henryholmesacademia

[henryholmesacademia]

Sherlock x Reader: what it would be like to love you [One Shot]

Plot: What happens when a genius and a hopeless romantic are arranged to be wed?

or, the one where you broke your own heart to keep him happy only for him to realize all of his happiness lied with you.

Tags: angst, fluff, cheesy proposals, painfully emotionally unavailable men, my poor oldey writing, jealousy, canon-level violence, guns, injuries

A broken engagement.

Sherlock presumes he should be happy -- relieved at least.

But he was … surprised. Painfully so.

Sherlock Holmes, the greatest mind in modern history, has an inability to be surprised. He sees too much, understands every glance and touch. If it intrigues him he will be able to decipher a situation in one glance.

He thinks of it as a gift, one that has proven useful in more ways than one. It had definitely saved his back from many situations. His surprisingly hopelessly romantic little sister (all thanks to a certain young duke) seems to think otherwise.

“Those inquisitive eyes of yours make you incapable of understanding a woman’s heart, dear brother. You’re too logical. It makes you blind.”

A woman’s heart. He had scoffed then. He knew it would be a while before he would try to settle down, or actually find a woman he would find tolerable enough to spend his waking moments with. In fact, he doubts he would’ve found someone who would be willing to deal with his intricacies too.

Yet, if there was one person who would be able to catch him off guard it would be his eccentric fiance.

Logically, it wasn’t that she was as brilliant as he was, as conniving as his older brother Mycroft, nor as sneaky as his little sister Enola. In one glance she was a pretty average but certainly a beautiful woman. A bit simplistic sure but not too doltish either.

However, she just refuses to be predictable, doing things that not even one as smart as Sherlock can foretell. He still isn’t quite sure if he had been underestimating her or she was too daft for Sherlock to apply the logic of his world.

It was arranged -- one that would bring her family honor for marrying the genius of the century Sherlock Holmes and his a proper title that would leverage him some power that would be useful for his … line of work.

When the engagement between the two families had been announced he had expected the brat that was half a decade younger than him to throw a hissy fit -- a noblewoman born with a golden spoon would not want to marry one of lower position with lesser blood.

But she had been agreeable.

Even giddy at the prospect of marrying him.

“I’ve read so much of your work!”

She was bluffing, he was certain. Many women had tried to sneak their way with sweet words only to go mute when he asked them about the details.

“I thought for sure the butler was the murderer,” she pouted. He told her not to feel bad, almost everyone did. “But I did think the way the maid told the police it was murder before there was an investigation was a bit weird. Though a part of me thought maybe she was just her lover.”

That made Sherlock’s brows raise. He had the same observation the first time, it was one of the first clues he had that the woman had not been a simple servant.

He thought maybe she wasn’t so terrible then, at that very moment.

That was until he had learned from the whispers of their social circles that she had been the one to instigate the engagement after all. Probably a whim of hers that was a bit too eagerly given by her doting father.

It left a bad taste in his mouth.

But, truly, you weren't a horrible person, he had observed.

Despite living in high society her entire life she was never one to look down on those beneath her. Her head may be up in the clouds most of the time, a bit too idealistic and naive for his liking, but to her everyone was equal that even a man from a fallen house would be worthy enough to marry into hers.

Even sparing those nosy hags a sharp glare, using her undeniably high status to cut through any whispers and rumors of his own lesser status. Reminding everyone of how he had managed to crawl and sneak himself from a fallen family back into high society -- a feat not achieved by a mere no one.

It made him see her as a powerful ally.

Then she became a friend.

He didn’t have a lot.

Someone who won’t think of his corrections on facts as bragging. A person who won’t purposefully misunderstand him to soothe their own wounded pride.

“You’re brilliant, ‘lock!” she’d grin, eyes always twinkling in pure delight every time he’d prove himself right, even at your own expense. “Absolutely brilliant!”

Someone who won’t think of his painfully practical gifts as a mockery.

“What was it called? Hairclips?” she’d look at them curiously at first, making sure to understand both its intricacies and simplicity until he explains it.

Then she’ll smile -- always smiling at him. “I love it!”

Then … she was gone.

Slipped through his own fingers like sand. As she got crushed by his own betrayal.

It all started with a ghost from his past.

Victoria.

She was an old childhood friend and a teammate when he was still starting in his sleuthing skills. His hobby pissed off a lot of important people so it was a nice help to have someone to watch his back.

He thought his young fiance would be livid, turning into a vile woman from jealousy like so many women he has seen.

But she tolerated them and their relationship as best as she could.

“'lock?”

He turned, surprised to see his fiance in her sleeping ware and a thin coat over it. Despite her many quirks, she wasn’t one to dress inappropriately in front of others much less in front of him. So he was quick to close the front door and protect her decency as best as he could.

“Are you …” she turned to look at him, and for the first time she wasn’t smiling like she always does, Sherlock saw the insecurity in her eyes.

“Is she coming with you?”

The jealousy was slowly eating her up from the inside.

And … it made him smile.

Almost relieved.

It was confusing but he didn’t have time to figure it out. Time was ticking, and he had to catch the burning wick before it imploded.

And Mycroft’s screams from the carriage outside were getting vexing.

Knowing what he knew now, he should’ve stayed in that goddamn house and let everything else explode into chaos.

He should’ve stayed with you.

“Darling,” It was his endearment for her. Cause she was such a darling to be with. But now, he simply meant it. She was his darling, his darling fiancee, his darling friend. “You wouldn’t have to worry about my fidelity.”

“I --” she yelped, shaking her head as if embarrassed at the thoughts in her head. “... I knew that.”

“Look at me,” he leaned down, gently pushing her chin up to make her look up at him. “When I come back, let’s talk about the wedding, hmm? I’m still not quite convinced about the bouquet arrangement that the damned florist from hell picked.”

That seemed to perk her up and he couldn’t help but smile with her.

“So wait for me, okay?”

He should’ve known that the fates wouldn’t be that kind.

That they wouldn’t wait.

It wasn’t until he was knee-deep in uncovering secrets that he realized they had pulled a fast one on him. That their target to keep his mouth shut would not be his own life but his Achilles heel.

His darling.

“You don’t want to do this, Mikhael!” Mycroft, Sherlock’s older brother tried his best to use his veiled threats to convince the rat to put down the gun aimed shakily at his sobbing fiance and a Victoria that tried to hide her behind her own back, hands spread out with only a few feet between the two of them.

“Mikhael put it down. It’s over.”

Sherlock was frozen a few feet from the two ladies, fearful that a single misstep would cost him a friend.

He didn’t have a lot.

“I’m not falling down alone.”

“No!”

He must’ve gone insane, or it must’ve been his instinct to protect his old partner in crime.

But to this day he could never wipe the betrayal in your eyes as he grabbed Victoria away from the bullet’s line of sight instead of you. The two of them falling to the ground just in time for the great Sherlock Holmes to finally realize his great mistake as he lay sprawled out on the floor.

Looking up just to catch your tearful eyes, a hundred different emotions running through it.

Mycroft, bless him, managed to pull you down by your feet but he had been just a split second too late, the bullet piercing on your left arm instead of your chest. But Sherlock had a feeling his betrayal hurt deeper than any bullet could burrow on your skin.

He had a feeling the bullet might as well have pierced your bruised heart.

Especially as you laid there with tears in your eyes, but failed to let out a single scream.

Sherlock had never been good with emotions.

It was one of his few flaws -- could never read when a person is getting offended or if his corrections have started to embarrass them. Could read their minds but not their sentiments.

Just like now when you surprised him once more as he stared at you in the hospital bed with a bouquet of flowers he had spent too much time thinking about gripped in his hand. Narcissus for forgiveness, and bright purple hyacinth for regret.

“I’m fine, really!” you smiled, but it wasn’t the one he was used to. Head flinching to the side, suddenly uncomfortable. It had the same curve, your eyes still crinkling the same but you still looked so sad.

A deep sadness, one that rooted from somewhere he could never reach. One he could never heal -- not with his too careful, logical, cold touches.

But what does he know? He was never good with emotions.

“I … I have no excuse,” he started, trying to apologize but you just shook your head.

“You will never have to give me one,” you looked at him like you understood but still he had a feeling you didn’t have the same train of thoughts running in your heads. He almost feels you pulling away, your train trudging away into a place he couldn’t follow. Your roads diverging, seemingly never to meet again.

It sent shivers up his spine, his hand twitching as if desperate to reach out to you. That despite all logic of reality, his heart screams of the feeling of you suddenly disappearing right in front of his very eyes.

“Darling …”

You flinched. A normal man would miss it but not him. Maybe his gift truly was a curse.

“I’m --”

“Visiting time is over, dearie.”

The old nurse was apologetic at having to cut short the reunion of the two lovers but it was the rules.

“I’ll come to visit tomorrow,” Sherlock walked to your side to place the flower on your lap.

“You don’t have to.”

“I’ll come,” he insisted, reaching out to touch a stray hair on your face as he always does but you turned, looking down on the flowers on your lap and pressing on its fragile petals.

Sherlock could’ve almost felt your connection snap.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, my darling.”

You flinched, taking a breath before looking up at him, smiling.

You still looked so fucking sad.

“Goodbye, 'lock.”

“Sherlock.”

The familiar voice broke him out of his reverie as he paced the steps back to his carriage.

“Victoria.”

He tries not to be bitter, tries to be rational, and not blame his old friend for the grave he had dug himself in. But it was difficult not to grind his jaw when he was barely out of the hospital he had unintentionally put his fiance in.

“I never thanked you,” she approached him slowly, like a wild animal she was trying to befriend.

“Don’t.”

He doesn’t want to be thanked, doesn’t even want to be reminded of what he’s done -- or did not do. Yet here she stood, the greatest piece of evidence of his mistake.

“We need to talk,” she sighed, blocking his way and effectively halting his steps.

“Victoria, I’m tired --”

“You do not belong here.”

You froze on your step, just about to go to the ensuite bathroom when an eerily familiar voice sneaked into your room from the front window overlooking the entrance of the hospital.

“Here?”

This time, you knew before looking down outside the hospital walls just who exactly the other voice is.

“Yes, here,” the fiery woman with her fiery hair stomped the ground she stood on. Eyes blazing in passion and determination you had never had on your own. “Here in this stuffy place with your stuffy clothes that make you look like a circus fool trying to make pleasantries with people you don’t even like.”

Gritting your teeth, you felt like a nosy child, listening to personal conversations that just chipped away at every piece of your tattered heart.

“Well, don’t you know me quite well.”

“I do.”

She answered.

“I do know you,” Victoria reached out, hand gripping the one that wasn’t holding his cane. “And I know I could make you happy.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened, frozen on his feet. He wasn’t a fool. He knew of those affections behind her eyes, it was all too familiar with him. But as the years passed he had appreciated her friendship and companionship way too much, pushing and pushing it until it just disappeared.

He had hoped the years had done the same for her.

He was a fool.

The silence was all too thick but Victoria knew pushing a man like Sherlock for an answer would lead to pointless nothing, “My uncle in America, he wants me to work for him. And … they have an opening for a lead detective and a President’s assassination to solve.”

That piqued his interest.

An American president was assassinated?

This is exactly why he needs more connections. One that would give him priceless information so he doesn’t have to keep chasing tails. But … a position as a head detective would also do that for him.

Logically, remaining engaged to you would only chain him down.

Yet, his chest constricts, each breath made his lungs throb.

“Sherlock,” he led his eyes back into her eyes. Their history flashed before his very eyes, good ones, but the last one had him nearly crushing the cane you gave him in his hand.

The look in your eyes as the bullet pierced you -- the resignation, the lack of shock.

Like you knew he would run.

“You can always run away with me.”

Foxgloves for confusion.

White Poppies for the one who gives him peace.

And a pink ribbon because he knew it was your favorite color to tie it all together.

However, just as he finished the last bow for the flower he was gonna bring you tomorrow, the door opened, his servant bowed letting him know of who exactly waited for him, unannounced, in the tea room.

“Sir,” his voice was shaky, and Sherlock knew exactly why. “We have a guest.”

The duke has always been a fair man, it was one of the reasons he always had a certain fondness for this sponsor of his.

But even he knew his glare was meant to cut.

“Mr. Holmes,” he eyed the love seat on his right to let him know where exactly he wants him to sit. He had been prepared for this, knowing your doting father would have his head.

The silence that filled the glamorous room was almost too much.

It wasn’t until the duke called his name again that he realized he had been so full of shame that he failed to be polite and look your father in the eyes.

“You know, when my daughter shoved a newspaper to my face, droning on and on about the brilliant detective that was putting the Queen’s men to shame, I thought nothing about it.”

He felt his heart drop at the nonchalant revelation.

What?

He hadn’t heard of this version of the story yet All that was said to him was a certain duke had been fond of him ever since he had disrespected his nemesis that had once been the Queen’s head of security and that’s why he decided to sponsor him.

“And even when she begged me to support you, saying how you needed all the help you could get, I thought it was nothing short of an infatuation. So I did what any respectable father should do and tried to buy my way into her happiness, getting her to be your fiance was easy enough,” he let out a small bitter laugh as if recalling the memories. “But you could not imagine her rage when I told her of what I did. Nearly dragging me back all the way to your home to take it back. Screaming about how she did not want to trap a man like you who was clearly meant to fly.”

Sherlock was flabbergasted. It was well-known throughout the social circles that you were the one who had ”trapped” the man into an engagement. You had always laughed it off, teasing him for falling for your charms.

But …. you didn’t want to marry him?

He had thought all this time that this silly little engagement had been all your doing.

“But then you accepted,” the duke gritted his teeth. “And you gave her hope.”

He did. He remembered nonchalantly accepting it, simply thinking of the arrangement as a necessity -- a thing he has to suffer for if it meant getting to what he wants in the end.

But it seemed you knew. You knew all along he had no love for you -- barely tolerating his fiancee who he treated like a fool when all she had ever wanted was to be the one to walk beside the lonely path he had created for himself.

“I know a rational man like you is probably wondering what an old man like me aims to achieve by coming here,” he didn’t, but Sherlock already knew of his effect on people, his dead glare that offended the most rational of minds, always making them think that he was looking down on them.

Except you.

“Oh, I didn’t know that.”

“Did I use the hairclips right, Lock?”

“I think people always hate people who they think are better than them. And you are better than the lot of them so don’t bother with it and let other people lick their own pride. I like you just the way you are.”

The Duke leaned back, slumping on the arm of the couch while rubbing his forehead.

“I guess I’m making a case for my daughter,” he pursed his lips as if he was disgusted that he would even have to, especially to a man who would benefit more from the arrangement than his daughter ever would. “To show you that the woman you failed to protect had never failed you behind your back.”

“Sir --”

“I am not done!” he slammed his hand on the arm of the chair. Even someone like Sherlock would know unbridled rage when he saw one. “I did not just come here just to rip you a new one.”

Pulling out a plain envelope with a certain scent that had been all too familiar for him. The letters that had been his constant companion in the long months he would have to leave the country.

“The engagement is broken.”

He was fairly sure this was the first time he felt horror.

True horror.

An unexplainable chill that crawls up from behind him, snickering, mocking.

The consequences of his continuous mistakes finally piled up on him one by one until he felt like his chest would burst. His blood turning so cold yet his skin couldn’t help but sweat. His brain, for once, finally failed him as he grabbed the fragile piece of paper without uttering a single word.

It would seem this was something he could no longer fix.

“I know someone as brilliant as you would have a life full of adventures. One brighter than the next,” the duke stood up, slamming the teacup impolitely on the glass table. Sherlock could only focus on the crack that ran on the base. “But I hope you don’t wake up one day, tired and worn, sitting at the top with no one to call home. Too focused on the adventures you didn’t take that you never realized the treasure at the end of the trail had been something you once had all along.”

The old duke walked towards to door, sparing the young man one last glance – satisfied in the sickest way as a father should when he saw the look on his face. But then he felt sad, wondering what would happen to this lonely soul now that his daughter had given up on him.

“Well, son,” he sighed. “Now, you can fly.”

The country air has done you some good.

It’s been a long month but the throbbing in your heart has finally ceased even if just for a little bit.

Your late mother always told you to let bad things flow through you as you go through life – to not ignore it, nor suppress it but to let yourself feel it as it passes then let it go.

The problem now is you didn’t want to let go, because all the memories that did nothing but hurt you were all you had left of him.

“My lady.”

You turned your face away from the view of the balcony of your room to look at your polite maid by the door.

“We have a guest.”

Was your father visiting?

He had explicitly told you to take all the time you need in your countryside home. The humiliation of your broken engagement you would’ve been able to take but everywhere you went was nothing but a painful reminder of the man who had betrayed your heart and thus you had to leave.

Every nook where he had dragged you in when the crowds gets overwhelming to every store he bought the intricate gifts he would offer you on the daily made you wilt.

Your father was all too willing to get you out of that place.

“Dad?”

Yet what stood in the middle of your waiting lounge was the sturdy body and mop of curly brown hair that had chased you from the shadows of England to the edge of your wildest dreams.

“Not quite, darling.”

A breath you didn’t know you left you.

“Sherlock.”

It was him. You turned to the small mirror hanging by the wall to as if to check if he was real yet his reflection stood the same way he did. Maybe it was the months of the distance between you two or the longing you have been trying to supress for months but looking at him now he seemed taller. A bit less confident but his eyes didn’t hold the same blankness that was nearly constant except in the few moments you managed to make him chuckle. He seemed finally sure of something, not the lost man that always had wandering eyes for bigger brighter things.

“What are you doing here?”

His eyes were as bright as the last time you had truly looked at it. Though now, it wasn’t as sharp as he let his gaze run to you, it makes you uncomfortable.

“I’ve come to deliver a letter.”

You frowned.

The last you had heard of him was that he was on a boat to American soil. What the hell is he doing in your self-imposed exile with a freakishly ominous letter.

“Is it … bad news?” you waried. He grimaced.

“I hope not.”

That did nothing for your worries. Sighing you took a couple of steps, holding your breath in hopes his scent won’t go into your system after you had vigorously flushed it out of your memory but it wafted in your nose the same.

You clenched your jaw to stop a shudder.

Flipping the letter, you found nothing to indicate that it had come from your father. Instead, in his print was a small header that let you know exactly what the rest of the official letter would contain.

A letter of proposal.

You steeled yourself to not look up in the mesmerizing eyes that threatens to bore holes on the top of your head.

“What the hell.”

���Language.”

Despite yourself, you glared up at him, your proximity forcing you to crane your neck but he just chuckled, nervously.

“Sherlock, what is this?”

He sighed. He didn’t break eye contact as he gently took your hands, guiding you to sit in the plush sofa while he kneeled down on one knee in front of you.

“Darling.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Unfortunately, my darling, I can’t,” he smiled, one of those rare ones you once used to steal from him. “After all, you are my darling, are you not? It would be silly of me to call you otherwise.”

“Stop with the games, Sherlock!”

That seemed to take him off guard, horrified when he finally saw the tears in your eyes.

“I am not one of your people of interest that you can trick with your confusing words! I did my dues! I gave you the freedom to make you happy! Was it not enough? What would be enough?! Because I’m –” you bit your lip to stop a wobble. “I’m empty now. I have nothing left of me to give you.”

“My darling.”

You looked at him to throw him another glare when the knives behind your eyes wavered at the grief in his. An unfamiliar emotion you never once saw in him.

“Forgive me,” for once in your life, you realized, you were looking down on him. He continued to surprise you when he rested his head on your knee. “You loved a fool.”

“Sherlock …”

“But I’m begging you,” he was determined, now confidently grabbing your hand as he leaned in closer. “I’m begging you to marry this fool – make me yours.”

You could feel your jaw falling in shock.

“Wha –,” you blinked. “What about Victoria?”

He shook his head, “That ship had long passed.”

“But you deserve – you were supposed to –”

“No,” he tightened his grip on your shaky hands. “I adore you with all my being but even you cannot dictate what I am meant to do. Because I am a selfish man who had always done whatever I want.”

“I’m even more confused, did I not give you what you had wanted?”

He calmed your shaking faith down with a simple kiss on the palm of your hands. Looked at you as if he had ran through this situation a million times in his head, his answer study and sure like those times everything clicks in a case and he finally found his truth.

“In all my complexities I have realized one thing because of you,” he explained, a soft smile on his face that had you letting out a breath. “I am, after all, a simple man. Just like any other man I had looked down upon for turning into fools for a woman. That I am one of those men who will uproot their entire life and throw away all their vocations if just for a spare glance from the woman they love.”

He chuckled when you gaped at him as if he too couldn’t believe what he was saying.

“And for all my ambitions, my greatest one is that I want to be loved by you most of all.”

You didn’t realize you had forgotten to blink throughout his declaration of love until you felt a warm tear getting wiped away from your cheek.

“Sherlock …”

“So I come as a simple man, a second son from a fallen family, with no prospects other than the fact that I will assure you a life full of glory and happiness,” his free hand was suddenly holding a beautiful olive box that opened to show the family ring that was passed down from one wife of each generation. “To let me be the fool who will love you the most out of them all.”

“Papa!”

Sherlock’s conversation with the mayor was cut short, his only warning was the familiar hue of his daughter’s bouncing hair before he was nearly tackled to the ground.

“Allianah! You’re father was talking to the guest!”

His daughter pouted at his wife’s reprimands.

“Sorry, Mr. Guest.”

Both men chuckled, Sherlock pressing a kiss on her chubby cheeks. “Excuse me.”

The old man only nodded fondly. He had been familiar of Sherlock Holmes when he was a bit younger, so it was a pleasant surprise to see him become a doting family man no one could’ve seen coming.

“Darling, I told you to rest,” your husband softly scolded. Even though it was a party to celebrate his latest success as your father’s partner on your daily business and saving London by foiling the plans of wannabe bioterrorists on his spare time, he had still forbidden you in breaking the bedrest your doctor had ordered you to take after finding out you were probably carrying twins this time. “Let’s get you and the little ones upstairs, hmm?”

“I’m fine, lock,” a pout too similar to the ones his daughter gave him not a minute ago would’ve made him offer the world up to you on a platter, but this was one of the rare times he stood his ground.

“I know you are, my darling,” he cooed, but still placed a supporting arm on your back as he guided you up the stairs and into the master’s bedroom. “But humor me and my worries, don’t you?”

Once the three of you were on the second floor of your home he turned to his bouncing, energetic daughter.

“Yannah, sweetheart, why don’t you go to your bedroom, I'll tuck you in in a bit.”

Ever the daddy’s girl, your daughter nodded once then bounded her way out of your bedroom and onto the other side of the estate being chased by her maids.

“That was easy,” you raised a brow, letting yourself be led to the master’s bedroom, the dying light from the sunset outside drowned it in gentle orange hues. Despite your initial protests, you sighed in relief as you melted in your marital bed.

Carrying a Holmes' inside you was getting bad for your back.

“I guess I just know my way around Holmes women.”

That made you giggle, reaching up your hands to cup his face and press small kisses around them. He took the opportunity to tuck the blanket tighter around your body.

“Try not to give me a heart attack and stay here for the rest of the night, hmm?”

You nodded, pressing one last kiss to his lips “do you have to go back down, lock?”

It was lonely, having to be confined in your room all the time. The moment he had found out about your pregnancy he had taken the first ship off the foreign country he was in, his heart almost failing when he saw his heavily pregnant wife walking around the city with his daughter like she wasn’t carrying life inside her.

Which is exactly why you had tried to hide it from him as much as possible. In hindsight, it was foolish to do so considering who you were married to. It led to you and him being visited by a doctor he had trusted that broke the news to the two of you of the possibility of twins.

You had never seen the outside of your estate ever since.

Thankfully, your husband has banned work from entering your home either, dedicating his time solely to making sure you were well taken care of throughout the entire pregnancy.

Sometimes, when he has a dull moment for himself it makes him laugh.

Oh, what would his self from 5 years ago think if he saw him now.

He’d like to see his face if he knew that the giddy woman who got on the end of his every last nerve would one day carry his name, his children, and his happiness in her soft little hands.

That she would one day be the one to give him everything he had been searching for his entire life.

“‘Lock? Pretty please?”

That every adventure he had thought would brighten his life would dull in comparison to the colors of her eyes as she pleaded for him to abandon their guests like heathens and spend the rest of his days with her.

He pretended to think about it until your pleading eyes got bigger making him smile fondly at his wife. “Alright, I'm sure Mycroft can handle entertaining our guests till the night.”

In the ballroom, Mycroft felt a shiver run up his spine.

With you in his arms, he lets his mind wander.

He thinks his past self would think he did alright.

I know this is not stepdaddy but I promise that is coming soon! This has been sitting in my WIP's for so long i just had to finish it before finals end me. I hope you like it!!

- tia

[henryholmesacademia]

Would love to interact more and get back into writing, so if you have any requests, let me know 👀

[henryholmesacademia]

Predilection Chapter 3

A/N: I posted this chapter with only the link to the Ao3 page at the beginning of this year because I didn’t think that anybody would really care if I did post or not, so I didn’t want to have to go through the trouble of posting twice. However! The announcement of a release date for the second movie got me all excited, and I decided to finally finish the final chapter. My goal was 10k words to be able to finish it off, and I am about 4k in right now. Anyway, here is the tumblr post for the third chapter to drum up some traction for the new chapter that should be out before the new movie Noverber 4th.

Read the original author’s note from January

Series Page

Ao3 link

Word count: 6.2k enjoy my trash.

"Mr. Holmes, you are aware that you did not have to sleep on the floor, aren't you?" She whispers. "I am sure the bed has more than enough room for two."

Sherlock Holmes is not a stranger to sleepless nights. He has had his share of working until the early hours of the morning, catching the sun as it rises. He would look up from his papers and see the room more illuminated than what it used to be. Other occasions, he would wake up for no particular reason and would get out of bed to have a drink. A nightcap has been what he considers a best friend in those situations.

But this was not one of those nights.

He was not in his flat.

And he was not alone.

"That would not have been appropriate by any standards," Sherlock responds with a whisper almost as quiet as hers. He tries to remind himself about how this was best for both of them. The space. The separation. He wills himself to not think about how warm and comfortable the bed must be. Especially with her in it.

"We could share it." She suggested as she was getting ready to go to bed for the night. They had just returned from dinner when he had noticed the elephant in the room. A single elephant so it would seem. Whether she had done it on purpose or it had slipped her mind, he pondered greatly. Then again, nothing is ever a coincidence when it comes to her.

"That is absolutely out of the question."

She turns in her small chair in front of the vanity, "You are the one who has a problem, Mr. Holmes, so please tell me any other great ideas you might have."

"You can take the bed and I will take the floor." He pulls a small blanket off of the bed, fit to cover only one, and a pillow that was small enough to hold the head of a child, a tiny one at that.

She shakes her head at him and turns around to the mirror once more. "I need you at your best tomorrow, Mr. Holmes. A night on the floor does not guarantee a sharp mind in the morning."

"It does however leave no room for wandering hands." His comment was aimed at her as he placed his pillow and blanket on the floor to create a makeshift bed for the night.

She locks eyes with him through the mirror. "Have you forgotten how much you love my wandering hands?"

"Yes, the action might not have been the most appropriate. However, you cannot help but wonder, who would know? Do you think the drapes will gossip to the maid? It is said that walls have ears, what is stopping fabric from having mouths?" She feigns concern. When he remains silent, she clears her throat. "The kiss-"

"Was a way for you to avoid being seen by that man." Sherlock cuts her off. It was much too late, or early he realized when he looked at the clock on the nightstand, for this conversion. For any conversation with this woman, actually. You are never prepared for one unless you have a glass of Burgundy next to you. "Do you want to talk about it?" He is referring to the situation that woke both of them up in the first place.

"Who knew the great Sherlock Holmes would want to discuss a kiss?" She often used humor as a way to disassociate from the topics she never wanted to discuss. "It was memorable, was it not?" Her teasing smile is there, but it isn't as bright as usual. It resembles more of a smile put on for a show.

"I am not talking about the kiss." He sits up and looks at her, the way the lamp he had turned on revealed the trail where one lone tear slid down her face. In all the time that he's known her, he's never seen her cry. He has seen her show sadness and remorse but never once has she ever shed a tear. He has been on the receiving end of her anger and often pities the poor fool who would ignite the resentment she kept so well hidden. Any emotion that should strike a match of passion he recognizes well on her person, which makes for an unusual sight when she would show sincerity. "I am talking about your nightmare."

"Oh, that." She says in realization. It was one of the few times she has ever seemed small to him. She raises the blankets to her chin and turns her head away from where he was observing her profile. "It was nothing but a horrible dream that was too realistic."

"You woke up screaming." He points out. "When I checked on you, your hands went directly for my neck and you kicked me away as if I was a threat to you. I do not think that a dream, no matter how horrible, would do that to a person."

"Mr. Holmes, please just leave it at that." Her voice holds no teasing, only small traces of anger hidden behind her tone. "I appreciate your concern. Truly, I do. But please...I cannot speak about the matter. I apologize if I have inconvenienced you for the night."

"What a ridiculous thing to apologize for." She was not one for keeping apologies and grievances for herself, but she did not see the need to apologize if she truly did nothing wrong.

"I believe it is a tactic called 'being considerate of other people'. I am trying to use it." She gives a small smile at his attempt to humor her. "Who are you looking for?" Her voice is quiet, a small whisper as if she was afraid of the answer. She was not trying to pressure him into giving her information. She was not doing it to pry into his life. He considered her almost concerned for the person that had him so on edge.

"My sister." He replies in a low voice as he settles back down on the floor for the night. He pauses to take in a deep breath and prepare himself for the response to her question should she choose to answer it. "Did Mycroft ever mention her?"

His companion is quiet as she thinks. "Only once, and it was only after I asked him if he had any siblings. He told me her name, Enola. A very interesting name."

"She is a very interesting girl."

"Are you close with her? Your voice sounds very fond. I almost thought it to be impossible for a woman who still has a pulse and isn't covered in blood to capture your attention."

He rolls his eyes at her teasing. "I am not close with her, but she ran away from home. She's only 16."

"Why did she run away?"

"She ran away a week after my mother's disappearance. Enola became Mycroft's ward and he wanted to send her to your aunt's finishing school."

"Your mother ran away as well? And here I thought Sherlock Holmes would know how to keep a woman." She sounds better, he realizes, not as heavy-hearted and the lump from her throat seemed to disappear. "And you said Mycroft was sending her to my aunt's school? I do not blame her for running away. The school was dreadfully dull. But it did teach valuable skills that I was able to use in my everyday life. It taught me how to walk quietly to sneak past my aunt's room. I was able to unlock a locked door with a hairpin. Embroidering cushions was a great way to send coded messages."

"Enola did not share your sentiments it seems. She ran away the day she met your aunt."

The corner of her mouth perks up. "Again, I do not blame her for wanting to escape. I do greatly appreciate all that my aunt gave me, but she truly was a pain in the arse." A small sound of laughter escapes from her mouth. "However, Mycroft asking for my aunt's help does explain the telegram I received from her." She recalls the telegram reading: We are in Mycroft Holmes's good graces again. Return at once.

"I was asked by Mycroft to find you after you ended your engagement. His face was as red as a tomato with how furious he was that you had simply left him a note explaining your indifference and your reasons to not marry him."

Mycroft Holmes. The eldest of all the siblings. How that was a grand bullet she dodged.

She had met him while he was on his daily walk.

 There was nothing that was out of the ordinary with him and his stroll. The great oak never moved. The river flowed in the same direction. He only ever encountered the same three pairs; a young couple walking alongside each other but they never touched, along with a slightly older couple who seemed to be on the verge of welcoming a child, and an elderly couple who seemed to have lived a long life together.

 Yes, everybody did indeed have a partner to make their pair.

 And it was in the contemplation of that idea when a rather large flower fell between his nose. His eyes caught sight of it before it tickled his nose. That was what was different that day. No flower ever fell for him. He looked up, naturally, to see the cause of such a distasteful disturbance when he caught sight of a woman, balancing on a branch.

 He would have sneered, he should have, but he found himself unable to move for some short amount of time. This was not a young lady, climbing a tree for the sake of having "fun". This was a young woman who was incredibly well dressed, and who was climbing a tree to try to reach a flower.

 Her eyes met his when the flower slipped from the tips of her fingers and landed in the hands of the stranger who was on the ground below her. She gives him what her aunt called her "charmful smile" and proceeds to croon in the softest voice she can muster. "I am so terribly sorry."

 Her voice breaks the eldest Holmes from his trance. "It is not proper etiquette for a woman to be climbing trees." The fact that those were the first words that he spoke to her, should have prepared him for the way she would leave his world in a wreck.

 She raises an eyebrow. "And it is proper etiquette for a man to stare up the skirts of a woman? How we are at fault." She crosses her arms over a branch that reaches just below her clavicle, and she rests her chin over her hands, looking as comfortable as ever. "We should both turn ourselves in for these heinous crimes, and maybe then I would get to know the name of my accomplice."

 Mycroft sighs. He had an extremely taxing day and all he wanted was a peaceful stroll through the park where he knew everything would be the way it was. Enter this strange woman on a branch with a mischievous look in her eyes and the wit of a devil on the tip of her tongue. "Mycroft Holmes. Now, will you get down from there?"

 "I suppose I should come down at some point." She says with a reluctant tone. "The view is just so beautiful from this point. It catches your breath, really. I never get to enjoy sights like this." Wistfully, she takes in a deep breath as she looks back down at him and smiles. "Unless you would like a greater show than what you have already seen, Mr. Holmes, I would suggest turning around while I get myself down."

 His cheeks begin to resemble the red of her gown when he turns around and her words echo deeper inside of him. What a modern and lewd woman! He has never encountered one as free-spirited as his mother. When he left the countryside, he intended on leaving every remembrance of his past behind. Especially the character of his mother.

 He feels the young woman step down with a small exclaim of surprise as she lost what he can only assume was her footing before landing on the ground once more. "You can turn around now if you would like to do so."

 When he turns around, she is dusting off the skirt of her dress with a smile on her face. What woman in her right mind would smile because she soiled her very expensive garment? Maybe she was not in her right mind. Maybe she had escaped from an asylum and stole a dress to not attract as much attention to herself. He ponders if he should call someone to come by to get her or if he should just escort her to the police station himself as she puts on her gloves once more. Black leather, he observes from the quick glance he took.

 "Oh! You caught my flower!" She happily exclaims when she notices the fauna in his hands. "I thought the wind might have blown it away, but you caught it. Thank you, Mr. Holmes."

 What excitement over a weed. How could the small act be worthy of such gratitude? "It fell on me, and I simply managed to stop it before it hit the ground, Miss..." He has kept a conversation with her for over five minutes and she has managed to further ruin his day, he should at least know her name. "It hardly seems like anything to get so overworked about."

 "Harrison." She finishes the inquiry for him. She can not help but get the flower from his grasp and put her nose in its center to better inhale the scent. "And to you, this may seem very childish, to excite oneself over a flower, but I have walked past it on multiple occasions, and it never fails to put a smile on my face with its beauty." She gently lifts one petal that seemed to wilt and caresses the side, as if it were such a delicate treasure. "I had to have it before the wind would steal it from me. And I was able to meet someone new because of it. The trek up the tree was not a complete waste."

 He scoffs as he follows her in her walk away from the tree in question. "I cannot imagine anything so beautiful that you would disregard the boundaries that society has set in place to keep order just to have it."

 "You have yet to find a wife, I take it, Mr. Holmes?"

 "How freely you speak!" He chastises her inquiry, and she just smiles. She seems so pleased with herself that she was able to provoke him.

 "My speech is not any freer than you are, sir. You choose to censor yourself for the sake of the society that you so love. I choose to not censor what I want to say or how I wish to say it. We both have vastly different interests and I can see that as plainly as I can see that your mustache needs shaving on the sides."

 "Insulant woman." He murmurs under his breath while he feels the sides of his mustache. It was a little longer than he would have liked.

 "Close-minded man." She retorts as she stops where the gate to enter the park begins. "It seems that this is the point in our excursion where we both go on different paths, Mr. Holmes." She turns to face him and gives him the same look as she did when she was up in the tree. "It was quite fun to pick your brain. Even if only for a moment."

 "One could hardly say you picked my brain." He fiddles with his walking stick for a moment. "Do you have an escort to walk you home?" Mycroft regrets asking the question immediately. The woman climbed a tree, on her own, to get a flower. Of course, she does not have an escort. It was a question only a simpleton would ask to find an answer that was so obvious. Sherlock would have never-

 "No, I have none." She stops his inner ramblings.

 "It is getting quite late and it is not safe for a...woman of your age and appearance to walk home alone."

 "You are offering to walk me home?"

 "I have a carriage, but yes. I would not be able to rest tonight if anything should happen to you and I was the last person who saw you."

 She smirks, which he assumes is a regular occurrence. "Now I am tempted to decline just to know that you would be thinking of me."

 Mycroft is at his wits end with this woman. What gives her the idea that they are so familiar with each other that she can speak to him in such an unrefined tone? Even if they were familiar with each other, she should not be speaking to him with such imprudence. "Do you want the carriage or not? It is a simple answer to a simple question that you have managed to spin into the web of a spider."

 "I take pride in that ability. It keeps men like you on their toes." She manages to see the frustration written on his face. He would be such a fun companion to toy with. "Perhaps I will accept your offer, Mr. Holmes."

 The carriage ride was filled mostly with chatter on her side while scolding and scoffing came from his seat. After some time, she had instructed the driver to stop in front of what he could assume was a boarding school.

 "My aunt owns a boarding school for young women. She instructs them on how to become proper women in society. I help her by teaching the young girls embroidery." She waits for the driver to open her door. "Would you like to come in for a moment?"

She takes that as just one in the long list of her many mistakes. She never should have invited him in. Maybe if she had just said her farewells in the carriage, he would never have met her aunt. Her aunt would have never invited him back the next day for tea. Mycroft would have spent the next month walking alone instead of walking in her company. He never would have proposed marriage and she never would have fled only a few hours after her aunt accepted for her.

If only she had never let him inside the school.

"My indifference?" She questioned with humor in her voice. "He did not want to marry me out of love and he certainly never felt anything but disdain for me." She turned on her side, facing the beautiful man who chose to sleep on the floor instead of in her bed. "Mycroft did not want a marriage or a partnership, he wanted somebody that he could control. It's the same thing that he is doing with Enola."

Sherlock sat up, leaning most of his weight on one side to face her. It was then he realized how far his companion had moved to the edge - how close she was to him. Tension filled the space where sound did not.

They stared at each other for a moment.

She admired the frown lines and tired eyes he sported. He noticed how the tears she had shed earlier still held a place of remembrance on her cheek. "Mycroft does not like to be made a fool of. You mocked him."

How long his lashes were when he blinked. She longed to touch them, to touch him. However, she showed great restraint. She needed to do so. She had to keep him safe. "If you think about it, Mycroft does not like many things."

He looks up as he chuckles. She was right. "No, no, he does not."

She is the first to move away from the expanse that they both shared. "We have an early day tomorrow, Mr. Holmes. We should get some rest. We both know how you are if you do not get enough sleep."

He settles back down to the floor. "No, I believe you are thinking of yourself."

"You should know by now...my thoughts only consist of you."

With the light that trickled through the window and disbursed through the room, it was clear that a new day had started. Sherlock sat up slowly from his makeshift bed on the floor, the pain in his back making him feel 20 years older and the eyes of his companion reminding him that he was not alone.

"Has anybody ever told you that you look even more handsome when you sleep? It's a subject that should be studied." Her eyes are soft, with no trace of the fear from last night in them. Her hair is ruffled, and she pays it no mind. She looks at ease. "However, I did miss those beautiful eyes of yours."

"And you are even more outspoken than usual. If that was possible." He rubs a hand on the spot in his back where it aches the most. "Where would you like to get started?"

"I believe that there is a small restaurant downstairs where we could eat together. After that I- we can see where the day takes us." She swings her legs around the other side of the bed and walks over to crouch beside him. "If you would like, I could rub that spot for you. I would not be able to live with myself knowing that I caused you such pain."

"Go get dressed, woman."

She chuckles, rising to her full height. He knows she enjoyed this. Being taller than him. Overlooking him. "As you wish. Just shout if you need any help standing up."

After they had both made themselves look presentable, they had made their way down the small winding staircase to the restaurant. He had just gotten off on the last step when she linked her arm with his.

"We are to play the part of lovers are we not?" She whispered, her gaze focusing on his own. It always seems that no matter what state they are in, they wind up this way. Close and intimate. More often than not, she insisted, but it has always been that way. She leads and he follows.

It is when he pulls her chair out and sits across from her, watching her charm the server so that he would be more attentive to their table that he realizes how it never would have worked with her and Mycroft. Mycroft never would have followed, he would only push against her. She never would have been happy playing the role of a wife.

Receiving a letter from his brother was not an unexpected one. Unusual? Yes. Unwelcomed? Also yes. But unexpected? Never. Especially not this one. It read one sentence "She is gone, and I need you to find her." He did not need a moment to guess who it was. He had already known of her disappearance.

Her hand resting on his, jars him from his memories. "A man is looking for you. Post from the looks of it." Her eyes led to the door where the innkeeper had pointed the couple out to the man.

The man approaches with a paper in hand, and a tip of his hat to the woman sitting in front of him.

"What does it say?" She asks when Sherlock opens it.

"It says that my assistant has visited the family of the missing Marquess at their estate."

"I did not know you had taken the case of the Marquess. Or that you had an assistant." She stirs her tea, her jaw clenched a little too tightly to be considered normal. Jealousy is a horrible thing with her. He could tease her, as she does to him. But he will not stoop to her level.

"I do not have one, and no, I did not take the case."

He notices her features relax as she tries to hide her merriment. "Are you thinking Enola has something to do with this?"

"If you must know, yes. She is the only one who could gain by posing as my assistant." He sips his tea. "If you would like to accompany me to see if it is her, I would not be opposed." He does not look at her reaction, his eyes focus slowly on the letter in front of him.

"As much as I would enjoy spending more time with you, Mr. Holmes. I must leave you after this." Now she is the one who looks away. "My employer got a hold of me and...now I must go."

He sits quietly, and slowly chooses what to say. But what can he say that he has not expressed before? "You could have mentioned this earlier, but I guess we are back to keeping secrets from each other." His voice is not full of fury, or anger. Just exhaustion. He was unbelievably tired of this. Of her returning to his life only to leave again. Of her flirtation just to be gone the next morning.

"I did not know until last night. You have to believe me. I want to stay here with you, but I cannot." She pleads with the utmost sincerity in her voice, but he knows how she works. How she seduces, and above all, how she manipulates.

And frankly, he is fucking tired of being her pawn.

"I wish you luck on your expedition." He stands out of his chair. "Please do not contact me again. Do not look for me. Do not call on me. I will no longer be your toy that you only play with because you are tired of the others."

"Sher-"

"Goodbye, Miss Harrison. I hope for all the best for you."

If only he knew.

 "By the door, a man just walked in who owes me a favor. Go and give him my name, he will help you find who you are looking for." Her eyes seemed to dart toward the powder room. "You speak with him while I go and powder my nose."

 "How will he-"

 "Believe what you want, Mr. Holmes, but trust me when I tell you that he will help give you the information that you need to find whoever it is you are looking for. He will not speak to you if I am here, when you finish speaking to him, go and wait for me outside of the powder room. Now get up, and go offer to buy him a drink."

 From the moment they were seated in the restaurant, she was aware of Evelyn's presence in the room. Her icy stare toward her companion was hard to miss. But they were both taught the same thing, never attract attention to yourself. So she held out on meeting with Evelyn so soon as to not make a scene, and to not attract any unwanted attention from Sherlock.

 She arrives in the powder room where Evelyn is already leaning against the washbowl, waiting. "I do not understand why you have to have dinner with him."

 She steps over to be in front of the mirror and gets out her compact of powder, applying it whilst looking at Evelyn through the corner of her eye. "Jealous, Evie?"

 She can feel Evelyn softly touching her arm, running her finger up and down. "Not of you." Her motions stop when she takes the applicator away and intertwines her fingers in place. "I have missed you terribly."

 "Eve-"

 "Why does he get to have all of your attention? He is undeserving of it. He walks with an air of arrogance, thinking he is the most intelligent person in the room."

 'Because most of the time he is' she wants to add, but she does not to not upset Evelyn further. She gently pulls her hand away from Evelyn's and leans her weight against the wall. "Out of all of us, I understand the feeling of running away from home when too much responsibility is given to you. Sherlock Holmes is what could be considered collateral damage. He always is. I have fun playing with him." She extends out her hand. "Now, what message did you bring for me?"

 Evelyn takes a small piece of paper out of her pocket that is hidden in her gown. "You are no longer just finding the Marquess, they want you to also find the killer of his father."

 "Are there any leads?"

 "It is said to be within an inner circle. After you find both, you are to take the assassin to the police where our insiders will handle the rest. And you will need to convince the Marquess to vote."

 "Oh, I have no doubt he will." She can only assume how great of convincing Sherlock's sister could be, but from knowing Sherlock, she would not be surprised if Enola got the Marquess to change his mind. "Thank you, Evelyn."

 "Will you come home after this assignment?" She inquires.

 "I have no permanent residence, Evie. You know that." It makes her skin crawl to think about staying in one place for so long.

 "Yes, but I was hoping to spend some time with you before you fall off the face of the earth again." Her actions are bolder as she encloses more on her space, but still keeps enough distance to respect her boundaries "I was not exaggerating when I told you that I missed you."

 Evelyn's fragrance becomes intoxicatingly sweet when her hands begin to hold Miss Harrison's waist, thumb lightly brushing against the side boning of her corset. Her hands fit as perfectly as they did all those months ago, but she does not move further. She never does without consent.

 Her breath can be felt as her eyes focus more intently on the lips of the woman against the wall. It would be so easy to fall into the same routine. The perfume she wore smelt like pure seduction. Her voice is a gentle lull that a siren would envy. Evelyn has sent more men to their deaths based on her voice alone than any other envoy she has ever met.

 And she did not even find men attractive.

 "I have missed your touch. Your lips." She raises a hand and runs her thumb just below her bottom lip. "How you would hold me at night after we both would finish." Evelyn looks around at the powder room. "Do you remember what happened last time we were in a room like this together? Oh how you had to put a piece of fabric over my mouth to muffle my screams. We could always try again. Just say the words."

 "Evelyn, I meant it when I said that the last time was the last time." Though the thought was tempting, and it was very tempting, she could not use Evelyn like that. She might not be her lover anymore, but she cherished her as a companion.

 Evelyn removes her hands and begins to pace in front of her, arms crossed over her stomach to protect herself. "When I told you that I loved you? When I laid my heart out to you and you threw it away like it was nothing? You left me while I was still in bed, and you left a note to explain your absence!"

 "It would have hurt you more if I had stayed, you cannot deny that." She tries to stop her pacing by holding her shoulders. "You were in a very vulnerable state, and I would have been taking advantage of you and your emotions. I couldn't do that to you."

 "But you would make love to me and hold me afterward? You would caress my face and explore my body? Did you not feel this guilt while touching me in my most sensitive of places?"

 "We were not making love, Evelyn. We were giving each other pleasure. There was no emotional attachment."

 "For you." Evelyn pulls away as she tries to stop tears from escaping. "Only you could bring someone to ecstasy and not feel a thing." She has her hand on the handle of the door.

 "Evie, please. I am so sorry-"

 "Just please make sure to follow orders and then you can fuck off like you always do. How they let you, I will never know." She opens the door harshly and closes it behind her with a slam.

 She hated Evelyn leaving with so much anger, but it was the only way. Anger is better than longing for someone you can never have, yet, she never follows that advice.

And that is what leads her to now, sitting on a park bench after Sherlock left her in the restaurant. He had reacted exactly how she imagined him to react. He had said all that she had expected him to say, and more. Anger is a greater feeling than desire, but betrayal has a way of hurting you to the point of no return.

She does not start her letter to him yet, the thought of it making her hands shake and tremble. Saying 'goodbye' and crafting a random excuse through a letter instead of face to face saved her much heartache. She could live with the guilt. She carried so much of it, but she could not live with seeing the sadness she caused on the faces of others.

She hears the sound of gravel cracking beneath the soles of someone's shoes before she feels them sit beside her. It was one of the guards to her employer. "Adam, lovely to see you."

"The foreman is not happy with you. 'Says you are taking too long to find the Marquess. The vote is happening soon."

"I am aware of that, but the foreman loves me. He knows that I always deliver."

"There are dozens of other women who can do what you do. Once the foreman realizes that, you will stop being of use." He presses a blade to her side, not enough to nick her skin, but enough to cause a tear in the fabric. She knew he hated her, the foreman always chose her to eliminate his enemies over Adam. The foreman had always held her to a higher standard. She would receive a higher payment, twice Adam's salary if she wanted to be exact.

Adam's tactics were distasteful to say the least. The foreman never threatened his enemies with weapons. He preferred to manipulate them psychologically. Bending their mind to his will. She was a little too successful at playing his game by his rules. This was why she was the longest envoy who had worked with him and it was how he lured her into his world.

"For intimidation tactics to work, you have to first be intimidating." She stands and straightens her appearance. "If the foreman wants to replace me and be rid of me, let the foreman tell me himself. And as for you, " Her smile turns unamused as she pulls out the blade she stole from him and causes a small scratch across his face. It happens in the blink of an eye. "It would be best if you remember, no one can do what I do. If you try to threaten me again, I will cut off the piece of your body that you think makes you a man, and leave you to bleed to death in an alley. What is more blood on my hands? It is like grains of sand on a beach, never ending. Have I made myself clear?"

She would be lying if she said that she did not enjoy threatening with violence. Yes, playing with the minds of people was fun, but there was just something so organic of reminding people how much damage you could do.

He was still holding on to his cheek where she had nicked him with the blade. She had no time for this. She pulls him up to her face by his collar. "I asked, have I made myself clear?"

His scared face and pitiful nod is all she needed. "Y-yes ma'am."

She smiles at him as she lets his collar go and throws him back against the bench. "Another piece of advice, if you need a weapon to threaten somebody, you have already shown how weak you are. Grow a pair and maybe one day you'll be something more than a messenger." She begins to walk away when she hears him spit in her direction.

If there is anything Adam holds close to himself, it's his pride. "You bitch."

"Oh, is that what I am?" She lets out a laugh. She had a rough night and morning, and she just feels like riling him up. "I might be offended if I was called that by someone who had a higher standing than me." She opens her fan and fans herself as she walks away. "Have a good afternoon, Adam. Don't forget to pick up your dignity. You dropped it along with your importance."

It was when she got to her carriage that she realized something felt off. The foreman doesn't send messages during assignments. He sends them in between assignments, but never during. It would jeopardize the plan for something that could wait. Yes, he sends information with other envoys. But he hardly sends Adam with anything important. It could only mean one thing:

Something has gone wrong.

"Driver, take me to my aunt's school."

A/N: I tried to separate the flashbacks form the present with italics. Let me know if you like the look of it. Right so, Harrison (as I have taken to calling her) is attracted to woman, and she is also Mycroft's ex-fiancee of a few hours. Sorry for once again ending it on a cliffhanger. Once this finishes I'll update all of the tags and please let me know if there are any warnings that you would like added. I hope you enjoyed! Please let me know if I ever write anything that might offend you and I will find a way to write it out (as long as it is within reason). I try to make this a safe space, please let me know if I lack at it. I am actually very proud of the flashback scene with Mycroft, I tried to not make him human but at least give him more depth than the movie. If you have any requests or things that you would like to see, please comment or send an ask. I might just include it in the last chapter. Also, did anyone else pick up on the dom vibes Harrison was clearly showing? Interesting, if you ask me.

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Sam Claflin Gif Pack

[LINK] In this gif pack you will find 96 gifs (275*167) of Sam Claflin as Mycroft Holmes in ‘Enola Holmes (2020)’. I made these gifs from scratch, so please don’t claim them as your own and do not repost them in gif hunts (instead link back to this page).

You may crop/use them in crackships & stuff, but please don’t forget the credit ! (& since I’m kinda curious, I’d very much like to see :p)

Likes and reblogs are appreciated!

Content warning : smoking

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A new poster for Enola Holmes 2

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A letter to you, to let you go 2 January 2018

https://www.instagram.com/p/BoIkUrOF9RO/?taken-by=megjgrant

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Sherlock, newspaper and whiskey.

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HENRY CAVILL Enola Holmes 2 ⭆ Movie Preview

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Predilection Chapter 3

A/N: I am very very sorry for how long it has taken for this update but I went through some family stuff and school has been crazy. Sometime in the last few months I got to writing again and I finished the 3rd chapter. I have been adding and editing and just getting into the headspace of these characters and the emotional web I’ve weaved. This bad boy currently sits at 17 pages and 6.2k words which is the longest thing I have ever written. I have read this many times and finally decided to share it with the world. This is not the last part. I am setting up the next part to be the final. If you all want to see more, you can just let me on Tumblr at henryholmesacademia. Thank you for all your patience, yell at me in the comments, and let me know what you liked and did not like. Also, for everyone who was asking about what Mycroft had to do with this entire situation, this is for you. 

Link to Ao3

Link to Tumblr post

Asks are open! Come yell at me!

And a huge thank you to @the-wretched-and-joyful for always reading whatever I send her! Love you and appreciate you more than words can say honey!

[henryholmesacademia]

Right so, I had to take a few months off from writing the fic because some personal stuff happened, I changed my major, and overall I just lost motivation for the series. But! With the announcement of a possible second movie, I realized how it could tie in with how I wanted to end the series.

Chapter Three is written and I'm just waiting on my beta reader (writer?) to approve it so that I can post it with peace of mind tomorrow.

One last thing, to make it easier and smoother, I am moving this series to AO3. I have fixed the titles on the website. It can be found with the same username but here is the link. When it is complete, I shall fix, add, and adjust over here. But I want to finish it there first.

Thank you so much to everyone who has left comments, likes, and reblogged. I am very excited to finish this and possibly write more.

I would suggest reading the last two chapters to get caught up.

I'll post the link here when Chapter 3 is ready!

[henryholmesacademia]

UPDATE:

Chapter 3 is being pushed back!

Very sorry everyone, but I didn't get to finish the chapter for this week on time. I do have nearly a thousand words on the document, but I would not want to just post that as it is just one scene and it isn't done yet.

The latest I will have it done is by Sunday, hopefully as I do seem to have some free time this week.

Thank you for understanding and I will hopefully see you soon with a new fic!!!

Inbox is open

While I am not currently taking requests (you'll see why toward the end of the series. I have something very special planned) the inbox is opened and has the anon feature on if you guys would like to chat or send in your theories or comments about the story! I love seeing those!! This isn't my main blog so I can't really personally reply to comments as much as I would like, but I do answer your asks and I love seeing them!

Again, thank you so much for being so understanding! <3

[henryholmesacademia]

Predilection Chapter Two

A/N: I just wanted to thank you all real quick for all the notes on the last chapter. It means so much to me! Here is chapter two I really hope you enjoy! I also think I will TRY to update every Friday. 

The woman sighs as she presses a hand to the windowpane to admire the moon. Glass cold under her touch from the bitter air of the night. The city of London is displayed out in front of her. Street lamps were being turned off for the night, as were the lights that shone through the other windows. Even cities had to retire at some point. 

She revels in the small rush of adrenaline this afternoon gave her. Seeing him again, made what one could have considered flutters in her stomach if she ever had those in the first place. Unlike her acquaintance, she did on occasion show her emotions. One could even say that she “wore her heart on her sleeve” as it was. But she’s learned how to keep up a face. Only let others see what she allows them. It makes her job easier, it helps appeal her skills to potential employers. This employer, especially. 

She heard the creak of the floorboard from in front of her room that she rented. The sound of the paper scraping the bottom of the door as it moves from the hallway into the room. While it was not a calling card from her “favorite player”, she was not any less disappointed with the simple words written on the page. 

Limehouse. Tomorrow. 

Well then, this should be fun. 

—— 

Miss Harrison was a lady by no means delicate, but still, the utter stench of the alleyway had her gagging as soon as she crossed. She covered her nose and mouth with a hand as she had given her handkerchief to Sherlock last night. Well…she slipped it in his pocket in hopes of toying with him. Her favorite sport. 

The lock of the door catches her eye, as there was no lock and the rest of the wooden place looked to be hanging by a single beam. 

“Good gracious!” She exclaims looking at the damage. “This is well above my pay grade.” She mumbles as she squeezes in between two fallen pieces of wall. 

Getting dirty was a daily occurrence in her job, she was not immune to it. But she refuses to believe that in only a minute of walking through the door she is expected to get her new white gloves, courtesy of a recently widowed Lord, covered in soot. 

The half-burned book is one that she does need to properly dispose of, the wooden crates need to be broken apart further than they already were, and the science equipment out in the open truly needs to be made scarce. These ladies were attracting too much attention to a cause that needed the element of surprise. 

Her cleaning expedition takes her longer than she thought, and given the sound of the creaking floorboard getting louder, she wasn’t the only one sent here. She makes her way to what was left of the back of the location and fixes her appearance in the reflection of a broken mirror. Using a piece of mirror that was on the floor, she uses it to look behind the doorway to see who her soon-to-disappear guest is. 

She would recognize those broad shoulders anywhere, so what business does Sherlock have with this? She takes a moment to fix her lipstick as well as dab some of the sweat that accumulated on her brow, and after she checks her pocket watch, she concludes she has a few minutes to torment him. 

“Well, well, well, Mr. Sherlock.” She moves from behind the barely-there wall. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say you were following me.” Her smile can only be painted as smug while she clasps her hands in front of her figure, having made sure to remove her scoot-covered gloves. 

“Did you do this?” He gestures around to the nearly empty room, oblivious to her flirtation as always. How typical of men. 

“No ‘hello’?” Her eyebrow quirks up, but she catches his stern look and decides to tell him the truth. “This is not my work, Mr. Holmes. This was the state I greeted it in.” Well, some truth. The walls are still in the same condition she found them in. 

“I find that hard to believe.” He states. “This is very different from the way I left it when I came earlier.“ 

"Returning to the scene of the crime, were you?” She walks closer to him. “Believe me, Mr. Holmes-" 

"I have a hard time doing so.” He cooly responds as his hand drags against the wooden table. 

“And he comes with a bite!” She feigns shock at his response. “Mr. Holmes, I can assure you that this is the state I found it in. I was just as shocked as you when I first found it." 

"What are you doing here?” He inquires while looking at the now empty table. 

“I was looking for someone if you must know. I assume you are doing the same." 

"Who are you looking for?" 

"I could ask you the same question.” She counters. “You can’t help but ask what a missing marquee would be doing here. Unless it’s not the marquee you are after." 

"Good day, Miss Harrison.” He tips her hat. It seems she had hit a sore subject. 

“I can help you.” She offers. “It is what I am doing for my employer. Whoever it is you are looking for, judging by their connection to this location, has to have some relationship with the person I am looking for."  

He stops on his way out. "Thank you for your generosity, but I must decline. Excuse me." 

"Mr. Holmes, with all due respect, your talent lies in solving mysteries and I specialize in finding people.” Not to mention putting an end to them. “You work alone with nothing besides very few inquiries, while I have endless contacts and acquaintances.” She reasons. “The person you are looking for, are they worth the time that could have been avoided if you would have accepted my help?" 

"Stubborn woman.” He mutters under his breath. 

“What is stubborn about knowing what you want? I know that this is a case that I want to help you with.” She walks over to him and straightens his tie. “Mr. Holmes, tell me you have not forgotten what a great team we make." 

He gently removes her hand from his tie. "I try to forget." 

"Oh, how your words of indifference wound me.” Her teasing voice contrasting with the faux look of sadness on her face. She makes her way to the door. “Are you coming or not, Mr. Holmes?" 

——

"You are being awfully quiet.” The young detective looks up at the voice that calls him from across the carriage. “You have always been the quiet sort, but I thought by now you would have been interrogating me." 

"I have no patience for questions that go unanswered.” He answers, honestly. He knows the young woman in front of him to be mysterious, flirty, and too modern for her own good. Or rather his own good. The detective knows of her games. He’s found himself on the receiving end of them plenty of times. 

He observes the countryside passing through the window and thinks to himself how her games have improved if she is now able to pay for carriages instead of stealing train tickets. His train ticket if we want to nitpick. 

He then observes his companion, the closed-lipped smile on her face as she pulls out a pocket watch, his pocket watch. “Quite a pickpocket you are. I nearly had forgotten." 

"I took it as a keepsake, Mr. Holmes. It felt as if you were always with me.” She holds it closer to her figure so that he would not try to take it back. “For the next three minutes, you can ask me any question you would like and I have to answer honestly." 

"You have done this before and you never gave a satisfactory answer. The statements were only truthful because they were broad answers without substance." 

"And you remain aloof as always. Every one of those answers was on a need-to-know basis. You asked me when I was returning, and I replied that you would be aware of when I returned. Were you not aware?" 

"After how many days? How long were you in England before you decided to start your game? Before you sent your inner circle of people to torment? A week? A month?” His voice was getting louder toward the end of his accusation. 

“None of this is a game, Sherlock! I do not know what else I could do to prove that to you!” Her eyes close as she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index finger. 

The remained silent for a few moments, her using his first name did not go unnoticed but he did not choose to acknowledge or dwell on it. 

Sherlock breaks the silence first. “When I asked you why you were running away…" 

She looks at him, both sadness and fondness in her face as if she was replaying the moment in her head. "My answer was truthful." 

And there they left the conversation. 

Silence fell upon the carriage with the only noise being the driver’s commands to the horses and the stomping of the hooves. 

——

They arrived later that afternoon to a small, quaint inn. An elderly woman greets them and compliments them on their appearance as a couple, saying that their children would be beautiful. 

Before Sherlock can disagree with her forwardness, his companion links her arm through his, giving a smile and a small ‘thank you’ as she takes the key and gently pulls on his arm with a ‘Don’t stand there all day, my dear.’

Sherlock is surprised at the size of the room. The quality of the bed with all of its pillows and embroidered blanket. No expense seemed to be spared at the cost of decorating the room with high-end lamps, antique furniture, and quite beautiful light fixtures.

While he knew his companion never struggled or wanted for money, this was beyond the price he remembered her being able to afford. He had not heard of a death in her family for her to garner an inheritance. She never spoke much of her employer. Never gave any description or revealed any useful knowledge. 

"It is easier to get around if we pretend to be a happily married couple. No one will try to stick their nose in our business.” She gets her bag from him and places it on the bed. “This brings back so many fond memories. Don’t you think, Mr. Holmes?" 

"That was only one time, it was very long ago, and we agreed to never speak of it again.” He can’t help but feel as if he had forgotten something. A factor of some sort. He can’t quite put his finger on it. 

“I have never forgotten.” She smiles. “Now, let’s talk about dinner." 

——

"This is why I do not travel with companions.” She hears him mutter as he flips his watch out and places it back in his pocket. So much time was being wasted waiting on their dishes. “What information can be gathered here?” She had dragged him out to a very elegant restaurant with a very spacious dining room. Every woman wore an elegant, no doubt imported, evening gown while every man wore a tailored suit and tie. 

“My dear, Mr. Holmes, there is so much knowledge to be obtained here. Once you get some food in your stomach and a glass of alcohol in you, you will see I am right.” She reaches over and pats the back of his hand reassuringly. “I would have thought that you out of all people could have known what information could be gathered here.” She leans closer to him over the table and whispers in his ear. “In a room full of high society’s best. The only people who think their secrets matter when in reality the cook knows more than the husband who is having an affair, the widow who killed, or the child who spent their inheritance for the wiles of the world. These people, Mr. Holmes, have power and leverage as well as their weaknesses. You just need to prey on the right one." 

She returns to her seat when the server comes and places their plates in front of them. The detective looks around, to try to see what she has taken notice of. "Is that why you ran away from this life?" 

"Running away requires fleeing from something that you are afraid of. I am not afraid of a life of pearls, having a maid wait on my hand and foot, or having a husband. I just simply choose not to have it. I would much rather be here having dinner with you. You make for a wonderful companion, unlike the boring businessman I would have sitting in front of me if I did marry." 

"I do not believe he was a business-" 

"By the door, a man just walked in who owes me a favor. Go and give him my name, he will help you find who you are looking for.” Her eyes seemed to dart toward the powder room. “You speak with him while I go and powder my nose." 

"How will he-" 

"Believe what you want, Mr. Holmes, but trust me when I tell you that he will help give you the information that you need to find whoever it is you are looking for. He will not speak to you if I am here, when you finish speaking to him, go and wait for me outside of the powder room. Now get up, and go offer to buy him a drink." 

For once, he seems to follow her orders and he is able to gain some information, but it piqued his curiosity about why the man’s face resembled that of having just seen a ghost when her name was mentioned, and immediately began looking for the woman. After the exchange, he waited for her near the wall of the powder room. One woman passed in front of him and she gave him a glance of indifference out of the corner of her eye. Unusual, but not uncommon. Until his companion arrived and seemed to be placing a paper in her bag. She looks up in shock to see him. "Done so soon? How many drinks did you give him? He never gives information that easily.”

“What are you hiding in your bag?” She had wanted him to not see it. What else is she hiding from him?

“My heart. Which is why it is so small. Shall we finish dining?” She tries to step away from him, but he stands in front of her again. 

“What are you keeping from me?” He blocks her passage. For just one weekend, could she not be honest with him? 

“Both everything and nothing, Mr. Holmes. Now let me through." 

"You said you weren’t playing a game. If we are to be partners, you need to tell me the truth." 

"Let me ask you a question, have you told me who you are looking for?” She raises an eyebrow.

“You haven’t told me who you are looking for either.”

“Then I guess we both are hiding things from each other. We both acknowledge it, now let’s put it past us." 

"Because that went so well-” he is cut off by her hands being placed on the sides of his face and pulling him down to meet her lips. Her hands tangling themselves on the hair that reached his neck. His hand went to her waist to steady himself.

Sherlock heard a scoff and the rustling of fabric before she pulled away. 

She smooths the front of her dress while he is standing there, just mildly confused about what had happened. 

“Well then, shall we go finish eating?” She leaves him there, only calling after him over her shoulder. “Are you going to stand there in shock all night or are you going to come to eat?" 

They are silent during dinner, the only noise being the sound of silverware scraping their plates. The ride back to the inn being as quiet with them looking in opposite directions. 

It wasn’t until the young detective arrived at the room that he finally figured out what was wrong with the situation. 

There was only one bed.

——

A/N: I am a fanfiction writer, I couldn’t not use the “there was only one bed” trope! Until next Friday, lovelies!

@maan24​

[henryholmesacademia]

Hello! This isn't my main account and I can't exactly reply to comments and you will know it's me, so I just wanted to say thank you so much for all of the support and the reblogs!! It means a lot!!! I am so happy that you all are excited!!

[henryholmesacademia]

Predilection

I, like many others, watched Enola Holmes and was entirely fascinated by the idea of Henry Cavill in Sherlock Holmes's wardrobe. While I was watching the movie, this story played throughout my head during the movie, and I decided to write it down and share it with you. I'm not entirely sure how long it will be, but we'll see.

It is meant to be a female!reader insert, but I hate using "you" and "y/n". I also try to avoid giving physical descriptions to suit everyone and every body type, but please let me know if I ever slip up.

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy it!

Beta, proofreader, hype woman, and overall my inspiration and motivator for the series @lost-aesthetic-of-past without whom I shall forever be lost.

Want to read on ao3? Here it is!

♤♡◇♧

Chapter One

Sherlock Holmes has a most unsual greeting from an old acquaintance.

Chapter Two

Miss Harrison does not take 'no' as an option and a meal is shared (almost).

Chapter Three

The single bed is addressed, a walk down memory lane (literally), a scorned ex-lover, and a threat. All with the span of 24 hours.

Link to Tumblr post

The Final Chapter

Coming to you before November 4th 2022!

[henryholmesacademia]

Predilection Chapter One

A/N: ahhhhh....I’m so nervous and excited! This isn’t my first time writing and publishing something on tumblr, but it is the first time I write for this guy. Hope you like it, and hope you stick around but please don’t feel obligated too. I don’t like doing synopsis or previews because I feel like it gives the story away, so you’ll just have to feel this one out. Enjoy! Or not, I can’t tell you how to live your life <3

beta reader, co-writer, motivator, and all around love of my life: @lost-aesthetic-of-past​ 

This isn’t a special story.

Might not even be a story at all.

But rather a telling of events that happened in a certain order and have been strung together to create a tale that could cure the boredom of the mind and indulge the land of fantasy.

We won’t start from the beginning. I’ll spare you the boring details and let you come to your own conclusions.

We’ll start our telling of tales in a humble tearoom.

The famous detective Sherlock Holmes had just finished having a somewhat futile conversation with Edith in the search for his younger sister. Come to think of it, it was not much of a conversation as much as it was a reprimanding of sorts. It might even be considered educating him on a subject he knew nothing of and needed a good slap into reality.

“You said she was traveling with a boy?” Sherlock inquired as she was making her exit from the room.

She stops at the doorway. “A useless boy, she called him. I couldn’t help but be reminded of a woman who traveled through here yesterday. We were about to close when she came in. She was wet from rain, but she didn’t seem to mind it at all.” She turns to look at him. “She said you would be here today, and it seems her assumption was correct. She told me that she would be waiting for you at 6 o'clock, Mr. Holmes, and that you had better dress nicely.”

“She left no name?” He raises an eyebrow.

Edith shrugged. “She was very certain that you would know who she was and that you would know exactly where she wanted you.”

Sherlock Holmes has always been talented at keeping his cool. Demonstrating no emotion. His face, some compared it to the likeness of a statue with how unmoved he was in situations.

This would be no different. It had been years since he had last seen the woman who was beckoning him.

And yet, she was always able to pique his curiosity.

“I see you received my message, Mr. Holmes.” Her voice was only accompanied by the sound of her heels. It had seemed that all sound in the bustle of society had come to a stop. No clinking of glass. No servers rushing passed them. It was just her. “And you dressed for the occasion.” Her eyes zero in on his attire. “I do love a man in a tie, as I’m sure you are aware." Oh, how she loved to tease him.

The detective knew basic manners, he was taught right from wrong, how to be respectful toward women, not to mention he had observed enough of the body language and cues of people. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to stand up and pull out a chair for her.

"I thought sending you a message would better prepare you for this, but I see it made no difference.” She sets her bag on the table and sits down on her own accord. She both loved and hated etiquette. There were so many rules and guidelines to follow. However, it did work to her advantage at times. “Tell me, Mr. Holmes, what adventure are you on right at this moment?”

“When did you return from overseas?” He manages to find his voice, though he never meant to lose it.

“I’ve been told that you are looking for someone. Could it be that marquee from the papers?” She stirs the spoon of the tea that a server had set down in front of her.

“You are avoiding my question. Mycroft is not aware that you are back, is he?” He lets out a deep breath. There was never a chance of getting a straight answer from her. She only knew how to respond in teasing and quick wit. Every smile devious, and every word was calculated.

“And you are very rudely avoiding mine.” Her smile, that teasing smile of hers. “Would you like help with the case of the marquee? If you ask nicely, I’ll go with you. Finding people who don’t want to be found is a specialty of mine.” She lifts the teacup from the saucer to her mouth innocently enough, but he knew better.

“But dealing with the damage you leave in your wake isn’t?” His words stop her drink and she places the cup back on the saucer.

“What a pity.” Her face forms a small pout. “I was rather liking our game.”

“You always think of things as some kind of game. There is going to be a day when you will find not everyone wants to join in. Not everyone is a toy who is vying for your attention in hope that you will play with them.”

“I will learn that the day you learn that people are more than answers to riddles.” She challenges. “Indulge me for a moment, why did you come here? You knew it was me who sent for you. You remembered my favorite restaurant, my favorite tea, and if they did not give you this table, I will forever assume that you were the one who asked for the table that was in the farthest corner of the room.”

“You do not want Mycroft to know you are here.” He tries to gauge her reaction and steer the conversation. Like always, she gives a grin. A true Cheshire cat smile.

“No. And you forget, Mr. Holmes, nobody knows anything until I want them to know.” She gathers her purse and stands up from the chair. “Here I was, hoping that we would have a nice dinner. It’s been…” she trails off as she looks for the right word. “Refreshing to see you, Mr. Holmes.”

“Why waste your time having dinner with me?” He can’t help but ask her. Just from observing her, he remembered how she would do nothing if it did not have a motive that she would find useful.

She pauses for a moment as she considers his question and gives him a genuine smile. A rare, but beautiful sight. “Is it so hard to believe that your company might be missed?” As she walks past him, she leans down close to his ear. “As for earlier, this isn’t a game to me, Mr. Holmes. But if it was…you were always my favorite player.” She whispers and leaves him to dwell with the aroma of sugar and spice in the air.

The great detective takes to his pipe that night as he stares into the fire. If you were to see him, you would think that he would be calculating his next move or contemplating his own life. That he would be entirely concerned for the welfare of his sister or mother that has vanished into thin air.

No.

He was thinking about his encounter with that woman. Not even the one from this evening, but all the previous ones he had with her. Each one is more memorable than the last. But none shall ever haunt his memory as much as when he first met her.

He never expected such a woman of high society to be standing in the same room with Lestrade right next to a crime scene. Her voice floated melodiously through the room as he walked through the front door. The smell of spice and sugar leads him to where a woman had her back turned to him while answering the Scotland Yard inspector’s questions.

“Ah, Mr. Holmes this is-” Lestrade begins.

The woman turns to see him, the ensemble on her hat was grand and elegant, but her striking eyes that hide the mischief behind them and her smile, which seemed to match the sentiment, was not hidden or dimmed. They were…quite beautifully complemented by it, as he recalled the words his mother said to him once as a child. She extends her gloved hand. “Miss Harrison.” She finishes for Lestrade with a pearly white smile. “And you are?” She inquires.

He was shocked for a moment as her hand was extended toward him. Society would not have allowed it to happen as a young woman should never extend her hand, and she did not seem to be married. Her glove did not have an outdent from a wedding ring.

“This is Sherlock Holmes, we ask him for consultation, and he comes when he’s bothered to read a telegram from us,” Lestrade adds when Sherlock remains stoic and silent.

The corners of her mouth seemed to turn up even higher at that. “My oh my, Mr. Holmes, the papers do not do you justice.” She looks straight at his eyes when she speaks again. “Tell me, has anybody ever told you how incredibly blue your eyes are? Why, I keep finding myself stopping to admire them.”

“No, miss, I can not say that I have.” He releases her hand and clears his throat while stepping forward to examine what Lestrade had originally summoned him for a routine theft. But from what he could tell, the jewelry stolen was not the woman’s jewelry. For she seemed to not wear any. Women who could afford such jewelry never left their households without displaying a few pieces and any fortune she might have clearly was being spent and invested in their extravagant garments and perfumes.

“I apologize. He’s not - well he does tend to act like that sometimes.” Lestrade finds himself in a very awkward position at the moment.

She turns to see him examining a table, observing his side profile. “There is no need for an apology, inspector Lestrade. He’s exactly as I imagined him to be. He’ll do nicely for this case. My employer would be pleased.”

“Who is your employer again? I never caught the name.”

“Oh, I didn’t say. They would prefer it if they were not associated with what happened at all.” She pauses for a moment. “Is that any problem, Mr. Holmes?” Her voice is a little louder to get his attention.

He ignores her question.

Just as the inspector is about to apologize again, she gives him a grin. “I quite like him, Lestrade. I might just keep him on.”

And keep him she did.

Sherlock takes out her handkerchief that she had slipped into his pocket when she was whispering in his ear, embroidered with her initials and the outline of her lipstick. A color that was almost as bold as she was. He held it up to his nose and, sure enough, it was the scent of sugar and spice.

[henryholmesacademia]

Delightful. Perhaps you could join me for tea.

[henryholmesacademia]

Costume Appreciation: Sherlock in Enola Holmes