#sherlock x ofc
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Part 1
Masterlist
Series Masterlist
Part 2
A reverse harem vampire AU ft. Mikey, Marshall, August and Sherlock
Series summary: Somehow, you've managed to live with your boyfriend and his roommates for months before finding out they're vampires, but the real shock first comes when they find out you have a special quality. A quality the guys would love to make use of...
Warnings: This is a vampireAU!!! There will be blood, there will be biting, there will be graphic depictions of both. It's not going to be a gorefest, though. Also there will be smut. Eventually.
Word count: 2.5k
A/N: Are we leaning into some serious monsterfucker vibes with this one? Oh absolutely hell yeah we are. Am I ridiculously scared to even post this? *Yes.* You literally can't overestimate how much I'm trembling right now.
I took some (a lot of) creative liberties with the vampire lore for this one, so if you're very heavily into traditional vampire lore, this may not be for you. It's my first time delving into anything fantasy-esque like this, so bear with me! (Friendly tips are always welcome.) Also, this is probably going to be weird. So there's that. We're doing kinky vampires, ok? Like. I can't make this more normal than what it sounds like.
@geralts-yenn As promised 🥰
@deandoesthingstome @summersong69 you both asked for a general tag... This is what that gets you. 🙈🙈🙈
“V-vampire? What do you mean you're a… You can't be.” It felt like the ground disappeared beneath your feet, and you were freefalling into darkness. You’d been dating Mikey for months, and now he… It couldn’t be true. It had to not be true.
“I am.” Mike looked at you, an apology clearly displayed on his face and in his voice. As if that was going to be enough. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you, I thought you knew…”
“And exactly how the fuck was I supposed to know?”
Mike shrugged. “The mandatory health classes in high school shou…”
“I was homeschooled.” Your anger dissipated somewhat. Apparently, at least part of this was your parents’ fault for misinforming you about vampires in general.
“Oh shit… I had no idea, sorry. Eh… What were you told about us?”
“That you're monsters…” That was the gist of it. You’d never believed much of it, and it had made you curious rather than scared. Less scared of vampires, at least. Your father, now that was a whole other story. “I-I'm so dead. My father… If he finds out…”
“He'd be pretty pissed if he found out you're living with a bunch of vampires?” Mikey’s casual tone was way out of place, but you knew he couldn’t help it. He was Mike, after all. But was he really? Was he still the Mikey you knew? The Mike you… loved?
“Of course it's all three of you. Fuck! Yes, he'd be pretty mad, to say the least. And he'll for sure disown me if he knew I let myself be defiled by one. God! I can't believe this. I slept with you. I… Vampire… Fuck.”
“Defiled? Jesus, please don’t say things like that. You’re making me feel like a monster.” He paused for a moment while he gathered his thoughts. “Are you scared of me?”
“No…” It wasn’t a lie, per se. You weren’t scared of the Mike you knew; you just weren’t entirely convinced that your Mike hadn’t changed.
“Do you want to leave?”
“No.” Apart from the fact you had nowhere to go, you didn’t see much reason to leave. If he was telling the truth when he said he genuinely believed you’d known all this time, then you had no reason to fear them, or to leave. If they wanted you gone, you’d be gone, one way or another.
“Do you hate me?” He looked as if he knew it was a ridiculous question, but he was still asking. You couldn’t help but wonder why.
“Mikey, stop, no. I… I'm not like my family, but this is hard. Even if I didn't believe everything they told me growing up, there's still a lot in between not believing vampires are the devil and fucking one.”
“Whoa, thanks. We're just screwing, then?”
“Mike, that's not what I meant. I just… That's what makes me so pissed you never told me! I really liked you. I still do.” You were fifty shades of confused right now, trying to make sense of the fact that your boyfriend hadn’t quite lied about yet still omitted the fact that he was a vampire.
“I'm really, really sorry! I genuinely thought you knew!”
“How was I supposed to know? You're out in the sun! I've seen you eat… Food. I've seen you eat garlic. You show up in pictures and in mirrors.” As soon as the words left your mouth, you realized it was entirely possible that the information you’d gotten from your parents and their – generally lacking – education may not have been entirely correct.
“Ah. I see some inaccuracies are still alive and well in the homeschooling department.” Somehow, saying something like that was something Mike could get away with without sounding like a massive dick. There was something in his tone that made it abundantly clear to you that you weren’t at fault for this whole… Misunderstanding? Was that the right way to describe it, or was it a gigantic understatement?
“Well enlighten me.” Mike quickly offered to make you a cup of tea while you had that conversation, which you gladly accepted. Mike put the kettle on and gestured at you to sit down on the couch.
“Get comfortable, we're in for a long talk.” You grabbed a blanket and waited for Mike to join you on the couch. He handed you your tea and you smiled a little nervously. “Fuck, Sweetcheeks, can I hug you?” Mike seemed genuinely upset at everything that was happening right now, which didn’t make you happy – you hated seeing him like this – but it definitely did make you feel more comfortable knowing that he had really never meant for this to happen.
“Where do we start.” You still couldn’t believe you were having this conversation. It seemed like a weird thing to find out about so late. Then again, you’d gone years without knowing your childhood best friend was left-handed, and you hadn’t known your English Literature professor was gay until a friend had pointed that out to you somewhere in the past week. You just weren’t very observant. Apparently.
“I'd like to apologize again, that's for sure. And after that… Do you have any questions?” He then proceeded to answer every question you had as they bubbled up in your brain in seemingly random order.
“Is this why you're so cold sometimes?” You felt silly asking these questions. It all suddenly really felt like you should have learned these things by now. Like making toast or stacking a dishwasher or doing laundry. Alright, you still weren’t completely clear on the laundry part, but you knew more about that than vampires. As it turns out, it was highly unusual for humans to even notice the difference in temperature, but you were on the right track with your question.
“It is. I'm colder when I'm hungry. And warmer after eating human food.” Apparently, it took up more energy to digest human food.
“Compared to eating people?”
“Whoa, Sweetcheeks, we don't 'eat people', okay? We drink blood, that's different!” He actually looked insulted when you said that, and maybe he was right to feel that way…
“You suck it out of people,” you said in a small voice. The comparison seemed logical…
“Shit, Sweetcheeks, you've sucked things out of me, do you 'eat vampires'?” Of course. That was such a Mikey thing to say…
“Why do I always have to be around when he says something stupid like that?” You immediately froze when you heard the dark, smooth baritone of Walter’s voice.
“Terrible timing? You somehow managed. He chuckled softly – the sound always gave you chills, but in a good way. Maybe a bit too good.
“Or so it would seem. As always, I apologize for his existence!”
“It's alright, I forgive him.”
“What were you even talking about? Wait, do I want to know?” Marshall decided to join the both of you in the living room. Mike didn’t protest, and you weren’t opposed to a second teacher to help explain all of these things. You just hoped that August wouldn’t show up; he wasn’t very good at hiding disdain, and he’d certainly have plenty of it stowed away for moments exactly like this one.
“She had no idea we are vampires.”
“You've been living with us for months? Did they teach you nothing in hi-“
“Homeschooled,” Mike clarified quickly. You felt a blush creep up to your cheeks; you definitely hadn’t felt like this in a long time. Like a clueless child in dire need of adults to tell her how the world worked. It reminded you a little bit too much of the way your parents had always treated you.
“Ah. My bad. And you're trying to rectify the situation using phrases like that?” Luckily, it was Mike that was being judged by Marshall, and you sighed in relief.
“She accused me of eating people,” Mike said, looking like a sad puppy; pouty and adorable.
“Alright, that's a gratuitous overstatement.”
“How do you even eat? Drink? Feed? ... You don't kill people, do you?”
“Love, this isn't the dark ages, there's safe ways for us to feed – ‘feed’ would be the most commonly used term.” Marshall chuckled. “And most importantly; the 'people we eat' are willing to let us feed.”
“Why would they do that voluntarily?” It seemed kind of weird to you to just, what? Walk up to vampires and go ‘here, suck my blood?’ Another Marshall-chuckle tore you away from your thoughts.
“Well, they’re not volunteers, per se. It pays pretty well.”
“It's a job?” That made more sense, but something about that felt… obscene and perverted? Though you did recognize that that was probably your upbringing talking.
“Yes, it is. It’s quite popular among students; you're just sitting around, with plenty of time to study.” Marshall’s explanation didn’t come across as judgy or mocking, he just explained. Nothing more, nothing less. “Some are purely in it for the money, and are really freaked out about the bites. It always sucks -pun not intended – when you get one of those.” That had you curious, and you asked about the ‘why’ behind that.
“Fear makes blood taste weird,” Marshall said. Apparently, it had something to do with the hormones humans released when scared.
“I bet August likes it,” Mikey said with a massive grin on his face.
“A little adrenaline from excitement and anticipation, sure,” Of course August came home right that second. You remembered what your parents had briefly warned you about; vampires had keen senses. You wondered if Mike had heard August coming. “But genuine fear? Might as well feed during finals week.” Another tidbit of information that would have been infinitely more informative if you knew the first thing about vampires and their feeding practices, but you didn’t. Therefore, you had to ask again – and this time, you had to ask August.
“What?”
“Lots of stress doesn't make it taste any better, either. Why are we teaching Vampire Health 1 to an undergrad?” There it was: some good old, signature August derision to feast on.
“Homeschooled,” the three of you said in unison.
“My apologies,” August said. He seemed sincere, and his attitude disappeared immediately.
“The feeding... I take it it's not a fun little restaurant experience?” You asked your question carefully, afraid to have been misinterpreting everything the whole way through, but you were met with three looks that proved you right beyond a shadow of a doubt.
“It definitely isn't. It's a long wait, and you basically have no idea of what you're going to get, no choice at all, and you're out of whack for anywhere from three days to a week.” Mike said, shuddering at the thought.
“Why would you feel out of it?” That didn’t make any sense. Wasn’t eating supposed to make you feel better, not worse?
“They dose you with garlic,” Mike answered as if that explained everything. You gave the boys a quizzical look.
“Oh good grief, this is why Sherlock spends most of his time at the clinic dealing with transitioning homeschooled kids.” August growled. His exasperation wasn’t aimed at you, per se, you noticed. The guys seemed to be very sympathetic towards your status as a nitwit homeschooled kid.
“I'm completely lost, guys.”
“You're completely lucky you're not one of us, princess.” August said. His voice was more mellow than it had been a few moments ago, as if he was trying to make it clear to you that he wasn’t frustrated with you. That being said, he didn’t quite succeed; he still sounded pretty pissed, and you weren’t convinced it wasn’t aimed at you. “Not that being a vampire is so bad, but it shouldn't be an accident.”
“What were you told about becoming a vampire?” Marshall shot August a look that clearly meant he needed to calm the fuck down.
“You get bit, you become a vampire.” You shrugged. That was basically all your parents had told you about the process. “Oh and that it's the most painful thing ever. And there was something about the fires of hell. Actually, the fires of hell got mentioned quite a lot.” The guys laughed at that, which made you very happy. It had been a joke, after all – well, the ‘funny because it’s true’ kind – and it did break the tension a little. It also didn’t seem to be something they hadn’t heard before.
“Alright, they weren't wrong about the biting part, per se. It's not a given, but there's a pretty decent success rate.” Marshall explained.
“'s where the garlic comes in. You were probably told that vampires and garlic don't mix?” You nodded in reply to Mike's question. “Alright. Not necessarily a lie. Garlic does make us easier to kill, which is what the hell-yellers choose to interpret as 'vampire eat garlic, vampire die'.”
“Which can't be true, because you're all still here.”
“Exactly. What it does do,” August continued, ”is weaken us. We're slower, less strong, and it fogs our brain a little. What it also does, is weaken the toxin our teeth secrete when they come into contact with human blood.”
“Not animal blood?”
“Imagine a vampire tiger or bear, princess, and then consider whether or not that's a sound idea from an evolutionary point of view.” August took one look at your face and laughed. It was something you didn’t hear often, and even if you did it was usually mixed into the laughter of the others. It was nice, though. “Exactly.”
“So garlic is what? Vampire contraceptive?”
“Pretty much,” Mike said, “and since the places where we feed can't trust everyone to take their daily dose, they OD you on the stuff to the point where you can't see straight. There's a reason most of us only go once a month or so.”
“This is a lot...”
“Yeah, this was the speed run of maybe just about half of a ten-week high school course,” Marshall said, “and most of those kids have been given information from a very young age. Correct information.”
“What about the sun? And reflections? Do you need to be invited into houses?” Whenever you thought you were out of things to ask about, something else came to mind.
“Sunscreen, myth and yes,” August answered your questions effectively, which was nice, given the fact that you were really approaching the limits of how much information you could handle in a single day.
“Su- no.” That was an explanation that was so devilishly simple that it couldn’t be true. At the very least it was incredibly anticlimactic.
“He’s not lying to you, love,” Marshall said, “we've been around for ages, give me one good reason why your scientists have come up with something that prevents you from burning in the sun, but ours wouldn't have?”
“Vampire scientists?”
“You can meet one, if Sherlock ever makes it back.”
#walter marshall x ofc#sherlock x ofc#mike x ofc#august walker x ofc#henrycavill fanfic#henry cavill characters#henry cavill fanfiction#henry cavill#mike (hellraiser)#mike hellraiser fic#mike hellraiser#hellraiser mike#august walker fanfiction#august walker#walter marshall#walter marshall fanfiction#sherlock holmes#henry cavill sherlock holmes#hc sherlock#sherlock holmes x ofc
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The One That Got Away (Sherlock fanfic)
Hey lovely people!
After "It's so cold", my Molly Hooper centric one shot fic, here's the beginning of my second contribution to the Sherlock fandom :)
Link AO3 ⬇️
RATING: mature
PAIRINGS: Sherlock/Original Female Character, Mycroft/Original Male Character, John/Molly
TIMELINE: post The Final Problem, with many flashbacks of Sherlock's past (between 10 and 15 years before TFP)
TW: PTSD, references to past rape, drugs and suicide
STATUS: WIP
Summary:
Six months after Sherlock's sister Eurus put him, his brother Mycroft and his best friend John Watson through a series of sick games that nearly got all them killed, they all came back to their life. After helping Sherlock to repair the damages caused by the fire that destroyed their apartment, John found a new job and raises Rosie in the house he used to share with Mary. However, he hasn't forgotten his friend Sherlock, who resumed his consulting work at 221B Baker Street.
It's not enough to cure Sherlock's boredom, but soon a new case will get him back to Scotland Yard; a wealthy man was found hanged in his living-room, and the circumstances surrounding his death are mysterious. Despite Lestrade's inclination towards deeming it a suicide, Sherlock is doubtful: how come his safe, hidden behind a painting, was found unlocked and emptied? Was the hanged man a blackmail's victim? Was it even a suicide? For the first time in months, Sherlock is excited: at last, the game is on!
Little does he know that this new case will soon force him to face the ghost of a past he thought was behind him. Memories of a case he investigated fifteen years ago resurface, along with the heartbreak that ensued.
#sherlock bbc#sherlock holmes#sherlock fanfiction#sherlock fanfic#sherlock x ofc#sherlock x oc#fanfiction#john watson x molly hooper#the final problem#post tfp#but also pre ASIP#Mycroft x omc#the one that got away ff
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Happy Christmas, Mr. Holmes
a Sherlock Holmes x OFC fic
summary: Christmas comes to Baker Street, in a form Sherlock Holmes had never envsioned. There is a sweetness in seeing the holiday through someone else's eyes, and there are lessons in holiday spirit and the nature of giving--as well as how Love makes the season even brighter--to be learned. Part of a continuing romantic series, this is the tale of Sherlock & Tessa's first Christmas together. It just proved too irresistable for me not to tell!
rating: general audience; chapter 1 of 4
Chapter One - a Christmas 'thing'
(Sunday, early December)
"I’m off then," Tessa was busy buttoning up her coat, as it was an extremely chilly day in London.
Sherlock glanced at her from behind the paper, the brunch she’d prepared for him half-eaten, his coffee growing cool. He looked at her quizzically "What for?" he asked, surprised to see her bundling up to leave the flat. He’d thought they had the afternoon ahead of them, perhaps a dvd or two to watch while relaxing quietly, fire in the hearth, her head upon his shoulder, few words spoken but for commentary about the movies, comfortable as any old couple who knew each other’s ins and outs. With Christmas approaching his caseload had lightened significantly and he counted on Tessa to fill the hours with him, as John was in Northumberland, attending a retirement celebration for another doctor from his unit in Afghanistan, and so was away all weekend long.
"You weren’t listening again," she replied, her tone indicating this was no surprise to her. "Sherlock, I told you, I have some Christmas shopping to do—some of my favorite people are still on my to-do list, and that,” Tessa’s eyes lit with mirth, “includes you." She was pulling on her gloves, and headed in his direction, presumably for the ritual she could seldom do without—the Goodbye Kiss. She would get no proffered cheek until he’d had his say.
"Well, at any rate, shopping shouldn’t take all afternoon." Sherlock stated this as an established fact," Surely you’ll be back before too long." Then the afternoon could proceed as he’d expected.
"Well, actually…." Tessa paused, sighed and continued, "I’ve got a thing this afternoon, so I won’t be back till after dark."
"A ‘thing’? And just what sort of ‘thing’ do you have?” She’d piqued his curiosity now and he wouldn’t settle for less than a full explanation.
"A Christmas thing, Sherlock. A thing at a church." She was smiling at his growing consternation, at making him ask instead of volunteering the information herself. She’d learned he listened better when he had to work a bit for it, although the telltale scowl forming on his face warned her not to push the tease too far. She patiently repeated what she’d told him several days before, "Sylvie and Jasper’s girls are in a Christmas pageant at their church. They’ve been practicing for weeks, and I promised Syl I wouldn’t miss it."
The sigh he gave was rife with irritation; he closed his eyes a moment and asked, trying his best to minimize any aversion in his voice, “And where exactly is this pageant to take place?”
Tessa narrowed her eyes, shaking her head slightly, “Um….Saint Mary’s of the Angels, on Moorhouse Road in Notting Hill.” She bit her lip and held her breath a moment before deciding to ask, “Why would you want to know that?” Tessa downplayed the sudden hope that he just might be interested in joining her there. That was a near impossibility, although she’d be more than happy if he did.
"Because, my dear, perhaps we could meet for dinner afterwards, and it would be best if we met close by, don’t you think?" Sherlock turned the page of the paper, indicating he thought that the matter was settled. "What time is this performance going to begin?"
"4:00, this afternoon. I wouldn’t imagine it will run more than an hour or so." Tessa found she was disappointed; dinner would be fine, but she really would’ve loved to share this little holiday presentation with him—though she’d never dare to ask.
Sherlock took a deep, dramatic breath, as he completed the debate inside his head, yes or no to an idea. He lowered the paper, giving Tessa his full attention. ”Only an hour then?” Tessa nodded yes, and he continued, “You know, I could join you there. At the church. If you’d like me to.” His face was impassive, but for the slight amusement in his eyes.
Although Tessa was speechless in her surprise, Sherlock could see from her face that he’d hit the mark. He usually could read her very well, and it was obvious this time that she wanted very much for him to join her. He realized she hadn’t invited him, not because she feared him declining, but simply because she knew the idea would be naturally anathema to him.
Recovering from her shock, Tessa felt obligated to caution him. “Sherlock, this is a group of five and six year olds we’re talking about. Far from disciplined, excited about their play, excited about Christmas. You do understand what you’d be getting yourself into?”
He suppressed the cringe that would normally have been on his face. ”Tessa dear,” he said, reminding himself he needn’t sound magnanimous, “let’s just consider it an early Christmas present, shall we?”
Tessa was still skeptical. ”Um…you should know—from what Sylvie says, there may even be a couple of sheep.” She waited for a response and when he remained silent, she added with great emphasis, “Live sheep, Sherlock. Are you sure about this?”
He nodded, certain he’d followed the right course. “Never surer. I will be there, count on it.”
The smile she gave him was surely worth all the irritation and boredom he expected to experience in the church. He started to lift the paper up to read, when she knelt beside him, hugged him tightly, and nuzzled his neck sweetly. ”Sherlock,” she said into his collar, “sometimes you can be such a dear.” She moved back a little, just to see his face; saying in complete sincerity, “What have I done to deserve you?”
He answered her most dryly, giving her the half smile he knew she adored, “You must’ve been a very good girl as a child.”
Tessa’s only answer was a loving smile and a lingering kiss. She rose to leave without another word, but as she reached the door, Sherlock called to her, “If you’re thinking of getting me new gloves, the only ones worth investing in can be found at Harvey Nichols.” He lowered the paper, wanting to stress the importance of the details he was about to impart, “Cashmere lined, with five-finger, precise touch technology.” He started to return to his page, but then flicked it down a moment, adding “I’d prefer them in black, of course.”
Tessa tilted her head, acknowledging his request as one would acknowledge the victor in a well fought contest. “Of course,” she replied with a smile, before turning to leave. She hoped the other item she had in mind would come as a complete surprise, for he had so few of those in his life and she knew he enjoyed them when they came.
Tessa reached the church nearly a half-hour early, having dropped her Christmas packages off at her flat beforehand. She didn’t mind arriving early; as she headed to a pew off to the side, she saw the children were just finishing up with a final rehearsal of their pageant. She smiled at their obvious excitement—in a space designed to echo with prayer and song, there was their happy laughter ringing out (along with the attendant shushing of the adults around them). She hadn’t told Sherlock, but her family parish at home had a similar tradition, celebrated for almost fifty years. She had even played the Christmas Star when she was five, and it was one of her earliest, dearest Christmas memories.
Truth be told, it wasn’t just her promise to Sylvie that brought her here—it was a deep longing for a connection to her family so very far away, at this family-centric time of year.
Tessa had left her phone on vibrate, in case Sherlock should text her to beg off coming to the church. At 3:55 she felt it go off, and was fairly certain it was him, perhaps with a brief apology or explanation for why he wouldn’t attend. She didn’t expect him to carry through, and wouldn’t blame him in the least if he didn’t; she understood him enough to realize how uncharacteristic it would be for him to appear at such a function.
She pulled her phone from her coat pocket and clicked on his text. ”I’m in the church vestibule. Where are you?” Her eyes widened in surprise, her delight clear to anyone who cared to look her way. She quickly texted back, "3rd row, far left hand row of pews." Tessa turned to watch the doors at the back of the church, and within moments she saw him, his classic greatcoat swirling behind him at his rapid stride, collar upturned against the cold (and in his usual nod to vanity, she knew). Sherlock’s face was set in her direction, looking crisp from the cold, his curls gently tousled so that she just wanted to reach out and tame them a bit. He slipped into the pew beside her.
Tessa couldn’t help herself; she stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. Her lips were warm against his chill, and she whispered in his ear in amazement, “You’re really here.” Sherlock, looking down at her, answered in a tone clearly saying there was never any doubt, “Of course. Did you really expect any less?”
Tessa looked down herself, demure in the moment, “Well…I wouldn’t have held you to it. But now you’re here, I’m very glad.” She twined her arm around his, facing forward, saying, “I just hope you won’t regret it.”
Sherlock teased her gently, his voice a soft, deep rumble for her ears alone, “With you by my side, how could I?” He glanced forward at the activity around the altar and the final preparations. The quiet of the church was broken by a growing hubbub of murmurs as those in attendance waited to see their own come down the center aisle and begin the pageant. Tessa had leaned her head against his shoulder for the moment, and as always he found it made him happy to have her assume such a feminine pose.
A teenaged girl stepped up to the podium to the left of the altar, and gave a brief welcome to the crowd, and then began to narrate the tale the children would be enacting. There was a choir of tweens in the loft, who, with each section of the play, would sing a carol fit for the story. The younger children reacted in a variety of ways to performing; some embraced it with seriousness and all due attention; some allowed themselves to be led to the altar, looking frightened and unsure, their teachers coaxing them along; some were easily distracted, waving at their families in the pews, or turning back to watch the choir, or focusing on the sheep (the ones led in by a couple of older boys playing shepherds, as Tessa had predicted). The little girl playing Mary looked angelic, though her nerves got the best of her and she planted her thumb firmly in her mouth the moment she reached the altar. There was a bevy of angels in white and gold and silver, wings of feather or foil or painted cardboard, depending on the ingenuity of the parent making the costume. One carried a large gold plywood star, and went to stand on a step stool behind the Holy Family, so that the Three Kings could find their way.
The wise men presented their gifts, and the teachers then moved forward to lead the children in singing “Away in a Manager”, which they mimed—again with varying degrees of success—using simple motions that fit the gentle lullaby. At the conclusion, the audience broke into appreciative applause.
Sherlock had not made the performance his only focus. Throughout the little play, he glanced sideways at Tessa, enjoying her response to the music and the pageant, her hand resting comfortably in his, lying soft against her thigh. She had sung along with every carol the choir had performed, her voice rising clear and bright on the Glorias of “Angels We Have Heard on High”, singing it out with all her heart. He knew it was his feelings for her that colored his reaction, but still he thought it was the sweetest he’d ever heard them sung. And he surprised Tessa when he joined in himself, on “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” and “Joy to the World”. She slipped her hand in the crook of his arm again, squeezing it tightly and smiling up at him, as he showed a velvet baritone she hadn’t expected. He would tell her later that he’d served his fair share (as had Mycroft) in church choir at his parents’ behest, until his voice changed and proved for several years to be ungovernable. Oh, but she enjoyed the surprise of it in the soft light of the church.
The pageant complete, the lights of the church were unexpectedly dimmed, and the crowd was hushed in anticipation of the finale—the lighting of the towering Christmas tree to the right of the pulpit. As the bright white lights on the tree came on, the crowd “ooohhhed” with satisfaction. The choir began to sing “Silent Night” with almost all present joining in. Sherlock heard Tessa sing along with the first few words, and then she fell silent. He turned to look at her; her head was bowed, her lips were trembling, her breath hitched at times. It was clear she was doing her utmost to fight back tears—and despite her best efforts, she appeared to be losing. She took her hand from his arm to reach into her bag and get a tissue, dabbing at her eyes, still with her head bowed.
The choir sang all three verses of the carol, and the music died away. The lights in the church came back up, and the narrator then invited all in attendance to the basement for Christmas refreshments. Parents, children, families, began to move from the pews back to the vestibule where the stairs were located. Tessa remained still, not yet looking up. She shook her head and took a deep breath, remaining seated, still without a word. Sherlock sat beside her, not asking yet, simply waiting.
When she appeared to have recovered her composure, she finally looked at him. Her lashes were still wet from crying, but she was gamely trying to smile. This time he had to ask, gently, solicitously, “Tessa, why the tears?”
The small smile that dimpled her cheeks was pure but bittersweet, "Oh, you know me. What day could pass without at least a few melodramatic tears?” But she could see that answer wouldn’t satisfy his disquiet on her behalf, and so went on, "Really—it’s the music. It never fails to move me. I think it sounds…" she looked down again, perhaps afraid emotion might overwhelm her if she kept looking at the puzzled concern upon his face, “I think it’s the most beautiful of all the carols. Simple but pure, you know?" Sherlock nodded, not in agreement, but to encourage her to continue. "I’ve always thought it was inspired by Heaven. I’ve always thought it sounded like coming home at long last, after years of being lonely and far from those who love us." Tessa turned back to him, her eyes bright with emotion, "It’s just…this time of year…I get a little homesick. For my family…well, what’s left of us. And our traditions.” Tessa took a deep, bracing breath, more in control of the sentiment that had overwhelmed her earlier, “It’s different for me here, and somehow it sort of aches. You know what I mean?”
Sherlock had his own aches aplenty, but for most of his adulthood he had successfully kept them to himself. Seeing Tessa so vulnerable—and so pretty in her unvarnished emotion—made him feel protective, almost possessive in an archaic kind of way; made him want to be the one to whom she turned. After all these months he was still surprised that she could evoke such feelings in him. The simple, very human, nature of this—which he’d so long prided himself on rising above—turned out to be pleasant and fulfilling after all. He supposed the greatest love stories had that at their core—the feminine cleaving to the masculine as Nature intended all along. What she’d given him from their beginning was unconditional acceptance and understanding; it stood to reason that he would fiercely want to provide for her happiness. As he felt at this exact moment.
Without a word, Sherlock folded her gently in his arms and pressed his lips against her hair, making Tessa relax easily into him. Holding her so, in the now quiet church, he noticed how the small white lights on the Christmas tree strikingly brightened the white and gold decorations gracing the branches—stirring him to reflect on how they were so very like the illumination Tessa had brought into his life. Seeing things through her eyes had opened up parts of the world he’d never taken time to notice before, and it came to him that she was doing the same now, showing him Christmas from a soft and sentimental point of view that had long since vanished from his lexicon, as far back as his discovery that Father Christmas wasn’t real after all. What sort of gift, he wondered, could he give her in return, and how might he temper with some Christmas joy, her homesickness for her family so far away?
“We’ll dine in tonight,” he told her softly, knowing her well enough that she’d likely want to spend the evening quietly and as close to him as possible. She nodded her grateful assent and they started down the aisle to the back of the church. As they left, his arm wrapped protectively around her waist, Sherlock felt the beginnings of a plan start to form. It would require time, it would require effort, but if anyone could do the task, he knew that it was him. There might even be some favors he’d need to call in, but he had a wealth of those saved up, and Tessa was certainly worth whatever cost might come to bear.
(to be continued)
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#my writing#Happy Christmas Mister Holmes#bbc sherlock#fluff#Christmas#Christmastime#sherlock Holmes#Benedict's Sherlock#established relationship#Sherlock Holmes x OFC#Sherlock x OFC#Christmas comes to Baker Street
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Finished
Pairing: Henry Cavill x you
Prompt:Henry & y/n invited to his moms for thanksgiving. Mom also invites his ex.His mom is super strict so everyone is supposed to have separate rooms, mostly for his ex to slip into his room but she opens the door to find you sitting on his face.
This one was kind of tough but, ended up being a super fun story to write!Hope you guys enjoy it !Thanks for your ask, hope this lives up to the expectation.
“Are we going?” you ask quietly.
“Do you want to go?” he says, cocking an eyebrow in your direction.
“I mean….. It’s your mother. We kinda have to.” he pulls you in closer letting out a low hmmm.
“Yes. but, I don’t visit her often for a reason.” he says quietly. The heft of his arm and the sheets around you calling you to relaxation.
“And what’s that reas-”
“She’s crazy.” he says bluntly. You laugh,immediately knowing he’s joking . It was very out of character for him to call anyone out of their name. Much less his own mother. You look up at him to notice he isn’t laughing, not even smiling.
“O Henry, come on! She is not crazy, I’m sure she just misses you. That’s why she calls so often.”
He caresses your face “My mother is a tiny, blonde psychopath. I love her with all my heart but, everytime I bring a woman home she gets so attached I- it’s hard to explain.” he trails off.
“Guess I’ll just have to meet her then!” you squeal sleepily into his chest before drifting away in an ocean of plans.
You packed, you brushed your teeth, and were ready early in time for the flight. Henry slept most of the way but, you were too filled with questions of if she would like you, and what he of all people meant by calling his mother an attached psychopath. The hours ticked away and you looked worriedly from the clock on your phone to Henry.
“Maybe she just forgot we were coming today?Should we call?” you ask
“Nooooo. No. She has forgotten nothing. This is what she does. Constantly trying to keep me on my toes, I guarantee you she’s up to something.”
You snort through your nose “Henry I guarantee your mother is not that malicious.”
“Have you met her yet?” he jokes flatly. Just then the car pulls up a decently clean but embarrassingly tiny red kia soul, flying like a bat out of hell.
You exhale, taking a step off of the curb and waiting for your moment of truth.
She jumps out of the car and runs to her son, jumping into his arms. He smiles for a minute holding her and you see the light of a little boy flicker in him for a moment. He pulls back at the sound of the trunk popping open and begins to load the bags into the back for the weekend.
“Mrs. Marianne I am just so excited to finally get to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you and I’m really excited to-” She cuts you off turning back to her son.
“And Hen you remember Ellen.”
That’s when you see her, a leggy blonde with a perfect smile stepping out of the car that just makes your heart drop. Ellen fucking Whitaker. Ofcourse, champion show jumping horse rider from a family of professional horse trainers and not to mention gorgeous but, most importantly Henry’s ex- fiance.
“Cool, cool ,cool ,cool” you can hear yourself muttering under your breath trying not to explode.
“Mum this is y/n! She was very excited to be invited.” he confirms, giving you some comfort that he’s on your side.
“Mmm. Well that’s darling.” she spins on her heels heading back towards the driver’s side of the car.
You follow Henry as you both hug Ellen and exchange your greetings. She seems to think his mother bringing her here is just as ridiculous as you do and while you still despise her presence that knowledge makes it vaguely reassuring that she hasn’t come to fight for his love.
“Henry, dear sit up here with me I want to hear all about LA.” he rolls his eyes, making his way to the passenger side while you and Ellen assemble yourselves in the back of the tiny car with the luggage. You flip your phone over in your lap and notice a text from Henry. “I love you.Don’t stress out. She’s just like this.” you text him back a heart emoji but, it’d be a lie to pretend your heart wasn’t still caught in your throat. Not only did his mother refuse to acknowledge you. But, she brought some random ass woman that she obviously plans for Henry to be with instead. Actually , no.Not random, which is even worse! Am I spirialing ? I feel like I’m spiraling. You had completely zoned out of the sweet family reunion happening infront of you an attempted to string some words together in your head that would help you explain how you feel to him when you finally got alone time. You entered the driveway of the estate and his mother handed the keys to the valet , excusing herself and calling Ellen to follow her inside. Being excluded from the girl’s powwow didn’t bother you as much since if gave you a chance to speak to Henry. The Butler offered to help but, he insisted on doing it himself, calling him by name. And you were momentarily reminded of the things you did love about Henry. You followed behind him as he carried things to the room. You tried to make small talk with him as you unzipped your suitcase and began pulling out your necessities for your facewash routine.
“O ummmm-” Henry looked at you as if trying to hide back from saying something. More bad information you were sure.
“You actually have the room down the hall.”he says sheepishly.
“What do you mean?” your eyes widen despite your attempts to quell your emotion. He has to be crazy. There’s no other way to explain.
“My mom doesn’t want me to share a bed in her home unless its with the woman I’ve marrried.” he says , hands up in a defensive position.
You exhale slowly repacking your things. “Sure. Ofcourse. What wouldn’t she want that.”
You knew it sounded bitter but, you couldn’t help it.
“Hey -” he grabs your arm as you head towards the door, pulling you in and kissing you .His hand coming to your cheek, fingers resting on the back of your head, giving you the comfort he couldn’t offer with words.
“Plus” he whispers into your lips “It will be fun to sneak around like kids for a few days.”You roll your eyes at him as his hands make their way to your ass. He gropes you for a bit before you escape his grasp headed to your room or Marianne created dungeon. Actually the room was quite nice. The flowers on the wall paper felt like a bit much but, the room got great sun and wasn’t to far from the bathroom . You liked that the estate had an old-timey feel of walking down the hall to use the toilet. Plus, it allowed you more excuses to be where Henry is. You unpacked your room and then sat on the bed next to your empty suitcase before exhaling,and finding the strength to get dressed for dinner.
You stepped gently down the stairs ,trying to avoid the steps that creak when your hear the door close behind you. Looking up over the landing you see Henry at the top of the stairs.
“What are you doing?”he asks flatly.
You become aware of your hunched back and your body language from testing the step with your toe.
“I- I just don’t want to go.” you confessed.
He rushes in your direction, “Sweetheart you don’t have to.”
“No I mean I want to I just ….I was so excited to meet your mother and she just-”
“Listen” he leans against the wall scratching the side of his face. “I was trying to protect you. I should have tried to explain her more but it’s- she’s just so embarrassing. If you want, we can cut it short and go home tomorrow.” he seems genuinely saddened that his mom had been so rude. You hadn’t even had the chance to tackle Ellen’s presence before you hear a fumbling downstairs and his mother calling for him. He looks at you silently giving you time to decide.
“I still want to try and win her over.” you whisper back to him. He laughs a little at your determination and offers you his arm. You walk to dinner together and his presence gives you comfort.
At dinner your seats are assigned. Shockingly your seat is not next to Henry’s but one of their family friend’s who was also visiting. You thought it a smart call on Marriane’s part. Had it just been the four of you for dinner the meal was sure to mostly be had in silence. You sat across from Henry and although he and Ellen had a few hushed moments this test actually caused you to feel more confident in your relationship. His mom was being a bitch but, when she did he’d nudge your foot under the table. This nudge eventually turned into a quiet game of footsies but, as adults your were grateful for the reminder that no matter how it seemed he was always prioritizing you. By the time dessert came you decided you wanted to try pushing the boundaries. His mother hadn’t said anything rude to you, she simply had not spoken to you at all. And if she had already decided she hated you then there wasn’t much left for you to do but, enjoy the sculpture of a man that she had created. You slipped your foot from your shoe and let your footsies progress to you rubbing him through his pants with your foot. His eyes shoot to you across the table,but he doesn’t give you away. You can feel him growing harder under your toes as he melts into his chair. His face looks so small and innocent, looking at you, trying so hard to be in control, to be good. His mother hurls a few rude words but, you are to turned on by the view across from you to care. Once dismissed from the table, the tempered dash to the bedroom is quick. His hand presses into your back as he practically pushes you up the stairs. His room was the closest to the stairs , as you walked past he grabs your arm , pulling you in.
“Heeeeey hey hey.” you whisper to him as he slips his hand up your dress. “I think your mother will notice if I’m not in my room.” he groans into you. “Shhhh. I’ll come back later” you pull back winking at him. He slowly removes his hand and you turn, switching out of the room.
You promptly switch into your best lingerie and robe while counting the minutes, listening as the sounds of the house grow softer and softer. When the coast seems clear, you softly make your way to Henry’s room. You push the door open slowly trying to mitigate the creak as much as possible.You can see his figure sitting up in the dark. You drop your robe to the ground as he closes his book. “ I thought you’d never come!” he exhales. He places his book on the nightstand and you jump into bed, straddling him. His hands reach around to cup your ass and your grab him by the wrists.
“Don’t touch.” you warn. He cocks his head to the side as if to question the change from your usual power exchange.
“Only with your tongue.” you smile, leaning in to kiss him. He smiles coyly and you move yourself up the headboard of the bed. You grab onto it as he pulls your panties to the side. He hums into you and you are doing your best to keep quiet as you grip down onto the headboard beneath. You reach your other hand down cradling the back of his head while his tongue explores further into you. Biting your bottom lip in an attempt to keep from crying out ,you pull his hair and his hand smack your ass in response.
“Fuck” you exhale into the darkness and just then you hear the door creak open.
“Oh no!” you turn around to see Ellen, and no sooner than you lock eyes, you grab the duvet pulling it over both of your bodies.Henry is confused and ends up being mostly exposed during the shuffle.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Ummm your mom told me to- I’m sorry I-” She turned , rushing out of the room; a flurry of nerves and embarrassment. The door slammed behind her and you both looked at eachother, momentarily embarrassed too. But, then you both broke into laugher. This entire trip had been absurd, this is almost just on brand. You lift your leg in an attempt to end your straddling of him , when he stops you with a hand to your lower back. Smiling while looking up at you he says
“I wasn’t finished yet.” and you melt back into him.
#henry cavill#henry cavill fanfic#henry cavill x you#henry cavill x female reader#henry cavill x reader#henry cavill x little!reader#henry cavill x female ofc#henry cavill x pregnant reader#henrycavillau#henry cavill angst#henry cavill au#henry cavill as superman#henry cavill superman#henry cavill sherlock holmes#henry cavill sherlock x reader#henrycavillactor#faanfic#fanfic#smut#henry cavill smut#henry cavill sex#henry cavill series#henrycavillromance#henry cavill geralt#henry cavill witcher#henrycavillwife#henry cavill art
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Wails of Wedded Bliss
Chapter 6 || Masterlist || Chapter 8
Chapter Summary: Upon meeting the Baroness you are enamoured by her devotion.
Pairing: Sherlock Homes x wife!reader
Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, (No Smut), typical historical misogyny and sexism, mentions and discussion on miscarriages. Implied domestic abuse and infidelity.
Word Count: 9k
Author Notes: This is an important but rather sad chapter. I beseech you all to read the warnings. The details of this chapter are important to the plot of the missing Baron Thaddeus Pennicott.
Inspiring Song: "Flightless Bird American Mouth" by Vitamin String Quartet
8:30am Wednesday 7th May 1890, Grovelands House, The Bourne, London, England.
Sherlock tucked your arm into his side as you three entered the Groveland house foyer. The floor was made of fine marble tile and with ever step a light echo raced down the halls.
The inspector called upon a nearby dusting maid to fetch the head of the house. Who returned was a thin and tall man in a butler’s uniform with a sliver pocket watch hanging from his chest. His hair was the colour of autumn leaves and his face littered in freckles.
He bowed, “I am mister Edward Redmayne, head butler of the Groveland estate, how may I assist you?”
The inspector shook his hand and stated quickly, “We spoke on the telephone yesterday? A telegraph was sent.”
The butler smiled with a relieving gasp, “Detective Holmes?”
Lestrade sheepishly looked over his shoulder to you and your husband. He nodded. His expression wore a emotion of embarrassment mixed with annoyance. Perhaps he was jealous of your husband’s successful published case stories. You wished you could have told the constable not to fret as Sherlock was nothing short of a arrogant mule...yet again- the mark on his face...he probably already knew that.
8:42am Wednesday 7th May 1890, Grovelands House, The Bourne, London, England.
Upon meeting the lady of the house, you stood frigid by your husband. You felt somewhat self conscious by her grey eyes that lingered over your dress. Perhaps you should’ve worn your Sunday best before meeting a woman of such a high status.
The baroness was unmistakably pregnant. Her belly was bold and rounded beneath her maternity gown. She had been sitting calmly on a resting chaise, knitting a small bonnet for her future child. Her hands were covered in fine burgundy velvet gloves to match her modest dress.
Her face was framed by a light brown curls, that appeared almost white in some places, twisted into a bum at the base of her neck. Her pale face was blotchy with pink flecks and slight acne.
“Lady Pennicott, I am Inspector Braydon Lestrade of Scotland Yard,” the British officer proclaimed as he bowed dramatically forward. You withheld a girlish giggle by how low the man had bent his head and presented himself foolishly, and from the corner of your eye you manage to catch the whisp of Sherlock’s smirk.
The inspector waved his arm behind him and moved aside, “-and with me is Detective Sherlock Holmes and his wife, Mrs Holmes.”
You produced the baroness a respectable curtsy, your eyes glued down to the beautifully patterned carpet. You wondered how the servants could keep it so clean and freshly unstained by dirty guests.
It must have been new.
The baroness shuffled her knitting needles and ball of woollen yarn into a Whicker basket and disposed of it beside her.
A slow stretching smile graced her thin lips as she spoke to you, “Oh, are you the little dear who solved that factory match girl incident?”
You weren’t sure how to answer her question. You weren’t entirely sure what the baroness was referencing until Sherlock stepped closer with your arm still cradled in his.
“No dear Baroness,” Sherlock pat your hand gently, “That would have been my sister Enola Holmes, she has her own detective office at present moment. My wife is here on my invitation. I wished to gift her a sight of the grand park and estate while I was here upon duty.”
The Baroness cocked her head, from her ears hung pearls that swung and hung like rain drops.
“Come forth dear,” she lifted her hand and beckoned you, “I would like to have better view of you.”
You wondered if she could smell the sweat beginning to drop down the back of your neck. You bit your tongue and tried to refrain from trembling. You were nervous. Her eyes were cold but her smile warm, two conflating details that you couldn’t understand. The last thing you needed now on top of a terrible start to your marriage was to be scrutinized by a haughty pregnant baroness.
She flickered your fingers for you to bend down to her. As you leant down, you swore you could smell copper, a metalic scent. A vein on your scalp pulsed. She scanned your face of its details. You dared to wonder what she was searching for. And then it clicked...the smell...
‘Dear god, you prayed, please don’t let her smell my blood, please let this not be my blood...’
You should have sprits on some perfume before leaving baker street.
She glanced behind you and questioned angelically, “How does it feel having such a clever husband?”
Your lips opened and closed. You resembled a fish. You were stumped to answer quickly.
‘Miserable, infuriating, torturous, pleasurable mixed with a cup of agony...’
She lifted her brows until you hurriedly blurted, “He is...formidable and righteous...” you stood up tall and took a step back, adding with a monetarism of truth, “I am very lucky to have become his bride.”
‘Lucky, while incredibly resentful.’
You reached back, Sherlock adopted your arm back into his hold once more.
Lady Pennicott rubbed her belly, her eyes started to twinkle, “And soon you will have a plethora of children that will look like him I gather.”
Your eyes fluttered. Sherlock’s hand tightened around your glove and his throat bobbed. You felt hot in the face.
Yes that’s right, that’s what normal husband and wife did isn’t it? They have children. That was your role, to be the mother of Sherlock’s offspring...
You couldn’t answer.
And there. That dear girl is when you questioned for the first time. ‘Is this what I want?’ and ‘Do I want Sherlock’s children.’ Because having a knowing of his barbarism conflated a fear in your belly...would Sherlock hurt his own children if he could easily hurt you, his wife?
When you hesitated for too long to answer her again, Sherlock said with a strained tone that was masked in a hopeful joy, “One may only hope, Baroness.”
“Lady Pennicott,” Graydon interrupted, “We have come to ask you on the whereabouts of Lord Pennicott and the evening he was last sighted.”
Her eyes narrowed at the inspector and with an annoyed twinge she muttered and wiped her hands on a nearby blanket, “I already informed the police of what I was informed of by our butler Edward.”
She glanced up next her right. Mister Redmayne observed her, looking down. The pair smiled to each other. She reached out to him. She grabbed his hand and they squeezed.
The inspector laughed nervously, “Indeed but Detective Sherlock Holmes was not presently involved in the case until yesterday.”
Her eyes flickered quickly to your husband and her face flared with confusion quickly to be matched with a impressed smile, “Of course, please sit all of you as I am near a indisposition with my child,” she gestured to the mirroring chaise and a chair beside the fireplace, “Edward, please tell Martha to bring tea and biscuits for our kind service men and Mrs Holmes.”
The butler bowed to you all and left the sitting room.
Lestrade took his place on the lone chair while Sherlock sat you beside him on the chaise. You took your time to lower yourself. Sitting on your bruises was uncomfortable while another cramp hit you. Your fingers dug into his palm.
From Lestrades breast pocket he pulled out a notebook and small pencil.
“Lady Pennicott,” Sherlock softly hummed, “Please, could you tell me what your husband is like as a person?”
The woman who you believed was in her late thirties smiled and stated softly, “My Thaddeus is a noble man, good taste in wine and very devoted to his work. He likes to go hunting and we share a passion for gardening,” she glanced up at the ceiling and paused, “He prefers to plant vegetables to donate to the church and orphans, whereas I have always loved to grow my flowers.”
The way she described him, her devotion was deep and honourable. She touched her round belly.
Sherlock looked over to the fire place behind the baroness. On the mantle was a magnificent portrait twice your height, painted on the canvas was who you recognised as Lord and Lady Pennicott. He was sitting up straight on a fine red cushioned chair with his dirty blonde hair and softened mutton chops while she stood at his right and her ringed hand on his shoulder. The similarities were there but Lady Pennicotts hair had lightened in reality perhaps from all the years that separated her likeness and her reality.
“I was informed Lord Pennicott is a father of five?” Sherlock asked.
The Baroness smiled proudly and pat her tummy softly, “Six soon.”
You couldn’t help notice something was missing from the painting, Sherlock also had a similar thought.
Where were the children in the portrait? Where was a family portrait in the house?
“Forgive me,” a breath of air escaped from him, “are the children away at school?”
“Oh,” her uncanny smile remained while her brows angled down, her throat tightened as she spoke, “I fear they are in the loving embrace of angels now. All of them were taken from us by God,” her eyes glanced to you, “They came out sleeping.”
Your heart sunk to the pit of your belly with sorrow and pity.
Five babies lost, five babies gone…five pregnancies… four and a half years of pregnancy and for what? Five angels.
A woman had one holy role in life, to bare her husband children, and when a woman was defective or produced a sickly child, it was a symbol of failure in society. But you never saw it that way...you imagined it must’ve been agony to lose so many babies. One or two was a common occurrence but five? Five was a curse to experience and relive over and over.
“Well,” you interrupted Sherlock rudely, cutting him off from his next abrasive question by squeezing his hand a little too hard.
You could see the mourning in the baroness’ face. You saw the classic look of all women made uncomfortable by something a man has said. What the hell would the detective know about a woman’s emotions after how coldly he has treated all women and yourself.
You shuffled on the opposite chaise and smile softly, “I will pray this one will come swiftly and feel the warmth of their mother.”
The baroness’ face lifted and warmed. She smiled happily and nodded, “Thankyou, oh I’m just so excited! This one really is a big one, I can feel it. I hope it’s a boy.”
Sherlock was staring at you intensely as the maid Martha finally delivered a pot of tea and poured the steaming liquid. His brows were knitted and his eyes held suspicion as he kept you in his sight. You politely nodded your head once at him before reaching for a hot cup and lifting it to your lips.
Sherlock sighed and turned back to his questioning, “You would say you liked your marriage?”
The baroness appeared offended by your husband as her face wrinkled and a sneer spread her thin lips, “Of course, any woman who doesn’t like her marriage should not be married in the first place. She is a burden to her husband if she cannot perform her duties as a wife.”
Lady Pennicott leant forward and collected her own cup of tea, she delicately pinched a biscuit and dunked it into the contents.
…you felt Sherlock drag his thumb across your fingers. You felt chilly, could he read your thoughts? Did he know truly how much you already hated him and his ideas of intimacy in your marriage? He clear his throat when both your glancing eyes caught each other.
“Can you tell me what happened,” Sherlock pressed, “The night of your husbands disappearance?”
“Well...after dinner,” the baroness sighed in thought and nibbled on her moist biscuit, “Thaddeus wanted to speak with me in his office about a spending I had made a week ago. You see, I had bought a cradle for the nursery. The one we had originally was broken and beyond repair, we disposed of it a month prior. Thaddeus was not pleased with the price and claimed it was an unnecessary purchase,” she paused and set her cup aside before she touched her belly again; rubbing in soft slow circles, she began to blushed, “He was sorely hurt by my choice. He then became very cross with me and left his office in a huff.”
She looked to the yarn, to the tea pot and then finally to the painting on the mantle, “I deemed that he would find forgiveness in his heart by the morning and brush it off. I returned back to the nursery to tidy up before I went to my rooms and went to bed to sleep in my quarters of the east wing. Thaddeus keeps himself to the west wing most nights.”
The detective nodded, “What time do you believe it was when you went to your bed, Baroness?”
She hummed softly while pursuing her lips, “A quarter to nine in the evening.”
“And how did you realise your husband was missing?” Sherlock stole a scone off the tea tray and lifted it to his lips. He paused amidst chewing it slowly.
The noble woman sighed and recollected, pragmatically, “In the morning Mr Redmayne informed me on how Thaddeus took off into the night astride Arion, our prize stallion Clydesdale. Thaddeus had not returned by the next morning and that is when concern drew near. I sent members of my staff to the factories to investigate his whereabouts and none had come upon him. I knew something had to be wrong so I alerted the authorities by the second morning.”
Your husband took a deep breath and discarded the half bitten scone, he wiped his hand unceremoniously on his jacket and throatily asked, “Do you recall if Lord Pennicott has any potential persons he might be deemed as an enemy towards?”
“Only his company competitors, Detective,” She said saccharinely with her smile, “He was a very loveable man.”
“Do you have a list of the names of staff who were working that evening here in Groveland House?”
The butler stepped forward and cleared his throat, “That would be in Lord Pennicotts office,” he pulled out a pair of keys, “I can you show you gentlemen in and where he keeps his accounts and other paraphernalia to his business if you’d like?”
Both Sherlock and Lestrade smiled and stood up.
“Baroness,” Sherlock gently requested, “Would it be overly bothersome if my beloved wife remained and kept you company while the inspector and I look in your husband’s office.”
Your heart jumped to your throat. What was Sherlock doing leaving you behind with the Baroness by yourself!?....what if you spoke out of turn or said something too presumptuous for your status!?...
“Most certainly not,” she beamed “I will gladly accept such delightful company,” She held out a hand, palm down to her right. The butler speedily stepped to her side and leant her his hand. She winced as she scooted forward on the cushioned lounge before struggling to rise to her feet.
Sherlock leant down and kissed the back of your wrist again, so scantily in front of the baroness. You tried tor refrain from loudly gasped and bringing anymore dangerous attention to yourself. Your husband left your side and followed the butler with Lestrade out of the sitting room.
So the party turned to two married women. The baroness was pleased.
She stepped closer to you and reached for your arm. You were surprised by her familiarity but you would not deny the assistance of a woman so desperately swollen and ready to birth any day.
“My dear, would you care to have a stroll with me in my garden?” She smirked and jerked her chin, “Knowing how dear Thaddie kept his space organised I suspect the gentlemen might be a while.”
You nodded and quickly made the warning assurance, “Are you in a condition to move great feets Lady Pennicott?”
“Fret not,” She giggled girlishly and waved her hand casually, “The physician told me fresh air is delightful for the health of the babe,” she tapped the top of her belly, “I have a month or so before they come.”
Your eyes widened, she looked huge enough to give birth now, surely she wasn’t a month away!! Maybe she was going to be blessed with a pair of twins. You had such a limited knowledge of pregnancy in women. Your grandmother hadn’t given birthed a child in the last forty years before your birth!!!
She pointed the way out of the main mansion to enter the garden paths. The sun was perfect today amongst the clouds. It was neither cold nor hot nor humid and dank...it was pleasant and you could smell the fresh nature of bushels and flowers.
“How long have you been known as, The Mrs Holmes?” She inquired cheerfully with her shining silver eyes.
“...Not very long,” you replied warmly before risking a white lie, “We recently finished our honeymoon.”
She grinned and waddled passed a wooden bench, she took a quick stop to rest and pat the seat for you to join her instead of standing dumbly.
“Shall I share some words of advise?,” She hummed, “From a woman that has been married for twelve years?”
“I would be ever so grateful,” you said rushed and desperate. You wouldve listened to anything she had to say. A woman of her standing must’ve held adequate wisdom.
She warmly cupped both your hands and squeezed them. And yet there was an ice creepy into her gaze. She appeared to dissociate, her voice losing its youthful lilt. Her lip wobbled slightly.
“Men are visual creatures. While you are so young and beautiful, you must become pregnant as soon as possible,” Lady Pennicott ran her palm across your waist, her eyes like razors cut across the yard to a bush of red rose buds, “It is inevitable that our husbands will stray their gazes to other women, it is in their nature,” those grey stones in her face rolled back and weighed you down, “as I said- visual creatures. The sooner you make a babe, the easier his devotion comes,” A joyous grin returned to her thin lips, she playfully tapped the tip of your nose and stated, “Trust me upon this.”
You clenched your hand behind you and strained a smile, “I thankyou for such wise words Baroness. I will endeavour to do what I must to conceive.”
At this moment in time Sherlock had proved himself a monstrous villain. Would it be possible for you to fall pregnant?
You looked out at the divine lush greenery and exhaled softly.
“Do you garden Mrs Holmes?” the baroness queried.
You chuckled softly and removed your gloves, you flashed her a sight of your palm, “I am afraid my hands have never been introduced. My grandmother preferred I focus on mastering piano and embroidery.”
The grey orbs fluttered back at you with a surprised him, “Embroidery is a lovely skill,” she pat your hand and pointed across the field, “Please help me up Mrs Holmes, let us take a look at my lilacs.”
You stood straight up and leant out your arm, she was surprisingly light for a woman her size. She leant against you and took small timid steps to her flower patches.
She stood and admired the flower patches, pointing to different types and explaining the breeds of flowers she hoped to grow in the future.
You finally bent over enough and cupped the petals of purple to hold up to your nose and took in a wiff “They smell lovely,” from the corner of your eye was a line of crimson, “I see your roses will soon be in bloom.”
She pinched a bud that was peaking to bloom soon.
“Oh yes, the soil is rich and healthy,” she giggled, “I can’t wait for Thaddeus to return, he liked the roses. He would stand here for a while and think. I know he will love the red colour. It is his favourite shade you see...” She sighed dreamily with her eyes scanning the bushes of scarlet rose buds, “I miss him terribly. I hope he’s alright. I want him to come home soon before the baby arrives.”
A fly smacked into your eye and you sputtered, battering it away. When you gracelessly composed yourself, you stood back up to your feet beside the Lady of Groveland.
You could see how her eyes puddles with droplets of mournful tears. You felt bad for any woman that did not know where her husband was. Especially if there was a rumour about him fleeing the marriage and abandoning her in her serious pregnant condition.
Taking the chance, you boldly took both your hands into yours and now squeezed them. Another buzzing from a fly sat on your shoulder.
The day was growing warmer and a bead of sweat rolled down your neck. The fly tickled your neck and suckled along your salted skin.
You tried your best to ignore the annoying creature.
“I am sure he will Lady Pennicott,” you soothed with a soft welcoming grin, “And he will be most happy when he returns.”
She sighed solemnly and glanced back at the rose bushes. You felt obligated for her happiness in that moment. Glancing back to the house you felt a opportunity come to you.
“May I visit your nursery Lady Pennicott, so I may have references for my own in the future?”
Her eyes flickered up, her face shine bright and her hand tightened over your wrists excitedly as though she was still as youthful as a school girl.
“Why of course Mrs Holmes,” she spun on her heel and wobbled a slight, she lifted her hand and called to the maid Martha still packing the china set inside, “Please inform the detective that I am taking his wife up to the nursery.”
“Yes Baroness,” she said with a humble curtsey and scurried off while Lady Pennicott took you totally inside the house and up a grand stair case from the foyer.
9:03am Wednesday 7th May 1890, Grovelands House, The Bourne, London, England.
Up, up, up you both climbed the stairs. You noticed how the stairs didn’t bother her ladyship once, she was fit and stridden widely whereas you were breathing a little hard by the top step.
She pulled you down a hallway to a white painted door.
She excitedly opened the door wide and practically skipped inside to show you around her future child’s room.
The walls were covered in light blue and yellow paint. There were small peonies covering the trim of the room. There was no carpet but who needed one when you had a newborn.
“Welcome to the resting nest of my baby,” Lady Pennicott proudly exclaimed, spreading her arms out at the room around you.
There was a tall shelf filled with stuffed animals and teddy bears. There was a rocking horse, a doll house, spinning tops, tin cars and rubber balls all waiting, collecting dust, awaiting the arrival of a playmate. There was a permabulator by the window sill. There was a rocking chair in one corner and against the wall closest to the door- you smiled and swaggered over curiously, “Is this the cradle you bought?”
It was made of fine cream painted wood. You chewed your bottom lip in the thought. It was a lovely crib, why was Lord Pennicott so upset by such a delightful purchase? He didn’t have money issues. You put it down as that you didn’t understand the way men thought and men will never know what women think.
“Yes,” Lady Pennicott chirped, “it is from William Whitely department store in Baywater next to the Howard & Co dress department.”
The Baroness sat down into her rocking chair and slowly moved it back and forth, watching you admire the nursery she spent hours and years consistently curating.
You clenched the edge and looked over the railing down at the empty bedding. There was a teddy lamb in the corner, you pinched it’s fluffy white tail and sighed. For a brief moment you let your eyes close and your imagination wander far.
One day you’d have this...with Sherlock. An empty cradle to be filled. You caught the vision of a tiny hand squeeze around your finger and the sound of soft gurgles with the warm pressure of a hand on your waist...was that Sherlock’s hand? Was that your child?
One day you’d have a baby to care for, to provide these things that meant love...yet, was any child of Sherlock’s capable of love? He certainly wasn’t as far as you were concerned.
You bit down a shudder and opened your eyes, feeling hot tears glide down a cheek. You pushed back and sighed, “I am most confident on one thing Lady Pennicott.”
“And what is that Mrs Holmes?” she said softly, she could see the unspoken pain in your face. You swallowed hard and your face fell into a smile, you flashed her a wink.
You laughed softly, “Your child will be spoilt rotten by the love you give.”
She chuckled with you and nodded.
“Have you thought of a name?” you inquired, waltzing over to the chested drawers of baby knick knacks on display.
“Thaddeus Colin if it’s a boy,” she hummed, “or Theresa Grace if it is a girl.”
“Theresa?”
She giggled gently, “That is my name dear.”
Mrs Theresa Pennicott. It suited her. Her old soul eyes reflected her devout name.
A shine of glass pierced a ray of sun into your eyes, you pinched the glass object carefully. You touched a long black tube pulling out of it. You couldnt understand it’s purpose, your eyes narrowed at the rubber end that was shaped like a thumb or a cows udder. There was a second tube attached to the first with a rubber squeeze ball at the end.
“What is this?” you humoured.
“Oh that? It’s a fantastic invention,” The baroness said, “It’s a pump for breast milk with a tube that syphons the milk into this baby feeding bottle. When babies start to teeth they can scar your breasts. This is an effective and modern method I look forward to trying.”
Your eyes widened, scarring!? Babies teeth could scar a breast!?
You placed the bottle bump back and helped Lady Pennicott when she beckoned to stand back up from the rocking chair.
“Have you ever felt the sensations?” She suddenly, “In which they kick within?”
Your face must’ve looked idiotic as you asked plainly, “Kick?”
She giggled and nodded, “Give me your hand, perhaps you may feel them moving.”
She plucked your palm and pulled your glove off your fingers. She pressed your entire hand intimately to her belly. You felt a sense of taboo shame, she was making you touch such a beloved spot.
“Do you feel it?” she then asked.
Felt what? Confusion flooded your mind. Your hand moved around her belly slowly.
“I am afraid I don’t know what I’m meant to be feeling?”
She moved your hand and again you felt absolutely nothing.
“They are very brutal on my body,” Lady Pennicott sarcastically assured, “trust me there is a kick.”
She made a point to push your hand harder, but all you felt was the hard material of her corsetry beneath her main dressing materials.
“Baby’s kick you inside?” you marvelled with stunned horror. This was the first time you’d ever heard of such a notion of a baby beating it’s mother inside.
“Not out of malicious intent Mrs Holmes,” she reassured, “mostly it is the baby using its limbs to move their cramped bodies inside or excitement at the sound of voices, I truly believe they can hear us while still inside. Fear not, to you it will feel like a faint touch like this-”
Lady Pennicott softly tapped your wrist, “Like that.”
And there again was new knowledge you heard from a woman on matters of pregnancy. You moved your fingers around, seeking the supposed feeling of a kick...
Still nothing. You frowned, was there something wrong with you that the baby was choosing not to reveal itself.
“How interesting...”
A soft knock on wood alerted you both to glance at the door.
“Mrs Holmes,” the butler from earlier politely spoke, “the detective is requesting your return, I believe he intends to depart.”
Your face fell. You couldn’t believe it but you’d found this experience immensely enjoyable. You had surprisingly made a friend of the Baroness.
The fair lady hugged your side and sweetly exhaled, “Then I shall escort you back to your husband, Eddie fetch me my cheque book.”
He nodded and walked ahead of you both. You solemnly shut the nursery door, trying to remember every precious detail as possible. It was a innocent place to escape from the crude world.
You returned to the bottom of the foyer and smiled at your husband that stood by Lestrade at the front doors.
By the bottom step you faced the noble woman and curtsied.
“Thankyou Lady Pennicott for your kind hospitality and agreeable cooperation to the case,” you heard Sherlock’s voice float over your shoulder.
“Of course detective, please,” the Butler returned with her cheque book, “find my beloved Thaddeus.”
She scribbled speedily with a modernised ink pen, a sharp tear of paper flashed to his direction, “Here. Thirty pounds. I am sure you are busy with other clients considering your reputation, but I beseech you to seek out my husband quickly.”
Sherlock bowed his head as he deposited the cheque into his pocket, “We shall try our hardest. Good afternoon Lady Pennicott.”
Your mouth might’ve collected flies. Thirty pounds. THIRTY pounds. That was a hefty wage for a year to many men.
Sherlock was granted his coat and walking cane along with Lestrade.
He opened the front door and left slowly, glancing over your shoulder back at the heavily pregnant Baroness.
9:21am Wednesday 7th May 1890, Grovelands House, The Bourne, London, England.
Sherlock and you walked up the gravel path in silence for sometime. You weren’t in much of a mood to speak to him despite well knowing conversation would need to spark eventually.
The three of you slowed down beside the inspectors horse cart.
Thankfully it was Sherlock who destroyed the silence with a stretched sigh. Lestrade grimly smiled at that sigh and rocked on his heels.
“Lestrade, show a useful skill,” Sherlock slapped a coin purse into his chest, “Find my wife and I a decent ride homeward. You still need to return back to the office and finish writing those reports on the Spring heeled Jack sightings....” he snickered.
The mutton chop male grumbled and left you pair alone to walk down the path into the main parklands to hail a cabriolet or another hackney carriage.
Sherlock pulled out his pipe and lit it quickly, he inhaled fast and asked curiously, “Did you learn anything else from our suspect?”
You squinted and felt a gasp pop from your lips, your hand snapped out and dug your nails into his arm with a scolding hiss, “Suspect? Look at the state she is in Sherlock. She clearly loves her husband. How could such a indisposed woman do anything to her husband?”
He smirked, “Perhaps a jealous one?”
Your brows pulled together. Jealousy wasn’t something you would’ve describe Lady Pennicott as especially with such a privileged life. Such an emotion wouldve been beneath her...but.. ‘It is inevitable that our husbands will stray their gazes to other women, it is in their nature.’
Sherlock pinched out a piece of card from his pocket, a business calling card, he flashed it through his fingers and let you carefully pluck it from his hand.
“it is no wonder Thaddeus Pennicotts name was so familiar,” Sherlocks huffed a puff of air, “He visits a like minded establishment.”
On the front of the card was a single image, a dove holding a olive leaf, and when you turned the card around there was a woman modelled in immodest clothing with text and an address in perfect hand writing.
“The Mayfair Row Dove club.”
You almost dropped the card in the mud at your feet.
He tucked the card back into his breast pocket and hooked his arm around yours, walking you closer to Lestrade waving his hands back at you both.
“I’m curious who his go to bird is there,” He chuckled.
You shook your head and scoffed in disbelief, “but she’s pregnant.”
“Men have needs,” Sherlock sighed, “I thought you’d have learnt that from last evening?”
Your nails dug harder into his arm and grit your teeth. Not everyone was as depraved as Sherlock, surely not. You couldn’t imagine Mycroft or your grandfather practicing such atrocities on women, especially women that weren’t their wives.
You noted snootily, “She said her husband liked to stand out by the roses to think. Perhaps he regretted his choice.”
Sherlock laughed cruelly and hard enough to almost drop his pipe from his lips. He plucked it out of his mouth and kissed you hard and squarely in front of Lestrade and any passing people that shook their heads in disgust at such public affection.
The taste of his tobacco filled your cheeks and floated down your throat into your chest. You could feel how his breath became your breath. Your head grew dizzy from it. His release left you trembling and collapsing against him briefly. His arm grabbed around your waist and held you totally against his chest.
“You see too much good in the worst people,” he whispered wetly into your ear.
“Not true,” you panted, you blinked your eyes hard and tried speaking again. You weakly pushed away from him back onto your own two feet. From the corner of your eyes you could see the inspector standing beside another hackney carriage.
“Not true,” you repeated and swallowed hard, “...I don’t see any good in you Sherlock.”
He grinned devilishly and walked you both to the carriage, He ignored Lestrade entirely except for retrieving his own purse.
“None at all?” Sherlock asked as he helped you step up inside of the carriage. It jostled as he plotted himself next to you instead of opposite.
You thought hard on his question for a time. You shouldn’t have ever been as petty as him. So you kept your silence before you could decide on a eloquent response. You did try to find the good in him. The trouble was you barely knew Sherlock and the side that you’d encounter was nothing short of a blagged, insufferable man that happened to be very experienced in the arts of the bedroom. So you tried to think about qualities you hadn’t seen in him but had at least heard of him.
“You help solve cases and even sometimes restitution, these deeds could be counted as decent and beneficial...perhaps good...”
He smirked until you finished hastily, “However your mistreatment and lustful addiction is nothing short of that than a person that suffers in his sin.”
A long annoyed sigh drew from his lips, however the corners jerked up.
He tug out his pipe and tapped it’s contents out the moving window, “Might I ask Mrs Holmes...” he inquired as he tucked in his pipe, and wiped his lips thoughtfully, “Do you think yourself better than me?”
The silence shared between the horses trotting along the cobblestones allowed you a chance to glare long and hard at Sherlock.
It was a jab, a jibe, a joke, a trick, a trap...
He wanted you to say yes... You could see it in his eyes the way they flicked to your lips and almost drooled with anticipation. He wanted to start a fight.
You didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking at you, you turned your head away and scoffed, “You may have quick wit and a expansive knowledge Sherlock, but I at least carry myself with the fairest morals.”
And that? The reply was granted a omen of Sherlock’s sickly chuckles and his heavy warm hand to sit over your thigh, running his them over the fabric of your skirts.
“We will see how fair a baker street whore morals really are when we arrive home then shall we?”
You leant against the wall of the carriage and chose to ignore him. You closed your eyes and held Sherlock’s hand to prevent it wandering anywhere else. His thumb rubbed along the back of your gloves hands.
You couldn’t understand Sherlock. And feared you never would.
HELPLINES:
If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.
Australian Helpline Services
UK Helpline Services
American Helpline Services
India Helpline Services.
#dead dove do not eat#dead dove fic#henry cavill x female reader#henry cavill x reader#henry cavill x y/n#henry cavill x you#henry cavill x ofc#sherlock holmes x female reader#sherlock holmes x poc!reader#sherlock holmes x y/n#sherlock holmes x you#sherlock holmes x ofc#sherlock holmes x reader#dark!sherlock holmes#dark!henry cavill
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⌕ yuukoku no moriarty • sherlock holmes.
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Coach Sy Part 5
I'm so sorry this took so long!!! Here it is! I feel like this is all over the place but I kind of just wanted to get a feel of them spending a day together. I love it. And I just wanted to give you guys something while I plan more of this out!! Enjoy.
Warnings: Cursing, Smut!! Oral,(f and M receiving), Mentions of sex
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“So are we gonna talk about that?” I asked, shyly. I was lying with my head on Sy’s shoulder absentmindedly drawing shapes on his chest with my fingertips.
“Talk about what baby?” He met my gaze, raising an eyebrow. My throat went dry and I flushed trying to find the words to describe what just happened.
“The way we… you were so…I liked it, a lot! But I’ve only ever read about it being like that, and It's so hot but I didn’t think that it was a natural thing and…No one’s ever been like that with me… God, I sound so stupid.” I groaned, pressing my body closer to his and hiding my face against his chest. Logan chuckled. He ran his fingers through my hair, tightening his grip at the back of my head and tugging softly, letting me know to look up at him. I bit my lip and sat up a little, lifting my eyes to meet his.
“You’re so fuckin cute,” He leaned down and captured my lips in a gentle kiss. “I’m gonna need you to be a little more specific, baby girl,” He smirked. He knew I was embarrassed about saying it.
“You’re so…in charge and dominant. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s not much different than when you’re coaching. I just didn’t expect all of that. The spanking and dirty talk, the manhandling,” I blushed.
“You like me throwing you around like that?” He went back to slowly dragging his fingertips up and down my spine. I loved this feeling. He was so warm. And he felt safe. Even after how rough and aggressive he was, He was still loving and gentle and kind and caring. I’d never experienced that with anyone else. Like I knew he was going to take care of me. No matter what it takes. And I didn’t feel so shy anymore.
“Yeah” I spoke finally, and pressed my lips to his chest and left a trail of kisses up his neck. He groaned softly. “I liked it a lot.” I smirked when I met his eyes again.
“What’s gotten into you little girl?” He purred, rolling me onto my back and pinning me to the bed.
“You, Sy. I’m so stuck on you, I can’t figure out what we’re doing but I don’t want this to end.” He was straddling me now. He sat back on his knees and brushed my hair out of my face, giving me a big smile.
“This is just the beginning baby, and if I’m being honest,” He paused, looking me over and letting his hand trail down my chest resting it on my hip. “I’m planning on forever baby, I’m not going anywhere.” He bit his lip meeting my eyes again.
“How can you be so sure?” I asked, feeling my insecurities bubble up again. Logan sat for a second, still straddling me, trying to think. God he was trying to find a way to break it to me gently. Of course it was just pillow talk. Just something you say… He probably didn’t mean it and I was being so ridiculous.
“Some people say when you know you know.” He explained simply.
“We’ve only been on one date, Logan,” I chuckled.
“You wanna know when I knew?” He asked, ignoring my last statement. I smiled softly and nodded. “My second month teaching. I sent you an email, about a girl in my class I was concerned about. I had to be honest with you. I just wasn’t sure how to pick up on signs of mental health and eating disorders and all that. But I knew something wasn’t right. You remember that?” I nodded. I did. It was an everyday thing answering emails about students that teachers wanted to recommend I speak to or may need further help. So I didn’t think much of it. But he asked if he could come down and talk with me about what to look for as far as when they are troubled. Which was so unexpected. I’ve never forgotten it.
“I knew that day. You cared so much. You were so detailed. But I really knew when we talked about your friends and people you knew. How personal it was to you. We talked so long I was late to practice. I understood why you were doing your job. I admired you. But from that day on I wanted to know everything about you. I started finding excuses to drop in. Find reasons to see you. Have lunch with you. It took me over a year to get you where I wanted you baby. This isn’t gonna be some temporary thing.” I sniffled softly. I hadn’t realized I was tearing up. Sy leaned down to kiss me softly.
“You’re not gonna get bored of me?” I asked. He laughed. Literally belly laughed.
“What’s there to get bored of baby? I love learning about you, and doing things with you and just being with you. Hell no, I’m not gonna get bored of you, Darlin,” He smiled softly and shifted, holding himself up on his arms and kissing my jaw and down my neck.
“Promise?” I bit my lip softly. He looked up and met my gaze and captured my lips again.
“I promise sugar. You’re the only woman I want, I know I’ve been laying it on kind of heavy but I just think it’s kinda silly to deny ourselves of something, we’re grown, I know how I feel about ya. I don’t need to waste any more time, sugar.” I kissed him again, holding his face as if in my hands. Smiling softly as I pulled away.
“Sy, I..” I stared up at him but the words got caught in my throat. I felt it, at least I think I did. I just couldn't say it yet. He pressed his lips to my forehead.
“I know, baby.” He said, then continued to kiss his way down my body. I felt his hands on my thighs as he pushed them apart.
“Mm, sy, what are you doing?” I asked keeping my eyes on him. He started to kiss my thighs and the bruises he’d left on my hips.
“You know what I’m doing baby,” He smirked, biting at the inside of my thigh. I arched my back, moaning softly. “Nope, never gonna get bored of that.” He pressed another kiss to my thigh before he pinned my hips down and attacked his lips to my clit licking and sucking relentlessly.
“My God Sy!” I moaned pulling at the sheets beneath me as he continued his assault on my clit. He shifted lower licking past my folds pushing his tongue inside me lapping at my juices. “Fuck don’t stop!” I felt him grow against me sending vibrations through me bring me closer to the edge. He hooked his arms under my thighs dragging me closer, holding me against his mouth. I was completely at his mercy. I was shaking, and a complete mess as he fucked me with his tongue. I whimpered letting my head hit the pillow when I finally fell apart against his mouth. He drank in all my juices before pulling away with a smirk. He kisses back up my thighs and stomach and kissed my neck before he laid next to me again.
“How the hell could I ever get bored of that?” He teased. I bit my lips softly trailing my hand down his chest.
“Okay you’ve proved your point cowboy,” I pressed my palm flat against his stomach feeling his muscles tense beneath my finger tips as I slowly dragged my hand further down. Logan grabbed my wrist and stopped me. I whined softly and lifted my eyes to meet his. He chuckled.
“Easy sugar, I’ll gladly let you return the favor another time. But this was about you baby. It ain’t always gotta be 50/50 sometimes I just wanna please my girl.” He pulled me closer, sliding his hand over my hip to squeeze my ass.
“But,” I started to protest.
“Shhh go to sleep, it’s 2 am baby, you need rest,” He smiled and kissed my head softly pulling my thigh over his waist as I laid my head on his chest. “Good girl,” He mumbled. As he rubbed my back softly. God this man was something else. I couldn’t wait to learn everything about him.
I woke up to the feeling of a cold wet nose against my hand. And… was that a tongue?
“Aika” I heard Sy call and then whistle, “Come here, leave her be.” The bed shifted as the dog jumped up laying at the end of the bed as Sy walked in the room. “Don’t be difficult.” He said to her, I tried to hide my giggle as he argued with the dog. Who sneezed at him and laid her head down resting on the bed. “I heard that,” he smirked. I smiled and sat up stretching a bit.
“Good morning handsome,” He watched me for a moment. Eyes scanning my body as I let the blanket fall to my waist.
“Morning trouble,” He smiled leaning in the doorway. Standing there in a pair of black sweats, still shirtless, a cup of coffee in hand. He looked so good. I looked down at the beautiful German shepard laying at the end of the bed.
“So this is the famous Aika,” I smiled and reached out my hand for her to sniff before scratching her ears. He nodded and walked over holding out the coffee for me to take. I accepted the mug and he smiled sitting beside me on the bed.
“Yeah, looks like she likes you too. She ran right in here after I fed her, jumped right up next to ya on the bed. Where she knows she’s not supposed to be.” He looked at her sternly. She just stared at him and laid her head on his leg. He chuckled.
“She’s a sweet girl,” I smiled. I took a sip of coffee and sighed content. I scooted closer, cuddling into his side. He grinned and wrapped an arm around my shoulder.
“Did you sleep well?” He asked. I nodded resting my head on his shoulder.
“Mhmm, did you?” I asked.
“Like a baby,” He smirked. We sat like that for a minute. While I drank my coffee and woke up. Finally after a few minutes we got out of bed and he handed me one of his T-shirts to put on.
“I have clothes Sy,” I giggled softly.
“I know, I like it when you wear mine.” He pulled me in by my hips and kissed my forehead. I blushed softly. I slipped on his shirt that just barely fell to the top of my thighs. Logan smirked. “Yep, I like this better.” He said as he followed me out of his bedroom.
“You’re staring at my ass aren’t you?” I laughed.
“Hell yeah!” He chuckled. We walked out to his kitchen. Sy poured me another cup of coffee and offered to make breakfast. I offered to help but he wouldn’t let me. The second I turned to grab something out of the fridge for him he grabbed me by the waist, lifted me up, and sat me on the counter.
“Sy!” I pouted trying to hide my giggle.
“Sit still and let me cook for you,” He scolded before he playfully smacked my thigh.
“Yes, sir,” I mocked, rolling my eyes. He paused letting his eyes roam again, growling low in his chest. My thighs involuntarily clenched and he smirked. Finally he turned to get the eggs out of the fridge. I don’t know what it was about him. Why do we naturally fit so well? Or Why I trust him so much. Everything about him in moments like this feels so …primal. But At the same time he’s so gentle and intelligent and ..strong. So damn strong. Whatever was starting between us. It was like. Electricity. Or Magnetic. There was some kind of pull. I could sense whenever he was close to me. And it set my senses into overdrive.
We ate breakfast, just some simple eggs, bacon and toast. Sy let Aika back out to run around the land. She has a doggy door and just comes and goes as she pleases. That makes perfect sense for them. Very low maintenance. Both of them come around to check on each other every now and then. It’s cute honestly.
“I think I’m gonna shower,” I said when we’d finished breakfast and finished cleaning up the kitchen. I rested my hand on his chest and looked up at him, I could see the mischief in his eyes.
“You want company?” he smiled softly. I chuckled.
“Are you gonna behave yourself?” I raised an eyebrow. He just laughed and shook his head.
“You know I’m not, Sugar.” I rolled my eyes.
“Come on cowboy,”
As desperately as I wanted him I couldn’t handle anymore after last night. He made sure of it. I turned back just in time to catch his smirk when he saw the slight limp I was walking with. Sly bastard. But, him, I would gladly take care of.
I sank to my knees in front of him in the shower. He smiled down at me brushing my hair back. “You sure about this darlin?” He lifted my chin to look him in the eyes “I don’t wanna hurt ya.” He said brushing his thumb over my bottom lip.
“Mmhmm, you promised I could return the favor, and you had no problem being rough with me last night,” I smirked. He growled softly and grabbed my jaw
“I can’t promise I can control myself baby, can you handle me fucking your little throat sugar?” He had no shame. He stared right and my eyes with that cocky smirk on his face. This man drips confidence. The things I’ve done with him in the last 2 weeks I never knew I would do. But I loved it. I reached up wrapping my hand around him pumping slowly. He groaned resting his head against the tile. I licked up his length slowly before I took him completely in my mouth I held eye contact and answered him.
“Don’t hold back, Daddy,” Before finally wrapping my lips around him and taking him all the way to the back of my throat. I started to bob my head slowly. I watched his face and saw something hungry flash in his eyes at my words. He tangled his fingers in my hair pulling it back away from my face and holding it in a ponytail. He started to guide me on his cock moving me faster and pushing himself further down the back of my throat. He moaned cursing, feeling me gag around his head.
“That’s a good girl. Fuck you take it so well.” He moaned. I pulled back gasping for air. And smiled.
“That all you got? “ The shower was hitting his chest and flowing down down his abs. He looked like a God from this angle.
“I don’t wanna hurt you,” His eyes were soft as they held my gaze I gripped his and bit my lip.
“I trust you Logan, “ That was all it took. He was guiding me back on to his cock and holding my head still. I twirled my tongue around the head and moaned around him and he pulled my hair softy.
“Fuckin tease. Hold still darlin, Gonna fuck that pretty face.” I hummed sending vibrations around him and tugged at my hair harder. I met his eyes again and he smiled. “That’s my good girl, you like when you I take charge don’t ya?” He moaned and started thrusting into my mouth. His cock hitting the back of my throat everytime. I knew he was enjoying this. I slid my hands up to his stomach and felt his muscles tense under my fingers. He had his eyes closed his head tilted back agaisnt the shower wall and his jaw was slack. I loved making him feel good like this. He didn’t let me take care of him often. I moaned around him he pushed me down further holding me down taking him down my throat. I tried as hard as I could to swallow around him as he held me down. I felt tears stinging around my eyes as he let up and and I pulled back to take a breath coughing hard. “Fuck are you..?”
I didn’t let him finish his sentence before I had him back in my mouth bobbing my head teasing him with my tongue. He groaned loudly tightening his grip in my hair. “That’s it baby don’t stop.” He was close. He held me still again thrusting into my mouth erratically. He growled gritting his teeth. “Fuck yes,” he moaned as he released in my mouth. I swallowed it all licking him clean. He shuttered and shook his head with a chuckle before extending his hand to help me back to my feet. He held me close to his while he caught his breath.
“Was that good?” I bit my looking down at the shower floor. He lifted my chin kissing me passionately.
“Jesus, baby you are, full of surprises,” He smiled. “Fuckin Incredible.”
We finished our shower and got dressed for the day. But we’ren’t in a hurry to go anywhere in particular. We stayed cuddled up on his couch all afternoon. Watching some old movies. We talked a bit about nothing in particular. Getting to know each other some more. Although it felt like we already did. This felt really normal.
“Do you wanna take Aika for a walk with me?” He asked. I think it was almost 5 or 6 o’clock now. I nodded.
“I’d love that,” I said. He called her in and got her on a leash and we set out down the road.
“Can I be honest with ya?” He said as we started to walk.
“Of course you can,” I smiled.
“This has been one of the best days I’ve had in a long time.” He said. I stopped walking for a moment.
“But we haven’t really, done anything.” I said. He smiled and took my hand in his and lead me to keep walking with him.
“I know, but I got to spend good quality time with the woman I care about. That’s all I need.” He squeezed my hand softly. I met his eyes again.
“I really enjoyed this too. I’m kind of sad that you’ll have to take me home sometime soon.” I admitted.
“No I don’t,” He stated. “I don’t have anything going on this weekend. I ain’t in no hurry to get you out of here.”
“No?” I asked “What are you trying to say Sy?”
“Stay the rest of the weekend with me.” He smiled pulling me closer. I squeezed his hand blushing slightly.
“Answer something for me first,” I said.
“Anything,” He said.
“Are we together now? Am I your girlfriend, I know it’s kind of fast we’ve only been on one date, but the way we’ve been talking. It just seemed like that’s what you’ve been trying to say and..”
He kissed me softly on the lips.
“Sugar, I thought I ….Maybe I wasn’t completely clear.” He chuckled. “I want you as long as you’ll have me baby. You’re mine. I wanna take you everywhere with me. Stay with me this weekend?” I smiled and nodded.
“Yeah, I will” I smiled. He kissed me again and we continued our walk. Back at the house we settled in on the couch again. Cuddled up for another movie. “How are we gonna do this at work, Keep our hands to ourselves, behave?” I chuckled.
“It’s not like people aren’t expecting it.” He laughed. I raised an eyebrow.
“Am I really the only one that didn’t know how you felt all this time?” I asked.
“I mean… The boys know baby…” He chuckled. I groaned.
“I’m sorry baby.” I blushed realizing what I said.
“I’m not, I got you now. I’m not complaining.” We finished our movie and I stretched yawning. “Tired?” I nodded. “Come on sweet pea. Lets go to bed.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
@summersong69 @carrie80reads @identity2212 @caramariehurst @redheadrouge @warriormirkwood @kingliam @gummydummy19 @deandoesthingstome @starfirewildheart @foxyjwls007
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red/blue ships are just:
unhinged crackhead x even worse unhinged crackhead who just knows how to hide his nature better
#ofc i’m talking about my fav gays<33#❤️💙#soukoku#bungou stray dogs#dazai osamu#chuuya nakahara#yeah they so r#sk8 the infinity#renga#reki x langa my loves omg#langa hasegawa#reki kyan#moriarty the patriot#sherliam#sherlock holmes#william james moriarty#ALSO OMG I’VE JUST REMEMBERED#kazurei#buddy daddies#OH MYYY#rei x kazuki#HOW COULD I FORGET ABT THE SPACE GAYS#klance#keith voltron#lance voltron#oh myyy#voltron#klance voltron#vanoe#vanitas no carte
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Prompt because your work is aMAZing: when it’s before Sherlock and y/n’s wedding day, and he’s being an insufferable gentleman but she bats her eyes going “do you not want me” and he absolutely loses it 😏😏
Your Only Warning
Character: Henry Cavill as Sherlock in Enola Holmes
Summary: Alone in the library with his betrothed, the Reader, Sherlock fights to remain a gentleman…with limited success.
Content: 18+ for incredibly filthy language, explicit description of future sexual intimacy, dominant, angsty “I AM A GENTLEMAN” Sherlock, with a side of mild “look what you’ve made me do” rhetoric from our dear detective, but for the benefit of the very eagerly consenting Reader who absolutely intended to make him do precisely what he’s done.
Notes: Thank you so much for the prompt; I loved it, and hope you like the story, Anon!
It is a rare occasion that your future husband allows you to be alone with him.
Ever the gentleman, ever possessed by the fine arts of propriety, justice, compassion, and self-discipline…all the qualities for which you find yourself more deeply in love by the day…Sherlock has become increasingly distracted, sometimes even dismissive, of your endeavors to cultivate closeness, as the day of your wedding draws near. You do not know what precisely has caused his detachment; never once has he expressed any regret for his proposal, nor suggested he does not wish to proceed with the marriage, but something has changed.
You cannot recall the last time he was tender—if ever he truly was. No soft words, nothing of your beauty, certainly, rise to your memory, even as you entertain the recollections of shared laughter, discussions of books or music, your eager interest in his cases and his equal enthusiasm to share his work with you. Meanwhile, you long to pour out your heart on the subject of his handsome face, his gorgeous eyes, how much you long for his touch, his kiss, his…
Well.
Sherlock’s true feelings for you are a mystery that only he could solve, and finding the time alone to ask him to unravel his secrets has been nigh impossible. But tonight, at another interminable dinner party for your family and his, a challenge from Enola to discover the secret passages of the Holmes estate has led you to the library, opening a hidden door behind a bookshelf to your delight…and the surprise of Sherlock, whom you discover pensively staring out the wide window behind his desk. He looks back over his shoulder, slightly startled, but smiles when he recognizes your familiar form emerging from the shadows.
“Very well done, Miss —,” he praises you, and your heart flutters happily at the accolade. “My sister will be most pleased to have such a companion as yourself with whom to roam these halls. When we can coax her back home, that is.”
“I hope you will find me a fine companion, too,” you offer, stepping out from the passageway and into the library proper. You look about you: no one else is there. Good.
“Naturally,” he replies, leaving the sanctuary of his desk, but still keeping a polite distance. “It will be entirely pleasant to share a home with you, here or in London. I have too long breakfasted alone, beginning the day in sullen silence, only to let supper grow cold, too, for want of more companionable nourishment.”
“Yes, I quite look forward to that, too,” you reply politely, a few tears of disappointment pooling in the corners of your eyes. His once ardent interest truly does seem to have waned into a wish for company over meals. Still, your hope preservers; perhaps this is only a gentlemanly demurring from more intimate matters? You have had some success in delving into his captivating mind. What line of inquiry might unlock his heart?
“And you must never hesitate to make use of this library.”
“Thank you. But…Mr. Holmes…”
“Yes?”
“I mean…certainly we shall share other…other rooms, too?”
“Of course. You must be honest with me in the correction of my bachelor habits.”
“Yes, and you must similarly address the conventions of my customary solitude.”
These mirrored platitudes are maddening. You steel your courage and make a bolder proposition.
“But is it not true that, as is only proper, to my understanding, that when we marry, we will be…as one?”
At this, he meets your eyes for a brief, flickering moment, then turns away from you entirely, and begins to meticulously examine the books on the shelves, uttering a monosyllabic: “Ah.”
You wait.
And wait.
And wait.
At long last, he clears his throat slightly and says, “I hope that if you should have any concerns of that nature, you might seek out the counsel of a recently married woman of your own age—Mrs. Watson, for example, is a lady of faultless virtue and excellent education, and might allay your fears—“
“I have no fears!” you exclaim. “I have…great anticipation. Longing, for a closeness I thought you equally desired. Sherlock, please I long to know and be known as a wife, to share with you every facet of my life, including—my…our—“
“Please, Miss —“
“But of late you scarcely look at me—“
“Dear girl,” he interrupts again. “I beg you to cease this line of inquiry!”
Your frustration bubbles over. Determinedly, you cross the room to where he stands, and slip around his hulking frame, insinuating yourself betwixt him and the bookcase, demanding his attention whether he will or no.
“What is it, Sherlock?” you ask, gazing up at him through your eyelashes, feeling your pulse quicken at his nearness. “Do you not want me?”
“Do I,” he growls through gritted teeth. “Not want you?”
In an instant, he has you restrained against the bookshelves, one hand pinned above your head and the other left to grasp frantically at his lapel, feeling the hard muscle and pounding heart beneath his fine coat, like an ember burning beneath your fingertips.
“Every moment I am plagued with wanting you! Do you not understand why I have withdrawn from you, why I must keep my distance from the woman I love?”
Sherlock lays his palm against your cheek, then slides his fingers down your neck, across your collarbones, coming to rest against the heaving swell of your breast over your gown.
“This is why. To prevent this.”
Hands over hearts, you are more closely entwined than you have ever been, and you can see with perfect clarity that his eyes burn with deep, profound emotion as well as increasingly unbridled yearning. Pinioned there by his full weight and bulk, you are completely helpless to his whims, and nothing has ever felt so freeing in your entire life. Finally, finally, finally, you exalt in your mind, and you sigh his name, unable to suppress a slight moan, which only seems to afflict him further.
“Oh, Sherlock…”
“I am a gentleman of unimpeachable conduct, but you would turn me into a brute. The more time I spend in your presence, the closer the day draws near when you will be mine, the more I find my resolve tested,” he despairs, drawing in a deep breath, and shuddering as the scent of your hair, your skin, permeates his senses. “Look at us, look what you have done! All this time I have resisted, but you undo it in a mere minute…”
His lips are practically touching yours, his grip on your wrist grown tighter, the press of his unmistakable hardness against you firm and unyielding.
“This,” he explains, his voice gone ragged and low. “Is your only warning, my dear sweet bride. If you speak another word of wanting before I may lawfully, licitly show you every way a man may possess his wife, if you touch me—or, or, you perfect minx, my gorgeous tormentor, if you with all your whiles force my hand…if you insist I kiss your glove in public, or ask for my arm to cross the street…I will make you pay for it the minute we are wed. I will turn you over my knee and spank your backside bruised. I will have you in every room of the house; damn who might see us. I will hunt you down across the estate and take you in the fields or the forest like an animal, for so you make me, darling. I will bind your hands to my bed and make you come for me over and over again until you have not a single thought left in this brilliant little mind, and then I will fuck your pretty weeping cunt until I’m sated and you are dripping with my seed. And that for a start.”
Sherlock, eyes glittering with his barely leashed lust, presses a light, chaste kiss to your cheek.
“Are we understood, Miss —?”
“Yes, yes,” you gasp, and, with the final indulgence of skimming the pad of his thumb across your trembling bottom lip, he very gently, courteously releases you, and then promptly flees to the opposite side of the room to pour himself a substantial drink. He downs it in one gulp, then takes several very deep breaths, and though he keeps his back to you, you can tell, with a secret thrill down your spine, that he is adjusting his clothes in a futile attempt to disguise his arousal.
“You were best return to the drawing room at once,” he instructs, almost bashful at his body’s insistence against his mind’s prudence. It is incredibly endearing. “I must compose myself.”
“Of course. Forgive me, sir, that I have discomposed you so.”
“No, no, it is I who must apologize. Can you forgive me, dearest girl, that I have not made clear to you that you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen? I was never a man of sentiment until now, and feared that to linger too long on the object of my desire, might make me lose all control. But I will tell you every day, ten times a day—from now until the end of my life, that your loveliness of body and soul is to me as vital as the air I breathe.”
“Are you becoming a poet, Sherlock?” you tease, melting all the more at his rush of tenderness, so looked for and longed for.
“Only for you,” he sighs, and you almost faint away as his hand drops to palm the outline of his cock through his trousers. Realizing the nature of his reflexive gesture, he gives a frustrated groan and points at you accusingly. “Only a romantic fool, and only a devious, seducing scoundrel, because of you.”
You laugh together, and, sneaking one last fervent look over your shoulder as he sinks into his chair and begins to unfasten his trousers, you close the door behind you depart, practically skipping through the halls of the home that will soon be yours, too, to rejoin both sides of the family in the parlor.
About ten minutes later, Sherlock rejoins the party, too, and no one seems to suspect anything untoward, clearly a relief to you both as your eyes meet across the table with a shared, secret glow. Once all parting pleasantries are exchanged, Sherlock follows you and your family out to the carriage, keeping a painfully respectful distance all the while. He offers only a formal bow and a stern, “Good evening” by means of farewell, but you have other designs.
“Good evening to you, too, Mr. Holmes,” you reply with a cheerful smile, and then, in front of the whole company, you elegantly present your hand to your fiancé to be kissed…
I am so, so honored by all your kind replies and reblogs! Thanks to those who commented on my other prompt fic, Pulse Point:
@fluffycutecevans @madeanaccounttoreadfanfics @nana1000night @writing-for-marvel @raccoon-eyed-rebel @sarcastic-coffeedrinker-reads @holmesbunny @peachyvulpixie @sillyrabbit81 @mayloma @inlovewithhisblueeyes @kingjuli3n 🥰 🥰 🥰 🥰 🥰 🥰
#Sherlock Holmes x Reader#henry cavill sherlock#henry!sherlock holmes#sherlock holmes x you#sherlock holmes x ofc#enola holmes fanfic
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Strangers to lovers part 4
Sherlock x reader
Summary: Being Enola’s sitter was an adventure, but not as much as falling for her brother, Sherlock.
Warnings: 18+ Only, Implied Alcohol consumption, Major fluff (finally)
Word count: 2.1k+
Sherlock staggered out of the pub and into the street. "Sherlock?" his younger sister's well-known voice called out to him. "Enola, my beloved sibling," and he asked, "How are you on this nice evening?" as he struggled to return to walking. "From what I can tell, significantly better than you," she said, shaking her head. "Mycroft would scold you for acting in such a manner if he could see."
Sherlock laughed drunkenly at his sister's obvious acknowledgment. "Come with me; let's travel home so you can recuperate from this." Sherlock collapsed onto his couch as she pulled him to his apartment. "I'll stop by tomorrow to see your state of mind." As his eyes drifted for the night, he witnessed Enola depart. Sherlock grimaced when the strong sun shone through the tiny gap between the curtains the next morning, as he woke up with a headache. He put his hand over his eyes. With a groggy expression, he got up and went to take a soak in the tub.
Soon after, he heard Enola calling from behind his front door, "Come in." Sherlock shouted. A smile spread across her face as she said, "Oof, you look horrible." Sherlock tightened his jaw and said, "Thank you; that is how I feel right now."
"With her, communication, patience, and listening will work better than drinking until you can no longer stand or function."
“Indeed, but it appears that the situation is insignificant. I'm not wanted by y/n. Although I've changed significantly since then, she wants the man I was four years ago. She loves him, not me now.”
“She wouldn't have accompanied you yesterday if she didn't want or love you now. Perhaps go meet her; tomorrow is best. wouldn't be a wise decision to travel today."
Sherlock glanced sideways at Enola before averting his eyes.
//
At the precise moment his door opened, you raised your fist to knock; however, your move was cut off, and you spoke first. "Good morning. After yesterday, I wanted to stop by and see you."
Sherlock widened his door for you to enter.
You could smell booze as soon as you came in. "Have you drank today?" you asked, turning to face him. "Ah, no. Simply put, yesterday's evening wasn't pleasant.” Seeing how you made him feel that way, your face sank. Sherlock became increasingly uneasy since he could see by the expression on your face that you felt deeply guilty. "Don't worry about me. What happened last night was, in my opinion, difficult for us both."
"Yesterday is behind us; I wanted to speak with you today. And while I am aware that we have had a lot of conversations lately, I hope that this one will make us both happy.” Sherlock started to feel anxious and wondered whether this was it. Your talk of happiness was merely a means of telling him it would be better for you both to part ways.
You took a seat on his couch, close to him. "I have taken note of your efforts. Please don't think that I didn't find it beautiful or that I didn't appreciate the gesture, especially yesterday. And the conversation we shared made me consider accompanying you on your endeavors because I truly want us to work," you said, and Sherlock listened to you intensely before replying.
"Are you certain? We may be in love, but the future is not clear. If we decide to have children, it will be difficult, love—not the typical difficulty that parents go through with raising kids, but the kind of difficulty where you will be alone with our kids for months or even years at a time, and I know you want them. However, you would have to accept that. I want you to feel that you are not required to do something simply because you love me. To you, that wouldn't be fair."
You gave what he said some thought. You had not completely contemplated the possibility that he would leave even after the two of you established a family together, and you had desired to have children with him. However, you grinned and said, "I'm certain, Lockie." He arched an eyebrow at you and asked, "Did you just call me Lockie?"
"That's right, your assigned nickname." After kissing him and putting your hand on his face, you began to move away, but he stopped you and drew you closer to him. His tongue skimmed across your lower lip, causing your lips to part and allowing him to enter. He filled the air with his scent, and his kiss was tender and loving rather than forceful and demanding.
“Stay here for the night," Sherlock said against your lips, and you obliged by giving him a peck on his lips.
//
Sherlock made multiple unsuccessful attempts to prepare a supper for you. Your gut ached from laughing at him more and more each time. You continued to giggle as you said, "Okay, stop, I'll do the cooking." He nearly set his kitchen on fire. "I think you should watch me so you know how to feed yourself when I'm not around." You possess a sarcastic tone. You jumped as his hand gave you a little smack across your bottom, so you struck his arm in return, saying, "Hey!" and continued to say, "I was joking," and then paused for a short while before continuing. When you turned to face him again and said, "Or maybe I wasn't," he initially gave you a grim look, but as he turned away, you could see a tiny smile.
//
"No, you are my professional chef, and you will never leave my apartment. Baby, this is too good. You've been hired," he declared, his mouth full of food. Being the sole person to whom he has shown this aspect of himself gives you great joy. It was more intimate because he had never revealed it to his own family. "Thank you, my love, but that is unfortunately not acceptable."
He asked, "No, and why is that?" to you.
"Neither can you buy me, nor can I be employed. I'm not a lady of the night.” He agreed, "No, you’re surely not.”
He said you two should take a bath to unwind after you finished dinner. Sherlock came up behind you and assisted you in getting out of your dress as the hot water was poured into the tub. Untying your gown and letting it fall, following your undergarments. He grasped your hand and eased you into the bathtub. Your skin felt warmed by the water. You turned to watch him take off his clothes, observing as each article of clothing dropped to the ground until his bare body was visible.
As you turned, he murmured, "You have very watchful eyes, my love." "What harm does that cause?" You questioned him, "Not at all, particularly with your wandering eyes upon me." He joined you in the tub.
Your laughter echoed through him after he said that. Sherlock desired to enjoy that indefinitely. When he brought the sponge near the water, it began to absorb the water, and he began washing you. "Darling, how does it feel?" You closed your eyes and hummed in return, saying it felt wonderful.
Sherlock kept lifting the sponge over your body and letting go of the water it contained, and for the next few minutes, you spent each other's presence in a relaxed silence. As the water trickled down your breasts and down your stomach, you two gazed. He kissed you on the side of your neck, and you could feel how silky his lips were at all times.
"Do you want to go to bed?" You agreed with him; Sherlock took the lead by removing himself first. You bit your lip and poked his buttocks with the end of your foot while his body was still turned away from you. After a little period of inaction, he snatched you from the bathtub and flung you onto the bed. "Ah! Sherlock!" you exclaimed. With a playful "You think you can kick me and there will be no consequences?" tone, he started to tickle you. "Sherlock, stop, stop," you would say between chuckles. Your laughter never stopped.
He nuzzled his face into your neck and started kissing every inch of your face. "That was sufficient punishment!" you told him. "You asked for it when you kicked me," he shrugged. "But you know I don't like being tickled," you said.
Afterward, you demanded that he get you both some clothes.
He looked at you and said, "Demanding now? Politely ask, and I'll retrieve them."
"I'm not saying please, and I’ve always been demanding."
"Yes, of course you have," he responded with pursed lips, "but I'd much rather stay here and stare at you."
You shooed him away and said, "We have all night for that Lockie. Now go."
"I refuse to allow that nickname to stick."
"Yeah, it will; I'll make sure of it, Lockie," you added, and he glanced over at you. "Plus, you can never say no to me." With a smile of amusement, you both acknowledged you were right.
//
A couple of hours later, you were laughing at his foolishness while lying on top of him behind the covers. "You're just an idiot, baby, but it's funny how the most notorious detective in history is deemed to be a genius."
He turned you over and said, "You may be right, but I'm your idiot, and you also happen to love it." You scowled as he gave you a shocked expression.
"Yes, tragically, I do," you replied to him.
"I have no fear of tickling you again," he said, and you rolled your eyes at him.
He bent down and smiled cheekily at your request to "shut up and just kiss me."
He moaned under your intense kiss as you encircled his neck with your arms. He kissed you again, tracing his nose along yours.
"Are you interested in knowing something?"
"Of course," and he swept your hair aside from your face.
He kissed you on the lips, saying, "I love your lips, and I love your cheeks that always have a rosy tint to them; I love your hair that always smells of flowers," and brushed your hair behind your ear. “I love how your arms fit so perfectly around my neck,” he remarked. He took hold of your arm and planted a kiss below it. He made his way down to kiss both of your breasts. "And naturally, I adore both of these," he chuckled. With your eyes fixed on Sherlock, he continued to descend. Your heart enlarged as he kissed your stomach and said, "I love your stomach, which will someday carry our children." After kissing your thighs on the inside, Sherlock proceeded to kiss along your legs. "Y/n, I adore every aspect of you. I will always love and cherish you."
It was as though you could explode at that very moment, the way his declaration of love for you made you feel. He kissed you again, this time up your body to your lips. It was unbelievable to hear what he had just said. It was not what you had anticipated. As for your response to him, you had no idea.
"I love you so much," you said, peering between his blue eyes.
He reclined next to you, entwining your legs with his. All night long, he kept you near, keeping you warm with his arms encircling you. Sherlock was always wide awake until he heard your sweet, soft snores. He was soothed to sleep by your steady, peaceful breathing.
//
You whimpered when you woke up the next morning and felt empty where Sherlock had previously been lying. You could see your eyes straining to open and acclimate to the new light when the curtains were slightly drawn. When Sherlock came into his room with a tray of food, he noticed that you were stirring. "You're awake at last," he said, and you raised your head. And as he got closer, you could see that food had been ready for you. He planted a kiss on your forehead and said, "I wanted to surprise you with breakfast; I did not burn anything this time." You chuckled at him.
Despite your messy bed hair, he felt you looked as stunning as ever, and he crawled back into the bed and watched you eat in awe staying with each other for the rest of the day.
Part 5
#henry cavill#first post#fluff#henry cavill x reader#sherlock holmes#henry cavill fanfic#henry cavill sherlock holmes#sherlock fandom#sherlock fanfic#sherlock x reader#sherlock holmes x you#enola holmes#enola 2#enola and sherlock#ofc x sherlock holmes
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Part 28 - Happy Birthday
Masterlist
Series Masterlist
Part 27 -- Part 29
Pairing: Sherlock x ofc (Elena)
Summary: Elena has a special birthday surprise for Sherlock.
Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI, Sherlock being adorable, Elena being a little mean, sexting, rough-ish oral (m receiving), p-in-v (doggy), shenaningans with a raincoat, roommate-awkwardness... the works!
Word count: 3.1k
A/N: @geralts-yenn bullied me into posting this today. (The conversation went like: Me saying I wanted to post it, her saying I should and me doing that. There was no actual bullying involved.)
We're giving our sweet Sherlock a lovely birthday surprise. Elena's really testing the poor guy, but at least he's going to know what he does and doesn't like, dammit... Enjoy!
@deandoesthingstome @summersong69 @livisss @sillyrabbit81 @ellethespaceunicorn @ylva-syverson @poledancingdinos
“Are you alright, Holmes,” August said, one eyebrow raised, as he looked at his friend. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Indeed, Sherlock was staring at the phone in his hand as if something of grave importance had happened, yet he shook his head in response to the question. “Just Elena wishing me a happy birthday,” he said softly, realizing his mistake all too late, as the rest of his housemates stared back at him with rather telling grins on their faces. The remarkable thing about their expressions; they were all but identical.
“And how naked was she in that… text?” Sy asked, his grin widening even further.
Sherlock rolled his eyes, but even he couldn’t fight the grin – the same one they were all wearing, he noticed – off his face. Before he could say anything, his phone buzzed again, and the screen lit up to reveal another message from Elena, containing another picture.
Unfortunately, this time he was as bad at keeping his face in check as he had been the previous time, and everyone laughed.
“Significantly more naked, huh?” Geralt chuckled as Sherlock’s phone buzzed a third time.
“Progressively, even, it would seem,” he blurted out as he looked at the next photo, making the guys laugh even harder.
“I thought she wasn’t coming over?” Leon asked, still with that devilish smirk on his face.
“She isn’t,” Sherlock said, utterly confused. “Not as far as I know, at least.”
“Oh, she’s coming over,” Charles laughed. “She’s not that mean.”
“I don’t know,” Mike added, “she seems… bossy. In a way.” Sherlock involuntarily shrugged when he heard that, telling the guys more than they strictly needed to know.
Before the – very much dreaded – conversation could fully unfold, the doorbell rang, and all eyes turned to Sherlock once more.
“I’d jump this table to get to that door if I were you, mate,” Charles laughed. Instead, Sherlock opted to walk calmly to the door and open it. To his surprise – yes, really – he found Elena on the other side of it.
“Can I come in? It’s quite cold,” she said, shivering in the dark blue raincoat she had on. It was hardly appropriate attire for the current weather… “Hello boys,” she shouted as soon as she stepped into the house. Sherlock noticed she was taller than usual, prompting him to look at her feet. He’d never seen Elena in high heels, but he certainly enjoyed the sight.
“Come with me?” she asked mischievously, batting her eyelashes at him seductively.
“Sure, I was just finishing my drink, I… Can I get you anything?” he stammered. Elena rolled her eyes and glanced over his shoulder into the kitchen, where she saw Mike repeatedly slamming his forehead onto the kitchen table.
“Forget about the drink, Sherlock!” he grumbled.
Elena chuckled softly and refused politely when Sherlock offered to take her coat. She had expected this, of course, and the involvement from the audience only made her enjoy this all the more.
“She’s not wearing anything underneath that, genius,” August said, also clearly experiencing some secondhand frustration at his friend’s ignorance. As he made his comment, Elena stepped around Sherlock and paced to the kitchen, poking her head around the doorframe and counting the faces in the room. Seven. Should be good.
“Anyone else in the house?” she asked Geralt, who slowly shook his head.
She promptly turned around and leaned in the doorway, her back facing the kitchen, and opened the buttons of the coat, letting it fall open. As it did, so did Sherlock’s mouth. August hadn’t been quite correct, but he hadn’t been far off, either: the little stunt revealed some gorgeous lace, but nothing more than that.
“I’ll return him in the morning,” Elena joked, leaving the boys in the kitchen laughing.
“In one piece?” Leon asked.
“Not making any promises,” she laughed before walking towards Sherlock, who hadn’t moved from his most recent location by the door. “I’m giving you two minutes to join me, or I’m starting without you.” And then she made her way up the stairs.
“What are you waiting for?” August asked incredulously, staring at Sherlock, who stood in the hallway as though he had been nailed to the floor. “Go!”
“If you don’t go after her, I will,” Charles laughed.
“In your dreams, Brandon,” Sherlock growled, glaring at the crowd that had gathered in the doorway of the kitchen.
“Are you running out the clock or what?” Mike added to the conversation – utterly unhelpfully, of course. “Seriously, get upstairs or I’m siding with Charles.”
Due to his overwhelming desire to keep some shred of decorum, Sherlock didn’t quite sprint up the stairs, but he undoubtedly moved with a hastiness that was rather uncharacteristic for him. His slightly trembling hands made him fumble with the lock on his bedroom door a while longer than he had hoped, and he made his way up the last set of stairs two steps at a time. He found Elena sitting on the edge of his bed, still in the trench coat. She got up as soon as she saw him, and walked over, her hips swaying enticingly with every step.
“Happy birthday, love,” she said as she threw her arms around his neck.
“Thank you,” he replied. “You know, you did an abysmal job of wrapping my present,” he continued as he slipped his hands under her coat, “I can see what it is quite clearly.”
“You seemed pretty clueless a moment ago, darling,” she taunted.
She spoke slowly, her hands roaming his back and sides. Involuntarily, she licked her lips as she felt his muscles flex beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.
“I have to admit it’s a lovely surprise,” Sherlock said. A light blush had appeared on his cheeks, which deepened as Elena put her lips on his neck. If his quickening breathing, and the quiet gasps and moans that escaped him, hadn’t given away that he liked her ministrations, the fact that he let his head drop to the side to give her easier access would have. Elena used this time to unbutton his shirt, which he gratefully helped her take off once she had completed her mission. Sherlock, in turn, pushed the coat off her shoulders quite impatiently, and let his hands roam her body freely.
“So, what do you think?” she whispered in his ear before stepping back a little, showing him what she had on, for the first time without any distractions.
“I thought I would want you to take it all off as soon as possible,” Sherlock admitted as he grabbed her waist and pulled her back, “but I actually quite like it. Especially the shoes.”
Her eyes lit up as soon as the words were out of his mouth. “The shoes, huh?” She smiled and leaned in to kiss him, luring a soft moan from his throat while her hands occupied themselves with undoing is belt and trousers.
For a moment, Sherlock wondered whether he should be ashamed of the fact that he was already hard – a thought all but forgotten when Elena’s hand found it’s way into his trousers and wrapped around his cock. Just as he was about to kiss her again, her face disappeared, and she sank to her knees in front of him. The sight of her was enough to make him twitch in her grasp, which in turn made her chuckle. Then, when he rushed to push his trousers and pants down to give her access, she struggled to fight back her laughter. His apologetic smile told her that he had noticed, and she grinned back at him, while torturing him with teasingly slow strokes of her hand. Her teasing continued with the soft touch of her tongue, licking a line from the base of his cock to the tip. She relished his moans and almost pitiful whimpers as her tongue passed the places she knew to be the most sensitive, barely touching his skin, but even more than that she thrived on the idea that she was rolling him up.
It was the hand that suddenly found its way to the back of her head, where it gripped her auburn curls as Sherlock thrust into her mouth. The movement was gentle yet decisive, and took her by surprise so much that she dug her fingernails into his thighs on a reflex.
“I’m sorry,” Sherlock said several times while she chuckled and pressed soft kisses to his thighs where she had clawed at his skin a tad too roughly.
“It’s okay,” she said, “I just wasn’t expecting it!” And without further ado, she took his cock into her mouth again. This time, she allowed Sherlock to move in a gentle rhythm that she followed, until his fingers once again tangled in her hair and pulled her back. He couldn’t speak, but his eyes screamed impatience and need at her. In the way he offered her his hand to steady herself as she got up, his regular gentlemanliness shone through, but it disappeared as soon as she stood in front of him, and he pulled her in, fingers digging possessively into the flesh of her arse.
The only reason they made it to the bed was the need to grab a condom from the nightstand, but Elena could see in Sherlock’s eyes – and in the way his hands frustratedly fumbled with the packaging – that it was extraordinarily difficult for him to keep his composure. In the end, she had to take over for him, but it was fun to watch him struggle for a while. At least, she thought so. He seemed to be of a different opinion entirely.
He was almost rude in his ministrations when he turned her around, so she sat on hands and knees in front of him, and impatient in chasing his desire. With a swift, decisive movement, he pulled her underwear to the side, not bothering to take it off her. In fact, he quite liked the view this position provided him with, and he was going to take full advantage of the situation. A sound that was half-chuckle, half-growl escaped him when his fingers encountered the wetness that had gathered between her legs, and without hesitation and with a single thrust, he sank into her dripping core.
“Fuck,” she muttered quietly under her breath, only to leave ‘quietly’ for what it was when he began to move. He was rough – almost cruelly so – and passionate, soon making her arms give out. Elena relished the grunt that escaped him when she arched her back, meeting his movements with every thrust. She was surprised by a swift and light smack on her behind when she attempted to move.
“No, stay.” She’d indulge him, for now. Looking over her shoulder, she noticed Sherlock was completely caught up in chasing his own release, and she succumbed to his treatment, a grin spreading on her face as she allowed her mind to wander and move through all the different possibilities with the man she was seeing right now – a man who seemed far more willing, possibly even eager, to experiment than she had originally thought.
Soon, his movements became erratic, letting her know he was close. His last few thrusts were so uncontrolled that she buried her face in his pillow, unable to keep herself from screaming, and when he pulled out, she collapsed onto the bed. After some time, she looked over her shoulder, only to find a terrified-looking Sherlock on the far end of the bed, sitting just about as far away from her as the space allowed. She looked at him, her eyes begging him to join her, but he did not move. Instead, he just sat there; completely still, and staring into the distance.
“Sherlock, come here and give me a hug,” she said with a smile as she stretched out her leg to caress his thigh with her foot. It worked; he finally looked at her, and after another brief moment, he moved to lie down next to her, wrapping her safely in his arms.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice drenched with an apology she couldn’t quite place. What on earth was he apologizing for?
“Why?” she asked, confused.
“I didn’t mean to be so… harsh,” he said softly, avoiding her eyes.
Elena couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “Harsh? Oh, darling, you weren’t!” She gently stroked his cheek, smiling up at him before burying her face in his neck. “That was quite lovely, actually. Although I really do prefer being the one in charge.”
Her words left Sherlock looking down at her in surprise, and – or so he noticed – did nothing to alleviate the overwhelming need he felt to explain himself. “I couldn’t help myself,” he groaned, “I needed you so badly, I…”
“Stop apologizing right now,” Elena laughed, “or I’ll have to find a way to shut you up.” And though Sherlock did as she asked, she still kissed him fiercely – to prove a point, perhaps?
“How will you get home,” Sherlock wondered out loud, causing Elena to groan and bury her face in his neck. She had been enjoying the quiet cuddling that had been going on until Sherlock decided to ruin the perfectly blissful moment with his reasonable concerns and logic.
“I’m not thinking about leaving just yet,” she muttered.
“You’re welcome to stay, but that will only postpone having to deal with the problem,” he chuckled.
“Hm, yes, let’s postpone dealing with the problem, please,” she laughed before gently nipping at his neck. Her hand moved down over his chest, hooking around his waist and pulling him close. “I can think of something far more fun to do.”
“Again?” he chuckled in disbelief. “I’m not complaining,” he clarified as she moved away to look at her with raised eyebrows, “I’m just wondering… Will this end?”
“Will what end?” she asked.
“This constantly wanting you?” He moaned the words rather than speaking them, and Elena let out a gentle laugh – the one that warmed his heart without fail every single time he heard it.
“At some point… frequency will drop, yes,” she said softly, “but I hope it won’t be for a long while. I love this part.”
Before he could say anything in protest, her lips sealed over his and she impatiently ran her tongue over the seam of his lips. Moments later, they were completely lost in each other again, this time finding a gentler rhythm. His thrusts were slow and steady, luring moans and gasps from both of them with every move. Her legs wrapped securely around his waist, and her arms around his neck, pulling him close to her.
“God, you’re amazing,” she moaned softly, making him chuckle. Surely, she couldn’t mean that? He honestly didn’t see how he could have any sort of skill in an area in which he had so direly little experience. An unintentionally apologetic smile served as an answer, to which she responded in turn by pulling his face to hers and kissing him once again.
“Do you think you can manage a fourth time, or can I go take a shower?” Elena laughed when she – finally – laid down next to Sherlock, who was struggling to catch his breath.
“No, that would be quite impossible, I fear,” Sherlock sighed. He briefly opened his mouth to speak again, only to decide against it. First of all because breathing was difficult enough as it was, and secondly because he was sure that the question he had in mind was a rather foolish one, as became obvious through her response.
“Good, because I don’t think I could take another round.” The words were accompanied by a deep sigh and several gentle kisses to his chest. “You could come with me?”
Sherlock struggled to ignore Elena’s fingers as they trailed over his chest. “To the bathroom?” Elena couldn’t fight back a chuckle when she heard his words. Granted, his brain wasn’t working optimally, but his confusion was rather endearing, nonetheless.
“Into the shower,” she clarified, her lips brushing lightly over the skin of his neck as she spoke.
“That hardly seems…”
“It’s romantic, Sherlock,” Elena sighed with a soft chuckle to her voice and a sweet smile on her face that slowly morphed into a pout she knew would convince him.
“It’s mostly rather cold,” Sherlock grumbled a while later, when Elena was hogging all the water, only to regret his words when she pulled him under the stream. “Jesus Christ!” He exclaimed before all but jumping backwards. “This isn’t romantic, Elena, this is attempted murder. I’m not quite sure what kind of witchcraft allows you to immerse yourself in boiling water, but I quite enjoy having skin, thank you very much.”
“Don’t be a baby,” Elena pouted, grabbing Sherlock’s hand as he reached for the faucet, “it’s nice.”
In response to her plea, Sherlock cocked an eyebrow and threatened to leave, to which Elena replied by begrudgingly agreeing to set the water to a more universally enjoyable temperature.
“I agree it’s quite nice like this,” Sherlock said as he pulled her closer, “but half of me is still freezing.”
“I know,” Elena chuckled, “but I like being close to you.”
“You can do that in my bed, where it’s warm,” he replied, moving away to step out of the shower. “I’ll see you there?”
Elena whined, but reluctantly let go of him, turning the temperature on the water up again as soon as Sherlock was gone.
When she finished rinsing her – or rather; Dani’s – conditioner out of her hair and drying off, she put Sherlock’s bathrobe back on. It was a little large on her, which made it all the more comfortable. She had just finished towel-drying her hair when there was a soft knock on the door.
“Elena?” Mike? What was he after? He clearly knew she was in the bathroom, and he was also clearly looking for her, but why? She checked her bathrobe – one could never be careful enough when it came to preventing accidental flashing of partners’ housemates, or so she had once found out. The whole affair had been rather humiliating. After making sure the risks had been reduced to a minimum, she opened the door.
“Yeah?” Mike was standing outside the bathroom with a massive grin on his face.
“Sherlock isn’t exactly the sweatpants and hoodie type,” he said, his signature dorky smile widening. At times, that grin was so maddening that Elena found herself wanting to slap it off his face, and other times it was endearing and somehow oddly appropriate. This instance belonged in the latter category. “Figured you could use these. Y’know, so you don’t have to go home quite as naked as you got here…” “Thank you,” she laughed, gratefully taking the clothes he held out to her.
#179cs#179 crescent street#henry cavill characters#henrycavill fanfic#henry cavill fanfiction#henry cavill sherlock holmes#sherlock x ofc#sherlock holmes x ofc#179cs28
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I've finished writing the first chapter of my first multi-chapters Sherlock fic today 🥳
It's always an emotional moment, when I decide, "yeah, that's how I want to finish the first chapter of this big adventure".
I still need to edit it, then I want to write a prologue too because I realized otherwise it wouldn't really be a Sherlock fic... But I wanted to share what's always a big news for me.
(By the way I haven't abandoned my Sweetbitter fic. Jake and Mina are still very much on my mind!)
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Happy Christmas, Mr. Holmes
a Sherlock Holmes x OFC fic
summary: Christmas comes to Baker Street, in a form Sherlock Holmes had never envsioned. There is a sweetness in seeing the holiday through someone else’s eyes, and there are lessons in holiday spirit and the nature of giving–as well as how Love makes the season even brighter–to be learned. Part of a continuing romantic series, this is the tale of Sherlock & Tessa’s first Christmas together. It just proved too irresistable for me not to tell! Takes place in an AU, post Season Two–in which Sherlock didn’t take The Fall. And John hasn’t met Mary yet.
rating: general audience; chapter 3 of 4
Chapter Three: The Gift of Giving
Eight days until Christmas, and all of Sherlock’s plans had fallen into place precisely as he had ordained. Tomorrow would bring a rush of activity as the first of his gifts for Tessa arrived—quite literally—demanding his attention throughout the day, if the surprise he intended for her was to succeed. Accordingly, he had finally confided in John what he had arranged for, a few days earlier. John had readily agreed to provide the crucial assistance Sherlock needed, and both men knew well the timing required to carry it all off. Best of all, Tessa had no inkling as to the wonder awaiting her.
That evening in Saint Mary of the Angels had remained fixed in Sherlock’s mind for several days afterwards, as he tried to puzzle out the best way to give Tessa the Christmas comfort of the family she was missing so. He precluded arranging for a visit home for her, almost immediately, knowing she was committed to her current production well past the holidays, and that the theatre would be dark only after the Christmas Eve matinee, resuming its regular run on Boxing Day. But if she were to have free time enough to visit her family in America, he would have been hard pressed to see her go--for to his great astonishment, he was enjoying the season in a way he had never imagined he ever would, experiencing it anew in the happy reflection of her eyes, and in her gentle love of the goodness and charity which she maintained the holiday generally engendered in people; in truth, she had become for him the quintessence of Dickens’ Ghost of Christmas Present. For every example he might cite regarding the rapaciousness of greedy shoppers (and the merchants who preyed upon this fault in human nature), she would consistently give him two or three examples that countermanded his belief that Christmas in the 21st century was merely an excuse for covetous excess. Sherlock realized he should have expected no less—for had he not come to love her for the same optimism, kindheartedness, and tender expectations that she had shown him from their very start?
And so he had proceeded, peppering their conversations over the next week or so, with questions about her family and their holiday traditions, leading her to believe that his curiosity was rooted in how far different his youth had been from hers. What information he couldn’t glean directly, he simply did a little research to find, Facebook and other social networking sites being the easiest source to turn to. From there, he’d contacted some of her closest family members via email, introducing himself as her very good friend and asking for their help in providing a Christmas surprise that Tessa would never dream was coming her way. In short order, he had the arrangements squared away, and looked forward with great anticipation to her reaction when the unexpected gift would be revealed.
Thursday morning dawned bright and cold, but fortunately no precipitation was expected, meaning the schedule Sherlock and John were to follow that day would not be interrupted with inconvenient weather. Sherlock let Tessa believe he was busy with casework most of the day, disappointing her hopes of seeing him before her evening performance; but in exchange he told her he would be in the audience that evening. He knew that was bound to give her a little extra incentive to excel, for she had told him more than once his attendance at her plays made her a little more nervous, but in a good way, heightening her desire above all else to make him proud of her.
The curtain rose at 7:30, and Tessa was indeed in top form, delivering another rousing rendition of The Miller’s Son towards the end of Act II. During the curtain call, Sherlock wondered if she felt the extra enthusiasm in the applause, and if she could hear the very American sounding hoots and cheers that were coming from the section in which he was seated. If she had, he was certain she wouldn’t think it any more than visiting tourists praising one of their own.
He allowed the usual time for her to go through her post-performance rituals, eventually texting to ask if he might come back to the dressing room to see her (a departure from their regular routine) as he might need to dash off at DI Lestrade’s request to join him at a crime scene. Tessa told him she’d let the Stage Manager know (unaware he was already in on the surprise) but that she hoped Sherlock would find time afterwards to stop by her flat, no matter the hour. That was a detail he smiled over, but kept quietly to himself.
The Stage Manager ushered Sherlock and his party to the large common dressing rooms, indicating where they would find Tessa by knocking on the door and calling out for her. Sherlock nodded to the man in thanks, and then turned to await her appearance, keeping his face impassive in the final moments before his well-planned surprise would break. Those with him were hushed in happy anticipation, even the youngest silent in her excitement at her mother’s urging.
Tessa opened the door and reached her arms out to embrace him, asking lightheartedly, “Darling, do you really have to run off so…” Her mouth dropped wide in wonder as she took in the little group standing behind Sherlock. “Ohmygosh,” she whispered, shocked and pleased all together, “Oh my gosh, how…when…” and then she rushed forward into the arms of her waiting family. Sherlock stood aside as they greeted one another, all speaking at once, excited and happy and tearful in some cases, all of them wanting to hug her at once, until it became one big hug, all huddled together and not wanting to let go. Though he stood apart from them, the warmth of the moment was not lost upon Sherlock, and he felt a wonderful, deep sense of satisfaction at seeing how happy they all were, not the least of which was his beloved Tessa.
As if sensing his thoughts, she turned his way, her tears clearly exultant, and moved to pull him closer, until he was wrapped in their midst. Hugging him tightly, she murmured against his ear, “Sherlock, you are the best man in the entire world, and I’ll love you forever for this.” Tessa pressed her lips against his cheek, before turning back to her family; she took his hand, steadfastly keeping hold, as the rush of conversation with her family members continued.
Sherlock allowed them several more minutes before speaking up, to gently move the evening along, “Tessa, we’ve got reservations for a late supper, and a car is waiting for us outside.” She nodded in understanding, and the couple moved towards the exit, followed by her two sisters, brother and niece.
They’d closed the restaurant down, which was no surprise as Tessa’s family was still operating on Eastern Standard Time. The meal had been animated, with lots of overlapping conversation and much laughter and reminiscing. Tessa had been thrilled her brother and sisters had finally gotten a chance to see her work, and they complimented her vigorously on what she had achieved, going on to fill her in on all the many details of their lives and careers and college life (in the her youngest sister’s case), returning often to discuss the sweet memories of the Christmases their parents had created for them.
Tessa had given Sherlock place of honor on one side, despite the fact he told her she should have one of her sisters beside her. On her other side sat her seven year old niece, Jane, who was very excited to be on the whirlwind adventure, with lots and lots of questions for her aunt about Christmas traditions in this new place, and does Santa visit the children in London too, and what did she like best about living here. Tessa answered her questions with humor and patience, to the wide-eyed girl’s satisfaction, so that Jane decided she wouldn’t mind so much to spend Christmas here so long as Father Christmas (as Auntie Tessa had explained he was called in Britain) would find her here. Tessa laughed softly, “Oh, you’ll be home in time for Santa to leave your presents there,” and had then leaned in close to the child, telling her in a stage whisper loud enough for all to hear, “And the thing I love best about living here is this wonderful gentleman beside me.”
Jane moved forward to see past Tessa, “Is my auntie your favorite part of living here, too?” she inquired, fixing Sherlock in her sights with the candid scrutiny of a child.
His honest smile was taken by all at the table as answer enough, but for Jane and Tessa’s sakes, he replied, “My most favorite thing ever.” The girl nodded, pleased with his response, then reached to whisper in her aunt’s ear, so softly that none but Tessa could make her out. Tessa kissed her niece’s cheek, telling her back, “I think so too, Jane. I really, really do.”
Sherlock had made arrangements for rooms at a hotel in the heart of London, figuring that during their brief visit, Tessa would likely want to show them around the city. They dropped her family there, saying goodnight with promises for great doings on the morrow, before heading home to Baker Street. In the quiet of the cab, Tessa asked for details on how he had arranged for her siblings to visit. Sherlock answered her modestly, telling her how the idea had come to him, and how John--and even Mycroft--had helped to pull it off. That her family had been only too happy to take up his offer, willing to rearrange their schedules to make the trip a reality, and that the only reason her oldest brother didn’t join them was, of course, the imminent arrival of his third child.
Tessa had been concerned about the cost of the trip, as her younger sister, Mary Elizabeth, had told her that they’d been delightfully surprised when Sherlock had arranged everything for them, and not asked for anything to defray the cost. He responded simply that he had called in a couple of favors so that the cost was nominal, and that—at Sherlock’s request—Mycroft had used his influence to see her family had been bumped up to first class for the flight. “He is practically the British government, after all,” he confided to her, “and I’d have been foolish not to take advantage.” In all their discussion, Sherlock was ever anxious to deflect any notion that he’d acted above and beyond what any man would do for the woman he loved, but Tessa’s heart knew better.
“You may fool most of the world, Sherlock Holmes,” Tessa told him later, reaching to turn off the bedside lamp, as they retired for the evening, “but I see the best of you, and you’re just as susceptible to the sentiment of Christmas as anybody of tender heart.”
He made a quiet, scoffing sound, but that did not deter her. “Bringing my family here isn’t even the best of the gift you’ve given me. As far as I’m concerned,” she kissed his cheek, before laying her head against his shoulder, “you embracing the selfless spirit of Christmas is the greatest gift I could ever ask for.”
In the darkness, as she fell to sleep beside him, Sherlock reckoned the finest gift she had given him was that very lesson—and the satisfaction—of allowing himself do just that.
(to be continued)
if you missed them:
Chapter One: a Christmas 'thing'
Chapter Two: Deck the Halls
If you enjoyed this, I’m hoping you would be so kind as to reblog it. Being stuck in shadow ban prison has severely curtailed exposure of my work here on tumblr. Any reblog you could give me would be sure to share this story with many others, and maybe get this piece some much-needed love. Thank you!
buy me a coffee?☕
#my writing#Happy Christmas Mister Holmes#bbc sherlock#fluff#light romance#established relationship#Christmas comes to Baker Street#Christmas#Christmastime#Sherlock Holmes#Benedict's Sherlock#Sherlock Holmes x OFC#Sherlock x OFC#Tessa DeMauro#OFC
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🎧Elle the Space Unicorn's Masterlist🎧
Reader inserts will have no descriptors, OFCs will be black and plus-sized(unless otherwise stated). I love being able to give girls/femmes who look like me the chance to romance some of their faves.
🎧Bless my current muse...🎧
I love to write fanfiction. Right now, my main muse is Henry Cavill. But I also like some Chris Evans and Sebastian Stan characters (see below who I will write for - send prompts or requests to @ellethespaceunicorn HERE).
Buy Me A Ko-Fi? | AO3 | Author Recs | Fic Recs | Headcanon Recs | Fic Prompts | Fic Title Ideas | Words to use instead of ‘said’ | WIP List | 2023 Fanfiction Wrapped | 2023 Character Wrapped
Masterlist is under the Cut...
Bright Like The Moon (ongoing)
Love, Napoleon (ongoing)
Scrapbook (finished)
Daddy Knows Best (possibly on hiatus)
Don't Take My Sunshine Away (possibly on hiatus)
Touch and Go (possibly ongoing)
The Howling in Claw Creek Forest (ongoing)
What Are You Doing, StepBro?
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Humphrey x Stepsister!Reader
Summary: You and Humphrey don’t have the best start, but before long you will reach an arrangement.
Hold Me Til I Scream For Air To Breathe
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Sub!Clark Kent x Domme!Reader
Summary: Clark needs to give over to his submissive urges, specifically he yearns to be tied up and owned.
I Want a Little Sugar in My Bowl
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Napoleon Solo x Reader
Summary: Napoleon wines and dines.
Make That Kitty Purr {DARK FIC}
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Mike x Reader, August Walker x Reader
Fandom: Hellraiser: Hellworld x Mission: Impossible - Fallout, Crossover AU
Summary: Uncle August doesn’t give a shit that you’re Mike’s girlfriend.
Make That Kitty Purr [Director's Cut] {DARKER FIC}
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Mike x Reader, August Walker x Reader
Fandom: Hellraiser: Hellworld x Mission: Impossible - Fallout, Crossover AU
Summary: Uncle August doesn’t give a shit that you’re Mike’s girlfriend. This is the darker pre-edited version.
Some Things You Just Can’t Refuse
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Dom!Clark Kent x Sub!Reader
Summary: A collection of first times with Clark Kent, and one last time.
Happy Birthday, Cupcake
Rating: General
Pairing: Clark Kent x PlusSize!Reader
Summary: Clark surprises you for your birthday.
Treat Me Like A Slut
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: August Walker x Reader
Summary: August has had enough of your antics, and you’re going to pay for it.
Sometimes The Silence Guides A Mind
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader
Summary: As you were getting close to Sherlock, he stops visiting. You pop over to Baker Street and share an eye-opening moment.
Don't Take Your Eyes Off It
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Steve Rogers x Black!Fem!Reader
Summary: It’s Valentine’s Day, and you have a surprise for Steve!
Don't Kill My Vibe
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Clark Kent x BestFriend!Black!Fem!Reader
Summary: You help Clark ease the pain of his broken heart.
Fifteen Minutes
Character: Walter Marshall x Unnamed Black!OFC
Rating: Explicit
Summary: What Walter does with 15 minutes of his time.
There Is A Light That Never Goes Out
Pairing: Syverson x Reader
Rating: Mature
Summary: When an unexpected pregnancy rocks your already uncertain world, you decide the best option is to run. Apocalypse AU.
Pretty As A Picture
Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x F!Reader
Rating: Explicit
Summary: What started as a hobby day in the park turns into Lloyd Hansen showing you why taking photos of strangers is a bad idea.
Something Old, Something New
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Nick Fowler x Reader
Summary: Your childhood best friend invites you to your old vacation spot for her wedding, and you have been catching up with your first crush: her recently divorced big brother Nick.
Oxytocin
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Older!Black!Fem!OFC
Summary: At a New Year's Eve party, Ransom Drysdale's life is forever changed by a chance meeting with Ivy Kensington.
My Little Strawberry
Pairing: Syverson x Black!Reader (Peaches)
Rating: Mature
Summary: A follow-up to Shape Up. Sy has a conversation with his baby girl while she’s still in your stomach.
Doing Something Unholy
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Charles Brandon x Reader
Summary: This is a prompt fill for some teasing of Charles Brandon and then him taking over.
Praise You
Rating: General, pure fluff
Pairing: Clark Kent x Insecure PlusSize!Reader
Summary: Clark Kent loves everything about you, especially what you think are your flaws.
Get My Pretty Name Outta Your Mouth
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Walter Marshall x Reader
Summary: You hate everything about Detective Walter Marshall. He feels the same about you. Now, kiss!
Shape-Up
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Cpt Syverson x Black!Reader (Peaches)
Summary: Syverson and his girl, Peaches, try and trim his beard without causing a ruckus. Spoiler alert: they fail.
Follow-up to Shape-Up: My Little Strawberry
The Paganini Problem
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Wife!Reader
Summary: Being Sherlock’s wife proves to be difficult when a case stumps him.
Power Play: After Hours
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x Assistant!Black!Reader
Summary: What happens when Lloyd sees you, his assistant, in something other than what you usually wear? Well, you should be worried about what he does when he sees you.
No Good Deeds
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Landlord!Ari Levinson x Reader
Summary: Moving out on your own is challenging, but your landlord, Mr. Levinson is kind and helpful. But he may want more from you than your tenancy.
Executive Temptation
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: CEO!August Walker x Employee!Reader
Summary: You’ve caught the eye of CEO August Walker. What happens when he asks you to go to his private office?
Walter Marshall - Hobbies
Lloyd Hansen - Family, Quirks/Hobbies, Sleep
Lloyd Hansen - What happens when reader starts dressing to match lloyd?
Walter Marshall (Night Hunter)
Geralt of Rivia (The Witcher)
Clark Kent (Man of Steel, BvS, Justice League)
Humphrey (Stardust)
Charles Brandon (The Tudors)
Mike (Hellraiser: Hellworld)
Napoleon Solo (The Man from U.N.C.L.E.)
August Walker (Mission: Impossible - Fallout)
Will Shaw (The Cold Light of Day)
Sherlock Holmes (Enola Holmes films)
Captain Syverson (Sand Castle)
Evan Marshall (Blood Creek)
Melot (Tristan and Isolde)
Thomas Apreas (Hotel Laguna)
Chas Quilter (The Inspector Lyndley Mysteries)
Stephen Colley (I Capture the Castle)
I DO NOT WRITE RPF FOR HENRY
Lloyd Hansen (The Gray Man)
Andy Barber (Defending Jacob)
Ransom Drysdale (Knives Out)
Steve Rogers (Avengers films)
Curtis Everett (Snowpiercer)
Ari Levinson (The Red Sea Diving Resort)
Nick Gant (PUSH)
Jake Jensen (The Losers)
Frank Adler (Gifted)
I DO NOT WRITE RPF FOR CHRIS
Bucky Barnes (Marvel)
Charles Blackwood (We Have Always Lived in the Castle)
Steve Kemp (Fresh)
Max (Sharper)
Nick Fowler (The 355)
Lee Bodecker (The Devill All The Time)
Chris (Destroyer)
Justin Capshaw (Law & Order)
I DO NOT WRITE RPF FOR SEBASTIAN
Let me know if you wanna be added and for what plz, so far only these categories 😁 Let me know if you ever want to be removed!
General Fanfiction (Everything)
Henry Character Fanfiction
Chris Character Fanfiction
August Walker
Bright Like The Moon
Love, Napoleon!
Daddy Knows Best
Don't Take My Sunshine Away
The Howling in Claw Creek Forest
~Please DON'T ask me to tag you in a series that you've never 'liked' or 'reblogged'. It's just kind of rude. Also, don't ask for an ETA on the next chapter.~
*Blog Header, Cover Art for fics, Masterlist Header/MDNI 18+ Banner, Support/Reblog banner and Masterlist Dividers made by me in Canva*
#elle the space unicorn#ellethespaceunicorn speaks#my masterlist#ellethespaceunicorn masterlist#ao3#chris evans#walter marshall#clark kent#napoleon solo#syverson#walter marshall x ofc#hc sherlock holmes#ellethespaceunicorn fanfic#henry cavill fanfiction#henry cavill fanfic#henry cavill#sherlock holmes#august walker#hellraiser mike#mike hellraiser#evan marshall#lloyd hansen#ellethespaceunicorn requests#humphrey stardust#charles brandon#ellethespaceunicorn prompt fill#sebastian stan#nick fowler#steve rogers#ransom drysdale
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Wails of Wedded Bliss
Chapter 3 || Masterlist || Chapter 5
Chapter Summary: Sherlock fulfils his husbandry duty and desires to play some more with your weak resolve.
Pairing: Sherlock Homes x wife!reader
Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Period Sex, Blowjob, Bondage, Pet Names, Fingering, Forced Orgasm, Forced Pubic shave, Humiliation.
Word Count: 9k
Author Notes: This chapter involves description of period blood and sex, please be warned!!
Inspiring Song: "Copy Cat." Billie Eillish classic cover
•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•
6:39pm Tuesday 6th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.
You had no choice. Not really...he was your husband and you were his wife. His threat of infidelity brought a great fear to your mental strength than your threat to murder him without a solid plan.
Oh how you hated him for this. You despised him with every sense. You weren’t sure how you’d be able to forgive him.
You knew he wasn’t a good or kind or even gentle husband, but a husband is meant to be faithful. And if humiliating yourself to pleasuring him with your mouth kept him straying in sin; by god you would obey.
You crept closer to him and slowly lowered yourself on one knee, then the next. Your eyes could not leave his face. A sick and twisted smile spread over his rosy cheeks.
In his palm was his half hard cock. His large hand made it appear smaller. The memory of its violent entrance had not been forgotten however.
It stared you back in the face. The pink head peaked up and out of his pale skin. His thumb rubbed over the pink head.
You felt cold and strange in comparison to your usual jitters. You fluttered your eyes closed. Your hands sat in your lap on your thighs.
‘He just wanted a kiss. I can kiss it...’
You leant forward and puckered your lips. His skin was feverishly warm. You pulled back fast and blinked up at him with wet eyes.
He chuckled meanly and touched your damp cheek in his other hand before moving his fingers under your jaw and guiding you closer to his cock.
“Lick the top with the tip of your tongue.”
Your lips trembled nervously. You weren’t sure if this was worth it. The thudding of your chest made you forget what he had asked.
Visions of the lewd novel in his chest flashed in your mind.
“P-pardon?”
His thumb pressed against your mouth, forcing its way past your lips and teeth. You knew better than to bite him. You weren’t an animal...you didn’t want a repeat of the night before where you had bitten his tongue.
“Stick out,” he pulled your tongue out with his thumb, “this little tongue.”
He pulled you closer by the chin and held his cock upwards.
“Lick.”
You whined softly and batted your eyes. Did you have the guts to do this? To truly perform fellatio? You didn’t really have the choice. You had to do this.
He let you go and waited patiently. He undid his cuffs and rolled the shirt off his shoulders.
“Are you so dim witted?” he gruffly asked, his fingers grabbed at your jaw after you took too long,
“Need I repeat myself once more?”
You shuddered and shook your head side to side. It was just so scary. Why did you have to have such a cruel husband!?
“No,” you licked your chapped lips, “I am sorry Mr Holmes.”
His eyes widened, his face softened but his lips smirked, “So polite, little lamb...”
Your lower half tingles with delight at the warmth of his sudden praise...
‘Little lamb, how do I despise it...yet feel warmth within?’
You pushed your face closer. You stuck out your tongue again and this time, glided it over his hot red tip. The gleam of your saliva and his desire shone in the soft candle light of a kerosene lamp on his bedside table.
You tucked your nose quickly back to your chest. You flushed.
Fluttering his eyes, Sherlock clenched the covers. His gasp on his breath was a sound of pain you originally believed.
“Again,” he said clearing his throat, “Come now, I grow tiresome to your reluctance.”
You wanted to spit at him. He knew you didn’t want to do this and yet still made you do it. You licked him again. His hand clapped on the back of your neck, forcing you closer and blocking you from pulling away.
You fell into him slightly, forced to need to grab his pant covered knee and thigh. Your fingers squeezed his trousers to stabilise your balance on your knees.
You looked back up into his eyes. Perhaps it was easier to look him in the eye instead of looking at the brutal beast between his thighs.
You opened your mouth and licked his cock little by little...his thumb pushed up your nose, opening your mouth wider. He pushed his cock into your mouth. His eyes were glued on you. He appeared relaxed.
His skin lacked any flavour. It was like licking your palm...but after a while there was a hint of salt in the taste buds.
You kept your mouth open, you kept your tongue out as he moved his hips in and out. His hand pushed you down and pinched you back up.
Your eyes remained only on him. He was grunting and sighing. A twinge of triumph tickled your heart. You were pleasing him! He would not want to seek out the unsavoury company of whores or any other woman overall.
He paused and leant down. He grabbed at your wrist and picked up his hand and rested your fingers around his length of his cock.
Your blinked and stared at the placement.
“Squeeze, and rub me up to the tip, down to the sack.” You nodded, his cock still rested on your tongue.
He chuckled and rested back on his hands. He waited for you to take over.
This was it. This is what would bring him pleasure. You cupped his shaft and moved the way you were instructed. You did it at a pace where he appear to struggle how to breathe. His words were nothingness under his breath.
He looked to the ceiling and moaned.
The skin was hot and twitched under your finger tips.
He let out a choking groan. The back of your mouth felt that harsh slapping squirt of his release.
You pulled back in horror. Your bottom slid across the rug. You weren’t sure what it was really. In fact you feared he had the audacity to piss in your mouth. You spat on the floor and coughed.
“Ugh!”
He cackled at the mortified look you had written over your sweet face.
He sighed and chewed his bottom lip. He slowly clapped his hands.
“Well done... Forgive me, I had intended to finish myself over your sweet breasts, little lamb.”
He cocked his head to the side and hummed, “Take off my shoes.” He lifted his foot to your direction.
You thought he was entirely despicable! You wiped your mouth with a growing glare. It didn’t go unnoticed by him, in fact, he took glee in your narrowing look..
“You wish to be a wife? Act as a wife. You want my loyalty? Well, you must be my whore...and whores suckle their johns cream with pretty smiles on their painted faces. Wives help their husbands undress from long days of work.”
You felt...weak and disgusting. You felt like an idiot. In your grumpy defeat you crawled back to him and began to unlace his shoes. In the corner of your eye you saw his hand reach back to his front and touch his thick meat. The looser the laces, you lifted your hands and rocked his heel out of his shoe.
Demurely you sat both his shoes aside. His socks smelt of his sweat and the filth of London street ways. You gagged and pinched the wool socks away from his calves and flung them from his toes.
A cramp waved through you and forced a grimacing groan out of your quiet misery.
Sherlock stopped laughing, his smugness dissipated. His face fell. He tucked his cock away with an annoyed sigh.
His hands unexpectedly tucked beneath your armpits and lifted you off the floor. He pushed you lightly onto his mattress onto your front. You felt your breath hitching, worrying what he would do to you. It wouldn’t be right for him to have sex with you during your menses.
He palmed his giant hand over your bottom. Hoisting your night dress up your thighs and over your back. He slapped one cheek lightly and chuckled at your cry and hiss. He grabbed your shoulder and held you down slightly. Your fingers gripped the covers of his top blanket. You had washed and changed this set. They smelt of a sweet lemon citrus.
His lips touched your bare shoulders. His hot breath tingled in your ear.
You flushed and squeezed your eyes shut. God it felt strange and ticklish.
“Look at this perfect little arse,” he admired, groping at the flesh, “Plump and ripe for a needed disciplining. Your grandparents let you get away with far too much.”
He slapped you harder. A scream bellied from you. Your spine curled up and you desperately reached back to scratch his bare arms.
“Stop it! Or I will bite you again!” you shouted.
The detective smacked his lip and hummed, “Ah that reminds me, thankyou little lamb.”
In two fingers he held in front of your eyes his cravat. He stuffed the material deep into your mouth and slapped you swiftly when you tried nipping his hand. Tears poured like boiling water.
He tied the rest of the fabric tightly behind your head. You violently shook your head and fought against him, you tried pushing away only to be shoved down by his strong hands.
He rolled you into your back and used your nightgown to tie your wrists together, over your hands. Your claws were contained from clawing his eyeballs out.
The bonds were pushed above your head. He attached a loose part of the arm of your clothes to the headpost.
He smacked your thighs apart hard. You shrieked behind the gag.
He tore the sanitary apron away and tossed it across the room. You turn your nose into your arm, too embarrassed to look at your husband who played with your body.
You twitched and tried to kick at Sherlock as his hand tickled down your side and between your thighs. The wicked man smirked as he watched your pleading eyes water. He pushed two fingers inside your red hot messed cavern. You felt ill. This was an abomination! He fingered you and held your upper body down, watching you like a hawk as you struggled.
His digits within you flexed and curled. You felt them touch along the top of your walls while his thumb rubbed down into your forbidden button. You whined and shook your head. He removed his hand all together. You clenched your legs back together.
“Oh my, Mrs Holmes,” he purred, glancing down, “You secret slut...this isn’t blood,” he held his fingers up to the light, “Why...this is arousal...”
His lips curled, flashing those pearly white gnashers.
Your eyes widened with horror. You were humiliated. Surely it wasn’t possible that you could be enjoying this? Why did he have to be so handsome. Why did your fear mix in with attraction so easily.
With the clear gleaming on his hand, with little pink streaks, he kissed your cheek and pinched
your nipples.
You shook your head and whimpered. Your legs were buzzing at the pain inflicted increased a desperate certain warmth within you.
“My was that a moan? Interesting,” he whispered cheekily.
“and if I...do this...” he asked as he shoved his hand back onto your snatch, rubbing in fine circles ontop of your clit. Your hips lifted and your thighs trembled. Your toes curled hard and your head rolled back. God it felt delicious and evil.
Amongst your lustful whines, Sherlock chortled happily, “How perfect you might be dear wife...I had no little hope for this morning, but now,” his nose shoved into your ear, “...oh you’ve just gone and damned yourself for good.”
He tugged at your pubic mane lightly, it didn’t matter, it made you squeal and howl in pain.
Your husband sat up and left the bed. Your arms were still bound above your head. You lifted your knees protectively to your chest.
“All this hair...” He tutted, “it shall not do.”
You heard him wonder across his bedroom. Out of his personal drawers he found a straight razor. He also brought forth the basin of water he had near the door way. With a cloth napkin and tiny sliver of soap, he returned and forced your legs down on to the bed. He knelt on your spread ankles and lathered your nether curls.
It was when the soap started to foam that you realised what he was intending to do. It was impossible to word the begging but he knew...you knew he knew what you were pleading out.
You knew how sharp a razor could be. What if he mutilated you!?
He glided the cold metal over your wet sensitive skin.
He licked his bottom lip as he scrapped away your mass of pubic hair.
“Hold still wife or I will cut you,” he scolded sarcastically as he went through the white bubbles.
Cleaning the razor in the water before returning it back between your thighs he hummed, “I am displeased you didn’t confer with me about the states of my accounts before deciding to pay them all off yourself. That dowry was meant for dresses, and necessary accessories such as calling cards...” he tapped the razor on the basin bowl, “now we must both rely on Mycroft and my cases for wages...stupid girl.”
The way he stared into your eyes as he held the blade up to the light...was he threatening you...was this...a warning.
You squeezed your eyes shut and took a deep shuddering breath. Tied to his bed and at his whim you were significantly helpless.
His hands took the towel and wiped your cunt clean of the hairs and soap still left behind. He whistled dramatically and smirked.
“My, my, what a pretty pussy you have.” He mused as he tossed the razor into the basin and moved the water bowl under the bed, out of the way.
His middle finger pushed inside. You gasped. The stretching intrusion took you off your guard.
“So tight still. I might need to train you to take me.”
He tore it back out and touched your naked clit lightly.
You gasped and choked behind the cravat. With deep moans, you wept pathetically.
“Oh look at that reaction,” he cooed condescendingly, he caressed the skin with his knuckle, “and all I’m doing is touching your clit. So sensitive.”
He licked his bottom lip and smirked, he pulled his hand back and slapped his palm across your labia. You squeal as the hot fiery pain rose up under your skin and spread out a dark shade with the rushing of your blood.
“Splendid responses to the nerves,” Sherlock noted before running the stinging flesh, you whined and turned your face into your arm.
“Bit sore I gather?” The man mocked, “Poor Lamb. All mine and bloody for sacrifice.”
A horrid in taking sound came from him. He spat on his fingers and pushed the wetted digits against your labia, dragging them down before sliding in home.
“There we are, squeezing so tightly around my finger, feels filling?”
He paused and listened to your heavy breathing behind the man made gag he had over your mouth. Listening to your ragged gasps and wheezes made his cock stir. You were so innocent and confused, he could see through your prudish and proper demeanour so easily. He fingered you until you were on the brink of insanity. Your eyes were becoming hazy, strained and almost crossed.
He thought it incredible...a true virgin. Not some pretender whore that his friend Miss Adler supplied. You were the authentic innocent.
“Now that you are properly tied up and without risk to harm me,” he whispered wetly, “-And decently groomed... I will complete our union.” He removed his fingers slowly out of you.
You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. You needed to compose yourself. You wanted to pretend you were back home with your grandparents. You imagined yourself in the gardens with your cousins playing balls. Oh back then life was a struggle but comparing to this...it was truly childsplay.
You yearned for your girlhood once more before you felt him move off the bed a moment only to shove your thighs wider apart and sit the head of his cock on top of your naked hairless lips.
Here the devil had come to steal all girlhood for good and inflict the agonising curse of
womanhood.
He entered slowly. Clearly he had learnt from yesterday that this task would only be accomplished with patience.
Indeed yesterday would’ve been considered a consummated marriage...so why he cared so much to refer to this as a completion of union alluded you.
You whimpered softly and peaked through your wet lashes to see his invasive entrance breaking into you.
To say you were full was placing it lightly. This man stole all possible space inside. He left no pocket of air as he pushed along and settled within.
His hands were tightly holding each ankle apart.
You now understood why he touched you with his hands before...your slickness welcomed and slid him deeper into you.
“Oh, my poor little lamb, taking in her masters thick cock so bravely,” he praised and then laughed as you struggled against your own nightgown binded to the headboard, “unable to nip or kick back at him.”
You grew silent in defeat. You submitted to the chance of zero hopelessness. Your legs fell limply.
He released your ankles.
You were plagued in your own paralysis.
You felt like he was pausing before pushing more inside. He was huge. There’s not many you could compare it too as a recently deflowered woman but you were confident his size must’ve been abnormal. Even he winced every so often at the tight squeeze.
When his pelvic bone pressed against your cunt, he sighed, “There...truly man and wife...at last...” A small scoff was heard.
You said something behind the gag that caught his ear. It was too muffled.
He pulled the gag harshly down your chin.
“What was that?”
You narrowed your eyes at him and huffed stubbornly, “Hu-husband and wife. Not man and wife.”
You wanted to remind him exactly who he was doing this to and why he could do it...because you allowed it.
“Correct you are, my darling,” he let a laugh escape him before he moved back, “Now if I just pull and twist my hips like this.”
He re-entered and this time he put his thumb on your clit as he went inside. Your eyes blew wide and you began to babble.
“Oh oh oh! Wh-what wait, please!” You started to moan and whine.
Your husband cackled proudly, “It feels good doesn’t it?”
You foolishly nodded in truth. Something sparked a flame that flooded your insides.
He did it again and again. He repeated and rubbed down into you. The filling of his member rubbing against all parts of your inner skin made you clench and groan.
You felt increasingly needful to collect the same high feeling he had delivered on you before. You were climbing an imaginary hill. The urge to release your bladder made your eyes widen.
Desperation took you into the most needful begging, “N-no! I need to use a bedpan please
Sherlock, please, I am going to make a mess! Stop! I’ll do anything.”
Your little gasps and desperate moans spurred your husband on.
His hips were making a fast speeding pace that made you dig your knees into his sides.
You wanted him to stop. You were scared of pissing over him, especially in his bed.
“I want you to let go,” he moaned and shoved his nose against yours. His breath entered your mouth as he raggedy groaned, “Release, trust me...it will feel good.”
You didn’t trust him. You didn’t know what he meant. How could this behaviour be acceptable.
“No, no, no, no, ugh, ugh, stah-, Sher-, ugh, pl-please!”
He slammed himself harder and licked at your chest, “Such a pretty beggar, dear lord, I predicted you to be a homely creature, I have been proven wrong. In this light, you are rare gem of the seas of Venus. Oh sweet lamb, give me your release.”
You couldn’t hold yourself in containment any longer. You let your lower half go. You clenched hard down onto him.
You found your spine curl and your mouth wordlessly wailing.
“Breathe dead, breathe,” you heard Sherlock call above your silent choking before unleashing a brutalising scream. It was like taking your first breath, being reborn.
When the air released, your chest burned. You gasped and cried out as some mighty string was torn within and drowned you in a flooding dam of pleasure.
Sherlock followed your desirable agony and let his mind go. His grunting was feral and full of need.
Your muscles released and you cried with the feeling of warm melted gold ran through you.
You weakly called out, “Sherlock...”
His hot lips kissed against your sweaty skin. He kissed your neck up to your chin and cheek and engulfed your own mouth in a sloppy sensation of saliva and soft lips.
When your eyes focused and found a semblance of sane sight, you beheld a pleased man. You felt his fingers touching along your arms and wrists.
“I am going to untie you, hush you are safe...”
You shut your eyes. The last tears to come derived from pleasure and a overwhelming sense of joy that was foreign to you. You trembled, still drinking in the vibrations of your body.
You were stuck in a blanket of bodily pleasure. You had never been so relaxed and warm in your entire life.
You enjoyed what he had done and you didn’t know why especially since you heavily disliked your own husband.
Was this what Mrs Hudson referred to? Screaming followed by smiles?
‘Oh’, you thought, ‘never again will a woman have what I just claimed. This is mine and always shall be.’
“I...need...um...I...words...I...you’ve...I can’t think...I am spent,” you mumbled dumbly.
A part of you wanted to thank him and have him leave you alone to wallow in sleep. Another wanted him to do it all again.
“Pretty Lamb,” he cooed in your ear as your hands limply fell to the mattress, “I am going to carry you now.”
He had tucked himself away and scooped his hands under your legs. He moved your arms around his shoulders and pushed you to sit up before clamping his arm beneath your back. His nose tucked into your neck where he left another kiss.
Carefully he lifted you off his bed and stepped out into the dining parlour where he turned and took you to your room beside his.
He pulled the blankets and sheets away before sliding you down beneath them.
He pulled the cover up to your chin and you whimpered, “I...am sore.”
His hard face softened, he pressed his lips to your cheek and asked, “You are?”
You nodded your head, “I...feel...light...tired.”
He left your side to shut your door. The light disappeared completely. Only the moon that casted light over his face helped you see as he faced you again. He wondered over and invaded your bed space.
He climbed in along side you. The wood creaked with his added weight. You were slightly alarmed he was coming into your bed and not returning back to his room.
You were drowsy and moaned.
“Sleep, in my arms,” He said as you weakly tried rolling away.
You turned back and stared at the shadows of his face. His eyes were black with only small specks of the light reflecting.
His skin was sticky and hot... But tonight it was cold and windy...you needed him...he wanted you...you succeeded.
In the darkness, you decided to reclaim some small pride...you pushed your face up and kissed his lip. Breathing him in you could finally smell him and taste him. Chalk, blood, and tobacco.
You shut your eyes and imagined the joy of your grandmother if you could tell her how you finally became the wife of Sherlock Holmes before the rites of Godly flesh.
He was silent and still. He said nothing. Did nothing.
When you pulled back from the kids he rested his head softly back on the pillows with a light hum. His fingers tickled up your naked back, holding you close. You rubbed your cheek into his bicep and listened to his heart beat and breathing until you passed into the dreamlands of sleep.
•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•
6:04am Wednesday 7th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.
You dreamt of your father and mother. Two people who never married, but at some point were in love. You never had the chance to see them together in happiness.
They were well dressed and strolling in the park pushing a perambulator. And as you followed them it had not struck you that this was a dream. Inside the baby carriage was nothing at all...it was odd.
Yet your parents smiled and both leant in to kiss each other....their hands both held wedding bands.
If you had never been born, you suddenly thought, would they have been able to marry and be happy?
Your mother as she loved upon your father shoved the perambulator away. It rolled fast down the path and you followed it for a moment before hearing a terrible wail of a baby inside. A baby that wasn’t in the carriage before suddenly appeared, pulling back a blanket that covered it.
You chased after the carriage as it sped up and went down a hill. Your heart ached with terror. You struggled to keep up and reached out your hand to the handle bar. It was rolling just out of your reach!
You sobbed as the carriage crashed into Tree and fell to its side. Out rolled...a bleating lamb...the creature rose up on its four wiggly legs and bleated again. It’s long wagging tail flickered around anxiously.
You landed on your knees before the lamb and kept crying. Not even you knew the reason for your tears. You held the small animal to your torso, checking it over for any broken limbs. The baby sheep was fine.
A tap on your head made you look up and standing above you was a dark faceless shadow of a man. The shadow sucked you in and you screamed at the darkness before waking up.
Above you was a face you did know...your husband’s. His eyes danced around your features. His lips curled into a smirk, “Good morning Mrs Holmes, how did you sleep?”
You blinked and peered up at him warily before slowly you sat up and away from him. His hand touched your shoulder, your hand grabbed his wrist.
What was he doing in your bed? Why were you nude!? Ah the revaluations if the previous evening re-established back into your memory. He had fully fucked you. He had claimed you...and in your drunken sleepy state, you kissed him. You flushed.
“I slept fine...” you lied, “Please let me up,” you glanced between him, the door of the bedroom and your wardrobe, “I need to start my day.”
You swallowed hard as you looked over his broad chest.
“Nonsense,” Sherlock stated before dragging you closer to him by your waist, his hands were huge and warm, it would be too much to say even comforting.
“We have plenty of time before Mrs Hudson climbs up the stairs.” His lips touched your jaw and peppered down your neck..
“Mr Holmes...please,” you cleared your throat as your hand pushed his chest to force a pause. You flushed with embarrassment. He noticed very quickly at your strained tone.
“Oh...I see...you recall the events of last night...your self deduction?”
His hands under the blanket slid downward to your thighs. He touched the soft shaved skin of your pubis. You felt twice as sensitive...
“H-humiliated, st-stupid and angry,” you shuddered.
You had let him hurt you again...and yet this time it came to a pleasant conclusion. You were disgusted in yourself for obeying him so quickly, so willingly I’m regards to giving him fellatio.
His fingers pressed your clit and he smiled at your gasp.
“And now?”
You gulped and turned your face into the pillows away from his eyes.
It was hard to deny how much you enjoyed the jumping buzz in your lower belly.
His laugh was crude to your ears, “See how easy it is to feel that sweet entrapment?” He rubbed his hand between your legs and marvelled at your heightened reaction, “My goodness look at you, your cunt is pulsing against me, hot and hard in my palm.”
Your breath hitched and your hips accidentally rolled into his touch. Your body craved the addictive buzz. Your thighs parted for him...he accepted the invitation and moved a finger inside while he ground his palm against your bundle of nerves.
“Oh, are you going to release again?” he whispered proudly.
He chuckled at your shaking head. Your pathetic attempts to mentally deny it. You were close by how tightly you fluttered around just his lone finger. Your knees shook and clamped together. His finger continued jerking in and out.
“Oh ride the sweet death, come to be me, come, come, come to me little lamb.”
His mouth ducked down to your nude chest. He licked across your nipples and suckled them into his cheeks loudly.
Your hand grabbed the blankets and his wrist. You rolled your head back and sighed as whatever that spell was took over you.
“Did you know,” he smacked his lips across your breasts, before tonguing a single nipple, “you’ve the most delicious teats?”
You groaned and blushed. You were trying to catch your own breath.
He pressed his cock against your leg before taking your hand and forcing you to hold him.
“Touch me, hold it and slide your hand up and down like a silk pole.”
You did as he asked while he kissed your mouth openly. Your eyes fluttered shut and jerked him off until you felt a wetness glide down your hands, he moaned.
This is the kindest he has ever been to you presently.
You pulled your hand away and up to the light of the morning. Your eyes widened at the white goop stuck on your fingers and back of your hand.
“Wha-what is this?”
He chuckled and kissed your cheek proclaiming, “My seed.” Seed...to make children...but it was so...
“Its...liquid,” you disagreed, “and wet and sticky...it’s like mucus.”
He raced his fingers along your hip and patiently explained, “When drained inside of you,” his hand touched your lower belly, “it goes up and impregnates. But you are still bleeding so it washes out and won’t catch in your womb.”
You blinked and let your dirty hand fall back on the top of the covers.
“Oh...”
You felt him sit up and you mirrored him. You slid out of the bed as his warmth left you. Watching him pull his trousers properly back up over his hips and waist made you fluster from the sight of his bare arse.
It was such a plump bottom.
He pulled away your blanket, unveiling your nude self to the cold morning.
He turned around and brought back your water basin and a cloth. He soaked the material in and pressed the wet cloth to your thighs.
“Stay still,” he said softly, “I’m just washing you.”
You paused before you spread your legs for him and awkwardly nodded, “Thankyou...husband.”
Surely you could’ve cleaned yourself. You hissed as he scrubbed the dry blood and release from you thighs. The cold water on your hot dirty skin was soothing.
You stood out of your bed finally and hurried to your dresser to find either some padding tubes or a sanitary apron.
Your rolled the bandage up quickly and turned away from Sherlock as you inserted the material.
You felt...strange doing this in front of him. A part of him you were sure might be repulsed at the sight.
Except he had his back turned to you, he was washing himself in the basin while he asked, “How did you find the carnal pleasure?”
You froze and felt your mouth dry up. Had he forgotten that he had tied you up?!
It was hard to meet his eyes. You wrapped your arms around yourself. Your husband turned to you.
You felt the need to cover your privates with your hands.
“Strange, it...felt correct...but...wrong...” you cleared your throat, “forbidden, despite our vows.”
He smiled and nodded to the bed while he passed you to your wardrobe and investigated the contents, “Many young ladies new to it have expressed the same condolences...that is sex. That is coitus. That is what husband and wife do. To make babies, and to feel pleasure.”
Your nose wrinkled. Sherlock was significantly older than you. You trusted this wisdom. He was clearly an experienced man from the prices spent at Mayfair.
“Why did it hurt so much the first time?” you asked.
No one had prepared or explained why having sex with your husband would hurt. He was so brutal the first day. And last night it hurt but not as much...
He sighed and pulled out dark navy blouse and a skirt to match. You felt the urge to correct his choice as he held them up. It was an outfit for outside outings. You weren’t meant to leave the home during this delicate time.
He asked over his shoulder, “Have you ever ridden horses?”
“I have,” you answered honestly.
“Side saddle?” His left brow raised.
“Sometimes,” you pursed your lips and watched him lay out your clothes on your bed, “It was easier for balance when riding as men do.”
He nodded and went to collect a pair of your boots, “And that hurt your thighs the first time?”
“First few ride like that yes,” you agreed, huffing impatiently, “Where is this conversation leading?”
He pulled you closer by pinching your hip. He pushed a chemise over your head. Your eyes widened, this wasn’t his role...to help you dress. It was your responsibility and Mrs Hudson if you were inclined to ask for her assistance.
“How did the pain go away?” he asked.
You rolled your eyes and answered the obvious explanation, “Because my body accommodated and my muscles for the riding evolved to accept the saddled position.”
He passed you a pair of open crotch bloomers. You pulled the material over your legs and tied the strings to your waist over the corset.
He smiled and pinched your chin, “The same is said for sex. The more you practice, the better it will be for you and...your health.”
You flushed and turned your face away from him...you felt foolish with the way his eyes ran over your bare body. He turned you around and helped pull a corset over your head and began fighting the strings in the back.
“I...it hurt and felt good...I felt...suffocated...I thought I saw a bright light,” you grunted as he tugged.
Your husband shut his eyes and with a smile he hummed pleasingly, “La petite mort.” “The Little death?” You gasped.
He flicked his eyes open. He sounded amused, “ah you know French little lamb?”
“of course I do,” you scoffed lightly, “any self respectable lady must learn French.”
Not his sister, “I suppose so.”
He pulled more of the ties closer. The corset grew taunt and supportive of your chest. His fingers tugged down further.
“Why did you go to Scotland yard yesterday?” You asked him as he finished tying the laces together.
“And who did you have a fight with?”
You tapped your face with a soft finger. He passed you a hose suspender belt. You clipped the hooks behind your back while the belt sat on your waist.
“There’s now a bruise under your chin that I most certainly did not cause Mr Holmes...” A part of you wished you had. He would’ve deserved it from you. He rubbed the dark spot and smirked.
Your husband sat on your bed and plucked your stockings. He pat his thigh and opened the stockings up. You lifted your leg and rested it on his thigh. You clenched the wooden canopy pole to steady your balance.
You were embarrassed. At this angle he would be able to see your cunt stuffed with the white fluff soaking up your menstruation.
He showed no care or disgust. He slid the soft cotton up your leg and kissed your knee cheekily.
He clipped your stocking to the suspension strings.
“I inquired upon the Pennicott case,” he claimed,” his thumb rubbed dangerously over your thigh...
God, you felt a spark at the touch.
“I thought you said it was obvious,” you stuttered, “He ran out from his wife.”
“I did, and...I rethought it,” he admitted, he slid the other stocking up your other leg, “Pennicott is a Baron and a owner of many warehouse factories. His wife comes from a well off family too and she is pregnant last heard, baby number six now. Why would he disappear off the face of the earth?...”
He stood up straight and forced your arms above your head before he slid a petticoat across your waist.
“A lover?”
He smiled as he tied the strings at your waist and shook his head, “No, men like Pennicott would just keep their arm candy and refer to them as a niece of a distant cousin. And if he was attached so lovingly, he would just move to another country but to completely eradicate and leave all his finances? To leave his wife in her state? It makes not much sense. He was making a fine quarter profit! So why is he missing?”
He passed you the blouse and skirt.
“Well,” You pulled the skirt over your arms and buttoned the buttons up to our neck “Perhaps he’s been kidnapped, for ransom?”
Sherlock hummed, “Maybe Watson, but I do wonder still.” You blinked...
“Pardon?” you gawked.
He raised his brows to your exclamation.
“You called me Watson.”
“Oh dear god,” he chuckled and passed you your skirt, “it’s already happening.”
You slid on the final layer and wrinkled your nose at him, “What is happening?” Sherlock stood up from the bed and clapped his hands.
“Come with me,” he softly begged, “Today I will be visiting his wife. The Baroness. I am investigating the case.”
Your eyes fluttered. Your thoughts couldn’t keep up. You sputtered as you tried to find sensibility. “Sherlock, it is our honeymoon and I am bleeding,” you whispered, “It is improper. I need to conduct laundry. Both our bedding must be soaked in...” you cleared your throat, “the blood.” He winked at you and pulled you close to his nude chest by your covered waist.
“Isn’t it marvelous that we have a housekeeper for such things?”
You narrowed your eyes... “A housekeeper is not a maid and I would not subject Mrs Hudson to cleaning that. She has told me herself that linens is not of her department.”
The tall man bent down and offered, “Mrs Hudson will clean the laundry, trust me..”
Despite his assurance, It wasn’t right for you to be out and about in public like this.
“And what would I be doing,” you tested, “Running after you as you speak to the Baroness?”
“Sitting pretty,” Sherlock stated, “And looking for clues.”
Your eyes sharpened, “Clues?”
Your husband tapped your nose, “Yes, you seem to have a hint of talent in that department. You just don’t know where to deduce the end results for the clues.” You blinked....
With a soft mutter you stated, “I suppose it would allow me more insight to your profession and a chance to bond and learn about each other...”
Before you could continue anymore questions you heard a soft knock on your bedroom door.
“Mrs Hudson,” you both whispered, glancing to one another.
Helplines:
If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.
Australian Helpline Services
UK Helpline Services
American Helpline Services
India Helpline Services.
#dead dove fic#dead dove do not eat#sherlock holmes x y/n#sherlock holmes x female reader#sherlock holmes x poc!reader#sherlock holmes x you#sherlock holmes x ofc#sherlock holmes x reader#sherlock holmes#enola sherlock#henry sherlock#henry cavill x female reader#henry cavill x y/n#henry cavill x ofc#henry cavill x you#henry cavill x reader#wowb
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Danse Macabre
Summary: She cannot tell who she is anymore, nor where she is. All that she knows is that Sherlock is not the man he pretends to be and that every night he comes to her bedroom to feast on the delights of her body...
Pairing: Vampire!Sherlock Holmes x Virgin OFC (no mentions of body type or ethnicity)
Word count: 2.2K
Warnings: 18+, Dark, horror, dubious consent, sex, supernatural themes, I guess we can say monster sex? Mentions of blood, hinted Stockholm Syndrome, loss of virginity, metaphors, obsession, hinted hypnosis, bites, vampire sex, mind manipulation.
A/N: I don't own Sherlock Holmes or Enola Holmes.
Many thanks to my angels: @agniavateira for beta'ing my work and supporting me, and to @notabronte for giving me feedback and encouraging me to post. Please reblog and leave a comment if you enjoyed it. 🖤
Danse Macabre 🕯️
How long has it been; a month? A year? An eternity?
Time swayed differently in Mister Holmes’ mansion — if it moved at all.
The nights seemed endless, and the days… she couldn’t remember the last time she was awake during daytime. Perhaps this was a nightmare, or maybe it was the cold tentacles of death that pulled her into an abyss; but then, if the dead couldn’t feel pain then why did his kisses hurt?
It was in the bawls of midnight when Sherlock stalked into her bedroom— his jaw stern, cheekbones sharp and strikingly distinguished by the flame of a single candle held in his hand. Hunger filled his careless face, and his eyes flickered brightly like glowing orbs of ice.
Unable to scream or move, she watched him behind the ghostly veils of her bed. Hot wax dribbled down his fingers—little white tears of sorrow that she wished she herself could cry, but Sherlock had not only drained her of such force but by some enchantment, coaxed her to submit to his sacrilegious desire
“Undress,” he demanded from the doorway where he stood, shrouded by the crimson haze of the poorly lit corridor. Whatever was behind him, she could never see, the width of his bulky figure blocked the path like a monster from a children’s tale.
‘Monsters are real, Momma. They look like men in tailored vests and shiny leather shoes.’
Her fingers trembled, hands stiff and heavy. Yet she did what she was told without question, allowing the straps of her nightdress to fall down her shoulders the way a dying leaf falls from a branch.
Eyes a shade colder than ice, his glare fell to her breasts, and his chest puffed with a rumbling growl. Slowly he stalked forward, treading like a spider on its web. The tips of his fingers turned black as if dipped in poison whilst his nails grew long and sharp at every step.
“The duvet. Set it aside.”
His voice was the rumble of an inching thunder, an echo inside her head that made her bones rattle. Whenever he spoke, it felt as if invisible strings wrapped around her wrists and persuaded her limbs to do as he commanded. Even when her soul begged her to give a sliver of resistance, her hands still lifted to obey this dark ventriloquist and pushed the blanket away.
The stem of Sherlock’s throat clenched at the delicious splendour: bare, youthful skin, so tight and so supple. A thing that should have never been touched, should have never been spoiled and yet he yearned for nothing but to leave his marks at the depth of her soul.
The scent that emanated from the flesh between her thighs elicited a guttural groan from his chapped lips. In his throat pulled the ghastly hunger. Setting the candle on the wardrobe, he stalked toward the bed, his shadow metastasizing and devouring every shred of light that dared enter the chamber.
Both the mattress and her heart sank once he placed a knee on the bed and began to crawl between her parted legs, slowly and predatorily, dragging himself closer to her heat. Black, sharpened nails graze their way up her inner thighs, admiring the pureness of the forever-young flesh.
Encased in a glass coffin, his young ward would forever be protected from famine, disease, and time; and what was Sherlock if not a warden fulfilling his duty?
‘A monster! God, please! There is a monster in my bed!’
If only she could scream, if only God hadn’t abandoned her. Instead, all she could do was shiver, her heart giving no sound as Sherlock forced himself between her thighs. One razor-sharp fingernail traced the plumpness of her breast, tenderly circling and caressing the nipple.
“Mine,” he growled and slipped his nail down the valley of her torso, casually tugging the remains of her gown to expose her pure mound. Red glinted on those piercing shards that replaced his eyes—red like a flicker of fire from a match. “Look at me,” he demanded, though there was no need for him to ask.
That same gaze that possessed her had sliced through the tendrils of her mind.
Nodding, she lifted her gaze to meet his, her lips parting in a quiet plea as the ghastly, pointed talon made careful strokes amidst the swollen petals to collect the honeyed dew that gathered at the seams of her untouched cunt.
“My poor little dove, it’s so lonely in there…” he keened, attempting to slide his long monstrous finger inside of her. But her maidenhood, still obstinate to protect her from the vile urges of men, forbade him access.
Foolish.
What strength did her flesh have against such a sinister entity if even iron locks and carved religious figures couldn’t keep him away? Huffing with scorn, he drew an icy fingertip around the outlines of her slit, further spreading the sinful wetness across the seams of her cunt.
She mewled, despite herself, her waist moving in a smooth tidal sway.
Sherlock could never tire of this, not of the terror in her eyes whenever she saw him at her bedroom door nor the moans she emitted as he traced her engorged flesh with a finger or his tongue. But what he favoured above all was the sensation of his cock as it tore through her seal and those heavenly pained cries that eventually turned into the moans of a whore.
What a great fortune it was that they had an eternity of this dance.
Hovering above his prey, he propped his knees between her legs, the fabric of his trousers brushing against her inner thighs as he lowered his weight upon her. If there was any air in her lungs, she would have let out a shuddering breath; but what came instead was a silent gasp, and only her lips quivered as she prepared herself for the familiar twinge of his invasion.
Reaching for his groin, he freed his hardened cock and stroked a hand across its length before nudging the heart-shaped crown at the gates of her purity. Not yet pushing in, he teased himself up and down her narrow slit, treating her the way a lover treats his delicate mistress— the way a cat toys with a mouse.
Lips swollen and tingling, she whimpered, her yet-empty hole twitching as if heeding a primal call. How could she fear and need him at the same time? Did she loathe herself so much that she wanted him to defile her? Tears began to rim her eyes, and from quivering lips, she whispered, “please…”
Letting out a low rumbling chuckle, he lowered his head and pressed a kiss to her forehead before whispering in her ear, “You, my ward, are such a mystery…”
Her mouth opened to speak but a scream followed instead. One unceremonious thrust and he sunk into her lush depth, his girthy cock devouring the sweetness of virginal flesh. Indifferent to her pain, he pushed further and deeper past her folds until every inch of him was buried within.
Cries and squeals sputtered from her mouth—the monster had tore her innocence, the pain had seared, and in pathetic pleas for mercy, she slapped against his bare chest and tried to shove him away. But Sherlock knew no mercy, for truly he was a beast, not just by the breadth of his shoulders and untypically muscular figure, but by his blunt absence of elegance and heartless mien. Giving her no moment to adjust, he had already began to pump himself inside of her now-defiled cunt.
Such a mask of virtue did her warden wear; to the world, a perfect, eloquent gentleman. But behind closed doors, lurked a sick, sinister man who only wished to desecrate this tender maiden in this dark sacrament.
Over and over, he pulled away only to plunge into her again, each thrust harder than the last, each thrust ending with the slap of his sack against her cunt. And the moans that came from him - had the most debauched resonance, as if she was a long anticipated feast to a voracious man.
Unable to meet his vigour, her walls whined a protest and squeezed around him in a futile battle to drive him out; yet for Sherlock, this tightness was nothing less than an aphrodisiac. If any, her insubordination did nothing but provoke the ungodly creature within him. Reaching a clawed hand to her chin, his fingers pressed into the hollow of her cheeks, forcing her to stare directly into his bright-red eyes as he began to fuck her in a punishing pace.
“I am already inside you, little dove. There is nothing that can be done,” he rasped while his hips continuously snapped into hers, every second rut bringing her closer to surrender as friction drew that which she so religiously wanted to resist.
“Give in to me, and I will give you pleasure like no other.”
His words were but a spell. Briefly, unbidden, a spark inside her womb ignited, giving life to ecstatic flames that cascaded through her canal. While a part of her wanted to stay pure and deny this vicious man, an unbearable ache for his return struck her every time he pulled out from her slit. In mindless despair to hold him close, she had finally caved in and wrapped her legs around his waist to hold him near.
Triumphant grunts rumbled in his throat. Appeased by her surrender to his whims, he lifted his upper torso, his taut abs flexing as he rose to hover above her. With his hand still around her jaw, he pressed her deeper into the mattress while pummeling her cunt.
“Make us whole…” he begged, his voice a husky—almost pitiful—groan.
“Make us whole again.”
Depraved as an animal, he ravaged her with the selfish degenerate intent of a man yearning to impregnate his mate. Though this union could result in nothing of that sort, still she thrashed against him in an archaic frenzy, her screams unfurling into the night as her body became enslaved to the same foolish wanton. Soon her trenches began to tighten around him in demand of his seed, and the whispering embers that smouldered in her womb had suddenly imploded into a wave of molten fire that scorched through her completely.
It was in that moment when her cunt devoured him completely, when he felt her heat gush and hug around his shaft so longingly that his eyes glowed bright red, and his fangs flashed sharply before her dazed eyes. Even though she had seen this play out numerous, endless times, she couldn’t help but gasp as he lowered his mouth to her neck and drank her pleasure-tainted blood.
Eyes staring into the ceiling with shock, she trembled like a thing that was about to be shattered. The waves of her ecstasy ebbed away as Sherlock stole from whatever maw of force she had left. Black mists began to waft around her, blurring her sight and pulling her down below. And suddenly, she was limp and heavy at the same time while a cold, strange tingle jittered through her veins.
‘Death…’ she smiled with her eyes half-shut, ‘Oh, finally… Release me!’
Just then, a secondary implosion spasmed through her core and caused her entire body to jitter with delight as the sensation elicited from his bite was an unlikely aphrodisiac. Mouth agape in a silent cry, she threw her head back and stared through the open window while the monster inside her continued to feast on her throat.
The moon—it was covered in blood, painting the room in a crimson shade.
Lost in this trance, Sherlock hummed; the blood of a newly deflowered virgin was sweeter than ambrosia; after decades and aeons of searching, he could sense the wind on his skin, feel the thrum in his veins and abruptly… in a moment passing, he felt a rumble in his chest as his heart pumped once again.
‘Make us whole.’
‘Make me whole.’
‘Make me feel alive again.’
Losing his control entirely, he thrusted into her with a few last powerful strokes and then finally lifted his head with a savage-like shout while his thick elixir overflowed her womb. Cum seeped around his cock at the same manner of the blood that trickled down his square chin.
He licked the corner of his lip, eyes red and sated, peering down at his prey.
“Oh, my sweet little flower,” he murmured and carefully lowered his head to kiss her. She returned the kiss, uncertain if by choice, little did she care now. Her body still tingled and the taste of her own blood had an odd sweetness to it that had made her thirsty. Once he broke from her lips, she suckled them dry.
Like petals plucked from a rose, she laid raw beneath him. Not dead. Not yet. Not ever. She no longer remembered her life before him, no longer remembered who she was. All she knew was that when she would wake the next day, it would be night again.
And he would return to claim her, again.
His fellow companions warned him of such abomination; it was dangerous to drink from his own kind, or so they claimed. It poisoned the mind and the body according to the myths, but whether it was true or not, Sherlock couldn’t bring himself to care.
No matter the fashion, he came every night, drank from her veins, deflowered her and left.
And every night, she woke up a virgin again, clueless as to who and what she was.
But Sherlock knew the one and only true answer.
She was his.
For all eternity.
#henry cavill#enola holmes#enola holmes 2#sherlock holmes fanfiction#sherlock holmes x reader#henry cavill x reader#sherlock holmes x ofc#henry cavill fanfiction
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