#we’re looking for lestrade | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

calaisreno · 11 days

Text

Loyal, So Quickly

Greg and Mycroft have another chat. See An Arrangement.

560 words / Prompt: Intimidate

Mycroft Holmes doesn’t do things like other people, Greg realises. Where another man would text or call, ask to meet for coffee, Holmes kidnaps people.

Not exactly kidnapping, but it’s a bit intimidating to be followed by a black car, invited in by a beautiful woman who does not smile. Maybe that’s a condition of working for the man: no smiling allowed.

“I assume you’ve met my brother’s flatmate,” Mycroft begins without preamble.

“John Watson,” Greg replies. “Yeah, I’ve met him.”

“What do you think of him?”

“Seems like a good bloke. I mean, I think he’s trustworthy.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I can see he has a steadying effect on your brother. He keeps Sherlock’s attitude in check at a crime scene.”

Holmes seems to be making a mental note of this. “How much does Watson know about my brother’s habit?”

“When he found out about the drugs, I could see he was surprised. It didn’t take the world’s only consulting detective to see that he won’t tolerate that. Now that he’s aware, he’ll have an eye out for it. A doctor’s eye. Sherlock’s not going to jeopardise their relationship, though.”

“And what relationship is that?” The grey eyes narrow.

“Your brother doesn’t have friends, Mr Holmes. Even me—he doesn’t consider me a friend. I’m just DI Lestrade, the person who supplies cases and needs Sherlock Holmes to solve them for me. We don’t hang out, have a pint and discuss the footy. We’re colleagues, I suppose.”

“You’re suggesting that he considers Doctor Watson… a friend?”

“I don’t know. Never seen him with a friend, so I’m not sure what that would look like.”

“And what about Watson?”

Greg remembers after the cabbie was shot, talking with Sherlock, who was wound up, talking a mile a minute, describing a man with a strong moral principle, a crack shot, a fighter. He’d noticed Watson standing behind the tape, waiting for Sherlock, looking innocuous. And he’d realised. Sherlock himself hadn’t realised until a moment later, when he begged Lestrade ignore me.

He felt a bit proud, seeing something Sherlock hadn’t seen. So he watched, and saw more. Sherlock, walking towards Watson, Watson looking at him. They exchanged a smile and a few words, and he knew.

He didn’t know Watson well yet, but he’d worked with Sherlock for a few years, and had never seen him look at another person like that. Admiration. Longing.

And then there’s the unsolved murder of Jeff Hope. Well, that bullet anyway. The man died of an aneurysm, but technically it could be murder, if the gunshot was what set things off. Not that he’s going to share his suspicions about that with the elder Holmes. No point setting up Watson for another interview. Though he’s sure that if anyone can stand up to Mycroft Holmes, it’s John Watson.

The look on Watson’s face.

I think he would kill for Sherlock. I think he would die for him.

“He’s a loyal one. You can trust him. He won’t leave.”

Holmes is quiet for a long moment. Then he nods. “I hope you’re right. I think he could be the making of my brother. Or he could make him much worse. Either way, I will be watching.”

His smile reminds Greg that he’s not the only one likely to be followed by a black sedan.

I'm posting my #mayprompts2024 here on AO3 and in this collection. Please add yours!

#mayprompts2024 #bbc sherlock #mycroft holmes #greg lestrade

99 notes · View notes

raina-at · 16 days

Text

Akward

The silence is deafening. It’s also unnatural.

Normally there would be banter and good-natured ribbing and small talk about the weather, maybe plans to catch a pint.

Now silence reigns as Sherlock examines the body on the slab in Molly’s lab, the only sounds coming from Sherlock’s steps as he rounds the slab.

Lestrade is standing in a corner, arms awkwardly crossed over his chest, refusing to meet John’s eyes.

John can empathise. He’d very much like to not see Lestrade again for the next six months. Or possibly longer. However long it will take for the awkwardness to dissipate, and for the images no doubt seared into Lestrade’s retinas to fade.

Molly is looking from John to Lestrade, vibrating with barely contained curiosity.

“Oh for god’s sake, can you lot grow up!” Sherlock has straightened from examining the corpse and is glaring at the three of them. He gestures between himself and John. “Lestrade, you are an adult. You know that what two consenting adults do in their free time in their own home is none of your bloody business. If you did not want to walk into anything you’re obviously not mature enough to handle, you could have, I don’t know, knocked. Or phoned.”

Molly goes beet red as she looks from Lestrade, who’s pointedly gazing at the floor, to John, who’s covering his face with both hands. “You walked in on them having sex?”

Lestrade looks at Molly, aghast. “Oh my god, I wish!”

“What did you do?” Molly asks John, obviously deeply fascinated.

John rolls his eyes. “Privacy, Molly. Ever heard of the concept?”

Molly turns to Sherlock, who sighs, exasperated. “Am I the only one who cares about the dead body in the room?”

“She’ll keep,” Molly says, pinning Sherlock with a penetrating gaze. “Wait, does this have anything to do with the glitter nail polish you borrowed from me?”

“Please don’t remind me,” Lestrade says, shuddering.

Sherlock, irate, turns to Lestrade. “Not that it’s any of your bloody business, actually, but it seems to have escaped your pea brain, Gavin, that we have a daughter. A daughter who wants to wear nail polish. How am I supposed to recommend a brand without having thoroughly tested it beforehand? Do you understand nothing about science, and even less about being a parent?”

“Oi, I’ve raised two children to be moderately functional adults, and all of that without ever painting my husband’s toenails.”

“I think Sherlock has a point about the dead body, actually,” John chimes in, wanting very much to end this discussion. “And the whole ‘none of your business’ bit, actually, too.”

“Serves me right for not phoning ahead, I suppose,” Lestrade mutters, still not quite meeting John’s eyes. He gestures at the slab. “Point taken, though. Dead body and all.”

John steps up to the slab. “Discoloration suggests asphyxiation. What did the tox screen say, Molly? Molly?”

“Hm? What?” Molly asks, her eyes still fixated on Sherlock’s feet.

“Molly. Tox screen.”

“Hm. Not done yet,” she says absently, still staring at Sherlock’s feet. “Can I—”

“Molly! Privacy!” John yells.

“Yeah, that’s my cue, text me anything I need to know,” Lestrade says and all but flees the scene.

Sherlock’s already typing on his phone. “Sorry to disappoint, Molly, but it’s actually John’s feet. His toes are more like Watson’s for obvious reasons. Come along, John, we’re quite done here.”

John walks out after his husband, fervently wishing he could scrub this entire encounter from his brain, especially Molly’s disappointed expression.

“Let’s just move to another country,” he says when he catches up to Sherlock outside.

Sherlock chuckles. “Are you really so embarrassed?”

“By what, Lestrade thinking we have a weird foot fetish, or the discovery that apparently Molly has a weird foot fetish?”

“Admittedly that last one was information I did not need to have. Still, it’s worth the temporary embarrassment if it will teach Gavin to knock.”

“See, that’s the silver lining attitude I married you for.”

“Or, we could arrange for him to actually walk in on us while having sex, just for him to realise that it could have been so, so much worse.”

“Definitely moving to another country,” John mutters. “You think Greenland is nice this time of year?”

“They have polar bears, John.”

“Might be preferable.”

“Tell you what,” Sherlock murmurs, leaning closer so he can speak directly in John’s ear. “Why don’t we go back home, and I’ll show you what I’d want Gavin to walk in on, and I can guarantee you wouldn’t even notice.”

Then Sherlock proceeds to whisper a few suggestions in John’s ear, one dirtier than the other, and by the end of them, John is hard as a rock, almost blind with arousal, and has completely forgotten what they were talking about.

“Home,” he whispers, giving Sherlock a quick and dirty kiss.

“Home,” Sherlock agrees, then grins at John. “Oh, and John? Leave the nail polish on.”

“Pervert,” John mutters affectionately. “Let’s go.”

---------

Comedy today, making up for the pain and angst of yesterday. Though you all seemed to enjoy that, so who am I to judge.

Thank you all for your kind words, by the way, I'm glad you're enjoying my very eclectic ficlets so far. I feel a bit bad for having snoozed on doing a serialised story like many of you, but I do sort of enjoy the whiplash feeling of never knowing what I'll come up with next ;-)

I'm collecting these ficlets on AO3 here, btw.

Tags under the cut as always, please let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged.

@calaisreno @jrow @totallysilvergirl @jolieblack @meetinginsamarra @peanitbear @lisbeth-kk @helloliriels @friday411 @givemesherbet-blog-blog @keirgreeneyes @salmonsown

#johnlock #bbc sherlock #my fic #ficlet #awkward #mayprompts2024

96 notes · View notes

lilmoonbunny · 5 months

Text

First Kisses; BBC Sherlock

Includes: Sherlock, John, Mycroft, Lestrade, and Moriarty.

Sherlock:

It wasn’t rare for Sherlock to come out with the strangest things, but there were times when his requests were so unexpected that one would choke.

“I need to test out a theory,” Sherlock broke the silence between himself and Y/N one day.

“…Okay?” Y/N replied simply, preparing to tell Sherlock that he can’t put a head in the microwave again.

“I require your help.”

That was odd, he rarely ever trusted someone else to help him with an experiment, not even John.

With a raised eyebrow, she responded. “How so?”

“You need to kiss me.” Whilst his words were as blunt as always, Y/N couldn’t help the way that she choked in surprise, all whilst he rolled his eyes. “It is not that serious, Y/N. I simply need to see if it solves these thoughts.”

“These thoughts?” Came her confused response, watching him as he walked towards her seat on the chair opposite him.

“That is what I said, yes. Do keep up.”

Rolling her own eyes, she stared up at the detective who had an impatient look on his face.

“I mean, okay? If that’s what you want.” He smirked slightly at her attempt to seem nonchalant at his request; he didn’t expect her to actually do it.

“I just need to see if t-“He began speaking, only to have his sentence cut short by her lips pressing against his own.

Sherlock’s eyes widened as her hand gently gripped his cheek as kissed him. He was frozen in place, heart racing, and chest heaving once she pulled away.

“Did that help?” She asked, looking up at the startled and silent man as she seated herself back where she was previously. She waited for a few more moments to see if he would respond before giving up. “Anyway, I need to get going. Tell John I said hello whenever he returns.” Y/N said as she reached the door, Sherlock still frozen in place, at least, until the door clicked, and he snapped out of his haze.

“Hey, Y/N, wait!”

John:

Despite his initial dislike for the youngest Holmes sibling, John couldn’t deny the feelings that he had grown for Y/N Holmes over the past few months. It was obvious to everyone besides the woman herself who was, unlike her brothers, oblivious to any and every sign of affection towards her.

It was just the two of them in 221B going through the latest case files whilst Sherlock attended a crime scene. He had originally asked John to accompany him, but the man refused after realising that Y/N was remaining at the flat, something at which Sherlock simply rolled his eyes, having already deduced his friends crush on his sister long before he even knew himself.

It was a trickier case than usual, hence why Sherlock had to return to the crime scene, leaving John and Y/N to search through mountains of files looking for one specific word.

“This would be so much easier if these files were all on a computer.” Y/N yawned, flipping the page over to the other side, John doing the same.

“Agreed.”

“Wait, this might be what we’re looking for!” The woman shot up onto her feet in excitement, turning the paper towards John and pointing at what she was looking at with a smile which was soon returned as he agreed.

In excitement, Y/N’s arms wrapped around John, and she pulled him in for a hug, only to pull away once she realised what she had done.

“I’m so sor-“ she began, only to be silenced by John wrapping his hand around the back of her neck and pulling her into him for a moment, lips pressed against each other.

“Finally,” a deep voice sounded from the doorway, making the pair pull back away from each other in both shock and embarrassment. “Now if you two lovebirds are quite finished, what have you found?”

Lestrade:

It was odd for Greg to enjoy working with Sherlock.

Whilst he didn’t mind John’s company, Sherlock was an absolute nightmare, but their friend on the other hand, Y/N, she was wonderful and Lestrade could not get enough of her.

She was everything that Sherlock wasn’t. Kind, sweet, funny, genuine, and it came as no shock to him, or anyone else for that matter, when he began developing feelings for her. However, despite how obviously reciprocated his feelings were, the man refused to believe that she could ever like him back, even after Sherlock himself told him that she likes him too.

The two had become fast friends, having clicked as soon as they met, and a friendship with Lestrade meant coffee. All the time. Coffee was his favourite time of the day, especially if there were doughnuts involved.

“Your coffee is in the kitchen.” Y/N called as Greg let himself into her apartment, a common occurrence amongst the two, and he shot her a thumbs-up as he passed her to grab his drink.

“Thank you very much.” He grinned, taking a seat beside her on the sofa and turning his attention to the football for a moment. He knew she had no interest in the game, so why she had agreed to watch it with him, he didn’t know.

“It’s no problem, Greggy.” She teased him with the new nickname, one that always earned a blush from the older man.

“Do you have to call me that?” He muttered, both his cheeks and ears tinted red in embarrassment.

“Yep!” She smiled, pinching his cheek as he continued to stare at her, or, more specifically, her lips as she licked them.

He knew he shouldn’t have done it, but he couldn’t resist. He leaned over, his hand resting on top of hers, and pressed his lips against hers, something which she gladly reciprocated.

In his panic, he abruptly pulled back before registering that she had returned his kiss and began rushing out apologies.

“I’m so so sorry, oh my God, I should definitely not have done that. I am so sorry!” He rambled, previous blush darkening as she pushed himself to the other side of the sofa, disgusted with himself.

“Greg.”

“If you don’t ever want to talk to me again, I get i-“

“Greg.” Y/N repeated his name to try and catch his attention.

“I’m just so-“

Sick of his unnecessary apologies, the woman reached out to grasp the fabric of Lestrade’s shirt, pulling his lips back onto hers, her other hand landing on his shoulder.

“There’s no need to apologise.” She whispered against his lips as she pulled back. “I wanted that.”

Greg, too confused and happy to even register what she was saying, just listened to his brain go oh!

Mycroft:

Mycroft Holmes had two soft spots, his brother and Y/N, the latter being one that he was unwilling to admit to himself, let alone anybody else.

“Morning, Mycroft,” Y/N greeted him as he entered the café, one which he was a regular at; only for her, of course, but she could never know that.

“Good morning, Y/N,” came his simple response as she brought him his usually coffee, having already anticipated his arrival; he was nothing if not punctual, after all.

Neither of you knew how your friendship had evolved into him driving you home once you finished work, but there was never a single complaint heard about it. The moment you ended up at his home, however, that was when something shifted.

It wasn’t uncomfortable, just… odd. Having never been this close to someone besides his younger brother, Mycroft wasn’t entirely sure how to act, especially when the tension in the room reached its peak and your lips ended up pressed up against the others.

It was awkward, as to be expected considering that the older Holmes had never kissed anybody before. However, the awkwardness had its own charm about it, especially when he pulled away with flushed cheeks and immediately changed the subject, ignoring what had just happened for his own peace of mind.

“Should we like, I don’t know, talk about it?” You asked him the next time he entered the café, watching him closely for any sort of reaction.

“Talk about what? Nothing weird has happened recently, nothing at all. Nothing out of the ordinary.” Mycroft rushed out, desperately praying that you were oblivious to the shade of pink that now covered his cheeks.

He had no idea how it even happened, it just… did. Myrcroft was never one for affection, or even friendships, so he didn’t know why he kissed you and even worse for him, he didn’t know why he wanted to do it again.

“If you say so,” you chuckled at his embarrassed demeanour. “Either way, I finish in an hour if you like, wanted to go for dinner or something.”

Maybe he would wait around an hour, not for any specific reason. After all, nothing weird had happened.

Moriarty:

For as long as they had worked together, Y/N and Jim had always flirted with each other.

It started off small, almost unrecognisable, but gradually grew into full-blown flirtations with invitations that were never accepted. Co-workers turned into friends, and a friendship turned into longing, it was just how the cookie crumbled.

The two stared across at one another, Y/N pushing a plate of food in front of the criminal. “Eat it, or I’ll shove it down your throat, do not test me.” She warned, although there no malice in her voice; she just wanted him to eat something for the first time in a few days.

“Do I have to?” He pouted like a young child, earning a giggle from Y/N.

“Yes!” She laughed, leaning in closer. “Or I’ll force feed you it.”

“With your mouth, I hope.”

A blush dusted the woman’s cheeks as an idea formed in her mind, one which would solve many problems, including his refusal to eat.

As she leaned in closer, Moriarty couldn’t resist the joke falling from his lips. “Ohh, are we about to kiss right now?” His words were teasing, he didn’t actually expect her to do so, but as she leaned in and pressed her lips against his, he couldn’t stop his eyes from widening.

Despite his initial shock, he was quick to respond to the kiss, his hands moving to cup her cheeks and pull her closer into him, deepening the kiss whilst one of Y/N’s hands moved to his shoulder and the other to his neck.

“I suppose we are,” were the only words spoken with a cheeky smile before she pulled him back in for a kiss to shut him up.

237 notes · View notes

lisbeth-kk · 16 days

Text

May prompts

Today's prompt is awkward.

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter 5)

Summary: Rosie's youngest godmother takes her shopping, but Sherlock is persistent in choosing the shop. The occasion is too important to leave it to Primark to bring out something tolerable.

Five Years Old

Molly took me shopping for THE dress, but Papa decided the shop.

“It’s too important,” he argued when Molly told him he was being silly for making her take me to Harrod’s, but he didn’t budge.

“She’s only five, Sherlock. Besides, do you know how much it’ll cost?” Molly tried to reason with him.

It turned out that it wasn’t only Dad who could be stubborn, so Harrod’s it was.

I felt like a princess in that dress we picked. According to the woman at Harrod’s the colour was tea green. Tiny white daisies were spread over the skirt. It felt almost weightless to wear and the skirt stood out in a perfect circle when I twirled quickly. We also bought white shoes and a matching hairband.

***

“Why is everybody crying?” I whispered to my grandfather. “Papa is only saying nice things about Dad.”

Dad and Papa had married hours earlier, and in-between dishes, there were speeches to be held apparently. It was rather tedious, though I liked listening to Papa and Dad pledging their love for each other. That being said, I already knew this, so it was most likely for the guests benefit they had to repeat it. And Papa hated repeating himself…

I know better now, obviously, and I totally understand why people were crying. Both Dad and Papa seemed to have forgotten about their guests, and focused on the other man entirely when they spoke about how they met etc. Papa seeked me out and urged me to stand on my chair when he spoke about me though. I ran over to hug him when he lost his voice.

“My precious girl,” he whispered when he knelt in front of me and held me tight.

I tear up every time I think about that moment, not to mention when I see it on tape.

***

Papa wrote a waltz for Dad, and when he played the violin, I danced around the floor in Dad’s arms. When Papa lowered his bow, the quintet started playing the waltz again, and then Dad and Papa danced. Greg Lestrade offered to dance with me like Dad had done, but I wanted to watch my parents.

When I looked over at my uncle, I saw that he followed every dance move, and his eyes were slightly soft. I even thought I spotted some moisture, but that might have been the light.

***

I fell asleep on my uncle’s lap, but I woke when Dad and Papa came to kiss me goodbye.

“You be a good girl, and listen to Molly and Nana while we’re away, sweetheart,” Dad said sternly, but the stars in his eyes, softened the lecture.

“No experiments in my absence, Watson,” Papa said mock serious.

Before he stood, he held me tight, breathed me in and whispered with a quiver in his voice: “I’ll miss you, my heart.”

The awkward moments that had been avoided up until now, at least to my knowledge, started when Greg came over to see the newlyweds off. His pronunciation was a bit slurred at that point, and both uncle Myc, Dad and Papa shushed him when he wished them a fabulous six holiday.

His description puzzled me. I thought Dad and Papa were going on something called ahoneymoon. How the number six fit into that, I couldn’t fathom. Were they to visit six different places, or…

“You will figure it out in due course,” uncle Myc said with a blushing face. “Now, shall we dance one last time before I bring you and Nana home? It seems like a certain major needs some urgent rescuing.”

I looked over at the dance floor where Nana was showing off her dance skills, clinging to Dad’s old friend. He was sweating quite profusely in his uniform, and his eyes looked slightly panicked.

“Nana has a good time,” I pondered. “Papa says she was a bur... burlesque dancer when she was young. Is that burl…”

Uncle’s blush deepened and he cut me off by clearing his throat and muttering something about reminding his brother to watch his mouth around little girls.

Also available on AO3

Tags in the replies.

#mayprompts2024 #may 5: awkward #sherlock fandom #rosie watson #sherlock #john watson #molly hooper #mycroft holmes #bbc sherlock #johnlock #sherlock fanfic #ao3 fanfic

75 notes · View notes

starkraivennemad · 9 days

Text

The Beginning Calm

D.I. Greg Lestrade put up with a lot for the services of "World's Only Consulting Detective" Sherlock Holmes. His biting sarcasm, vicious diatribes, and insults to his intelligence. And that was nice compared to what came out of the genius’ mouth when it comes to his team. Not to mention Sherlock’s near childlike glee in flaunting his often barely legal antics with the law. But he and the team, okay mostly just he, tolerated it. Why? Because like it or not - he did, his team did not – at the end of the day, the man got results. Sherlock got the results which got Greg the arrests needed to get criminals off the streets, and the solid convictions that kept them off.

It was not easy dealing with Sherlock Holmes, or his even bigger pain in the arse brother Mycroft but it was worth it. Still, Greg would not lie if he did not wish it could be a bit calmer in the chaos.

Thus, you could have knocked Greg over with a feather once John Watson entered the picture. In less than twenty-four hours of the doctor knowing the genius, Greg had started to note small differences.

Sherlock, when realizing he might have messed up, looked to John for guidance. “Not good?”

John, realizing Sherlock really did not understand, was patient, “Bit not good, yeah.”

Granted, Sherlock was back to his unthinking ways not even a moment later.

Sherlock: “Yeah, but if you were dying ... if you’d been murdered: in your very last few seconds what would you say?”

John” “Please, God, let me live.”

Sherlock: “Oh, use your imagination!”

Greg noted how the doctor, with a mere look and a softly spoken rebuke, “I don’t have to…,” had Sherlock briefly taken aback for his thoughtlessness again. Greg could count on one hand how often that worked between him and Sherlock.

By the end of the night, Greg understood this doctor was only the beginning of something very different for Sherlock.

When a certain black sedan still idled at the curve, he knew what it meant. He walked up minutes later, hearing as the rear window lowered.

“So, have you warehoused him yet?” Greg asked.

“And good evening to you, Detective Inspector Lestrade.” Mycroft retorted drolly.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah… Can’t prove it, don’t want to, but I know he just shot a man and that saved your brother’s life.”

“Interesting. For that I will answer your question, yes, he was warehouse earlier this evening. ”

“And he hadn’t go running for the hills after?”

“Neither had you, Lestrade.” Mycroft reminded him. “You, Dr. Hooper, Mrs. Hudson are the only ones to do so. ”

“What does not fear you, has what it takes to deal with your brother it seems.” Greg mused. “Watson calms him…”

“Him? John Watson, CALMS, my brother? That’s just not possible!”

“Don’t worry, your capricious little brother will always be a right prat. That’s never changing.” Greg turned to head back to the crime scene. “Goodnight, Mr. Holmes.”

“I’m not done speaking, Inspector Lestrade.”

“Too bad, I have work to do. I’m done not listening to you.” Greg walked away smugly.

He heard Mycroft’s scoff as the window went up again. “Watson calms Sherlock? The inspector is mad!”

He could not fault the older brother’s disbelief, given they were talking about Sherlock. He glanced over his shoulder in the direction John and Sherlock had walked as if he still saw the long-gone men and chuckled to himself.

“Yeah, he’s a prat, but I think someday, if we’re lucky with John, he just might become less of one.”

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

Read / Comment on AO3

@calaisreno @MayPrompts2024

#MayPrompts2024 - Prompt 7: Calm

#mayprompts2024 #bbc sherlock #greg lestrade #mycroft holmes

34 notes · View notes

cissyenthusiast010155 · 1 year

Note

How 'bout some real sex with Sherlock and Irene Adler? If you don't do ships, that quite alright you can do it with reader. And these prompts 🛐🛐21, 62 Thank youuu ❤️❤️

Heyy anon! Thanks for the request! I included a song that I thought for the vibe of this piece… hope you enjoy 😉

A Three-way Break ~Dom!Sherlock Holmes(BBC) xDom!Irene Adler xSub!Fem Reader

Mommy…Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

#21. “You know what, fuck it.”

#62. “I might do something I’ll regret…”

Warnings: NSFW, 18+!!!, smut, threesome, kissing, fingering, eating out, face sitting, overstimulation, mistress kink, praise kink, more implied smut, etc.

Enjoy (;

You were in Sherlock’s flat as he was pacing back and forth. You were flipping through the case files of a particularly sticky cold case that Sherlock had picked up.

“Sherlock?”

No response. You continued looking through the many pages.

“Sherlock.”

Still no response. Finally you looked up. Sherlock had stopped pacing and was on his phone.

“Sherlock. What are you doing?”

“What? Nothing. Find anything?” Sherlock tutted you off, still typing on his phone.

“No, Sherlock, we’re stuck. We’ve got nothing.” You huffed.

You had no idea why he would request you for this case… You were a low key detective at Scotland Yard… You were no Lestrade…

No response.

“Sherlock!”

No response, Sherlock walked off into his room. You sighed in frustration. You were tired. You needed a break. A break from work. A break from Sherlock.

You placed your hands over your head. At least ten minutes went by when Sherlock finally came back and went straight to the window. You didn’t even try this time. But then you heard the door downstairs open, and footsteps started to grow. You head picked up the door opening.

In walked a hypnotizing, stunning brunette with striking eyes and plump, red lips.

“Her?” The woman said.

“No not her.” Sherlock stressed the last syllable, his hands balancing against his lips, “Me, I… I need a distraction.”

“Well, Why not her?” The Woman toyed, making direct eye contact with you.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” You finally interjected.

“Because she’s too fragile.” Sherlock answered the woman’s questions, ignoring yours.

“I’m sorry, what?” Your head swiveled over to Sherlock who was still looking out the window.

“I don’t think so. Why, really…?” The woman continued having a conversation with Sherlock while never breaking eye contact with you.

“Irene Adler.” Sherlock said.

Now you were really confused.

“What?? Can somebody please explain to me what’s bloody going on?” You exclaimed.

“Her name is Irene Adler. And I said No.” Sherlock repeated in annoyance and with strain in his voice.

Irene beat you to a reply, “Yes, but why?”

“Because I might do something I’ll regret…!” Sherlock practically yelled.

Silence ensued.

You huffed in frustration, “Well I’m leaving for the night. Good Night.”

You grabbed your bag and prepared to leave.

As you walked towards the door, Irene purred, “But wouldn’t it be just so much fun?”

You walked to go through the door, but Irene grabbed ahold of your wrist, stopping you from leaving. You looked up to just about yell at her but then you met her eyes. Something inside you just rolled over for her and you did nothing. Irene smirked at your reacting and turned her attention back towards Sherlock.

“Sherlock…” the woman purred in a hum.

As she did so, she pulled you flush up against her and her lips grazed your ear.

“I’m going to kiss you now, dear. Is that alright?” She purred in a hushed tone.

You blushed furiously at her words and speechlessly nodded. At that, the woman closed the gap, attaching her precious, dominating lips to yours. A tiny gasp came from the other side of the room, as Sherlock had turned around to see you and Irene kissing. Irene was quick to slip her tongue inside your mouth, making you whimper.

It was very evident from the get go that she was in charge. So naturally, she dominated your tongue and explored your wet cavern with ease. So entranced in the kiss, Irene was easily able to pin you against the wall next to the door, deepening her bruising kiss.

“You know what, fuck it.” Sherlock seethed.

Sherlock had had enough.

He was quick to move Irene out of the way, entrapping you in between the wall and his body. You stared up at him with your puffy lips and glazed over eyes, and you were met with dark orbs of lust… and maybe even some jealousy…?

His lips crashed into yours without another thought between the both of you. Sherlock was feistier and more impatient than Irene was, but he was still very much dominant over you. His tongue slid into your mouth with ease as he explored and dominated your wet cavern.

At your eliciting a moan, Irene had had enough… She ripped Sherlock from you and smashed his lips into hers. And the fight for dominance ensued. Teeth clashing, tongue fucking, growling, whimpering, just to find out who would be charge. While you leaned against the wall breathless, pupils blown wide, watching the events unfold in front of you.

At one point, the woman went to whisper something in Sherlock’s ear, apparently calling a cease fire. Sherlock nodded in agreement to whatever she had said, and then not their attentions turned to you. You gulped.

Irene came up to, took your hand and led you into Sherlock’s bedroom. She pushed you onto the bed, crawling on top of you, while Sherlock was looking around in his drawer of toys.

“Red is for stop, yellow is for pause, and green is for good, understand?” Irene paused her sloppy markings on your neck to check in with you.

“Yes…” you breathlessly panted.

“Yes mistress…” the woman threateningly growled.

You gulped yet again.

“Yes mistress…” you whimpered.

“Now, Let’s take these clothes off…” she purred into your ear, beginning to remove your shirt, then your bra, then your trousers… Until you were left in nothing but your knickers…

Both Irene and Sherlock took a moment to drink you in. Your face flushed red at their staring, so you naturally tried to cover yourself.

“Oh no… none of that.” The woman tutted you off.

At that, Sherlock was by the bedside, grabbing your left wrist and tying it to his bed post. You yelped at his action.

Irene stripped quickly in front of the bed and to both your and Sherlock’s pleasure.

“Color?” He asked, while not stopping his administrations.

“Green.” you confirmed, causing Sherlock to smirk.

“Good girl…” he praised, which sent sparks directly to your core and made you blush deep fusia.

Irene who was straddling your form chuckled, “Looks like someone likes to be praised…” she teased, continuing her markings along your collar bone making you whimper and whine.

While Irene continued, Sherlock came along side the other bed and took your right wrist to tie against the bed post.

Now you were stuck there.

At the mercy of the woman and Sherlock…

The woman’s teasing tongue made it down to your sensitive bud, which she happily twirled her tongue around, causing you to arch your back and whimper in pleasure. Sherlock came to the edge of the bed and tugged you down a bit, making both you Irene yelp.

Sherlock chuckled, “Spread your legs for me…”

You did as you were told, and Irene caught on quickly, moving herself to your upper torso so that Sherlock would have the room needed for his administrations. Irene continued to tease your breasts, as Sherlock practically ripped off your knickers and attached his lips to your clit.

You cried out in overstimulating pleasure as Irene was pinching your nipples while sucking on your pressure point while Sherlock was ravaging through your folds. You were a goner once Sherlock slipped a finger into your aching cunt…

You came in an overwhelming, euphoric orgasm cloud, curling your toes and pulling against your bonds with both your lovers names rolling off your tongue. But neither of them stopped no… Sherlock added another finger to your throbbing cunt and Irene began sucking and biting your pressure point.

“Cum for your mistress again, love…” The Woman purred into your ear.

Her words sent you toppling over the edge once again, as Sherlock expertly curled his fingers inside your clenching cunt. You tugged against your restraints, desperately wanting to touch the beautiful woman who was straddling you.

Irene chuckled at your neediness, “If your a good girl and let me sit on that pretty face of yours, then maybe I’ll free you from your bonds, yea love…?” Irene purred.

You eagerly nodded and panted, “yes mistress please mistress…!”

The stunning brunette then moved to straddle your face and lower her soaking cunt onto your face. You gladly accepted, lapping at her folds immediately. While you were doing so, Sherlock didn’t stop in curling his fingers inside you. He quickly added a third, making you yelp as he stretched you out even more. You groaned out in pleasure, as you were brought to yet another climax, while being suffocated by your mistress cunt.

That being certainly not the last time you came at the hands of those two…Safe to say, you spent your night with little to no sleep…

~~~

232 notes · View notes

a-cup-of-earl-grey-please · 1 year

Text

Sincerity (BBC Sherlock x Fem!Reader)

Word count: 1,967 words

Pairing: BBC Sherlock x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes realizes you are feeling insecure— how does he remedy it?

Warning: fluffy fluff, detailed description of reader and Sherlock’s insecurities, it’s been a while since I wrote anything so go easy on me, not proofread carefully

(Inspired by a line from my previous oneshot Beg For Forgiveness. I put the line at the end to avoid spoiling this fic.

You don’t have to read Beg For Forgiveness before reading this. They are both standalone fics. But I would love it if you also gave it a try.)

“There’s got to be something I’m missing!”

“Now Sherlock, if you calmly sat down—“ You tried to console Sherlock, your boyfriend, but it was no use. He was on one of his rants again. You have been dating him for over two years, and you learned that your words never really worked.

There had been a serial killer case, and there was something missing. The serial killer left flowers between the victims’ eyes every time, but the flowers were not always the same. A bud of a white rose for a middle-aged woman. A blossom of Buttercup for a little child, the middle-aged woman’s son. A deep red carnation for a middle-aged male. No more victims. Just those three. Sherlock was so sure that there would be a fourth murder, but no news came from Lestrade.

Sherlock turned around and grabbed your shoulders. His eyes were wild, full of frustration, and a tinge of confusion rarely seen in Sherlock Holmes flashed in the blue. He looked at you with such intensity that if you did not know better, you would have thought you were one of the corpses he was examining for clues.

“Sherlock,” You tried to bring him back to Earth. He did not respond to the nudge in your voice. “It hurts, Sherlock.” You said, a little louder. His hands left your shoulder and his blue eyes snapped back to the walls full of gruesome photos.

“Y/N, we’re heading out.” He said, suddenly confident.

“Where? Did you discover something?” You stood up excitedly. You could not wait for this case to be over. You were absolutely exasperated with how Sherlock showed his frustration— shooting the wall, paper flying around, and staring at you intensely for hours.

“No. We’re taking a walk. A short walk. I feel like I have bothered you enough today. You need some air.”

“You didn’t bother me—“ You started, but Sherlock interrupted you by shoving your jacket into your arms.

“Don’t even try. I’ve shot the wall exactly 4 times today and stared at you for approximately 4 hours and 38 minutes.” He replied with a little huff of a laugh.

As you stood dumbfounded in the doorway, you heard him shout from the stairwell— “And I need this walk as much as you do, so stop feeling sorry and come down!”

“Sherlock, it’s spring now. Isn’t that coat a bit too warm?” You tentatively asked as you pull him closer to your body. You two were walking arm in arm— Sherlock was not particularly fond of hand-holding, and you didn’t mind as long as you could have some sort of physical contact.

“It’s barely spring. Besides, I like this coat.” He replied, prompting you to roll your eyes. Everyone knows he loves the coat. Damn it, I love it too. It smells like him; it feels like him; it is practically Sherlock.

“It’s April, love.” You answered, and he hummed dismissively. Both of you savored the moment: you two arm in arm, walking down Baker Street.

The moment was interrupted by your yelp. Alarmed, Sherlock turned to you so quickly that he almost hit you in the face with his elbow— you were bending down to look at something.

“What is it? I thought you were in danger—“ His indignant words were stopped as he notices the flower you were crouching to look at. Blue hyacinth— he vaguely remembered. He studied quite a bit about flowers for this case.

“Look at the color, Sherlock.” You pointed at the flower, though fingers did not dare make contact with the flower. “So delicately beautiful. It looks so fragile. I am almost scared to touch it— what if my touch ruins its perfection?” You felt strangely emotional looking at the blossoms. Perhaps it was because you were cooped up in 221B for at least a full day. Perhaps it was because….well, because. Oddly feeling like you didn’t deserve anything of this kind of beauty in the world, you looked down into the soil instead of bearing the soft beauty of the petals.

You didn’t deserve any of this. None of the sweet moments of love you shared with Sherlock on this walk. None of his attention— he was too brilliant for you. Why would the world’s greatest detective love you when you were not even worthy of a mere flower’s beauty?

“I… I agree.” Sherlock breathed out. Little did you know, Sherlock was looking at you, not the flower. His little flower. Delicately beautiful. So strong yet fragile. He was always scared that his corrupted touch might ruin your beauty. He shook away the thought. You loved him— you took every opportunity to tell him. But did he take any opportunity to tell you that he loved you? He did sometimes— maybe once a week on a good day. He had to tell you that he loved you so much.

He made a note of the flower’s color. Anything you like or dislike was carefully stored in a room in his Mind Palace— a library dedicated to you, full of information on you. The room informed him that he had informed you of his love exactly 34 times in the past six months. That averages to fewer than once every five days. That’s not good. Maybe he should buy you a bouquet of flowers like others do. That seemed to work out well in those crappy romcoms.

He started to think—the flower… that flower… What does she mean by its perfection— what does the flower mean to her? What does the flower mean? Yes, what do those flowers mean?

“Darling, you’re a genius!” With that declaration, Sherlock snapped out of his trance. Swiveling around, he kissed you square on the mouth— with a loud smack. Smiling at your dazed face, he placed a wet kiss on your cheek. He called a cab and jumped in, leaving you alone on the street. He was already texting John.

John, come if convenient or inconvenient. I may have cracked the case. Also, I need help buying something.

-SH

You shrugged off his odd behavior, still blushing from his overt public display of affection.

Sherlock and John shared a little smug glance. Sherlock, as always, was right. Anderson was going to handle the paperwork.

“What did you need my help buying?” John asked as they walked out of the Yard.

“A gift for Y/N.” Sherlock curtly answered.

John interrogated Sherlock on the purpose of the gift, but Sherlock refused to answer anything.

They ended up going through 32 stores, spending a total of 2 hours 37 minutes on shopping.

They bought one single item for you.

Sherlock came back around 10 PM. You were dozing off in front of the telly when he barges into the flat. Your heavy eyelids flew open as he pushed his face right in front of yours.

“Goodness, Sherlock.” Startled, you jumped in your seat and Sherlock guffawed. That’s new. You thought drowsily. He picked you up and swung you around in the air.

“Y/N, I solved it! We solved the case!”

You were giggling as well as he put you down— not before he kissed you on the forehead again. That’s new as well.

“Sherlock, what has gotten into you?” You smile, bewildered but happy. He was not the one to openly show physical affection in this manner.

“The serial killer was the middle-aged male victim! The one with the deep red carnation, remember? He committed suicide after murdering his love— because it was unrequited— the middle-aged woman! The one with the white rosebud! He then, killed her son because he had witnessed his mother’s death and threatened to report the killer— that’s why he had a buttercup on him!”

The last sentence caught your attention. What does he mean by “that’s why he had a buttercup”?

“Don’t you see? The killer was a hopeless, though psychopathic, romantic! It’s the Victorian flower language! Deep red carnation stands for ‘Alas! My poor heart!” The white rosebud means ‘heart ignorant of love.’ The buttercup means ‘childishness’ or ‘ingratitude’— which explains why the flowers were different for each victim.” He excitedly ranted as he ran across the flat toward the doorway. You groaned as you thought of Mrs. Hudson being woken up by his heavy footsteps. Sherlock was adorable when he was drunk on victorious spirits and adrenaline, but Mrs. Hudson always suffered the consequences.

“And guess what I got you!” Sherlock ran back to you with childish glee and thrust a gift box into your hands. A gift? Is this our anniversary? Did I miss it?

“No, it’s not our anniversary. It’s not anything special. It’s just…” As always, Sherlock answered your unspoken questions— but something was odd. His adrenaline must have pushed all the blood up to his face because you had never seen your boyfriend blush this scarlet.

You carefully sink down into John’s armchair. The gift box was tied off with a bow— your hands trembled as you gently tugged it off.

It was a dress. Perfectly your size. Perfectly your style. Perfectly lovely.

And a perfect replica of the blue flower’s color.

Before you could react, he finally composed himself enough to continue speaking.

“Well, it’s just that I learned a lot about flowers as I went through this case. The flower you were looking at, for instance, was blue hyacinth. The Victorian flower meaning for blue hyacinth is…” He was blushing down to his collarbones now. Now, that’s new.

“Is?” You said, your voice barely a whisper. Something had definitely gotten into him, but you didn’t mind. Not one bit.

“Sincerity.” He replied, his voice quieter now as well.

Oh.

“Oh.” You dumbly reply.

“You also said that you liked the color, so I went and found the color for you.” Oh.

He kept talking as if he could not stop himself now.

“You were scared to touch the flower, but I hope you’re not scared to touch the dress. It’s for you, you know.” Oh?

“You should wear it because it took me thirteen women’s clothing stores before I found the right shade. Only took me an hour though. Sorry I was late.” He cleared his throat— he never liked lying to you, but this lie was necessary. He did not want you to feel overwhelmed or by the inordinate amount of effort he put into finding this dress.

“Anyway, I deduced that you were having a moment of insecurity back there. I had to solve the case first, but I wanted you to know that…” Oh! That adorable bastard, I can’t even keep a single secret from him!

“That you are my blue hyacinth.” That was an unexpected end to his sentence. You looked up at him, nudging him to elaborate.

“You take all my sincerity. You represent everything I am sincere about. And ask anyone except you, John, and Mrs. Hudson, they will swear on their life that I am not a sincere man in any way. But I am for you. And sometimes, you have a look in your eyes that makes me feel like you don’t hear this as often as you deserve to hear this from me.” This was all said in a swift manner he reserved for his most brilliant deductions, the words simply cascading off his tongue.

“Also, I’m hungry. You’re obviously hungry. You’re also craving something spicy. What about I order us some Thai for dinner tonight?” You break into laughter. His eyes widen at the unexpected reaction.

You stand up and grab his cheeks firmly— and give them a little squish. He was just so adorable! His eyes narrowed indignantly, his mouth opening to object.

Going on tiptoes, you kissed him into silence.

And you decided you would love him forever

with all your sincerity.

(The line from Beg For Forgiveness that inspired this fic is “A passing comment on a shade of blue you liked in a flower made him go on a wild goose chase for a dress that had the exact same shade once—just to see that smile on your face.”)

#earl's cup of tea #bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock x fem!reader #sherlock x reader #sherlock fluff #sherlock bbc

334 notes · View notes

specialagentlokitty · 1 year

Text

John x reader - do I make you nervous?

A/N: so I decided on John for this fic because there’s not enough of my little hedgehog man!💜

Slamming the door to your car, you walked over to the crime scene only to be stopped by your least favourite detective who held his hand up, stopping you in your tracks.

“Absolutely not, not dressed like that. Get away from my crime scene.”

Rolling your eyes, you leant back a little, crossing your arms over your chest as you titled your head up a little, keeping eye contact with him.

“What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed Bitcherson?”

“It’s Anderson! Jesus Christ how can a police officer be so childish?” He hissed.

You smirked just a little.

“Uhm.. Lestrade… who’s that?” John asked softly.

Lestrade turned to where John was pointed and cursed under his breath.

“Sally get them away from each other!”

“Why, lest them put Anderson in his place, he’s hardly worth the air he breaths.” Sherlock said.

They all began to make their way over, hoping the scene wouldn’t escalate any further than it already was.

“Why call you that? You are the embodiment of a bitch, so I’m not really lying am I?”

“Get out of my crime scene.” He warned.

“Or what? What’re you gonna do? Lay a hand on me I dare you, I’m just itching to punch your stupid little face.”

Before Anderson could reply he was pulled away by Donovan, and Lestrade pushed you back a few steps by your shoulder.

“Come on, I was just play!” You smirked.

“No you weren’t, last you said that you sent him to the hospital!”

You shrugged a little.

“Not my fault he’s got a punchable face Greg.”

“(Y/N)!” Lestrade snapped.

You smirked and raised your hands as you took a few steps back towards the tape.

“Seriously, he looks like a rat. Sherlock back me up, doesn’t he look like a rat?”

“They’re right.” Sherlock nodded.

“Sherlock!” John scolded.

You laughed a little, stuffing your hands into the pockets of your jeans as you rocked back and forth on your feet.

Humming a little you looked up at the street sign before pointing at it.

“Hey moron, what does that street sign say?” You called.

Anderson looked over at it.

“Oh no, you’re not.. you can’t be serious! Lestrade!”

Lestrade also look at the sign and so did John looked a little confused.

“I don’t understand, what’s wrong with this street?” He asked.

“(Y/N) and Anderson don’t work well together, so since (Y/N) is a good detective.. though their methods are… questionable… they get point on anything they want on this part of the city.” Lestrade sighed.

You turned to John, a little smirk on your face as you offered him a knock bow before holding your hand out.

“Detective inspector (Y/N) (L/N), pleasure to meet you.”

“Uhm.. j..John Watson…”

He nervously shook your hand and you smiled a little at him before you pulled your hand away from him and held your hand in the air, gesturing for a small group of officers behind you to move forward.

“Lestrade get the rat and his girlfriend out of my crime scene thanks.”

You heard the two protesting but they couldn’t argue and they just stormed away.

“So does this mean case over?” John asked.

“No, (Y/N) couldn’t care less we’re here. Actually they involve me in all of their cases, keeps me busy and gives them time to get on everyone’s nerves.”

“Yup!” You grinned.

Sherlock went back to what he was doing and you waited for him to finish before you began working on the investigation.

John wasn’t sure what to do, so he just stood back and out of the way, slightly scared of you.

After the first meeting he saw you a lot, and he realised how different you really were compared to everyone.

Even after knowing you for a few months he was still scared of you, and it was something everyone could easily pick up on.

While they were at the station talking to Lestrade John watched as you walked past, swinging something between your fingers.

“Hey Watson.”

“Oh.. Uhm.. hi…” he mumbled nervously.

Donovan smirked at that and walked over, standing next to him.

“You’re really scared of them? You, the big, bad soldier?”

“What? No!”

“Oh you so are, you’re really scared of them!” Donovan laughed.

She began to make fun of John for being scared of you. Saying how he shouldn’t be scared since he was a soldier and had faced much worth.

Anderson started to join in and Sherlock looked over.

“Oh shut up you two.” Sherlock snapped.

“Or what freak? What’ll you do?” Donovan said.

“Guys enough!”

Everyone started bickered and you walked over, standing next to john as you carried on twirling whatever it was you had in your hands.

He looked at you then at what you were messing with and it clicked.

“Is that a knife?!” He shouted.

“Pocket knife, for cases and emergencies.”

You turned to the other bickering.

“Oi idiots.”

They all stopped.

“Who the hell keeps giving them the knife back?!” Donovan yelled.

You smirked and took a daring step forward and Lestrade quickly stepped in front of you, but you didn’t even look at him, your eyes were glued to Donovan and Anderson.

“How have you not been fired your unstable freak?!”Anderson yelled.

“Because I’m hot obviously. Now, what were you lot saying about Watson? Huh?”

The two shared a look and you narrowed your eyes.

“You think it’s funny to mock a soldier? A man who risked his life of this people? Huh? You think that’s funny? C’mere and let’s see how funny it is.”

Anderson scoffed.

“You won’t do anything. Especially not here, especially not with that.”

“Wanna find out?”

Anderson quickly hid behind Donovan and you laughed loudly, step away from Lestrade and he held his hand out to you so you handed over the little knife.

He put it in his pocket.

“We’re talking about this, my office in an hour.” He said sternly.

“Bitch you’re not my boss.”

“(Y/N)!”

You raised your hands and backed away with a smile on your face and turned to John who was grinning a little.

“You’re the embodiment of trouble (Y/N) they’re going to fire you one day.” Sherlock said.

“Would they Sherlock? Would they really? Lestrade is my handler and I’m yours so in a way they really can’t otherwise nothing would get done here.”

“That’s true.” He shrugged.

He went back to finish his conversation and you turned back to John.

“Did they bother you? I can punch Anderson if you want?”

“By the looks of it you don’t need a reason to punch him.” John chuckled.

“You’re right, I don’t.”

You spun around and started to walk away and John realised where you were going.

“(Y/N) don’t!” He yelled.

Lestrade whipped his head up and watched as you jumped over a desk, tapping Anderson on shoulder, you waited for him to turn around before taking a swing.

You hit him in the face, watching as he went stumbling to the ground.

“(Y/N)!” Lestrade yelled.

He went to run after you but you easily dodged him.

“Fuck around and find out bitch! Don’t fuck with soldiers!” You yelled.

You grabbed your jacket and bag and walked back over to John, patting him on the cheek.

“I’m not that scary.” You smirked.

With that you waltzed away and John just watched your form leave.

John didn’t see or hear anything about you for a few days until there was a knock on the flat door, and when he opened it you were stood there.

You had a split lip, the remains of a bloodied nose and a small cut on your cheek.

“Bloody hell what did you do?”

John took your arm and led you in, sitting you in his chair he went to grab everything he needed and brought it over.

He grabbed a table over and sat on it as he started to clean up your face.

“I had to have a meeting this morning about punching that idiot in the face.”

“And you punched yourself in the face?” He asked.

You laughed a little and shook your head, looking around the flat.

“(Y/N) keep your head still.”

John tried to carry on cleaning your wounds but you wouldn’t sit still, so he reached out and grasped your jaw between his fingers forcing you to look at him.

“No, he kept running his mouth, so I punched him. He punched me back. Jokes on him, he has a broken nose.”

“You can’t just go around punching people.” He sighed.

He cleaned the cut on your cheek and set everything down and looked at you.

Then he realised that he was still holding your jaw between his fingers and quickly let go.

“Do I scare you Watson?” You mused.

“N…no…”

He quickly got up and started to clean everything and you titled your head back to look at him as he tossed everything in the bin and put the small medical kit away.

“Are you sure?” You hummed.

“I.. i.. I’m sure…” he stuttered.

You stood up, and he walked over, quickly walking past you to stand in the doorway to the hallway and you looked at him.

He did anything to looked at you and you walked over, standing in front of him and he moved away pressing his back to the wall.

You placed your arm on the wall, resting your head on it as you smirked to yourself.

You loved pissing off Anderson sure.

But making John all flustered and Embarrassed? That was a whole fun new game for you.

You loved flirting with him, watching as he got all embarrassed and refused to look at you and stuttered, you found it cute.

“I don’t bite Watson.”

“Maybe not, but you punch, and apparently you’re willing to stab?”

“Nah that’s more for fun, but I do punch. But… I wouldn’t punch you.”

“Have you punched Sherlock?”

“Yeah, but it’s Sherlock. Everyone’s punched him at least once.”

John laughed and turned around, leaning against the wall as he looked at you, a shy smile on his face and you smiled back.

“Still scared of me?” You said softly.

“I.. I wasn’t scared of you…” he whispered.

“Then what are you?”

He shrugged a little and you walked over, placing your finger under his chin, you made him look at you and he swallowed nervously.

“Okay… maybe a little scared…” he whispered.

“Do I make you nervous John…?”

John nodded his head and you hummed, leaning in, you softly kissed his cheek and pulled away as the door opened and you looked at him.

“You’re cute John, if you want a different kind of kind then the boring bar or dinner dates let me know.”

You let him go and walked away, saying hit to Sherlock before you left the flat and John stood there for s minute before walking over to his chair and slowly sitting down.

“So they finally asked you out?” Sherlock said.

“W.. what…?”

“(Y/N) finally asked you out. What did you say?”

“I Uhm.. I didn’t have a chance to reply.”

“They slipped their number in your pocket, they’ve been hitting in your for weeks John seriously how did you not notice?”

“I.. what..?”

Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes as he turned to his friend.

“Seriously? Are you that blind you couldn’t tell they were hitting on you? Just agree to the date I know you want to.”

“I hardly know anything about them!”

“Isn’t that what dates are for? Getting to know people?”

John rolled his eyes this time.

“They said they punched you before.”

“They’re a little unhinged, absolutely unpredictable, everything about them and what they do and how they work is unorthodox. It’s what makes them so entertaining to work with, it’s never a straight line when you’re with them, they’ll leave you second guessing everything.”

John nodded along as Sherlock told him some more about you.

“Just call them already, I know you’re going to do it. May as well do it now.”

“I need to think about it.”

John got up and walked it his room, closing the door he rummaged through his pockets to find the little slip of paper that you slipped in there and he stared at your number.

You made him nervous, and in a way scared him, but yet when he looked at you he felt a rush of adrenaline go through his body, like he was about to risk his life for a stunt.

You were so different from all the people he had dated before, he was used to calm, predictable.

Maybe a new thing was good for him? Maybe that’s what he needed in his life?

Sure, he had Sherlock and that was an adventure enough, but John was just drawn to you.

He thought for a moment before nodding to himself.

He wanted something new, he wanted to experience something new, add a little bit of fun to his life and he felt like you could help him with that.

So he dialled your number and held the phone to his ear waiting anxiously as it rang

#bbc Sherlock #bbc Sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock x you #bbc sherlock imagine #John Watson #John Watson x reader #John Watson x you #John Watson imagine

130 notes · View notes

darkwitch1999 · 3 months

Text

🔎🕵🏾‍♂️Sneak Peek: Sherlock Nino🕵🏾‍♂️🔎

Couldn't resist sharing these scenes from my upcoming headcanon "How Marc Got The Coffee". This first one starts off with Nino and Nathaniel discussing interrogating Marc to find out his "supplier".

Nathaniel: (shoots Nino an incredulous look) “Supplier”? Really, Nino?

Nino: (defensively) Hey, technically caffeine is considered a drug! I looked it up!

Nathaniel: (crosses his arms) Not an illegal one. Hence why I feel like you are treating Marc like a dangerous criminal.

Nino: Oh come on, Nath! The last thing I want to do is treat Marc like a criminal!

Nathaniel: (raises an eyebrow) Then what’s with the Sherlock Holmes cosplay?

Nino: Because we’re trying to solve a mystery and I thought it would fit the aesthetic! (sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose).

Later during interrogation.......

Marc: Nath, why is Nino dressed as Sherlock Holmes?

Nathaniel: (sighs heavily and pinches the bridge of his nose) I have asked the same question, Marc.

Marc: Wait, does that mean you are supposed to be Watson?

Nathaniel: (shakes his head and glances annoyed at Nino) No, apparently I’m supposed to be “good cop”.

Marc: (tilts his tired head in confusion) Wait…(yawns)...I’m confused….(points to Nathaniel) If you’re “good cop”...(points to Nino) and you’re “Sherlock Holmes”....then who’s “bad cop”...or…what’s even going on here? What are you guys even doing?

Nathaniel: (smirks) Actually, Nino’s supposed to be the “bad cop”. The Sherlock Holmes cosplay is just Nino doing his own thing.

Marc: (gives Nino an incredulous look) You do realize your “Sherlock Holmes” cosplay doesn’t make any sense if you guys are doing “Good Cop, Bad Cop”, right? I mean, for one thing, Sherlock Holmes was far too intelligent and dignified to resort to such a cliche interrogation tactic that wasn’t even developed during his time! Not to mention that Sherlock Holmes didn’t even work for the British Police! Yes, they did work together on a few cases, specifically with Inspectors Lestrade and Gregson the most, but still-...

Nino: (slams his hand hard on the desk, startling Marc with a jump) That’s enough out of you! Nathaniel and I are the ones asking the questions here, Anciel!

Marc: (rolls his eyes) And I thought Jean was over dramatic...

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

@nerd-chocolate @artzychic27 @imsparky2002 @andromeda612 @princessbutterflysposts @yourlocalwanderingghost

23 notes · View notes

anonymousewrites · 7 months

Text

A Study of the Heart and Brain Halloween Special 2023

Father Figure! Sherlock x Teen! Reader

“I don’t see why we’re being forced to go to this,” said Sherlock as John pulled on his white doctor jacket.

“Sherlock, Lestrade was trying to be polite and include us,” sighed John. “It’s Halloween.”

“Yes. The perfect time for interesting murders,” said Sherlock. “Why would I waste my time at a silly party?”

“Well, if we’re there, then we know if a murder is called in,” said (Y/N), stepping into the room. “So it could be helpful.”

Sherlock stared. “What are you wearing?”

“A costume. That’s what you’re supposed to wear to a Halloween Party,” said (Y/N).

“That’s nonsense. I refuse to dress up,” said Sherlock. “But that doesn’t answer my question.”

(Y/N) put their hands on their hips. “I thought it was obvious. I’m dressed as you.” They wore a purple button-up, slacks, and a long black coat. The kicker was the deerstalker on their head.

Sherlock stared at the deerstalker, offended. “I don’t wear that hat.”

“The press thinks you do, so it works for the costume,” said (Y/N), shrugging.

Sherlock grumbled, but John just gave him a look.

“You should be wearing a costume,” reiterated John.

“Nonsense,” said Sherlock.

“Fine,” said John. “But if you’re not going to dress up, that’s not going to keep you from going to the party.”

“What?” said Sherlock.

“Come on,” said John, grabbing Sherlock and pulling him out the door.

“Sherlock, John, (Y/N)!” greeted Lestrade, wearing an American police uniform (with a clown wig). He grinned at (Y/N)’s costume. “Very nice.”

Sherlock grumbled. “I don’t wear a hat.”

“I think it’s perfect,” said Lestrade, grinning widely while Sherlock sighed.

“Oh, god, the Freakling is dressed like the Freak,” said Anderson, making a face.

“We don’t need two Freaks. The Freakling is enough,” muttered Donovan.

(Y/N) stiffened, Sherlock narrowed his eyes, and John glared.

Lestrade turned on his two agents. “Go and get some punch, agents.” Donovan and Anderson started at his clear command and walked away. Lestrade turned back to (Y/N). “Sorry about that.”

(Y/N) shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

“Their words are stupid anyways,” said Sherlock, but his gaze had softened at (Y/N) relaxing once Donovan and Anderson were gone. He didn’t like them hurting (Y/N)’s feelings. They were his kid, and he wouldn’t let their intelligence be relegated to some “freakish” characteristic.

“Right, right, let’s go and get some drinks before you start a fight,” said John, ushering Sherlock forward and giving Lestrade an apologetic smile.

John pushed (Y/N) and Sherlock to the buffet table and put his hands on his hips. “You two stay here, and don’t get into trouble, do you understand?”

“It’s not our fault Donovan and Anderson say stupid things,” said (Y/N).

John gave them an admonishing look. “(Y/N).”

“Fine, fine,” they said.

John just gave Sherlock a warning look before the detective spoke before walking off to catch up with Lestrade.

(Y/N) was silent for just a moment before glancing at Sherlock. “Anderson’s wife isn’t here.”

“No, she is not,” said Sherlock in amusement.

“And dressing as a doctor and nurse is very ‘coincidental,’ ” said (Y/N).

“Very,” agreed Sherlock, smirking.

(Y/N) smiled, trying not to laugh as they watched Donovan and Anderson from across the room. They were so obvious, as were the secrets of everyone else at the party. The deductions were far too easy.

“Thanks for coming,” said (Y/N). “It would have been pretty boring without you.”

“John would have continued to irritate me,” said Sherlock.

“Maybe there’ll be a murder. We’d be first on the scene from here,” said (Y/N). They grinned at Sherlock.

He smiled. “We would be. Let’s hope someone gets bored like we are and kills someone, then.”

(Y/N) put their hat onto his head. “Yeah, and then Sherlock Holmes can be on the case.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed at the hat. “I suppose I will be.” He smiled as (Y/N) grinned at him. If his kid was happy, then he was. He reached out and put the hat back on their head. “But so will you be. We’re a team.”

(Y/N) brightened and straightened at the praise. “Right. A team. The two of us.”

Sherlock and (Y/N) were a father and child team. They would always be there for one another. That’s what it mean to be a family.

Taglist:

@stilesstilinskiforlife-blog

@im-making-an-effort

@ilse235

@schrodingers-intelligence

@awsedrftgyhujikol

#a study of the heart and brain #x reader #x gn reader #gn reader #x nb reader #nb reader #sherlock x teen!reader #sherlock x teen reader #x teen reader #x teen!reader #father figure #found family trope #found family #sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock #halloween #halloween special

39 notes · View notes

ohwhataniight · 1 month

Text

more than the world can contain - Chapter 4: A Scandal in Belgravia - Part 2

Part 1

Needless to say, I end up calling the Cafe Royal to cancel Sherlock’s reservation because he spends the evening pretty much unconscious, drooling on his pillow.

I have met many women in my time. Not to sound cocky, but I’ve always had my way with the ladies. Yet no one had prepared me for Irene Adler. Dear God, for the amount of dates I’ve been at recently, it’s quite pathetic to think that this is the first time this year that I’m seeing a woman fully naked. Some love life I’ve got. The most frustrating part with this particular woman is, I’m not even in the picture. It’s almost as if I don’t exist. The good doctor, standing on the sidelines of the battle as my colleague and friend participates in the closest possible thing to sex that is not sex in my presence. How am I supposed to feel about that? I have signed up for many things, but being Sherlock Holmes’ wingman isn’t one of them. The sight of Irene Adler wrapped in his Belstaff isn’t making the situation any better. I almost decide I preferred her without it, for reasons other than the obvious.

“Shall I tell him?” No. No, no need for that, half naked lady. John doesn’t need that piece of information. Keep John out of this. Leave John alone. “My measurements”. My John.

Great. That’s just great. The blurry blob she refers to as John hovers over me. “Sherlock, are you alright? Sherlock!”

John. John is good. John is nice. Soft. Brilliant, though often underestimated. I’m alright John, don’t worry. It’s the Woman, she messed with my head, I can’t read her. John. John? She’s here, she’s in my head, under my skin. You’re a doctor. Help, John.

“Sherlock, can you hear me?”

Yes of course I can hear you, John, you’re shouting and you’re making my head pound even more and the world is a haze, come back John. Come close. I want to touch you, my dear, most loyal blob. The best blob.

It’s all too bright. Tell them to turn off the lights, John. Don’t leave, John. He’s going to get you, blow you up in the air, and what shall I do without my blogger? Stay, John, it’s getting dark now. Thank you for turning off the lights. You’re the best. My best.

“How long has he been like this?” Lestrade asks with a troubled expression, two fingers resting on his tightly pressed lips.

“For a while now. He’s been gurgling and humming gibberish to the floor. Help me get him up?”

“Sure. Just let me get a picture first.”

My moral compass points towards protecting my friend’s dignity, but then again, it serves him just right. We carry him downstaits to the police car. On the trip back home he snores loudly, spread out on the backseat with his head on my lap. I constantly monitor him, making sure he doesn’t choke on his own vomit, as Ms. Adler so helpfully advised. Got to trust her judgment in this one, she sure does look used to that sort of thing. To causing it to others.

Greg and I carry him upstairs. Much heavier than he looks, especially when he’s reduced to deadweight. I stay in his room for a while, staring at him sleep. How the tables turn. Eventually I retire to the sitting room, watch some crappy telly. He calls from me every now and then, or rather, he yells in distress, and at those moments, a fist clenches tightly around my chest. At the same time, I can’t help but acknowledge how endearing the whole situation is.

“Somebody loves you.”

We’re still in the crime scene in the country, and Irene rudely changes the subject.

“Why are you here, again? Get out.”

“I didn’t recall you wanting me out when I helped you with your boomerang puzzle. Now help me with mine,” the Woman, still wearing his Belstaff, pushes an red-nailed index finger into his chest. “You, Mr. Holmes. Why are you turning down my advances? I can see you’re intrigued by the Game. I’ve been an angel so far. Why won’t you let me show you what it’s like when I play dirty?”

“I could. I might. I’m curious and you seem like an excellent candidate to help expand my horizons. But other than that, I’m neither romantically nor sexually interested in women.”

My gaze drifts away without me realizing it. Usually, in my mind palace, I have complete control. Not when I’m drugged against my will. I want to know exactly what goes in and out of my transport.

“Dr. Watson?” she sighs impatiently. “Don’t bother looking for him, he’s not here. For some reason you did not invite him this time. But do explain to me, while you’re at it, how are you two not married yet?”

I turn around again and my eyes meet her cold, magnetizing gaze. “Impertinent.”

“Why?”

It is my turn to sigh impatiently, and avoid her gaze once again. “Well, as he made perfectly obvious when he first saw you, he’s only interested in women.”

“So you would. If he weren’t.”

“Forgive me, I do not seem to understand what you’re implying.”

“Look at you, hopelessly, catastrophically in love with your straight bestie. It’s a pity, Mr. Holmes,” she smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “We could do great things together, you and I. No matter. John Watson is a lucky man. One day he might even realize that.”

“I...” my throat feels constricted, there’s pressure on my chest, I need to finish this sentence but I don’t seem to find the words. “I...” am not in love. I am not in love.

“Hush now. It’s okay, I’m only returning your coat.”

“I...

John? John! JOHN!”

#sherlock holmes #john watson #johnlock #bbc sherlock #johnlock fanfiction #johnlock fic #sherlock #fanfiction #queer #irene adler

9 notes · View notes

khorazir · 6 months

Text

A quick sneaky peek at the beginning of chapter 4 of my Johnlock Speed AU London Speed:

Just on cue, Sherlock’s phone rings. He almost drops it in shock. John catches it when it slides out of Sherlock’s hand, holds it up to him. Sherlock snatches it back.

“The bomber?” he asks.

Sherlock shakes his head. “Lestrade,” he mouths while putting the phone on speaker.

“Listen, Sherlock,” says the policeman on the other end, speaking quickly, breathlessly, “there’s been a nasty accident on Theobald’s Road and—”

“We know,” interrupts Sherlock. “We’re heading straight towards it.”

“It just happened, or else I would have warned you in advance. We don’t even know what exactly took place there, how many vehicles are involved, if people are injured, if there are fatalities. The reports are still coming in.” Lestrade sounds apologetic. “Can you go around it somehow?”

John and Sherlock gaze at Rita who looks shocked but determined, gripping the steering wheel fiercely.

“We can only go through it, from what I can see,” she states grimly.

#wip wednesday #fanfic #sherlock #johnlock #london speed #speed au

17 notes · View notes

strawberrywinter4 · 4 months

Text

Sick Days

I’ve come down with the flu, so… that’s the inspiration for this! Wanted to write a little something.

_____

Sherlock wakes with a sore throat and he instantly feel a surge of disappointment.

Sickness. Tedious.

Of course, a sore throat won’t stop him, especially since he also sees that he got a text from Lestrade, advertising a case for him.

Before going out, Sherlock drinks plenty of water, striving to make this laughable setback disappear.

Sherlock and John go to the case and John keeps setting his eyes on Sherlock, noticing his slightly red cheeks and how his eyelids are droopy.

“You alright, love?” John asks quietly in the cab.

It takes a second to acknowledge that John is speaking to him due to his hazy state. He turns and blinks slowly at the blogger. “Hm?”

John pauses in suspicion. “Are you alright?” He asks again.

Sherlock nods, looking away. “Fine.”

John puts the back of his hand to Sherlock’s head, feeling him. “God, Sherlock, you’re burning up!”

Sherlock huffs and shrugs him off. “John, I’m fine.”

They arrive at the crime scene and Lestrade leads them to the body. Sherlock looks down at it and gains more frustration when he can find nothing. Deductions usually pop up quickly for him, like sprouts. But as he kneels down and scans the body, he finds nothing popping up. Nothing at all. Sherlock can only see a dead woman.

Lestrade stands beside him, looking down uncertainty. “Uh… anything?”

Sherlock stands, but as he does, a wave of dizziness hits him. He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to gain steadiness. He opens his eyes again and tries to think of something, anything.

“She- She was… married,” Sherlock concludes, starting to feel uncomfortably hot.

Lestrade furrows his brows. “Uh- yes. Yes, she was. We interviewed her husband.”

“Yes,” Sherlock agrees in a low voice. “Of course.”

Silence draws out within the room.

Sherlock swallows and winces, pain advancing through his throat.

“Sherlock.” John’s voice soothes through his thoughts. “You sure you’re okay?”

Sherlock nods, rolling his shoulders. “Yes. Um- the woman. She… seems to have… have been killed with a knife wound…”

Sherlock trails off, feeling slightly hazy. God, this is exhausting. Why is this so exhausting? It shouldn’t be exhausting.

“I think that’s our cue to leave,” John says, putting a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. “He’s been burning up since this morning.”

“Sherlock!” Lestrade scolds. “You shouldn’t be at a bloody crime scene when you feel like death.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes, but even that hursts his head. “You both are being quite over dramatic.”

“No, we’re being sensible,” John corrects him. He squeezes his shoulder. “How about this, Lestrade will deliver you the case files and you can observe them in bed.”

Sherlock sighs in complaint. He tries to argue with John, but he knows it’s useless. Finally, he readily agrees, too tired to voice any more disagreement.

Sherlock and John head back to 221B and once they are finally in their warm flat, Sherlock can’t help but feel a sense of relief.

“Alright, you.” John takes off his coat, then helps Sherlock with his. “You’re going to lay down and I will hear none of it, hm?”

“Oh, John, you’re—“

“I said I will hear none of it,” John reminds him, hanging their coats up.

John adjusts the pillows and blankets on the sofa, and Sherlock reluctantly lays down. Once his head hits the pillow, he instantly sighs in contentment, shifting to get in the most comfortable position he can muster. He faintly feels a hand on his forehead, then a thermometer in his mouth.

John makes a displeased noise. “Too high. Much too high.”

Sherlock hums. “Are you going to play doctor with me?”

John chuckles. “I am. Have a problem with it?”

Sherlock gives a small grin. “I may.”

“Well, then, that’s just too bad,” John teases, kneeling down to get eye-level with Sherlock. “Because I’m going to play doctor hard with you.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Do not say it like that.”

John only grins and presses a kiss to the detective’s lips. Sherlock yanks his head back incredulously. “John! I don’t wish to get my germs on you in my state.”

“Don’t worry. I’m a doctor; I’m immune to sickness.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works.”

“It is now,” John whispers, pressing another kiss to his head. “I’m making you soup and you’re eating it.”

The rest of the day, John takes care of Sherlock, making sure he eats (even if he’s only getting the broth of the soup in his stomach) and bundling him up in blankets.

Sherlock huffs and complains, claiming that he doesn’t need assistance. But then again, John hardly ever listens to Sherlock.

Hours pass and Sherlock wakes up from a nap he didn’t even know he fell into. As he blinks his eyes open, the first thing he notices is his throat. He swallows and it’s as if needles are poking through his skin. His lips are dry and his head is foggy.

That’s the thing Sherlock hates the most.

His brain being in this state.

He isn’t able to properly think. And in a way… that frightens him.

He catches sight of the window and notices it’s already dark out. He makes a groan of complaint as he shifts under the heavy blankets.

John hears him from where he’s sitting on his chair. “How are you feeling?”

“Marvelous,” Sherlock murmurs in a dry voice.

John sighs, setting his laptop down. “I’m sorry, love. Do you need anything?”

Sherlock is about to shake his head, but he pauses. Instead, he reaches his limp hand out, gesturing to John.

John grins and stands, making his way over to the detective. Gently, he lifts Sherlock up and settles behind him, resting his back on the arm of the sofa. He positions his legs on either side of Sherlock, wrapping his arms around his middle. Sherlock releases a shaky sigh, resting his back on John’s chest. John hums, running his hand up and down his side. “Look at you. So snuggly when you’re sick,” John observes.

Sherlock doesn’t have the energy to banter, so he only denies it with a, “Hardly.”

John laughs softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Mhmm. I’m sure.”

Before Sherlock can say anything, he’s interrupted by his own cough. Oh, for the love of all that is good, he’s coughing now? Tiresome.

“Oh, darling,” says John softly. “I should go get you some medicine.”

Sherlock holds John’s hand tighter, leaning his head back to look at him properly. “Don’t go,” Sherlock pleads in a rough voice. “Please.”

John stares at him for a moment, a bit in bemusement, then smiles and settles back down. “Okay. I won’t. I’ll stay here and get sick with you.”

“I thought you were immune?”

“Sick with love,” John elaborates.

“Ugh. How sentimental,” Sherlock grumbles.

“Git. You love it.”

Sherlock sighs, resting his head on John’s shoulder. “I’m afraid I do.”

#johnlock #sherlock #writerscommunity #johnlock fanfiction #ao3 writer #sherlock fandom #sickfic #sick #sick Sherlock #caretaker John #John’s a good boyfriend #sherlock needs john #sherlock x john #sherlock rant #sherlockbbc #drabble #I’m stuck in bed so why not #established relationship #established Johnlock

14 notes · View notes

starkraivennemad · 5 days

Text

What's Said And What's Heard

They didn't know it yet - it was their last minutes being alone…

First came the hurt…

"Mummy! What in heavens name could possibly have given you thought of such a connection?" Mycroft Holmes scoffed at the very thought. "He and I? That's utterly preposterous!" "Excuse me?" It was not so much the words spoken, but how they were delivered that caused Greg to lash out. "Oh yes, completely ludicrous. What a pauper can't look at a prince? I can help with that. Maman? Let's go!" Greg glad they had arrived at the booth but had not sat. He grabbed his mother's hand. "Gregory!" "Lestrade." "Greg, wait." Mycroft, Sherlock and his mother called out. Greg ignored the latter two to face a stricken looking Mycroft about to speak. "Don't bother, Holmes." Greg had hidden his feelings from the intimidating man for over a year because of this very fear. I’m not good enough. Hearing it confirmed in words stung. They stung deeply. He’ll never be mine… "Greg!" His mother tried. "Mère, no." Were he not upset and already turned away, he would have noticed her surprised face at being addressed formally, something he only does when he is very upset, as he gently, but decidedly pulled her at her hand. We’re leaving.

Followed by the embarrassment…

"Gregory Michael Lestrade, that is ENOUGH! Unhand me now, young man!" Giselle Lestrade thundered once they were out of the restaurant and in the car park. He had parked near the divider wall between self-parking from one entrance and valet parking from the other side. Whoa! Haven't heard THAT tone since… Academy? He immediately released his hold on her. He had not realized how tight was his grip until she shook her hand. Shite! What are you doing, Greg! "Maman, I… I am so sorry!" He tried to reach for her hand, but she snatched it away. "I don't want to hear it, Gregory. You are lucky we were such a nice place, and I did not want there to be cause of a bigger scene than what was already happening. What is going on in that thick gob of yours?" Fuck it all! This weekend had gone so great, now it's ruined! Head down in shame, Greg ran a rough had through his silver hair, setting it awry. "I can't." "The way you just manhandled me? Boy, you better try!" Greg winced at her words and shook his head. Giselle Lestrade raised her son to fear no one. Then again, his mother had not come against the likes of one Mycroft Holmes. How could he explain someone like Mycroft Holmes? He was an uber intelligent man who suffered no fools. Mycroft will claim he occupied a minor office in the British government and had the documentation to prove it, but after nearly a decade of knowing - Greg certainly knew better. There was nothing minor about Mycroft's true occupation as a global political player of such immense power the world is better in not knowing existed. Mycroft can bring monarchs and presidents to heel with raised brow. Calculating and ruthless, Mycroft was a man willing to make the hard decisions no one else could and execute them for the sake of Crown and Country. He was also a man of droll, yet cutting wit who loved his parents who did not always seem to understand him. Adores his not-exactly-a-baby brother who lives to give him grief at every turn as only a little brother can. The man who publicly scorned sentiment and romantic entangles with a motto of caring is not an advantage. The man whose plentiful condemnations were as cutting as his rare compliments Tall, posh with legs for eons in his three-piece bespoke, pocket watch wearing suit of a man he was madly, but secretly in love with. The man who emphasized the preposterousness of that love ever being reciprocated moments ago. The man I just walked away from. "You wouldn't understand, Mère." Greg sighed as he leaned against his car. "Would it have anything to do with how deeply paupers love princes?" she asked softly. Greg knew by the question his mother had gleaned the answer. Of course, she knows. She the only person who can read me better than Mycroft. And she heard what he said… She leaned beside him against the car. “When did my brave copper of a son become a coward of the heart, hmm?” She was about to say more when voices were heard on the other side of the wall.

But then the surprise…

"Idiot boy! I'm not asking why you haven't told him. I'm sure you've concocted a hundred reasons why not. I'm asking how you, you who sees everyone and everything, have not seen it for yourself?!" Violet Holmes fussed. "Believe me, Mummy. He has excelled at hiding his feelings - even from himself." Sherlock drawled. Oh, HE’s one to talk! "Oh, don't you dare! Pot/Kettle, little brother, Pot/Kettle." "Oh, don't you dare try to change the focus, Mikey." Violet chastised. "And Liam hush! I'll get back to you your doctor fellow another time, don't speak out of hand again." "Yes, Mummy." Sherlock demurred. So, I'm not the only son to completely ruin Mother's Day brunch. Nice to know the Holmes Boys get taken to task by their mum too. “This is about Mikey being intimidated by Greg.” Violet continued. What? Greg looked at his mother and knew by her look of surprise he had not misheard. Mycroft intimidated by me? I am the one who is intimidated! “Oh, I am sure my brother has unconsciously tried his best to intimidate Greg.” Sherlock scoffed. “Are you aware, Mummy, that Lestrade and John are the only people outside the immediate family not cowed by his Iceman glare? I’m sure he’s tried to ward him off with his trademark Caring Is Not an Advantage lark – Ow! You kicked me!” Only because Greg had to stop himself from laughing out loud did it occur to him; he was listening in on their conversation. And I definitely should not be. Best to go before my feeling are hurt even more. “I did say stop speaking out of turn.” Violet huffed, “Besides, Mikey is correct, caring is NOT an advantage…” “Thank you, Mummy.” Mycroft said smugly. “Don’t thank me. I raised you to be wary of the pitfalls of love, yes, but not to disdain it altogether. Since when are you such a coward?” Without even looking at her, Greg saw the smug look on his mother’s face. He was not really cognizant of having moved until he had turned the corner.

Succeeded by the confession…

“Disadvantage or not - didn’t stop you from falling in love with me or I you, did it?” “Gregory!” Mycroft spun around at the sound of Greg’s voice behind him. Greg will treasure the day he caused surprised looks on not one, not two, but all three of the Holmes geniuses. “Maman was giving me the well-deserved what for too.” Hands in his trouser pockets and blushing profusely, Greg tilted his head towards Giselle who joined him. “Sherlock, I know you can charm when you want to. Do it now and please take our mother’s back inside for brunch. Your brother and I will be in shortly.” “I will…” Whatever nonsense was about to fall from Sherlock’s lips evaporated as four sets of eyes glared at him. “I will do my best.” “You better.” Greg gave him no quarter, blithely ignoring the scowl from Sherlock, and the raised eyebrows from the mothers and the three returned to the restaurant. “Sorry for listening in… I…”. “No, before you say another word let me speak, please.” Mycroft approached Greg. “You walked off before I could explain. The preposterousness of out being together was because I never imagined some like you would ever have interest in someone like me. It was NEVER that I have not sincerely wished for such between us. Mummy saw how much it devastated me to realize I had accidentally hurt you and why.” “And I thought someone like you would never be interested in someone like me. Your words, the way I took them sealed it. Maman saw how much I was hurt by you and why.” Greg smiled at his mother, then at Violet. “Nice to know you can’t hide from your Mum any more than I from mine.” “I’m beginning to see neither mother raised cowards, just two blind idiots.” Greg smiled gently. “But I think we’re both seeing clearly now – yes?” “Quite so.” Mycroft returned the smile.

Adding in the touch…

Eyes locked on each other; Greg realized it took Mycroft a moment for it register his hand was being gently tugged. Mycroft looked down to see Greg’s strong fingers slowly grasping to hold his. He and Mycroft have shaken hands countless of times. This was the first time ever they have touched. “You…. You are the first person in YEARS, outside of family or physicians, to touch me…” Mycroft exhaled in wonder. “And to be blunt – you’re… oh sod this!”

With the kiss…

Greg is not sure what surprised him more. Mycroft using such a phrase as Sod this(!) or the kiss suddenly planted on his lips. Okay, he lied – the kiss absolutely was the bigger surprise. Oh, but a much, MUCH more welcome one! “Hello…” Mycroft was quite pink about the ears when they came up for air. “Hey yourself” Greg could not have wiped the smile from his face had his life depended on it. “I feel behooved to inform you that was seen not only by the valet, but at least two security cameras and…” Mycroft pulled out his buzzing phone without looking. “Oh?” Greg grinned was plastered in place as he spied the nearest camera and waved. “Tell Anthea she can give me The Talk on Tuesday.” “Why Tuesday?” Mycroft asked surprised. “Today IS Mothers’ Day and I don’t know about you, but I’m damn sure not telling Maman to fend for herself until she heads back tomorrow .” Greg headed back inside the restaurant. ”So, Anthea will have to wait until Tuesday.” “I do not say this often, Gregory, but I’m not following.” Greg turned around in time to appreciate Mycroft’s sardonic eyeroll in acknowledgement that he was in fact currently following Greg into the restaurant.

Concluding with, the promise…

“You want to tell your mother you abandoned her on Mother’s Day to get railed by your VERY soon-to-be lover? Because once I get your in bed tomorrow, Mycroft Holmes, we’re not getting out of it before Tuesday.” Greg winked. Greg grinned as Mycroft stumbled nearly going offline again. Whoa! Got Mycroft to short-circuit twice in one day! “Follow me now, love?” “Yes, I follow, love.”

…Before the rest of their lives together.

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

Comment on AO3

@calaisreno @MayPrompts2024

#MayPrompts2024 - Prompt 9: Intimidate, Prompt 14: Eavesdrop

#mayprompts2024 #mystrade #bbc sherlock #greg lestrade #mycroft holmes #sherlock holmes #mystrade monday prompts

13 notes · View notes