#Which is nice. Exclusively shaded with a soft brush which I never do and rendered the face more than I’ve ever done before which isn’t a lo

[qaanngi]

Medibang Pro on ipad, brush, and colouring style experiment with my beautiful goblin daughter.

[thebeethathums]

Observers - 77

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Warnings: Slightly suggestive situations.

A/N: Next Chapter is a Lemon again so like lead up in this chapter. Again the Lemon will be skippable so you are welcome to just move on to 79 if that is not your thing.

When Sherlock came out of it, John was gone and you were lying on your back where he’d been, humming to yourself with your good arm thrown over your head as you kneaded the outside of his thigh with your toes. He blinked at you for a moment, unsure of what to do with his latest discovery, and then poked your foot as he huffed, “What are you doing?” “Dunno… bored,” you admitted before giggling, “Did you have a nice think?” Not particularly wanting to delve into what he’d been thinking about, he answered with a question, “What happened to John?” “I sent him to bed when he started to snore.” “How long ago was that?” You froze as you thought that over and then tilted your head to the side, “I’m not sure. Time passes differently when you can’t see… an hour maybe. Could have been longer." He pulled your legs straight so they were in his lap again and you flexed your toes to a point with a quiet sigh, “Sherlock?” “Yes?” “Would you teach me to play the violin?”

Normally he would have immediately said no- no one touched his violin but him and he certainly didn’t have the patience to teach other people with their slow minds- but, with the conclusion he’d just come to and the fact that it was you, he decided to look deeper. Sherlock scrutinized you for a moment before answering, “You only want to learn because you’re bored and afraid. You need something more complex to occupy your mind than folding cranes- understandable- but your request really stems from your need to have a creative outlet should your vision not return… It will, (F/n).” The corners of your lips pulled down in a frown, “And if it doesn’t? John’s worried Sherlock. He thinks I can’t tell but I can hear it in his voice- he’s worried that nothing has changed. It should be getting better but it’s not. What happens if it never does?” You didn’t wait for an answer, frustrated tears starting to roll down your cheeks as you tumbled, “My entire life has revolved almost exclusively on my ability to see and now I can’t even get from one side of the flat to the other, much less draw or paint. I thought at least maybe I could create music but I probably can’t do that either. What am I supposed to do? I can’t do anything. I can’t even fix my stupid sling from being stuck on my bloody shirt.” In the time it took him to blink, he went over his options in his head and then gave an inaudible sigh- he didn’t want you to cry, which meant he was going to have to make an attempt at comforting again. Hoping that he would be able to get it right, he pulled you up towards him, shifting your legs so you were straddling his lap, and then began fixing your sling, “There are plenty of things you can still do, (F/n), and, while I believe your vision will return, if it doesn’t then you will learn to live without it.” By the time he’d finished, you were free of the sling, which he set aside, and the tears were flowing steadily down your face to leave a smattering of spots on his shirt below. He hated those tears. The pads of his thumbs quickly erased them as he offered, “If nothing has changed in a week and you’d still like to learn then I will make an attempt to teach you the violin.” “Thank you,” you whispered as you stroked up from his shoulders to find his cheeks, cupping them and bowing your head down to place a soft kiss on his lips. To your surprise, he responded fervently, pressing his lips firmly against yours as one hand slid around the back of your neck to pull you down to him and the other fell to the small of your back to keep you close. Melting into him with little resistance as you let him soothe your frustrations with affection, you parted your lips with a small pleased sigh and he took the opportunity to catch your lower lip between his teeth, giving it a little tug. You moaned softly in approval, reassuring him since you could feel the hint of hesitation in his actions, and moved your fingers into his hair as you leaned your forehead on his. He tilted up to catch your lips again before smoothly purring, “Let me show you all you can do without needing to see.” “I don’t know, Sherlock,” you sighed, “After last ti-“ “I made a mistake… this time will be different,” he persisted, running his hands up your thighs with a tantalizingly gentle touch before cupping your rear with both. Just as he thought, that was enough for you to give pause and think it over as your fingers twirled locks of his hair around their lengths and made his eyes flutter closed. After a moment you leaned closer, your lips brushing against his as you seductively breathed, “Alright, genius. Prove it.” That was all it took for him to sweep you up and into his room as you pressed open mouth kisses to his neck and nipped at his earlobe. You could hear his breath catch but little else and wondered how he managed to keep himself so composed when a similar treatment from him had rendered you nearly unable to stand. What you couldn’t see made all the difference- his face was flushed a dark shade of pink, he was biting his lip to the point of it being painful, and his eyes were so dark with desire that, if he wasn’t focused on carrying you, his hands would be all the places John thought they shouldn’t. You returned to his lips just as he set you down on the bed, feeling him loom over you while you worked at the buttons to his shirt, the smooth fabric slipping between your fingers to allow them to brush each new section of bare chest. Buttons were no match for your practiced fingers, even if you couldn’t see them, and before the kiss was broken you were pushing the shirt away from him. He pulled from you to finish the task, tossing it away carelessly, and then returned, his fingers working at the edge of your own shirt. His other hand tangled into your hair, relishing its softness as the locks encompassed his fingers, and then pulled you back to his mouth with a new sense of urgency. Sherlock internally marveled at his how his body instinctually responded to the situation, how it screamed at him to hurry up and get his skin against your skin- to lock your form against his and make your exhale his inhale. Even his vivid memories couldn’t do this moment and these feelings justice and he realized just how much and for how long he’d wanted to do this with you again. At the same time, something about it now was very different than before- better in a new and curious way- and he briefly wondered if it had to do with the new folder in his head. Sensing his drifting thoughts, you deepened the kiss, snapping him back to the present and to you. His hand slipped up your shirt, caressing your sides and stomach as he worked his way up to a point where he absolutely had to pull away from the kiss to get rid of the article of clothing. In his impatience, he nearly yanked it over your head but then caught sight of the bruises still patterning your torso and slowed to ease it off your injured arm. Seeing your injuries fully for the first time made him change his approach from heated to gently affectionate, his arms winding around you to pull you into his lap as his lips fell to the large bruise coloring your shoulder. Nothing needed to be said for you to understand what he was doing as he covered the area with sloppy open-mouthed kisses. You just tangled your fingers into his hair, rested your cheek against him, and let him try to erase the pain with his tender touch. He stopped at the bandage on your arm, gently stroking at the edge of it with his thumb as he rested his forehead on yours. He closed his eyes as he tightly sighed, “This was my fault.” You startled, hands coming around to his cheeks in a flash, “You know that’s not true, Sherlock.” In a rare moment of total vulnerability, he buried his nose in your neck, his silky curls brushing against your cheek and jaw as he murmured, “I was the reason he gave you that... that he marked you.” You buried your nose in his hair, stroking it with one hand, “Don’t, Sherlock. Thinking like that benefits no one but him.”   He simply nipped at your neck in response, the moment of guilt passing as quickly as it had come, and you chuckled, tugging him to your mouth with the fingers in his hair. It was one of those kisses that went from incredibly gentle, with your fingers tracing his sharp cheekbones while his swirled lightly over your hips and lower back, to beyond heated as your tongues danced and teeth nipped at the soft flesh of your lips, your nails raking down his back as he laid you down and shifted his weight over you. You paused for air, soft panting filling the room as your hands cupped his shoulders and then slid down to feel out his lithe form as his lips returned to yours. When your hands fell to the waist of his trousers to pull him against you, you felt the reverberation of a chuckle before he parted from you just barely, lowly taunting, “Patience, darling.” You pouted, pulling him to you anyways, and he nibbled at the sweet spot on your neck, possessively growling,  “Not until I’ve had my turn, love. You made me beg for mercy- it’s only fair I return the favor.”