#sherlock x male!reader

[faggotry-fandom-fanfic]

Evening Cuddles

Summary: Sherlock helps his friend fall asleep.

Ship: Sherlock Holmes x masc!reader Word Count: 1070

🔸The reader uses he/him pronouns and is called a man, and the relationship between him and Sherlock is inherently queer.🔸

A/N: It's just fluff based on pure vibes. I wrote it a while ago, rediscovered it recently and rewrote it today! The reader is implied to be Sherlock's roommate. I think/hope he's racially/ethnically ambiguous. Also, the reader is described as taller than Sherlock, but somehow, Sherlock is able to lift him up without any issues?? 😭I don't know, and I don't care to be honest. It's pure vibes, no common sense.

“[Y/N], are you even listening to me? [Y/N]?” Sherlock sighed, irritated at the lack of response from his companion.

Holmes shifted his position to look at the man sitting beside the window.

“[Y/N]?”

When the Detective, once again, didn’t get a response, his frustration went from “mildly annoyed” to “extremely irritated”. It wasn’t exactly in his friend’s character to ignore his pleading for attention. So Sherlock did what any reasonable adult would do in the given situation.

“OUCH!” [H/C]-haired man screamed out when the shoe hit him in the arm. “GOD DAMN YOU, YOU BASTARD!” [Y/N] slurred while rubbing the painful spot. “You’re worse than a five-year-old!”

“I was talking about something important. Something you promised to help with,” Holmes pointed out while walking up to his friend.

The taller man sighed and fell back on the soft pillows. His head was pounding, and his body felt like it was about to perish to dust any second. He was tired, and for some reason, he couldn’t verbalise it to his friend. Building sentences felt like a marathon. His brain refused to use English, forcing him to fight with his sluggish mind just to construct the easiest sentences.

“I know. I’m sorry.” [Y/N] finally mumbled, more or less, towards the dark-haired man beside him.

Sherlock just shook his head and kneeled in front of [Y/N], taking his hands and squeezing them in an attempt to provide some comfort.

“What’s on your mind? You hadn’t been yourself for the past week.”

[Y/N] ignored the question and just silently brought one of the detective's hands to cup his cheek. Silently absorbing the pleasant sensation of Sherlock’s rough fingers brushing against his cheekbones and warmth radiating from his palm. [Y/N] would never admit this, but sometimes he’d kill for more moments like this. Moments filled with silence and gentleness that were almost impossible to find in their life. Sherlock had this almost magical ability to become soft and gentle if he noticed that it was needed, but he never was great at recognising the needs of people around him.

“Just tired. Incredibly tired…” [Y/N] finally muttered while closing his eyes and hiding his face in Holmes’ hand.

“If you want to, we could take a little vacation. We’d stop taking cases for a while. Mycroft has a mansion in the mountains. Maybe fresh air will make you feel better, hm…?” Sherlock spoke softly, seeing how his friend was almost falling asleep in front of him.

“Mhm…”

Only now, when his face was mere inches away from his friend, could he see the mark that overworking left on a usually radiant face. [Y/N]’s skin was an unhealthy, muted colour as if he was made of wax. Dark circles painting his under-eye looked scarily similar to bruises. His hair was tangled and messy, framed his equally messy face, dirty with dust and dirt after a long day of working and running around London, searching for a case that’d satisfy Sherlock’s hunger for mental stimulation. It was frightening to see his friend like this – a shadow of himself. A ghost.

Sherlock’s face twisted with guilt, the awareness that he led to one of his dearest friends being so incredibly worn out that he wasn’t even able to form coherent sentences. He’s been whining about the lack of good mysteries for weeks now, and after a while, [Y/N] just wanted to help him and see him happy.

“You know what you need? A good sleep.” Holmes muttered, talking more to himself than to, already half-asleep, friend.

Sherlock stood up and carefully picked up [Y/N] from the settee. [H/C]-haired man himself, was already so exhausted that he didn’t protest. The only thing that he did was snuggle into the crook of Sherlock’s neck.

One of the many advantages of living in a small flat was that every room was close. So only after about a dozen steps were they already in [Y/N]'s bedroom. Holmes carefully placed his friend among his pillows and blankets and covered him with the woven coverlet. [Y/N] grunted, with upset painted across his face when he felt Sherlock’s hands leaving him.

“Don’t go…” he softly pleaded, grabbing Holmes by the sleeve.

Sherlock turned around only to be met with soft [E/C] eyes looking at him longingly, half-covered by eyelids. How could he deny his friend’s innocent request?

“If I’m not to go, what do you want me to do?” The detective asked with slight amusement in his voice.

“Lay with me… I don’t want to be alone…”.

[Y/N] looked like he was close to begging Sherlock to stay with him. Looking at his friend with such sorrow, as if the thought of Holmes leaving his side caused him physical pain. Sherlock felt his cheeks growing hotter while his knees became a bit softer.

Dear god.

“Alright, move over, so I’ll have a place to lay down…”.

[H/C]-haired man eagerly shifted, lifting the blanket, inviting the detective.

He’s just tired. He’s just exhausted and lonesome.

Sherlock tried to reason with himself while lying beside [Y/N]. But it was hard to logically explain how hot his face felt and how happy his friend looked while cuddling up to his side, a lazy smile spread across his handsome face. Fuck, his friend was just shamelessly cuddling with him. Making all kinds of “I feel good” noises, some sounding almost like purring. It was strange. So strange, almost wrong. But he’d lie if he said he didn’t like it. After a few moments, he relaxed and embraced the man lying beside him.

Fuck, shit, fuck.

Holmes tried to take a couple of deep breaths to calm himself down. His nostrils instantly filled with the eccentric mix of scents of old books, dust, chocolate and paraffin oil. The unmistakable smell of his friend. If he wasn’t freaking out already, Holmes would probably panic. He knew it was wrong. He knew he shouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.

But he smelled so good.

And his hands were so pleasant to the touch.

His breathing was so calm.

And he was so close.

It’d be a sin to not savour this moment as long as possible.

Sherlock was finally fully relaxed. He held his friend tight, relishing the smell, the feel, and the sounds [Y/N] would make. He was just so peaceful. So sweet. After a while, Holmes himself drifted to sleep. Happy and relaxed. Embraced by another man.

[bitter-me]

Hey ! I have seen you write for Twisted Wonderland ?👀

Can I ask for Ignihyde or Diasomnia students with a boy [friend or not, you choose] who is like Sherlock (from BBC if you have watch) ? I just know he will try to understand how overblot work and why there is a lot of overblot-

Ignore it if you don't want to write it ! And have a good day ! Or night ? Idk when you will see it (if you see it)-

The Game is On!

Ignihyde Students | M. Reader as Sherlock Holmes [BBC]

----------

"I’m not a psychopath, Anderson. I’m a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research!"

----------

The day [Name] Holmes has entered Night Raven College was the day Azul had become even richer.

Ever wonder if your crush likes you back? Or maybe you wanted to know yourself better? Or perhaps you wanted to know if your partner's cheating on you? Well look no further than the Mostro Lounge!

Being stranded in a different universe, [Name] merely sees it as an opportunity to gain more information and funding. This whole new world is so much more interesting than his previously awfully predictable world.

Which then led to Ignihyde's Housewarden's first encounter with the high-functioning sociopath. At first Idia found it skeptical that someone could have the ability to see right through everything and anything. Until [Name] had read him like an open book in their first meeting.

To say that Idia was traumatized by the sudden exposure is an understatement. But after calming down, he can't help but think on how similarly [Name] acts with one of the characters in the anime he watched. Cough Moriarty the Patriot cough. But nonetheless, the two of them soon bonded and became close with one another.

Before long, [Name] was introduced to Ortho and his interest was immediately peeked by Idia's "younger brother."

Although school life is as boring as his world's. It's just the same thing but with magic and stuff... but all of a sudden these things called "Overblot" showed up? Oh he got to know what this is about right away!

----------

Idia Shroud

"Um.."

"Shh."

He instantly shut up the moment he was hushed by the other. Just when he decided to leave his room and visit the Ramshackle for a change. Idia was greeted by a sight he never thought he would ever see in his life! [Name] pacing around his room with two hands together placed underneath his chin and the elephant in the room.. His room was filled with papers and stings attracted on the walls!

Idia thought that his room is messy but this is just on another level!

Newspapers, printed out articles, [Name] own illedgiment handwriting, etc. Every single wall is covered in it with some strings connecting some parts.

This thing. This "Overblot."

Why did it happen? Is it because of intense emotions? Negative or positive? Does it really matter? And why do they show up in a blob, ink-like thing? The stain on the gems of their pens? Is this common? Or are they something one has to go through once in their lives? Like puberty? So many questions. So little time.

Idia could only sit and watch as [Name] drove himself insane. He knew that S.T.Y.X. is also trying to figure this whole Overblot out too. But seeing how unhinged [Name]'s acting while also trying to figure out the same thing his family is doing is just concerning. It drove Idia to the edge just how... [Name]'s acting..

There's a thin line between inquiry and insanity. And [Name] is using that line like a freaking jump rope!

----------

Ortho Shroud

[Platonic]

The day the high-functioning sociopath saw Ortho. His interest is peeked. A robot? That acts like a human? Even back in his world this would've taken years maybe even centuries to accomplish with how incompetent the human kind is! Therefore, [Name] would ask Ortho multiple questions within the span of a minute. I live for Sherlock's rapid fire deductions and questioning.

And how [Name] loved it when Ortho answered each and every question without him needing to repeat himself nor explain it. Ortho's happy to help whenever he can! He was so happy that his brother made a friend!

Whenever he saw [Name] pacing around like a mad man. Ortho tries to help by either reducing [Name]'s burden and helping him to make deductions and hypotheses or by simply bringing snacks and reminding him to rest.

While Idia looks at [Name] with a nervous and unsure expression. Ortho steps in by suggesting that maybe he should rest. "[Name] maybe you should take a nap! If you do, your productivity will go up by 10℅ or maybe even more! And since you're energized, you could be more focused and—"

"I'll rest once I've figured this out."

Oh boy. This is going to be a long day for the three of them huh..

[moonyswritinq]

Hello! I was wondering if i could request some kind of one shot (or head canons) about Sherlock Holmes x male reader. Like them meeting the first time yk-

And it would be really cool if the reader would be too an genius in some form, autistic and an ✨cat person✨

Maybe the reader just working in an library across the street? Mostly chill with people they don't know but they are way different with friends. And somehow ending up helping Sherlock, John and the Police with cases?

I never really did an request so sorry if i should or shouldn't writed something here. Thats it bay<3

❝ SHERLOCK’S ACHILLES’ HEEL ❞

PAIRING ➢ sherlock holmes (BBC version) x male reader

SYNOPSIS ➢ Sherlock Holmes is a genius, there is no doubt about it. When he is faced with a case that he cannot solve, he has to turn to the help of other people, something he initially detests. However, when this help manages to not only solve the case for him but also catches Sherlock’s eye, he cannot let him go from his mind.

CONTENT WARNING ➢no use of y/n, mentions of murders, mentions of torture methods, mentions of gore, mentions of Greek mythology, fluff, a bit of insults, Sherlock being a bit mean, nothing else, really

WORD COUNT ➢ 3.9 k

a/n: I’m constantly apologising for taking so long with every request, but please know I am sincere! I had such a blast with this one, so thank you so much for the request. Also wanted to apologise if this is not exactly what you had in mind, I kinda ran away with my own ideas. Enjoy!

MASTERLIST, TAGLIST

You loved reading. Had loved it all your life. So it’s no surprise you would end up owning a bookshop right in the centre of London. You had been lucky; you had known a guy—if you catch what I mean—, who knew a guy—in a different way than how you knew him—, who was related to a guy, and he needed someone to work in his bookshop. And that is how you ended up taking over when he retired, and you in pure paradise. You had been there for many years and had gotten used to the people who passed by the street and your shop regulars. Particularly, you had noticed the two men who lived in the flat on the opposite side of the street from your shop: at 221B Baker Street.

You often saw them leaving their flat the same time you closed your shop—late, and in the evenings. What they were up to, you had no idea. But there was no denying that you were drawn to them, especially the taller of the two. And there was also no denying that you recognised the two as they walked into your shop one afternoon. You stepped around the counter to greet them.

“Hiya, what can I help you—”

The man didn’t let you finish. “Not interested.”

He pushed past you briskly, not stopping to let you say another word to him. The man, shorter, followed him in, rubbing his neck bashfully.

“Sorry about him,” he said.

You glanced behind you at the rude man. “Is he always, er…”

“Like that? Er, yeah,” said the shorter man. Then he smiled warmly, stepped forward to shake your hand. “I’m John Watson. That over there is Sherlock Holmes.”

You turn to look at the taller man at the same time, as he went deeper among your shelves, eyes searching across the many titles. He kept muttering by himself, lower than anything you could hope to pick up. You turn to John again.

“What exactly are you looking for?”

He scratches the back of his head, his gaze shifting to the ceiling, trying to find the right words. “It’s this really rare edition of a book that is called, um, bollocks. I forgot the name.”

“Tell me about it?” you asked, tilting your head.

John shot a quick glance at the still muttering Sherlock before facing you with a sigh. “Yeah, sure. Well, it’s this book that contains a lot about murder and torture methods.”

“That narrows it down,” you said, an eyebrow quirked.

John’s lips pressed together. “Okay, something about it being very rare and we need that copy because it contains the most detailed and accurate accounts in history, apparently.”

You nodded, moving quickly through your shop to reach the right shelf. Sherlock already stood in the section, eyes scanning the titles. Just as he found the right one, your hand had already shot out and taken down the book. He shot you a scathing glare, which you ignored with a small smirk, as you turned to walk back to John at the register, Sherlock right at your heels. Serves the bastard right, you thought.

You laid down the book in front of the two men. “Here we are, Kane’s Murder Through History, newest edition and in impeccable condition. You’re lucky, there’s not many of these published. Why do you need the book, anyway?”

“It is not professional to question your customers’ reading choices,” said Sherlock.

You furrowed your brows as John swallowed a cough. “I was only curious, mate.”

You thought you saw John elbow Sherlock in his midriff before rolling his eyes. “We’re investigating a few of the recent murders and thought this could help us identify the murderer’s motives. Maybe we could find some similarities from past murders, y’know,” John said.

“Recent murders?” You hadn’t heard anything about any such things happening, which was odd. Usually, that is what drew your attention in the media.

“Um, yeah.” John shot a sideway glance at Sherlock as he answered. “People pushed off of cliffs, have been left half-eaten, and just brutally had their faces bashed in. Thought it was random at first, but this genius here,” he gestured to Sherlock, “saw a pattern. They’re connected. We just don’t know how yet.”

You grimaced. “Sounds lovely.” You leant forward then, intrigued. “So you’re like, what, detectives?”

“Consulting detective,” Sherlock corrected. Then, he nodded towards John. “He’s my doctor.”

“Hm, alright,” you hummed. You started to ring up the book for the two men, before looking up again at the odd couple. “I hope you find what you’re looking for. This book really is detailed, so if there’s any gruesome murder you want to find information about, it’s in there.”

“You’ve read it?” Sherlock cocked his head. His attention had finally gone from inspecting his surroundings to you, and the weight of his gaze felt heavy.

“Yeah, used to be really interested in this sort of stuff,” you said through an exhale. Then, leaning forward again, almost conspiratorially, you said, “There’s even some information in there that the police doesn’t want you to know about. The author got it illegally from their network or something. Supposedly.”

“Really?” questioned John.

“Yeah.” You shrugged. “I mean, I haven’t managed to find any other mention of those specific murders, so either they’re made up or it is really hush-hush.”

Sherlock was studying you warily. “Hm. I’ll keep that in mind,” he said curtly. Then, his lips lifted into the barest of smiles and he sent a wink your way before turning on his heel and leaving the shop.

John, taken aback by his sudden departure, nodded a thanks in your direction before hurrying away. You watched through the big windows how they crossed the road to their flat and slipped inside, but not without a final glance in your direction. You tried to ignore the burning of your cheeks at the memory of Sherlock’s gaze. Despite never actually having met before today, you knew that they intrigued you. Now, you could be justified in your curiosity of the two men, of whom you finally knew the names of.

Immediately upon their leaving, you brought up your mobile phone to try to search up the recent murders they were investigating. You had read that book back to back, after all; maybe you could offer some assistance.

 - - -

“Sherlock?”

The word was shouted across the flat, voice full of annoyance and exasperation. Sherlock didn’t react, though. No, he was too focused on the shop across the street. Through its large windows, he could see your figure moving around the space, greeting customers in the same laidback manner that you had greeted them with—at first, at least. When he had gotten your attention, your eyes seemed to gleam with curiosity as you gazed at Sherlock. He couldn’t help but replay the moment in his mind.

He watched as you greeted yet another pair of customers, although these seemed different, from the manner of which you received them. You were much more open than with any of those before, and you laughed along with them. Your smile made creases appear around your eyes, showing your genuine happiness. That much he could tell, at least.

It piqued his interest in you more. He couldn’t get a proper read of you earlier, something that rarely happened with people he met. Sure, he could quickly deduce that you owned a cat in your flat; that you had stayed up too late last night doing something—or someone, he supposed, though he didn’t like thinking about that—judging by the dark rings under your eyes; and that you were clearly an intelligent person based on your being well read. Anything more than that, continued to be a mystery to him. And he loved a good mystery.

“Sherlock!?” The shout came again.

He sighed with exasperation. “What?” he asked.

John’s feet echoed through the flat until he stood alongside Sherlock at the window. “What are you even looking at?” he questioned.

He didn’t answer. Sherlock turned and stepped away from the window, instead drawing John’s attention towards the case. “What have you found?”

John sighed, joining him at the desk, where the many scattered papers laid outstretched alongside the copy of Kane’s book of murders. Sherlock inspected it all with a cold, calculating look.

“Nothing yet,” he answered. “No clear connections or marks that could tie this new killer to an old one. It’s not a copycat, either.”

“Hm,” Sherlock grunted noncommittally, turning to grab a cup of tea from the kitchen.

“And it’ll be harder now that Greg have gone public with the information of the murders,” remarked John. He browsed through the files as he spoke. “The killer will be more careful, knowing we’ll be looking for him.”

Sherlock turned to join, cuppa in hand. He cocked his head. “Greg?”

John sighed again. “Lestrade.”

“Ah,” he let out. “Well, it’s no problem, Watson. We’ll still find him.”

John curved an eyebrow skeptically. “You’re that sure?”

“Of course I am.” Sherlock grinned humourlessly as he sat down in the sofa. “Besides, we’ve got that helpful book of murders now. I’ll look through it again, I’m sure you missed something.”

“Oh, come on,” he scoffed. “I am perfectly able to read a book, Sherlock.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

John let out a huff of irritation, before letting the subject drop. “I suppose you’re right, the book could be rather helpful. And so was the man who sold it to us. Maybe he knows more about the matter?”

Sherlock made another noncommittal noise, but showed no sign of moving from the couch. John glanced at the window, where he knew you were visible through the windows in your shop. But John chose to let it go.

 - - -

You watched as Sherlock and John left their flat, seeing their figures hurry along the street. It was hard to tear your gaze away from the taller of the two. He was odd, but weirdly intriguing. Your research about the murders they were investigating—articles published just a day ago—lead you to research about the two of them, as well. You weren’t sure how you hadn’t come across either of them before, seeing as Sherlock seemed to be something of a London hero—and with John running a blog about him, as well.

You watched them turn a corner and disappear from your sight, no doubt off to investigate further on the murders. You hoped that the book would offer some help to the two. Although, you doubted it.

After reading through the news articles, your mind had picked up on something odd. Even though the articles didn’t give out the full details of the murders, they seemed oddly familiar. Why, you weren’t sure, at first.

It took you all afternoon to finally realise what it was your mind had snagged upon. As the last customer left the shop, you immediately turned to the back rooms, filled to the brim with uncatalogued and seemingly random books. You’d glanced at the title while searching for another and that was when it had hit you. Now, you rushed to grab the volume, grunting under it’s weight, before rushing to flip through it. 

You found what you were looking for, pulling up your mobile again to compare to the contents of the book. Exactly as you thought. Your breaths continued to burst out in quick, short exhales as your excitement grew. The similarities were uncanny, too many to be a coincidence.

You looked out the window, towards the other side of the street, but you hadn’t seen the detective duo arrive home yet. Your gaze jumped back to the empty shop and your mind was made up. Hastily, you grabbed the book under one arm and rushed outside to the flat opposite the street, locking the shop behind you.

It was a warm afternoon, so you didn’t mind sitting on the step while waiting for them to get back. It gave you more time to be sure of your hypothesis. But the more time you spent reading over the material in the volume, the more you know you were on the right track, despite the lack of information you had managed to acquire from the internet and what John had said earlier.

As time went on though, you felt yourself getting more and more restless. Your stomach also started to groan painfully. It reminded you that you hadn’t had dinner yet, and the realisation was almost enough to make you move from your spot on the stairs. Luckily, Sherlock and John chose that moment to come back home.

The sound of their footsteps brought you out of your thoughts and pulled you to your feet. Sherlock stopped short upon seeing you, his narrowed eyes looking you over. John seemed just as confused, but hid it better.

“Er, hi! Can we help you?” he asked, friendly smile already on his face.

“No,” you replied. “But I can help you.”

Sherlock scoffed and you fixed him with a glare. He was a difficult man to place. One minute, seemingly charming. The other, an arse.

John had more tact. “With what?”

“The murders,” you supplied.

“Who’s to say we need your help? Maybe we have already figured it out,” questioned Sherlock. You met his steady gaze.

“If you had already figured it out you would have been back at my shop to ask me for this book.” You showed the volume in your hand. Robert Graves’ Greek Myths, it read. Sherlock looked at it and then back at you, something unintelligible now behind his eyes.

“Someone thinks highly of himself,” said Sherlock, but there was a hint of mirth in his voice.

“Someone knows his worth,” you replied.

There was almost a full on smirk playing on Sherlock’s lips then. He seemed to be enjoying this. The thought warmed something inside you. “Fine, explain then,” he nodded.

He lead the way into their flat, not caring to look back to see if you followed. You did, of course, with John right behind you. It was as messy as you would have expected their flat to be: books piled precariously on shelves, dust coating almost every surface, and cups of cold tea left forgotten in the wake of their investigating. The articles from the murders were laid out, details scribbled beside the margins in pen. You stepped closer to examine the markings and they only confirmed your suspicions further.

“So, what is it that you know?” Sherlock finally asked, rounding on you.

“I know what connects them.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Yes, I assumed so. But will you tell us what it is?”

You smiled. “Since you asked so nicely.”

John came back from the kitchen with two cups of teas in hand. He handed one of them to you and was about to take a sip from the other when Sherlock swiped it right out of his hand. He merely sighed and went to fetch himself another one. It seemed a common occurrence between the two, and you watched them with bemusement.

“I searched up the murders you mentioned and noticed some similarities to some stories I had read in Greek mythology,” you said, opening the Graves book.

“A coincidence,” Sherlock dismissed.

You shot him a glare. “Maybe, if the similarities didn’t extend to every single one of them. Here,” you pulled up the right page to show them. John stood up to lean above your shoulder. “The guy who died from falling off the cliff, I will bet you that he has tear marks on his back, possibly from a pine tree. Am I wrong?”

Sherlock met your gaze with a raised eyebrow. “No,” he admitted.

You continued with a small smile. “Just like the fate of Sinis. Then the next one was found with his feet and head cut off. Just like Procrustes. The man who was found bound and starved in front of a mirror is meant to represent Narcissus.”

There was a gleam in Sherlock’s eye as he took in your words, the excitement of a case getting solved taking over. 

“So,” John started, “the woman who had chunks of meat missing?”

“She ate herself. Or it was fed to her,” Sherlock responded. At John’s disgusted look he elaborated. “The pieces were found in her stomach at the autopsy.”

“Wicked,” you said. At John’s glare you cleared your throat, though you didn’t doubt the approving look in Sherlock’s eye. “Well, that would probably be a call to Odysseus’ men being eaten by Polyphemus, or Erysichton eating his own flesh. And the woman who’s head was shaved and then she was locked in with the starving crows, and pecked to death? Yeah, that’s clearly Scylla and Nisus from Ovid’s Metamorphosis. But you see my point, right?”

“I’m surprised Sherlock didn’t see this connection sooner,” remarked John, admiration coating his words. Sherlock shot him a dark glare.

“Ah, well, it’s kind of a special interest of mine, so the connection wasn’t difficult to find,” you said, bashful.

“I have to make room for important things, things that aren’t folktales and stories,” Sherlock countered.

“These aren’t just stories, it’s mythology,” you shot back.

“Same thing, really,” he muttered.

You raised an eyebrow. “If you had made room for those unimportant things, you would have solved this case much sooner.”

“The case still isn’t solved,” he noted. “All you have done is drawn a connection between the murders.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “I’m sure the brilliant Sherlock Holmes can find out who the murderer is from this information.”

He cocked his head. “Hm, I could. But I want you to give it a try.”

“Why?” you questioned.

“Just do it.”

“Okay.” You sighed, looking away from him to formulate your thoughts. “Well, assuming all the murders continue like this, it’s incredibly hard to predict who’s behind them all. They’re all from different stories, of different characters, and have no clear connection between their mythological counterpart.”

Sherlock let out a low hum. You could not tell if it was in agreement or not. You continued either way, “Well, if we assume the murders share other similarities with Greek mythology, we can assume that the murderer is someone close to the victims.”

“How so?” asked John, tilting his head.

You shrugged, gesturing towards the book in your lap. “Almost all of these mythological tales contain a close friend hurting another, a father killing his daughter, or a son murdering his parents. It’s what Greek mythology is known for! All these great tales contain a betrayal from someone close to them. So…”

“So,” John continued, “the murderer has to be close to one of the victims.”

You stood up quickly, moving to look at the victims’ profiles. Sherlock had apparently gotten the files from the police, and from it you could read all of their information: names, date of birth, place of living, but what drew your eyes was the ‘familial relations’ sections. You briefly flicked through them, before chucking them at John.

“Look at all of their relatives,” you said. “Start close, move out to their friends, and so on. Someone will stand out, look at their alibis, and there’s your guy.”

“Impressive,” noted John, raising an eyebrow.

Sherlock scoffed. “Not really.”

“There is really no impressing you, huh?” you asked him, glancing at his direction.

“No. But I admit, that was adequate. But there’s no need. I already know who the murderer is.”

He jumped up from his seat, mobile in hand, typing furiously, as you stared at him pacing back and forth in the flat. “Thought you just said the murder wasn’t solved yet?” you said, a tad incredulous.

“It wasn’t,” he muttered, still typing away. “Now it is. Brilliant, really. Oh, all so brilliant!”

You watched his face light up in glee before tossing his mobile done with one final press of a button and throwing himself down on his armchair. You glanced at John but he merely shrugged, as if this was common occurrence.

“Care to share, Sherlock?” he asked.

“Hm? Oh, well, yes, if you insist,” answered Sherlock, sporting an infuriatingly smug grin. “I figured our man out. It wasn’t that hard, really.”

John rolled his eyes at his charade. “How do you know who the murderer is?”

“Oh, please,” was all Sherlock said before shifting his eyes to you. “Good job, by the way.”

You nodded at him, trying not to let his swell of approval make you smile. It was hard, though. Sherlock, being the genius that he is, had clearly tested you. And you had just passed. The thought made it even harder to fight off your smile, so you turned to look through the book again.

“Are we not going to go find the murderer, then?” you asked them.

“Glenn’s got all the information, the police can handle the rest. Even someone as incompetent as Donovan can handle it from here,” answered Sherlock. “The case is solved, and I’m bored again.”

“Greg,” interjected John.

“Hm, alright,” you said. You felt a bit awkward, on the outside of their comfortable rhythm. “So what now?”

Sherlock glanced at you from his spot in the armchair, but made no move to respond. John stopped typing at his keyboard to look at you.

“Grab a cuppa, sit down, relax. You did good.” At that, Sherlock nodded. You did as they said and sat down in the other armchair, facing Sherlock. John kept typing. “I think I’ll call this case Sherlock’s Achilles’ Heel.”

You glanced at him, grimacing. “Horrible name.”

“I agree with him, horrible,” said Sherlock, much to your surprise. His eyes seemed to smile at you before he turned to John with a slightly indignant expression on his face. “What do you even mean by my Achilles’ heel?”

John glanced up at him. “You know, Achilles? The story of him in Troy, and, like, his weakness?”

“Yes, John,” sighed Sherlock with a roll of his eyes. “That story, I do know. I just don’t understand the title.”

“It’s ‘cause you don’t know Greek mythology. That’s your weakness,” said John. Then, as an afterthought, “That, and the fact that you don’t know the earth goes around the sun.”

You balked at that. “You don’t know that the earth goes around the sun?”

“It doesn’t matter!” Sherlock waved your words away, glancing at the wall. “I needed the room for important stuff.”

“Exactly,” said John, his point made. “That’s your weakness, your Achilles’ heel.”

“The more you explain it, the worse your title gets,” you admitted.

“I liked it better when the two of you didn’t get along,” John muttered sourly.

You smiled and couldn’t help but glance at Sherlock, only to find him sporting a similar smile. He noticed your gaze and held it, his lips lifting further, almost imperceptibly. You would not have noticed it if you were not looking at his lips at that very moment—which caused you to ask yourself why you were looking at his lips. It didn’t seem to matter that you had looked away instantly, cheeks burning, as Sherlock’s smile now seemed much more knowing. Damned bastard, you cursed inwardly, but couldn’t help the fluttering in your stomach at the sight of his smile.

Something told you this would not be the last time you would help the odd pair out.

Tag list: @a-gay-dumbass @eunxhan @loverclear @shobolanya @edit-me-prettyplease @bookholichany @h3artfili4 @scriblezz @miaxturboto @ghostlyaccurate @bbybnnybee @remussl0vers @yokolesbianism

[libraryraccoon]

Okay, but just y'all imagine Rook being bff with a Sherlock!Reader. Imagine the menace they will be together and the pure fear that the students would feel when they see/hear this duo.

The school after Rook Hunt and Sherlock!Reader duo.

[loganwritesprobably]

Wallpaper (S.H.)

Synopsis: Reader likes to torment Sherlock, that’s his job as his friend, but this time something stops him Tags/Warnings: Sherlock/M!Reader, fluff, confessions, first kiss Word Count: 1158

AO3 | Fanfic Masterlist | Request Rules | Fic Trades Guide

As one of Sherlock’s four friends in the world, it was your job to torment him. Everyone else thought he was so brilliant, but you saw him for what he was: a man, who sometimes refused to shower or eat because it would interfere with his experiment. Sherlock Holmes is stinky. That alone prevented you from seeing him the way that others did, because how could you? Your favourite way to torment him was to change his phone wallpaper when he left it unattended. He’d often neglect his phone for days, sometimes weeks at a time, and so each time it was a slow burner, and you were left to go about your day until he discovered it on a random Thursday and texted you something foul. It’s the little things that make life worth living.

Sherlock was out doing something with John, his phone abandoned in the cushions of his favourite chair, when you slipped into the flat (that you, in fact, did not live in but you’d gotten a key for from John) to change his wallpaper once again. You unlocked his phone with ease, after all he never bothered changing the code to prevent you as you’d only figure it out or do it wrong until you were both locked out of his phone, and what you found surprised you.

Each time you changed his wallpaper, it was to something stupid. A diagram of the solar system to remind him that the sun is the centre of the universe; a photo of a celebrity that had come up in conversation that he didn’t know; the queen, to remind him that in fact there was a woman on the throne; a photo of his brother, just for fun; an unflattering photo you’d taken of Sherlock when he was busy. You had a lot of fun with coming up with ideas, you had an entire list in the notes app on your own phone.

This time, it wasn’t the previous image you’d picked or a default one to replace it that you found when you unlocked Sherlock’s phone. Instead, the photograph was one of you. You could tell when it was taken based on the outfit that you were wearing and the length of your hair. You’d gotten it cut about a week ago, and you’d donated the t-shirt from the photo a few days later. So, the photo itself was only a few days old. You, Sherlock and John had all gone down to see Greg about a case - you didn’t help them, you were just curious and you liked Greg, he was funny. In the corner of the image you could see John’s arm and what you assumed to be Greg’s shoe, so either he’d been quite precise or had cropped the image. Either way, you were very much the focal point.

It was quite a nice candid, honestly you’d happily post it on social media. Your head was tipped back with laughter, your eyes closed and hand on your chest, just over your heart. Sherlock hadn’t struck you as the ameteur photographer type, but he’d done well with this. You quickly flicked through and found the image in his camera roll and sent it to yourself so you could have it, and then in a reversal of roles, you set that image as your own wallpaper. For now, you left Sherlock’s phone alone.

｡ ⋆ . ⋆ ｡ ⋆ 💙˚ ｡ ⋆ ��� ˚ 💛˚ ｡ ⋆. ｡ ⋆

A week later, a new photo prepared, you borrowed Sherlock’s phone while he was arguing with Mycroft in another room. You changed the wallpaper with ease, then when Mycroft made a comment about not answering his phone, you appeared with it in hand.

“Looking for this?” You asked, handing the phone to Sherlock and winking at his brother. Both Holmes men sighed.

“He doesn’t even live here, Sherlock.” Mycroft stated, unimpressed, but both of you ignored that.

“What have you done now?” Sherlock muttered, unlocking his phone quickly to see what you’d done to his home screen this time. You watched as he went through many of the same emotions that you had a week prior.

Now, his home screen was changed from a photo of you, to one of himself. Typically, if you used a photo of Sherlock, it would be a deliberately unflattering one, but this time you’d taken care to make sure you got a photo that looked nice. He was sitting in his chair with a book in hand, legs crossed at his ankles. In the moment, he’d been listening to classical music on the radio and ignoring John as he talked, but you wouldn’t know that from the serene look on his face. You stepped up beside the detective and unlocked your own phone to reveal the photo he’d taken of you.

“Now we match.” You said simply, then slipped away to let the brothers finish whatever they were doing.

｡ ⋆ . ⋆ ｡ ⋆ 💙˚ ｡ ⋆ ｡ ˚ 💛˚ ｡ ⋆. ｡ ⋆

Sherlock found you in your own flat later that evening, the sun already having set, a cup of tea in your hand. He let himself in, and you didn’t acknowledge him for a moment, just finishing the page of your book.

“Hey.” You greeted with a smile, gesturing to the other chair in your flat, most commonly occupied by John or Sherlock. He nodded and sat down, looking at you intently. You said nothing, waiting for him to make a move.

“That photograph of me..” he said, clearly struggling. A million possibilities of what he could possibly say next ran through your mind, but as you watched him you also watched as he seemed to talk himself out of whatever he’d come here to do.

“Would you like to kiss me?” You asked, and that seemed to make Sherlock short circuit. You laughed and stood, closing the distance between you both, then pressed your lips together.

“You look quite handsome in that photo, if I do say so myself.” You said when you pulled back, suddenly startled by Sherlock taking your hand and pulling you back in for another kiss. You hummed softly, your brain catching up to what was happening, and gently tangled your fingers in his hair.

“So do you. You look… very handsome when you laugh.” Sherlock said when you separated, words soft, like he was afraid of breaking the moment between you.

“Sherlock Holmes,” you said, a grin firmly in place on your lips, hand on your chest, “was that a compliment?”

“It was.” He said simply, and the raw look of adoration that you could see in his eyes threw you for a loop, almost knocking the wind out from you. You couldn’t help leaning down to steal another kiss.

“A date,” he then said, “next week, Tuesday, 7pm, I’ll make the reservation.” Your brows raised, surprised he was taking the initiative to plan things himself, but you nodded.

“Let me know what the dress code is, and I’ll make sure John gets a nice photo of us for your wallpaper.”

Tag list: @claryeverlarkf @uselessboots @cainnoable @hyperfixationthingss

If you'd like to tip me you can head over to my Kofi

[lazydoodlesandfanfic]

Keeping Quiet (Sherlock & Mycroft X Deaf!Brother!Reader) *PLATONIC

Characters: Sherlock & Mycroft X Deaf!Brother!Reader

Universe: Sherlock

Warnings: Severe bullying, injuries, turf burn, mention of violence

Request: Hi, can I request?, a Holmes brother fic, where reader is their youngest brother who is in high school/university getting bullied bc their disability(mute/deaf) and how their deal with that situation, I kinda want reader to be a ball of sunshine who always smile but are sad inside and although they can see through his smile, they struggle to find a way to help them. 🥺

Your life from the get go has always been a little harder than other kids your age. For one, you were the youngest Holmes, which wasn’t necessarily a problem, though when you were born your eldest brother had already graduated university, and your other brother was a teenager not far from leaving school. With their own unique personalities, they struggled to connect you immediately, and you didn’t see them much as a young child. However, since starting Secondary school, they had become a bit more involved, especially since you had moved in with your eldest brother so you could attend a good school that was closer to him, however, you were still mostly by yourself, especially since how work driven both your brother’s were. Oh yeah, and the other thing that made your life a little harder- you were deaf. 

A silent world was all you had known since birth, and because of that, you didn’t have to adjust to any change, instead you just learned to do things differently, like when trying to cross a road on a corner, you’d look at those around you to see if they were going to cross, knowing that if the road was clear and they didn’t move, they could hear a car coming. You never had speech therapy growing up, and since when growing up your parents and brothers always communicated with you with sign language, you never used your voice. To you, your hands were your voice, and the thing in your throat that let you make noises was only for dire emergencies to get immediate attention. 

Right now, you were convinced this wasn’t an emergency, but you had the overwhelming urge to just scream as hard as you can. You wanted so badly to be heard, but feared backlash, either from your peers of your issues being perceived as fake or not nowhere near as bad as you felt they were, or backlash from the people who were making you feel like this. 

You’d just gotten home from school, and you entered as quietly as you could, closing the door briskly and looking around, not sure if Mycroft was home, and you didn’t want to see him right now. You closed the front door, looking at the empty coat hook where you’d usually place your coat, except you didn’t have it with you, so instead you just kicked off your shoes and tried to head to your bedroom with your school bag. However, for obvious reasons, you hadn’t heard Mycroft and Sherlock bickering in the other room, or that they had promptly stopped when the front door shut loudly from how quickly you had shut, followed by your footsteps through the house at an accelerated rate to your bedroom, and the noise of your door being shut just as quickly as the front door. The two brothers stood in silence, staring in the direction of the noises before turning to face each other. “Something’s wrong.” Sherlock spoke up. 

“I’m aware of that.” Mycroft scoffed, before they began to walk to go up the stairs. Sherlock stopped at the bottom though, though Mycroft continued up. Sherlock checked the entrance of the house, noticing your lack of coat, either meaning you were still wearing it or didn’t have it, and the droplets of water on the floor, as well as your school shoes being shiny and darker than usual, told him it was the latter. It hadn’t rained in the last hour. He finally followed after Myrcoft, who was already trying your door, though it was locked. He turned to Sherlock, and Sherlock’s eyes followed the wet droplet stains in the carpet to your door. “He’s locked himself inside.” Mycroft pointed out.

“Give me your credit card.” Sherlock demanded. Mycroft went into his back pocket, grabbing his wallet and going through it to hand him a card, before Sherlock shoved him out of the way, sliding the card through the door, pushing the lock out, and when it clicked open, he turned the handle opened the door enough to stick his hand in, reaching for the light switch, flicking the lights on and off in your room to get your attention. He didn’t get a reaction from you. No multiple knocks to signify he could enter, and not a singular knock for him not to come in. He waited another moment, before looking at Mycroft who at this point looked worried, fist pressed to his mouth. Sherlock opened the door further.

They didn’t see you when they first stepped into the room, but Sherlock noticed your school bag- wet through, soaking the carpet, dirty, the zip busted, a strap broken, several school books looking ready to fall out after being crammed in that were soggy and ruined. With that, he knew where you were- the small bathroom attached to your room. He walked to the shut door, trying the door, finding this one unlocked, and he slowly stepped in, looking down and to the side, seeing you sat on the floor, legs pulled to your chest, head resting on your knees. 

“Mycroft, go make tea.” Sherlock said monotone, not taking his eyes away from you. Mcroft, who had noticed your bag and was trying to find anything to salvage, stood up straight, processing the situation, before turning and leaving the room. Sherlock slowly entered the bathroom, kneeling down before sitting on the floor beside you, carefully reaching out, lightly tugging on your soaked and dirty school jumper to get your attention. You peeked up, making eye contact, your eyes red and as wet as your uniform. Sherlock didn’t need to ask what happened, and you didn’t need him going on a revenge campaign in your honour, at least not yet. Instead, he signed ‘I’ll run you a hot bath, and you get undressed. Are you hurt?” You sniffed, signing a yes, before you started to take off your jumper, pulling it over your head, and Sherlock’s eyes immediately took notice of the wet white material that had stains of red on your arms, and as he looked closer, he saw your hands, and presumably your forearms as well were scraped up and red raw. Sherlock took your jumper from you, standing up, before signing to you again. “Drop them just outside the door when you’re done.” He said, turning to the bath, plugging the drain, and turning on the taps, before leaving the room, shutting the door behind him.

Mycroft arrived shortly after with a tray, cup of tea and snacks as well, placing it on your bedside table. “What happened?” Mycroft asked. 

“He’s been bullied. I’m not sure what happened, maybe he tried to bring up what was happening or tried to stand up for himself, but it escalated outside of school- his uniform needs to be cleaned and died- where’s your first aid, he’s scraped up as well.” Sherlock listed. Mycroft’s mouth open and closed repeatedly, before he spoke. 

“I-I didn’t know.” He stuttered. “He never… he never told me he was having issues at school. I had no idea.” He explained, and Sherlock frowned. 

“I didn’t know either.” Sherlock added. It wasn’t a lot to say, but it made Mycroft feel so much better. If Sherlock didn’t notice something was wrong until now, then there was practically no way for Mycroft to see either. You hid it, and you hid it well. You hid it from the best. 

“I’ll call the school administration and organise a meeting with them. I’ll find out who did this.” Mycroft decided, reaching out and taking the jumper from Sherlock. “I’ll also get the first aid” he commented, turning and leaving the room again. Sherlock stood in your room, not moving, and he waited until he heard the bath water turn off, the door open, your clothes hit the floor and the door shut again before he turned and went and grabbed the clothes, taking them to be washed with your jumper. Sherlock heard Mycroft on the other side of the house, yelling on the phone about repercussions, demanding a meeting tomorrow, even if it’s the weekend, before his voice became louder, him walking into the same room with Sherlock, wordlessly giving him the first aid before leaving again to continue his argument, and Sherlock headed back upstairs to your room. 

He peeked into your room, seeing you had gotten out, dried off and dressed into your pyjamas, sitting on the edge of your bed. He flashed the lights again to get your attention before stepping in, coming and sitting down on your bedside, carefully taking your hands, rolling up the sleeves to properly see the scrapes and turf burn, which made him wince, imagining the pain in the bath, even though you didn’t make a peep. You didn’t make sound despite the pain, and that really, really bothered him. He wordlessly cleaned them and bandaged them, before signing to you “Are you hurt anywhere else?” You nodded, crawling deeper into the bed so your legs were rested on it, and Sherlock pulled your pant legs up to your knees, seeing even more turf burns, and he copied what he did with your hands, pulling the legs back down when he was done, before he pushed the medical equipment away from him, and waited in front of you till you looked at him. “Why didn’t you tell us?” He signed to you, speaking the words along with it. All he got was a shrug, which Sherlock was not going to accept. “Did they threaten you?” He added. You looked away, before finally signing. 

“It wasn’t too bad. I could handle it, I didn’t want to worry you. But I think someone else reported what they saw and they thought it was me.” You explained to him. 

“So if it wasn’t reported, you hadn’t planned to tell us?” Sherlock questioned. 

“It wasn’t a big deal.” You signed, clearly frustrated, which was paralleled by Sherlock. 

“Well it is now. We’re your brothers, your family. If something bothers you, you tell us, even if you’re annoyed at the way light reflects through a window, or how they’ve changed the packaging on a product in the shops, you tell us. Even if you think it’s harmless or not a big deal, we’d rather you told us about little things instead of hiding things until they become huge things. This is huge now, and we’re going to deal with it.” His signing firm and almost exaggerated. You’d never seen someone yell via sign language, yet here Sherlock was, somehow finding a way to do it, and it was pretty effective. 

“Okay. I’m sorry.” You quickly apologised to try and calm him down, which seemed to work. 

“How long has this been going on? How many of them are there, and what are their names? Tell me everything.” 

A few minutes later, Mycroft finally got off the phone, pacing for a minute to plan his next actions- deciding if he needed to call someone else, or go and check on you, but then Sherlock came into the room, and handed him a piece of paper, with names, examples of what each person did and their role in the attack, and how long it had been going on with a short timeline of other incidents. “I trust this is enough to start with?” Sherlock asked, watching as Mycroft skimmed over it. 

“This has been going on since he started secondary school?” Mycroft questioned, Sherlock briskly nodded, before tapping the paper to make him focus again. “Yes. This is enough. I’ll locate their parents and addresses, gather more information, I’ll have people look into CCTV to see if we can catch any footage of them following, chasing or… attacking him.” Mycroft explained, folding the paper up, before tucking it into his pocket. “How is he?” 

“He’s going to be sore for a while, keep an eye on his injuries- maybe take him to the doctor just to have it on record. He’s not very talkative at the moment, but we really need to get him to start talking to us more about things happening to him. If he’s ever quiet around you, try and engage him and ask about what he’s thinking about, get him out of the habit of keeping everything locked up. Leave the addresses to me. I’ll personally make sure they get the letters about the police investigation when you have it ready.” Sherlock said, walking to the entrance of the house, Mycroft followed him, watching his younger brother grab his coat, swing it around him and put it on. 

“Sherlock, do not threaten them- it’ll not be good for the investigation.” 

“I have no intention of threatening children, Mycroft. But I will make sure the point is put across that those parents have done an awful job and that they shouldn’t have messed with Y/N.” Sherlock promised, before promptly leaving. Mycroft huffed after the door shut, glancing up the stairs, before deciding to make a fresh hot drink for you to get started with a conversation with you.

Hope you like it! If you have any questions, please send them in!

*Not my gif

TAGS: @holy-tea-cup-blog @sassy-specter@keenmarvellover @multifandomfix @sleutherclaw @otterly-fey @rebellionofthecattle @hello-love-youre-pretty @werosemagic @courtneychicken  @graysonmalfoy @bellero @originalpottervengerlock @supernatural-pan @esoltis280 @lady-of-lies @lenaswritingandstuff @macbetheliza @mandywholock1980 @cdwmtjb8 @caswinchester2000 @determinedpines @huntheimpossible @automaticbakeryfreakshoe

[supercap2319]

Y/N entered the room with a smug look on his face. The blind were closed up and there was an excessive groan in the library. He knew exactly who that belonged to and he so wished that he had a Kodak box at the moment. To commemorate this momentous occasion.

"As you can see sir, Y/N. My brother is in an unfortunate state of drunken drinking." Enola said.

Sherlock groans as he heard his sister's voice. He put a nearby pillow over his head. As if such an act would cure the pain in his head. "I can see that, miss Holmes. Not to worry. I shall help your brother."

"Thank you. Forgive me. I must be going." Enola excused herself and left the apartment.

Y/N smiled and let out a laugh. "You seem to have gotten too much whiskey or bourbon in your system, Sherlock. Did you spend all night in the tavern?"

Sherlock looks at Y/N, his blue eyes are unfocused, but there's a fury of hate behind them. Oh how he detested Y/N. "Piss off you pillock. I'm not in the mood for your incessive prattle."

"Oh, how the righteous have fallen, Sherlock." Y/N giggles at his enemy.

[elvestoneanzelote1]

A:n- 𝘴𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘗𝘢𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘴𝘰...

𝘌𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘐 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘱𝘢𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦.

𝘐𝘵 𝘪𝘴 from 𝘰𝘧 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥𝘴

(Slight yan) Sherlock Holmes x male reader

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.

.

.

It wasn't the fact you were too quiet. No, he is fine with people been quiet.

And there are many artist.

Illustration, architect, and... Good in chemistry and painters.

Nor he should bother himself to name all of them.

But something was different about you.

You have knowledge he knows but you pretend you aren't compatible in intellect.

He doesn't get you at all.

Not even one bit.

He doesn't.

Perhaps he was annoying you often.

Perhaps...

But you don't seem to bother much so it's fine right?

Confining yourself in the room he had to unlock it because you make Miss Husson worry perhaps... Even him.

Friends... Were you even his friends can you both call each other that? He wonders.

People will lose interest in silent people who barely talks but he couldn't.

He never understands you or perhaps he does but never really takes into consideration that he may over bothering you.

Right...?

You were so unbothered... So blank with poker face of sort.

Not even a smile.

And the fact he gets annoyed that you can't even draw him unlike how you drew the others.

He wonders why you often hang out with Madeline either.

Yes she is pretty but isn't she overbearing sometimes? Like often hog your attentions?

Hugging you as if you both are couples.

Trying to swoon you with her smile and.. And.. He doesn't know why.

He felt irritated that you never told her to keep distance but to him.

Hey both of you were boys either way it wouldn't bother you to hug you... Will it?

Even John and you hang out quiet well.

you spoke more with John than... Him.

And whatever he does it never... Get your attention.

Like... He never caught your attention.

He doesn't know why he is feeling this way.

Frustrated he was and annoyed.

But... He just want to hug you is it... Weird?

Or will it bother you if lean closer to you more?

I mean... Okay you are irritated by the cigarette smell... Which he try not to smoke often around you.

He doesn't understand you at all.

He felt his mind been consume constantly... By either the case he should do as a detective or... Try to...

Why were you so... Difficult.

His brother said women's are hard to tell but for him it was you.

He... Just want to see... Your smile.

Once.

That's all he ask.

And perhaps... He will crack you open more.

He doesn't understand why you talk to William well too.

Like you both knew each other well.

He knows Liam also is interested on you.

He is too he admit.

You were strange.

But perhaps that's the strange thing he find himself lured to you.

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.

.

.

But he isn't going to ignore some who try to break your boundaries.

Clients or not if they make you uncomfortable to even approach him he will make sure they won't come again.

No no he won't resort to anything threatening yet. if the person knows and backs away.

Is it wrong to get know something that perk your interest no right?

After all... You and him are not far of to get to know each other more and more.

And perhaps... Something more.

After all... He can let himself be slight greedy can he?

He doesn't know... And he will try to know.

Whatever is it about you that make him feel so connected and lured he will... Find it.

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A:n- that's all take care good day/night to all

[kahuunknown]

The "Rebellious" one - BBC Sherlock sibling fanfic

!NOTE!: Male-reader/insert, inspiration from SHERLOCK TV Show

~~~

The rebellious one

Sherlock absolutely loved you; you were by far his favourite sibling by a long shot. You were the eldest of all your siblings, 1 year older than stuck up Mycroft and 8 elder than dear little Sherlock Holmes.

You were the troublemaker, mischievous without a doubt. You saw little reasoning behind Mummy dearest’s desires for you to become something great, like a doctor or lawyer. You hated the private piano lessons, the pointless tutoring sessions and eventually school altogether. It was easy to guess what you did, but dropping out of school was by far one of the best decisions of your life, and one of the easiest as well.

You were rebellious by nature.

Mummy and Daddy weren’t quite sure where the behaviour stemmed from as it was definitely not inherited from either of them. It was obvious to you however, the stress of being the first born, the expectation to be the most successful and therefore grand of your siblings. To be able to support yourself with ease and help your siblings if the need arises.

While you respected the ideal. You ultimately rejected the pathways your parents provided, paving a new one and building everything from nothing. It was satisfying seeing your parents reaction when you visited one Christmas dinner, they were horrified at the ink adorning your right arm. Sherlock however quite liked it, in fact he wasted no time gifting his present early, he wanted you to get his pirate sketch tattooed. And who were you to deny him?

That cute little face was irresistible normally, but with added intent and desire behind them? God, you were putty in his hands.

Together you went to a tattoo parlour, Sherlock was rambling furiously to the tattoo artist whilst the ink was being stained onto your skin, it was adorable, the passion in his story as he explained the intricacy of his design and the meaning behind it. ‘The adventures of Yellowbeard’. Sherlock called it, or something similar at least.

It didn’t quite match the other tattoo’s you’d gotten, as those were all grey-scale realistic designs, but Sherlock was adamant that colour was non-negotiable. The young Holmes was a hyper little bean as he jumped around in joy at the completion of his masterpiece. You couldn’t stop chuckling at his antics; the innocence was overloading your system.

Of course, Mum and Dad were horrified once the two of you returned, though they seemed less upset at the tattoo and more with the aspect of Sherlock in a ‘biker’s tattoo shop’ of which it was absolutely not. You weren’t an idiot, you’d made sure Sherlock was as safe as could be.

Mycroft thought you a moron the majority of your life. Growing up he strived to pass you at everything he possibly could, interestingly enough, it took much longer than expected. He thought you were just another goldfish, swimming around dumbly just like all the others. But of course, you were more than that he later realised.

You were a sponge. While you hated your mother’s insistent lessons and tutoring, you had an eidetic memory and couldn’t help but memorise absolutely everything ever taught to you. You would have been a prodigy, everything your parents ever dreamed you to be. But unfortunately for them, you had slightly different plans.

Mycroft thought he’d finally done it when he joined the British Government, there was no way you could outshine him now. Yet, despite not having achieved a high standing career, it was obvious that whenever the two of you met, who was smarter ultimately. You were the opposite of what you parents dreamed you to be, yet you were the happiest having done so. Mycroft admired that.

He’d admit that of course, you would win in physicality. Always. You loved going outside, working out, playing sports, and eating healthy. It was one of your passions, something that ultimately benefitted you quite greatly as your appearance remained younger for much longer than if you had of neglected fitness and health. Sherlock teased Mycroft relentlessly about it as well, how young and fit their elder brother looked in comparison. Of course it was playful teasing, but it was definitely something to respect.

It was only more recently that all three brothers started getting along quite nicely. Sherlock of course never thought ill of you, he just assumed you were an average idiot like John. You played the part quite well, snickering behind Sherlock back while explaining things to John, whom believed you to be his favourite of the Holmes children. You were fun to be around, the most human and emotional of all. It was refreshing to be around.

When you finally decided to reveal your hidden superpower, he was dumbfounded but also instantly relieved.

Mycroft however was a very different story. It started slowly, you invited him randomly to a gig, of which he was pleasantly surprised when he arrived to a wedding, you adorned in an unfamiliar suit standing at the stage and singing a sweet lullaby to the lucky couple. It wasn’t your usual style, sure, but you wanted to ease Mycroft into your life, and what better way to do it?

Over the years, Sherlock had subtly provided you with more tattoo designs he’d wish for you to get, all his own of course. You were still a sucker for those eyes; it seemed their affect never dimmed as the detective aged.

Eventually one day Mycroft approached you on the matter, rather shyly you’d point out as well, you were open and encouraging as he mumbled the reluctant request to add to your collection of ink with one of his own. Stating through hidden messages within his speech that he’d been feeling a little left out. Of course you were ecstatic, more than happy to agree.

It was then that Mycroft realised no matter what he’d accomplish, you always have the upper hand in the end. Not because of intelligence nor deducing skills, but because of your raw compassion and commitment to your beliefs and dreams, it was awe inspiring. Beautiful even.

Perhaps those brothers of yours might do a little rebelling of their own.

[neveragent]

Feel free to suggest any specific ideas right here!

The story that won:

Natasha Trace x female reader

Shadow Or Bradley wanting to be the wingman

[faggotry-fandom-fanfic]

more sherlock x male reader pls!!!!! maybe sleep deprived reader or solving cases together

Hii!! I've already been planning another Sherlock fic, so this request was extra motivation!! I thought I'd be able to write and edit it before Monday, but sadly, I'm currently dying from stomach ache, so it'll take longer than I thought TwT

But I got a rough idea of what I'll eventually post!!

My favourite Sherlock x Reader fics are ones where the reader gets to be a part of solving mysteries! So I'm slowly writing Sherlock x masc!artist!reader where the reader would be vital to solving the case. Here's the summary that I wrote down in my notes:

Sherlock got a new case but has been stuck for days due to his limited knowledge of the local community of artists. In search of answers, he turns to the Baker Street Irregulars. After a while, they led him to a fascinating young artist who's not opposed to helping Sherlock and opens the doors to his bohemian circles.

I'm not certain what kind of artist the reader should be. I'm torn between making him a painter or maybe a writer. So, if you're interested in the fic, please let me know what kind of an artist reader should be!

I also have a very early concept of a cute fic with a poly relationship between John, Sherlock and the reader, where John takes care of his sleep-deprived boyfriends :3

[dumb4sh]

Rules!!

Fandoms I write for:

Xmen - Wolverine, Deadpool, Cyclops

One Direction - Louis, Niall, Harry, Liam, Zayn

Formula 1 - OP81, SV5, MV33, CL16, CS55, LN4, DR3

Sherlock BBC - Sherlock Holmes, John Watson

Spiderman - TASM Peter Parker

Beta Squad - King Kenny

Marauders - Remus Lupin, Sirius Black

Actors/Actresses: Hugh Jackman, Ryan Reynolds, Andrew Garfield

Sometimes I will write for different fandoms(unless the character/person you request is problematic or a genuinely bad person) if you request it! Im interested in what you guys like and try to challenge myself with my writing.

I will also generally add warnings,TW's at the start of every fic (if there are any).

I will write:

Smut

Male, non female (specifically bottom) reader

Comfort, fluff fics

I will not write:

Incest

"Weird" Kinks

Underaged characters/people/reader smut/NSFW (or just not write underaged people in general)

Fetishes

I will not be writing pregnant characters

No she/her, she/they readers (im just bad at writing any female characters/readers sorry)

[awkwardchaosposts]

Icarus and his fool

Sherlock Holmes x Golden retriever!male reader (part 2)

TW: none

*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°

Stroh, Baroque,Electric. Sherlock didn't like change but he had found an interest in the new selection of violins.

He was busy admiring a certain classic edition when something startled him.

What on earth was that noise?

"You" his gaze narrowed. It's like you were some curse haunting him. A very cheerful curse he had to admit.

But that only made it worse. It was obnoxious. No one had a reason to be that happy.

"Hi" you greeted with excitement. Meeting a busy man like Sherlock once was a happy coincidence. Meeting him twice was a miracle.

"What's this?" he raised an eyebrow at the card you not so sneakily tried to get in his pocket.

"My business card. You never called me about that interview"

"I never intended to"

He moved around the shop only to be followed by you like some persistent pest. "Why not? You said you'd think about it"

"Perhaps I lied"

"Why?"

Unlike Sherlock you found this little chase game rather amusing,following him around the shop without complaint. Blissfully unaware that you were the sole reason for the man's grumpiness.

"I have an Iq of 230. Why would I punish my intelligent brain with an interview" he said as if it was the most dreadfully boring thing.

Sherlock's hands trailed over the spines of the record players that were proudly displayed in the middle of the shop on well kept shelves. Distracting himself as he waited for an insult,a comeback,just something that would prove you're not as idiotically pleasant as you seemed.

Instead he got an amused "Ok" and the most dreadful sound as you tried out an instrument you managed to get your hands on.

"What on earth are you doing?"

"I'm making music"

He scoffed. How dare you slander the name of music like that?

"I guess we should add the meaning of music to the list of things you seemingly don't understand"

Your grin made him confused in ways that made his blood boil. Sherlock liked being in control. He could predict everyone's moves and know everything about them with just one look. But you. You were another story.

"I'll be taking that" he took the harmonica from you just as you were about to resume playing it

Your excitement shone like the sun.

"You're going to buy it for me?"

"What? No. Absolutely not"

~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Will that be all?" the cashier asked after putting the harmonica and violin in one bag.

"Yes" he muttered,avoiding your giddy smile.

Weak. His mind degraded himself as he handed the young lady at the counter his debit card.

*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°

[ar3-y0u-l0st]

》 🄴🄽🄾🄻🄰 🄷🄾🄻🄼🄴🅂

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Fandom: Enola Holmes

Release Date: 23/09/2020

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SHERLOCK HOLMES

JOHN WATSON

ENOLA HOLMES

TEWKESBURY

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Item Count: #004

TOTAL:

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[hell3bound]

Fandom Masterlist

Request are Open!

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+ Series +

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Cartoon/Animated

+ How To Train Your Dragon + Gravity Falls + Miraculous + My Student Spirit + Ever After High + Big Hero 6 + My Little Witch Academia + Slugterra + Winx + Tales of Acadia -Trollhunters - 3Below - Wizards + Avatar: The Last Airbender + 100% Wolf + Class of Titans + Danny Phantom + Angie and Her Friends

TV Show

+ Merlin + Sherlock + Descendants + Other

Anime

+ Sherlock Hound + The Vampire Dies in no Time + + Overlord + Ranma 1/2 + My Hero Academia/Boku no Hero Academia + Bakuman + Fairy Tail + Spy Family + Sword Art Online + One Piece

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+ Movies +

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Cartoon/Animated

+ Epic + Rise of the Guardians + Treasure Planet

Anime

+ Howl's Moving Castle

Live Action

+ Harry Potter

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+ Books +

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+ The Cruel Prince

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Other

+ Genshin

[slutdilf]

Someone give me a Chris evans or Benedict Cumberbatch really want to write a fic about them but I literally cannot think of anything