.

When John and Y/N shared their first kiss as man and wife, Sherlock clapped along with the others but still, "every happiness" lingered at the tip of his tongue.

He simply couldn't manage to add the words, "I wish you..." at the start.

Things would be brighter in time, he told himself.

He knew it was a lie but for now, he clapped.

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I'm crying. I have reposted this thing like, 10 times. Last time, I swear. omg. please work. If you'd like to be tagged, let me know.

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darlingdekarios · 10 months

Text

dance in the winter.

rating: explicit. 18+ only. length: 2,937 content: Sherlock Holmes x f!reader, porn with plot, smut [fingering - receiving, oral - receiving, unprotected p in v], kink(s) [praise, hair pulling], fluff

though he tried to restrain himself, it was useless – when he avoided you, circumstance always brought you crashing back into him. as he climbed the stairs to 221B Baker Street, he supposed this was one of those times as well.

Eight days, seven hours, and thirty-four minutes ago Sherlock Holmes had been persuaded by way of your fluttering eyelashes to take on one final case before Christmas, though against his better judgment he hardly needed convincing when it came to you. He’d met you months ago now through his sister and, despite himself, he’d found plenty of excuses to intersect his path with yours. The way you had burrowed into his mind was often infuriating, the way he had permeated your mind dizzying.

It was impossible to ignore the growing affection between the two of you – even Enola had remarked on it to you weeks ago and though you were a convincing liar, she was better at reading you. Sherlock’s behavior spoke for itself, Enola thought – the sheer fact he could be seen with you enough times to constitute a pattern meant he enjoyed your company, and for Sherlock that was enough of a compliment and revelation.

Though no one had pushed for an answer, everyone who knew both of you knew the energy that came with the both of you, and the assumption that you two had acted on those feelings would not be unfounded. Several times now, in fleeting and molten moments, Sherlock had kissed you breathless and reverent. Though he tried to restrain himself, it was useless – when he avoided you, circumstance always brought you crashing back into him. As he climbed the stairs to 221B Baker Street, he supposed this was one of those times as well.

“Eight days, seven hours, and thirty-eight minutes spent on your case,” he proclaimed as he closed his watch, tucking it away before fixing his gaze on you. “Only to follow clues to my own home, and to find you waiting for me.”

You waited for him with a smile on your face, sprawled against the worn fabric of his chaise in a dress you knew distracted him, the depth of its color bringing out the best in yours. He closed the door behind himself, dropping his cane beside the door and removing his jacket as he regarded you with analytic eyes.

“I’m afraid I deduced the crime before you, Mister Holmes,” you taunted, eyes sparkling in the crackling firelight coming from the fireplace near you. He closed some of the distance toward you as you spoke, causing you to raise to be seated before him in politeness, though you wished to cherish the way he hungrily eyed you as you lay before him. “I have been waiting here for the thief to return.”

“I assume you’ve decided it’s me,” he assessed, clasping his hands behind his back to resist the urge to reach out and push a stray hair from your face.

“Yes, Sherlock, I’m afraid you are the thief, and you’ve stolen something very dear to me,” you mused, raising your hand to push the hair from your face instead, almost as if you were further taunting him. “I should hope you return it at once.”

“And what is it I’m accused of stealing?”

“My mind, dear detective,” you sighed, raising to your feet and standing close enough to him that he could make out the details of your face. “All of my sense. I demand you return it at once, I simply cannot pass another day in this state.”

A lazy smile passed his features, one that he gifted to you in privacy, entrusted you with in secret. You etched this one to memory just as the others.

“So, all this week while I have been uncovering clues and following trails,” he began, finally reaching forward to grasp one of your hands. Almost delicately he lifted it, pressing a kiss to your fingers before continuing. “They were all left by you.”

You nodded, fire engulfing your cheeks under his investigative eyes now burning into yours with something genuine and fierce.

“Hmm,” he mused, lowering your hand to rest against his chest as his own fingers traced along your jaw. “Who helped you?”

“I’m offended you think I would need help, Sherlock Holmes,” you quipped, noticing the twitch at the corners of his mouth in amusement. It crossed your mind he likely asked the question purely to antagonize you, though your pride insisted you assert your efforts. “It was me alone.”

“Of course it was,” he nodded, grasping your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Though if you wanted my attention so badly, you hardly needed a game.”

“But you love a good game, or so I’ve heard,” you remarked, eyes light and playful. He had to appreciate that you could hold this back-and-forth with him without losing your footing, the mental dance you’d been in for months now fulfilling a deep need in his mind. “I enjoyed dancing with you.”

His lips crashed to yours with bruising weight, the time since your last kiss finally settling into Sherlock and building the desire he felt for you. His hands found way to your lower back to hold you closer, covering himself in the warmth of you and swallowing the quiet sigh that passed your lips. The grasp he held on your dress revealed his satisfaction at having you so near again.

Eagerness would never spoil gentle intent. He carefully worked the laces of your gown free, pushing the heavy fabric to the floor when it had loosened adequately and immediately grasping your waist again. He released your mouth from his kiss to run his eyes over your body, his pink tongue swiping against his bottom lip in appreciation and to savor the taste of your lips.

“Lay down,” he instructed while motioning back to the chaise with one hand, releasing his hold on you to admire as you stepped back and listened with a meek nod. Eventually he’d tell you how amusing it was when you became bashful for him, but the comment could wait. Once you were comfortable again, he sank to his knees before you, reaching to pull the undergarments that covered you still with an appreciative hum before discarding them in the pile with your dress.

“Such a clever girl,” he complimented, leaning forward to press his lips to the side of your knee to encourage your legs apart. You listened without him needing to ask aloud, releasing a shaky breath as the cold air of the room passed over your heated core. “This is what you wanted, hmm?”

You could only nod as his fingers ran through your folds, teasing your soaked entrance lightly before running the digits back toward your clit, rubbing a well-intended circle around the already swollen nub. “You like when I praise you,” he remarked, like he was announcing his findings for notetaking. You supposed a man like him likely did keep mental notes. “Let’s find out what else you like.”

His head disappeared between your thighs then, his tongue replacing his fingers to eagerly taste what your arousal had to offer. A low sound rumbled in his chest in appreciation as his hands grasped your thighs, spreading your legs more so he could bury his face in your core, his tongue slipping into your cunt to massage your velvet walls. He was gifted with an unimaginable symphony of sounds from your lips as you fought to hold some composure and he fought to melt it away, connecting his thumb to your clit soon after.

He felt the flutter to your walls and swapped his movements, reaching to take your swollen nub into his lips with a firm suck as he slipped a finger into you, curling it to massage the sensitive patch behind your clit. Your hips began to move to meet his face and hand desperately as your walls clenched, white hot euphoria washing over you as your fingers flung to his hair, pulling the wind-blown mess of curled locks in overwhelmed passion.

Though you were in the throes of pleasure you heard the hefty groan that left his chest as he drank your orgasm from you, currently uncaring for tidiness and finding enjoyment in the mess you made of his lower face. When he was certain he’d carried you through it he removed himself from you, standing and displaying the obvious tent in his pants as he offered a hand to you. You took his hand without question, rising to meet him and lean against his wide torso for support. Finding your voice, however, was a task all in itself.

“Where are we going?”

“My bedroom,” he replied, slipping an arm around your waist to lead you down the hall to the named room. While you knew the room existed, you had always assumed it remained empty…you had certainly never seen him use it before.

“Since when do you use your bedroom?”

“Since Enola made me find a flat mate,” he replied, sending a glance your way as he opened the door and gestured for you to enter. He followed behind immediately, pulling you back against him to press a kiss beneath your ear. “It’s not important right now.”

He turned you gently to claim your lips again, reaching behind his back to close the bedroom door before working himself free of his own clothes. You released a content sigh against his lips, pressing your bare skin to his to soak in his warmth and enjoy the feeling of him against you. When all that remained was his undergarments, he was offering you a taste of yourself with his tongue in your mouth, kissing you in ways that could be written of.

To his amusement when he released you from his kiss a whimper slipped from your lips at the loss, and he satiated your disappointment with another gentle kiss before bumping his nose against yours.

“You should have asked if this is what you wanted,” he remarked, offering a light smile when your eyes met his. If you wanted a game to play, Sherlock was the master of such matters, a painful reminder that fueled his mind. “Practice for me.”

“W-what?”

“Practice asking,” he instructed, trailing his kisses to brush along your jaw and to your neck. Infuriatingly, and perhaps admirably, he remembered the exact spots he needed to make you gasp, the perfect pressure to leave you breathless. He asked too much and knew it to be true, though he still insisted. “Perfect it.”

“Sherlock, please,” you whined as he backed you toward his bed, helping you lower down carefully to the cold sheets. Thankfully the cold was chased away by his warmth as he joined you, crawling between your legs and kissing up your chest slowly. “Don’t torment me, I want you so badly. Please.”

“I should make you wait,” he sounded too pleased with himself, too entertained by the desperate hitch in your breath and subtle shake to your legs as you wrapped them around his waist, eager to bring him closer.

“Please…”

“Patience,” he reminded, sliding his hand down your body as he pressed an infuriatingly chaste kiss to your lips as he slipped two fingers into you. “Are you always this wet?”

“Often…when I’m near you,” you replied hurriedly, hips raising to meet his hand, desperate for anything he would offer you. He raised his head to drink in your expression, mentally noting the different hue to your cheeks and weight to your eyes. Seeing your body respond to him was science, learning the different ways to push you toward bliss a newfound task in his mind.

“Hmm,” he mused carefully, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes, Sherlock, please,” you whimpered as he curled his fingers again slowly, taking in your pleading expression as you continued. “No more games, please.”

He removed his fingers from you to grasp his throbbing cock, rubbing your slickness over himself before sliding the velvety head through your folds. With one last look for confirmation to your face met with a nod and whimper from you he slowly pressed into you inch by inch, holding you closer and claiming your lips again in a focused kiss. When he bottomed out and grasped your hips to hold you closer what were normally calculated kisses faltered slightly as your walls fluttered around him, the stretch to accommodate him making you feel almost too full but pulling a delicious moan from your chest.

When he moved it was as though he had been choreographing the movements in his mind nonstop for weeks…and perhaps he had with the way he seemed to massage every inch of you perfectly with each thrust. Your legs remained tight around his waist, holding him to you so he couldn’t withdraw further than you’d allow him – which he was more than happy to oblige. Focused on bringing you to the edge again the only noises that left Sherlock now were quiet groans in appreciation when you clenched around him, a low gasp falling from his lips when you pulled his hair again slightly.

It was then when the lava returned to your core, bubbling under his mercury eyes and leaving your lips as a cry of his name. Your walls clenched around him tightly as you reached another orgasm, eyes squeezing tight as you bit into your kiss swollen bottom lip. It was then he found the words for you again.

“You look extraordinary like this…in my bed,” he complimented, his thrusts beginning to falter. You squeezed him tighter with your legs to encourage him to stay, a request he was more than happy to accommodate with a sloppy few final thrusts before his hot seed emptied into you. As he rode out the remainder of his spend, he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, sliding one of his hands into yours and lacing your fingers together.

You wondered if he would always find ways to take you by surprise.

He was conscious not to linger, removing himself from you and pressing another kiss to your forehead before retreating to his living room, returning with your undergarments in hand. His hair was tousled from your desperation to grasp something and clung to the thin layer of sweat on his forehead, cheeks red. As you admired him you reached your arms toward him as he replaced your undergarments after running a clean cloth through your folds, discarding it to the floor to handle later.

He found his place beside you then, resting on his back and pulling you close to hold you for a moment, willing to relax now that you were cared for. His hands ran carefully along your stomach as he held you, pressing gentle kisses to the top of your head repeatedly to silently thank you for what had transpired. His gentle movements brought you to relaxation soon, raising your head to press a gentle kiss to his jaw.

“Merry Christmas, Sherlock,” you cooed, repeating the kiss and causing a brief shudder to ripple up his back.

“Mm,” came a low rumbled reply in his chest before he lowered his head to claim your lips again, aware that he needed to lighten it slightly to accommodate for the swollen bruise to your lips already.

He held you that way for some time, allowing you to rest and enjoy the serenity of closeness to Sherlock in the afterglow of connecting with one another so deeply. Sherlock took advantage of the peaceful, quiet hours of the night to match it with little conversation as well, instead focusing his efforts on soothing your body and showing his appreciation and adoration. When you began to match his affections with soft kisses and nuzzles with your nose he opted to continue, pressing a kiss to your forehead before standing from the bed.

He reached beside the bed slowly to retrieve a robe, wrapping you in the fabric you recognized as one he wore frequently before replacing some of his clothes – whatever was necessary to move about the apartment with some decency. When you’d tied the robe he offered his hand to you, helping you rise from the bed and supporting you against him just as he had before. Even Sherlock had to admit the fulfilled swell to his chest at seeing you glowing because of him while dressed in his clothes.

“Come where it’s warm by the fire, dearest,” he offered in a tender tone, leading you back to the living room and helping you lower back into the chaise.

While any ordinary time with any ordinary person you may have simply gone to bed, what was unfolding with Sherlock was anything but ordinary. Instead, you found yourself wrapped in his robe, draped across his chaise, and bathed in the golden morning glow as Sherlock took his place with violin in hand, playing you soothing and delicate songs. It was not long for you to be lulled into a heavy sleep by his music and for Sherlock’s flat mate to follow the sound of a violin so early in the morning.

“Morning, Sherlock,” John greeted, adjusting his own robe carefully as he entered the room. “I see you found our guest.”

“Did you let her in, John?”

“I did. Did you tell her you figured it out days ago?”

Fondness pooled in Sherlock’s eyes at the question, and the lightest traces of a smile twitched his lips upward at the thought. He glanced away from your face just long enough to properly regard John, shaking his head astutely before returning his gaze to you. John knew the answer before Sherlock confirmed it.

“No.”

Rather than press the topic of the Christmas miracle unfolding before him, John elected to fix morning tea.

masterlist.

#sherlock holmes #cavill sherlock holmes #netflix sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes fluff #sherlock holmes smut #sherlock holmes x you #henry cavill

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sunshine-on-my-mind · 1 year

Text

Mind and Heart

pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Plus Size Reader

word count: 1.8k

warnings: angsty, fluff, romance, softness, Sherlock Holmes (he is a warning!!), reader has low self-esteem, mentions of being ridiculed (not in detail)

a/n: this is my first time writing for Sherlock and I am nervous and excited at the same time. Initially it was not my plan to write for plus size readers but I couldn’t help but be drawn towards idea, so here I am. I really hope you all enjoy it. I’m writing after some time and this type of writing (old english/victorian english) is not something I’m used to hence there might be some mistakes. FEEDBACK is appreciated.

One fortunate day, you crossed paths with a wise young girl, named Enola Holmes and that fortunate event eventually introduced you to a certain famous detective, Sherlock Holmes.

You were not the most confident in matters of your appearance but you took pride in your intelligence. Indeed you could not live up to the intelligence of the Holmes’ siblings but you did have wit and will.

Enola was a sweet and kind girl, you helped her on a particular case and since then the two of you bonded. One day when you were at her detective agency, having a chat with her, the door opened to a broad shouldered man, who adorned beautiful curly hair. You couldn’t help but gaze at him.

The man seemed indifferent to your presence and went straight ahead to talk to Enola. It was her who introduced you to each other.

Sherlock, with a slight nod of his head, proceeded to talk about why he was visiting his sister. You felt out of place and decided to excuse yourself but before you could leave, the man spoke.

“It will just take a minute, Miss. I would be out of here soon.” Sherlock gave you another polite nod. You tried to not overhear their conversation and got yourself busy with a newspaper that was on the table, you moved away and decided to go through the pages while the siblings engaged in conversation.

You could not help but steal glances at the man, there was an air of confidence that surrounded him. Although you knew very well, a man like that, would not spare another look at you.

So did happen when he was done with the conversation and turned around to leave, though as you expected him to open the door and move out, he suddenly turned towards you.

“Thank you for helping my sister,” and with that he left. You did not even get a chance to respond.

“My brother is not the most talkative person. He can come off a bit rude I think, but his heart is in the right place.” Enola paused for a second and chuckled, “Well I am not sure about his heart but his mind is definitely in the right place. Always is.”

You were always intrigued by detective work and mystery, though not so adventurous yourself, the idea of mystery did provide you a certain thrill. Hence when you were invited by Enola to accompany her to Baker Street, to the famous detective’s residence, you were overjoyed to say the least. You were nervous as well, your last meeting with Mr. Holmes was not exactly ideal, and you were worried about overstepping since the invitation did not come directly from him. None the less, you thought this might be a rare opportunity and decided to jump in.

The apartment was… unorganised. Sure it smelled like mystery and adventure but you were expecting it to be more organised considering how detectives need things to be in place.

You were greeted by Sherlock Holmes with a polite smile on his face.

“It is nice to be here.” You told him and his response was just a nod. Enola excused herself to the bathroom and left you two in an uncertain silence.

“Is this where you plan your steps? uncover the details?” Again, Sherlock gave you nod, and that time a polite ‘yes’ as well. You felt it was made quite clear that he did not intend to have a conversation. Roaming around the flat seemed a better option.

Once Enola was back, she planned on making tea for everyone.

“Let me help you.” You told her but she shook her head.

“Oh I will manage just fine, I know your tea is much better than mine but why don’t you look around, or ask Sherlock the questions you had? You are here at Baker Street after all.”

You smiled at her politely and took the sofa opposite to Sherlock, who was looking outside the window. You fidgeted with your hands. Clearing your throat, you gained courage to talk to the the man of mystery once again.

“What was your first case like? If you don’t mind sharing?” Sherlock looked at you, and for a second you felt his eyes lingered on you a tad bit longer. You tried to brush aside any such thought.

“It was challenging, but I am an admirer of challenges.” His answer was better than the usual nods he threw your way but he did not try to engage in a conversation, in fact he quickly turned his vision back to the window. It seemed like he was avoiding you.

“Pardon me Sir, am I being bothersome?” The words slipped from your lips before you could stop yourself. A shocked expression came across his face but he remained silent. You could feel your tears building up.

“Tea is ready.” Enola announced with a smile as she came back in the living room.

“I think- I think I should take your leave. It was quite a nice experience to come here, thank you.” You stood up and smiled towards Enola, quickly making your way towards the door.

The Holmes’ siblings were taken aback, especially the younger one. Sherlock stood up but froze in his spot.

“What did you do Sherlock?”

“Nothing!” the detective, who always had proper replies, could barely say a word out loud at that moment.

“Oh brother,” Enola shook her head in disapproval. “go after her!” At that Sherlock seemed to have gain consciousness again and quickly made his way after you.

You were trying to hail a cab when you heard your name being called out. You turned to see the man you least expected to.

“Miss, please wait.” Sherlock was out of breath as he came near you. “Let me explain…”

“There is no need Sir, I understood that I was being intrusive and I-“

“I invited you here today…” Sherlock interrupted you. You looked at him perplexed.

“I asked my sister to invite you here today.” Sherlock let out a deep breath. “I have some explaining to do, please be kind and give me a chance.”

The man seemed earnest, and you decided to hear him out, you were intrigued to say the least. As you went up to his apartment, you found Enola welcoming you both.

“I shall leave you two alone. Do not mind my brother please, he is not very intelligent in this matter I suppose.” With a little smile on her face, she left.

Sherlock asked you to sit down and you did. He took the sofa opposite to you, and looked down at his hands, nervous. It was quite an odd sight to see the famous detective nervous.

“I had heard about you, from my sister.” He finally looked up at you. “Enola rarely speaks about someone with such admiration like she did about you, it intrigued me. She mentioned how you helped her, how you are always so kind to her and how you’ve become close to her. My sister admires you and your wit. The way she talked about you, got my attention, I could not help but wished to meet you. It does not usually happen with me.” He cleared his throat in between.

“And then I did, I saw you. I did not realise what was happening, I was drawn towards you, I was charmed by you.”

“Detective Holmes, I am not quite sure I understand what you are saying.” An esteemed, intelligent and beautiful man, Sherlock Holmes was hinting that he fancied you, it was not something you were used to. You always considered yourself as someone who will never find love, never find someone who could fancy you.

“Believe me, I hardly understand myself these days.” the man smiled softly. “I may be a good detective, I know I am able to solve mysteries, but this particular one, is not just affecting my mind, but my heart. I am afraid that my mind works faster than most, but I’m still foreign to the whereabouts of my heart.” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, what your were seeing, Sherlock Holmes was flustered.

“I wanted to know you more, I asked my sister to help me. She did tease me quite a lot, but I do not blame her, it is quite unusual for me to…” Sherlock looked at you intently, took in every little curve, every little feature of your body. You felt your cheeks heating up.

“It is unusual for me to be intrigued by someone this much, to be charmed by someone.” You could feel his stare fixated on your lips as he uttered the next words. “to fancy someone.”

Sherlock got up from his place and took a seat beside you. You were still trying to come in terms with reality.

“If I may?“ Sherlock asked as he softly took your hand in his. His touch felt electric and a small gasp escaped your lips. Sherlock smiled realising you have not withdrawn your hand.

“I apologise if I have upset you. It was not my intention.”

“It is alright detective Holmes I-“

“Sherlock, please.” A smile crept up your face.

“Sherlock, I thought I was being intrusive, I assumed you weren’t interested in having a conversation with me since you were hardly speaking to me. The first time we met, you hardly even looked at me, not that it is unusual. I am not someone people usually look at, unless they want to ridicule me I suppose.”

“Firstly dear girl, most people are fools, trust me. Secondly, I can understand how it may have seemed to you but the reason I could not talk to you, could hardly even look at you was because I was nervous, I was speechless. Your beauty, your charm, your smile made me speechless.” Sherlock’s deep gaze made you look down.

“Look at me please, do not deprive me of the honour to take in your beauty.”

“I do not know what to say. You are someone I am intrigued by, someone I could not help but simply admire, and to know you feel the same, makes this feel like a dream.”

“Are you saying you share my feelings, beautiful?” You smiled and gave him a nod, and the biggest smile appeared on Sherlock’s face.

“Please give me a chance to know you better, perhaps over a cup of tea. Mind you this is all new to me, I may do or say something out of place but my heart- my heart is in the right place, at least it is now.” Sherlock confessed with a gorgeous smile.

“It is new to me as well, but I would love to spend more time with you.” you returned him the smile.

That was how your journey began with Detective Sherlock Holmes, your Sherlock.

——————————

tagging: @eviesaurusrex @sarahrogersevans

#sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes henry cavill #henry cavill #enola holmes #sherlock holmes x plus size reader #sherlock x plus size reader #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x plus size!reader #enola 2 #plus size fanfic #plus size readers #sherlock holmes fluff

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futureplayboibunnie · 1 year

Text

‘Innocent’

Sherlock x fem! reader

- oh. my. god. i got a few requests for this virgin/ inexperienced smutty fic and lord i got so carried away. I LOVE THIS ONE SO MUCH IT TOOK ME SO LONG BUT MY OWN WRITING HAS ME FERAL??? help x

Sherlock was feeling completative, pondering upon forbidden grounds that he wouldn't usually travel. He was walking through the avenues of his mind, the thoughts reeling through him- even though it really wasn’t a good time.

You were next to him, he was being awarded another stupid gift for his incredible and somewhat pretentious sleuthing skills but he really wasn't paying much attention. Not after what he did. Not after what he felt.

Sherlock accidentally grazed your fingers while you were standing next to him, he was versed enough to catch onto bodily reactions but yours was incredibly different. Your breath caught in your throat but you still let out an audible gasp, you stiffened under his glare and your face started to blush a heated rose with every moment he stared at you. Lips parted, eyes widened with a surprised sheen, teeth clamping onto your lower lip- he didn't know he had the ability to draw that type of reaction out of you. He hasn't really seen a woman react like that before. Especially because of something he did.

Jesus Christ, it's like you've never been touched before.

He stole another glance at you. You were incredibly bashful, not in a nervous way but in an endearing shyness. Naive but knowing, chilling but warm...sexy yet sweet. A mystery altogether and Sherlock wanted to uncover all the secrets you were hiding, you were concealing something and he wanted to find out what it was. It was nagging him relentlessly. He was in spite of it. Sherlock was able to deduce anything about anyone but he couldn't place his finger on you, maybe it's because he couldn't but maybe it was because he didn't want to. This helpless attitude he was beginning to adopt was disarming him and he did not like it one bit. Even if he did want you, he simply wouldn't have the opportunity, you were as blocked off as he was.

Stop, Sherlock. She's much too young.

Sherlock's sex life was incredibly demanding. It never really occured to others that he had a sex life at all but what he demanded in the bedroom was intricate and detailed- he fucked his women in the way he alone wanted. He pushed the limits of every woman he had ever bedded and to some it may be shocking that he had a line of women begging for him.

Sherlock's tastes were very singular, specific and he was beggining to question if...you...were adventurous in bed. He shouldn't even be thinking about you in this way because you seemed so...innocent. Normally he didn't find that attractive but you were a fascinating creature altogether.

His brow creased. He could quite literally feel you shiver. He wondered if you were cold or nervous, but it all began to click- the puzzle pieces began to fall into place and he only realised once you were alone in his presence.

He asked you to meet him at Baker Street.

You were filled with dread and pining, you weren't even sure if it was quiet or loud pining but the desperation that was beginning to bubble within you was becoming very difficult to control and hide. Especially when the object of your desires wanted you to meet him..alone. You were so sweet for him. So ready for him but concern began whirring the cogs in your mind...for one, Sherlock Holmes was quite frankly unattainable and you were...inexperienced. Either way you were fucked, and not in the way you wanted too. He was just too potent, too strong and he could see through anything and everyone, you couldn't deal with the embarrassment he would be so unashamed to put on you- dealing with the ramifications of that would simply be your downfall.

But you couldn't find it in your bones to say no. Saying no to Sherlock Holmes? It simply wasn't within you, you couldn't find the strength to pretend not to want him anymore. Your heart thundered with every step you took up those stairs. Velveteen and living single wasn't really cutting it for you anymore.

‘’Sherlock?’’ You called after him as you creaked the door open, not really expecting an answer from him. ‘’Sherlock, what do you want?'’ You sighed exasperated and annoyed by the way he was keeping you waiting.

He was very certain with himself. He had a simple hypothesis but he wasn't sure if it was true, it really couldn't be true. Sherlock came out from the kitchen to see you standing there, trying to keep yourself cool, calm and collected but anyone with a brain stem could see that you were filled with panic. He straightened his blazer and unbottoned it as he made his way over to you.

‘’Can I try something? Please.’’ Sherlock asked with inquisitive and dark eyes, you were wondering what he wanted, what he was going to do. ‘’An experiment of sorts.’’

All you could do was mindlessly nod. ‘’Yeah.’’ You breathed.

Sherlock gazed into the endless summer of your eyes. If time stood still you'd take this moment and make it last forever. Your pupils dialated and that was something to cross off his checklist, his face was nearing yours and you blinked up at his dumbly. Your breath mingled with his and you stilled once his fingertips grazed up the bare skin of your arm, the pads flowing on the suppleness like oil upon water. Smooth skin left with goosebumps, you let out a shaky breath- completely confused yet enthralled with what he was doing.

His head dipped near your ear. Sherlock could feel your pulse kick into overdrive, he felt your body alight as he neared you- warm breath coating your skin. You were so damn shy, bright, deep and arousing as hell.

‘’No. It simply can't be true.’’ Sherlock muttered, he let go of you and you felt as though the sun just left everything in complete darkness.

Sherlock swayed slowly to lean on the edge of the table, arms crossed and the way he stood was enough to make electricity shoot down your thighs. Sherlock was shocked. It really couldn't be true but he secretly hoped it was.

‘’What are you talking about?’’ You asked impassively, afraid to reveal too much of yourself and the desire to jump his bones you were feigning in.

Sherlock finally pieced together you hadn't had anyone. You were a virgin.

It made his breath halt in his tracks when he came to the realisation, aren't people your age supposed to be fucking like bunnies? It was an objective expression: you were beautiful, sweet, charming and completely disarming. You had barely been touched. The thought is strangely appealling. Inexperienced? He could work with that, God knows he wanted to.

‘’Have you been kissed before?’’ Sherlock asked out of the blue, completely oblivious to how dumbfounded you were.

‘’Of course I have.’’ He thought you looked offended.

Yeah, you've been kissed but not often.... for some damn reason, it pleased him.

‘’Have you ever been touched before?’’ He questioned as if it was a normal thing to say.

You opened your mouth to talk but you couldn't find it in yourself to speak.

Hmm…interesting.

You were so...different. So different to his other women. He liked that.

And he wanted to fuck you, spank you and watch your skin pink beneath his cold hands. You weren't talking, that's out of the question now- isn't it?

He wanted to whip you into shape, your mouth would need training of course but he liked your naivite- it provided a challenge. Well maybe not fuck, that's too heavy handed for you. Maybe he could break you in...show you the ropes. It would be a novel experience for the both of you.

The look in Sherlock's eyes was that of fire swirling into a cylone, he sauntered his way over to you like a sly fox. Your chest was heavy as you looked up at him, the proximity between you two growing smaller and smaller. You daren't blink when he hooked his fingers up from your chin and jutted it up slightly- the feeling of his hands on yours was enough to do you in.

‘’I would like to bite that lip.’’ Sherlock grumbled concisely, his voice low and authoritative and your lips parted in surprise, he grazed his thumb over the soft pink flesh of your lips.

‘’I think I'd like that too.’’ You whispered, shocked by your own words.

‘’Where have you been? How have you been- how could you…?’’ Sherlock breathed, eyes inquisitive. Imploring you to make him understand how no one had taken you, no one had had you or touched you. How could it be possible?

‘’Waiting.’’ You breathed as you felt his hands cradle your face. ‘’For you.’’

‘’And a nice young man hasn't swooped you off of your feet? Men must throw themselves at you.’’

You were melting, knees buckling- you felt pathetic.

‘’No. No one. Just wanted you.’’ You exhaled, so intense and certain of your desire for him as you give him a bright come hither look, he was startled by the fact you weren't feeling so innocent now.

‘’Can I kiss you?’’ Sherlock asked politely and under his breath, which he wouldn't normally do but for you he was willing to bend the rules, his rules and it made him irate. He didn't like his specific rules he set be broken...he was just so curious about you that he was pushing to just get you out of that skirt, gag you and fuck you over the table but he had to tread lightly.

You shocked him when you grabbed him by the collar like instinct and slanted your mouth against his. Sherlock twisted his hand in your hair while your lips seek to find his. You moan into his mouth, the call of a siren and finally he could sample you: mint, tea, peach and an orchard of mellow fruitfulness, a fresh full supply that he wanted to drown in. Innocence and sweetness.

You taste every bit as good as you look.

You reminded him of a time of plenty. Good Lord, he was yearning for you.

Sherlock grasped your chin, deepening the kiss and your tongue tentatively touches his...exploring. Considering. Feeling. Revelling. Kissing him back.

Good God in Heaven. You thought you would grow wings before you could see the day, this could only happen in your wildest fantasies and dreams. A manifestation of sorts. You were punch drunk off of his taste, completely intoxicated beyond your reach and you didn't want to let go but you had to tear your lips away from his to breathe.

‘’I want to take you now...can I?’’ Sherlock had to ask politely, he couldn't just jump your bones although he wanted to.

‘’Sherlock, please. Do whatever you want with me, take control, I don't care. Just because I haven't been touched in this way doesn't mean I'm fragile and breakable. Fuck me how you want to, show me what you like. I've waited long enough, just do something.’’

Your voice sensual and that of an exotic creature, far too holy to be considered earthly. Sherlock had to contain his amusement and surprise, wow you were pulling the rug from under him and he liked that a lot. Those big doe eyes wide and gleaming to give you a morsel of the pleasure you were craving. He loved your incessant blushing.

‘’You don't mean that.’’ Sherlock warned.

‘’Yes I do.’’ Your voice timid.

‘’You're incredibly brave. I'm in awe of you.’’

‘’I feel like I'm too clothed.’’ You flirted.

Sherlock wanted to taste you, eat you out until tears were leaking down your face and then shock you with his cock.

He'd get there soon...in time. Maybe next time, he'd use the riding crop.

Yeah, yeah keep dreaming Sherlock. You have her here right now, just ease into it.

When he gripped you by the hand and lead you to his room, you felt your cheeks pink in desire. Sherlock felt a wholly unexpected thrill unfurl inside of him. He held you flush against his body. You gasp in surprise and his loud thoughts were subdued by his libido, he was so damn horny because of you- you had no clue how arousing you where. So alluring.

Sherlock's fingers tug at your hair, pulling your face up to his as he gazed into your captivating eyes.

This is so different...so intimate. It felt so heated. Although there was no arrangement made between you two, nothing placed, no limits set, you weren't his to do with as he pleases but yet he was still excited.

Aroused. It was obvious the way he was trying to reign his eagerness in when he was peeling you out of your clothes. You were shivering into his feather light touches, your body was alight like the fourth of July- a million fireworks exploding into the clear night sky and you were bathing in the feeling. He was so damn seductive. It was an unfamilair and exhilerating feeling, the desire for him coursing through you, at the tipping edge of a giant rollercoaster.

Sherlock got you half naked fairly quickly, he kneeled in front of you as you stood and your eyes widened. Sherlock Holmes on his knees? Dear God. You felt so special. He got you in your bra and now he wanted to peel your skirt off. His gleaming eyes met with yours and they daren't waver, they were blown out and dialated. Sherlock hands gripped onto your hips and he kissed the skin below the hem of your skirt and it began riding up with his nose as it travelled north. You whimpered and threw your head back in pure ecstasy. Your brows tensed as he stopped kissing you and finally shimmied your skirt down your legs.

Damn it.

His cock hardened in his pants. You in stockings? You in fine lingerie even though you had no one getting to see you like this, this…intimate? Who were you wearing them for? Him? Oh fuck. He was on top of the world.

His nose trailed over your panties and the scent of you was simply perfect, so delicious, he was salivating.

‘’Do you have any idea what I'm going to do to you?’’ He grumbled, planting kisses on your thighs.

You whined at nothing, the words filling you up entirely. You were entranced- lost in his spell- he was clearly happy with himself.

‘’Do you want me to kiss you here, sweetheart?’’ Sherlock asked and you nodded fervently as his mouth was dangerously near the place where your ache was.

Lord, you were pulsating. Soaked.

‘’Yes. Please.’’ You agreed politely and he loved how naive and cute you were, it was delightful that you remembered your manners.

Sherlock's thick finger pulled your panties to the side as he kissed and suckled on that spot that no one else had touched. You felt electricity course through you, your hands flew to his soft curls to tug at it. It made him feel so good. His tongue was doing his magic now, swiping and suckling on your swollen clit, illiciting these lewd noises out of you in the process.

You were seriously about to cry, it was all so much.

You grabbed his face to make him stand and he got on his feet in quick hot flashes, his mouth was fastened to yours again. You moaned into his mouth when his tongue tangled with yours again, you could taste yourself off of him- it was so damn erotic, something out of a dream. When he ripped his lips from yours to see the wanton look in your eyes, he found that you were covered in a delicious rose, your breathing shallow and quick. You were clearly embarrassed at how quickly he got you like this.

Sherlock groaned when you gripped onto his arms, he finally reached behind you and unclasped your bra. Your tits fell free and he immediately palmed at them, your nipples were painfully hard and it made him realise how badly you actually wanted him. Your skin was warm as you flushed. It was the first time anyone else had seen you naked and the fact it was the infamous Sherlock Holmes made it all the more better.

'So pretty, I want to mark your skin up, make you mine." He wasn't sure why he blurted the last part. Would he make you his? Well you weren't.

‘’Do it then.’’ You breathed.

Like clockwork, he obeyed. His teeth sunk into the skin of your neck as he littered bites all down the column of it, leaving his mark on you.

His mark all over you. You then noticed that he was still fully clothed and it made you frown and Sherlock saw that as he peeked at you.

‘’What's with the frown? Am I not satisfying you enough?’’ He taunted.

‘’You've still got clothes on.’’ You pouted. ‘’Let me take it off for you.’’ You offered so deliciously and for once, Sherlock let you. It was unheard of, but you were already bending his rules.

You unbuttoned his shirt and peeled it off him, but before you could revel in his physique he pushed you onto the bed. Your face contorted into different scenarios of pleasure and he wasn't even inside you yet. Sherlock fawned over you, hands roaming every inch of your skin, your hands raking in his hair. Breath warm as he kissed you. Your hands flew to his pants.

Whoa...gentle. Easy. So...eager. He liked that. The naive innocent itching to just get into his pants- interesting.

You unzipped it and Sherlock finally let his cock spring free. He peeked up at your face to check that you were still keen but it was more than that. You were desperate. Your mouth formed into an 'o' as it popped open, eyes wide with how big he was. It startled you, even envisioning what it would look like. He was leaking. Fuck.

‘’You still want this?’’ He checks again and you nodded furiously, already panting. Has he ever been this aroused? He didn't get it…it must be you.

Sherlock postioned himself in between your thighs as he slid into you so he could take you on his whim. Your eyes were open wide, imploring him as you strained. Should he be gentle and prolong the agony or just go for it?

The need to posses you clouds him. He goes for it.

You cry out and the pain felt so fucking God, the sting burned and you fucking loved it.

‘’Is that okay?’’ Sherlock checked as his eyes bore into yours, your face was etched in pure pleasure.

‘’Mmhmm...fuck...it feels...nice.’’ You whisper in his ear, moaning and whimpering and it was like his favourite sound of music.

Nice?

Sherlock? Nice?

Oh no, that's not good enough.

Sherlock wasn't nice in bed he was downright devilish in bed but for you he was willing to be soft, maybe later he'll fuck you in every way possible.

He had never felt this desire. This hunger before. He wanted so much from you but for now, he wanted you to cum on him.

Sherlock eased in and out of you slowly, eyes connected and scorching. Intimate. Hot. Slow. Normally, he would've pinned your hands above your head but right now they were in his hair and that's exactly where he wanted them to be right now. He began to pick up the pace and your moans echoed throughout his bedroom. It was just beginning to dawn on you that you were being fucked by Sherlock Holmes in his own bedroom.

‘’You're so fucking wet, I love it.’’ He cooed condescendingly and you didn't find it in yourself to care.

Sherlock reached you at the hilt, hitting that spot over and over as he kissed your lips and your jaw. He was just relentless and perfect.

‘’..God..'’ It was more of a strangled cry than an actual word.

‘’Cum with me...feel it with me, baby.’’

That's it…Feel it.

He loved that you were so responsive, he'd have to keep you in line for that later though. The pet name drove you to insanity as you bottomed out, gushing onto him as the flood gates opened and you had none of the means to keep them closed. Your cry was incandescent and it made him follow you in your footsteps. How telling. It was an explosive collision, a once in a lifetime event. That blush began to coat and prick your skin again.

When he finished, he rolled off beside you to regain his breath. The air was so thick and fulfilled, fire and erosion turning the atmosphere to molten lava. You cut through the pants.

‘’Am I supposed to thank you...because..uhm. Thank you.’’ You breathed bashfully, so sensual in your stance but you attempted to collect yourself and he wanted to laugh.

You were so amusing. So fun.

‘’This was more for me than you.’’ Sherlock admitted truthfully.

‘’Humility will always be a mystery to you.’’ You raised your eyebrow as you leaned to your side to peek up at him. Silence encompassed the air as your statement was incredibly true, he wasn't oblivious to it.

‘’How on Earth have you avoided…?’’ Sherlock seemed exasperated, confused as his brows creased but you cut him off.

‘’I told you, I wasn't interested. I only wanted you.’’

#bbc sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes fluff #sherlock smut #sherlock holmes angst #sherlock x fem!reader #sherlock holmes smut #sherlock fanfic

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classickook · 2 years

Text

safe in your arms | sherlock holmes

pairing: sherlock holmes x gn!reader

summary: sherlock can only fully relax when he’s in your presence so after he comes home from a frustrating case one day, he’s more than happy to be in your arms again. (based off this request by anon.)

warnings: fluff, non-sexual nudity, clingy!sherlock

word count: 0.8k

a/n: sherlock is pretty ooc here but it’s a nice change every once in a while! feedback is appreciated <3

where are you? -SH

you briefly glance at the short message sherlock sent and type back a quick response: at home, why?

no reply. no text bubbles, nothing.

it wasn’t uncommon for sherlock to be so short or distracted in his texts, but it worried you sometimes when he didn’t respond right away.

your fingers move across the screen with the beginnings of a new message when the door suddenly bursts open, followed by a very grumpy looking sherlock.

he storms into the flat with an exaggerated pout on his pretty pink lips and presses his back against the door after shutting it firmly closed.

you’re currently lying on the sofa and reading a book when the noise causes you to jump slightly, nearly dropping your cell where it had been balancing on your leg. “oh hi, sherlock,” you say sweetly. “you’re back early.”

he doesn’t respond. instead, he simply drags his feet toward you, ridding himself of his coat and scarf along the way, and quickly kicks off his shoes before moving to rest his lanky body on top of you.

you release a gentle ‘oof’ before marking the page and setting your book aside. “what’s wrong, hmm?” one hand caresses his back while the other reaches up to cradle the back of his head, fingers toying with his soft curls.

“people are dreadful,” he groans into your chest.

you giggle as you squeeze him in tighter, kissing the crown of his head and then resting your cheek there. “poor baby,” you coo teasingly.

“i’m serious, y/n,” he sighs, slightly aggravated and perhaps overwhelmed by the day he’d had. “i missed you today. i would’ve much rather stayed here with you.”

your hands still against his back. “really? but what about all the excitement of a new case? the game of it?”

he shakes his head, causing his curls to tickle your chin. “i don’t care. it wasn’t worth it anyway. a complete waste of time.”

you hum in response and sherlock practically purrs at the gentle vibration of it against his cheek. “i’m sorry today didn’t go well,” you sympathize. “but you’re here now and i’ve got you.”

“thank god for that,” he mutters oh so quietly, like he hadn’t intended for you to hear it.

sherlock had never been very fond of physical contact or intimacy, from what you’d heard amongst the others, at least, but he tended to be rather clingy around you, especially after a bad day like today. it brought a smile to your face to be wanted—needed—like this, like you were the only person who could bring him this level of solace and comfort, offering a safe space where he didn’t need to worry about prying eyes or carrying the mantle of the famous consulting detective.

here in this tiny flat with you, he could completely unwind and rest in your arms.

his large hands suddenly move beneath your shirt and along your sides until they position themselves under you to rest just below your shoulder blades, cupping you there with slender fingers.

silence settles about the room aside from sherlock’s soft breaths. you continue playing with his hair, applying gentle pressure as you lovingly massage his scalp and twirl your fingers around each messy curl.

sherlock then adjusts slightly before unexpectedly lifting the hem of your shirt and sliding his head beneath the fabric to rest on your bare chest, feeling the warmth of your skin and beating heart against his cheek.

you peer down at him beneath the collar of your shirt, holding back a laugh. “what are you doing in there?”

“just wanted to feel you,” he mumbles, breath hot on your skin and causing goosebumps to rise in its wake. he presses lazy kisses against your sternum and sighs happily.

sherlock rarely ever got this clingy, only on stressful days when he became overwhelmed by his thoughts and senses. he always turned to you in those moments, taking comfort in your embrace and your soothing words. the man wasn’t usually one for physical contact with anyone, unless it was you. you were different. you were special.

“read to me, please?” he asks quietly, voice muffled from where he is pressed into your chest.

you smile, running your hands up and down his back. “what would you like me to read?“

“anything. whatever you were reading before i came in. just want to hear your voice.”

“all right, darling,” you say quietly. “whatever you want.”

he snuggles further into your chest before a heavy yet contented sigh escapes his lips, and you shiver slightly at the way his long eyelashes brush against your skin.

“love you,” he whispers.

your heart flutters at his sincerity, so sweet and gentle with you. a tender smile pulls at your lips before opening your book to the page you left off on, feeling mutual comfort in sherlock’s presence. “i love you, too,” you reply softly and begin to read aloud to him.

#bbc sherlock #sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock fic #sherlock fanfic #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock x y/n #sherlock x you #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes fic #sherlock holmes fanfic #sherlock holmes fanfiction #sherlock holmes x y/n #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock fluff #sherlock holmes fluff #requested #soft!sherlock

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annesthaeticc · 3 months

Text

lovers rock | sherlock x fem!reader

| Sherlock Holmes x Fem!Reader

| one shot , song fic

| 961 words

| 'because love can burn like a cigarette, and leave you alone with nothing...' What Sherlock and Y/N had was beautiful, but it crashed and burned.

A/N okay bear with me it's short, but hey it's something, right? testing the waters asi hopefully hopefully come back into writing. let me know what you think!

————————————————————————————————

“Such a small world,” you quietly said and watched as the air escaped your lungs, echoing your words. The party inside was loud, but not loud enough for the silence outside was piercing yet calming. And so, he heard you. Slowly, he turned to see who spoke and found your silhouette, your shape outlined amongst the trees and the pillars.

Slowly, he walked towards you. Yet another mistake he was about to make. For all the choices he made that involved you, it led to one.

One. Big. Mistake.

Sherlock heard his heart thudding. Crashing and breaking in every step he made towards you. You sat there frozen, your eyes unblinking, or at least trying not to blink for you feared that if you do so, he might disappear.

Just like he did back then.

Sherlock sometimes wished he never pursued you, but here he was, about to do the very same thing. He never learned.

“Indeed it is.” he replied, his very perfect presence now crowding over you. His shadow embraced you and your eyes finally blinked only to find he was still there, standing in front of you.

He was taller. His face is more defined. His curls, curled to perfection. His perfume was the same, or is it? His lips fuller, more inviting than ever.

Sherlock noticed this, and cannot help himself but do the very same. You were perfect in every shape and form, as the day he met you. He committed crimes before, but his favorite might be the one he is about to make; to kiss you.

Silence passed by the small distance between you and him and it was almost deafening. You were waiting for him to say something. Something along the lines of “I’m sorry I left you…” And he was doing just the same, waiting for the words like “I’m sorry I couldn't wait for you…”

“Best man leaving early?” you finally said, shyly asking. He nodded and looked away.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, cutting you off before you could even say anything.

“I was invited, well not just me really, Ian and I were…” your voice trailed off as your husband's name left your lips. Again, he nodded.

Ah yes, Ian. Sherlock knew more than you. He is decent enough, this Sherlock could guarantee. But not decent enough to leave you on your own for days, even weeks or months on end while he was traveling the world on some sort of opera tour. Sherlock didn't care enough to dig for more details.

All he knew was deep seated anger and sadness.

And this resonated through the walls of the second floor of 221B Baker Street for months. Your wedding invitation sent for him lay hopeless on his desk, waiting to be written on to confirm his invitation. He was about to decline after finally making a decision that went on for weeks, only to find out it was pointless to respond because your wedding was already done.

And so, he threw the invitation in the fire. He watched as the intricate paper got swallowed by the flames, melting into ashes, into nothing. He was mesmerized by it. How something could be nothing because of the burning flames.

He was shaken from his thoughts when he saw your hand, holding a packet of cigarettes. You were offering him one and Sherlock accepted. You sat down again on the bench and he followed, allowing a few inches between you.

Quietly, the two of you smoked. Avoiding glancing or talking. You were caught up in a trance and were shaken out of it when you felt movement. Sherlock stood up and stepped on the cigarette. His shoe dug into the grass as the last of the embers glowed.

“Going somewhere?” you asked.

“Home.” he replied, his voice deep.

“I could drive you.” you offered.

“No thank you. I’ll catch a cab.” he replied, slowly walking away.

“Sherlock, wait, please—” you caught up with him and offered to drive him once more. He declined and you almost gave up.

His figure faded into the darkness when you cried out, “Sherlock, I'm sorry.”

Tears flooded your eyes and you couldn't help. It fell from your eyes, flowing down your face. Everything was blurry and you felt your hands shaking from the nicotine and from the adrenaline of your apology.

“It's been 12 years, Y/N,” he replied. “Why are you saying sorry now?”

“Because…”

“You will not tempt me to play one of your games, Y/N. Not this time. Not ever again.”

“Sherlock, please,”

“I'm sorry? Is that all you could think? You left me, Y/N,” he cried. And now you see his face. Anger, despair, and longing painted his face,

“You left me first!” you accused him. He really did.

“And yet you couldn't wait for me, couldn't you? All the promises I made—”

“Were gone as soon as you disappeared, Sherlock.”

“Oh ye of little faith!” he said, his voice booming.

“Sherlock,” you breathlessly begged. “I'm sorry.”

Sherlock heard you, and saw your eyes. He hated you for marrying someone else, but what he hated most is seeing you cry. He pulled out his handkerchief from his jacket pocket and dabbed your face, wiping away the tears. He pulled you into his embrace, just like he did back then. When your cries died down, he pulled away then planted a kiss on your temple.

“We would never work out. You're happier with him.” Sherlock said.

“I realized that what he had, was all that it was. Nothing more, nothing less. We burned too fast until we became nothing, Y/N.” he continued.

“I loved you,” you whispered.

“And I did too. So much.” he said, his voice breaking.

————— • ————— • ————— • ————— • ————— • ——

TAGLIST:

@migurin @damiensoda @inas-thing @peachywoong @ruevz @sammiisnthere @srapalestina @winchestersgirl222 @taramaria @alexag-barnes @sleutherclaw @will0wfairy @vexedvalerie @lovecleastrange @evelynrosestuff @azu21 @getlostsquidward @bubu890 @strangefilms @ice-ksk @my-beel @doctorswitch @tuitiononlivings @windchaser1990 @swds @andrewgarfieldsloml @spencerreidslittleslut @sherlockstrangewolf @littlebadariell @whosgwyneth @cumberbitch @lostfleurs @strangeobsessed @slvtforstr4nge @jyessaminereads @dancerpanda04 @stephenstrangeaddictions @starryeddie @cemak @valoa3s @paola-carter @runningnannie @siredlust @stupidthoughtsinwriting

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starssaroundmyscarssblog · 4 months

Note

Can you write for reader x Sherlock where reader is a little like Elizabeth Bennet, likes to read and paint etc. Singing and all the cultural stuffs and Sherlock has fallen for her too hard?

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐈𝐍

pairing: sherlock holmes (bbc) x fem!oc

summary: in which sherlock holmes doesn’t catch himself from falling quick enough for jane burbank

word count: 3.04k

warnings: none

a/n: this was my first time writing for a request so i really hope you like it <3 i also made it [x/oc] as i'm more comfortable doing it that way but i tried to stay away from descriptions as much as possible to make this little fic as inclusive as possible too <3

he wanted nothing more than to talk to her, even if it was only a meagre apology for accidentally brushing against her in the library isle. she enamoured him and he hated it, even years later as he held the heavy velvet curtains between two fingers and watched her cross over the road and unlock the door to her flat. john smirked behind his newspaper, "you're doing it again."

"doing what?" sherlock huffed, letting the curtains drape back into place over the window. "saying i'm doing something again would mean i'm repeating the action. what's special about me standing by the window." he stalked through the flat and flung himself into an old wooden chair by the kitchen table, seething over his frustration.

he hated it when john was right. nothing frustrated him more than his closest friend seeing right through him as if he were a spirit. more often than not, when he was sulking about not having cases or waiting for results from his less-than-ethical experiments, sherlock would find himself rooted to the floor by the window. sometimes he would play his violin slow and mournful, sometimes he would stand in plain sight.

it would stun him when the sunlight bounced off the wire frame of her glasses, the reflection shooting through her window and right back to his. sherlock found it hard to concentrate on anything else when she would sit in her arm chair with a cardigan that on anyone else would have looked ugly but on her the bright colours did nothing but compliment her. she always had a pen or pencil or paint brush hidden away in her hair, and occasionally she would reach up and fiddle with it as she thumbed delicately through the pages of her book.

sherlock looked up from concentrating hard on the surface of the table when his phone buzzed him his pocket, and he pulled it out. his smile became visible against his will.

you're doing it again, if you want to come over you only have to ask

within minutes he was at the door, ripping off his burgundy dressing gown and trading it out for his thick and heavy belstaff. at john's call of "where're you off to all eager?" he simply shouted "out" as he clattered down the thin staircase. sherlock was out of the door and crossing the road faster than he was able to think, knocking sharply on the blurred stained glass window set into her front door.

there was a crash from inside, a mutter of swearing as she pulled back the door to reveal her haphazard state. sherlock stared dumbly at her, trying to ignore the red splatter of paint on her neck dripping onto her chest, searching for words as when he opened his mouth it turned dry. "you didn't ask," she said, but stood back to let him into her house anyway.

sherlock walked in through the hall, catching himself casting his gaze over the walls like he did every singe time. the university diploma sat pride of place over the mantlepiece of the fireplace in the living room reading 'ba joint honours in history and history of art awarded to jane burbank, graduating with a first from the university of edinburgh'

next to it was a framed photo of the pair of them stood together at a mutual friend's wedding the previous year. sherlock had gone along begrudgingly when he'd found out that jane was attending the party after the ceremony because her cousin was the maid of honour for the bride. they were both standing outside of the venue side by side, smiling into the lens as one of the flower girls was messing with the petal confetti in her small wicker basket in the background.

jane brushed her bangs off her eyes as she moved around the airy living room, shoving wooden crates of paint back into place on the shelf and moving her latest canvas out into the garden to dry completely. sherlock stood awkwardly in his coat and ran his finger under the collar of his shirt sitting tightly against his neck. she stared at him as she returned, wiping a paint stain off the hem of her white dress as she did so.

"sherlock, i don't know why you insist on dressing like a child from the past in the middle of summer." london had been blanketed in a sticky, heavy heat as they hit the peak of august, making being indoors impossible but being outside worse. jane was only glad of her broken window to allow a constant breeze to pass through the ground floor of her house but knew the relief wouldn't last long. it was only a matter of time before the rain came in thick drops and plunged them into everlasting autumn.

he shrugged awkwardly and peeled the coat from his body, and when jane looked at him from behind her easel tucked away in a corner by the bay window he removed his blazer from his shoulders too. sherlock felt too free when he was with her, it scared him, but she made him feel to exhilarated to even care sometimes.

once, when they'd met at a summer research project collating students from different courses at the russel group unis, jane had cleared her throat to catch his attention in the library. at the noise he turned around, still holding the heavy volume, and saw her looking at him through a gap in the shelves perching her chin on the heel of her hands. "hey," jane whispered at him, "d'you want to do something fun?"

sherlock couldn't find his voice to tell her that what he was doing was fun and that he didn't really want to leave the safety of the library that late at night, but her bright eyes sparkling in the fluorescent lights hanging from the high ceiling from exposed wires made him throw caution to the wind and join her on their escapade. jane dragged him to a concert and to this day not one of them could remember who it was they'd seen only that they were rubbish and the cone of chips they'd picked at while walking through a grassy park was much more enjoyable.

he'd been dressed for winter then too, despite the thin linen of his shirt trying to cool him down in the muggy night air. but he couldn't care less about the heat invading his skin or the salt from the chips that caught on his finger tips because he was talking to jane burbank, and it had been all he'd wanted to do since she came bursting into the lecture hall for the summer programme two minutes late in a haze of frazzledness as she pulled down the hem of her summer dress where it had ridden up from her haste.

if he had been a better man he wouldn't have looked down past her neck but he couldn't help himself.

perched on the end of the emerald green sofa shoved against a bright white wall covered in artwork and cheap antique picture frames, sherlock fumed silently like the kettle he wished jane was setting over the stove because he could see john giving him his worst 'i told you so' look from the front window of his flat over the road. jane returned with a silver tray laden with small plates holding biscuits, two empty glasses holding ice and a large pitcher of sparkling orange juice.

"d'you want to go out and do something fun tonight?" jane found herself repeating the words every time she saw sherlock, which wasn't as often as she would have hoped considering she bought her house opposite his flat with his proximity in mind. he was always out sleuthing with john, who she'd seen more, and got on well with.

so was it really any surprise that jane took any chance she could get with sherlock, to make the most of the time they had together. he'd intrigued her all those years ago (it hadn't in-fact been too many years ago since they'd graduated with first honours, but life in the wake of sherlock holmes was long and weary) and still continued to do so now. she was pleased she knew him before he made it big as a 'boffin' in the national press and was even more pleased that he still kept up with her completely opposing lifestyle despite his cold-heartedness and want of plain fact.

with a gleeful grin and a shake of his shoulders as she squealed at his minute nod, jane was away to pack her bag and to grab her sandals before rejoining him at the front door. much to her excitement, sherlock had decided to brave the outside world without the protection of his belstaff, the top two buttons of his shirt were undone and his blazer was tucked neatly under his arm as he waited patiently for her. "ever practical," she muttered and locked the door behind her. the heat of the day beat down on her exposed shoulders from where she'd pinned her hair up at the back of her head and she pulled her sunglasses over her nose.

they set off and june looked at her watch, "quarter to three, fancy going out for something to eat first?"

"whatever you want to do," sherlock agreed, and sure enough half an hour later they were sat on outside tables for a cafe overlooking westminster watching the people go by. well, sherlock was watching the people go by and jane was peeling away the pastry of a croissant she'd ordered while taking occasional sips of her glass of diet coke. he tapped his fingers against the saucer for his coffee patiently waiting for her to finish so they could leave.

jane wanted to look through the markets in camden for old records before they tried to find a pub for dinner and finished off the day at st james' park to listen to the music drift over them from the live festival happening in hyde park that she didn't get tickets to. she was always asking him if he wanted to do something fun even when she'd planned the day to some kind of degree of legible and sherlock just agreed.

but he did so because jane had asked him to, and anything that was fun to her would be fun for him.

after their intermission at the cafe, where jane had stopped to take some candid photos of some couples she'd seen over the green before turning the lens on an unsuspecting sherlock, they suffered the stuffy carriage of the underground before emerging at camden. jane beelined for stalls selling records and cassette tapes she didn't need because her selection was already overflowing. she picked up a sleeve and turned it to sherlock, grinning, "don't you just love them?"

he smirked before saying, "i prefer blur" only to receive a smack on the shoulder for his admission. by the time they'd left jane had bought enough to put a sizeable dent into her savings account made for paying off her student debt and she was dragging sherlock to an art gallery she noticed was free to the public before they sat down to eat again.

there was something about her wide eyes as they walked around the gallery that sherlock couldn't tear his eyes away from. it might have been the sun shining down on her cheekbones from the glass ceiling or the way she looked like one of the twisted statues in her white dress and delicate sandals or her screwed up face as she focused on something in the background through the lens of her camera. being with jane was a break from the world he'd plugged himself into and he loved every second of it.

sherlock didn't love it as much, however, when they were sat outside (again) at a pub jane liked sharing a bowl of chips while she told him about the awful date she'd had with an awful guy who had an awful name two days prior. his back straightened and something curled in the pit of his stomach as jane told him about the bloke's lacklustre effort of wooing her, especially when he lumped her with paying for dinner and their tube fares back because he'd 'conveniently' left his wallet in a different jacket.

"he wasn't even wearing a jacket, sherlock, i mean can you believe it? i go on one date for the first time in months and he's a total prick!" she picked at a chip and dunked it angrily into the splodge of tomato sauce she'd poured onto the plate before soaking up any vinegar that had been left behind, "is chivalry really dead? i refuse to believe it is."

sherlock made a hoarse noise in the back of his throat before leaving for the bar and returning with a drink to replace jane's third glass of diet coke since they'd sat down. he placed down the cocktail in front of her and felt a flush of pride creep down his back as jane placed her hand over his to thank him earnestly. she took a sip, then another until the entire thing slid down her throat with a sigh of relief.

"i really needed that," she said and giggled to herself. sherlock forgot every time he was with her when she drank that jane was the lightest of lightweights, but when she'd had one she was happy and when jane was happy sherlock was well on the way to being happy too.

another cocktail later and jane had reached her happy medium for alcohol intake - she was blissfully unaware of anything happening outside of the six foot boundary around her but could still hold herself upright and kissed sherlock enthusiastically on the cheek when he caught the bill as a waiter was passing by their table. she laughed all along the path and the whole time the two of them were walking to st james' park.

sherlock didn't make it a habit to carry people around on his back, but when jane looked up at him with a pout and wide glassy eyes he acquiesced and hoisted her onto his back with her ankles locked together just below his navel.

she insisted on getting a cone of chips for old times sake even though they'd eaten enough to fuel an army back at the pub, and jane happily handed over five pounds in cash for a cone and a pot of curry sauce to the woman behind the till. "thank you!" she called out from over her shoulders and sherlock walked through the gates to the park and let her down gently onto the grass where they usually sat.

jane fell forwards and caught herself from landing on her face by her knees, laughing as she slumped forwards onto her chest and propped her chin up into her hands. sherlock sat beside her on his jacket and brushed her bangs out of her eyes, and she felt her skin flush where his fingers had touched. the music from the concert in hyde park eventually reached them just as jane thought it would and she began to hum the tune under her breath as she picked at the chips sherlock was holding out for her.

jane rolled onto her back and felt the blades of grass tickle her shoulders and she moved to make herself comfortable. "we never talk anymore sherlock." she huffed, and tried to reach out and run her fingers over his cheek but stopped when she realised her hands were moving in the completely wrong direction.

"you've been talking all day."

"but i mean you and me. we never talk, i talk at you and you listen."

"i like listening."

"no you don't, you'll out live god trying to get the last word in."

he laughed behind his smile, "i like listening to you."

jane pushed herself onto her feet and sank down again so she was eye to eye with sherlock. he could still see the red splatter of paint along her neck and upon closer inspection he found that the drips had dried throughout the day past the neckline of her already low summer dress. "i wish you would do more than watch and listen to me." she whispered, still tapping out the rhythm of the new song against her knee.

"but i like listening to you and i can't help but watch you. it irritates me." lies.

"no it doesn't."

damn.

before sherlock even had a chance to refute or say anything in his defence, jane's hands were placed gently on either side of his neck and she pulled him forwards to join their lips. jane held him so close that their noses bumped together repeatedly and she had to lean forwards to follow him when he pulled away. "jane!"

"what?" she questioned, finding that she'd sobered up at a startling rate when the gravity of what she'd done had truly set in. "oh, sherlock i'm so sorry i didn't mean to-" her words were cut off as he kissed her again, again and again to pepper kisses all over her cheeks and along her forehead where her bangs had fallen over her eyes again.

jane was a breath of fresh air, the calm in the middle of the storm he lived his life by. in the moment with her, sitting on the grass in a darkened london park he couldn't help but not care about what john would say when he finally got home or if jane would soon realise how dangerous tangling her life with his truly was.

she pushed herself onto him and held onto his arms as she kissed him harder, not caring that sherlock was the right-hand-man of every inspector at scotland yard or that his idea of fun was dissecting human bodies and testing them for bruising. the only thing that mattered to her was the boy she'd liked since she walked in late to the lecture hall was kissing her back after he'd admitted to her, drunkenly at their mutual friend's wedding, that it was all he thought about whenever he saw her

🪩⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊🔎

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sherlocksoft · 11 months

Text

Soft Sherlock Headcanons

Sherlock Holmes x reader fluff and comfort

Masterlist

Authors notes: I’ve been a Sherlock Holmes fan for years upon years, but this is the first time I’ve written him. It’s written with any Sherlock in mind but I’ve been particularly taken with Henry Cavill recently

Warnings: mildly sexually suggestive at the end, tobacco mention

Sherlock kisses you with fierce passion when he gets a spark of inspiration and is momentarily excited about a breakthrough in a case. He’s vanished the next moment, already ten steps ahead of where he was a moment ago, but his soft lips and the traces of his strong hands gripping your cheeks leaves your head spinning

When he’s struggling with a piece of the puzzle, he needs you just as much. Although he often requires silence in these moments, solitude isn’t always preferable. He will occasionally pull you to him and guide you to lay on his chest in complete silence, the pattern of your breathing and the weight of you against him soothing him endlessly as his mind works overtime

Melts when you make notes on his ramblings so he can revisit thoughts he would have otherwise discarded. You know this because his mouth fleetingly curls into a smile and he exhales slowly before resuming his usual pace

You’ll catch him watching you on occasion, when he’s supposed to be breaking some code or other and you think he’s still working on it, but actually he finished with that half an hour ago and, curiosity sated, has been gazing at you lovingly since

Nuzzles into your neck when he actually makes it to bed, your warmth and scent calming him immeasurably. He never realises how touch starved he is until his mind isn’t occupied with riddles and mysteries and your body feels so soft against his

His scent varies depending on where he’s been investigating, which tobacco he’s used, what he’s experimented with in his makeshift lab, and whether he’s been dressing in disguise. But there are always staple scents underpinning his aroma; white musk, honey and something smoky with a slightly bitter twist of ink

When he’s bored, he will find ways to occupy himself with you whilst trying his hardest not to appear needy. It always fails, however, and usually ends up with you both tangled together on the little sofa, whispering sweet nothings, giggling and kissing like lovesick teenagers

When he’s feeling sentimental, he calls you his Little Problem, because despite being far from problematic to him, he’s endlessly fascinated with you

Never believes you when you tell him he’s handsome, particularly when he’s been wearing pyjamas for three days and hasn’t bothered to comb his hair, but your extra little touches and kisses go a long way to convincing him that at least you believe it to be true

When he’s finding a social situation tricky, he surreptitiously grasps your hand in his. No one else can see, but the reassurance of your fingers squeezing his back makes his breath even out and his heart slow down

Adores the tender moments of domesticity that you share. They’re all too rare with his erratic schedule, but you bring him tea in a morning when he doesn’t want to get out of bed, or lovingly help him dress with gentle fingers carefully buttoning up his shirt, or smooth his hair down with a smile at his soft, natural curls, and he practically swoons

Always having being a fan of A Touch of The Dramatic™, he’s a hopeless romantic when he has the energy to pour into spoiling you, pulling out all the stops to make you feel special and loved. He knows that his work can make you feel lonely sometimes, so he likes to balance that out when he can with his attention solely focussed on you for a while

After a particularly taxing case, he loves nothing more than to hibernate with you. It starts with a hot bath, laying together in the silky water for hours as blissful silence washes over him, counteracting the overload of his previously racing mind

When he gathers enough energy, he whispers in a low grumble, ‘I’ll always come back to you, darling. You know that, don’t you? No matter where a case takes me, I’ll always return.’

Then, if you encourage him, he will join you for a meal before bed, where he can finally sleep soundly, relaxed in your arms — but not before spending a few more hours relishing in your touch (and your reaction to his)

#sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes headcanons #sherlock holmes fluff #sherlock holmes comfort #soft sherlock holmes #henry cavill sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes #victorian sherlock #any sherlock #sherlocksoft writes

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girl-of-many-fandoms · 2 years

Text

Red Days

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Summary: Sherlock always knows.

Warnings: periods, slight mention of seggs

MASTERLIST

---

"Oh fuck off!"

Sherlock smiled to himself upon hearing his lovely girlfriend swear the fist thing Thursday morning. He knew exactly why she's upset in the bathroom and the the sound of her opening her trusty pad only backed up his guess.

Her period has begun.

"Good morning love, sleep well?" He folded the newspaper and put it off to the side as she emerged from their bathroom. Y/N crossed the floor and sat in his lap, curling up to the warmth that his body provided.

"Good morning and there wasn't much sleeping because somebody kept me up all night." Her lips pressed against his neck as she nuzzled into it.

"I wonder who that was?" His body shook with laughter as she playfully smacked his chest.

"How are you feeling, any cramps? I know how terrible they get for you." Y/N pulled back a bit to look into his baby blues with a surprised look on her face.

"What is it love?"

"You know."

"Of course I know. For the past week we've had sex multiple, multiple times, which you initiated. Your breasts are sensitive as they are heavier and fuller than they regularly are. You've been craving a whole lot of sweets plus you've been bloated for a couple days now, I chose not to bring it up. Oh and then there's the fact that I heard you opening your pad a short while ago." Sherlock winked at her knowing that he checked all the boxes with his observations. Y/N rolled her eyes at him and placed her face right back into the crook oh his neck.

"You, Sherlock Holmes, never cease to amaze me. What am I craving now? Since you seem to know everything."

"Strawberry cheesecake and cookies 'n cream ice cream."

"Screw you." He got it right again. Chuckling, the curly haired detective kissed her head, rubbing her back soothingly in the process. A shit eating grin plastered itself onto his face as he spoke his next words.

"You already did, many times in many positions."

"Sherlock!"

---

SH Taglist:

@sketch-and-write-lover @gaitwae

#sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x reader #bbc sherlock x reader #sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes fluff #benedict cumberbatch x y/n #benedict cumberbatch x reader #benedict cumberbatch imagine #benedict cumberbatch #benedict cumberbatch fluff

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espinosaurusrexex · 1 year

Text

The Most Beautiful Riddle

HenryCavill!Sherlock x Female!Reader

summary: Sherlock Holmes had never entertained the idea of marriage. That was, until Y/N came along and turned his world upside down. Now, after a year of sweet love and happiness, he is finally ready to ask the question. There is just one problem: How is he ever to make the proposal worthy of his one true love?

a/n: Henry!Sherlock pulls this poetic side out of me, I don’t know. This is me trying to write this period-appropriate, but don’t hesitate to tell me that I’ve failed miserably. This was also a request from this lovely anon - I hope you like it!

word count: 2.9k

warnings: fluff, fluff, and did I mention fluff?

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ

If it weren’t for her, he would have surely misplaced his head by now, Sherlock thought as he was on yet another venture to look through his study for those particular cufflinks he adored. Though he was certain, he had placed them right on his desk the other night, they weren’t anywhere to be found.

“For god’s sake. They can’t have bloody disappeared,” he huffed in the stuffy study when a pile of books tumbled over the edge of the desk. And then, there it was: an envelope wedged between his most recent read and a note that said: ‘in case you forget’. The cufflinks were neatly placed within.

The detective smiled with a shake of his head. The handwriting was unmistakable: the soft swing of the quill made the harshest words sound lovely. There was only one person who could have done this. And this particular person, he was late to meet by five minutes already. He could not leave her waiting, he thought, not in that heat outside.

Sherlock hurried down the stairs of his house as he placed the delicate silver pieces on his sleeves, a light touch grazing the surface of the sapphire pinched in the metal with remarkable expertise.

“There you are, Sherlock. Whatever took you so long?” Y/N’s bright eyes glimmered under her sunhat but the smirk on her lips told Sherlock that she knew. Of course, she did. She was the woman who had placed the cufflinks in the envelope after all, because she had grown custom to his scattered thoughts whenever he was deep into a case, seemly leaving every other aspect of life pass him by as if he were sitting by a train window.

“Darling, I am sorry for I have left you waiting. But somebody appeared to have replaced some items in my study.” Y/N straightened his jacket when he reached her, her hands lingering on his shoulders for a moment longer, her eyes staring into his with a playful gleam.

“Now, who would do such a thing? It’s quite improper to go through a gentleman’s belongings like that.” She did poorly in hiding the mischief in her smile when she turned around. Not, however, before Sherlock caught her hand and placed a sweet kiss on her knuckles.

“Indeed. Though I seem to be relying on this someone after all.” It was an honest attempt in telling her something entirely different than the words he had said. And Y/N knew the meaning behind them all. It was their own personal riddle. A beautiful one, that was, and the very thing he adored most about their relationship.

“Well,” her hand squeezed his in a reassuring manner, “it’s good to have people look after one, don’t you think?” Y/N gathered her skirts and entered the carriage waiting before his home. It would take them to the market, where his favorite part of the day was awaiting the man who stood dazed before the horses, a hint of a smile on his lips and the whisper of a thought hanging in the light summer breeze.

“So it seems.”

❁ ❁ ❁

It had become a custom for the pair to visit the market every Wednesday. Though this tradition had not come to life until Sherlock had started to worry excessively for Y/N’s wellbeing after they had confessed their feelings for one another. It had been a hot summer's day then, too. And Sherlock could not help but be surprised when Y/N had kissed him under the old oak tree by the meadow and shared her feelings with him, that he in fact felt them as well. Much like now, he had been deep in thought about an interesting case of his that seemed to have his head everywhere but in the moment. Y/N had managed to pull him back with this sweet and fleeting kiss. And he were to have almost missed it had it not sparked an overwhelming feeling in his chest. A feeling he had felt many times before but were never able to place; and one he still felt whenever she was close. So, it appeared only natural to accompany Y/N to her weekly market visits.

Sherlock would not admit it to anyone, really, but he found great joy in watching her frolic through the stands, smelling the flowers, conversing with sellers, and making him carry all the items she had acquired throughout the day. He always made sure to buy her a bouquet of the prettiest flowers as well just to see that bright smile shining through.

It were these moments that reminded the usually rational man that he too was allowed to feel. His mind would scatter like petals on a window sill, showering his head with thoughts and scenarios he seemed to be able to visit only in her presence. Faint whispers suggested how the wind blowing through Y/N’s hair made it look just that much softer, or what it would feel like to have his fingers stroke through her delicate locks again. Sherlock knew what it felt like. He had had the pleasure of pushing his hand through the strands when they would kiss - if they were able to catch a lonely moment amongst the endless sea of banquettes and work events their life shipped them through. But he missed it nonetheless. Her laugh made him think of children running through a lively home and her loving stare whenever she presented another item for him to hold showed him how very easily he could look at her eyes and fall lost in them for hours.

And yet, he had not found himself able to ever take their remarkable relationship to the next step. The both of them made a noteworthy team in more aspects than one. Y/N had proven herself of great help on many of Sherlock’s cases and the amount of time the pair spent together seemed unconventional for an unmarried couple. Sherlock himself was constantly reminded of that by the critical eyes of his fellows and the uttered remarks of the old women in the city. But he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He loved her. That he was sure of. And though Eudoria had been scolding him for courting a lady like Y/N for almost a year now, he had yet to ask the question his mother so desperately wanted him to pop. Sherlock had thought about it of course. There was no other woman he could even imagine marrying that was, but he was also aware that a normal proposal would not nearly do her extraordinary personality justice. So it was not that he didn’t want to ask her, it was more like his sister concluded: he was scared to mess up. Though he would never phrase it that way. His sister was a smart young woman and it seemed to prove her intelligence right once more when Sherlock agreed with her on this behalf.

Another item being placed in his arms pulled him back from his thoughts. Apples. Sherlock looked up with intrigue in his eyes, the smile on the woman’s face in front go him just brightening further.

“I will be making pie today. You love apples, do you not, Sherlock?”

Heat rose up his generally unfazed face. Sherlock was not able to prevent it from happening.

“I do.”

And for some unexplainable reason, this moment felt different than many as such before. Sherlock could feel his heart swell in his chest, the constant thumbing beneath his ribs aggressive and unrelenting. And it did not falter. Not when he followed her back to the carriage later that afternoon. Not when he guided her back to his house, hand resting on the small of her back and the other securely holding a basket of acquired goods. And not when he watched her prepare an apple pie for him while contently humming an unfamiliar tune that still sounded like the most beautiful melody to his ears.

As his broad frame was leaning on the door way, his hand secretly pressed to his chest to still the violent pounding before it would kill him, Sherlock's mind began to wander again. Though this time, much to his dismay, it did not stray to case-related endeavors. It was entirely focused on the very woman spinning through his kitchen in the yellow hues of the afternoon sun. He imagined her cooking there every day. At some point, Sherlock was even surprised to hear the faint sound of tiny feet pattering through his hallway as his mind spiraled into a fantasy world he were only able to visit seldom.

To be entirely honest, it was out of the detective's comfort zone to feel as at home around someone as he did with Y/N. Sherlock was not a man to waste his time with wishful thinking. He was a man of action and rational. The feelings that were enlightened by the very woman dancing in his kitchen, however, were far from any of those attributes. Furthermore, they showed him yet again, how unreasonable he had been acting toward her. It was clear to him that something needed to change in order to set his mind at ease again. And the wave of warmth pushing through his body at the look of Y/N with flour on her nose just confirmed his suspicion.

He stepped forward with careful strides, one hand reaching out towards Y/N and pulling her into his warm and welcoming chest. She must have been able to feel his heart pounding beneath his skin as his decision settled in his mind, he was certain of it. Sherlock placed a ginger kiss on her temple before excusing himself to his study. And when he sat down at his desk, dipping the quill in the dark ink before him, he willed himself to concentrate not to butcher his writing with the way his hands were shaking.

Dear Enola,

I was hoping to receive your help on a personal account of mine...

❁ ❁ ❁

The paper in his pocket was burning holes through the fabric as Sherlock stood above the meadow, where the trees opened to a beautiful view of the sunset. Enola had placed the last hint in the branches of the oak just a couple hundred meters away from him. It was strange for the detective to feel nervous, but this particular endeavor had him experiencing a number of new things. It was the first time, too in which he was not thinking about any case of his. His mind was entirely circled around the moment that stood before him and the plan he had acquired together with his sister.

Y/N would arrive any second now, and Sherlock found himself lost in the speech he had prepared yet again. It was only regarding her in that he ever felt his hand clammy or his nerves firing with a speed he’d never experienced before. But it was confusing nonetheless because Sherlock was certain that Y/N was by far a thing that he could be sure about. Every time anew she proved to him how secure her love for him was, and he had never wished for anything more than her to stay by his side.

“I have to confess: the last puzzle took me some time to solve. Though, I really liked the code you used for the letters. That was quite witty.” Y/N appeared behind the tree line, a soft smile painting her features as she approached the brunette waiting with eager curiosity. He laughed when she held out her hand towards him, fixing her hat with the other. “I believe you have something for me?”

His fingers tightened around the parchment in his pocket. She had solved his riddles - all of them - and that within the span of 34 minutes and 16 seconds, he confirmed after glancing at his pocket watch.

“How very right you are, Sweetheart.” Sherlock held out the paper triumphantly, desperate not to draw attention to his rapidly beating heart, making his wrists pulse vigorously. He had anticipated this moment, of course. But he could not keep the shivers at bay when her delicate fingers unfolded the small note that would reveal what this whole ordeal was for.

Y/N’s eyes flew over the page and it almost seemed as if she took her time doing it in order to make his nervousness spiral. The note was not long. It was simple, too. A riddle Sherlock were able to solve when he was only six years old. He knew very well that Y/n was more than capable of doing the same, but she left him waiting still. It would not be Y/N if she didn’t anyway.

When she finally looked up, her stare was questioning. It did not go unnoticed by the detective, however, that the corners of her mouth twitched into a court smile.

“Sherlock? Whatever is this about?”

Sherlock snatched the paper from her fingers to look it over again:

In boxing I am square

On fingers I am round

I’m inside every tree

And too a bell’s sound

It was clear as day: Y/N was making a fool of him.

“I will not believe that this is the riddle you cannot solve, my dear.” The shake of his head spilled a curl into his face, “but since I have left you waiting for so long...” Sherlock got down on one knee and her smile finally broke free.

He reached out for her hand and was surprised to find it shaking as well. She knew what he was about to reveal to her, she just wanted him to say it. And if it weren’t for anything, Sherlock needed to subsequently get this off his chest. His mother had been right: he had left her waiting for far too long. A year too long. Being there was no denying that he had known he needed to marry her the second she had walked into his life with a witty remark and a teasing smile on her lips.

“I am grateful for you have not run from me after all the things I have made you do and wait for. I realize I am a lucky man to have you by my side. As a friend, a partner, and someone I love. You are smart, witty, and beautiful... and I would be the-”

There was an unusual lump building in his throat, blocking his words from escaping. It was a rather strange experience for the man kneeling. He had never known himself to be capable of emotion. And perhaps his body was resisting the horribly cheesy words he needed to say.

“Do not grow sappy on me now, Sherlock. You better finish that sentence right now,” Y/N cried with playful urgency. Though there was a truthfulness in her tone he had just placed into his. He swallowed the lump and took a deep breath in. This was the moment he as well as her had been waiting for.

“Perhaps what I am trying to say is...” Sherlock reached for his pocket once more to reveal a velvet box. Hidden within was a beautiful sapphire on a silver band. Much like the cufflinks she had gotten him because they shone like the color of his eyes, he wished for Y/N to always think of his whenever she looked at it. The ring shone brightly in the orange sun hues, reflecting the warm summer’s evening light and mixing into a beautiful green. It was perfect, just like her. “I love you, Y/N. Would you do me the honor of marrying me?”

Y/N’s head tilted to the side as she eyed the blue stone beneath her. It presented a nearly perfect replica of the cufflinks adorning Sherlock's wrists. He loved them and suited in them every day, and he hoped for Y/N to love her ring just as much. And though he was as certain of her answer as he was of every case he had ever had, the silence coming from the woman in front of him pushed a nervous shiver over his skin.

Her hand reached out to stroke his chin, a loving stare seeping through her irises. “I love you so much.”

“Please, Y/N.” Impatience rose to his head. Her little games were fun most of the time, though right now, he really wished for an answer that would put his racing thoughts at ease.

“Why of course I will marry you, Sherlock!” Y/N jumped forward as her arms slung around his shoulders, a warm kiss pressing to his lips that pulled a bright smile in its wake.

“Excellent,” Sherlock whispered, too afraid to have his voice fail him once more on this evening. He placed the ring on her finger and Y/N reached up to the sky, catching a rainbow of colors in the delicate stone.

As they rose from the ground, he pulled her further into his chest, a deep simmer of warmth traveling from his body to hers. His heart was full of contentment when Y/N pressed her face beside his neck, a soft-shivered promise traveling to his ears as he watched the sun set behind the horizon, filling the sky with colors as hot and intense as the love shared between the pair.

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french-vanilla-in-the-clouds · 2 years

Text

𝐅𝐢𝐱𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Sherlock and Y/N have always teased each other relentlessly, claiming one was fixated on the other. One day while on a case, they realize that their banter holds a ring of truth. Fluff!!!

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲: Anonymous

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

"Sherlock, its my day off. Explain to me what I'm doing at Barts." Lestrade checked his watch and sighed. "I've already missed the game's first half! This had better be good."

Sherlock sat hunched over his microscope. "It's important," he said, eyeing his work. "It's about your bank robbery, actually. There were palm prints left behind that can be traced back to the suspects."

Lestrade perked up. "You've got a match, then? That's great! I'll send out the cavalry."

"Don't be absurd," Sherlock scoffed. "The results are still processing. We'll know in a few hours."

"I don't understand. Why am I here, then?"

Sherlock peered up innocently. "You told me to keep you updated."

"Bloody hell, you should have texted me!" Lestrade cried, throwing his hands up in the air. "I had to take a cab straight from the other end of the city! Now you're telling me to wait here, twiddling my thumbs while you work?"

Sherlock blinked up at the detective inspector. "My apologies," he said, turning back to his work table.

Lestrade's hands were itching to wring Sherlock's neck when Y/N walked through the lab doors. Her shoes clicked against the linoleum flooring; she was clearly in a rush. "I'm here!" she called, nearly crashing into a rack of instruments.

"About time," Sherlock sing-songed.

Lestrade stared after her curiously. "I thought you'd sit this one out. Didn't seem like Sherlock here needed any help. He even let John off his leash today. I figured I was the only one he suckered into coming in."

"I called, she came," Sherlock cut in. "Perks of having an ardent fan. She's infatuated with me, you know."

Y/N raised a brow, amused. "I know you're desperate for my attention, Sherlock, but let's take it down a notch, alright?" She turned to Lestrade and shrugged. "He called, I came."

Sherlock grinned.

Lestrade glanced at the two of them, unimpressed. Since he'd know the pair, they had always maintained the running joke that one was fixated with the other. Though it had started off as friendly banter, everyone was convinced that there were hidden affections beneath the snark of their words.

"I'm glad you're here at any rate," Lestrade said. "I've got the media breathing down my neck because of these blasted robberies. Maybe you can help him speed things up." He glared at Sherlock on the last bit.

Y/N nodded. "I can try, but I'm not sure if there's much I can do. You know that Holmes is the expert in these matters. He'll figure it out soon enough."

Sherlock smirked. "How very confident you are in my abilities. Though I would advise caution on your part." He lowered his voice to a teasing whisper. "Your obsession is showing."

Y/N feigned exhaustion. "Just as delusional as ever," she sighed. "Now, are you going to sit there grinning at me like a lovesick schoolboy or are you going to solve the case?"

"Right then," he chuckled.

Lestrade darted his eyes between the pair, taken aback for a moment by their unabashed flirting. He rubbed a hand over his temples, annoyed that he had missed the football match for this.

"It's in for a penny, in for a pound with you lot isn't it?" He sighed, glancing at his watch.

"Oh, do lighten up, Inspector," Sherlock said cheerily. "Miss Y/N is simply enraptured by my intellectual prowess. We can't hold that against her."

"Don't you start!" she laughed. "Everybody knows that you're the one who's hopelessly in love with me. You might as well admit to it!"

Sherlock leaned back in his seat. He quirked a brow and studied Y/N. His eyes glinted playfully. "Very well then," he said with confidence. "I'm in love with you."

The room was quiet for a moment. The only sound was the buzzing of the industrial lighting up above. Sherlock folded his hands together casually, awaiting Y/N's response.

"Well?" He asked, amused. "Has the cat got your tongue?"

Y/N narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "You weren't supposed to say that."

"Say what?"

"That you love me."

"Why not?"

"Because you don't mean it."

Sherlock tilted his head to the side. "Don't I?"

"Oh for crying out loud!" Lestrade laughed. "You two idiots obviously fancy each other! Can we fast-forward the mock surprise and get on to better things?"

Y/N turned to Sherlock, grinning. "Is the detective inspector right?" she asked. "Do you really fancy me?"

Sherlock winked. "Against my better judgment, I can assure you."

She stepped towards his work table and pulled at the collar of his dress shirt. "I knew you would be the first to admit it. Sherlock Holmes, you're positively fixated on me, aren't you?"

He shrugged. "Guilty as charged. Now, what would you say to lunch? Granted, Bart's cafeteria food is mediocre at best, but I'm sure you'll be beset with thoughts of me anyway."

"You might be onto something there. Lead the way, Holmes."

Though nothing much had changed between them, the recognition of something already there lightened their steps to the door. Lestrade watched as the pair left the lab without so much as a goodbye, their eyes locked only on each other.

"In for a penny, in for a pound," Lestrade smiled. "That's how it is around here."

He relaxed against the counter and settled in for a long wait. He checked his watch; the game had ended. Lestrade let out a contented breath.

He didn't mind at all.

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

Hey! Try reading Painted Faces!

Thanks to the anon who requested this! Sorry about the long wait!!!! 💖🧁

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make-me-imagine · 1 year

Text

Cheers To Us

Plot: After returning to London after a case, Sherlock decides to make up for some lost time.

Prompts: 'Making the reader a romantic dinner as a surprise' + 'Valentines Picnic' and 'Surprise reunion on Valentines Day' + 'Valentines Day proposal'

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Gn!Reader

Requested By: Anonymous; @anilynworlds & @will-grammer

Warnings: Use of Y/n multiple times

Words: 1.7k

A/n: Valentines Day at this time wasn't celebrated as much as it is now. Usually just with cards and maybe flowers.

As Sherlock walked down the streets of London, arriving back after spending a little over week in the countryside on a case, his mind was on you. He was aware of the fact he had not been spending much time with you before he left on this case, and then he was gone for a few days longer than intended. He missed you.

Fearing you may think he is neglecting your relationship, he wanted it make it up to you. But, he needed to decide how. A gift, a day out, dinner, something more?

Stopping in his tracks as some women came out of a shop ahead of him, his eyes dropped to the papers in their hands. Frilly, seemingly handmade cards.

Suddenly it clicked in his mind what time of year it was. Valentines Day. The holiday had becoming more popular in London in the last couple years, but he had never paid it any mind. But now that he was in a relationship, perhaps he should.

As he looked into the shop, seeing various gifts, and flowers, he smiled softly as he entered the store. He may not be able to get back the time with you he missed out on, but perhaps he could create a special memory in its place.

After acquiring some flowers, Sherlock continued on his way down the street. Looking to his left as he passed another shop, he felt himself stopping again. This time, his eye was stuck on an engagement ring displayed in the window.

It was very you, it was perfect actually.

As he move towards the entrance, he stopped again, becoming aware of what he was doing. It was so natural, there was no hesitation, no second thought.

He felt his heart begin hammering in his chest as he thought more about it. Proposing to you, marrying you. Looking back at the ring in the window, Sherlock found himself smiling at the thought.

Why hadn't he thought about it before? The two of you never really talked about marriage, but he was aware you two acted like a married couple in many ways already. You had been considering moving in to 221B after Sherlock mentioned it a few weeks back. You were there so often you might as well live there.

After another short moment of thought, Sherlock stepped into the shop, with much more on his mind than before.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Opening the note you received from the carrier, your heart was beating excitedly. You recognized Sherlock's handwriting immedietely and you were eager to learn what he had to say.

'Dear Y/n, I've returned to London and I would like to have dinner with you. Tonight, seven o'clock. Tenderly, Sherlock.'

Though the message was a bit shorter than you had hoped, you were still excited at the idea of having dinner with him. You had not known when he would be able to return to London, and you feared it would be another week. It had seemed like forever since you last seen him, let alone spent time with him alone.

Checking the clock, you realized you still had a few hours to kill before seven. Hopefully it would go by quickly. Until then, you could decide what to wear.

After eagerly and impatiently waiting for the time to come, you finally made your way to Sherlock's apartment. Exiting the taxi, you smiled as you made your way quickly to his door.

Taking a breath before knocking, you felt an excited flutter in your chest.

As the door swung open, Sherlock's smiling face came into view.

"Y/n right on time." He greeted as he stepped forward, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"Welcome back, I missed you." You said with a smile as Sherlock smiled down at you.

"Thank you. I missed you as well." He said softly as he gently caressed your cheek before leaning in to kiss you.

Your eyes fluttered closed as a warm tingle washed over you.

After pulling away, he held open the door for you to enter, where he quickly helped you to take off your jacket.

"How did your case go?" You asked with true curiosity.

Sherlock let out a soft sigh "It was a bit tedious at times, but I wrapped it up fairly easily." Looking around his apartment he cleared his throat a little. "I'm sorry for the mess."

Looking around you smiled, it was actually a lot cleaner than normal. There were still papers, reports, evidence and case boards everywhere, with no clean table in sight, but there was much more order to it than usual.

As you looked around more, you spotted in the middle of the apartment, something you were surprised you had missed.

A blanket was placed in the middle of the room with candles, flowers, plates and drinking glasses.

You let out a soft chuckle as you approached, understanding that this was the dinner Sherlock had invited you for.

Sherlock stood beside you looking down at it with a gaze of uncertainty.

You looked over at him and he shrugged his head slightly "I wanted to surprise you with dinner, but with the cooking, I had...forgotten to clear off the dining table. But, I thought this might do?"

You smiled, amused and touched. Kissing him on the cheek briefly you let out a soft giggle

"It's lovely Sherlock. It's like a picnic!"

"A picnic? Yes I suppose it is." He said with mild amusement. "Please, sit." He gestured at a plump pillow he had set on the floor for you.

As you sat down he crouched down, grabbing the flowers and handing them to you "For you."

You grinned as you took them, smelling them. "They're amazing Sherlock, thank you."

"You are very welcome."

As he made his way into his kitchen, you watched him with an adoring and amused smile as he moved around the kitchen with an almost uncharacteristic clumsiness.

"Can I help?"

"No no, it's fine." He said hurriedly as he began bringing over various plates and dishes of food.

You could tell there was much on his mind, and it made you wonder if it was all about this dinner, or if he was worried about something else.

As he sat down dish after dish you felt a growing amount of awe. Meat, vegetables, potatoes, breads.

"Wow Sherlock this is honestly a lot more than I was expecting. Actually I thought we would be going out, but this is so much more...intimate, and sweet."

Sherlock smiled with a bit of pride as he brought over some water and drinks. "I'm glad you approve."

As he sat down you leaned in a little. "Can I ask though. What is the occasion? As it seems a bit..."

"Out of character?" He finished.

You shrugged your head "A little."

He cleared his throat lightly "I am aware that we have not been able to spend much time together recently. So I wanted to make up for that, and, I was made aware this morning that it is Valentines Day, so I thought, it would also be something we might, celebrate?"

"Valentines Day, I forgot about that." You chuckled "I suppose it is a good excuse to be a bit more romantic. And as for making up for anything there is no real need Sherlock. Yes, I did notice we have not been seeing that much of each other, but I do understand your work is very important, I hope you didn't think I had ill will towards you because of it?"

Sherlock smiled at this as he shook his head softly "No, I didn't. But I did have some towards myself. You're the best thing that has happened to me in a very long time, I don't wish to neglect that. I suppose I just wanted to make sure you knew that."

You smiled brightly at him and he felt his chest clench.

"I do know Sherlock."

"Good."

Adjusting himself as he patted his pocket, he cleared his throat again "There is something else, I got for you."

"A gift?" You asked with light surprise "You didn't have to get me anything Sherlock."

He smiled "I know. And it's more of a...request, than a gift."

Feeling a sudden nervousness wash over you, you swallowed "A request?"

Reaching into his pocket, you eyes darted from his hand to his face as your heart started to pound.

"I wasn't aware of just how much I wanted to ask you, until I saw this in a shop window."

Pulling out a small black box, your breath caught in your throat. You said nothing until you were sure what he was about to ask. You would hate to make a fool of yourself, only to be greeted with something else.

As he opened the lid of the small box, and your eyes landed on a ring, your chest tightened and your breath hitched.

"I thought it was very, you."

He was right. It was perfect.

"Sherlock..." You trailed off into a whisper.

Sherlock smiled softly "I love you Y/n. I adore you. And I don't think I could think of anything more perfect than spending my life with you."

"I- I never thought you were interested in marriage." You admitted, aware your eyes were becoming a little hazy.

"I didn't think I was either. Until you. And now I know, that I want nothing more than to marry you. Do you wish to marry me?"

You grinned as you nodded your head eagerly "Yes, I do Sherlock."

His smile widened as you replied. Taking the ring out, he took your hand and slid it onto your finger. It was a bit big, but he could get it resized quickly.

As your eyes locked, you got to your knees and leaned across the dinner setting. Sherlock leaned forward as well, as you placed your hands on his face. He cupped your cheek as you kissed.

Pulling away a few moments later Sherlock couldn't remove his eyes from you as you continued to have a smile plastered on your face. You admired the ring, and Sherlock could tell he chose it perfectly.

Pouring you a drink, he rose his own glass in the air "To us?"

You grinned as you lifted your glass and tapped it against his own "To us."

xx End xx

I think I like this? lol I'm not positive, but I hope you like it too.

Reblogs are always appreciated~ :)

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strangelockd · 1 year

Text

A Queen For A Mindpalace

Pairing: Victorian Sherlock x Reader

Synopsis: You and Sherlock have a past, but before you attempt to move on. You stop by to make amends, only for a realization to take place. The question remains, will you stay or go?

Word Count: 2,750k

Warning: Angst,Pining,Tooth Rotting Fluff,Male Masterbation,Thigh Riding,Mentions Of Past Sexual Encounter,NSFW Themes

•If you enjoy the song you can find it on my Sherlock Playlist•

Slouching deeper into his favorite chair Sherlock stared up at the ceiling, she will come back. Casting his weary gaze to a small side table the detective reached for his trusty pipe, taking a few pinches of tobacco; his nimble fingers effortlessly stuffed the brown dried herb into the blackened wooden chamber. The leftover soot always stained his fingers with just a tinge of black. Packing the leaves snugly into the wooden bowl he smiled proudly. His fingers went groping inside his silk-lined pocket fishing out for the matchbox, sliding the paper box open Sherlock pinched out a match striking the side of the box and igniting the pipe chamber. Releasing a satisfied exhale, the smell of tobacco loomed in the flat leaving a smokey haze. It was the ideal evening after the week he had but something was missing. A sigh escaped his lips as he leaned over grabbing the violin trying to banish any thought from his mind.

You had your chance…many times, but now you really screwed it up. You brainless old fool….

Releasing a sigh, Sherlock brought the violin up resting it under his chin. His fingers effortlessly danced along the neckline as he got lost in one of his favorite pastimes. Closing his eyes, Sherlocks mind could not help but wander to all the memories. How could he forget the first-time you showed up on his doorstep in the middle of the night soaked from the storm, asking him to help find her father's killer. The case that would change his life forever in more ways than one. His mind wandered deeper as he recalled your first night together. How your delicious sex swallowed him perfectly like you were tailored just for him. Or the countless times those supple ruby-red lips moaned as you devoured him whole with a fiery passion. Little would he find out how much he craved that flame, your desire…the way you moaned his name as you reached the crescendo of your climax was better than any drug he ever consumed.

He missed the nights he would worship at your feet getting drunk off you. The supple bounce your breasts made as you rode him again and again into climax. He missed the way they felt under his touch, the way your nipples would pebble under his touch as he would tease and pinch them into flushed sensitive buds. The way his hands would travel down the small of your back as he rested them on the swell of your hips. Oh, how he missed the way you tasted, the way his tongue traveled from bud to bud as he trailed his mouth up your sex-flushed skin leaving purple blossoms in their wake. The way you felt under him, the way your body bloomed only for him, for you were a force of nature, and he wanted to be in the center of your storm. But all of that was in the past now for he had to focus on the reality at play. You moved on, and he was stuck here in London…alone.

Sherlock groaned, noticing the stiffness in his trousers he rolled his eyes, for he was now conflicted with an obvious but still awkward choice. Setting the violin down, Sherlocks large slender digits slowly grazed the outside of his seams as his mind trailed back to you. Thumbing through a drawer he fished for a rag, his hips bucked at the increasing sensitivity of his pressing member making Sherlock groan. His eyes caught a white handkerchief, and hastily pawed for it, pulling it closer Sherlock noticed the lipstick stains…. Y/N. Lifting it to his nose he took a deep inhale taking in the remnants of your scent…lavender. The smell shot right to his cock as he felt the pressure grow greater.

Oh, bloody hell screw it.

Lifting himself upward Sherlock quickly unbuttoned his trousers allowing as much that was necessary to do the deed. Once they rested on his knees Sherlock quickly sunk once more into the chair. His palm stroked across his virility thats now standing practically at the ready. As he grazed the bulbous head of his member, leaning his head back becoming lost in his own pleasure. Lost in the smell of you…His cock oozed out the hints of glistening pre cum as he groaned in ecstasy chasing his chemical high.

Knock knock knock

Dropping the handkerchief to the floor Sherlock quickly adjusted his trousers breathlessly, “Mrs. Hudson, will you get that! I- I’m in the middle of something!” stuffing what he can into his pants with little avail he managed to finally straighten himself out.

Her voice trailed off in the distance with that sweet tone, “Sherlock I’ve told you this before, I’m not your housekeeper,” hearing her bedroom door close shut Sherlock rolled his eyes again. Apparently, she was not going to accommodate.

Knock knock knock

“Ugh!” he scoffed standing up lazily. This better be worth it. Sherlock stood up reaching for his silken robe, tying the matching beige belt around his toned waist he looked around one last time. Making his way to the front door he turned the latch; suddenly having to catch his breath once more because it was you, of all the people standing outside looking beautiful as ever. Your corset hugging you in all the right places as his eyes trailed back to the ruby red lips he remembers so well. All those nights where you would entertain each other with the pleasures of your flesh and conversations, but those were faded passions burned to memories. His eyes casted his gaze to your voluptuous bosom. Admiring the rise and fall with the swelling of your breathing as his trousers slowly began returning to their previously stiffened state. Leaning against the doorframe Sherlock cleared his throat; an obvious poor attempt at maintaining composure.

“Y/N…to what do I owe the spontaneous visit,” Sherlock stammered while his fingers nonchalantly adjusted his robes attempting to hide the growing stiffening arousal. Shrugging your shoulders, you allowed yourself in, “I was in the neighborhood and wanted to stop by.” Taking a seat in his chair you smirked knowing it would annoy him. Closing the door Sherlock turned walking back placing his hands in his pockets, staring at you flatly, “you know there’s another chair right there” gesturing with a finger masking his annoyance. Setting down your reticule drawstring bag smiling, “Ya but I like this spot and besides,” crossing your legs with a smug expression,” I’m a guest.”

Sherlock released a scoff rolling his eyes. Taking out the pipe he reached for the tobacco box. “You’re not a guest, you’re more of an annoyance” a beautiful annoyance, taking a step closer his eyes glowed against the fireplace. Igniting the chamber he exhaled a puff of smoke.

“That’s mighty bold of you to say considering US,” spitting with venom in your tone.

He paused returning his gaze to you, taking in his expression you noticed his eyes harden, “There never was an us Y/N,” those six words cut through your heart like ice. At that point you didn’t care anymore, you just wanted to get your point across and take your leave.

“Look I didn’t come here to argue Sherlock. In fact, I came to say goodbye.” That look of earnestness in your eyes left him dead in his tracks. He knew you were not lying this time about leaving England. You have an offer for a job overseas in the new world. It was going to be a fresh start for both of you since there was no future in London, especially with Sherlock Holmes.

He took another step closer his eyes never leaving yours, “Well if that’s the case, then I feel like there’s nothing much left to say” he took another puff, Tell her the truth…before it's too late. His mind screamed to stay but his feet lead him forward as he took the seat across from you.

Pausing, your mouth parted open in shock at his lack of response, “that’s it? That all you have to say Sherlock Holmes?” your tone above a whisper. Desperation hazed as you fought off the tears.

He wasn’t going to fight for me after all…

“It’s just that…,” Sherlock took a deep sigh, “I don’t want to be the one who holds you back. You deserve a future and need to go on and forget about me Y/N.” By this time, he couldn’t look at you for it was too painful. He can already picture the devastation in your eyes. Peaking over, he was right. Tears streamed down your face as you reached for a tissue from the mahogany chaise lounge. You were always stunning, but when you cried it was devastatingly beautiful. It aroused him in some way. This look of pure innocence, walls completely torn down. You were a goddess of grace he couldn’t stay away from anymore no matter how hard he fought it.

Fight for her you idiot…just ask her, now!

Leaning forward he sat the pipe down next to him taking a deep breath. His gaze locked yours as he slowly raised a hand upward, “Y/N, you know this is for the best” his chest rose and fell quickly as he attempted to steady his breath all while convincing himself that this is even what he wanted. Sherlock couldn’t help his rapid heartbeat as he was sure you could hear it through his starched white shirt. The ring was burning a hole in his pocket at this point. Normally he was an excellent liar, but with you, he couldn’t mask the truth for very long.

“You don’t get it, do you?” wiping your eyes you noticed his eyes widening, “every time I walk away from you, I feel like a piece of your soul is with me. You’ve stolen my heart Sherlock Holmes, the least you can do is tell me what you intend to do with it before I g—.”

Before you could finish Sherlock lunged forward, his form towered over you on his favorite chair as his mouth consumed yours with a slow passion. His lips parted yours ever so slowly but begging to taste more. Despite the time apart your bodies still moved in sync with each other. As eager as he was to have you, Sherlock wanted to take his time to savor every bit of you. He noticed your hands instinctively trailing through his slicked-back hair, tugging the ravened strands gently. He released a hiss as his palms trailed down the chair to meet your face, he will have to fix his hair later no doubt. Sherlock smiled wide, he knew his hands were always your weakness, for you couldn’t help but lean into his touch making him smile all the brighter.

Tilting your head back he dove deeper into your mouth savoring the taste of you. You moaned as he pulled away slowly, his nose just a hairline away. His thumb gently rubbed a tear away as he smiled sweetly at you. Your eyes widened as you saw your reflection in his sea-glass gaze. “I intend to never let it go again…because you are everything,” his gaze unwavering, he pressed your palm to his chest. Feeling the rapid tapping of his heart under his shirt, you realized he was not lying. “For you are worth the fight my love”

Your eyes lit up as he leaned into you once more feeling the warm tears stream down your cheek. Parting your lips, he moaned as he shifted your weight to his lap. Lifting your skirts, you adjusted yourself as you rested on top of his stiffening trousers.

“Oh!” You exclaimed feeling yourself turning bright red. Even when not fully erect Sherlock’s cock made you blush. The reaction went straight to his cock as he smiled widely like the Cheshire Cat.

His tone laced with lust and longing,

“Like what you feel?” One hand wiping your tears as the other trailed down resting on your hip.

Rocking back and forth chanting like a prayer, “always…” you missed this. Missed the way he made you feel. Arching your back you rode him slowly, leaning into his hand enjoying every twitch and response Sherlock made. You always had a way of breaking him, turning the great detective into putty. You couldn’t help but grin as your eye caught something on the floor. Pausing your movements Sherlock groaned in protest. Leaning over scooping up the material immediately noticing was it is. The old handkerchief that you swore was “lost.” Returning upwards facing Sherlock you noticed a rosier tone in his cheeks as he looked away sheepishly. Dangling it in front of him you teased, “what's this?”

His ears flushed a bright red as he snatched it from your hand inhaling the thin cotton smiling sentimentality, “Oh, just a souvenir,” tucking it into his pocket he couldn’t wait any longer.

“There’s been something I have been meaning to ask you”

Fishing out a small velvet box he grabbed your hand.

His voice was slightly shaking as Sherlock fumbled with the box, “I should have done this the first morning I woke up next to you Y/N”

Opening the box slowly your eye’s widened as they gazed upon a gorgeous diamond halo engagement ring. The beautiful rose gold complemented the fiery opal that stood in the center. It left you speechless.

“Y/N, please stay. For I cannot survive another day of you not being my wife. I love you. Please, marry me” his eyes never left yours as he waited for an answer. Your hands shook as you sat there going through thousands of options at once. But all the options always lead back to him, this man in front of you who choose you above everyone else. This consulting detective was yours and you wanted to be his and his alone. Jumping off his lap you squealed, “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes! Of course, I will marry you!”

Tears streamed down your cheeks as Sherlock grinned from ear to ear. He stood up, placing the band on your finger before giving your palms a gentle kiss. His lips were warm and inviting as they danced up your arm. Peppering your face with kisses, he pulled you in for an embrace. The feeling of his sturdy form made you feel so comfortable and safe. Bringing your hand up he laced his with yours to gaze upon the glittering ring resembling your future together.

“It really is very beautiful Sherlock, where did you even find it?” Leaning your head into his shoulder, Sherlock moved a lock of hair kissing your neckline whispering, “oh this, it was Mrs.Hudsons. She thought it would look perfect on you. She’s been hounding me for months to puck up the courage to ask you.”

You chuckled, “not surprised the great detective is bashful”

“Not bashful,” he chuckled placing another kiss against your neck, “just a old fool who kept waiting for the right moment”

His hands trailed to your waistline as he slowly turned you around. Arms laced around each other you both got swept away in the moment and began swaying back and forth together. A small, adorable dance that was shared between the two of you. Taking his hand up he spun you around slowly bringing you back to his chest. Leaning your head against him you took in the strength of his forearms, how you missed his embrace. Sighing with joy Sherlock sat back down in his chair, pulling you in his lap his arms laced around you, “Im sorry for saying such hurtful things my darling,” looking you in the eyes his voice lowered, “I love you more than anything in the world Y/N. And I can't wait for you to be my bride”

Lacing your fingers with your future bridegroom you brought them up to kiss his hand gently. The ring glimmered in the light as your forehead rested on his,“Its ok Sherlock, its in the past. What is love without forgiveness.”

Words were no longer needed as Sherlock held you tight, he was always a handsy man even though Sherlock would never admit it. Especially when after a case there was nothing he wanted more then to come home and just hold you. No words. Just the pure feeling of you with him. For you were not just his fiancé, but the queen to his mind palace, and you finally made your way back home.

Heres the ring that inspired me…❤️

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futureplayboibunnie · 1 year

Text

‘Weak’

BBC! Sherlock Holmes x fem! reader

- just had to jump back on the bandwagon with some smut that makes me need to find God.

Sherlock's fingers trembled and stilled against the fine string of his violin. His mind was cloudy grey, his throughts strayed to the black of the night that was cast outside. He was distracting himself with some composition because he was distracted from work by being distracted by you. He was shaking, or was that just the skill needed for vibrato?

He couldn't get a specific section of his composure right, every single trial and error ended up in his frustration levels increasing.

Sherlock just couldn't get it right, and he always got it right. Foggy minded and exasperated, little thoughts of you popped up in the forefront of his mind. His fingers couldn't help but create brash, jagged sounds with his violin with every fleeting thought of you and it made his jaw tick.

She's good Sherlock. Kind. She's not like you.

Shut up, he grunted to himself. His inner consciousness and his inner most desires in a constant and escalating battle, teeth grinding against each other - he tried to ignore it.

She's confusing, effortless wit needed to be performed as always but you can put up with that, can't you?

Sush. Now. He countered.

You gazed at the bare skin of her back once.

That was by accident.

Don't you want to see more?

No I don't.

Yes. Yes you do. Call her, make her come here.

To Sherlock's twisted intuition, he called you about three hours ago for you to come to Baker Street three hours after the call. He knew he would want you near him due to your incessant distraction, might as well have you in the flesh instead of his imagination. His imagination was...vast when it came to you. His fingers dug into the string and indented with every step that echoed with your footsteps. You were here, and he didn't know what to say to you

"Hey, you called for me.' You declared sweetly.

His eyes pounced on you and he clattered his violin onto the floor, pupils never wavering. You were waiting at the door with an inquisitive look on your face, waiting for the hail mary or help with another mind boggling case. Sherlock straightened his posture up as well as unbuttoning his suit blazer, he needed to kill time, fill the air up with nothing in order for it to mean something. His brain was fogged up like a never ending unnatural mist. Sherlock came behind you and shut the flat door. You realized that he had been pacing, his eyebrow creased when he had been pacing or if his mind was heavy with something. And as if it was clockwork, he was pacing up and down the room and his fingers were triangular upon his face as if he was contemplating a choice. He stopped in his tracks and stared at you blankly as always.

'Sherlock, what is it?' You raised an eyebrow at his strange but not infrequent behaviour.

'I'm unsure if I can continue in such a way." Sherlock blurted and it confused you more than anything, his blue eyes boring into you from blank to cold.

'What are you talking about?' You sighed out tirelessly, flinging your bag onto the floor. Too concerned with your inhability to comprehend how exhausted you were than Sherlock's mind games. 'Maybe it's time to stop composing, don't you think?'

'No, no stop that. It's not about that. It's you. It's always you.’ He breathed out but he was too busy trying to intellectualise his emotions rather than looking at how dumbfounded you were. Your eyes were wild with confusion, you relayed all of your interactions with Sherlock in case you accidentally did something embarassing in front of him. Or said something embarrassing in front of him that hinted at your pulsating feelings for him.

'Have I done something?' Your voice was hushed and barely above a whisper. Your heart was humming at a commenstrual rate and you prayed that he didn't notice. Sherlock inched closer and closer to you, eyes cast down for a split second to remark at the fact vou were wearing a skirt. A short skirt.

'Yes you have. You've done something to my head and I don't like it, my mind was clear and now it's all...you. I called you earlier today because I assumed that I would feel the need to take this alarming revelation away but you have beguiled me to the point where it is becoming a disraction. I am married to my work, my work is something that never dies. I'm now deciding to do what you lot do when stunted with feelings of an enlarged nature by confessing to make these feelings go away so I can get back on track.' Sherlock's feet hand a mind of their own, he was right infront of such gleaming fascinating eyes that were flitting to his lips now.

What a sight.

'Doesn't go away just like that.’ You responded with a half smile, internally happy with yourself that you got him all messy for you.

"Silly little emotions, you people have too many of them.' He sneered down at you but you saw the truth, Sherlock was sexually frustrated and he was at his wits end. You almost felt sorry for him.

‘Another thing us humans feel is sexual desire, I doubt I've been on your mind that much you'd even consider sex a possibility.' You smirked up at him, trying to wrap up your words in sarcasm, but it was too loose. You wanted him to take you and it was obvious by your voice alone.

'Sexual desire is something the weak feel. If a person can lose their inhibitions by the slightest show of skin, or the curve of...her lips-' Sherlock cut himself off when his gaze lingered onto your lips and making the mishap and spoke the word 'her' but you picked up right where he left off.

'Or a feather light touch...’ You cast your eyes down to where your fingers were grazing against his. Sherlock sucked in a small breath and your mind was turning into static, this proximity was delicious and so unexpected. Your eyes met his and this time it was palpable and electric.

'Are you calling me weak?' Sherlock raised a questioning eyebrow, so confident in his guarded walls but you had all the means to knock them down.

You didn't respond.

'Eyes dialating at 3 beats a second, blown out, the colour is barely visible. Your knees are buckling slightly, probably due to the pressure of such discerning gazes meeting or the fact that your imagination is running wild with you in multiple different compromising scenarios. You on top, me on top. Me taking control, you taking control- it's difficult to figure out actually because you have a smart mouth yet it's as if you want to be put in your place. Maybe a psychological response, maybe a lack of a father figure. But you probably like it rough considering the fact you rip your cuticles away, breathing shallowed and laboured indicates sexual attraction. What I'm looking down at right now...is doing all those things.' Sherlock deduced lowly and it made your mouth pop open. Not in shock because of the way he saw through you...but because of the fact that he was doing the same exact thing.

Silence sprayed through the air and your teeth clamped onto your lower lip. Sherlock creased his brow and lowered his stare through his lashes and you just grabbed him by the collar and smashed your lips on his.

Like an inexperienced teenager, he was stunned but as you started glazing your tongue over his lips he began melting into you. He cupped your face before ultimately tangling his digits through your hair, you moaned into his mouth at such a delectable thing. You ripped your face away from his to look at his cool blue, breezy eyes. The man that never let anyone get too close let alone kiss him, you felt so fucking special. You leaned in, wrapping your arms around his neck, and whispered into his ear.

'Has your confession made your silly little emotions go away ?' You breathed and it sent a chill through him, the cadence of your voice was seduction incarnate. Sherlock was smart enough to never give into temptation no matter how much it shrieked his name, but you were the object of it all. He was willing just this once.

What stunted him was the fact that his nerves had boiled away and were no where to be seen, he had never carried out the physical practicalities of it but his scientific results and his incessant abilities to deduce people based on their appearance and their bodliy reactions to things is what would make him differ than the rest in bed. Sherlock wanted to give you a taste of it all, you more than earned it.

He pulled your face away from his ear by your hair so your glares could inteconnect once more, your mouth was agape and let out a breathless gasp.

'I can make you weaker than you are.' He stated lowly, in an almost growl like way if you listened to it harder. You were getting wetter and wetter with every word that was coming out of his mouth.

"Show me.' You belittled through challenging eyes.

His mouth slanted on yours again, more desperate and sloppy this time around and it made you tug on his soft curls, he let out a hiss. Sherlock crouched down and grabbed at the back of your thighs so that you could straddle him as he hurridely walked you to his bedroom, mouths still sewn together. He got you sprawled out on the bed and tore you of your clothes so quickly you would have been embarrassed any other time...but it was Sherlock. Who could blame you? You were naked before him, bar your underwear, and felt incredibly sexy under his gaze. Your body left him speechless. He had been fascinated by it ever since he accidentally came into contact with the skin of your back in your cute little dress.

He couldn't help but imagine what the rest of you looked like...and now here you both are. Fulfilling each others desires.

Sherlock locked his door instantly, rushing to get his blazer off as if he was dying to get his hands on you. The rate in which he ripped off his suit shirt was so fast the buttons popped and sprayed over the room, your eyebrows tensed in pleasure as your walls clenched around thin air.

You needed his cock in you now; he nestled between your legs and leaned up so he could drink in the sight of you. Round pert tits and hard nipples, more for him to savour for himself.

"Oh God...' He whimpered as he screwed his eyes shut. You beamed up at the fact you had got the infamous detective in such a state.

'Your heart is beating faster than mine.' You quipped with a sly smirk on your face, waiting for him to wreck you into another dimension but he was toying with you. His demeanour instantly shifted. He was going to show you a lesson.

'Shhh, let me show you how fast it can go.' Sherlock cooed at you like you were a stupid, naive little schoolgirl, your fingers were itching to get his trousers off but he kissed you so hard it made you forget your own name. Fingers tangled in your hair and the other palming at your tits, his mouth strayed away from your lips to add blossoming bruises and bites at your neck. You moaned at the sensation and he revelled in the delightful sound.

Your impatient hands travelled to his belt and his zipper and your nimble fingers found his cock in no time, releasing it from its confines your eyes widened at how thick and long it is, the girth on him was outstanding.

It was rock solid. He kicked his pants and underwear off while he was at it, your slender palm stroked him up and down it made a broken moan escape from his throat, you felt on top of the world. Sherlock intertwined his fingers with yours and held them above your head, you were so pleased at his controlling nature but he deduced that you liked that earlier. Tease.

'Can you deduce that I need you inside me?' You questioned like the twat you were, preparing to tease him to push him over the edge so he can take it out on you. Sherlock gave you a knowing yet disapproving look before tearing off your panties and shimmying the reminants down your long, smooth legs.

‘Wetter than I thought was humanly possible.' His voice was thick with need.

'I thought you weren't human.' You whined as he ran his cock through your arousal, your wetness was coating him so deliciously. You squirmed into the sheets, back arching into him as skin collided against skin.

'Shut up.' Sherlock shoved his fingers in your mouth before pushing himself in you and stretching your insides out, your attempts to scream out were hindered as his fingers blocked your throat from making any noise, he smirked at the sentiment and he hated sentiment.

Sherlock pistoned his cock in and out of you and watched it disappear and appear. His mind was reeling in pleasure, it was even more pleasurable because he knew you were feeling that same pleasure, your body was like a map and he wanted to travel everywhere. Your whimpers were bouncing from wall to wall in his bedroom and it was like the room had been christened, heaven sent. Your walls clamped around him like a vacuum and the once sentient man was starting to lose his mind.

'You feel so good.' He panted into the skin of your neck, you grasped the sides of his face to feel and taste his lips on yours once again.

'Sherlock. you're...I-.' You could barely string a sentence together you were being fucked so deep and so crazy by him. You thought his sexual prowess would be good even though he was so secretive about it but not this good.

The telltale signs of your arousal about to burst was being indicated, but what was most prevelent was that Sherlock's cock was twitching inside of you.

You clawed at his back like an animal and dug your nails in him to claim him as yours. You felt white hot heat wash over you as you came onto his cock, your thighs were tingling with a stinging sensation. Sherlock followed suit when he heard your final broken whine, that was what did him in. He was quite literally leaking inside of you.

Breathless, he rolled over to lay beside you. Sweat was rolling off of both of your bodies as you sat there breathing like you've both just ran a marathon.

'Heart is beating an infinitely higher rate than before.' Sherlock clarified and it made you let out a breathy laugh.

'I'm weaker than I've ever been before.’

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