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mustfindcreativeusername · 9 months ago

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(maybe scroll past if you love love bbc sherlock)

Me: honestly i fucking hate bbc sherlock by this point i mean yeah i loved the first two seasons loved loved loved them but then it haaad to get so complicated but still i could live with season 3 but wtf was s4??? And why did they have to... Do. That. Why make me hate even one John Watson i love my Watsons why did you make him a piece of shit in the last season, texting another woman to the point he considers it cheating is one thing i mean depends on the texts but that's forgivable it was just texting after all, anyway that's one thing but he blamed Sherlock so much for Mary's death when she!! She!! Jumped in front of the bullet to save him. It was her decision (why did she have to be a mega spy? Why did she have to surgery-shoot Sherlock. It wasn't as safe as she thought he literally died and came back and if the ambulance had come a couple minutes later he would 100% be dead wtf and he forgave her too) it was Mary's decision to sacrifice herself for Sherlock and he blamed him to the point where he basically internalises that Sherlock killed her. And i understand needing time alone or whatever but mrs hudson said he's sick, john, pls come see him and he was like yeah whatever sure if you insist ig.

Oh and . Yeah. He fucking. Beat. Him .Up??? Not punch him -haha funny- not hit him once, or even twice. No. He fucking beat him up. With punches and kicks and stuff. While he was looking at him like. Not quite believing. That his friend, "best friend" would do that to him. And yeah him being on drugs would have contributed but he ended up in the hospital?? After john beat him up. I didn't watch that episode in a while but i don't remember john being extremely remorseful or worried afterwards. He saw that cd from mary and only then he was like, "oh no my friend". Your friend. Your friend who would do literally anything for you. Your friend who a couple days later hugged you while you were crying. Did you even hug back? Did you ever apologize? I don't remember. He might've. But i dont remember it. And sherlock forgave him. Just like that. Worse even. I don't really think that he was that mad at him in the first place. Heartbroken, yes. Did you see his face? When john was beating him up? He wasn't even in his right mind, mega on drugs and stuff, and he'd just had a 'that is not the person i met' moment, tma fans wink wink, he was not well and you beat him up. You're a doctor too. Ha. Your best friend, the one who would do anything for you, die, kill, make himself sick to save your mental health or whatever was going on in that episode. In the following episode, days later really, he's made to choose to kill either his brother, HIS BROTHER, or John, and both Sherlock and Mycroft immediately, instinctively know that he's not gonna kill John. He loves him too much. I never really got it the first time around, the first time i watched. It's insane - Sherlock's devotion to John. He literally loves him above anything else, including himself. And I'm not a shipper. Oh i am usually a johnlock shipper but not them. I do still think they belong together but man oh man i hope john groveled. Why did they have to do that. Make us, make me hate john watson. I loved him. In the first two seasons, i really really loved him, he was my blorbo, well, the word blorbo didn't exist yet but he was. And i have a list somewhere titled 'heartbreakingly raw lines' and it's honestly mostly about the delivery of those lines and "no, he's my friend, he's my friend, please" is right there, nr 1. Nr 2 is close, it's from good omens, bookshop fire, also about a friend, you get it, and after these two there's a biig big big gap before the third. Those two are supreme, nr 2 is so so so heartbreaking but it did not even compete with nr 1. To this day if i recall that scene, those lines, "let me come through please, no, he's my friend, he's my friend, please " i feel sick. My stomach is twisting right now, as i write. I loved john. I loved their relationship. Friendship, whatever, autocorrect asked me if thats what i wanna say. Why ruin his character? Just to be edgy? Why would you make him beat up his best friend, that!! friend. Oh and then, once they did make him do that, just gloss over the fact. I'm not even saying make Sherlock be mad at him. That bitch loves him to the point it's almost pathetic. But there are other ways. How can you just gloss over that. He punched him several times, he kicked him while he was down. I'm sitting here thinking "what a piece of shit, punch a wall if you're that angry, i get being heartbroken about your wife, and feeling guilty, and overwhelmed, but that is no excuse". Why do i have to call any John Watson a piece of shit. Hell, why do i have to call this one a piece of shit, i fucking loved him.

That's the one thing i do really really hate about that show. They did a lot of other stuff, all the characters were edgy-ified and made a little worse, as opposed to the ones from the books (lestrade is fine actually) but it doesn't upset me too much, i just see it as its own show instead of an adaptation adaptation and yeah, really not that upset. And i didn't really notice at first but there was queerbaiting wasn't it. I mean there were just a little too many jokes. I guess. I did see it when i rewatched it. Still. I never really saw them together, yk? Like yeah, together forever, but not as a couple. Needless to say i was very happy when like two years after i first watched it i learned about QPRs. Like yeah yeah that's what i meant. So it had a lot of flaws i guess but stuff you could get past, yk. And the first two seasons really were amazing, i wanted to snort them. But i am glad i was only vaguely familiar with the stories when i watched it, i think i would've liked it a lot less. I mean acd Sherlock Holmes is such a nice man, he's a sweetie honestly, he giggles and rubs his hands together when there's a clue, and yeah he's got some 'get to the point' moments but he's not an asshole. He monologues about flowers at some point. I love bbc Sherlock (the character) too, i really do, but he can be a bit of a prick. Intentionally, not bc he doesn't realise it. Did he just decide one day he was a sociopath and leaned into it or what. That high functioning sociopath thing was just him being dramatic, we're not actually supposed to believe he was, right? God i haven't thought- really thought - about this show in a while. And i can't believe i thought for so long we were getting a s5. After how s4 ended? That was a "soo they had many more adventures but this is where we part ways with them, byyeeee" ending. Did you know, tv time had it listed as "to be continued"/ a running show for so long after s4 ended. So so long. After like 4 years i made my peace and I'm pretty sure even then it was listed as running. I checked on it again some time ago, a year or two ago and it was finally listed as finished and i felt both disappointed and relieved. Like if your loved one has been missing for years and years and you finally find out they're dead. You kinda knew that but.. deep down... But still, you're relieved to know. Well maybe not exactly like that. Tv time isn't the ultimate authority, but. No, you know what it felt like? Passing a corpse every now and then and one day seeing that they've been layed to rest in a grave. And maybe it's for the best. S4 did so much damage, I'm not taking good, owie my heart, damage, i mean ruining John, and... making the dog a boy??? I'm not gonna talk about the whole Eurus thing bc i did like one aspect of it (horrible labirinth with really fucked up decisions to be made. I never saw any saw movies [lol. Saw saw] but that's what they're like right?) but yeah just make her an actual supernatural force at this point. The fuck. So maybe it's for the best. Not getting a s5. I've made my peace a long time ago and as i said, I'm starting to feel like i harbour some sort of hate for this show. Not the "i wish I'd never watched it" kind, not the "tf what did i ever see in it" kind either (s1 and 2 my loves) but it is a hate nonetheless. I'm glad I've moved on from it.

People on the internet: omg they're talking about making bbc Sherlock season 5!

Still me: omg omg no wayyy yess pleaseee maybe everything will be fixed and nice and cute yesss gimme gimme

#Stream of consciousness over here #Thought i would write 10 lines or so #I was foolish #Anyway this has been therapeutic actually #Got it all out and stuff #Bbc Sherlock #Season 4 #Actually im also gonna throw in here:#Season 5 #i don't actually think there's gonna be a s5 btw i've been on this road before #The lying detective #I talk about that a lot don't i #John Watson #Really sorry to the people who are just looking for like... Another version of this guy #Sorry

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deelaundry · 1 year ago

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May Prompts #6 & 7 - Cold and Calm

Another update of The Private Personal Blog of Dr. John H. Watson; this is Chapter 28 in the fic.

Prompts 6 and 7: Cold, Calm

Last evening, which Sherlock and John both were at home for, and isn’t that a miracle these days, Sherlock informed John that he didn’t want to go to Bill’s wedding. Too many people, which John got, and too many preparations, which John didn’t. Suits, a wedding gift, hotel room to stay in after, hire car to get there and back (Sutton Mallet, why’d they pick Sutton Mallet? Bill’s not from there and he said Deborah’s family are all Londoners. ??) were all squared away. So what –

Sherlock interrupted at that point to hand John the most luxurious socks John had ever seen in his life. The explanation for such socks was that Sherlock had been told that the floors are often chilly at weddings, and Sherlock wanted John’s toes to stay warm.

Hmm.

“Told by whom?” was John’s question (and he deliberately used ��whom” so as to not distract Sherlock from the question by incorrect grammar).

The story was this:

Molly’s young niece had wanted to meet the famous detective, so Sherlock agreed to lunch with her and Molly at a small cafe. They had an engaging conversation on forensic entomology (“You told a small child about insects eating dead people?” “She was the one who led the conversation. Quite insightful questions for one so young.”), and then Small Molly (Sherlock did not remember the girl’s name) mentioned she would in the near future be the flower girl at a wedding.

Regular Molly excused herself to the toilet, and Small Molly proceeded to impart to Sherlock all that she knew about weddings.

By the time Molly returned to the table, Sherlock had concluded he wanted nothing to do with weddings and the conversation had turned to other matters.

“Tell me what she told you,” John said.

Sherlock proceeded to do so, getting more agitated and speaking faster and faster as he went. The thing he was most anguished about was that guests had to give a speech about the best man, and not only would many of the guests be embarrassingly and tediously incorrect about who exactly the best man was, because obviously John was the best man still alive (apparently, the Garroter of Somewhere had been a very generous person but was now deceased), but it was becoming frustratingly clear that capturing one’s feelings on paper-slash-screen was exponentially more difficult than recording one’s thoughts.

A nice tight hug, deep pressure in the right places, helped calm Sherlock down. John explained that the under-ten set had a tendency to misinterpret, and then they had a conversation about what actually happens at weddings.

They had to consult Mrs Hudson on some of the finer details, but by the end of the evening Sherlock had once again agreed to come to Bill and Deborah’s wedding.

(And at the very end of the evening, when we were tucked into bed together, Sherlock told me some of the things he’d been trying to put in a speech about me. God. Tears in my eyes, on my face; me bawling like a baby, felt like. Sherlock got alarmed, but I just held him closer and tried my best to reciprocate, to tell him what he means to me. Not sure I did it justice; not sure I could ever do it, or him, justice, really. Not sure that’s possible. My love.)

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl

PS from Dee: I googled “expensive socks” and got these by Bottega Veneta. Please look through the pictures to see the picture of the man wearing them. He looks like a really odd flasher.

#MayPrompts2024 #my stuff #johnlock

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clownerish · 3 years ago

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The Five Stages of Grief | Sherlock Holmes x F! Reader

(-) After your sudden death due to a terminal heart disease, Sherlock goes through the five stages of grief.

warnings: angst, mentions of death, angst

A/N: I kind of got emotional while writing this. Hope you like it. Enjoy reading.

Denial

The moment Sherlock received a call from your mother he knew that something was off. Your mother wouldn’t call him if it wasn’t important, and it made him anxious. From doing a vague experiment, Sherlock picked up his phone, and stood beside the window. John immediately sensed that something was happening, tearing his eyes from his laptop to his friend.

“Sherlock, dear..” your mother spoke, her voice shaking as if crying. She paused for a minute, silence filling Sherlock. Could it be?...no, he thought.

“Is something wrong? Can I talk to y/n?” Sherlock replied, his grasp on his phone getting even tighter as the silence prolonged.

“Sherlock? Has something happened?” John whispered, trying his best to stay calm. He placed his hands on his friend’s shoulder to calm his nerves down, attempting to ease the anxiousness away.

“Y/n…y/n’s gone Sherlock. She..-” and Sherlock hung up, mouth agape to the news he just heard.

No...she can’t be.

In a swift, Sherlock marched down to grab his coat; John followed him from behind. Now John is sure something has happened. The blonde immediately hailed a cab, pushing the shocked detective inside. Both of them were silent throughout the ride; John worried about his friend while Sherlock preparing for the worst. You liked to play pranks on him, and right now Sherlock hoped this is just another prank of yours. He hoped.

After the ride which felt like eternity to Sherlock, he sprinted through the hallways, searching for your room. And once he turned to the corner, he found your parents. Your mother was wailing in the arms of your father giving comfort to the heartbroken mother. Sherlock stood at his place, heart beating fast, mind flooded with thoughts. It wasn’t a prank, he thought. He felt his cheeks warm, skin getting cold, then tears started to fall from his eyes. Sherlock slowly walked towards your room, but the doctor blocked him from entering.

“Let me in! She…this is just another prank of hers. Y/n! I know you’re in there! Come now love, you won.” Sherlock wailed, causing a tantrum. The doctor, and nurses together with John tried to calm Sherlock down, telling him everything’s alright but it was no use.

“No, no. Everything is not fine! Why can’t you let me in!”

“Sherlock-” John held his arm, and Sherlock slapped it away. As he stood and turned, John saw anger– and sadness in his friend’s eyes. His once crystal gray orbs were covered by tears overflowing on his face. The blonde suddenly felt pity to Sherlock, now getting teary-eyed.

“Shut up John! Don’t give me your motivational speech.” Sherlock pressed, his finger pointing to John. “She’s not dead! She promised me...she said she was fine.” he weakly said, knees falling on the floor. Now Sherlock couldn’t keep it in. He let his emotions flush him for a while before your mother welcomed him to a hug to which he accepted. Your mother wept with him while John, and your father had a conversation with the doctor.

After all of them had calmed down, the doctor permitted them to see your body. Your parents were the first one to go inside, then Sherlock. John decided to let him go alone to have a moment.

Anger & Bargaining

Sherlock stood beside your body, still sniffling from crying. “This is not fair y/n.” he croaked, fists on his side. “How dare you leave me like this.”

“You told me you were doing good…that you would be home soon. You promised me…”

“You’re nothing but a liar.” was the last thing he said before departing.

As soon as John, and Sherlock got home, Mrs. Hudson bombed them with questions which John has willingly answered while Sherlock decided to visit your flat upstairs. As he opened the door of your flat, the familiar scent of your cologne welcomed him. He slowly walked into your living room, picking up stuff that was scattered on the ground that would reminded him of you. Your scarf, CDs, and a photograph of you with him.

You told him how much you love your scarf. It was a gift from your grandmother who passed away several years ago. A neatly crocheted red scarf that smelled like you. Sherlock sniffed the scarf before wrapping it on his neck. Then he stared at your CDs. How you loved pop music mystified him. Sherlock didn’t like pop as he of course preferred classical. But hearing you sing music that you like felt like a bird melodically chirping in his ears. To him, your voice felt like heaven. You once invited him, and John to a karaoke bar to celebrate your case. That same day, Sherlock proved to everyone that you are indeed innocent. And to say thank you, you invited them to a drink. At first, Sherlock protested it saying he doesn’t like loud places, but to your surprise, he actually gave in eventually. John took a photograph of you with Sherlock singing your hearts out. That very same photograph is the piece of paper Sherlock is holding right now.

If only he could only turn back time, he thought. If he could only go back, and do something so that you two won’t get to meet. So that you wouldn’t be able to get in his life, and hurt him like this. Due to anger, Sherlock accidentally ripped the paper apart in two. Upon realizing, he immediately tried to fix it, but surrendered when his emotions finally got into him. In his mind, he thought of what his brother used to say.

Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side.

At that very moment, Sherlock realized that he lost. He was defeated by you.

Depression

After your burial, Sherlock locked himself in his room; only coming out to grab food if he ever wants to, but he’s mostly inside crying his heart out. John knows this for he hears him; every day, every night. He didn’t bother asking Sherlock because he knew he’d only make it worse. No one for a whole year heard about Sherlock. Not even John, Mrs. Hudson, Greg, or even his own brother Mycroft; no one.

Inside the room, Sherlock would only stare at his window, sobbing. He had thought of drowning himself in drugs, but every time he tries to, he hears your voice whispering to him.

Don’t do it Sherlock.

Then he’d turn around to see you beside him with your warmest smile you could ever give. Sherlock misses you so much as the others do too. You were like his sun, giving warmth to his gloomy, and miserable life. You picked up his puzzle pieces, and solved them with ease. His life felt complete with you beside him. And now that you’re gone, everything just crumbled apart.

Sometimes he’d reminisce about the memory of your first meeting. He just got out of the chip shop with John when he bumped into you.

“Oy, What the- Ugh!” you groaned in frustration as you bent down to pick up your CDs. John has also helped you with it while Sherlock continued walking.

“What an arse. Not even an apology.” you muttered to yourself. The blonde in front you chuckled with your comment. “Is he always like that?” you asked. The man nodded.

“You don’t know how much of a pain that man is.” he replied to your question. As the two of you laughed, Sherlock called out John to hurry him.

“I apologize on his behalf.” said John before jogging back to his friend. You two waved goodbye to each other, Sherlock only rolling his eyes in annoyance.

“You should really mind your attitude, Sherlock.” Sherlock hummed as he fiddled with his phone. “She’s really pretty you know.” John added.

“So?”

“So? Nevermind.”

“Did you ask her name?”

“No.”

“Shame.”

The three of you met again in Scotland yard; you with cuffs. Someone just accused you of stealing something when it is obvious that you didn’t given your lack of interest in the thing you were accused of stealing. The blogger offered to help you clean your name which at first Sherlock did not accept, but after minutes of convincing, he finally said yes to it. You two started to hang out more often, visiting 221B Baker street four days a week. Then you moved in upstairs when you accidentally set your flat on fire when you attempted to cook. It is when your bond with Sherlock started to deepen until you two admitted your feelings, and became a pair.

Sherlock smiled in memory of you. Oh how he misses your smile, your laugh, you. Just thinking about you forever gone makes him down. In his bed, he felt alone as if something is missing like how someone feels so cold when their blanket is not present. He’d curl into a fetal position, hugging a bolster when he sleeps only to be awakened by a nightmare in the morning. This continued for a whole year. A whole year without you.

Acceptance

After a whole year of sulking inside his room, Sherlock has finally decided to come out. On his couch he sat with tea cupped in his hand. When John first saw him on his couch, he immediately dropped his grocery bags, and scurried down to call Mrs. Hudson who sobbed once he saw Sherlock’s figure. The man was thinner, curls scattered around, there were bags under his eyes, and he still looked crestfallen.

“John.” said Sherlock. For the first time since your burial, Sherlock finally spoke.

“Sherlock.” John replied, meeting his friend’s eyes. Sherlock looked tired. Lack of sleep, he thought. Drugs? He hopes not.

“It’s Y/n’s birthday today, hm?” John nodded. Ah, of course. Today is your birthday. Your first birthday without you getting to celebrate it. Everyone knows how much you love celebrating your day of birth. The reason behind was that you said it was a blessing given by the heavens.

“I don’t get the essence of celebrating birthdays. What are you, five?” Sherlock hissed.

“Hmm. Maybe because I feel like it’s worth celebrating? With my condition, I would consider myself lucky for even striving a year. Take it as a blessing. Besides, birthdays are fun, you know. You receive gifts, eat cakes, and you get to spend it with people you love.”

“We should celebrate it. Her birthday.” said Sherlock. “She loves celebrating it.” he added, a smile forming on his lips.

“Yeah, I think we should. Y/n’s going to be disappointed if we don’t.” Sherlock chuckled. Oh how John missed his friend. Since your passing, Sherlock has become a different person. It’s like he also died with you. Hearing him talk again makes him delightful, let alone hearing him laugh. John picked up the bags of groceries, and placed it on the table in the kitchen.

“You should go take a bath Sherlock. Y/n wouldn’t like you stinking like a fish.” Sherlock hummed.

After their preparation for your celebration, Sherlock, John, and Mrs. Hudson headed to the cemetery to celebrate your birthday. Your parents, Greg, Molly, and even Mycroft also attended in respect to you. Although it was hard to celebrate it without your goofy presence, they all knew they had to cope, and accept. After all, they know all too well you wouldn't like them getting so sad over you. They all sang ‘Happy Birthday’ together, ate your cake, and left you gifts on your birthday. It was in the afternoon when they all decided to part as night is going to fall soon. Sherlock stayed behind after your parents bid farewell to you.

“Happy Birthday, love.” he whispered as he took out a small box. Inside it was a thin gold ring. “I intended on proposing to you today if you were ever still alive. I’m sorry." he sniffed. “I was too late.”

“Thank you. For giving me a chance to make your life noteworthy even in the shortest time possible. You were undeniably beautiful that day, our first meeting.” he chuckled. Tears started to form on his eyes that had yet to fall. Sniffling it away, he bent down placing the ring in front of your gravestone along with the gifts the other had given you.

“I love you Y/n. Always.” he whispered before standing again to leave the cemetery. As Sherlock slowly walked away from your grave, a sudden cold breeze passed him. The man shivered, then felt warm when he started to tear up.

I love you Sherlock, always.

#sherlock x y/n #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes #sherlock bbc #benedict cumberbatch #sherlock fanfic #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock x you #sherlock holmes angst

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poppyisnotaflower · 4 years ago

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Wedding Date- Sherlock Holmes x F!reader

Pairings: Sherlock Holmes x Fem!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: guns, mentions of murder, blood? stabbing, bad writing

A/n: idek what this is but seemed more fun in my head, also we should all worship Sherlock in A Scandal in Belgravia

Dead silence. Sherlock didn’t move an inch when John asked him to be his best man. Sherlock was surprised and horrified at the same time. John may have thought for a split second that Sherlock might be having a heart attack.

“Oh and you need a date, I can set you up with Mary’s-”

“No!” Watson almost fell of the chair at the detective’s loud disagreement. Sherlock was already in deep shit when john asked him to be his best man and the last thing he needed was to throw himself off the building because of some random girl John fixed him up with.

“Well you have to go with someone.”

“Not really”

“You’re the best man Sherlock, you need a date.”

“Fine!” the brunet surrendered. “I’ll bring a date”

“You’ll bring a-” John’s mouth was gaping open. Who could he, Sherlock Holmes possibly bring? “Alright then” John walked out of 221b leaving Sherlock to his thoughts and his tea with…an eyeball.

Sherlock paced around the small flat with his phone in his hand, one specific contact pulled out, he knew he wasn’t going to hear the end of it, but it was a better plan than going to the wedding with a stranger who he’s sure he was going to deduce in 2 seconds, and drive them away “hey Y/n/n” he pulled out with a fake smile plastered on his face.

“What did you do now William?” the voice of a young women played as music to his ears, you probably won’t hear it from him but he thought her voice was better than the music he played.

“Why’d you assume I did something?”

“You pulled your greetings like you always do when you do something stupid”

“okay yes, but I didn’t do anything but…” he paused for a second before speaking up “will you be my date for john’s wedding?” he spoke every word together, which couldn’t be deciphered but the woman he spoke to was used to this.

“I don’t know what if-”

“Your team can go a week without you, please Y/n please love, please, please” he pleaded profusely making the woman on the other end laugh and he knew he had her.

“Of course I’ll be there”

“Thank you so much darling.” He hung up with a smile on his face. It was official Sherlock Holmes was going to take Y/n L/n as his date.

All the way across the Atlantic when the minute the phone was hung up Y/n L/n smiled giddily as she spun around in her office chair. It was official Y/n L/n was Sherlock Holmes’ date. Well most of the giddiness she had was over the fact that Sherlock called her “love” and “darling” it wasn’t unusual, she was used to him calling her that but that doesn’t make her any less flustered or giddy when he does.

“Where’s your date Sherlock?” John asked as he, Mary, and Sherlock stood at the entrance of the reception venue.

“Oh relax John, she’ll be here, probably got delayed with her work, she’s slightly bit more of a workaholic than I am.” he commented casually making the newly married couple wonder who she was.

“oh I heard that you little shit” a accusing voice was heard from beside them, the first thing John and Mary noticed before they could even see the girl was that Sherlock Holmes was grinning like an idiot. Sherlock turned around to see the woman and god his breath hitched very visibly.

There she stood: a beautiful blue dress hugging her more beautiful curves, smiling widely at the detective. Sherlock swore time stopped, it was just him and her, it was quite inevitable Sherlock fell in love with his best friend, of course he didn’t know that when he was just 17, after time when she had left for America it was Mrs. Hudson who pointed out that the rare feelings that Sherlock felt was Love after all. And being Sherlock, he didn’t believe it. “Did you take a leave or did your boss beg you to leave?” he teased her as she walked towards him.

“of course I took a leave” she scoffed standing before the couple, wishing them a happy married life and introducing herself to them knowing Sherlock never mentioned her to anyone in his life after she left for what they called “safety reasons” when she finally turned to look at the man with an amused smile on his lips she sighed “I took a leave after my boss ordered me to” she admitted defeated but a small smile still gracing her face

“Ha! There it is!” the woman turned to John with a grateful smile on her face, wrapping the doctor in a small hug.

“Thank you for taking care of him. It’s a surprised he’s not murked yet” before Sherlock could interject she pointed a finger at him “no I meant killed killed William” she laughed, making the couple laugh too before John stopped abruptly.

“Wait William?”

“Oh y/n dear! You’re here! I knew Sherlock would call you!” y/n turned around to see a familiar older woman, before she could even greet her Mrs. Hudson had wrapped her up in a big hug.

“I’ll kill you” she mouthed to Sherlock who snickered at her as Mrs. Hudson pulled her away.

John and Mary watched in astonishment at the bond the two had. John had just met her and saw her and Sherlock together he knew the two definitely fancied each other…a lot.

Mary on the other hand saw Sherlock when no one else did: the way his eyes lit up when he heard her voice, the way he acted as he teased her and how his eyes were still on her long after she left with a fond smile on his face and most of all she was the one who noticed Sherlock’s bracelet, the one he wore every day and told everyone it was a nice piece of jewelry matched the one the woman wore to a minute level, she was no master of deduction, although it doesn’t really take a master of deduction to see that Sherlock was in love with that woman. “What?” Sherlock looked at the couple who smirked at him.

“Who’s she to you again?” john asked with a teasing smile.

“My best friend, we grew up together” the detective muttered, the tips of his ears rosy. “She moved to the US when we were 20…Oh come on John!” he flailed his arms comically once he realized what John was trying to say. “You too?” He looked at Mary who shrugged, stifling her laughter, the detective sighed “it’s that obvious?”

“Profoundly”

“Oh thank you that’s comforting” he shot back at the couple who just laughed at him, Sherlock looked down at his phone when it pinged, alerting him of a message

“Save me, molly is talking about her sex life. Jesus” Sherlock smiled at the text before he realized his involuntarily response to everything Y/n l/n did

“Please go, no one’s stopping you” the couple laughed again as they watched a very flustered Sherlock Holmes make his way to the woman he love.

“She’s got him wrapped around her finger” John commented as he smiled at his wife “just as you have me wrapped around yours”

Y/n watched as Sherlock looked rather annoyed at frustrated at the caller on the other side. She sighed: Mycroft. “Hey” she approached him, he looked at her with a sad smile.

“It was-”

“I know” she whispered, kissing his cheek as she hugged him.

“Everything changes Y/n” he muttered, she knew what he meant, it was same thing he felt when she moved across the ocean for her dream.

“I know” she pulled away “but isn’t it changing for the better?” Sherlock plainly nodded at her words “it’s going to be okay William” she smiled, her palms pressed to his face, bringing his head down, she kissed his head while stroking his cheek. Sherlock felt like he was going to explode, his heart fluttering at her attempts at comforting him. “It’s time” she informed with a smirk

“It’ll take me two minutes to dash out” he spoke nervously.

“No you won’t, now off you go” she shooed him and leaned on the door frame as Sherlock awkwardly made his way to the table. It was going to be amusing.

“Pray silence for the best man.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends ... and ... erm ... others.Er ... w... A-a-also ...” Sherlock locked eyes with Y/n who looked at him with a comforting smile

“It’s okay” she mouthed nodding, Mary was the one who noticed the small interaction between the two as Sherlock nodded back at her.

“Right, um ... First things first. Telegrams. Well, they’re not actually telegrams. We just call them telegrams. I don’t know why. Wedding tradition. ... Because we don’t have enough of that already, apparently…right” he quickly stopped himself when he saw the woman by the door narrow her eyes at him. It wasn’t long before he got bored reading the telegrams, Y/n covering her mouth trying not to let her controlled laughter out. And when Sherlock started telling absolute bull to the guest about his reaction when john asked him to be his best man

“Lies” she loudly coughed, the guest laughing as Sherlock glared at her, his smile showing he felt otherwise.

Time had passed with Sherlock’s speech now turning into stories, y/n intently listening as did the others “you! The beautiful woman in blue! Any ideas?” Y/n and Sherlock smiled at each other as Sherlock asked how the private was stabbed. John was shocked at how similar the two were when it came to thinking.

“the killer never had to escape, find a way in or out. What if the killer stabbed the vic, but was never there when the private died?” she spoke after a moment of silence, Sherlock looked at her impressed and proud

“That’s…possible”

“That’s not a yes”

“That’s because frankly I don’t know the answer” Y/n gasped pulling out her phone and pointed it at the lanky man.

“Can you say that again? I need to get this.”

“Oh shove off.”

“Enough you two! Always bickering.” the two fell silent at Mrs. Hudson’s scolding. Nothing new.

“Sorry Mrs. Hudson!” the two sang in unison making the other guests in the room laugh.

“There was one feature, and only one feature, of interest in the whole of this baffling case, and quite frankly it was the usual. John Watson – who, while I was trying to solve the murder, instead saved a life.”

“On second thoughts I probably should have told you about the Elephant in the Room. However, it does help to further illustrate how invaluable John is to me. I can read a crime scene the way he can understand a human being. I used to think that’s what made me special – quite frankly, I still do. But a word to the wise: should any of you require the services of either of us, I will solve your murder, but it takes John Watson to save your life. Trust me on that – I should know. He’s saved mine so many times, and in so many ways.” Y/n smiled at the duo sitting in front of her widely “This blog is the story of two men and their frankly ridiculous adventures ... ... of murder, mystery and mayhem. But from now on, there’s a new story – a bigger adventure. Ladies and gentlemen, pray charge your glasses and be upstanding. Today begin the adventures of Mary Elizabeth Watson and John Hamish Watson. The two reasons why every single one of us is ...”

Y/n noticed the man freeze in place and she knew, something was wrong. Something wrong and Sherlock figured it out. And if he did? She did too. She flinched when she heard the glass smash to the floor and looked at him and nodded, telling him silently she understood.

Leaning up from the wooden frame her hand brushed the holster on her thigh, aware of the gun strapped to it. The Mayfly man was in this reception and someone was going to die. Sherlock jumped over the table as y/n walked forwards, analyzing each and every guest in the room.

The second John and Lestrade were made aware of the situation it took barely a second for Y/n to change her complete persona, her work persona.

It was the Major, Sherlock looked at her as he raised the glass for the toast, and used the noise to cover the truth the major was going to be killed. Sherlock made his way to her “the photographer.” he spoke into her ears, she nodded firmly when she noticed the said photographer leaving the room quietly.

“Excuse me.” she pushed through the guests the other way as Sherlock John and Mary went the other to make sure the major didn’t die. The photographer realized she was behind him and moved faster, once they were away from the guest and in a secluded Y/n took her gun out cocking it making the man freeze “hello there” she grinned when he sighed in defeat his hands on his head.

“Sherlock where’s Y/n?” John asked him once the crisis was over, Sherlock looked at him and shrugged

“I sent her after the killer.” Sherlock looked at his friend casually

“You what?!” he stressed “why would you do that, just send her after him?”

“It’s nothing john she’s-” a loud thud stopped their conversation. There stood Y/n with the man, his locked hands being held by her as she pushed him to the ground “told you” Sherlock smirked at the man “great work agent”

“Thanks” she blew her hair off her face as she put the safety on the gun and holstered it back again

“Wait agent?”

“I’m CIA, John” Y/n laughed revealing her occupation, Sherlock letting out a chuckle looking at the shocked expression the doctor held.

“Just when I thought Sherlock had normal friends.”

“You know better than to put Sherlock and normal in the same sentence.” she snickered, Lestrade and Mary coming in to see the scene before them.

“She’s CIA!” john informed the new comers excitedly

“That makes so sense.” Mary commented, the two women laughing

“Jonathan Small-” everyone listened as Sherlock showed off…sorry explained.

Couple’s first dance: watched by all, except Y/n her eyes were clearly fixed on Sherlock who played the violin gracefully, their eyes never once broke contact, the others were too focused on the dance to notice the look exchanged between the detective and the agent.

Conversing with Molly and her boyfriend Y/n noticed a familiar tall man trying to get out of the venue without anyone noticing, Y/n politely excused herself going after the brunet “did you really think you can slip out without me noticing?” she smiled at him sitting in the passenger seat of the car without any warning. Sherlock just shook his head, extending his hand for her to take, and she did, she laced her fingers with his nimble ones as they drove in silence back to 221b Baker Street.

"Sorry for pulling you away from the wedding" he apologized earnestly, Y/n and Sherlock stopped by the staircase of his flat.

"I enjoyed it, besides I wouldn't stay there knowing you need me, so here I am" she shrugged.

"you enjoyed it because there was a murderer on the loose?"

"what? no it's a wedding William, don't be ridiculous!" she grinned knowing he saw right through her. "more or less"

“I believe I owe you something” he spoke once they entered the flat

“What?”

“a dance” she looked at him funny, seeing that he pulled a funny face “Is it wrong to have a dance with the woman I-” the air was knocked out of Y/n’s lungs, she moved closer to him, hoping she was right, they were barely inches apart.

“You what?” she pressed

“The woman I love” he admitted, he could’ve easily deduced that she was in love with him too, but he promised he wouldn’t, so it scared him, not being able to read her.

“I believe a dance with the man I love is overdue William” she whispered so softly it was a surprised he heard, he acted quickly by holding her face, pulling her in for a kiss.

Their first kiss.

It was as magical as she thought it was, finally being able to tell him that she loves him. His lips perfectly made for her, it was heaven. It was the angels singing in the background. It was the slow music in the background as she swayed in his arms, their body fitting like puzzle pieces.

Y/n L/n and Sherlock Holmes.

#john watson #sherlock x reader #sherlock bbc #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock holmes imagine #benedict cumberbatch #benedict timothy carlton cumberbatch #dr. john watson #john wheeler #mrs. hudson #mary elizabeth watson #mycroft holmes #imagine #x reader #sherlock x you #the mayfly man #the sign of three #london #cia

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themoriartyholmes · 2 years ago

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'Haven't I Given Enough?' — Yet They Have; A Rant on Merlin of Ealdor and Sherlock Holmes.

Warning: Spoilers ahead!

Currently listening to Gilded Lily by Cults and whenever the lines 'Haven't I given enough? Haven't I given enough?' were repeated, I kept thinking of Sherlock and Merlin.

Sherlock and Merlin; the two of them have given nearly everything they had for the ones they've loved and cherished yet they've suffered so damn much in silence for those sacrifices.

The two of them were also, in my opinion, considered anti-heroes. They meant well (each one of them truly did and tried their very best in remedying their personalised trauma and achieving their own set of goals; whether that be through legal, illegal means or both.)

For example, Merlin.

Merlin had lost so much in his life for Arthur's sake as well as the golden age of Albion with nearly no help and what did he get in the end?

He had to wait for Arthur's awakening all by himself for centuries — uncertain whether Arthur would wake up or not.

He had to live through his friends' deaths, the fall of Camelot, the various evolution of societies and raging wars whilst waiting for Arthur.

Before that, he had to face all sorts of obstacles all by his lonesome self, rarely with anyone to tell of it, to get advice or Hell, even a few hugs and words of encouragement.

Sure, he had Gauis and Kilgharrah but Merlin didn't have anyone his age to talk of it all. They all died one by one and mostly he had to bury them alone. He didn't have a place to freely practice his magic without the fear of judgement or death dangling on his neck. Not to mention, certain times, the two people he could count on either didn't help that much or gave unwisely advice that eventually tore Merlin apart — situation wise, physical wise or even emotional wise.

He had done and given everything he could for Arthur's sake and happiness even though his own was always put behind. He had killed, defied his own kind even though at certain times, he didn't want to or he knew they had the absolute right to be enraged.

Still, he kept pretending to be a fool, doing the dirty work in the shadows without getting any recognition — he didn't want any.

Merlin had been through various dangerous situations and some had even nearly died in them yet he still protected Arthur with all his might and magic.

Why?

Love.

Because he loved Arthur so much — whichever way people could see it (platonically, romantically or somewhere in between) but no one could deny that the love was there.

As for Sherlock ...

Sherlock had literally lost two years of his life, years of his hard work invalidated by being called a fraud as he was tearing down an infamous criminal network all by himself without telling the people he had done it for. When he wanted to explain himself, he was thrown with the whole conundrum of emotions; which he had specified earlier on that it wasn't his forte.

He could sympathize, could even feel protective over the ones he held near and dear but he didn't show it a lot. Most times, he kept his guard up, letting everyone around him perceive him as emotionless and heartless as they could whilst worrying himself to the ground silently when things didn't go his way.

Or when it all came out wrong and he lost people that meant so much to him.

He was so damn lost after returning, rarely counting on anyone and just tried his best to patch himself up all alone despite spiralling down regardless.

All the while, of course, Mary, Magnussen and eventually Eurus happened.

Again, another question would be why would he do such things for people when he had claimed himself as a high functioning sociopath?

Because he isn't one. It's a mere facade. Not to mention, he loved John, Molly, Greg, Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft (even if they seem like enemies - that's not true) dearly.

In conclusion, the two of them had given more than enough for their loved ones. The saddest thing however is that no one told them that by each sacrifice, a part of themselves would be lost. The more they sacrificed for the people they cared for, the more they lost themselves until what was left was a tired shell of themselves.

That and the fact that both of them seemed to believe the people around them wouldn't give a damn if something were to happen to them, as if their lives were worth little next to nothing is just ... Dear Lord.

They both need a ton of hugs and love — seriously. (Oh, and definitely therapy too.)

#sherlock holmes #merlin #bbc merlin #bbc sherlock #someone please give these two a lot of hugs (unless they don't want them then maybe words of encouragement would be good too!)#just ffs they need love and lots of them #sherlock and merlin are precious okay?#okayyy maybe one is rude and constantly annoyed with people's stupidity kinda consultant detective and one is a sarcastic witty warlock #still my point stands #they deserve to be fully loved and accepted as who they wholly are #also this is kinda a rant? or vent? I don't know lol

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arwamachine · 4 years ago

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8 - Liminal

The first glass of wine went down quickly and Sherlock was starting to feel better. John refilled his glass with a wary look, but said nothing.

Fortunately for Sherlock, there were no patrons dining solo that evening, so he had little to do in terms of pretending he was looking for a strangler while the two dined. With the alcohol slowly forcing his nerves into submission, Sherlock was free to focus on John’s behavior and his rubric.

Sherlock believed the rubric to be foolproof, developed from his own understanding of the indicators of human attraction and a very helpful internet article entitled, Ten Ways to Tell if He’s Into You. There was a point system. Certain behaviors were weighted higher than others. There were cutoff scores to distinguish varying degrees of attraction likelihood. It was a very sophisticated rubric and Mrs. Hudson had no business laughing at it as hard as she did.

Like right now, John was looking at Sherlock over his plate. Sherlock wasn’t talking, and yet John was looking. Extended eye contact, no obvious purpose—five points.

“You changed,” John said, gesturing at Sherlock with his fork. “That’s not what you were wearing this morning.”

Indeed, Sherlock had changed. He was wearing the nicest suit he owned that wasn’t a literal tuxedo. The thing was made just for him and fit him like a glove, hugging each curve of his body in a way that was objectively pleasing to the eye. He wasn’t wearing the purple shirt anymore (no confounding variables were permitted), but instead a sleek black shirt that certainly did a number on Molly whenever he wore it. It was meant to make John look, and it was working. “Good observation,” Sherlock said. Noticing—three points.

“You changed from one fancy suit,” John said, “into another fancy suit.” Gentle teasing—two points.

“Well,” Sherlock said. “There’s something to be said for looking one’s best.”

“Easy for you to say,” John chuckled into his wine glass. “You’d look your best in a garbage bag.”

Sherlock’s eyes dipped low. He wasn’t sure where on the rubric that fit, but he’d give it ten points anyway. “Thank you,” he said.

From there, John only accrued more points. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Sherlock. He took any initiation for physical contact he could find. He licked his lips—god did he lick his lips. Sherlock set up little tests, little opportunities for John to earn points. He licked some sauce off his finger to see if John’s respiration would increase. He purposefully used words like lubricate, penetrate, and climax in casual conversation to see if John’s cheeks would flush. He spilled a bit of food on his shirt to see if John would slide closer, press a wet napkin to his chest to clean him. Ten points. Seventeen points. Twenty-three points.

John ordered them another bottle of wine. That wasn’t a test, but it earned him forty-two points all the same.

Things were starting to shift. John’s little behaviors—his eye contact and his lip licks and his teasing—didn’t seem incidental anymore. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing. They were moving closer to something, he and Sherlock, existing in the liminal state between friendly conversation and outright flirting.

John set down his wine glass. He cleared his throat, eye contact decreasing by eighty-three percent. “There’s something I’d like to say to you,” he said.

Previous - Next - Start from the beginning

Find the full prompt list here. Tags under the cut (let me know if you’d like to be tagged)!

@gingerbread-rus @dissolvinggirl @br00klynn2428 @the-reading-lemon @andbreathenormally @mintyminho @frickfrackoversizedtictac @trauzlly @minnesotacryptid @qrsshipper @coltinthecave @dinner--starving @2smach @sherlockwatsons @glows-n-the-dark @calaisreno, @demonicangeling,

#fanfiction #johnlock fanfiction #inktober #inktober 2021 #incontrovertible proof #arwa inktober

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inevitably-johnlocked · 3 years ago

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Hi Steph! I am absolutely SWAMPED with my new classes, so your blog is a shining beacon whenever I’m super stressed.

I’ve misplaced this fic I read recently. All I remember is that there’s a scene where Sherlock is laying with his head o John’s lap while he tells him about a case when Mrs. Hudson walks in. Rally vague, I know, but that’s the ONLY thing I’m sure of.

If you somehow find it, let me know.

Hugs and toodles!

Hey Lovely! *HUGS*

Ah, no worries, happens to the best of us!

I sadly have no idea which fic this is, though I feel like I've read it before!

Anyone know which one this is?

#steph replies #johnlock fic reqs #help steph find fics

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urlexaprohoe · 3 years ago

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My Atlantis - Part 3

John and Sherlock try to sort things out after their scandal.

Warnings: swearing

Part 1

Part 2

1425 words

“Detective Inspector, can you tell us more about the current relationship between Mr. Watson and Mr. Holmes? Is it true that the two of them are planning on getting married? So soon after Mrs. Morstan?”

Greg felt as if someone had just punched him in the face. He took a few minutes to collect his thoughts before responding. “Excuse me…? This is a press conference for an ongoing murder case.” Having to explain these circumstances felt ridiculous enough.

And he was right, this was a press conference for a murder case, but who cared about murder cases anymore? The press had a much bigger scandal to worry about. When the journalists started to continue with their questions about the relationship between John and Sherlock, Greg started to feel himself getting angrier and angrier by the second. This wasn’t just about people disrespecting his work as an inspector. This was about the people getting into the private lives of his friends. Calm down, Greg. You’re getting emotional again, this is not what they taught you.

Ah, who cares?

The inspector slammed one hand on the table in front of him to shut the crowd up.

“This conference is over. I don’t have the time to answer unnecessary questions about the private lives of people close to me. All of you should work on your perception of respect. Thank you.” His coworkers stared at him as he walked out but he just ignored their looks, he didn’t care anymore. The past few weeks had been hard enough on everyone associated with them.

John sat on the bed of his hotel room and stared at his reflection in the mirror in front of him. He didn’t recognize himself anymore. It wasn’t his appearance, he hadn’t changed at all. It was something inside of him that had changed completely, for the worse. He and Sherlock hadn’t talked for months now. It was as if he had lost his best friend yet again. And to make matters worse, simple things like grocery shopping weren’t possible without getting recognized and harassed by at least 2 people. But it was for the better. He needed the space, he needed the isolation more than anything else.

But his look still wandered to the phone in his hand.

Come home.

- SH

John knew that it probably wasn’t the best idea to meet Sherlock again, especially since he had no idea how to handle the current situation. Sherlock wasn’t the best when it came to empathy. It didn’t take long for him to make up his mind. The man quickly tied his shoes and walked out of the room.

“John, darling! Oh, I’ve missed you so much!” Mrs. Hudson pulled him into a warm hug, not letting go for several seconds. Even though John always thought of her hugs to be quite uncomfortable, he felt like he needed this one today. She looked at him with an encouraging smile on her face and stroked his shoulder. “Sherlock is upstairs, dear.”

John smiled a bit and gave her a thankful nod. “I missed you too, Mrs. Hudson.”

When he opened the door, Sherlock was already standing in the middle of the room, staring out of the window, as he always did when he was thinking about something. As he heard John entering the room, he turned around immediately, this wasn’t usual for him. “John.” “Hello, Sherlock.”

A few seconds of uncomfortable silence followed, which was finally broken by John.

“So, why did you want me to come here?”

“I figured you might need a place to stay. A hotel room isn’t the most comfortable to live in. And don’t worry about the groceries, Mrs. Hudson will get them for the both of us.” John slightly rolled his eyes and leaned against the doorframe. “How did you know that I was living in a hotel room? Did you figure it out by the state of my shoes? My hair maybe?” John's provocative tone seemed to hurt Sherlock, one could see it in the change of his look.

“No. I went to your place and talked to Mary. She told me that you moved out.” John bit his lip and let out a small sigh. “Look, I’m sorry… I’m just not in the right state of mind right now… I have lost a lot.” Sherlock nodded and took a few steps toward his friend. “I know. And I feel sorry for you. That’s why I’m offering you a place to stay. It might be best for the two of us to have something to distract ourselves.” For the two of us… So this seemed to hurt Sherlock as well. It made John feel a bit better.

“Thank you, Sherlock. Yes, I'd gladly stay with you, the hotel bed made my back hurt anyways.” The both of them shared a chuckle.

And it didn’t even take an hour for them to talk like nothing had happened.

They sat in their chairs, going over through some old cases when John leaned back and put his hands on his face. “My god… These past months have been exhausting. I thought I had lived through everything when I came back from the war.” He laughed a bit.

“Believe me, when I catch the bastard who sent those pictures to the newspaper…” John let out another laugh but, this time, Sherlock stayed silent. John gave him a confused look but Sherlock avoided eye contact.

“What’s up?” He chuckled. “You’re almost acting as if you were the one who-” It hit him.

“You utter…” John got up with a force that knocked over the armchair he was sitting in. His voice was quiet and monotone but one could hear the rage in it without looking him in the face. “I’m going to kill you.”

Sherlock didn’t hesitate to pull his gun out of his coat and pointed it at his friend with a cold look on his face. John stopped in his step and looked at him, his mouth slightly open from shock.

There they stood, frozen in time.

“...why.”

A tear rolled down Sherlock’s cheek as his hand started to shake.

“Because it was right, John. It was the ONLY right thing to do.” “It was what? You took everything away from me…” John couldn’t handle screaming right now, the shock was still too deep.

“Someone told me that one shouldn’t let the people they love make the wrong decisions. And I didn’t. You KNEW it was wrong, I saw your face, I took your goddamn pulse when you gave me that hug during my speech.” He slowly lowered his gun and John immediately started to take slow steps toward him.

“Believe me, John, I have been laying in my bed for nights, thinking about what to do. I can’t handle the thoughts of you living with the wrong person. Mary is a beautiful woman, god, she did so much for both of us, bless her soul. But she wasn’t the right person, she never was. They ALL never were. I know what you felt during that night, I know that YOU knew it was right. I offered you to stay with me, to stay with the right person. To make things right, to finally live the life you deserve. I am giving you the chance to forget about all of this chaos for just a few hours, to just feel at home. Because I know you’ve never felt that way when you were with her. Believe me, I have waited long enough for this, I had never planned to make a step in the first place. But alcohol never lies and since then, I’ve learned that nicotine, by far, isn’t the worst addiction of mine. And now you have the chance to live your life with the person you belong with. If you decide against it, go on. Push me out of the window, beat me down to the floor. I don’t care. Because I don’t want to carry on living without the person I truly love.”

John just stood there and stared into Sherlock’s eyes. This time, his eyes were full of emotions and one could see that the man was hurting like hell. One could see that he had been waiting to say those words for years. After a few minutes, John turned around, walked out, and shut the door behind him.

“Oh, John. You’re already leaving? I’ve heard some noise upstairs, is everything alright?”

“Yes, Mrs. Hudson. Don’t worry.”

“When will I see you again?”

“...Goodbye, Mrs. Hudson.”

#sherlock bbc #sherlock holmes fanfic #sherlock #sherlock x john #sherlock fanfic #john watson fanfic #john watson #sherlock holmes #johnlock fanfic #johnlock

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luxwritesfanfic · 4 years ago

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Right Where You Left Me

Reader gets déjà vu in a way she never expected. Or, the one where Sherlock is the gift that never stops giving. AU!Bucky because he always has your back. Enjoy!

Author’s Note: There is a lot of angst and multiple different aspects that could be very triggering for some within this work. Please be mindful of the trigger warning below and if you see something that you feel should be listed, message me and I will edit accordingly!

Trigger Warning: Severe depression, suicidal ideations, suicide attempt (overdose), forced vomiting, talk of death in general, angst with a happy ending

Sherlock Holmes/Reader

You couldn’t really tell how long you’d been lying in bed for. Time was such a foreign concept to you now. It was either before the fall, when you were happy and he was with you, or after the fall, where you were all alone. You weren’t alone physically because your friends would never allow for that. Since the fall, you’d been staying in Sherlock’s flat, and Mrs. Hudson would always bring you a plate of whatever she was cooking and put it in the fridge. And like clockwork, she’d come every Sunday and clean the fridge out from where you didn’t touch any of the plates. She never seemed to mind, though, and she never stopped bringing you food.

Bucky would come by every day and check on you and help you do things around the house. And by help you, he did everything for you. Mrs. Hudson would let him stay in John’s old room whenever he needed, and he’d make sure you showered and that your laundry was done. He would tell you he does this because he loves you and that even though you weren’t born his sister, you would die that way.

John had moved on and moved out and you were happy for him. Mary was lovely, and you wished you could move on with your life, but you couldn’t. You knew he was taking it just as hard as you and that you both just had different ways of coping with the pain.

When you had to quit your job, Mycroft was immediately there and offered to take care of you financially. “Please, allow me to do this for you. It’s what my brother would have wanted. He couldn’t stand me when he was ali—here, so the least I can do is make him happy where he is now,” he said quietly. Pigs must’ve been flying in the window behind you because when you reached to hug Mycroft, he met you halfway. You cried nonstop for days after that.

You had tried to be better after the scare, not for you, but for your family. You don’t remember much from it, but you do know that no one brings it up around you and you haven’t been left alone for longer than a few hours since.

You woke up with your face propped up against something cool, but you could barely open your eyes to see where you were. Your stomach was in the most pain it had ever been in and everything around you sounded so far away. You remember being yanked back and fingers were shoved down your throat and someone, Bucky, was standing over you and holding you up saying through tears, “I know it hurts and I’m sorry, but you have to throw it up, Y/N. You have to. I can’t lose you, too.”

Everything hurt and in between gags you could hear Mrs. Hudson crying and begging whoever was on the phone to get there faster. You had never heard anyone scream like that and you were sorry you were the one who caused it.

Even though you’d promised Sherlock he would never lose you, Fate stepped in and you lost him. When you thought about the turn your life had taken, you just told everyone you were keeping your end of the deal.

Bucky knocked on your door and stuck his head in. “Mornin’, Y/N. I’m gonna start some laundry and make us some coffee and then I’ll be back, okay?” You could tell he was worried by the tone of his voice, but he did a good job of hiding it. You didn’t say anything back to it and he didn’t expect you to.

Bucky came in a little later with some towels in his hand and a coffee in the other. “I know you’re not feeling real good today, so I was thinking I could wash your hair for you? You can just bend over the tub and I’ll do all the work. I’ve even been watching some videos on how to braid and then you won’t have to worry it matting up either.” He set the coffee down on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed next to you.

By this point you were already crying into the pillow because how could the people in your life love you this much when you had nothing to offer them anymore?

“I love you so much,” you cried, and Bucky’s heart broke at the sound, “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry and I love you.”

He brushed the hair away from your face. His hands were warm, and it made you feel human again. “You don’t have to be sorry. I love you and I will take care of you for however long you need me to. God knows you would-- and have, done the same for me. So, let me wash your hair for you and I can tell you all about how Lestrade constantly shits on Anderson now as an eternal tribute.”

You smiled and although it wasn’t full of life, he was just as happy to see it. You ended up just getting a shower and Bucky rushed next door to get you a sandwich in hopes that you’d eat for him, too.

As you were brushing your hair out, you heard multiple voices. You heard Bucky, and he sounded… shocked? And then there was John and then just as you were about to reach for the door you heard it. You would know that baritone voice anywhere. Barging out of the bathroom and almost tripping over your own two feet, you came to a full stop.

“Sherlock?”

There he stood in the middle of the room with John a few feet behind him, and Bucky with his back to you, seemingly always ready to protect you. It looked like him and it sounded like him, and hell, it even smelled like him. You couldn’t believe it.

“Y/N.” He went to make a step towards you but seemed to have think better of it. It was better if he assessed your reaction to seeing him first. It had been so long since he had last seen you and while he silently fought the raw want he had to hold you, he knew you were seeing red.

“I don’t even—I can’t-- can’t even comprehend this. Where do I start? Where the fuck have you been? You were dead, Sherlock! I watched you…” You squeezed your eyes shut, steeling yourself the best you could. You weren’t going to cry. You had too much to say. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw John and Bucky slip through the front door. You were sure that was their best bet.

Sherlock said nothing as you went off because there was really nothing for him to say. He understood why you were so mad with him, even if he wasn’t generally self-aware when it came to his own feelings, he wasn’t that daft. He had come prepared for this and he was going to make it right.

“No, you know what? Don’t say anything. I don’t even want to hear it. I have been fucking rotting in this flat while everyone else was able to move on with their lives. I was here, because I couldn’t live without you. My world stopped. I do nothing, Sherlock, nothing but sit and lay in your bed and cry into your old shirts!” You were yelling now, hands running through your hair as you tried to make sense of it all. Somewhere in the back of your mind you made a mental note to thank Bucky for making you get up and shower this morning.

“I quit my job, Sherlock. Mycroft has been paying to keep me alive and Mrs. Hudson and Bucky take turns to make sure I’m still breathing every other hour because they’re scared that if I’m left alone for too long, I won’t be. And poor John, I see him and start fucking bawling because then all I see is you. I stopped caring about everything, and everyone else, because the only person I cared about looked me in the eyes and walked off a fucking building!”

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but you quickly cut him off.

“Seriously, don’t speak. You don’t get to just waltz in with John after all this time—you know what? There’s the million-dollar question. Was I the only one who didn’t know you were alive? Because so help me God, Sherlock, I’m this close to losing it.”

He didn’t know whether or not he should actually speak, but he took the cue after he started to physically feel the heat from the deathly glare you were giving him. You quite literally looked deranged but that didn’t stop him from taking a step towards you. He always seemed to chase danger, and you were no exception.

“No… you weren’t the only one. John only just found out a few weeks ago, and only a few select people knew the whole time.” Sherlock was careful with his words. He knew he was walking on thin ice.

You didn’t say anything to that, and Sherlock found that even scarier than when you were yelling.

“Hah, select people, huh? I like that one. So, where were you staying? Were you in London this whole time? Shit, you could’ve been downstairs for all I know. I guess I wouldn’t be a select person to know that, though, would I?”

Sherlock grimaced. Things were going worse than he imagined, and he already figured it would be pretty bad. That was an understatement. “I had to jump around often for everyone’s safety, but I stayed in London for the most part. I stayed with Molly when I could.”

You laughed in his face at that, and you clamped your hand over your mouth, turning your back on him lest you start laughing again. He watched you with furrowed brows and you knew he wanted to speak but you couldn’t do it right now. You took a few steps towards the kitchen window and looked out at the bustling London streets beneath you. For months your world stopped, and it seemed so real when in reality nothing stopped at all.

“Great, great. That’s so great. Splendid, really.” You murmured to yourself and perched your free hand on your hip. Drumming your fingers against your lips, you began again.

“Bucky had to glue the windows down because he thought I was going to jump, and you were staying with Molly.” The tone of your voice was venomous and if looks could kill, Sherlock Holmes would be dead for real this time.

Sherlock winced. “Y/N, please, let me—” You cut him off, speaking louder this time. Your face was void of emotion, but your eyes betrayed you as the tears started to fall freely and your voice cracked under the weight of everything that was being said.

“Bucky had to glue the windows down because I thought I was going to jump, and you were staying with Molly! Damn you, Sherlock Holmes! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” You grasped at the kitchen counter to steady yourself as you gasped for air between the sobs that you couldn’t contain anymore. Your heart ached so badly that you actually clutched your chest, afraid that it was going to break through your ribcage and abandon ship. You could barely register Sherlock coming up behind you through your tears and as he willed you to face him, you noticed that his eyes were brimmed red and glossy. Even sad, Sherlock looked as beautiful as a doll.

“I always come when you call, why didn’t you come for me?” You cried, fisting your hands in his shirt so tightly that you thought heard buttons pop. Your head was swimming and you had never felt more betrayed in your life. How could Sherlock turn to anyone but you? Had you not made it clear that you would do anything for him?

“I called for you every single night, Sherlock! Begged for you, mourned you, I—” The tears wouldn’t stop flowing and your voice was starting to crack from its sudden and harsh overuse.

It was then that Sherlock wedged himself so close to you that you didn’t even have the space to move your head and look up at him. A pair of strong arms wrapped around your back and you were being squeezed so hard to him that you thought you’d either die from a heart attack or suffocation. And even now at the hands of Sherlock, neither seemed that bad. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He whispered against your forehead again and again as if he was repeating a chant he had been practicing for some time.

“I love you so much and you didn’t even call! Why didn’t you call?” Your words were lost to the both of you now, spoken into his shirt and distorted by your sobs. Sherlock held you as you cried and tried to contain your shaking body against his as you let out months of sadness and pain and despair. You were so overwhelmed that you couldn’t think straight.

“I know, I know you do, and that’s why I couldn’t call. I couldn’t call for you.” He held onto you as he spoke like you would disappear. Sherlock had decided before he even stepped foot into the flat that he would not lose you again. In his time away from you, he was subjected to feelings he could only describe as both love and heartbreak in equal measure. Being apart from you had left him feeling a void that nothing could fill, but it was his love for you that he relied on to keep you safe and away from him.

Sherlock pulled back from you and while it was only by a few inches, you suddenly felt worlds away. You go to pull him back to you when he gathers your hands in his and leaves a trail of ghostly kisses along the spread of your knuckles.

“I have never begged for mercy in my life…” He murmurs, eyes never leaving yours. He was determined; that much you could tell. Your eyes widened as he lowered himself to one knee, and then two. “Until now. I have hurt you in ways that are beyond comprehensible. Please, grant me the mercy I do not deserve to explain myself. I am willing to bare myself before you if you’ll have me.”

You were in shock at the sight of Sherlock on his knees before you. You had heard him apologize maybe twice in your time of knowing him and here he was, begging for you to hear him out. All you could do is nod.

You expected him to stand up again, but he sat in place and looked up at you with so much love in his eyes that felt all the anger you were harboring dissipate under his gaze. He took a deep breath and prepared himself. If you were ever going to forgive him, he knew that he would have to be honest. And he knew that if he was going to be honest, he would have to admit the feelings he had for you and hope that he could express them in a way that you could understand.

“There were constantly people watching you, and John, and pretty much everyone else who held any value in my life,” he explained, rubbing his thumbs over your fingers as he spoke absentmindedly, “they knew you would be suffering, they counted on that. And if you weren’t, they’d know something was going on. Your suffering had to be real, or else it wouldn’t have been believable. I didn’t want to keep you in the dark. But I had no choice. When I faked my death, I had some help. I stayed with Molly here and there because she already knew, and my relationship with her is is…different for ours.” He paused.

You were hanging on every word he said. You could tell he was being sincere, and even though you were upset, you understood. If leaving Sherlock meant protecting him, you would do it too.

He cleared his throat and started again. “Molly was a safer option. They would have expected less of a reaction from her. And if things were to go wrong…” Trailing off, Sherlock squeezed your hands. You knew what he was trying to say, and you didn’t dare breathe. “You were not someone I could lose. It couldn’t have been you. So yes, I stayed with Molly, but I worked constantly to make it so that I could come home to you.”

You couldn’t take it anymore. “Sherlock,” you whimpered, pulling him to his feet by his collar and back to you where he belonged. He followed suit quickly like he was reading your mind.

For what seemed like the first time today, you were truly taking him in. He was just as beautiful as he was the day he left you. You reached up to brush away a stray curl from his eyes and smiled at the way he seemed to try and follow your touch.

There were so many things that you couldn’t be sure of, but this is something you’d always know to be true. You loved Sherlock, terribly, terribly, so. If loving him was the only purpose you ever found in this lifetime, you would be sure not to fail him.

You were lost in other when the sound of footsteps climbing up the stairs drew your attention. Sherlock followed your gaze as you watched John enter the flat from the living room.

“Is everyone okay up here? There was a lot of yelling and then it got pretty quiet…” As he rounded the corner to the kitchen, he stopped in his tracks at the sight of you braced against the counter with a small amount of space between you and Sherlock that he must’ve recently graced you with because you could barely move before. His hands rested on your hips and your hands had found solace on his shoulders. John looked like a deer caught in headlights before he covered his eyes with his hands and made to walk back out, determined not to ruin the moment that all of London was waiting on.

“Fuck, I’m sorry! Don’t mind me, pretend I was never here!” He called out as he dashed back down the stairs so quickly you thought he had fallen and you were sure you heard him say to someone, “I told you so!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the whole situation and when you looked back at Sherlock, you realized he was already looking at you. Even after everything today, you still caught yourself feeling nervous under his heavy gaze.

“So, it’s okay when you stare but not when I do?” You teased, hoping that he couldn’t see the blush you could surely feel. Sherlock squinted his eyes at your comment as if he didn’t understand what you meant but gave you a devilish smile all the same.

“I’m sorry.” He wasn’t. “But you are confirming that you do stare at me, right?”

You were torn between smacking the smirk off his face or kissing it, whatever compelled you the most and right now it was a tie. Rolling your eyes, you brought your hands down to his arms and gave them a squeeze. Not even realizing you were thinking out loud, you whispered something about having déjà vu. This caught Sherlock’s attention, and he moved tiniest bit closer to you. “Déjà vu? How so?”

Cursing yourself under your breath, you laughed and dipped your head down between the two of you, laughing at how ridiculous all of this was. “Jeez, it’s been years now. I had the most realistic dream that’s stuck with me all this time.”

Sherlock tsked at you and moved to bring your head back up so that he could properly see your face. He cupped your cheeks and in the most familiar way and just like in the dream, you were breathless.

“Go on,” he urged, voice like velvet, “tell me what happened in your dream.”

You all but melted under his gaze. Sherlock, in any form, would always have this effect on you it seemed. His thumb brushed along your lower lip as his own parted. Physically he was with you, but mentally he was far away committing this memory to only a place he could see.

“Use your words. I’m paying raft attention, aren’t I?” Once again you thanked Mrs. Hudson and her choice in countertops because if it was any less sturdy you were sure you would collapse and bring him down with you. On second thought—

Any coherent thought was lost to you when Sherlock nosed your cheek, and you couldn’t help the gasp that left your lips or the words after.

“I told you I loved you, Sherlock. That’s what happened in the dream.” Your words were spoken so quickly in the effort to chase after his lips but he held you still, waiting and wanting in front of him.

You whined like a child. None of anything that happened today was fair to you, but one kiss and you would forgive all of London for keeping your detective’s secret.

“Well, I guess the only proper response to that is for me to tell you that I’ve loved you for ages, my dear girl.” He smiled against your skin and you thought that this was it. You had officially lost your last marble, and this was the delirium finally setting in. You welcomed the insanity happily.

“Say it again, please. I need to hear you say it again.” You begged, everything hitting you at all at once.

“I love you,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. “I love you, and it’s only ever been you. It couldn’t be anyone else but you. You…didn’t you know that?” His eyebrows rose up and you stopped him in his tracks. That was Sherlock for “are you dumb?”

It was then that you decided you were done with talking before he had the chance to say anything smart. You pulled him down to you so quickly that you missed the shock that flashed in his eyes when your lips finally met. After years of yearning and pining for the man in front of you, you finally had him right where you wanted him. There were so many things you wanted to say to him, but no words would express how you truly felt about him and lucky for you, Sherlock was more of a hands-on learner.

When you finally broke apart, you got to admire the man of your every hour in all his glory. The mussed hair and kiss swollen lips really added to his already suave look and you couldn’t help but smile like an idiot. “You’re handsome. So handsome, seriously, it should really be a crime. I can finally tell you that without any shame.”

He returned your smile tenfold, and you thought if you could make his eyes crinkle like that just one more time in your life that it would be a life well lived. He acted as if he was mulling your statement over, rolling his bottom lip between teeth. “You could’ve mentioned it before. It might’ve helped me make my deductions much sooner.”

You slapped him on the shoulder but then worked on smoothing his shirt out while he watched you with a gentle fondness that he reserved just for you. You still had so many questions that you wanted answered but you knew those could wait. Something had been generous enough to answer your most asked prayer and you weren’t about to be ungrateful for even a second.

Placing one last (for now) kiss on his cheek, you led him to the door to the flat and swung it open. “Hey, has Mrs. Hudson seen you—”

As if on perfect cue, Mrs. Hudson shrieks so loudly that any bad memory you have of her yelling is now a good one.

“Sherlock!”

#bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock fanfiction #bbc sherlock imagine #bbc sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock x you #sherlock holmes #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock x you #sherlock imagine #sherlock #sherlock has feelings #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes fanfiction #reader insert #fanfic #luxwrites #bucky x reader #au bucky barnes

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spideyspeaches · 4 years ago

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Dead man walking -> s.h

A/N: I'm in my Sherlock mood so here you go besties 😃 beta read by @peterbenjiparker 😘

Summary (request from anon): hi bestie, heard you were horny for sherlock, and honestly, same. So could i request maybe after he "dies" first thing he does is actually going to see you, so you have some really sweet sex or angry sex cause reader is angry at him for lying to her.

Warnings: bestie I ended up making it all fluff-, um mentions of suicide/death. Y'know.

Wc: 1.1k

Masterlist

"You're angry." Was the first thing he said, looking at you with a tiny smile, his face bent down as he met your eyes through his lashes.

You were standing in his apartment- 221B Bakers Street, as he liked to introduce to everyone he met, mouth gaping and hands folded over your grocery bags as you saw your very alive boyfriend standing in front of you, the collar of his trenchcoat upturned, front button undone in his trademarked style, one that you had always commented on that his buttons were just begging to be popped.

You were coming back home from grocery shopping, going by your normal work schedule from before Sherlock had thrown himself off of a building, trying not to think of his corpse you had seen in the morgue. It was a tough feat to do, when you remembered that the Sherlock standing in front of you was very real and not just a figment of your worst imagination.

The day had been a horrible day for you, and you had by the grace of one Molly Hooper, survived the guilt of living while your boyfriend, the one person in the world that meant the most to you was dead.

And now here you were, standing in front of your not dead boyfriend, who was looking increasingly smug by the minute as he saw your foot tapping angrily on the ground.

"Is that so? And how did you "deduce" that, Mr. Holmes?" You snark, folding your hands beneath your chest as you tried to look as intimidating as possible.

Truth was, you were fuming. It had been two years since the insanity that was Sherlock's death, two years since you got yourself caught in the scandal of his death, two years since you watched John Watson, the strongest man you've ever met, crumble underneath the weight of his best friend's death.

You had tried to get over him, even helped John in finding his lovely partner. Mary was a lovely woman, she was everything you wanted to be, but deep down you know you could never be. You were grateful for her to have entered your and John's life, you didn't know how long you could take John's pitiful puppy face every time he looked at the skull on the mantelpiece, or even the sofa that had the indents of Sherlock.

Everything in 221B Bakers Street reeked of the detective, even when he was gone. And it got crippling at times, but you had survived then.

Two years may not seem much to a mundane human, but Sherlock was anything but mundane. He was the most insufferable man you'd ever had the pleasure to come in contact with. But two years meant twenty four months and those were, no doubt, the most excruciating twenty four months of your life.

"You're doing the thing.. the thing with your eyebrow where they go all," he muttered, his voice lowering an octave as he did some weird gesture with his hands, stopping when he saw your glare, "sorry."

"Sorry? Oh you'll be sorry Sherlock Holmes, when I give you a piece of your mind for hiding this from me!" You shout, walking towards him till you were chest to chest with him, your breath heaving due to your aggressive stance.

You felt him stiffen in front of you, his pupils visibly dilating against his stunning blue irises, breath hot on your face as his hands come to caress your waist.

"Well what else do you want me to say?" He asks, bringing you closer to him. His apartment was empty, Mrs. Hudson had left the minute she had stopped to kiss Sherlock's face and then proceeded to slap him, giving him a piece of his mind from her own side.

You had always found their relationship endearing, but you were trying not to divert your mind with stupid things and you were fuming at Sherlock Holmes for faking his fucking death!

"Why didn't you tell me." You said, gulping as he touched your face, his slender fingers pushing back stray hair from your face, caressing the place underneath your eyes.

Sometime between glaring at him and holding your grocery bags, you had moved into the small room, still littered with rotten science experiments and robes that were hardly washed by their owner.

"And get you involved in dangerous business?" He answered, giving you a small smile, his dimple making a rare appearance.

"I live with Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson, I think just existing in this apartment puts me in danger." You huffed, moving away from him and flopping down on the couch.

Pushing your legs towards your chest, you wrap your arms around them, looking at him through the wisps of your hair.

"Speaking of him, have you told John yet?" You asked, rolling your head towards him as he nodded a no.

"No you're the only one who knows," he said, shifting on his legs, "and Mrs. Hudson, of course."

"Makes sense," you nodded, shifting on the sofa, "cause if I were John Watson then I'd punch your stupid face off." You joked, hiding a smirk behind your legs.

"Oh he totally would." He laughed, meeting your eyes as you joined in his laughter, the heavy feeling in your chest dissipating as your ears filled with the melody of his laughter.

It felt familiar, sitting on the couch as you both laughed, just like the old days when he'd come to you with a case, rambling your ears off at the possibilities of the way the burglar would have entered a ten feet high window.

Getting up from the sofa, you walked towards him, standing in front of him and sighing as you wrapped your arms around him, squishing your face to his chest, feeling the familiar thumping of his heart as he hesitantly wrapped you in a hug.

Contrary to popular belief, Sherlock Holmes did not have a heart made of ice. He may not be the most affectionate person you've ever met, but he had his own ways of showing his love.

But this blatant display of affection startled you, sniffing as you picked your head up from his lean chest, looking at his sparkling eyes and the way his curls fell on his forehead. It took everything in you to not to kiss him, a lump of emotions taking residence in your throat, forbidding you from taking a deep breath.

"I'm here now." He said, rubbing your back lightly as you sniffed, chuckling with a watery smile as you slapped his chest, him joining in your laughter.

"How long?" You cracked, wiping a hand under your nose, "How long are you gonna stay?"

"I'm not going anywhere anytime soon." He said, taking your face in his fingers, swiping them on your lips as you wet them with your tongue.

"Promise?" You whispered, leaning on your toes to meet his mouth.

"I promise." He said, capturing your lips in his, and you felt like yourself again. After two years of tears and yearning for the most important man in your life, you felt like you could breathe again.

#bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock x reader #sherlock x reader smut #sherlock x reader #benedict cumberbatch #spideygirl writes

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pickledpascal · 3 years ago

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There's a She-Wolf in the Closet

Chapter One: my future

Summary: Jayden Wayne needs to leave the US when her safety is breached, and with the help of a friend she moves to 221A Baker Street.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: 18+ themes

TASWITC Masterlist

Next chapter

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As her cab gets closer to the address, Jayden takes a deep breath. This is supposed to be a fresh start but she’s having a bit of trouble accepting that this will actually help her. At least she’s an ocean away from her home town. That should help.

When the cab stopped at the side of the road to let Jayden out of the cab, the driver chuckled a little. “You have a case for Sherlock Holmes, miss?” The question made the young woman cock her head. She’s never even heard of that name before.

“No.” Jayden said simply, slinging her backpack around her shoulder as she got out of the cab. She grabbed her stuffed suitcases from the trunk and then went to grab some money for the driver. “How much?”

The man responded with a number and Jay hastily gave it to him. That guy gave her bad vibes, partly because of the meaningless conversation he tried to start on multiple occasions during the ride. Jayden knew she was pretty, hot too.

She became a porn star for a reason.

Jayden approached the door labeled 221b Baker Street and knocked on the door. Her friend, Mrs. Hudson came to answer the door and the girl smiled, relieved. The young woman already knew she had other tenants so she was a little afraid someone else would answer the door and she would fumble over her words. Thankfully, that didn’t happen.

“Jayden! Come in, come in!” Mrs. Hudson waved the girl inside, smiling happily. “Oh! Let me help with your bags.” She offered. Well, it wasn’t much of an offer, she took the lighter luggage out of the two. Jayden laughed quietly, Mrs. Hudson loves to help but obviously not at the expense of her own well being.

As they scaled the stairs to the top floor, Mrs. Hudson was talking and Jayden didn’t really mind listening to her. “Sherlock and John are not in their flat today so they shouldn’t disturb you too much. Y’know Sherlock plays the violin! Maybe you and him could play together?” She suggested unlocking the door to 221A once they got there. “Though I’m not sure what he feels about the guitar.” She hummed as she opened the door.

Who is Sherlock anyways?

Jayden had most of her things already shipped in, the things in her suitcases were mostly precious things and some clothes she wanted for the trip. But, now, her furniture rested in random places all around the apartment. Fresh start, indeed.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.” Jayden smiled as she pushed all her things inside. “This is the best favor anyone’s ever done for me.” She said happily before hugging her friend. “I better get to decorating and should be enjoying the day at this hour.” The young woman winked as Mrs. Hudson laughed and nodded, making her way back downstairs.

Jay sighed softly as she turned, closing the door. The place seemed cold, lifeless, and horrible.

Thankfully, Jayden knew how to decorate. She went to her bedroom to change into some…. Not so nice clothes to paint. She pre-ordered all the ones she wanted. For the main room, she decided on….. Black. Her furniture was nice and bright so she wasn’t so scared of it being too dark. Jay put her brunette and blue hair in a ponytail to start painting the walls of the living room, she also decided to put on some music as she painted.

Jayden herself was a beautiful girl. She was in her twenties, twenty-three specifically. Young to be moving to another country. Jayden was mixed so her skin was naturally tanned already, she was mainly Latine, African, and she had some Indigenous in her as well from her mother's side. She had short, wavy, dark brown hair with dark blue underneath but the color under hair depended on what she wanted when she redyed it. She had one brown eye and one icy blue eye with small specks of green in it, a little bit of everything. She also had a few piercings on her face, one on the bridge of her nose, a septum, and one on her left brow. The woman’s stature was actually very tall, taller than most men and also stronger than most men as well. Ever since Jayden was little, she wanted to be the epitome of a physically strong woman and she completed that goal. Hell, Jay found buff women hot so why not become one too? And, as she put it, she grew like a beanstalk in High School.

Once Jayden finished painting the living room, she started on the kitchen with a deep green to compliment the black cabinets nicely, then for the bathroom she did a soft blue. Now, for her own room, she settled on black again but she knew her walls would mostly be covered in art or other decorations she would eventually print out.

After painting everything, Jayden took a deep breath. There were colors splattered everywhere on her clothes, in her hair, and in her face. The woman blew a piece of hair that fell in her face and pursed her lips for a moment before she took all the sheets off her furniture and moved it into place.

It was easy for her to do, but she was tired. Jayden just wanted it to be done as soon as possible. By the time she was done with that, it was squarely midnight so Jay decided to shower and sleep.

—------------

The next day, Jayden started to take everything out of the boxes and put them in their respective places. Cabinets, drawers, dressers, and desks were filled with silverware, mugs, cups, glasses, pencils, pens, shirts, shorts, and pants.

For a moment, Jay wondered if her self-care things shipped to the UK but she realized they did because it was the most well known European country. They had to.

That day though, Jayden heard some banging downstairs. She shrugged it off, humming a little as she set some makeup in her desk. Then she heard a knock on heer door and immediately went to open it.

“Hello, dear! I decided to make you some breakfast for your first day here!” Mrs. Hudson said, carrying a tray of food for Jayden. The woman blinked before stepping to the side to let the older lady in. “This is so exciting. This also will not be happening again, I’m not your maid.” She shook her head. Jay cocked her head, it seemed like Mrs. Hudson was irritated by her tenants downstairs.

Jayden rolled her eyes and laughed a little, hugging the lady once again. “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson! You're adorable.” She smiled happily. She was very genuine in her response, she hasn’t had anyone besides her parents cook for her before so this was kind of monumental. Although, Mrs. Hudson seemed like she’d be a second mother.

After that day, the only person in Baker Street Jayden interacted with for a month was only Mrs. Hudson. She would only see some blurs of a pair leaving Baker Street and that was it. Plus, her own schedule was very hectic.

—---------

See, the porn scene in London wasn’t so different than it was back in Chicago so Jayden was used to the restlessness.

Occasionally, a shoot would start early. But that was rare. Most of them were from the middle of the day to the end of it. Thankfully, Jayden was already adapted to that kind of schedule.

So imagine Jayden’s surprise when she came home around three a.m. one night and heard the violin as she scaled the stairs to her apartment. That had to be coming from 221b, right? Mrs. Hudson was dead asleep by then and Jay knew she didn’t leave anything on when she left for the day. Mrs. Hudson did say Sherlock played the violin…. At three a.m. though?

At least it was good, enjoyable even. It did sound very…. Sad though. The chords and the harmonies all expressed the feeling of loneliness. Well, Jayden could relate to that.

Jay was never really a people person, she could talk with strangers but it was never something she would really go out of her way to do. And, well, recent traumatic events certainly didn’t help. But, either way, Jayden was excited to start this new chapter of her life, hopefully with new people as she found her way.

The woman yawned as she closed the door to her apartment and walked to her bed. “Got damn.” Jayden groaned a little, scratching her head as she flopped on her bed. The shoot that day was tiresome. More than usual.

At least she had an off day in the morning.

Jayden’s morning routine stayed mostly the same, not changing much even if it was a shoot day. She would wake up, shower, wash her face for the day and put on some comfortable clothes then have some breakfast. On a shoot day though, she would put on some makeup as well and occasionally put something more nice on if the shoot called for it.

That day, though, since Jayden didn’t have much else to do, she decided to break out her acoustic guitar. She did have an electric one, she got it from a friend who just never learned so she was given it as a gift. The woman undid the clips of the case, her thumb stroking the metal for a moment. Jayden’s acoustic guitar has been with her through a lot, she had it ever since she was twelve. It was a simple design, a white body with a black neck and it was also not full size since she got it as a child. The guitar did have a few nicks here and there but it was mostly in good condition.

Jay started to play a more quiet piece, not wanting to bother the tenants downstairs or beside her. She hummed along with the song she played, closing her eyes as she let her fingers pluck notes like they had a mind of their own. A smile broke out on her lips, hastening the tempo slightly to match her mood.

Then there was a knock on her door.

Jayden stopped suddenly, her guitar making a distasteful sound. She set it off to the side, letting it rest against her couch as she stood up to get the door. The girl chuckled a little, “Mrs. Hudson, I told you I don’t need you to keep making me coffee!” She exclaimed, opening the door.

Not to Mrs. Hudson.

The young woman let her surprise show, her eyebrows furrowing at the man in front of her. He was very pale compared to her with dark curly hair that framed his face, accentuating his cheekbones more than they would be without them. Jayden fully took in the person in front of her, he wore a nice suit. Who wore that at eight in the morning unless he was in some sort of business?

“Not Mrs. Hudson.” Responded a deep, accented voice. The man had a small smirk on his lips, one that someone may not think was even there unless they were looking for it. “You play the guitar.” He narrowed his eyes for a moment, Jayden feeling a little exposed under his calculating gaze.

Jayden shifted her weight on her feet for a moment, keeping her hand on her door. She was very guarded around new people. “Um, yes I do?” She cocked her head, somewhat confused. If this was a complaint about the noise, Jay would rather have him be more straight-forward than him just stating something.

There was a long, uncomfortable pause as the man’s eyes roamed her body. Yeah, this was weirding Jayden out. She’s had this happen before, but that didn’t mean she enjoyed it. At the same time, this didn’t feel as violating as previous times.

Early twenties. Physically strong. Mentally? Not so much. Male to female transgender. Anxious, sometimes crippling. Depressed. Insomniac. 1.778 meters in height. Guitar player. Self-harm? No…. past abuse. Clumsy. American, quite obviously. Born in Chicago, previously lived in Florida. How she knows Mrs. Hudson. Sex worker, porn industry. Has glasses, prefers contacts for work. Near-sighted. Estranged Parents. No partner. Trouble with commitment. No siblings. Art lover. Dog lover. Film lover. Vintage antique collector. Punk style. Size ten and a half, US. Size eight and a half, UK. Right-handed. Loves to listen to music loudly. Favorite color is deep blue.

“I’m Sherlock Holmes.” He said, his eyes blinking for a moment as they snapped back up to Jayden’s. Oh, right! Mrs. Hudson’s tenant for 221b. Sherlock seemed very…. Interesting to say the least.

Jayden nodded, “Yeah, Mrs. Hudson’s told me about you.” She said. She was honestly expecting someone…. Older. Like a cranky old man because that’s what Mrs. Hudson described him as half the time. This man seemed young enough to be a millennial and it surprised her. He was only a generation older than her, that was better than some previous men she’s known.

“Interesting, Mrs. Hudson hasn’t told me a word about you and you moved in last month.” Sherlock said with a small shrug. Though she probably did, he just wasn’t listening. Might’ve been in his mind palace or, quite plainly, not listening.

Jayden slapped a hand over her mouth, a laugh escaping her. She didn’t know why but she found it hilarious. She took a breath as she got her giggles out, “I’m sorry. That fucking got me!” She sighed, a bright smile on her face before she looked back up at Sherlock, though he wasn’t too much taller than her. Maybe a few inches.

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it and closed it.

After that day though, Sherlock decided to bother Jayden every chance he had. After John left, after or during a case, usually when he was bored. Thank god or else he would shoot up the walls and Mrs. Hudson didn’t want to keep telling the people next door that she would pay for the holes in their walls. Strangely, Sherlock never decided to bring up his deductions about Jayden, maybe because she somewhat already knew that he knew what she did for a living. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for a man (usually) to recognize her. Either way, it was a little strange for Jayden.

Sherlock was intrigued by Jayden. Mostly how many people younger than him functioned, he couldn’t ask a child because there were no children that knew how to speak in his life. So a grown woman from the generation below him would fit well enough.

Not that he actually liked Jayden or anything.

#oc #sherlock holmes x oc #sherlock bbc #sherlock holmes #bbc sherlock x reader #benedict cumberbatch characters #benedict cumberbatch #mystery #bisexual #pansexual

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sunkisseddaffodils · 4 years ago

Note

Ahhhh I love your Sherlock imagines! I was wondering if I could request one where the reader and Sherlock were engaged before his “death”. The reader watches his death along side John. And when he comes back they are reunited. Reader is angry at first but comes around?

If you don’t want to write it it’s no worries ❤️

Have a good day!

Pairing: Sherlock x reader

Genre: angst (heavy)

Warnings: suicide, depresssion, anger issues

Song to listen to: heavy hours by crooked fingers

Note: here’s a link to suicide hotlines if you ever need to talk to someone

A/n thanks for requesting anon! Sorry if this isn’t exactly what you wanted but I hope you’ll like it ☺️

Your emerald, silver band wedding ring glinted in the sunlight as you were on your way to Barts via a cab. With a soft smile, you admired how gorgeous it was. It was a symbol of a new life. A symbol of a new start with your husband to be, Sherlock Holmes. It meant even more to you he took the care to have it custom made with the stone for your birth month. Emerald: the gemstone representing May. Sherlock didn’t take much fancy in these silly arbitrary things like gemstones and crystals. But he knew it made you happy, and he would do anything to make you happy.

‘I told you not to ring them!’, Sherlock screeched at John through the phone. The latter held up his hands in an apology. John was anxiously standing, looking up at Sherlock, who was currently standing on a ledge on the roof of St Bartholomew’s Hospital. John acknowledged very that Sherlock was in a vulnerable position, literally inches away from taking his life. What he said mattered. He gritted his teeth, trying to get through to his best friend.

‘Please, if you won’t listen to me. Then please listen to your fiancé(e). Whatever’s happened, we can get through this. Together. We all love you dearly’

Sherlock signalled from the rooftop for John to move further away from him. John did as he was told. Sherlock’s heart sank in melancholy when he saw a black cab arrive. You were strolling towards the entrance to Barts when you noticed that John was standing outside chatting on the phone with someone. Shouldn’t he be inside by now? You jogged over to him, mouthing ‘are you okay?’. He said nothing, looked at you solemnly and handed over his phone. To your wonder, you heard Sherlock’s voice. But his voice was shaking. There was something that was very wrong. Simply, Sherlock muttered:

‘Look up’

You glanced upwards and realised that Sherlock was standing on the roof of Barts. You could feel your life smashing down around you, but you had to keep control of your emotions. If you did the smallest thing wrong, it would mean life and death.

‘You don’t have to do this. I’m here. I will always be here for you’

At first, there was silence, a devastating still quietness. You needed to his answer, to hear his voice. But then the silence was gone, and he said:

‘Thank you for everything. Both of you. I love you, Y/N.’

Then the called dropped. Sherlock threw his phone behind him. And he jumped.

Without a seconds thought, you sprinted towards the hospital. But John dragged you back, trying to prevent you from witnessing your fiancé(e)’s body splattering horribly on the cement pavement. He had seen enough death and destruction for a lifetime. He didn’t want you to experience it too. John might have been a soldier, but you had enough adrenaline pumping through you to fight back. The struggle between you and John carried on for a few seconds too long. When you finally got free and ran over, Sherlock’s body was already limp, lying lifeless on the ground. Blood was pooling around his head, staining the grey concrete scarlet. You collapsed next to him, tears gushing down your face, screaming desperately at John to do something. For him to do anything that might save the love of your life.

‘You’re a so-called doctor, right? So do your job and SAVE him’.

John kneeled down, putting a finger on Sherlock’s neck, feeling for a pulse. Then he hovered over his face, listening for any breath from his friend. But it was a futile attempt; Sherlock was as clear as dead. All it took was a shake of the head from John to let you know it was too late.

The next few months after Sherlock’s death were a blur. You could hardly remember the paramedics coming, his funeral and moving away from Baker Street. It was like someone else was living your life, not you. That was the only way to cope with the never-ending grief. Your life continued on like that for a long, painstaking three years.

It was a chilly Thursday evening when you had left your flat for the third time that week to get a takeaway. What did it matter if you ate junk food? You didn’t care about looking after yourself anymore. You were dressed in baggy grey jogging bottoms, an oversized black hoodie and your hair was a mess. It wasn’t like you had anyone to dress up for. While waiting for your order at the fish and chip shop, you recollected about your deceased lover. Last week was the three-year anniversary of his passing. You had attended a memorial at Barts, the place where he fell to his death. Everyone brought flowers, lit candles, and quietly said their personal prayers. Mrs Hudson and John and his new partner arranged it. It was only really on the anniversary of his death that you saw them anymore. They reminded you of him too much. So you thought it was best for you to stay away. You could practically hear what Sherlock would say if he could see you now.

‘Y/N? Is that you?’

Your ears must be deceiving you. You could have sworn you heard Sherlock in real life. Not just in your head. You brushed it aside, taking your order from the server and wanting to get home as quickly as possible. But then you turned around. Saw the distinct navy blue trench coat. Saw Sherlock’s beautiful face. Sitting at one of the corner tables in the small takeaway was your dead fiancee. It must have been a figment of your imagination. But then he spoke again.

‘Y/N, I’m back, he pronounced, a slight grin creeping upon his face.

Rage blew up inside you, and you threw your chips vigorously on the hard floor. This caused a commotion and everyone turned to look at the two of you. You could already hear the server shouting for the manager behind you. You pointed towards Sherlock, stating loud and clear:

‘Piss off! I’m not dealing with this right now!’

You bolted out the door, sobbing all the way home. Every day for the next week, Sherlock visited your flat, but you refused to listen to him. You just couldn’t understand why he would do this to you. Do that to everyone he loved. All he had to do was say one word and let you know he wasn’t dead. On the seventh night, you allowed him to explain himself, but he had to do it through the front door. The two of you sat on opposite sides of your front door, him slowly explaining why he had to pretend to take his life. At the end of it, you stood up and gradually opened the door. You couldn’t forgive him fully yet. It was damn well cruel what he did, even if he did it for good reason. However, you couldn’t help but rush forward and embrace him in a tight hug.

‘I’m so glad you're alive'

#sherlock fanfic #sherlock #johnlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock bbc #sherlock holmes #bbc #john watson #sherlock reader insert #sherlock x y/n #sherlock x reader #sherlock imagine #sherlock au #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x reader #benedict cumberbatch #sherlock fic #sherlock fanfiction

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janeofcakes · 4 years ago

Text

Soulmates: How John Met Sherlock...Again Chapter 6

Sorry I'm late this time, my friends. I had a busy weekend and have now fallen victim to the blasted cold that's been making its way through my family. I don't seem to have it as badly as my husband did, thank goodness. I'm going to post and answer some comments, so if you get one from me that sounds a little bizarre, it's the cold medicine. Lol.

---

Monday morning is a busy one at 221B. Greg calls with a case in the middle of breakfast that has Sherlock scrambling to conscript Mrs. Hudson into taking Olive to school. He places his daughter’s lunch on the kitchen table next to her backpack and throws on his coat. Tipping down to kiss Olive on the cheek, he whispers I love you and have a good day. With that, Sherlock grabs a piece of toast and rushes from the room.

Olive sits at attention, the adrenaline of watching her father hurry around the room still in her veins, but it wanes as soon as she hears the click of the flat door. She lets out a long sigh and slouches a little into her chair. After the bits and pieces she had observed at Mycroft’s birthday party, she was even more curious about Gracie’s dad than when they left the park on Saturday. Something was off. John had absolutely no problem with her or her father until he met him, but had he only just met Sherlock two days ago? Olive isn’t so sure, especially after the way her uncles acted yesterday when she brought up the playdate refusal.

Olive raises her fork and chews on the eggs thoughtfully. Her father had been extremely irritated yesterday, in spite of trying to hide it, and Uncle Myc was definitely the cause. She has seen them argue before, of course. Perhaps heard is the better word. They avoid it when she is in the room and Uncle Greg usually distracts her somehow. Every so often, curiosity gets the better of her and she sneaks away from Greg to listen. Her father doesn’t seem to have ever gotten on well with his brother. Olive used to wonder if that is why she has no brothers or sisters, but dismissed the idea when she was five. She likes that it’s just her and her dad. The two of them against the world. Olive smiles to herself. Now she has Gracie too.

With that thought, Olive’s mind turns back to John. She had planned on cleverly asking Sherlock questions about him over breakfast and had even started working their conversation in that direction, but then Uncle Greg had phoned. To make matters worse, Mrs. Hudson will get her to school later than usual, effectively robbing her of all the time she has to talk to Gracie before classes start.

Olive grumbles around another bite, cursing the fact that she has to wait until lunch and that’s when inspiration strikes. Their class has library time at 10:30. She and Gracie can go to the computers, but search up John instead of books. Maybe if they know more about his past they can figure out how their fathers know each other because Olive is convinced they do.

Olive is just beginning to determine how best to communicate this to Gracie before library time when the door to the flat opens.

“Yoohoo,” calls Mrs. Hudson pleasantly, “Are you ready, dear? We really must be on our way.”

Olive glances at the clock to see how much time got away from her. Too much. She hops up and places her empty dishes in the sink. Pulling on her coat, she grabs her bag and lunch. Mrs. Hudson is smiling brightly as Olive runs down the hall.

“Good morning, Mrs. H,” Olive breathes as they hug one another tightly.

“Good morning, my darling,” Mrs. Hudson laughs warmly. “I take it Uncle Mycroft’s birthday was a success?”

“Yep,” Olive pops the P as she pulls away to look at her with twinkling eyes. “The cake was delicious. Thanks for the recipe.”

“My pleasure, dear,” Mrs. Hudson waves a hand as they pass through the door. She pulls it closed as Olive starts down the stairs. “And his presents?”

“He loved them,” Olive grins back at the older woman. “We pinned the donkey eight times and I won the most times.”

“Did you? That’s wonderful,” Mrs. Hudson chuckles to herself as she catches up with Olive in the foyer. “I’d give my good hip to see your uncle playing a party game. Must be Gregory’s influence.”

The mention of her other uncle jogs Olive’s memory and she turns, her face filling with glee, as she swings open the door to the building. Mrs. Hudson pauses in front of her, excitement already growing at just the look on Olive’s face.

“Uncle Greg asked Uncle Myc to marry him!” the girl all but shouts, throwing her arms in the air.

“Oh my goodness, that’s wonderful,” Mrs. Hudson clasps her hands together at her chin. “I always knew we’d find one for your uncle. Now we just need to find someone for your father.”

“Yeah!” Olive exclaims before she really considers Mrs. Hudson’s words. She frowns as they walk outside and down the steps to the pavement. They cross to the sleek black car waiting for them. The driver greets them as he opens the back door and they are soon on their way. All the while, one question rattles around in Olive’s mind.

“Do we?” she asks after the car has started moving. She slides her eyes to Mrs. Hudson, who looks at her inquisitively. “Do we want to find someone for Dad?”

Olive swallows loudly in the silence that follows. Mrs. Hudson’s face does not change, she merely tilts her head to the right as she considers. It doesn’t make Olive feel like she has asked something bad, but it was definitely unexpected.

“I mean, it’s always been the two of us,” Olive ventures with some uncertainty, “and things are good. Why add someone else?”

“Don’t you want your father to be happy?” Mrs. Hudson asks and Olive frowns mightily, clutching her bag to her chest tightly.

“He is happy,” the girl mutters defiantly.

“Oh, of course he is. That’s not what I meant, sweetie,” Mrs. Hudson reaches for her arm and touches it gently. Still glowering, Olive raises her grey eyes to meet the older woman’s soft brown gaze. “Your father loves you dearly and he is certainly very happy. It’s just that his heart has so much love to give and it’s a different kind of love. Like the kind Mycroft shares with Greg. I call it romantic love.”

“Romantic love?” Olive raises a skeptical brow, tiny wrinkles forming on the bridge of her nose.

“Yes,” Mrs. Hudson continues in a solemn tone. “You will feel it too one day when you meet a boy or girl you want to spend your whole life with, to kiss and hug.”

“Like on the mouth?” Olive asks, straightening her spine a bit and pulling her head back. Mrs. Hudson nods with a little smile. “Like Anna and Kristoff?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Hudson laughs. “Just like that. Like Mycroft and Greg.”

Olive’s expression becomes very serious. She shakes her head and releases the vice grip hold on her bag.

“Uncle Myc and Uncle Greg are nothing like Anna and Kristoff,” she says flatly. “They’re more like that older one. Beauty and the Beast.”

“Ha!” Mrs. Hudson crows, throwing up her hands. “I won’t even ask which one’s the beast.”

Olive grins mischievously and ducks her head, laughing with the older woman. The car stops outside the school as their merriment dies down. Mrs. Hudson puts her hand on Olive’s before she moves to leave the car.

“Know that having someone in your father’s life will never make him love you less,” she tells the girl tenderly. “There’s nothing on earth that could ever do that.”

“I know,” Olive says with a grin. She dives for her godmother and gives her a big hug as the first bell rings.

“Oh no. Hurry, dear, get to class,” Mrs. Hudson shoos her toward the door. “Sherlock will never forgive me if you’re late.”

“Thanks, Mrs. H,” Olive says, popping open the door. She runs for the three-story school building and is inside in minutes.

***

“So we are up to the number five in our multiplication table,” Mrs. Jennings finishes writing a large five next to a line of smaller numbers running from one to nine. She turns to face the class as she explains. Gracie is watching intently like most of the other kids, but Olive’s head is down while she scribbles on a scrap of paper. “As you know, these numbers are basically how many times five is added to itself, but there’s a secret to the number five that makes it one of the easiest to multiply. Start moving along the number line, writing your answers on paper and raise your hand when you know what the secret is.”

Heads go down as everyone begins working through the equations. Just as Gracie jots down twenty-five, she notices a folded scrap of paper on the desk between she and Olive, who is watching out of the corner of her eye. Gracie glances to the side and up to the whiteboard where Mrs. Jennings is slowly walking from side to side to make sure everyone is on task. Gracie licks her lips, leaving just the tip of her tongue poking out as she casually covers the scrap with her palm and slides it close. With the paper on her notebook where it can blend in with her work, she unfolds it and peers at Olive’s writing.

Your dad doesn’t like my dad.

Gracie blinks and furrows one brow while simultaneously cocking the other one. She nearly turns to look at Olive to ask an incredulous ‘What’ with her face, but resists the urge and scratches out a quick response instead. Folding the paper in half and sliding it back to the middle of the desk, Gracie raises her eyes to the front of the room again.

“All right. Who knows the secret?” Mrs. Jennings breaks the silence. “Teri?”

“You start with five and basically count by fives all the way up the line,” the girl answers from her seat in the second row. The pencil in her right hand is poised to write while the index finger of her left hand winds her long red hair around itself. Gracie watches knowingly at the nervous tell. It is just one of the many keys to observation Olive has taught her.

“Perfect. So why don’t we do that together, and remember to write it down as we go,” Mrs. Jennings moves to the whiteboard to write as well.

“Five, ten,” Teri begins and the rest of the class starts in with her until they reach forty-five.

“And there is our multiplication table for the number five,” Mrs. Jennings remarks and turns back to the class. “Does everyone see how we got that?”

Heads are bobbing up and down when Gracie notices the scrap of paper again. She slips her hand over it and moves it close.

“Good,” Mrs. Jennings is saying. “Let’s move on to number six. Write out the number line with six as your common denominator.”

Gracie quickly does this, if a little messily, and opens the note. Olive’s words are clearly printed under Gracie’s own message.

(Gracie) He just met him.

(Olive) But he doesn’t like him.

Gracie frowns and glances at Olive, who is staring straight ahead at Mrs. Jennings so as not to give them away. Gracie underlines her previous statement and slides the paper back toward Olive. It is back on her side of the desk in no time.

There’s something going on though. He kept looking at Dad like he’d seen him before and he freaked out about a playdate at mine.

Gracie glances in Olive’s direction, wondering how she wrote all of that so quickly. Getting a little irritated by the accusation, she writes hastily in a jerky script.

He didn’t freak out.

She passes it back.

“Good job, Michael,” Mrs. Jennings interrupts Gracie’s train of thought. “Now, what is six times four?”

Gracie quickly scrawls twenty-four in her notebook and looks up to see the note again. She huffs quietly at Olive’s words.

I don’t think he wants to come to my flat.

Gracie is about to pen a disgruntled response when Mrs. Jennings calls on her. Apparently, her frustration is more evident than she realized.

“Doing okay, Grace?” the teacher asks. “Are you having any trouble?”

“No, Mrs. Jennings,” Gracie answers respectfully. Mrs. Jennings nods and then asks Gracie for the answer, which she gives succinctly.

“Yes, Grace. Excellent work,” Mrs. Jennings commends her. “Six times four is the same as adding six to itself four times.Does that make sense to everyone?”

Gracie scribbles ‘That’s ridiculous,’ beneath all the other messages. The scrap is getting full now, but her two-word response fits in the space perfectly. She pushes the paper away and starts writing the table for seven. Olive’s reply awaits her when she is finished.

No, it’s not. They obviously have a history.

Gracie grumbles deep in her throat and pointedly underlines ‘He just met him.’ again as Olive watches. The little blonde adds an exclamation point and looks at her friend smugly. Olive purses her lips, turns the scrap over and begins writing feverishly. ‘They KNOW each other.’

Gracie rolls her eyes and tears her own corner from her notebook. She writes quickly and shoves it at Olive, who reads it immediately.

Wait til library time.

Olive looks to her friend and gives a shallow nod right as Mrs. Jennings calls on her.

“Do you have an answer, Olivia?”

“Thirty-two,” Olive says smoothly, directing her eyes to their teacher.

Gracie’s eyes go wide and she looks at her friend’s notebook as their teacher compliments her work. Olive has already written the number line for eight. Gracie is a line behind, in spite of being sure that she was paying attention while reading and writing the last few notes. Thank god Mrs. Jennings had not called on her.

Gracie looks at Olive’s now smug face and blows out a breath that ruffles her bangs. How does Olive do it? It’s like she has two separate brains sometimes. The girls exchange a smile and return their attention to the white board, each one anxiously anticipating the day’s special.

***

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Gracie whispers from her seat across the table, leaning forward for emphasis. After what seemed like days, but was only an hour, their class had lined up and walked to the library. Gracie and Olive immediately went to their usual table where Olive presented all of her evidence, as she called it, that proved their fathers had known each other before meeting in the park. She pointed out everything from eyes widening slightly to changes in tone and bloody shuffling of feet. She noticed Gracie’s dad curling his left hand into a fist, which Gracie has never once seen him do. How did that mean he actually knew Sherlock already and how on earth did Olive notice all these things?

“It makes perfect sense,” Olive insists, her neck craned toward Gracie. She had hunched over, pressing her chest and arms to the table side as soon as she began laying out her analysis. It is her position of choice for intense conversation and plotting. “Just look at all the clues. There’s no other explanation.”

“There are plenty of explanations,” Gracie counters. “Maybe your dad reminds mine of someone.”

“And yours reminds mine too?” Olive barely contains a bark. “Nonsense. No such thing as coincidence.”

“If they know each other, why wouldn’t they just say so?” Gracie throws her hands up as far as she dares in this setting.

“Adults have secrets, Gracie,” Olive mutters in a low voice. “Just like we do. There’s something they don’t want us to know.”

“Like what? They robbed a bank together?” Gracie snorts quietly. “No. I’m sorry, Olive. I can’t believe it. My dad never met Sherlock Holmes before we met you in the park.”

Gracie’s words slow as she reaches the end of the sentence. Olive starts in on trying to convince her, but her voice fades into the background. Things click inside Gracie’s head and for the first time since the conversation began, it all makes sense. Or doesn’t, as the case may be. If her father knew Sherlock, why wouldn’t he just tell her? Why keep it to himself? Gracie presses her lips together in thought. ‘You can have a playdate eventually. Just give me some time,’ he had said. Sherlock is obviously someone he had not expected to run into, but he must have been special to John at some point. Why else would he…

“Are you even listening?” Olive’s irritated tone suddenly breaks through Gracie’s thoughts. She blinks and looks at her friend with wide eyes. Olive huffs. “I’m not going to tell you all over again.”

Olive sits back in her chair, arms across her chest and a petulant look on her face. It only takes a second though before she reads Gracie’s expression and leans in again. Her grey-blue eyes shift rapidly between Gracie’s and she cocks her head slightly in consideration.

“What is it?” her voice is low and brimming with excitement.

“They do know each other,” Gracie breathes, “and they must have liked each other a lot.”

“Why? Why?” Olive can barely stay in her seat and she struggles to keep her voice down. “What is it?!”

Gracie wets her lips, her eyes darting to the right and left, as she leans close.

“My middle name is Holmes,” she tells her friend quietly.

“What?” Olive gasps in a hushed voice. Then her face swiftly morphs into irritation. “And you’re only just NOW mentioning this?”

The librarian shushes her from across the room instantly and Olive looks at her apologetically. When her focus is back on Gracie again, her expression is less disgruntled and more eager. Still, Gracie starts in right away, wanting to beat her to the punch.

“It was that first day with Jones and everything in the lunchroom,” she says in a rush. “She kept calling you Holmes and I thought she meant me at first. It was so weird, but I got distracted with hitting her and just sort of forgot about it.”

Gracie stops and watches Olive for a moment. The pieces are clearly falling into place for her too as she stares back with wide, luminous eyes. Her lips are shaped into a perfect O, but she hasn’t made a sound yet. Gracie hops a little in her chair, skooching forward to its edge and placing her hands flat on the table.

“Why would Dad name me Grace Holmes Watson if your dad wasn’t important to him?” Gracie takes in a quick breath when Olive gasps loudly, her hands flying to cover her mouth.

The librarian shushes them again and Gracie smiles a timid apology this time. She nods at the librarian’s silent warning, promising they will do better and then turns back to Olive. Her friend’s face is absolutely astonished, her eyes filled with shock and wonder. Olive knows something. Gracie’s words have pulled some key observation to the front of Olive’s mind and Gracie must know what it is. Now.

Gracie opens her mouth to speak, but Olive’s lips part first. Her voice comes out shaky with emotion.

“Olivia Watson Holmes,” is all she says.

Gracie’s eyes double in size and her face goes slack. They sit for a moment in utter silence, unmoving while the world slows to a stop around them. Gracie’s body is tingling and feels like it’s floating. It is almost too much to believe, like it can’t be real. Surely their fathers must have been best friends for them to name their daughters after each other. But then what happened? How did Gracie’s dad end up in Bath and why did he never mention Sherlock?

“Gracie?” Olive’s eyes are on Gracie when her own come back into focus. Their gazes meet and both brows crease with determination. They are of one mind. There is only one way to find the answers they want.

“Google,” they say together and rise from their chairs decisively, hands planted on the table to push them up.

Minutes later they are each seated in front of a desktop computer in the library lab. As luck would have it, they even got two next to each other and in a corner where their whispers are unlikely to bother anyone. Olive is scrolling through links to article after article from ten to twelve years earlier, all of them solved by Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Meanwhile, Gracie does much the same, though she has just stumbled across a goldmine.

“I can’t believe this,” Olive murmurs in a breathy tone. “Look at all these cases. Your dad is the partner in his stories. Dad’s man, Friday. His conductor of light.”

“Oh my god,” Gracie mumbles in disbelief.

“What?” Olive crowds in next to her and reads the title of the blog on Gracie’s screen. “The Personal Blog of Dr. John H. Watson.”

“They’re all here,” Gracie’s voice sounds far away. She just can’t believe this is all real. “All of Dad’s bedtime stories. The Mayfly Man, The Hounds of Baskerville, The Deadly Tealights, A Study in Pink. Every last one, and more.”

“What do you mean?” Olive asks in a confused tone. “These are all Dad’s cases.”

“Our dads are Sam and Dean,” Gracie stares at the screen, selecting one of the links and scanning the page rapidly.

“Sam and Dean?” Olive furrows her brow. “What are you on about?”

“Remember I told you my dad has these mystery stories that he tells me at bedtime?” Gracie turns to look at her friend urgently. “Two guys named Sam and Dean solve them all. I always thought Dean sounded kind of like Dad, but…” Her voice fades away and she looks back at the screen. “He actually is.”

“Go back to the home page,” Olive says. Gracie complies and Olive points. “Look at this one. ‘My new flatmate.’.”

They both read quickly and then eyes meet, wide with shock.

“They were flatmates,” Gracie breathes, astonished.

“No way,” Olive mutters. “No wonder your dad doesn’t want to come to my flat.”

“Wait, wait,” Gracie clicks back and scrolls, not finding what she wants. “But what happened? Why did he move away?”

She clicks on different links and they both read as their library time ticks away. With only minutes to spare, both girls sit back in their chairs, completely overwhelmed with the knowledge they now possess.

“Dad faked his own death?” Olive is dumbfounded, her face slack with shock. “He never told me that story.”

“Dad got married and just stopped,” Gracie shakes her head in disappointment. “Your dad even wrote the blog about the wedding. I just… I don’t understand. Dad obviously loved what he was doing and with his best friend too. Why would he stop?”

“All right, everyone,” Mrs. Jennings calls from the stacks. “Line up and back to class.”

The girls close their searches after clearing the histories. Olive is always on about covering their tracks. They walk to the end of the line in defeat. Their investigation turned up more questions and confusion than answers. Standing in silent thought as they wait for the line to move, Gracie makes a decision. She has to have answers.

“I can’t not know,” she says sternly, determination bright in her blue eyes. “I’m going to ask Dad about it tonight.”

“What? No!” Olive grabs her arm and Gracie turns to glare. “We can’t just ask them about it. They won’t tell us anything.”

“Then how are we supposed to find out what happened?” Gracie growls with frustration. The line begins to move and she has to turn her back on Olive to walk.

“We’ll carry out our own investigation,” Olive says in her ear. “This is our case. Our first case.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” Gracie grumbles without so much as a glance backwards.

“I do,” Olive’s voice has some of its usual tenacity again. “I’ll teach you at lunch and we can talk to them tonight.”

“I don’t know,” Gracie replies hesitantly. “I’ve never done anything like this before. What if I’m no good at it?”

“Ha,” Olive huffs. “You’ll be a natural. Trust me.”

***

Gracie raises her eyes from the book propped on her chest where she lies on the couch. Lifting her chin just a bit gives her the perfect view of her father sitting in his chair with the day’s newspaper in his hands. At this point in the evening, he has it folded in half so she can easily see his face. Olive said that was of the utmost importance because Gracie will see what John doesn’t say.

Still not sure if she is ready for this, Gracie runs through the list of features to watch for. There are obvious ones like eyes and eyebrows, knee-jerk expressions that are schooled away, mouth movements. Olive went on for some time about how different ways of wetting one’s lips mean different things. Gracie had never realized there were distinctions. Then Olive went on about twitches and other such things that were lost on Gracie. Given the time, she is sure she could learn and understand quite a bit about it all, but certainly not from what little she gleaned at lunch.

Gracie looks at her father again where he sits completely unawares, his eyes moving from left to right across the words on the page before him. With a fortifying breath, she clears her throat and starts with a question she hopes to build on without giving anything away.

“Dad, how long did you have a best friend?” Gracie asks as casually as she can manage, but it comes out sounding more like she placed air quotes around the words best friend. She closes her eyes immediately, supremely disappointed with herself and then pops them open quickly to check on her father. Allowing a tiny sigh of relief upon seeing that John has not even lifted his gaze from the paper, Gracie’s confidence level bounces back up.

John is frowning in thought at the page, so he has definitely heard her. His mouth opens and he looks about to give some cursory answer, but cocks a brow and shifts his gaze to hers instead.

“What?” John replies with a tone of confusion.

“Your best friend,” Gracie continues, lowering her book to lay flat on her chest. “I know you had one.”

“Oh. Right,” John pauses, glancing back at the paper and then looking at her over the top of his reading glasses. “I feel like we talked about this already.”

“We did,” Gracie answers somewhat abruptly, not wanting to give him much time to think on that, “but you didn’t say anything. Just that you solved cases together.”

“Medical cases,” John corrects and Gracie wants to smirk as she thinks ‘Medical cases, my foot’.

“What was he like? What did he do? What’s his name?” Gracie rattles off, even as she hears Olive’s voice in her head reminding her that they can’t just walk in and demand names. Gracie nearly shudders, but hides it with the movement of pulling herself up to sit.

“Whoa, whoa,” John lowers his newspaper to let it rest in his lap. “Where is all this coming from?”

“Well,” Gracie pauses a moment to try and get her thoughts together. She has to salvage this. “Now that I have a best friend, I want to know more about yours. Did you really like him? The way I like Olive?”

“I loved him,” John answers without hesitation and he looks like the candid response surprises even himself. Gracie’s eyes widen tenfold as John clears his throat and shifts the newspaper pages noisily. “We were quite close.”

“Wow,” Gracie breathes. Now she is getting somewhere. She wonders if Olive is having this much luck with her dad. “You must’ve done everything together.”

“We spent a lot of time together, yes,” John says somewhat absently. Gracie tilts her head in amazement. He is trying to affect indifference, like the whole friendship was perfectly normal and not at all a special part of his life, and Gracie can tell. Empowered, she continues.

“Solving cases,” she nudges in a light tone.

“Working on cases,” John corrects for the umpteenth time. “Medical cases.”

“Hmm,” Gracie hums in thought. When John cocks a brow as if wondering what she is up to, Gracie moves for distraction with another question. “Did you have lots of sleepovers?”

Unabashed laughter bursts from John’s lips and the clever girl smiles to herself. Distraction successful.

“No, sweet pea,” John chuckles and then back tracks. “Well, maybe in a manner of speaking. We shared a flat, so I suppose you could say every night was a sleepover.”

“Wow. That would be so awesome,” Gracie repeats, truly in awe for a moment as she thinks of it. Living in the same flat as Olive so they could play all the time and do schoolwork together and she could help with Olive and her dad’s experiments. The thought of Sherlock brings her back around to the task at hand. She aims for idle curiosity when asking the next question. “So what happened to him?”

“Erm,” John’s body visibly gives a slight shudder and a feeling of concern begins to rise up in Gracie’s throat. She bites her lip and considers brushing the inquiry aside when John straightens in his chair. “Sometimes…things happen. Sometimes friends can hurt you. And then Mary wanted to move and we just...left.”

“So Mary wanted to go to Bath,” Gracie has never once called Mary Morstan her mother. John has always just called her Mary, so Gracie does too. It is hard for her to think of Mary as anything since she has no part in Gracie’s life. She found an old wedding photo once, but has never met the woman. “And you just went with her?”

“She was my wife, sweet pea,” John answers simply.

“Well, why didn’t you call him?” Gracie frowns. “Or text?”

“It’s hard to explain,” John sighs. “Sometimes the things adults do are hard to understand.”

“Dad,” Gracie says in a dull voice and blinks her eyes into a roll like she is already a teenager, “I’m eight and a half years old. I can totally understand complicated things and I want to know. I don’t want that to happen with me and Olive.”

“It won’t. Of that I have no doubt,” John assures her with a quiet huff of a chuckle.

Gracie shifts on the couch to face him fully and sets her book aside. Fixing him with a serious expression, she goes in for the kill, a move Olive had explained very carefully.

“You said friends can hurt you sometimes,” she begins, already seeing that her words have the desired effect. “I’m sure they don’t mean to. Can you honestly say that will never happen to me and Olive?”

John lets out a weary sigh, sets aside his newspaper and rises to join her on the couch. He looks at her with soft eyes for a long moment and smoothes back her hair. Gracie licks her lips, looking at him expectantly.

“He hurt me very badly,” John’s voice is little more than a whisper. Gracie can hear the pain and regret in it. “I tried to pretend it wasn’t there, but...it was hard. Very hard. Mary saw it. SHe didn’t like him much in the end, so she did a little looking and found us a place in Bath. We broke off everything, all communication with all of our friends in London. We started over.”

“Damn,” Gracie murmurs before she can think better of it.

“Language, Gracie,” John scolds with a fond frown.

“Sorry,” she says quickly and then pauses a moment before asking tentatively: “Mary’s gone now. She has been for a long time. Would you ever want to be friends with him again?”

John takes a deep breath and stares over her shoulder for a moment. His eyes are far away and almost wistful. She can already see his answer in his expression, but waits to see if he will put it into words.

“Yeah,” he says finally. “I think I would.”

Victory.

John blinks and returns his gaze to his daughter, who is trying not to look too satisfied with her success. He smiles and pulls her into a hug, kissing the top of her head.

“It’s getting late, my Gracie girl,” John says affectionately. “We need to get you to bed.”

“Okay,” they both stand and head for the loo. “Are you going to call your best friend while I’m sleeping?”

“Ah, no,” John answers as if the proposal is absurd.

“What?” Gracie stops cold and stares up at him, looking for clues. She was sure she had solved it. Why wouldn’t he want to call Sherlock? “Why not? You said you want to.”

“It’s been too long, sweet pea,” John says almost sadly. “It’s all in the past and can’t be salvaged. It just happens that way sometimes.”

“But Dad,” Gracie starts, determined to make him see why that is stupid. John’s hands are on her shoulders now and he is gently guiding her to the loo.

“That’s enough for tonight,” he says good-naturedly. “You’ll be grumpy tomorrow if you don’t get enough sleep.”

“Dad!” Gracie lets out a loud declaration, looking back at him as she walks. “I will not be grumpy.”

“Still bedtime,” John reminds with an amused smirk. Gracie turns to face him and crosses her arms over her chest. She narrows her eyes and gives him a stern look, the bridge of her nose wrinkling.

“Fine,” Gracie mutters and quietly stomps to the sink to show her displeasure without enough defiance to get in trouble. John walks away with a half chuckle.

Gracie considers their conversation as she readies her toothbrush and brushes. Her dad would clearly like to be friends with Sherlock again. Gracie thinks he still likes him very much and Sherlock didn’t seem mean or anything when they were at the park. Plus, she has Olive’s word for it too. Why couldn’t they be best friends again?

Olive will have a plan, Gracie resolves as she spits in the sink. Once she tells her friend all about this at lunch, Olive will have a plan and they can put it into action. Satisfied, Gracie rinses her toothbrush, puts it away and heads to her room for a bedtime story.

---

No mortal danger in this story, but still so many compelling questions! What will happen?? Only The Shadow (ME) knows. Mwahahahaha! Maniacal laughter. Next couple weeks are going to be busy, but I intend to keep on my posting schedule. See you all soon! Love, Jane

@johnlock-rocks

#Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock #sherlockholmes #sherlock loves john #john watson #johnwatson #johnlock #Johnlock fanfic #sherlock fanfic #John loves Sherlock #Mystrade

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make-me-imagine · 5 years ago

Text

Prompt: “You don’t have Christmas plans, so why not come home with me?”

Requested by: @jaskiershoe

Pairing: Greg Lestrade x Gen!Neutral Reader

Taglist: @sharinkashaf

Triggers: None Words: 1,313

As you showed up for work, you started setting up your desk to begin working. Noticing the mail in your bag you forgot you had picked up, you looked through it as you sat down at your desk. Stopping on an envelope from your parents.

Opening it up you smile at the cute Christmas card inside. Opening it, you read the handwritten note from your parents; feeling a sense of guilt and sadness as they expressed their disappointment that you could not make it home for Christmas this year.

With lack of funds and the workload that came up, you had to tell them you were unable to make it. You really wanted too, but had no way to get around it. You knew they understood, but felt guilty for not being able to return home.

As you read over the card again, you had failed to notice Greg walk over and stop in front of your desk. He watched you for a moment, seeing the sadness on your face as you read the card in your hand.

“Bad news?” he asked, gaining your attention.

You jumped slightly at the sudden voice breaking you from your thoughts. Looking up at Greg it took you a second before you processed what he had asked “Oh, uh, no, just a card from my parents. They’re just sad that I can’t make it home this year for Christmas”

“Oh, I’m sorry about that.” he commented, with sincerity in his voice “Why don’t you request time off? I’d be happy to give you some?”

You smiled at him “I appreciate it, but I’ve used almost all my vacation days; and besides, I cant afford the trip home this year.” Greg nodded his head in understanding, seemingly also getting lost in thought for a moment “Uh, so anyways, did you need something?” you asked, changing the subject.

“Oh, I just wanted to check in on that case-files you are working on”

“I’ve completed the Market case-file, it’s on your desk; and I’m hoping to finish the others today”

“Good good” he commented “Back to work we go then” he jokingly commented before he left your desk, heading to his office.

You watched as he walked away; your thoughts momentarily distracted as you focused on the heavy beating of your heart. You silently chastised yourself for the feelings you had for your boss before trying to get back to work. You were colleagues, and friends; nothing else.

A couple hours passed as you sat at your desk working when your phone buzzed. Looking down you read the text;

Greg: ‘Are you busy?’

You felt your heart jump at the text before pushing the feeling away; it was business; it’s always business.

You: ‘Just doing some paperwork, why?’

A moment passed before you received a reply.

Greg: ‘Come see me in my office; I need to ask you something’

You: ‘Alright, be there in a minute’

As you rose from your desk and made your way to his office, you wondered what he needed to ask that he couldn’t do it over text.

Entering into his office; you smiled at each other before you sat down “What’s up?”

Greg seemed to study you for a moment before he cleared his throat “What are you doing on Christmas, since you can’t go back home?”

You were a little thrown off from the question before wondering if he had work for you “I have no plans; I thought I might just stay at home; do you need me to do something for work?”

“No no” he replied quickly “Ehh, I was just wondering..that is; since you don’t have any Christmas plans, why don’t you come home with me?”

You rose your brow at the same time he corrected himself “That came out weird. What I mean is, I don’t have any plans either; and I thought maybe we could get drinks or something; maybe get some food. It’s never any fun being alone on Christmas”

As the surprise at his question settled you wondered why he was asking you, out of pity? You smiled “You don’t have to feel bad for me Greg-”

“Oh no, it’s nothing like that I just mean...we’re friends right?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, we are”

“But we hardly ever hang out outside of work except with the other members of the team. I just thought you might want some company, but if not then that’s fine”

“I’d love to” you replied quickly “It sounds like fun” you smiled at him.

He returned your smile “Good, great; we can make a day out of it.”

- - -

After having made plans with Greg; you had remained nervous all the way leading up to Christmas. You and Greg had spent Christmas Eve with Sherlock, John, Molly and Mrs. Hudson; but what you would do the day of Christmas still remained unknown to you. But you knew you would meet up at a cafe that morning for some cocoa or coffee.

When you did meet up, Greg greeted you with a hug, and a ‘Merry Christmas’ before you both sat down to have a nice breakfast together.

After eating you both made your way to a Christmas festival in town; spending most of your day walking around and enjoying the festivities. The day seemed to go by quickly before you went to a market to buy some food before heading to Greg’s house.

Once you arrived, you set the mood with some Christmas music before you started to cook yourselves some dinner. The whole day, you couldn’t help but feel like it was one long date. So you constantly had to remind yourself that you were just friends.

After dinner, you sat around a fire talking and laughing about past stories and Christmas dinners with family and the pertaining drama. As you took a drink, Greg sat up “I think it’s time for your present”

You were shocked by the sudden announcement “What? Greg you didn’t have to get me anything”

“What?” he called from another room “It’s Christmas, of course I did”

He came back in with a small wrapped package, but you held up your hand “Well, if you insist”

He cocked his brow as you grabbed your bag, reaching in and pulling out a wrapped present. Greg chuckled as you smiled “Well, we think alike then huh?” he asked as he gave you your present, and you handed him his.

You smiled at each other as you opened your presents. Your smiled widening when you unwrapped a nice leather journal paired with a fancy ball-point pen. You realized that Greg must have noticed how full your previous journal l had gotten.

Greg opened his with a laugh as he unwrapped the nice monogrammed cuff-links you had gotten him. Knowing that he had recently lost his.

“This is so nice Greg thank you”

“And thank you very much, these are much nicer than the ones I lost.’

“Well you better not lose those” you laughed.

“I promise” he said with a chuckle while raising his hand up.

After sitting for a little while longer, you decided it was time to leave, the night having gotten much darker as the snow began to fall.

As you put on your coat at the front door, Greg came and stood in front of you “One more thing”

You met his eyes, yours filled with curiosity as Greg smiled and pointed up. Looking up to see what he was pointing at; your heart skipped a beat when your eyes landed on a bundle of mistletoe hanging just above the door frame.

As you looked back at Greg you were caught off guard when he suddenly reached out, pulling you towards him, and pressing a kiss to your lips. Melting into the kiss for a moment before you both pulled away. Greg met your eyes and grinned “Merry Christmas Y/n.”

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