#sherlock fluff

[blue-eyed-belladonna]

How Can Anyone Hate the Rain? (Sherlock x Reader)

~~~~Author's Note: Hey everyone!! I haven't posted a fic in a hot minute because the ones I do write are self indulgent as FUCK but I really liked this one and my friend convinced me to post this excerpt. SO enjoy!! I hope y'all like it!!~~~~

Word Count: 2,446

Fem coded. If y'all like it I will definitely make a gender neutral version too!!

Warnings: Cussing?? Ig??

Something was wrong. She knew it. Sherlock had been acting…off the last few days. She wasn’t sure why or what to do but the awkward silence in the flat was suffocating her. She looked outside when she heard a soft pitter patter against the window until it became a constant. She smiled to herself, deciding to go downstairs to enjoy the rain from the bigger windows.

She entered the living room, seeing Sherlock sitting by the window. He looked lost in thought, almost as if he was somewhere else entirely. She saw his hand clench and unclench under his chin. She frowned. She took a quiet deep inhale before walking towards him with her arms behind her back. She stopped next to him, also staring out at the rain. There was a peaceful silence for a few moments between the two. He didn’t acknowledge her, which she was used to when he was deep in thought, but it was like he was entirely unaware of anything surrounding him. She didn’t like it.

“Do you like the rain?” She asked softly, finally turning her head to see if he’d react. She was pleasantly surprised that he actually turned to meet her gaze. He looked exhausted. “I do.” He answered. She offered a smile, looking back outside. “Me too. It’s my favorite kind of weather.” He didn’t say anything, silence lapsing over the two. “You know, this is my first rain in London. I know it’s silly, but I think it’s almost monumental.” He scoffed almost. “It’s just the weather.” He grumbled. She tilted her head downward to him, leaning against the table. “Well…yeah I s’pose it is. But it’s my favorite weather. In my favorite place.” A shy smile spread across her cheeks. “With my favorite person.” 

That caught his attention for sure. His head whipped around to her, his curls bouncing from the speed. She shrugged, looking out the window as she crossed her arms. She didn’t want to move too fast to give off that she was embarrassed for admitting that, but she feels she failed to look unbothered and as confident as she hoped. He gently cleared his throat. “Yes. Right. Well…” he paused, following her gaze to the window. “In that case, I believe it’s cause for celebration.” She let out a surprised chuckle. “What?” She looked at him in disbelief. He stood up, going to the front door, wrapping his coat around him. He glanced at her as he buttoned it up, nodding to the door. “Well? Are you coming?” “You’re being serious?” She giggled, uncrossing her arms to walk towards him. “As the plague.” This caused another giggle to bubble out of her. She took her coat as well, quickly tying on her shoes. “Then there’s no time to waste.” He announced, grabbing her hand the second she stood up right. The two bounded down the stairs, the girl giggling the whole way out the door.

            “Sherlock, the rain!” She warned, putting her hand over her head as if it would do anything. “Blast the rain,” He grinned back at her, rushing to an undisclosed location. She only laughed again, taking a breath when they stopped under an awning. They looked at each other, barely containing their laughter at seeing the other soaked to the bone. “When you said celebrate, I didn’t think you meant running in the rain.” She sassed, their hands still holding each other as she rocked on her toes. Neither seemed to notice, or they just didn’t seem to mind. She lifted her glasses to be perched on her head, unable to see with them anymore due to the rainwater on them. She looked at Sherlock sneakily, her grin turning into a soft smile. She’s never heard him laugh this much before. She exhaled, taking her glasses off her head. “Is this our destination? I’d like somewhere to dry my glasses if, at all, possible.” She lightly teased. He motioned her to the door. “Then by all means,” She grinned again, opening the door and held it open behind her for him to enter.

They were sat at a table within moments, chatting light-hearted until she decided to look at her menu. He was staring out at the rain again, she noticed, as she glanced over the menu. She knew it. It was a façade…She thought. She’s seen this type of behavior before from someone very different. She bit the inside of her cheek, putting the menu down. “Sherlock?” She asked quietly. “Mm.” He hummed, lifting his chin from his hand again to look at her. “You don’t…have to act like everything is okay around me, you know? You can tell me if something is wrong.” She offered, closing her menu. He only stared at her, seemingly at a loss for words. She crossed her arms, leaning against them on the table as she awaited his answer. After a few short seconds of him staring at her, she motioned at him with her shoulders. “That means…you can express your problems with me. We’re friends after all.” She offered. She saw a flash of an unreadable emotion pass his eyes.

He exhaled, the sound almost like a scoff from his nose. “Friends, are we?” He asked distastefully. She sat back at his reaction, suddenly feeling uneasy, hurt. “Well…yeah…at least I thought we were.” She mumbled, not so sure anymore. Did he dislike her that much? She thought they got along great! She even thought…maybe…maybe he liked her. The way she liked him. He rolled his eyes, standing so fast the chair squealed on the floor. She just looked up at him, unable to tell what she should do to ease the situation. He adjusted his coat, not looking at her. “The rain has eased up. We should go while it’s still a drizzle.” And without another word, he walked to the exit. She rushed putting her coat on, haphazardly standing from the table at the same time. She went to catch up, seeing him walk by the window as she finally got her arm through the second sleeve. She felt dejected, her arm slowly coming close to her body. She was speed walking to catch up to him, thanking and apologizing to the owner at the same time as she hurried out after him.

“Sherlock!” She called, her pace speeding up to a jog to even catch up to the man. Who, she may add, didn’t stop or even slow down to wait for her. “What was that about?” She asked, a bit winded due to a misstep a few feet before. “All I said was you could talk to me!” She pleaded, not understanding what she did wrong. She didn’t pay attention to where they were going, so when he suddenly stopped but she kept walking, she wasn’t expecting him to yank on her arm to pull her back. He had prevented her from walking into oncoming traffic. “Are you daft?!” He shouted. She pulled her arm free of his grasp, holding the spot he was previously gripping as she looked at the onslaught of cars moving due to the changed traffic light. “No!” “Clearly. Someone clever would obviously walk into oncoming traffic.” He bristled sarcastically, irritated and short. He was acting as if he was above her again, sitting on his high horse looking down at her. “Then fucking answer me instead of walking off! What did I even do wrong, Sherlock?? You just up and left. I thought-” “What did you think, Y/N? Please, enlighten me. You thought I was having fun? That my mood would suddenly change just because you wanted it to?” He demanded, stepping closer to her, his hands in his pockets with hunched shoulders and a cold look in his eye. She stepped back with each step he took to her. “N-No,” She stammered, wanting to speak but finding her tongue heavy. It’s not like Sherlock would let her get a word in anyway. “Or maybe, you came to your own conclusion once again that you could somehow help me?! Not everyone needs the nauseating amount of empathy you reserve. Especially not me.” She blinked up at him, feeling her eyes begin to sting. He suddenly pushed past her, his arm bumping into her shoulder as he walked the crosswalk. Her legs followed before she thought anything of it. She had to cross either way. The rain began to come down harder, no longer a drizzle but a steady flow. “I wasn’t being empathetic – I just wanted to help!” she called over the rain. He scoffed aloud this time, turning to face her. “God, you really are an idiot, aren’t you?” He spat. She retracted her arms to herself. “I-” “Why not waste your time on your boyfriend?” Her offense and hurt had paused. Now she was just…confused.

“Boyfriend?” She repeated. “I don’t have a boyfriend.” She told him, wondering where he could’ve gotten such a crazy assumption. “Oh, don’t play coy. I heard you on the phone. Going on and on about a brilliant man with such pretty eyes,” He repeated in a high pitched voice to mock her. She continued to stare in confusion until it hit her. Oh…She put her hand over her mouth to hide how her jaw dropped. Oh my God…he heard me talking about him. He lifted his chin, huffing through his nose. “Precisely.” He turned to keep walking but she grabbed onto the back of his coat. “Sherlock, I wasn’t-” “Let. Go.” He spoke scarily calm. She didn’t. If anything her grip on his coat tightened. She breathed a single chuckle, catching his attention. He glanced over his shoulder, unable to fight the curiosity as her chuckle grew into a laugh. He glared. “Laughing in my face and mocking me is hardly-” “Sherlock you’re such an idiot.” She laughed, finally letting go of his coat to hold her stomach from laughing so hard. He turned to her fully, offended like a child. She was laughing. Laughing. At him.

But the fact she called him an idiot…perplexed him. It caught him off guard since he was never called that except by John and occasionally Gary. “What? What’s so funny?” He demanded. She finally stood up right, pushing her glasses atop her head once more. “Sherlock, I don’t have a boyfriend.” She giggled. “Regardless, the man you spoke of is clearly a priority to you. Go cause him trouble.” “Sherlock the man I was talking about was you!” She confessed, having to shout since a car drove by at the same time. He froze again. Staring at her. He couldn’t have heard her right. “Come again?” He mumbled, taking a step closer. She also took a single step closer to him, looking at the ground this time. “Sherlock…I like you. The man you heard me basically gushing over? It was you. It’s always been you.” She confessed, her nerves catching up to her finally as she refused to meet his eyes.

The rain was coming down in buckets, but neither cared. The roads and sidewalks were empty now, save for the two of them. “I…” He started, but couldn’t find the words. The only sound for a few seconds was the rain, and to each individual, their heartbeat. “I thought…a man like me doesn’t do emotions. Relationships. I thought that may haps I misread the situation we found ourselves in.” He confessed, his voice smaller now like he’d been caught. She snorted lightly, finally able to lift her gaze to his own. “From those things you said, I could tell. Is this why you’ve been in such a mood? Because you thought I found a boyfriend?” She couldn’t help but ask. Despite the rain, she could see how his cheeks grew warm. He looked to the side, squinting now due to the rain coming down so hard. Both were soaked anyway, and this conversation was too important to just drop and run off. “Oh my God, it was.” “I’m a very complicated man!” “And I’m a patient woman!” She countered. He looked at her at that. “Oh please, I’ve seen how you rush around.” He jabbed, but both knew it was a tease.

She took another step closer, reaching out with a shaking hand to gently hold one of his. He turned his hand so his palm was facing up to help her steady her hand. And to feel her pulse. She swallowed thickly, her throat dry. “I was wondering why you were so upset with me. I thought I did something wrong. I thought I was misreading everything after what you said in the restaurant. I know you’re a complicated man, Sherlock, but I can’t find myself to care. All I can think about…is you.” She confessed. She was blushing now, that much was obvious to any passerby (if there were any, that is), so she knew Sherlock could see it too.

 “I’m dangerous-” “Well then it seems I have a type.” She shot back, not even knowing where that came from. It was almost a knee-jerk reaction. He sighed, squeezing her hand. “Are you sure you want to do this? Be with me?” He asked, his voice quieter than before but still loud enough to be heard over the rain. “Only if you like me back.” She answered. “Be kind of awkward if you didn’t.” She lightly teased despite the seriousness of the situation. He cracked a grin, looking down at their hands. He finally looked back up to her. “Well, I can’t say I like you necessarily, but the affection is there.” He joked back, making her grin too.

“So? What’s the verdict detective?” She jested, rocking onto her toes. He took the moment to cup her cheek with his free hand and pull her in for a kiss. She was caught so off guard she actually made a noise. She damn near fell back when she rested flat footed again, eyes wide at his action. He pulled back at her reaction, concerned he read the entire thing wrong again and made a horrible mistake. That was, until she grabbed him by the back of his neck with both hands to crash their lips together once more. It was his turn to be surprised, but soon both relaxed into the kiss, sighing in relief and living in the moment. She had the off-handed thought that his felt like a scene from a book or a movie. When they broke apart, both catching their breath, he grinned at her. “Does that answer your inquiry?” He pushed a piece of soaking hair behind her ear making her giggle. “Yeah, I can be satisfied with that.”

[billiereid]

Spell It Out: Sherlock x Reader

Warnings: Rated R. This content is intended for readers ages 18 years and older. Minors, do not interact.

Contains: Established relationship. GN!Reader.

Summary: You and Sherlock had been dating for a while, and you both thought that your affections for each other were fairly obvious. However, when John found you slipping out of Sherlock's bedroom one morning, you realized there were several people he neglected to inform.

Sherlock is your boyfriend. This is a fact that you know. And you’re pretty sure that he knows it, too. 

What you never realized before was that you two were the only people in Sherlock’s life who knew. You always thought it was fairly obvious to those around you. You were at Sherlock’s flat constantly. He always had you near him, even if he was never one for public displays of affection. And besides, John was Sherlock’s flatmate and best friend. Surely Sherlock had at least explained it to him, right?

Now, though, you found yourself trapped between Sherlock’s bedroom door and the washroom in your pajamas with John, of all people, staring at you as if he’d never seen you in his life. 

You stood there, frozen, wearing only the most comfortable oversized t-shirt you own and a pair of shorts that were much too short for anyone but Sherlock to see you in. It felt like several minutes passed, though it was only a few seconds. 

“Y/N?” John asked, his brows furrowed in confusion. “What–what are you doing here?” he asks, not exactly sure how else to respond to the situation. 

“I stayed over,” you answered, as if it should have been obvious. But the wayJohn was looking at you felt like he was trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle. “I’m sorry, what are you confused about?” you asked, gently tugging your shirt down to try and cover a little more of yourself.

John didn’t answer. He only shook his head, as if to try and clear the thoughts from his brain. “Nothing,” he said, realizing that everything about the situation is pretty much obvious. You had stayed the night, of course, but the part that he couldn’t get over was the fact that you obviously slept with Sherlock.

You blinked again to try and refocus yourself, and you slipped into the washroom, locking yourself inside and leaning against the closed door for some kind of support. Why was John looking at you as if you’d sprouted an extra head? Was he angry that you’d stayed over? Did Sherlock not tell him you were staying over? You didn’t think it mattered that much, but you supposed it was a likely explanation. 

After taking care of your business in the bathroom, you quickly slipped back into Sherlock’s bedroom to try and work out what had just happened in the kitchen. 

“Does John not know about me and you?” you asked after shutting yourself in the bedroom with Sherlock. 

Sherlock, in the midst of dressing himself, answers, “If he doesn’t, it’s his own fault.”

You blinked a couple of times and sighed. “Did you ever tell him?” 

Sherlock turned to face you, tucking his shirt into his trousers. His brows were furrowed, his head tilted slightly in apparent confusion. “Why would I?” he asked, as if that should have been the logical response for both of you.

You rubbed your temples for a moment. “Because he’s your flatmate,” you explained, your arms now crossed over your chest. “Because he’s your friend, and he deserves to know.”

“And he would know, if he actually paid attention to his surroundings,” Sherlock said, almost with a bitterness toward John, even though you knew it wasn’t real. He moved now to put on his suit jacket, looking sharp as always.

You sat on the bed and rubbed your eyes for a moment, trying to wrap your head around Sherlock’s unwillingness to actually come clean about your relationship. “So… you didn’t tell him out of… what, spite?” you asked, not exactly angry or frustrated, but just trying to understand Sherlock’s reasoning for not wanting to say anything to John. 

“No,” Sherlock answered, as if it should have been obvious all along. “I simply didn’t think I would need to spell it out for him.”

With that, Sherlock opened the bedroom door to go to his usual spot in the lounge. John was sitting in his armchair, as per usual, reading something. “So…” John said, his tone slightly teasing, though not in a way that Sherlock would usually pick up on. “You and Y/N?” 

Sherlock, from his own armchair, answers, “You really need to start paying attention.”

[sherlockfanthings]

A little chat between Sherlock and his girlfriend.

[bakerstreethound]

An Uncertain Future & Familiar Comforts

Relationship: Sherlock Holmes x gender neutral reader

Warnings: job insecurity, mentions of anxiety, married sherlock, cuddles & kisses

Summary: The night before the graduation ceremony for your master's degree has arrived and leaves you pondering and questioning your uncertain future. Fortunately, Sherlock is there to comfort and reassure you as you mentally prepare for the upcoming day.

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound (Do NOT claim, copy, repost, or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username)

Word Count: 851

A/N: Hello lovelies! I meant to post this back in January when I completed the story, but between many life events, this story slipped through the cracks. It makes me happy to return to writing my beloved detective. I hope you enjoy the story! As always, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

You’re staring at the computer screen again, lost in thought, too scared to weary to put anything down on the page. Time is slowly ticking down until you have one day remaining before you graduate and you feel the gnawing ache awaken, slowly wrapping around your heart making you doubt.

Friends and family are nice but overwhelming all at once. You are not sure how to feel, the ache in your chest numbing while you continue staring at the screen, that is, until your husband, Sherlock interrupts you with a peck to your cheek. 

“Good evening, my dear,” he rumbles.”

“Hi Sherlock. You’re home early. Did John send you over?” 

“He thought you could use the company tonight.”

You sigh in resignation. John, as usual, is correct in his assumptions. It was a rather slow day at work, one you spent staring even longer at computer screens and notebooks, trying to piece together odd requests and groaning at the general stupidity of people.

There was never a dull moment, for sure, yet agony gnaws deep within your chest, the underlying dread. You close your computer, turning to face your husband in the soft glow of the light filtering into 221B, your home for the past six, almost seven years. 

You do not know what to feel, it almost seems unreal the past years of your life slipping by and having little to show for it but the degrees on your wall. They were now your pride and joy, an accomplishment for sure, yet it felt like they meant nothing when searching for full time jobs felt like a full time job in and of itself.

With five interviews done, you had nothing to show for it, and you are frustrated wanting something to happen, the waiting period gnawing at your insides, threatening to tear apart your heart and mind. 

Writing did little to nothing to help as much as it had the past four years, the exhaustion from graduate school zapping what energy reserves you did have, a burden to try to find joy in the art you loved and dedicated yourself to for years. You could not throw it away or let it go to waste, too many years of precious time spent at the keyboard honing your craft. 

You know yourself, you’re better than that so you gave in writing even when the words hurt to type but the simple act of doing so motivated you, and soon enough you had a page. Your weary mind shifted to Sherlock who continues to gaze at you, amusement lighting his features, making you warm at his attentiveness.

He admired your strength to continue on when the waking world was determined to hold you down. You could not take no for an answer, even he knew you deserved more than you were offered. 

He scowled when you discussed with him all the rejections you encountered, sharing in the frustrations, commiserating with you, and scowling at the emails while you discarded them. He continued to assure you they were all idiots and did not see or appreciate the hours you poured into your education and passion projects. 

“I would enjoy your company,” You say eventually, shutting off your computer before pushing your chair away from the desk. He settled in his beloved chair, and you followed suit, straddling his lap, and pressing your forehead against his. When his arms wrap around you, you let out a groan, half in frustration, half in relief. His hands continue to stroke your back, easing you into him and your frostiness evaporates with every touch.

You let yourself fall into a pattern of familiarity you worked years to attain. You felt lucky to be with him here and now in a moment like this, calm and your worries fleeing with every touch and his warmth. It was a gift to be bleeded in a manner, to be held when words could not suffice, the feelings in your chest brimming over, unsure how to be expressed.

Sherlock does not prod and continues to hold you, stroking your back, peppering you with kisses in between. What felt like a fraction of a moment, slipped into hours and you are on the verge of a dream, lulled by Sherlock’s beating heart. 

“Let’s get you to bed, my dear” you heard him rumble gently and for a moment, you registered being cradled in his arms, walked down the hall to your bedroom and carefully placed on the bed.

In a moment or so, Sherlock turned back the covers, guiding you between them, wanting you to be comfortable from the chill. He pulled away, admiring your delirious sleeping form, fighting to remain in the conscious world a few minutes more. 

“Stay,” he heard you murmur. “Don’t…want to be alone.” 

He was surprised at your ability to say anything remotely coherent, but indulged, joining you under the covers, reveling in your sighs of content as you nestled into him, safe and warm. 

Though the future was uncertain, Sherlock was certain of one thing- that he would be with you by your side.

******

[french-vanilla-in-the-clouds]

𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

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

wedding fluff and angst

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

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

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

Sherlock had never seen such perfection.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"She's beautiful," Sherlock repeated.

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

He loved her from the start.

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

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

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

A slow tear trailed down Sherlock's cheek.

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

"You're crying," she said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

John waited beside the priest.

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

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

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

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

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

Things would be brighter in time, he told himself.

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

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

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

Thank you for your patience, literally everybody I'm tagging: @twisted-monster @starryeddie @the-chaotic-cow @turkisherlockian @aephereal ​ @andthevillainshallrises ​ @baby-bloos ​ @cookiemumster1 ​​ @eternal-silvertongued-prince ​ @bogginsreadings ​ @lumosouls @spencerrxids @serenity-lattes @msseijii @classickook @starstruck-loner @i-beg-your-pardon-laufeyson ​ @lucywrites02  @danzalladaggers @mrs-holmes @pytharuw @antsn @kabubsmagga @newtsniffles  @cemak​ @liv-olive-oliver @iamtrash-withrespect @asgards-princess-of-mischief

[consult-sherlockholmes]

Happy Birthday, @consult-johnhwatson. It is an honour that you chose to spend those last fifteen years with me. Well, except about 2 years when I was gone, but maybe I should not mention that on your birthday.

Your presence has greatly improved my well being, and you saved my life many times. Without you in my life, I most likely would have already lost mine. So I want to thank you for still staying with me, after all those years, our partnership persevering many difficult times, but still standing side by side. Whatever happens, together we will prevail.

We may have aged, our looks changed, and we are different men than when we first met. But our partnership has been constant through all that. A rock to hold onto in the changing and feral waves and tides.

And even though you aged, you still look handsome, so do not feel self conscious that another year has been added to your lifespan. Or so I have heard people comment on you.

Biological age is different from chronological age, you have a healthier lifestyle than most men your age, constantly exercising when chasing after criminals. So do not worry about 54, biologically you are probably 49.

Cheers to many healthy years to come.

[magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics]

The Ball - Request

Summary: @bella-pas Can i request something about Sherlock but placed in the times of The Abominable Bride? Like dances and all that stuff (since Sherlock really enjoy dancing) pls? Someway fluffy if you can

Word Count: 2,039

Pairings: Sherlock x reader

Warnings: OOC Sherlock in some ways, also probable historical mistakes.

A/N: I'm back!!!! A little too rusty, but back nonetheless! Also, it's not precisely fluffy but still I think it's pretty cute.

I looked in the mirror. My hair was pulled into a chiffon, leaving my face beautifully uncovered. My neck was adorned with my mother’s jewels. My evening dress had the most gorgeous pink satin, the low neck made it so that the jewels were the very focal point of the whole look, though my big, puffy sleeves weren’t too far behind. But certainly, my favorite part was the lace that covered the top parts of my dress; it was ivory and had little bows that gave me an increased feminine look.

“Oh, how I love this, mother!” I exclaimed, turning around to meet her glance. She had a strange look on her face. “What is it?”

“My dear, you’re truly a woman now.” She replied as her eyes watered a bit.

I blushed, knowing exactly what she meant. Tonight I would be expected to start finding a husband among my acquaintances and whoever I happened to meet at the ball.

“I promise I will always be your little daughter,” I muttered, trying my best not to join in my mother’s crying.

“It’s time, (y/n)!” My father yelled from the foyer. I kissed my mother’s cheeks, took my ivory-colored gloves, and walked downstairs, followed by my mother.

The carriage was already waiting for us. It was black and pulled by a gorgeous brown pureblood horse. We got in and traveled to the ball.

The venue was a big, beautiful manor on the outskirts of the city. The white-colored facade truly evoked the owner’s wealth, as well as the servants who were outside the lot receiving the carriages. I could hear music playing, which got me in the mood for dancing. 

As we got in, I couldn’t help but notice all of the young gentlemen who had assisted. I knew some of them, either from having been friends our whole lives or from recent balls. I greeted all of those whom I had previously acquainted, as well as my girlfriends who were also there trying to find a husband. 

There were also servants inside, their job was to serve food and drinks to everyone. Soon, I had two servants near me with glasses of wine and hors d’oeuvres. I only took a glass of wine and thanked them.

“Any good bachelor here tonight?” I asked playfully to one of my friends.

“Many,” She answered with a smirk. “Over there is a very wealthy Lord who is known to throw the most amazing parties at his manor.”

“Better than this?”

“Certainly,” She snapped back. 

“I don’t quite like his mustache, though.” We laughed and she continued listing all of the elegible bachelors of the night. 

After an hour of dancing with a few of them, whispering began taking place throughout the party.

“What is happening?” I asked another one of my friends.

“The detective is here,” She mumbled, almost as if she feared the newcomer could hear her.

I scanned the room rapidly and soon met an odd-looking gentleman followed by whom I thought to be his companion. The man had a rather strange but handsome face, with wide-set eyes, a long nose, thin lips, and perfectly combed black hair. His companion was shorter and not quite as interesting as the detective.

“Is that the one from the papers?” 

“Yes, his name is Sherlock Holmes. I wonder what is he doing here.” 

“Maybe he got invited.”

“But he rarely gets invited.”

“My dear friend!” The host’s voice rumbled and everyone else got quiet. “You certainly know how to make an entrance!”

The detective half smiled and approached the host, giving him a proper greeting.

“Sorry for the delay, my dear Watson was taking too long to style his mustache.” The companion rolled his eyes and denied everything.

The host laughed whole-heartedly. “No worries, my friend. But please, have something to drink!” He snapped his fingers, a servant arrived quickly and offered Mr. Holmes a glass of wine.

“I’d rather not, I’m working on a case this week and intend to stay sober for the whole of it.” The servant backed off.

“You’re always working, Holmes.” It wasn't until then that the host noticed the silence. “But what are we all expecting? Play some more music, maestro! Everybody, dance!”

The ball resumed but I was starstruck. A real-life detective right in front of me, and none less than Sherlock Holmes himself.

I was an avid reader of Mr. Holmes’ adventures, though I had only seen drawings of him which, in full honesty, barely reassembled him. He didn’t look quite as I had imagined, though. He was younger, shorter and he looked rather serious. However, I was not to complain, for I found his face very pleasing.

I must’ve been staring because soon I caught his eye. He looked both bothered and pleased at the same time, if that was ever possible of course, and he approached swiftly.

“Can I help you, madame?” He asked.

“Can I help you, sir?” I replied and quickly scolded myself mentally. I was not behaving as a lady should.

However, he found this amusing and laughed shortly.

“Would you care for a dance?” He inquired, extending his hand towards me.

“I would love to.”

We danced a whole piece without speaking a word. He would only observe me from head to toe, and oftentimes would make facial expressions; it was almost as if he were talking to himself. 

The piece finished and we bowed. I was about to go back to my corner with my friends when he stopped me.

“I think you are a fairly good dancer and would like to share another piece with you if that’s convenient for you.” 

I froze for a second, my mind going faster than the rest of my body. THE Sherlock Holmes was asking ME to dance with him AGAIN. It was a dream out of my wildest fantasies.

“I would like that.”

Another piece went by but this time he was much closer to my face and he kept whispering little facts about me. How could he have know so many things of me by just observing? It was an incredible talent for sure.

The piece ended and I stood there, waiting for another invitation to dance. However, it did not arrive. Instead, Mr. Holmes walked past me towards one of the servants and took a glass of wine from them.

I was confused.

“An absolute oddball, isn’t he?” A male voice spoke from behind me. I turned around and found Mr. Watson smiling at me. 

“He certainly isn’t like any gentleman I’ve ever known,” I began speaking, “but I haven’t met many gentlemen for I am still young.”

Mr. Watson seemed pleased with my reply and nodded. We then both looked towards Mr. Holmes as if waiting for his next move.

He finished his glass of wine and left through one of the side doors.

“Do you like games, Miss…”

“Miss (y/n)”

“...Miss, (y/n)?” 

“What kinds of games?” I inquired.

“All of them.” He stated.

“I believe I do.” My answer was decided, although I didn’t quite understand the conversation.

“Then I believe you should follow him,” he said. “But beware, he always wins.” With that last warning, Mr. Watson left to follow a servant carrying food.

I stood there a few more seconds, perhaps even a whole minute, just breathing in and out. I wasn’t ladylike to chase after a man, however, this wasn’t just any man. Besides, I would only talk to him… perhaps.

So it was decided.

I walked through the same door Mr. Holmes had gone through. It led to a beautiful garden with statues, fountains, and even a maze. There were a few guests out there, though no one was going as far as Mr. Holmes had.

He was at the maze’s entrance and he looked impatient.

I hurried to meet him, though slowed down my pace when I was nearer to not look desperate. He finally looked at me and smiled.

“You’ve finally come,” he said.

“I didn’t know you were expecting me to,” I replied.

“Oh, please,” he scoffed, “you’re smarter than what you pretend to be.”

I brushed it off with a smile and started analyzing the maze.

“Do you feel like you could solve this?” He inquired.

“Do you?”

He observed me for a couple of seconds.

“What is it with you and answering my questions with more questions?” 

I chuckled. “Is that a problem?”

He sighed and offered me his hand.

“Would you like to solve this maze with me?”

“That is quite an offering, Mr. Holmes. Especially since we’re not supposed to be alone with each other without a chaperone.”

“Not a problem,” Mr. Holmes smirked and looked behind.

I turned and found the very Mr. Watson right there.

“Mr. Watson is not an adequate chaperone, I fear.”

“Why not? He is a married man and a faithful one at that.” Mr. Holmes replied. 

I must’ve had a terrible facial reaction, for Mr. Holmes gave up and asked me to lead him to my parents. That I did.

“Father, mother, this is Mr. Sherlock Holmes.” I introduced them. Mr. Holmes then introduced Mr. Watson and they all shared a bit of small talk. As it turned out, my father had already been acquainted with Mr. Watson before and was rather fond of him.

“This is a lovely conversation but I’m afraid I must ask something of you right here and now, although it might not be the proper place.”

My parent’s face gloomed. They looked scared, and my mother gave the kind of look that said “What have you done, child?”

Mr. Holmes took in a deep breath.

“I would like to court your daughter.”

My face jaw dropped and I couldn’t help blushing. My mother sighed with relief and my father, though skeptical, nodded.

“I would also like to have Mr. Watson as our chaperone if that agrees with you.”

My parents shared a look and then agreed. 

Everything happened rather quickly and soon I was back at the maze with Mr. Holmes and Mr. Watson. 

“So, ready to solve a maze?”

“No,” I declared.

“What do you mean no? We already have a chaperone.”

“I know that. But to me, courtship is more of an excuse to make me solve a maze or play games. I want to be courted by a gentleman who truly wants my love and not just someone who is bored.”

“I can assure you, it’s not boredom.” He came closer. “I’ve been working on a case, it’s impossible for me to get bored when…”

“My point still stands, Mr. Holmes.”

He sighed once more, he came even closer, and he took my hands in his.

“Miss (y/n),” he started, “no one had ever accepted a single dance with me without asking too many questions. And, in full honesty, not one of my former dance partners had been quite as splendid as you have.”

“You barely know me, sir.”

“I’m a detective, and the best at it. My job is to know people just by looking at them.” His grip tightened slightly. “Did I not show you how much I know of you with those little facts I dropped.”

“Yes, but…”

“And I am not known for being hurtfully honest?”

“Yes, but…”

“Then why wouldn’t you believe I want to court you?”

I didn’t have an answer. I simply nodded and looked away.

“Please don’t look away, my sweet.”

“I don’t want my reputation ruined for a game.” I insisted.

“You have my word.”

I nodded and followed him into the maze where he allowed me to lead the way.

“Always go left,” I quoted, “that’s what mother says.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works, dear (y/n)” He fumbled.

“Then how do you explain this?” I asked playfully.

The center of the maze was just in front of our eyes. Mr. Holmes looked impressed but defeated if that was ever possible. 

“You are magnificent.” 

Without any warning, he leaned in to give me a sweet kiss on the lips. His hands holding my face ever so softly, and his chest pressed against mine. 

“Mr. Holmes!” I exclaimed when he pulled back.

“Please, call me Sherlock.”

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

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[thegildedbee]

link: some of my "last year's words" :-) [12,449 words / G] ...........................................................

Sherlock and John each set out to surprise the other on December 31st, inspired to give new meaning to the phrase "ringing in the new year." But what each had imagined would be a relatively straightforward event undergoes an unexpected reversal when their backs are turned -- and each ends up with a double surprise.

“For last year's words belong to last year's language And next year's words await another voice.”

― T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets .............................................................................................

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[strawberrywinter4]

Watch and You’ll See

"John takes up birdwatching. Sherlock is baffled but supportive."

Thanks to @stellacartography for the prompt!

Fandom: Sherlock (TV)

Relationship: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

Tags: Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Birdwatching, Cheek Kisses, Reassurances, John’s new hobby, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Angst

Read here on ao3.

*•*•*•*•*

“You didn’t have to come with me, you know,” John says as they stroll down the path.

“I didn’t,” Sherlock confirms. “However, this new… hobby of yours leaves me no choice but to find answers.”

John only rolls his eyes, the conversation morphing into silence.

Sherlock eyes the book titled Birds and All You Need to Know in John’s hand, a bag slung around his shoulder. Sherlock just doesn’t understand and it’s bothering him considerably. John Watson is a veteran, a man who’s killed several, a professional doctor, and, in all honesty, a dangerous man in some situations.

And he’s taken up birdwatching.

Yes, he’s also taken up blogging as well, but his therapist requested that, and he’s gotten quite the following. So, Sherlock can’t ponder why John would dive into a hobby such as watching birds; a calm and overall observant activity on which one must focus.

It started as a slow process. On days when they didn’t have a case, John would slip out of the flat without a word, a slim bag over his shoulder. Then, the bag turned into an obvious organizer for supplies. Sherlock could make out the outline of a binocular, but that’s all. Once he finally confronted John and asked where he was headed at least two times a week, John casually responded, “Birdwatching,” with a happy-go-lucky smile on his lips.

Sherlock blinked, baffled by the statement.

Now, John has taken his hobby to the next level and decided to take a day trip to Sussex, where there is more nature to be appreciated. John only mentioned that he was off for the day and that he probably wouldn’t be home until late afternoon, but Sherlock was having none of it.

This was piquing his interest.

Sherlock insisted on accompanying John, which John first protested, but Sherlock didn’t care for his argument.

They sit on a bench that overlooks plenty of branches and slim trees. John sighs, setting his bag down and grabbing his binoculars from inside.

“Again, you really didn’t have to come,” John says again as if that will get Sherlock to disappear.

Sherlock can tell John expects him to poke fun, to laugh at such a contrasting hobby to which he would usually have. But Sherlock does nothing of the sort.

Instead, he leans forward and kisses the doctor’s cheek. “You are ridiculous sometimes,” Sherlock says. He then takes the book from John’s hands and begins observing the hardcover.

John continues to stare at him in bewilderment.

“Tedious… but probably factual,” Sherlock murmurs. He then looks at John. “Do you have a notepad?”

John blinks, then nods slowly. He gets out a notepad and a writing pen from his bag, handing it to Sherlock. Sherlock sees that John has already scribbled down on each set of paper, filling up almost half the notepad.

Sherlock feels warmth overtake his chest.

It’s… quite adorable, really. John is so dedicated to this activity and it shows in his writing, each category of birds having notes of specifics under them.

Sherlock hides his smile, eyes settling on John.

John huffs a laugh as he sees Sherlock’s expression. “Yeah, yeah. Laugh all you want, you git,” he says as he reaches for his notepad.

Sherlock holds it out of reach with ease. “I’m doing no such thing,” Sherlock tells him. “Now, I suggest you start before it gets dark.”

“What, so you can take pictures and send them to Greg?” John questions.

“Who?”

“Never mind. Just- Sherlock, it’s embarrassing.”

“Why should it be?” asks Sherlock. “I’m simply watching you enjoy something that you’re fond of.”

“Sherlock-”

“John.” Sherlock’s voice is, for once, genuine. “Please. I’m… glad you have something to pass your time with. There’s no need to be embarrassed.”

John smiles gratefully at him.

For the rest of the day, the two men observe different birds, Sherlock admittedly finding this hobby fascinating as well. The majority of it consists of observations, so why wouldn’t he? Sherlock also can’t be blamed for correcting John’s monitoring throughout their experience or slipping the notepad out of John’s hands to write his own set of notes.

And he can’t be blamed for staring at John in awe every time the blogger acquires a glint in his eye when he sees a new bird, or when he pats Sherlock’s arm excitedly when a bird appears close.

All the more reason to love John Watson.

*•*•*•*•*

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[221b-daily]

29th April 2025

Today, Rosie's school called us and wanted a parent to come talk to the headmaster, because of something Rosie did. They did not explain on the phone what she did, so John got quite worried. However, he was still busy at work at the clinic, and had too many patients scheduled to leave early. So, he sent me as his substitute, although I am not Rosie's parent. But because everyone apparently assumes that John and I are wed, they accepted my presence as Rosie's guardian. Luckily, nothing bad had happened. But something quite funny. I had to bite my tongue not to laugh. Rosie got in trouble for making 'rude inappropriate comments' about other classmates. She had deduced, that a student's mother was unfaithful, by the lunchbox the mum had prepared. The classmate started to cry, teachers got involved, found out what Rosie had said, so I was called. And of course the unfaithful mother of the classmate had been called as well, to pick up their distressed child, and to have a talk with Rosie's parents, expecting an apology. To her misfortune and dismay, that parent was currently me. Turns out Rosie was correct. So Mrs. Unfaithful did not get the apology she wanted, but some more deductions from me about how she was cheating on her husband with the dad of another student. I think she wanted to hit me with her purse, but in the presence of the headmaster, she suppressed the urge. I, of course, refused to apologise, because Rosie had been correct. Stating facts should not be something to apologise for. They didn't accept that though, so John has to go there tomorrow again for a 'serious talk about his daughter's and spouse's behaviour'. That will for sure turn out fun when John has that rude awakening tomorrow. 

To conclude: The deduction training yesterday paid off.

[strangelockd]

Till The End Of Time

Smut - Explicit content - NSFW - 18+ only!

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Female Reader

Summary: After years of living a busy life and being the worlds only consulting detective. Sherlock Holmes basks in the glow of fatherhood. Together you opt for a movie night, leaving Sherlock with other ideas in mind for the two of you.

Warning: - Heavy Fluff & Smut, Fingering, Pure Mutual Admiration, Praise Kink, P In V Sex, Hair Pulling.

•This came to me as I was organizing my music. I hope you all enjoy it. (Who wouldn’t enjoy Sherlock as a father 🥹) I am slowly returning to my inbox requests so please bare with me. If you like the song you can check out my Sherlock Holmes Playlist. As always likes, comments and reblog’s are always welcome•

Stroking Sherlocks soft brown curls between your fingers you couldn't help but give a joyful sigh. It was the perfect day, and Sherlock wanted nothing more than to enjoy the weekend with his girls. After retirement, it took a while for your husband to live a slower life amongst people.

For decades all Sherlock Holmes knew was solving criminal cases, chasing one high with the next. The Consulting Detective was never one to admit that he would become the ‘settle down’ type of man. But after time and great patience, Sherlock Holmes grew to fall in love with what normal people would call human domesticity.

Resting your arm around his neck Sherlock craned his head bringing your hand up, kissing each finger gently as your daughter continued sleeping in his lap. His free hand continued playing with Amelia's curls while his eyes trailed to yours. That piercing green gaze that always sent flutters through your stomach. To most Sherlock wasn't an easy person to read, but this look said it all as you felt the heat rise in your cheeks.

“I love you both so much y/n,” he broke the silence, “You and Amelia have brought me more happiness than anything could ever give,” his lips went back to your hand as he glacially made his way to your wrist. Placing a delicate kiss on your pulse point you released an impulsive groan bringing your legs closer in a foolish attempt to hide what the heart truly desired.

“And I love you S-Sherlock, we both do more than anything in the world,” you quivered, trying to maintain your composure. Nearly waking Amelia you both paused giggling only for her to continue back to her soft snores. She was always a deep sleeper like you and at times like this it served its benefit. Leaning in slowly you kissed Sherlock, feeling him moan against your soft lips, his free hand cupping your chin as if you were porcelain glass. His thumb stroked your skin softly as you leaned into his touch, soft and secure.

“How about we put Amelia to bed and we can have a movie night? I'll even let you pick the film,” you smiled.

Sherlocks hand trailed down resting on his navy clad leg as he sat contemplating your idea. The edge of his lip formed a familiar smirk as he quickly stole another kiss.

“That sounds more than fair,” he agreed.

Sliding your arm off, Sherlock stood up opting to carry Amelia to her room. Her small delicate limbs clung to her fathers frame like a tiny koala as his long fingers played with her soft auburn hair. Tucking her in gently, Sherlock kissed Amelia's forehead whispering sweet nothings, stroking her soft curls that strikingly resembled his own. Next to you, she was perfect in his eyes.

“Good night, my dearest Ameila. Mummy and Daddy love you with all of our hearts,” the timber in his voice spoke with promise, closing the door behind him. With a satisfied sigh he rolled his shoulders back with a feeling of confidence. Like the familiar thrill of solving a case Sherlock Holmes couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear.

The two of you brought him more pride and joy than he ever could imagine. All these years he always felt like a pariah, destined to wander this world alone. Sherlock kept convincing himself that he wasn’t worthy of anything good. But with you, it changed the course of his life for the better. With Amelia, life just became more plentiful.

*****

Making a quick change into your pajamas, you sat at the foot of the bed unaware that Sherlock was standing by the door frame on the side safely assuming he was watching this whole time. His eyes glowed in the low light as he took strides closer, wedging himself between your legs opening them wider, his expression drinking in your lovely features. The curls draped over his forehead as he slowly leaned into you, feeling his breath on your skin sent goosebumps up your flesh.

You pulled away, eyeing him with suspicion playfully taking him in, “penny for your thoughts?”

Sherlocks body towered above you, his big hands cupping your face softly bringing you in for a deep kiss. The feeling of his lips ever inviting as his tongue grazed across your lower lip begging for entrance. Together you moaned in sweet unison as he slipped inside, holding your frame up for support as you kissed with heated passion. Feeling his strong legs between yours you couldn’t help but bring your fingers up to his waistband pulling him closer. It was enough to spur him on as he continued kissing you. All that could be heard was your shared moans as you suddenly pulled away suddenly remembering the plans for tonight.

“Wait. S-Sherlock. What about the film?” You pleaded, his lips trailing your collarbone. The flecks of his tongue against your skin made you release a sharp hiss. His tongue continued nibbling your ear as you melted under his hypnotic touch. Powerful and strong, he was able to read you better than anyone. He pulled away leaving the both of you breathless as he rested his forehead against yours smiling sheepishly.

“I had another plan besides a film my darling. Much more pleasurable plans. And beside,” taking his fingers he slid off your top leaving your top half exposed, “you said I got to pick what I wanted to watch,” throwing the garment on the floor he gave a soft groan. He couldn't help but stare in awe, “and I choose to watch you come undone by me.”

His baritone voice dropped an octave as he was left stunned, “So perfect,” leaving his mouth agape you stood up to kiss him softly. Your bare chest pressed against his form fitting white shirt that was begging to be ripped off. Sherlock leaned in to kiss you once more as you leaned into his touch. The feel of his large hands pressed against your bare skin left goosebumps in their wake. All that could be heard was the sound of Sherlocks whimpers as your fingers threaded through the curls that crowned his head. He always had a weak spot when you grabbed or played with his tresses.

Sherlock was all too eager to accept the guidance as your hand led him to suck on a nipple, followed the other he traced each bud with delicate care. Knowing all the tricks to make your knees buckle. He was feeling you getting impatient as you pulled his head away, leaving him smiling. The sound of his labored breath only turned you on more as your fingers fumbled with the button of his white dress shirt.

You slowly removed his buttoned shirt leaving his top half exposed. The way the moonlight kissed his alabaster skin made your pussy ache. Before you could comprehend Sherlocks palms rested beside you on the bed as you felt the weight shift on both sides of your hips, he wanted more of you as he slowly slid two of his fingers around your waistband. Biting your lips you locked eyes as he slid your bottoms off finally freeing you from your pajamas. He could see the glisten of your eager entrance aching for his attention.

You took a quick hold, grabbing his waistband once more in a desperation to have him closer. Your lips returned in a feral fury as you removed his trousers and boxers in a swift motion. His hands returning to your entrance, you cried a soft moan as his fingers pumped in and out, the feeling was pure ecstasy as you felt your orgasm blossom. It clearly spurred Sherlock on because it made him pick up the pace as his thumb teased in circles around your tender bud.

“Darling you're so beautiful. I love the way you look with my fingers inside of you,” he purred curling his finger in that spot. The sweet spot that always had you see stars. Before you knew it you cried out in pure pleasure as Sherlock watched on, grinning with pride.

Coming down from your high Sherlock paused, bringing a foot up he placed a kiss on your ankle. Hearing you giggle his green eyes glowed as he locked into your gaze. He slowly crawled on top of you kissing up the length of your body, his arms cadging you in as he leaned down kissing you softly. Sherlock was always a passionate person deep down and to find himself lost in this moment was something of a dream. The look of your pebble flushed breasts accompanied by the look in your eyes of pure satisfaction. He wanted this moment etched in the walls of his mind palace forever.

He kissed your forehead trailing down to your nose, his lips found yours as he melted into your touch. The great detective was immensely turned to putty by the one thing he can't live without. You. For you fit him better in more ways than one. He brought himself up aligning his cock at your entrance. Giving a few steady pumps with his hand you took in the glisten of pre cum beading off the tip making you bite your lip once more. Bracing his shoulders for support as he asked, “Are you ready my love?” Sherlock's eyes never left yours as he scanned you for absolute permission.

Taking a hand you cupped the back of Sherlocks neck, bringing him close and kissing him gently. Showing assurance the kiss was soft and bared your heart filled trust. No words were needed as Sherlock slowly thrusted himself in. You both shared a groan as the kiss never broke. Allowing yourself to adjust before he pulled away gently, he locked on your gaze once more purring into your ear.

“Promise me one thing y/n,” he went even slower, itching himself deeper as he slowly bottomed out. Savoring the moment of feeling his cock stretching you so unbelievably full. You clenched slightly causing Sherlocks hands to suddenly dig into your hips knowing damn well it will leave marks.

“W-what's that,” you stuttered as he kept up his thrust, determined to make you feel complete.

Sherlock caged his arms around you as he paused leaning into your ear his voice purred against your ear, “that you're mine. Forever,” returning to his pace your nails dug into his back. Your hand laced the nape of his neck, pulling him in for a deep kiss. A kiss that spoke of untimely promise. He kept up the pace as you moaned once more in pleasure.

“Always!,” feeling your climax blooming, your nails dug into his pale back even deeper, “I promise Sherlock. Now please go faster,” you begged, feeling your heels dig deeper, spurring him on as it only took those words for him to start thrusting into you at such a pace; A pace you will know you'll feel the next day.

“Jesus Sherlock!” You groaned into his neck, his curls sticking to his sweat glistened forehead as he kissed you. Stifling all moans as you rode your climax. The feeling bloomed as his hips moved at this new angle that made you suddenly see stars. Whatever god you were chanting was wasted as Sherlock slammed into you one last time. Your orgasm hit you, making your eyes practically fall into the back of your head as you drenched his cock with your nectar.

“That's my good girl,” he smiled, feeling the praise go right to your solar plexus. You were always a sucker for admiration. He pulled out gently making you wince, you couldn't help but miss the feeling of him. Throwing the blanket iver Sherlock quickly returned with a tray full of essentials. Even after lovemaking he always believed in aftercare. The tray consisted of two sleeptime teas, massage oil and a small stack of what looks like steaming towels.

“You always take such wonderful care of me Sherlock, how did I get so lucky?” He traced a warm towel over your center as he was careful not to overstimulate. He reached for the glass bottle of oil, pouring it over his elegant digits as he signaled you to lay on your stomach. The feeling of his strong hands worked every aching nerve as you sank into the mattress.

“It's not luck y/n I just love taking great care of what is precious to me,” he spoke softly rubbing every part of your skin. The oil felt amazing as he finished with your shoulders sealing the gesture with a kiss he rubbed his hands dry on a towel before reaching for your tea. Covering with the blankets you snuggled closer together as you both sipped your beverages in complete happiness enjoying the moment shared between you both. For life could not be any more satisfying than having you and Amelia at his side.

Masterlist

Sherlock Holmes Playlist

@withalittlehoney @deepbatched @bakerstreethound @thealleydog @sassenach-on-the-rocks @blxckdragonfly @asherloki @pinkthick @stewardofningishzida @cumbrbatchbenedict @geeky-politics-46 @lokidokieokie @strangesgirls @silversword7000 @newavenger @icytrickster17 @lucimorningst4r @lady-harvey @evelyn-kingsley @battledress @budugu @kentucky-criedfricken @hunterofshadows04 @km-ffluv @datauthorress @azu21 @cemak @sobeautifullyobsessed @aphroditesdilemma @huxs-waifu @strangesslut @butchers-girl @dino-fart @meeom @strangesthirdeye @vickiee-mcmuffin

[fallenangellinwonderland]

Call me crazy, but I've been working all day and my brain just went off to a far away land and got this prompt idea while I was listening to get away car.

Don't pretend it's such a mystery, Clyde. Reader is dating this guy, he is perfect to everyone! He is so caring, sweet, such a lovely boyfriend (let's call him Emil). One day a neighbor, from their building sees the door open sensing something bad happened. This neighbor sees Emil unconscious on the floor while reader is slowly getting off the floor in panic, the neighbor calls Scotland yard telling them the situation he believes took place. Lestrade calls the ambulance and Sherlock because he is confused and it doesn't make sense. Emil is taken to the hospital and he's in comma. Reader is in shock, shaking, panicking and doesn't really give any useful information, they cannot take much evidence since the neighbor messed up some evidence by trying to be helpful. Here is where the songs takes place. It was the worst of crimes the best of times, the lies where white. The shades of grey in candle light, she wanted to leave him, she needed a reason. Sherlock tries to analyze her but there's so much panic in her, he can barely read her, he thinks she has something to do with it, but if it too obvious, it's too easy, it cannot be. Possible . In order to try to solve this crime they spend more time together. They were riding in the get away car, there were sirens in the beat of his heart, he knew something was off. She was starting to feel alive again, the light of freedom in her face. Lestrade is pressing Sherlock to solve all this, the guy isn't waking up yet and Emil's family want answers.

This was becoming a circus, reader and Sherlock are both sorry, because she can't give him answers and he can't solve the case for them. After a few weeks he starts analyzing the case again and her attitude, he finally can read her, she is not the same girl he met back then, she is readable now, he sees everything. It hits him like a shotgun shot to the heart. He should have known from the first time they met. She was guilty. Emil was waking up and he would probably speak up. "Don't pretend it's such a mystery. Think about the place where you first met me" She left Sherlock that night, she didn't want to get him in trouble, and she didn't want to go to jail, and she didn't want to face Emil ever again. But Sherlock knew, he knew she wasn't the one to blame, she was just a victim who made a mistake. It had been an accident, to leave him unconscious, she was just trying to survive.

Emil was actually an abusive boyfriend and she had developed some kind of Stockholm syndrome until she got tired of it and tried to get away.

This is too long to be a prompt... let's say it's a summary of the story my brain made up. Cause John it's also there telling Sherlock why he was so blind to see it before. He had developed a chemical defect, he had fallen for her.

@asherloki @astudyinlaura it was too long to share it through your ask boxes.

[bakerstreethound]

Congrats on 5 years! 🎉

Can I get a Sherlock fluff with Sherlock is awake first, hes looking at the reader with utmost love. But he wakes up the reader with kisses and nuzzles.❤️ I adore the way you write & I cant get enough of soft Sherlock🍓✨

Thank you so much for sending this in. I finally completed the story (I apologize for taking so long) I hope you enjoy it! There is a bit of light smut at the end so 18+ only.

Light in the Darkness

Summary: Waking up in Sherlock's arms is one of the highlights of your day, and he shows you how much he adores you; how grateful he is to have you in his life.

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound​ (Do NOT copy, repost, claim, or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username)

Sherlock groans, wiping the remaining sleepiness from his eyes. Outside, the sun barely makes itself visible, the night holding fast to London, unrelenting in its grasp over the city. Sherlock yawns, reaching out to the other side of the bed, your sleeping form breathing softly lost in the throes of sleep. 

He smiles, his hand brushing softly along your side watching as you lean into his touch. Even your subconscious knows you’re at peace here with him and you snuggle further into him, allowing yourself a moment of extended comfort before reality pulls you into its clutches. 

Lips travel softly along your neck, the soft brush of curls following in their wake as gentle nuzzles replace the kisses, going back and forth simultaneously. A smile tugs at the corner of your lips and your eyes flutter open, met with the face of your husband looking at you with simmering eyes, half lidded, the sleep not fully leaving him, yet.

“Good morning to you, too Sherlock.” 

He melts against you, your fingers running through his curls, massaging them as he likes it, earning an appreciative groan. You continue at it, relishing in the soft noises he makes, not yet ready to let any of his cases take him from you. He looks content enough, his breathing slow and steady, much the opposite of your own when you wake up startled from nightmares.   

“That feels nice,” he gazes up at you eyes shimmering in adoration, overcome with unspoken emotions he can't fathom. It’s more than nice, something you could’ve conjured in a dream.

His arm laced around your waist pulls you impossibly closer, the feeling of his bare skin against yours a reminder of the night before, allowing you to admire the marks you left behind, mingled with the scars of a time long past you knew wouldn’t disappear from his skin, a permanent reminder of those times alone. But nothing like that will happen again, not with you by his side. 

You press a kiss to his cheek, pulling him from his thoughts, and what a sight you are, eyes wide looking at him with more adoration than he could possibly fathom. His hand reaches to you of its own accord, stroking your cheek softly.

You lean into his touch, his warmth kindling a spark inside you, firing into your heart, electricity rampant between you. He doesn’t want to look away, even as the sunlight barely parting through the ever-hanging fog beckons a new day, he doesn’t want it to begin.

He only wants to remain here with you for the moment, though his mind protests, his legs aching to run down the ramparts and alleyways of his beloved town. It will always be there for him. 

London isn’t you. 

And you are more than the city that soiled his name, his reputation, slandered him for a penny here and there to get the inside scoop. 

You are his, his to cherish and damn it you are one of the only ones he truly finds some semblance of the concept of love, the feeling of you next to him makes his head spin, fathoming the possibilities of how you both ended up this way together.

It is a bond of unbreakable trust between you, beautiful and understood looming and intertwined with truth. 

His forehead rests against your and you lean up into him, your arms wrapping around his neck, your hands carding through his beautiful mass of curls, twirling a rogue strand around an index finger. 

“You’re wonderful, Sherlock. What would I do without you?” Or, rather, what could you do to help his racing mind. His eyes dart back and forth, deeming to bury his face in your neck inhaling your scent.

What was he supposed to tell you?

This feeling inside him blooming further over the past year makes him nervous, even trying to voice how he feels won’t do it justice for what he can’t fully express. 

When his lips brush yours, his arms caging you to him, encompassing you in his safety and warmth, it’s all you can comprehend consume and breathe. It’s him all-encompassing and nothing more. Nothing feels more right than this moment. 

“Sherlock,” your voice falls from his lips in a perfect incandescent harmony, one he wants to breathe, to sing to create with you and you alone. 

Fiery desperation fuels the strength of his kiss drowning you further into the heat of his flames, the coolness of your water evaporating his lips in a breath of fresh air.

You don’t want it to end, despite the time, the hour, the plans for the day, all is obsolete and his hands brush under the seam of your shirt, slently asking for permission. No other words are needed, you welcome him without question, shivering as your form is revealed to him, inch by inch, each intake of breath anticipating his next move.

Lips grazing your neck, hands falling to your hips, stroking circles just so. Your hands dig into his back, clinging to him like a lifeline, not daring to let go.

His body pressing against yours, groaning at the friction makes you shiver in anticipation. The full feeling of his skin against your laid bare to him is nothing more than comforting. 

It’s home, it’s where you belong.

Only he got to see you in such a manner and you for him.  Such is the manner of things and how they’ll always be. You want no one else but him. His feelings are indescribable as his fingers work you slow, your mouths falling open at the sensation, digging into his back harder, begging and pleading his name. 

He loves you like this, would frame it if he could. Another memory another shot of the countless images in his mind palace he keeps. Memories of you always flutter near and you’re where he belongs, his northern star the compass pointing him home.

For London may be his city, but here with you in his arms, falling apart through his love, he is home at last. A beacon of light in the darkness.

******

[finleycannotdraw]

we need all types of art in fandoms

[that1geek06]

Me scrolling thru tags:

I just want a good fluff story 😔

Also me one hour into a deeply plotted smut that has an even dirtier part two:

YES!! GIVE ME MORE!! 😩😈

[thegildedbee]

*Pixelated* [fluffbruary-ing 🐇 2024]

Chapter 1 [2.1 prompt: clinic] ................................... John stands next to the kitchen table, his recently charged laptop tucked into the crook of his elbow, strangely reluctant to set it down and get about the business of setting up a zoom call. It's not the call itself that is problematic: oddly enough, it's the fact that the table's surface is completely empty.

There's no need to wrangle space for the computer -- to try and wedge it in amidst the footprint of a large and unwieldy microscope, dubious solutions and dodgy specimens in fragile glassware, and an aggravating assemblage of Sherlockian detritus. The microscope, the dubious and the dodgy, the aggravating detritus, and the man himself are all resident elsewhere -- Sherlock having reluctantly slipped away just under the lockdown deadline to rusticate with his elderly parents, so as to be close at hand due to the unpredictability of the threats posed by the spread of COVID-19.

[ Read the rest here: continued at ao3. Let me know if you'd like to be tagged :-) ]

xoxoxo to the @fluffbruary honor guard for providing guidance and infectious enthusiasm in spreading fandom fluff to one and all: [prompt list]

@totallysilvergirl @mydogwatson @calaisreno @keirgreeneyes @helloliriels @blogstandbygo @fluffbruary