#Holmes is being slowly domesticated

[amypihcs]

And from today’s letter from Watson!

John is tired and Holmes DROPS BY HIM AT A QUARTER TO MIDNIGHT! Mind you, the man was literally falling asleep on his novel. I can imagine him interrupting mid-yawn opening the door and finding himself facing Holmes.

AND THEN THE MAN STARTS DEDUCING HIS DAY AND LIFE, as you do, obv

well, as you do. Watson is so gracious not to kill he man instantly as he raps out deductions almost at midnight to a man asleep on his feet. I want to underline this once again, Watson is a darling and too good for this world.

And then, and then and then. Watson noticed of course that there’s a case going on! 

Well, at least Holmes worries about Watson being sleepy and tries to compress the story. Such a nice boy, he’s learning well.

[ladylaviniya]

Wails of Wedded Bliss

Masterlist || Chapter 2

Chapter Summary: Sherlock Holmes is forced to marry you...and it is clear...he does not appreciate the union...thanks Enola...

Pairing: Sherlock Homes x wife!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Domestic r4pe, P in V intercourse, Forced/Arranged Marriage, Loss of Virginity, Loss of Innocence, Domestic Violence. Wedding crashing.

Word Count: 9k

Author Notes: This story has been published in the past on Tumblr on my old account @milknhonies-old-account since I have created a newer account and I am reposting it here.

11:35pm Monday 28th April 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

“You know Sherlock, matrimony is not as wicked and cruel as you might believe,” said his companion one day beside the fireplace of their flat.

The detective was slumped in his chaise playing away at his violin obnoxiously. The terrible tune of Frère Jacques made the doctor wince as it hit his ears sharply. Sherlock Holmes had found himself in a mental state of his own man made dramatics...

“Et tu Watson?” Sherlock sighed and put the violin down before wiping a hand over his face, “My dear doctor, I have no desire to restrain myself to the shackles and torture you inflict onto yourself.” He rose to his feet with a lengthy groan and sat his instrument aside. The depressed sir stumbled over a pile of discarded books to get to the drinks trolley.

The wine bottle cork popped loudly as he tugged you open.

It was no mystery. Sherlock did not entirely approve of Mary Watson purely out of jealous spite influenced by the attentions of his friend. When the pair married Sherlock stood stiff and tight lipped. He reluctantly handed over the ring as John’s Bestman.

Over the engagement and even during the marriage, Sherlock did not cease his sly childish comments made from time to time.

John however had caught his wife in conversation and debate on numerous occasions with the detective. Mrs Watson and Mr Holmes were not friends by any means, but they tolerated each other under limited circumstances. They found smart enjoyment in each other.

The doctor had come to visit his friend under the revered request of the older Holmes brother...Mycroft. There was finally an expectation...Mycroft wanted Sherlock to make a male Holmes heir...Perhaps it was scandalous rumour but John wondered how true the gossip of the older brother was; being a pillow biter or an infertile gentleman...especially with the pressure to have Sherlock marry and procreate.

Sherlock poured himself a glass of wine and downed it quickly. He set the glass on the mantle and shook his head slowly.

John tried to smile, “Mary and I have fun.”

Sherlock scoffed jealousy.

John had been married and moved out of Baker Street for six months now. Sherlock dared not ask the condition of Mary’s pregnancy.

“What fun? With your lace doilies and Shepard’s pie?”

His friend smirked, “I enjoy Mary’s pie very much, Sherlock...” He pursed is lips and tapped his cane to the floor, “Perhaps you need a slice of your own?”

Sherlock glanced at his friend. He narrowed his eyes as he returned back to the chaise, careful to not trip again on the books and loose papers that laid across the floor.

“My own pie?” Sherlock crooned as he laid back into the cusions, “Why do I get the sense that we are not speaking that of a pastry?”

The doctor tilted his head and cleared his throat, staring off into the fire, “Mrs Hudson has confided in me that you’ve resorted to returning here with...friends from Mayfair Row of the fairer sex.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. The old hag of a landlady needed to keep her nose out of his business. He was making his rent on time, it shouldn’t matter who he kept his business with.

The detective groaned and rubbed his eyes, “Merely cases, dear John.”

The doctor bristled, “Do not lie to me Sherlock,” he waved his finger, “I know very well what you do with those women...it’s only a matter of time you ask me to check your pecker. God knows what they carry.”

Sherlock shrugged and sniffed loudly.

“For goodness sake man...” John scolded, “Have you no heart whatsoever then for the dear girl you are to marry?”

The detective rubbed his hands and laced his fingers, “Why should I?”

“Sherlock!” his friend hissed, “Have you not even considered the notion she might also resent the concept of matrimony as much as you?”

“Is that possible in women?” Sherlock quirked, “Good Scot! I sound like my brother.”

“Your own sister is still dragging her feet through her engagement to the Tewkesbury boy on what...a year almost now?” the doctor tapped his cane on the floor thoughtfully.

Sherlock huffed, “Enola is not a woman.”

In the eyes of the law she was...she needed only pick a wedding date and commit to it.

Sherlock wouldn’t have the luxury of a long engagement. The wedding was next week and he had quickly agreed to the contract. He would marry under the financial clutch of his brother...Mycroft threatened to cut off all entire bank in regards to Sherlock’s unpaid drug debts...

After the cold leads to the trail of Madame Moriarty...the detective found little sleep in the night...Sherlock befell the unfortunate antidote of cocaine to help him stay awake and opiates to keep him asleep...John loyally helped those sweating events and threatened to put him in an institute if he didn’t cease his regular consumption.

Perhaps, John wondered, Mycroft was intending to cease the draining of his pocket by using a wife to tame Sherlock’s spending habits. John decided then and there that Mycroft truly was an idiot.

“You’ve not told me her name...” the doctor said in the long silence.

Sherlock looked at his feet and sighed, “Y/N...her name is Miss Y/N Y/L/N.”

The surname was familiar to the doctor, however not personally.

John nodded gradually and scratched his moustache, “Mrs Y/N Holmes of Baker Street...it’s got a little ring to it. A simple lift to the breath don’t you think?” he mused.

The other man glared at him, he didn’t like John making fun of the situation he’d been coerced into.

He deflected, licking his lips, “Mary has grown fat.”

John cackled at the poor insult, “Swollen with my child. I’m glad you have finally noticed. I look forward to seeing your future wife just as ‘fat’ one day too.”

“Please John, my ingestion!” Sherlock shuddered, cupping his lips.

The cane tapped again at the floor, “Surely she isn’t so unsightly?” his friend asked.

“She is most plain,” Sherlock complained, before he peeled through the papers at his feet and held up a board of hard card to his friend, “Here...my brother thought it kind to send me a portrait, to invoke my eagerness, but as is clear...my mind is not swayed.”

John took the photo carefully and moved his spectacles from his pocket to his face, he gazed upon your printed face in the glow of the warm orange fire.

The doctor raised a brow and snorted, “This girl? Sherlock...I believe your disregard to the union prevents you from seeing her true potential. I think you will make fine and handsome children.”

Sherlock looked on to the fire and continued to shake his head stubbornly, “I need a case Watson...not a wife...”

The doctor felt his resolve failing, he donned his hat and scarf, “Perhaps she is your next case...after all why would anyone agree to marry you?” he stood and left Sherlock to ponder until the embers of the fireplace burnt out black and the last light of the room was succeeded by the wretched dawn.

09:00am Monday 5th May 1890 Saint Marylebone Parish Church, London, England.

A lengthy breath escaped your chest as your fingers pinched your pearly white gloves.

Twenty was a scary age...you walked a line of spinsterhood.

This was it...

You were lucky to be here. Lucky to have this offering...the circumstances were complicated. You were illegitimate but nonetheless still cared for by your father’s parents. They pitied you and your past. Good Christians with empathetic hearts, they chose to raise you when your father abandoned you for a wife who despised the concept of living beneath he same roof as her husband’s bastard.

You were grateful and honest and polite and strived to please your paternal grandparents. When they presented to you a engagement contract, you dared not waste or drain any more of their kind financial generosity.

You were amazed by the name also on the document...

You were being asked to marry The Sherlock Holmes, London’s notorious detective.

You were stunned. You accepted.

His brother, the dealer of the contract was a friend of your grandfather and had been the proposer of the deal. The two men seemed to always sit together in parliament house.

You hadn’t even met your husband to be...today during the ceremony would be the very first time.

As your grandmother fixed your veil in the carriage ride to the church, you caressed the front of the bible in your lap. You prayed to God this marriage was right and meant to be.

“You are not as pretty as my daughter’s, but as our ward after all these years I am sure you will be a suitable bride to Mr Holmes,” she muttered under her breath.

Her husband happily scolded, “Nonsense! Our granddaughter will be a perfect match to the greatest detective of London.”

He leant beside you and pinched your nose under the veil, “My little girl is the prettiest princess today,” his fingers laced with yours and kissed the back of your gloves hand with his silver beard covered lips.

“Thankyou grandfather.”

The corner of your lips jerked up. He was the warmer of the two...but it was confided that your grandmother who sat sullen faced in front of you was merely putting in a facade. Your grandfather told you early at breakfast that your grandmother wept last night, sad to see you off to be a true married woman of society.

The accomplished their task, raising a young lady of good standing and half decent breeding.

The carriage came to a screeching halt.

The cold breeze hit your face as your grandparents climbed out of the carriage door. Your delicate gloves fingers reached out and were supported by your grandfather.

You passed your bible to your grandmother who exchanged them for a modest bouquet of flowers and lace.

The chapel was massive but you knew there would be only a small audience.

Your feet climbed the stairs and patiently waited for your escort. Your grandfather’s wobbly knees had to rely on you and his walking cane. Your grandmother climbed behind him to insure he didn’t fall and hurt himself or drag you down too.

The wooden church doors were open a jar.

The whistling wind made you feel like you were entering a funeral rather your own wedding. You were not opposed to matrimony but the dead silence and stares at the front of the pews made you blood feel cold...

A gentleman you knew as Mycroft Holmes was sitting in the front pew and rose to attention as you were entering.

There was three other men standing at the edge of the room.

The priest, and the groom and his best man.

Your husband to be was handsome from the distance you could see if him. His lips remained stern in a flat line however and his brows appeared knitted, perhaps he was...displeased?

Sherlock Holmes was accompanied by his infamous companion...Doctor John Watson. A war veteran.

A woman you had never met was mirroring his position to the left side of the church, your chosen maid of honour...but as she turned the slight curve of her belly spoke out... pregnant. A matron of honour.

Your grandfather clenched your arm and kissed the side of your head. You began your steady approach down the island with your grandmother now leading in front to find her seating on the front left pew.

You tried to not share too directly at your future husband’s frown. Perhaps he was tired or not aware he was frowning at all and just deep in his thoughts.

You passed your bouquet to your matron of honour.

Your arms felt shaky, this was it...a lifelong commitment ceremony.

When you paused before the alter, the priest bowed his head and asked your grandfather, “Do you giveth this woman to be married to this man?”

He gruffly cleared his throat “I do,” and turned you to face him, his hands squeezed your arms gently before he carefully lifted your veil above your face and over your flower covered hair. He smiled softly, tears beaded in the corner of his eyes. He leant closer and kissed your cheek, in your ear he whispered gently, “God bless my darling girl.”

Sherlock was quickly removing his white glove and pocketing it in his inner breast side blazer.

Your grandfather turned you around to face the priest. He placed your right hand into the holy man’s who then carefully removed the glove you wore and passed your naked fingers into the warm clammy hands of Sherlock Holmes. His reaction to your bare face was out of surprise...you did not know if his wide dark blue eyes were a good sign or not.

The priest tied a small white ribbon around your wrists, connecting you and Sherlock in symbolism.

He turned back and floated up to the stairs of his stand. He opened his holy book and said out to the very small group witnessing, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man...and this woman in holy matrimony.”

You felt your throat tighten and your mouth dry as Sherlock’s thumb softly rubbed the back of your hand. Your eyes glanced over to his face...his frown had disappeared, he was wearing the smallest of smiles. Relief swept through you, he was happy for now and that is all you cared for.

As the priest continued his holy speech on the reason of marriage you thought about your duties as a wife. You would now look after your husband as you have cared for your grandfather. You would bring forth a hot meal for dinner and host luncheons with other married couples of society. You would rub his sore feet and shoulders and prepare him a bath when he required it after his days of long tiring work. And most importantly...you would lay back and take him within to create children. You would spend the rest of your life expected to make your husband feel appreciated and loved. You were to be his other half, his Eve to his Adam.

He had the important duty of caring for you financially and supporting your future children and their education.

If he was a detective you knew his intelligence meant you would make very brilliant minded babes. You would make society proud.

You had seen Sherlock face in the papers but they were of illustrations that did not capture the colour and humanism of himself

“-Into which holy estate these two persons present come now to be joined,” the priest softly finished.

You felt Sherlock sigh and when his thumb stopped rubbing your hand, you tried to return the same rubbing onto his fingers.

It was a silent language of greeting and comfort...

‘hello, how do you do?’

‘I am well, thankyou.’

“Therefore, if any man can show any just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter for ever hold his peace.”

The groom glanced over his shoulder and his lips appeared to tighten...they fell into a frown and his hand grip loosened...was he...your heart deflated...was he not wanting to marry you?

You tried to restrain your emotions.

The priest peered down at you both, “Kneel.”

Sherlock and you with your hands still touching and bound slowly bend to your knees before the altar. The holy man pulled out a bowl and pinched his hands into the holy water.

He flicked both of your faces as he spoke, “I require and charge you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment, why ye may not be lawfully joined together in Matrimony, ye do now confess it. For be ye well assured, that so many as are coupled together otherwise than God’s Word doth allow are not joined together by God; neither is their Matrimony lawful...”

There was no way you could mention how you were concerned Sherlock’s reaction might’ve been worldly. He remained silent to.

Your grandmother once told you how people who marry often do not love each other until years later. It happened to her, so you had within your heart the trust that as long as you put in the effort to be the perfect wife, Sherlock would eventually grow his love for you.

The Priest smiled at you both and nodded his head,

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes wilt thou have this woman Y/N Y/L/N to thy wedded Wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony?”

Your eyes glanced to his face, he appeared, flushed.

“Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

Your groom looked over your hands and then glanced up at your face, his throat bobbed, “I will.”

His thumb rubbed your hand again.

You tried to smile...it was hard when he didn’t appear as enthusiastic about the union as you had hoped. It reminded you this was really just a contract between his brother and your grandfather.

“Y/N Y/L/N wilt thou have this William Sherlock Scott Holmes to thy wedded Husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony?”

Your eyes stared up at the Priest who was dictating the vow, “Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

Your voice for a moment caught in your throat. You looked to the floor and nodded, “I will.”

The priest then stood away and proclaimed, “Now ye have proclaimed to god, now tis time you proclaim your vows to yourselves.”

You felt Sherlock tighten his grip and faced him still kneeling beside him, his voice wavered as he proclaimed, “I, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, take thee Y/N Y/L/N to my wedded Wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

A pause in the air reminded you it was now your turn to repeat the solemn vow.

And for a split second...you wondered if agreeing would be a sin to god...you would do this all...but love...could you love a man who you did not know, honour a man who may not love you?

You nodded and properly looked into his eyes, trying to vow earnestly.

“I Y/N Y/L/N take thee William Sherlock Scott Holmes to my wedded Husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.”

He glanced away and his lips parted, it was if he wanted to say something to you...before he closed them and eyed the priest. Ah yes...you were still in a holy ceremony. Talking could come later.

The priest nodded to you both and gestured to your hands.

“Now the groomsmen may please administer the ring.”

Sherlock removed his other glove.

The man who stood behind him, John, stood carefully forward after stealing a small ring from his breast pocket and passed it to Sherlock.

The priest untied your hands and your groom delicately took your left hand. He removed your other glove and pocketed it.

“With this ring I thee wed,” He pinched your forth finger before sliding the cold golden band on, it felt slightly loose, “With my body I thee worship.”

You finally took the time to actually look at his full face as he vowed to you. His blue eyes were dark and sparkling like a night sky or a ravenous stormy sea. In the corner of his right eye was a fleck of brown...oh yes...the stony sea side by the waters, they were his solemn eyes covered by curtains of thick dark lashes.

“And with all my worldly goods I thee endow,” he trailed off softly.

His lips were thin, wet and soft...his skin flushed in a soft pink but not overly obvious, his neck was a shade lighter to his ears and cheeks.

You heard the distant hum of the priest standing above you both.

The groom cleared his throat, “In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

The priest clapped his hands and joyously announced, “For as much as William Sherlock Scott Holmes and Y/N Y/L/N have consented together in holy Wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a Ring, and by joining of hands; I pronounce that they be man and wife together, rise now as Mr and Mrs Holmes. In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

Everyone in the church echoed the everlasting word...“Amen.”

Sherlock and you rose steadily back to your feet. He let go of your fingers. Your hands limply fell aside. You turned back to your grandparents and smiled.

You were now a married woman before God.

The holy man brought around the script of lawfully paper to sign your name and the names of your witnesses. The parchment was laid across a small serving table where there was a small ink well and pen waiting.

Out of necessity you went to the table first.

When you signed your maiden name and then scripted out your new surname, you were now under the law of man the wife of the British detective. Your eyes fluttered shut...it was done...you were no longer considered the poor bastardess soul that had been disowned by both parents...you were now The Mrs Holmes. Wife and a future mother of Holmes sons and daughters.

Your matron of honour came closer to your side and politely smiled, “Mary Watson, my husband is the groomsmen. You are most beautiful and I must demand Sherlock cherishes you rightfully.”

She was a beautiful. Her gown at a light blue cooled her wild complexion. With her blonde hair and rosy pink cheeks, she glowed in her motherly state.

You returned the grin, “A pleasure Mrs Watson, thankyou for being here on this special day.”

She leant across you and signed the paper before laying her hands on your shoulders thoughtfully. You looked over your shoulder at the man who was now your husband.

He was shaking hands among the male participants. He was smiling. Your souls felt relieved. When he looked at you, the was something strange...he looked you entirely up and down... His face dropped, back to his deep thoughts.

He bowed his head to you before he brushed passed you leant over the certificate to officiate his name, however before the pen could meet the paper there was a persistent cry.

“I object!” Screamed this mousy tone that echoed the chapel walls, “Sherlock! I am sorry I am late! Stop! Stop the wedding!”

The sound of running feet screeched along the stone floor.

Everyone’s face split into shock as a boy who was a little younger than you for appearance sake came racing down the pews.

Yet as the boy ran closer, you could see the hat fall of his head and a wave of beautiful brown locks flowed down their back...her back...it was a girl in dirty boys clothes. She looked a kin to a chimney sweep with the amount of spot over her face and her hands and shirt.

“Please!” she heaved onto her knees to catch her breath, “Do not continue!” she raised her filthy palms in praying pleas to the priest.

“What is the meaning of this!?” your grandfather said losing his temper at the foul interruption of a seemingly happy union.

“Enola!” the two Holmes brothers shouted in union. They looked to each other accusingly before looking back at the girl.

The young woman glanced between you and Sherlock and started shaking her head.

“Enola,” Mycroft hissed and grabbed the girls arm roughly, shaking her slightly, “look at the state of you! What is the meaning of this? You were not permitted to attend and yet you come here uninvited nonetheless!?”

You were frightful of the way Mycroft shouted at her and brutally shook her. The young woman appeared scattered, she looked at you and then to Sherlock again.

“You were too late Enola,” your husband frustratingly sighed, “Mycroft let her go, this is my fault.”

Too late...wait....what...

You were stunned...speechless and confused...

Did Sherlock...have another love? Did this young creature hold his affections?

Mycroft loosened his grip. She sprung away from the older Holmes, “You are married, perhaps before God who I know you don’t care for!” And dashed passed you and waved the certificate with only your name on the paper.

“What blasphemy is this?” your Grandmother now announced with annoyance.

“But see?” The young woman named Enola ignored her and ran up to Sherlock, “Your name is not here, so legally you are not married Sherlock, you can stop this!”

His nose flared and his face darkened to pink. You could hear how his knuckles cracked as he made them into fists. He was furious. His angry eyes flashed at you and back at the girls.

You felt stunted...this girl was right...

Your chest deflated...you were not married, no, you were still in fact Y/N Y/L/N the bastard daughter of a Lord who was not permitted the privileged respect of your legitimate cousins and siblings. You were not a honourable woman still...you were still covered and stained with your parents sins.

The comforting hand of Mary Watson touched your hand. You started trembling.

Your heart ached. Your hopes to be veiled in a honouring title as a wife were diminishing by the second.

“I can help pay off your debts when I marry,” she quickly spurted, “Do not let Mycroft rule over you like he has done all these years! Do not marry a woman you clearly do not love Sherloc-”

“Enola!”

You gasped. You jumped as his voice bellowed and boomed through your ears and throughout the stone walls of the church. This dramatic scene was incredibly unorthodox and the priest himself seemed amiss and confused on how to handle the audience of the church.

“Enough!” Sherlock angrily hissed and shook his head.

He tore the paper from her hands and slammed it down on the priests stand before gracelessly signing his name.

“There!” he spat and slapped the paper against the priests chest, “It is done!”

He proceeded to storm out of the church leaving you and the rest of those in attendance in shock. “Sherlock! Wait!” Mrs Watsons husband shouted as he gathered his hat, coat and cane from a pew and hobbled out hurriedly after him.

Your chest tightened...you felt a rush of air escape you. You felt rather like your entire body had been spun around too many times. The embarrassment you felt before the audience was horrible. Tears were watering up into your eyes.

You felt abandoned.

It was quite obvious to you and everyone in the church...

Sherlock Holmes did not want to marry you. Why were you so unlovable?

You felt your legs grow wobbly. Carefully with the kind support of Mrs Watson you sat down in a pew.

Your grandmother did not look at you. She stared at the cross hanging above the ceiling and sighed. Her wrinkled lips turned downward. She did not approve of your behave or his.

This wedding was a distasteful event.

Your grandfather was shaking and needed to also sit down. The priest and Mycroft helped him to the opposite pew chairs. His hand was strictly clenching his chest.

And everyone but yourself was glaring at the young girl in boys clothes...

“Enola,” your matron of honour mumbled, “I think it best you leave until you are ready to apologise to your brothers wife...”

Your breath hitched and you gasped out of shock.

So she was not a old girlfriend romantically begging for love from your now husband...no instead the name came ringing through your ear. Enola Holmes...of course...the less experienced Holmes detective...

You dared not speak. You knew your tongue might be venomous and hot as a flame. You were in shock and a state of silent rage and sadness. You could’ve slapped the stupid looking girl whose face was full of surprise and regret.

You weren’t entirely sure how to express yourself. You felt humiliated and rejected. All those years of silence and a straight face after what your father had said to you...it broke you...

Your own husband did not want you. We’re you that much unlovable? We’re you cursed to feel this way?

Your grandfather was the only man in your life left that you felt honest adoration from...and his time was coming soon to an end in his old age.

You muffled your sobs into you gloves as you heard Enola run out of the church.

It was your brother in law who then came to kneel before you and hold out to you a handkerchief, “My sincerest apologies dear sister. I dared not think Sherlock or my sister could be so wicked a pair until now. All I can beg is you accept your role and keep your sweet countenance.”

You wondered suddenly why he was not the brother you married instead. Before you focused on such a thing you remembered that lusting for another man, your husband’s brother, was a grave mortal sin and incredibly improper before a holy priest.

Taking the cloth you sighed and covered your face, “Th-thankyou Mr Holmes, I do hope to make your brother very...” you croaked and tried not to break into tears again, to avoid them you swallowed hard, “very happy.”

You took a cool deep breath and forced a smile onto your lips. It hurt. Your cheeks stretched and painfully ticked.

He nodded and smiled, “I am sure you will my dear, I am sure you will, allow me the opportunity to escort you to your cab, your grandfather...”

You both looked at the older man whose anger had made him out of breath, “is still unwell.”

You said your subtle goodbyes. You kissed your grandfather’s balding scalp and scratching softly at his beard. He kissed the inside of your palm. His eyes watered, he didn’t want this for you. He looked down with shame.

In your eyes now you understood be would be the last man to have ever loved you.

Nodding you accepted his arm and thus concluded the wedding...

11:23am Monday 5th May 1890, 221 Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

Mycroft had hailed you a cab as your husband so nobly left into the one that had been rented for the both of you.

Your brother in law loaded you inside and had said he would look after your grandparents to make sure they got back to their own home safe and soundly.

You closer the curtain to the window and let your heart sob.

A sad bride on her wedding day, how terribly melancholy and cliché....

You didn’t expect romantic puppy dog love found in frivolous novellas, however you never expected such humiliation and horror to strike you on such an important date. This would be something you’d never forget...

The abandonment of another person in your life.

You were in a state of utter distress. You clenched your skirts tightly beneath your fingers. Yoh violently tore at your veil and the pins in your hair that held the specific style.

As the carriage cam to a halt the driver called out your destination, you pulled the curtain back and looked at the street.

221 Baker Street...your new home.

You opened and slid out of the carriage by yourself. You lifted your skirts, avoiding the black mud that your shoes squished into.

You climbed the front stairs of the building gradually and knocked at the door.

You waited five minutes before resorting to desperately banging. The horse cab had taken off and there was no going back.

What you desired most was a chance to sit down again and collect yourself before you sobbed hysterically on the street in the public eye. You already held the strange case of some being still clad in your white wedding gown.

When the door finally creaked open you fought every bone in your body not to storm your way through inside.

A wrinkle hand pushed the door open, followed by a steady voice of an older woman, “Why, hello my dear!” she said, “You must be the new Mrs Holmes then?”

A woman with wide eyes too close together with glasses and a loud clattering chatelaine on her waist opened the way to you.

Her hand launched out and tugged you inside by your wrist.

“Come, come in, please!”

You let her pull you inside the building and shut the door behind you.

As she locked the front door she spun to welcome you in an unexpected hug.

You normally would be shocked by such impropriety of embracing a stranger so quickly. But in your state of distress you leant closer into her arms and sniffled.

She pulled away, “My dear,” she gasped, “It is your wedding day, why the tears?” Your wet eyes went round and round as she jittered about you, admiring your dress and pinching at the soft material. “I did not expect you to arrive here so early. Oh and where are my manners! I’m Mrs Hudson dearest, I am your land lady and housekeeper.”

You fiddled with the ring now solid on your finger. You bowed softly to her, “My name is Y/N I don’t expect you to call me Mrs Holmes, Mrs Hudson, please call me as you will be my name,” you mumbled and wiped your eyes. They were pink and puffy.

She clicked her tongue with dismay.

“I presume Sherlock has brought you to this state...” The elderly woman smiled sadly, her wrinkles spread out, she took your arm and led you up a flight of stairs.

“Darling, I am just happy you are here. Your husband can be such a bully sometimes, but don’t tell him I said so. Your belongings arrived early this morning and I was just finishing putting your belonging away in your room.”

“Mrs Hudson,” you whimpered, “thankyou greatly for I have had a trying day...”

She gave you a copy of the home key to the 221B door.

Inside you were received with a scent of ink and tobacco. A very masculine smell. Clearly this was the home of your husband.

“Sherlock can be quite the messy tenant so I pray you will be fast enough to clean up after him,” Mrs Hudson stated bluntly.

“He has all his things thrown around the apartment and his excuse is always it has been done for a bloody case,” she made a high pitch sound and quickly covered her lips, “Forgive me dear, I don’t usually swear.”

You smiled sweetly and sighed, “Do not ask that of me Mrs Hudson,” you shook your head. Your grandfather had a terrible habit of doing many deeds and saying many things unfit for the ears of a lady.

She sighed with relief and clapped her hands. By taking your arm once more, she guided you through the homestead and presented you the premises.

Here there was a fireplace in the living room, nearby a bathtub had been carried from one of the bedrooms, it’s linens already prepared and laid over the copper surface. A fresh bucket of coal and wood sat beside the fireplace layout. The floor covered in a fine carpet and the curtains were the thickest of velvet.

“Kitchen is down stairs, shared by us both dear but I supply most meals as is the tenancy agreement so you needn’t burden yourself with those tasks, I do ask you wash your own linens. We have a alley line out the windows.”

You nodded as the woman kindly spoke to you and introduced you to your new life.

It was when you passed two doors you realised there was two bedrooms.

“Sherlock is sometimes a overly private person. Especially to the contents of his cases and clients. He owns the only key to his bedroom so I’m afraid I cannot show you his room until he arrives. This one, where Doctor Watson once resided is now yours.”

You opened it up and noted the empty trunks around the room which Mrs Hudson had emptied earlier.

“Doctor Watson lived here?” you asked over your shoulder as you stepped into the quarters.

You visually took in the fine canopy bed and a small desk and wardrobe in the corner with a large window that led out to the alley wash line, a balcony area and stair case up to the roof above.

Mrs Hudson went around and closed the suitcases and trunks gently, one by one. You started to explore which drawers she had placed what undergarments and jackets and what dresses had been hung in the wardrobe and which books she had stacked onto your desk and where she placed your accessories on your vanity.

You were not surprised by the condition of a separate sleeping quarter. Your grandparents slept in separate rooms...but that was because your grandfather was a loud snorer and suffered from nightmares of his time in the wars.

This marriage, you worried, would also lack a lot of physical contact...

“I am going to carry these empty trunks up to the attic dear,” Mrs Hudson stated as she lifted the empty wooden boxes. Your eyes widened and before you could offer assistance she had moved spritely out.

You opened the window to your room, allowing light into the space. You sneezed. It seemed the particles in the light showed Mrs Hudson forgot to dust the area.

You opened the small doors. The noise of the outdoor city crept in. The smell of the salty mud in the street tickled your nose.

Intrigued to enjoy more of your space you came out to look more around your home. It was smaller than what you came from, that did not make you any less grateful. This would be better than living in the gutter of the slums, you were sure.

The idea you now had a home of your very own where you could independently invite people over for tea and luncheon was exciting, your husband be damned if he didn’t allow.

12:07pm Monday 5th May 1890, 221 Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

When Mrs Hudson returned after removing the last suitcase and storage box, you politely requested she help you out of your wedding dress...

Her grey eyes widened at your request, “Did you not wish to await Sherlock’s return my dear? Traditionally the husband loves to take of this gown of all gowns.”

After his actions today...you were not sure you wanted to please him or suffer his very untraditional behaviour. You doubt he would be kind or patient enough to unbutton the line down your back.

You shook your head, “Thankyou for your suggestion Mrs Hudson, but my mind remains solid, I wish to resort to a dressing gown. I don’t intend to welcome any guests today other than yourself and my husband.”

Not willing to question your choice, she smiled warmly, “Alrighty dear, turn around then.”

Her wrinkly fingers pinched at your spine line of buttons starting from your neck downward.

“Forgive my prying dear...may I ask how the service went? I had expected you and Mr Holmes to have arrived together.”

You sighed and pinch the bridge of your nose. The moment you arrived you sensed this line of questioning would eventually occur...

“It was sorely interrupted by my sister in law...I believe she was attempting to save her brother from the wails of...” you smirked, and sarcastically drawled, “wedded bliss...”

You could hear the old woman cackle behind you, “Ah that Enola Holmes is a trouble maker and their mother if I might say so myself.”

“I did not witness his mother at the ceremony?” you noted openly, you presumed their parents had passed away.

“Oh no, probably not. Eudoria like a ghost in the walls some days. Very secretive that woman but good company I assure you, a comedian.”

How unusual to state so openly their mother was a trouble maker and yet good company...was such a thing possible?

“She...Enola...revealed his...true desires...or lack of...to be my husband...he left the chapel in a great frustration.”

Mrs Hudson’s worrisome tone opened out to you, “Oh no my dear, I am sorry to hear such a thing...I did say earlier some days he can be bully so I must pray he doesn’t treat you like that furthermore.”

You nodded sharply, “Perhaps my husband needs a bigger bully to tame his actions. Maybe he needs a good humbling?” you snorted a laugh. You felt a sudden pause in Mrs Hudson. You sensed her stepping away. Her sudden silence disturbed you

You looked over your shoulder to observe her but what came in view was a elderly woman gaping at a hard face man at the front door...Sherlock.

“Mrs Hudson, I do not believe it is a duty of yours to undress my bride and so I must find myself saying, I forbid you to touch her so intimately again,” he quipped as he shed his blazer and hung his top hat on the coat rack.

The room had become cold despite the bright sun shining into the apartment.

You felt exposed with your back flared out.

You turned your body for your front to face him.

The housekeeper snorted, “If you hadn’t abandoned her in the chapel this morning perhaps you would’ve been here to do it yourself.”

Your jaw fell open at her boldness. The man grimaced and smiled tightly with fire in his eyes, “Mrs Hudson?” he asked sweetly, “Get out of my apartment. Now.”

It was scary and yet so calm as he said it. His tone was full of a unspoken threat. The elder woman jerked up her chin and nudged him as she left the main room.

Sherlock swiftly locked the door behind her.

“So...Mrs Holmes...” He muttered bitterly, “You appear to be in need of a hand there with your wedding dress. Come here...wife...so I may relieve you of your strains.”

He spat the word ‘wife’ through gritted teeth. You did not feel safe...

“I...I’m sorry for what I said,” you mumbled, looking away from him as he stepped slowly closer to you.

He looked at you with a harsh face. His finger twirled in the air...silently demanding you turn.

He might as well have slapped you with the way you gasped. You bit your lip tightly to not cry now in front of him again. You turned away from him and began to pull down the bodice of your gown.

“Do not be,” he scoffed lightly, “You were merely stating what lay in your mind...”

You felt him behind you, hovering over you. You felt his fingers dug into the strings of your corset.

You pushed the bodice down to your hips. You untied the string of your bustle. When the springy cage collapsed, your white skirts fell passed your hips and down to your ankles.

“To this day,” Sherlock hummed, “I seek when women return to the corseting stays of only their chest. I don’t like pulling all these strings loose.”

You nodded slowly. You wanted to not disagree with him or voice your opinion. You had made the mood direly cold and you felt it was your duty to make him happy once again.

You stood from foot to foot nervously, “I had the means to merely shred my dress and not my underlings, you needn’t remove my corset-”

He cut you off blunt and brashly, “I want to see my wife naked and I need to pull these strings before I lose patience and cut them off, so please stay still.”

“Naked?” you gasped as he tugged roughly, making the whale bone loosen further around your waist and hips. You lost your balance and fell forward onto the lounge.

He twirled you around to face him, “Yes, naked,” and pushed the corset up and over your head. You felt suddenly like a trapped animal on the cushion lounge. The chemise was light and sheer...it did little to hide your breasts....

He got to his knees in front of you and started to unbutton your shoes.

“You know how to perform your wifely duties yes? You do not require an anatomy lesson I hope? A woman of sublime education should know how one copulates with another.”

You clenched your thighs tightly together, tol afraid to move as he stared up at you. Very tiny movement of your nodding made him hum approvingly.

You were feeling hot...sweat beading at the back of your neck. You were not sure whether you were ready to have him so carnally especially in the middle of the day. You were unsure if this was appropriate to be doing at all.

As he removed both your shoes...his hands tenderly pulled at your white stockings....his hands creeped up your legs and pulled at the ribbon garters... Your bare feet felt cold to the air.

You jumped as the feeling of his lips pressed to one of your knees.

It was the first kiss he ever gave you.

His hands were wayward and you frigidly laid still. You were still too scared to move. His hands cupped your covered breasts softly.

The breath in your chest was quickly stolen out in a gasp and a unpreventable shaking moan.

His face rose up and his nose nuzzled to yours. It was so intimate and sudden...you were frightened and turned your face away to shudder...

“W-wait,” you softly begged.

He pulled back and huffed, “Yes, you’re corrct, I am overly dressed as well it would seem.”

He pushed up to his feet and plucked at the buttons of his vest. His finger unkindly tore his cravat from his throat and thumbed down his trouser lifting suspenders.

You felt your knees rise up to your chest. You were unsure if he wanted you to help, if that was a part of the duties of the bedroom....you were still not in the bedroom however...

“I believe this copulation would be easier in the bedroom, my dear Mrs Holmes?”

You didn’t understand straight away what he meant...you were frazzled...surely men who hated their wives didn’t do this? Had you pleased him so quickly that he didn’t care about whatever you’d don’t to frustrate him?

He looked at you dumbly and tilted his head, glancing to your bedroom door.

His hand held out to you, “Shall we?”

Your mouth felt impossibly dry but your loins grew a buzz and you felt a need to self pleasure...was this lust allowed in a marriage bed?

You carefully rose to your feet.

He pulled you closer and closer to your room and finally closer to your own bed.

He gently pushed your shoulders down for you to sit on the soft mattress

He removed his shoes and pushed down his loose trousers. His breeches, he started to unbutton. You looked away from his face and up to the ceiling.

You heard his breeches hit the floor. You didn’t want to look at his intimates... He shed his shirt and started to pinch at your chemise.

“Lift your arms up.”

From the corner of your eyes you could see his bare chest.

You were trembling with your limbs above your head. You didn’t know this man...he was Sherlock Holmes the great detective but that is all you knew.

And you were letting him see you in a state of your most open self...

He pulled the material over your head and he groaned as he gazed at your totally nude chest. Your nipples hardened in the cold breeze wharfing through the open window. Your arms fell to quickly cover your chest, you were too cold and shy to be so exposed like this to him.

He noticed your shivering. He turned away and went to close the window and shut the curtains. With strange admiration you noticed his tight and strong backside and thighs.

You flushed and accidentally whimpered when he turned around and you saw his cock. It wasnt like the statues in the museum...nor the medical books you perused..

It was...larger, and brutish.

You bit your lip and clenched your thighs again.

Would be hurt you? You were curious as a young girl about sex like many. Among your friends you had heard that the larger the male member the more agonising coitus would be.

You quickly recalled a time as a girl your grandfather took you to a horse auction and a stallion had broken his way into the mares pen. The great black beast look the white squealing mare most violently.

Would Sherlock pin his body above yours and bite the back of your neck to keep you beneath him...

You gulped loud enough for him to hear.

His hand pushed your shoulders back slowly.

“Spread those pretty thighs Mrs Holmes, show me what is now mine...”

Your fingers dug into your arms as you held yourself. Pathetically, tears came creeping out the button ducts of your orbs and escaped down your cheeks.

You swallowed the sob building in your chest. You didn’t think this intimacy would be so frightful and terrorising...

He stared down at you with a mean smirk. He scoffed and shook his head. He touched your knees and helped force them apart. Your spread thighs revealed your hairy centre at the crease of your drawers crotch...

He hummed approvingly. He stuck two fingers into his mouth and sucked them loudly and lewdly...

You choked on your tears and covered your face with your hands unable to watch anymore...you felt everything nonetheless...

Those fingers trailed across your thigh and tapped at your peaking labia. Your eyes felt wide.

A light shriek jumped from your throat as his hot mouth latched to your neck and you gasped while his tongue tickled your flesh.

You felt a single finger wiggled its way around your pearl bundle of pleasure before trailing and prodding into the space of your body...the hole. Your vaginal entrance...

“A hairy pussy cat...I might need to change that...”

You didn’t understand what filth he was suggesting. You knew your pussy referred to your entrance but to change it made no sense to you...

His free hand gently pulled your wrists away and pushed your hands to sit above your head.

With his soft mouth he wetly trailed his tongue along your skin arouse down to your fuzzy covered underarm and across to the swell of your breath. You squeezed your eyes shut with difficulty as you felt the tip of his nose nudge your teat...

His hot breath covered your nipple.

It stirred a strange, painful warm down your belly and arousal between your legs. You felt the wet essences of pleasure seep from yourself...

You shuddered loudly and groaned into the head of his curly hair as his finger pushed inside, stretching you out. You blanched at the thought remembering his thick cock was worth four of his fingers at this moment.

The sound of his finger was squelching and wet.

His second finger flickered to get inside of you. You tore away your mouth and loudly groaned as he entered and spread your insides.

Your belly felt tight. You let out a moan.

He kissed along your jaw and pushed his mouth over your lips. You didn’t know what to do. It was like he was sucking at your lips and licking them with his tongue.

You felt your experience come to light. You and on some occasions of youth touched yourself intimately in the dead of the night when all in the manor were asleep...your soft sighs muffled by your own pillows were heard only by yourself. The scratching sounds of your hips rolling against a thick blanket between your legs were maybe mistaken for a skittering rat in the walls.

You urges would decease the touches when you were reminded by your own senses that your genitals were not your prize but your future husband’s to touch. It was a sin to steal what would belong to him.

And as you laid beneath Sherlock and recalled those desperate nights of silly humping you bucked your hips into the touch of his fingers filling and stretching your way.

It was good to be a virgin...you didn’t want to be a slut ...you worried he would see you as many saw you.... Like your mother a prostitute....

You kept yourself pure for this moment but for the first time you wondered if that was a good choice. Was the lack of experience...a good thing for men?

And after sometime of him thrusting his fingers in and out, you felt the soft hot skin of something touching your hole....the tip of his cock.

“Sh-sherlock,” you worriedly whispered, “Please...w-wait.”

Your husband grunted and lifted his hand away from your hole to run his thumb across your tear wet cheek.

“You are aware it will sting...nothing has been inside you like this before.”

“Yes,” you whimpered. He kissed your wobbling mouth and used the tips of his fingers to press on your clit. He rubbed you slowly and realigned his tip to your hole.

“Allow me to open your doors with my key, wife. Fill your home with children.”

You shouted up at the ceiling as he thrust hard and fast into your body. Your lower body felt like a hot poker was ripping up into you.

You gasped and choked on a silent squeak before a few seconds past and the air filled your lungs making you scream and cry out as your life changed forever...

It was like he had cut you inside. And the pressure had not left you. His cock was dug deep and snuggly buried inside your tight hole.

You hit him. Your fists banged his chest with the little strength you had left.

“Stop! Get off me!” you wailed.

With bruising grip he held your arms down either side of your head. He was too strong for you to pull and push off. You sobbed out for your grandfather, so scared this would kill you.

His hips pulled back. You both gasped.

You groaned at the sight of his dick leaving you, covered in dark burgundy blood. It yellowed his pale member.

You felt sick and turned your head away into your covers.

“Please,” you begged, “Let me go.”

He sighed and shook his head, his mouth latched to your ear, “No...you can do this Y/N...this is the price all wives pay.”

He sheathed back inside of you. This time the burn of your walls was a little less.

The smell of metal was in the room. Your blood scent hit your nose finally. You could taste it in the back of your throat.

The way his hip bones punched down and roughly scrapped your pelvis made you hiss.

His mouth forced it’s way onto yours again in a passionate kiss. You whimpered and begged him to stop again as he thrusted inside. It hurt too much...you whined and sunk your teeth into his lips and caught the tip of his tongue.

“Fuck!” he roared and pulled back violently. His lips and yours covered in bright red blood in contrast to the red waves between your thighs.

“Get off!” you screamed again. You tugged your arms weakly. You tried pounding your heels into the back of his thighs.

He rose his hand high and you squeezed your eyes shut waiting for a blow...it did not come. You heard him yell angrily and hit the blanket instead.

He tired himself out of you, the force made you choke. The taste of his warm blood in between your teeth had you spitting aside the covers.

He pushed off the bed and stomped angrily out of the room, slamming your bedroom door shut. You sniffled and turned onto your side, crying as the burn between your legs struck you. You felt empty and sore. Like his hand had punched inside your body.

This is not at all what you anticipated as a married woman...

Why would any woman ever love their husband after cause such agony as that in their beds...

You reached out for a pillow and tugged it to your face. Your nose rubbed deep into the soft goose feathers and let your tears meld with your snot.

You curled up and clutched your sore side...

It was a pain comparable to your menses.

You prayed for help or someone like your grandfather or Mycroft to come and save you.

HELPINES:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

[jolieblack]

Jolie’s notes on

The Lion’s Mane (Sherlock & co podcast)

Oh, this case made me so happy. 🦁🪼⛴️

Sweet domesticity in Baker Street, then a client ringing the bell bringing a dramatic case… This is another ACD story with quite striking hidden horror. You don’t really think much about the state of the body when you read it, but when you really start thinking about it, it is horrific. And off they go, our heroes, to solve another mystery and right another wrong.

Heroes with a pension plan, of course. Because of course Mariana would have set that up for them all. I love how this show keeps finding modern ways of showing how well Mrs Hudson cares for those two crazy boys.

Heroes who drink tea with marshmallows, too. Sherlock being a big petulant child about those cracked me up.

Loved Maud‘s early reference to tentacles, too. 🦑

Archie being able to sense when people are sad. 🥹

The non-consensual bathroom sharing made me laugh, too, but can people PLEASE just stop making fun of men who sit down to wee? Housewives and cleaning staff all over the world would be so much happier if all men just did.

"It‘s a trolley stuck in a wall." 😂 Trust Jonk to turn absolutely everything into a rant against the rich. 😝

And then they’re off.

Loved this modern version of "Holmes and Watson get on another train for a case", and John waxing poetic about the countryside by night. I have looked out of the window of a night train at the starry sky in the not too distant past myself, so this scene struck a particular chord. But I‘d just love to see more of this reflective, quiet John. He hides him too well usually.

And talking of beautiful, evocative mental images, the moment when Fjara rises out of the sea mist gave me absolute goosebumps. A sight that makes even Sherlock Holmes go "oh my word" must be a sight indeed. And all that with just voices and music. Amazing work.

I also loved how the mythical aspect kinda crept in slowly but unstoppably, and I spent the longest time wondering why Maud had mentioned none of it. In retrospect, of course there was zero reason why she would have. I kinda forgot that Sherlock Holmes stories love playing with our fears of the supernatural, only to supply a completely natural explanation in the end. But that’s quite an achievement in itself! Well played, Joel.

I’m quite happy with the solution as such, too. The original story has always been a little fantastical, that the waters of the British Channel should contain one single organism who could inflict such damage on a human being. But the combination of Lion’s Mane burns, chemical burns, previous fistfight with probably head trauma and quite possibly also a touch of the Martini effect together could totally do it. I’m glad Ian Murdoch survived, btw, I thought he was going to be the third corpse.

I also really appreciated the Lion/Liona throwback to Rache/Rachel in Study in Pink (which seems to confirm to me that we have seen Study in Pink already and it won’t come back).

And the accents! I loooooved the accents. I think they’re a major part of the reason why I listened to this case three or four times before I even managed to pause the flow to take these notes.

Jonk was really taking cringe to a whole new level in his interactions with the locals, though. This is really a part of Watson’s character that they entirely made up for this adaptation and while Paul plays it to perfection, it never sits quite right with me. I’m glad John was his kind and sensitive self with Maud though.

Sherlock wading in rock pools with his trousers rolled up is a mental image that will stay with me for a long while. Check out this lovely art by @noodles-and-tea

"Sexy murderous sea demons?" - "Very, very unlikely." 😂

"We‘re cutting the engine *and* the conversation." & "You are not a priority." 😂

Poor John, nobody wants to hold his hand…

THE JELLYFISH

There’s a reason why the scene with the submarine submersible has inspired a lot of fantastic fanart. I’ll just let these speak for themselves:

Behold the Lion’s Mane by @starfruitsomething

Lion’s Mane by @abstractfrog

The Lion’s Mane Part 3 by @sealbug

The Lion’s Mane by @reibub

Lion’s Mane Comic by @abstractfrog

I’m so glad they went and found Fitzi McPherson in the end, too. I didn’t expect that and it was a lovely touch.

I may also be a tiny bit obsessed with Sherlock competently handling boats. Very happy to see this several times in this story.

All in all, pure enjoyment this time around. Story, atmosphere, humour, acting, straight As all around for the entire team. More, please!

[yinyunnsworld]

So uh what about this trope? (Sherlock Holmes (MTP) x reader)

Warning: Nothing actually. Just domestic fluff and you two are married.

We all know of how Sherlock’s an intelligent man and like one of the most genius characters there are in MTP, so like what if—

So, imagine Sherlock (MTP) was married with the reader for a few years now that he’d slowly gotten comfortable and reliant on his adorable and endearing wife! One day, he was rushing to go and investigate a crime scene, yet he’s rushing to find his usual blazer and hair tie which he’d lost somewhere and couldn’t find anywhere. Despite being the greatest detective, he still had to ask you where did his hair tie and blazer go. After all, even if he’s probably the type to not like others touching his stuff, you just always know how to find things even under the many mess.

“That’s exactly why you should search with your eyes instead of running your mouth,” you scolded to him lightly in the blind of morning.

“I was just getting close to figure out where it is. But thank you, (Name),” he spoke, pulling your head close to his lips—soft plush pressed against your forehead affectionately.

[maximsdeadwife]

Soft Sherlock Headcanons

Sherlock Holmes x reader fluff and comfort

Masterlist

Authors notes: I’ve been a Sherlock Holmes fan for years upon years, but this is the first time I’ve written him. It’s written with any Sherlock in mind but I’ve been particularly taken with Henry Cavill recently

Warnings: mildly sexually suggestive at the end, tobacco mention

Sherlock kisses you with fierce passion when he gets a spark of inspiration and is momentarily excited about a breakthrough in a case. He’s vanished the next moment, already ten steps ahead of where he was a moment ago, but his soft lips and the traces of his strong hands gripping your cheeks leaves your head spinning

When he’s struggling with a piece of the puzzle, he needs you just as much. Although he often requires silence in these moments, solitude isn’t always preferable. He will occasionally pull you to him and guide you to lay on his chest in complete silence, the pattern of your breathing and the weight of you against him soothing him endlessly as his mind works overtime

Melts when you make notes on his ramblings so he can revisit thoughts he would have otherwise discarded. You know this because his mouth fleetingly curls into a smile and he exhales slowly before resuming his usual pace

You’ll catch him watching you on occasion, when he’s supposed to be breaking some code or other and you think he’s still working on it, but actually he finished with that half an hour ago and, curiosity sated, has been gazing at you lovingly since

Nuzzles into your neck when he actually makes it to bed, your warmth and scent calming him immeasurably. He never realises how touch starved he is until his mind isn’t occupied with riddles and mysteries and your body feels so soft against his

His scent varies depending on where he’s been investigating, which tobacco he’s used, what he’s experimented with in his makeshift lab, and whether he’s been dressing in disguise. But there are always staple scents underpinning his aroma; white musk, honey and something smoky with a slightly bitter twist of ink

When he’s bored, he will find ways to occupy himself with you whilst trying his hardest not to appear needy. It always fails, however, and usually ends up with you both tangled together on the little sofa, whispering sweet nothings, giggling and kissing like lovesick teenagers

When he’s feeling sentimental, he calls you his Little Problem, because despite being far from problematic to him, he’s endlessly fascinated with you

Never believes you when you tell him he’s handsome, particularly when he’s been wearing pyjamas for three days and hasn’t bothered to comb his hair, but your extra little touches and kisses go a long way to convincing him that at least you believe it to be true

When he’s finding a social situation tricky, he surreptitiously grasps your hand in his. No one else can see, but the reassurance of your fingers squeezing his back makes his breath even out and his heart slow down

Adores the tender moments of domesticity that you share. They’re all too rare with his erratic schedule, but you bring him tea in a morning when he doesn’t want to get out of bed, or lovingly help him dress with gentle fingers carefully buttoning up his shirt, or smooth his hair down with a smile at his soft, natural curls, and he practically swoons

Always having being a fan of A Touch of The Dramatic™, he’s a hopeless romantic when he has the energy to pour into spoiling you, pulling out all the stops to make you feel special and loved. He knows that his work can make you feel lonely sometimes, so he likes to balance that out when he can with his attention solely focussed on you for a while

After a particularly taxing case, he loves nothing more than to hibernate with you. It starts with a hot bath, laying together in the silky water for hours as blissful silence washes over him, counteracting the overload of his previously racing mind

When he gathers enough energy, he whispers in a low grumble, ‘I’ll always come back to you, darling. You know that, don’t you? No matter where a case takes me, I’ll always return.’

Then, if you encourage him, he will join you for a meal before bed, where he can finally sleep soundly, relaxed in your arms — but not before spending a few more hours relishing in your touch (and your reaction to his)

[strangelockd]

Till The End Of Time

Smut - Explicit content - NSFW - 18+ only!

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Female Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That sounds more than fair,” he agreed.

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Masterlist

Sherlock Holmes Playlist

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

[lesbianaang]

house md reboot ideas:

-wilson has fully recovered + he and house have a domestic partnership thing going on in socal

-house is running a backdoor clinic to stave off boredom since he’s legally dead, going under the name “holmes”

-wilson is writing a flop blog (maybe under the name john) about his recovery/survivor’s guilt and is working part-time with the elderly because he has a dying fixation

-a post suddenly goes viral though when wilson writes about one of house’s client cases, especially among online gay spaces where people are like “wow old gay love 😍”

-cuddy, back in princeton with her butch wife (!) and now 12-year-old daughter, starts reading it and is like… that is absolutely house and wilson

-she reaches out and (after yelling at them for being insane people) asks them to come back, princeton isn’t the same without them, the hospital needs them, no one is better, etc…

-they’re both reluctant to go back but they recognize the other one Really needs it and they miss princeton and are too east coast to last much longer in socal

-wilson agrees to come back, but only in an admin position overseeing oncology, since he doesn’t want to take on any clients who could die

-house is ready to re-establish the diagnostics department but WAIT since he’s “dead” his license is invalid and he can’t legally practice or be hired which means…

-smashcut to an acceptance letter for “Holmes” to the (fictional) princeton medical school

-cuddy, on top of her admin stuff, is overseeing the diagnostics team (new characters) as a house proxy until he can officially take over

-wilson and house continue living together to “save money” and “because it would be too hard to split up the furniture at this point”

-cuddy and her wife (who is the hospital’s legal counsel, idc if this is a conflict of interest) somewhat reluctantly hire house as a babysitter for rachel since his class schedule means he can pick her up from school AND it gives cuddy the excuse of “calling the babysitter” whenever she needs house to consult on a case (which is often)

-rachel LOVES house bc he’s fucking crazy (she loves her moms but they are a bit overprotective and she’s a preteen now) and will also spend all season plotting to get house and wilson together for real, ala parent trap

-house hates having to do classes, but we get a fun cast of characters in his cohort, including thirteen (!!) who is back after going nutso a couple years back and has to get in a bunch of continuing education classes to practice again

-episodes are split between Case of the Week (with cuddy + her wife often featuring), house and rachel shenanigans, house medical school silliness, wilson slowly being able to take on clients again/getting over his trauma, and a season-long hilson slow burn where gay wrongs are finally turned into gay rights

-BONUS: idk where this comes in but lin manuel Miranda reprises his guest star role as house’s old mental hospital roomie but to everyone’s surprise is now a successful rap-musical composer (the musical is called like “Madison” or something lol)

-BONUS: we get a jersey shore episode and more jersey-isms throughout in general because it is funny to me

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hello!

Do you have any "who hurt you" fics where john or sherlock goes completely scorched earth on anyone who hurts the other?

Thank you!!

Hey Nonny!

You know, I've been asked for similar-style fics a LOT this week, so my lazy arse decided to just scroll through my bookmarks because I don't have a list ready anyway, and pulled out the ones that I THINK have a similar premise :) Please note that it's been awhile since I've read these so I probably effed up a bit, hence the title I used for this list instead :P And apologies for the large chunk of FFNet fics.

As always, please add your own lists if you got them!

WHUMP WITH VENGEFUL / PANICKING / WORRIED PARTNER

See also:

John Whump with Guilty Sherlock

John Realizes How Important Sherlock is To Him

Three Garridebs Moment

Words Were Never Useful by Jenn1984 (K+, 819 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt Comfort, John Whump, Friendship, Ambiguous Ending) - ALLEY BEHIND THE BOOKSTORE, JOHN STABBED. HELP NOW. SH

Dismantle the Sun by Mount_Seleya (T, 965 w., 1 Ch. || John Whump, 3G, Angst, Grief) – After a gunshot leaves John in critical condition, Sherlock holds vigil beside his hospital bed, slowly unravelling as the night progresses.

The Four Incidents by TheGirlWithRedHair22 (K+, 1,064 w., 1 Ch. || S1 Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, John Whump, Accident, John POV, Hand Holding, Worried Sherlock, Sherlock’s Self Esteem) – The first time John was present when someone insulted Sherlock, he brushed it off as a strange coincidence.

Wreckage and Rubble by grannysknitting (K+, 1,116 w. || Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Ambiguous Ending) – Lestrade's point of view when he's called to the wreckage of the pool. He doesn't want to deal with the wreckage that would occur if London's newest crime fighting duo are parted from each other.

Let Me Through by RacheLynne (K+, 1,172 w. || Angst, Friendship, Ambiguous Ending) – Once Sherlock and John are finally reunited, things seem to be looking up. But when is it ever sunshine and roses for these two? It isn’t long before things go downhill for the pair - and fast.

Two To Tango (The Cold Hands, Warm Heart Remix) by igrockspock (T, 1,207 w., 1 Ch. || Domestics, John Whump, Worried Sherlock) – When John is wounded while pursuing a suspect, Sherlock refuses to leave his side. 

I Feel A Weakness by Jenn1984 (T, 1,389 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Angst, John Whump) – John Watson is hurt. Sherlock has a hard time processing it.

Persuasion by Januscars (K+, 1,492 w. || Friendship, Crime, Angry Sherlock, Hostage John) – A gunman holds a gun to John's head, and Sherlock proves to be very persuasive when he wants to be... 

Left In The Ashes by zoltargirl (T, 1,497 w. || Angst, MCD, Angry Sherlock, Brutal Violence) – Rage is a unique quality in all human beings. In Sherlock Holmes, it's terrifying.

The 3x John Carried Sherlock, and Once ViceVersa by ShinkonoKokoro (K+, 1,673 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Friendship, Three and One, BAMF John, Sherlock Whump, Worried Sherlock, John Gets Shot) – It happens more than he suspects.

Priorities by Starlight05 (K+, 1,686 w. || Friendship, Worried Sherlock/John) – The power is out on Baker Street, so candles are the only source of light at 221B. But then, at night, things go terribly wrong, and Sherlock and John realize just how much they mean to each other.

Quite Contrary by Hollyesque (T, 1,805 w., 1 Ch. || HLV Fic, Sherlock Whump / After Mary Shot Sherlock, Hallucinations / Flashbacks / PTSD, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Lestrade POV ) – A short one-shot, alternate scene to Greg's hospital visit in HLV. Instead of Sherlock disappearing, Greg is faced with an unexpected reaction to a hospitalized Sherlock and winds up figuring out something that he really would have rather not known.

In Which Lestrade Looks in on Sherlock and Observes by Aztecwarfareandcrumping (K+, 1,833 w. || Lestrade POV, Friendship, Hurt Comfort, John Whump) – John's in hospital, which means Sherlock is, too. Lestrade takes it upon himself to look in on them.

One in Ten Thousand by Blind Author (K+, 1,856 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TGG, Friendship / Pre-Slash, Discussions of Violence, Worried then Curious Sherlock, Scars/John’s Bullet Wound, Medical Anomalies) – John seems to have unusual mobility for a shoulder wound…

The Doctor's Capable Hands by Totally-Out-Of-It (K+, 2,012 w., 1 Ch. || Sherlock Whump, Doctor John, Hurt/Comfort, Hospitals, Anxious Sherlock) – Sherlock is injured during a chase. John sits watchful at his bedside in the hospital and wonders. He wouldn't leave Sherlock alone like this. Especially not if Sherlock wanted him to stay.

Ten Hours by morningdawn202 (T, 2,242 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Friendship, Worried Sherlock, John’s Cane) - It’s been ten hours since Sherlock saw John last. 

The Many Faces of Concern by sdrawkcabemdaer5 (K+, 2,473 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Angsty Fluff, John Whump, Mildly Clueless / Guilty Sherlock) – John is injured on a case, leading to some surprising reactions and discoveries about their friendship.

Domino by Deception's Call (K, 2,689 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Scared / Worried Sherlock, John Whump, Crying Sherlock, Hospital, Implied Caretaker Sherlock) – When John is injured on a case and is admitted to the hospital, those at Scotland Yard come to realize that perhaps Sherlock Holmes has a heart after all.

All in a Day by chappysmom (K+, 2,920 w. || Kidnapping, Sherlock POV) – Oddly enough, it seemed like this time, Sherlock had been kidnapped for no other reason than to pressure John. In other words, this had nothing to do with him. Really, this on top of the blow to the head was enough to make him dizzy.

Once is Enough by Jominerva (T, 3,030 w., 1 Ch. || Love Confessions, Domestic Fluff, Whump) – Just as the earth rises to meet the sun at every mountain crest, John reaches out for Sherlock and takes his hand in his own."Tell me it won't end like this," he says, blue eyes holding grey while he laces their fingers together. Sherlock lets out a shaky laugh and shakes his head. "I wish I could."

A World Without You by tinyhobbit (T, 3,133 w. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, John Whump) – After John is quite badly hurt at the scene of a crime, Sherlock reacts in a way which allows John to finally see that his sociopathic best friend cares. One-shot, set sometime between Baskerville and Reichenbach.

Explosions, Literal and Otherwise by Jennistar1 (T, 3,288 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Worried Sherlock, Sort of Rev.-Reichenbach) – Sherlock does not react well to the idea that John might be dead.

All That I Have by the_arc5 (M, 3,721 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TGG Canon Divergence, Pining Sherlock, John Whump, Anxious / Worried Sherlock, Light Angst) – In the aftermath of the Great Game, Sherlock finds himself with a new weakness. John is both the cause and the cure.

Nursery Rhymes by macrauchenia (T, 4,064 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Suspense, MCD, Unhappy Ending) – "Hickory dickery dock. Sherlock's against the clock. When the wick is gone, so will be John. Hickory dickery dock." - John is in a struggle for his life in a warehouse rigged to blow by Moriarty.

Not Without Me by Jennistar1 (T, 4,319 w., 1 Ch. || Drama, Mystery, Post-TRF Hiatus, Pining Sherlock) – Halfway through Sherlock's Great Hiatus, Mycroft comes to him with the news that John has died. But all is not what it seems…

Very Good Indeed by StillWaters1 (T, 4,531 w, 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Doctor John, John Whump) – John Watson was a doctor, trained to observe details; a fact Sherlock had never been more aware of than when a drugged John’s lifesaving instructions were based on an unlabeled syringe and an unconscious murder suspect’s body.

EMERGENCY CONTACT: Sherlock Holmes, RELATIONSHIP: n/a by blueink3 (M, 5,533 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt John / John Whump, Five and One, Fluff & Angst, Worried Sherlock)  – The first time John Watson’s emergency contact is called is the first time Sherlock Holmes finds out that he has the job. Part 1 of The Emergency Contact Series

Not The Hands That Kill by You_Light_The_Sky (M, 6,201 w., 1 Ch. || Winglock, Whump, Mentions of Drug Use) – Having wings does not make Sherlock Holmes a guardian angel, not in the way that John Watson is his.

EMERGENCY CONTACT: John Watson, RELATIONSHIP: Saint by blueink3 (M, 6,229 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt Sherlock, 5+1, Hurt / Comfort, Caring John, Scars) – The first time Sherlock Holmes realizes he needs an emergency contact is the first time he mentally appoints John Watson with the job. John, of course, does not know this and neither does the local hospital. Part 2 of The Emergency Contact Series

Goodbye, John by XxMildredxX (T, 7,154 w., 1 Ch.  || MCD, Angst, Self Reflection, Saying Goodbye, Holidays,, Scared Sherlock, Bittersweet Ending) – John finds it very difficult to tell Sherlock of his diagnosis, but it seems Sherlock has deduced it himself. As John says goodbye, he and Sherlock struggle with the feelings that this brings on them, and how Sherlock will go on when John has gone.

It’s Natural To Be Afraid by Jenn1984 (T, 7,283 w. || Tragedy, Angst, MCD) - Refusing to accept the obvious, Sherlock searches for what he believes truly happened the night his world was shattered.

Riddles in the Dark by Starlight05 (T, 9,255 w., 10 Ch. || Suspense & Friendship, Torture) - When Sherlock is kidnapped by an old nemesis, it’s up to John to find him and save his life. But can he find a way to get the detective out of this mess? And will they be found in time?

The Dying Doctor by Transcendental Starlight (T, 11,258 w., 3 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Sick John / John Whump, ACD Rewrite) – Loosely based off ACD's "The Dying Detective." Sherlock relives a case that should have killed him, but instead resulted in John being hospitalized for a deadly disease. Sherlock endeavors to catch the murderer, while attempting to envision a future without John Watson. No Slash.

Equilibrium by augustbird (M, 12,351 w., 1 Ch. || Flowers for Algernon Fusion || Jealous then Worried Sherlock, Sick John) – At Baskerville, John is infected by a virus that turns him into a genius. But when the infection progresses into neurodegeneration, it's a race against time to save himself.

The dying Doctor by marylouleach (T, 21,168 w., 11 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, John Whump) – Doctor Watson is gunned down in a dark alley after work, Sherlock wont rest until he finds the man responsible. Guilt riddles him when he realizes he could have prevented this.

Our Enthusiasms Which Cannot Always Be Explained by withoutawish (M, 32,961 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Post-TRF, Case Fic, Mild Gore, Sherlock Whump) – The list that is tacked haphazardly on the refrigerator of 221B reads, ‘Kidney(s), and/or a full cadaver (preferably male, late 30s, under six feet tall), bag of fresh toes, sixteen cow’s eyes (corneas retained), dual exhaust hand –held flame thrower, an unopened first edition copy of Joseph Conrad’s 'Heart of Darkness', and no less than ten abhorrently gruesome murders in the upcoming month.” The one neatly hanging next to it simply reads, “Sex.” One of these lists is not John Watson’s. If John Watson were to put what he really wanted in list form, to live in a land somewhere beyond ‘almosts' now that Sherlock Holmes has indeed returned to him, he would never be able to look his flatmate in the eye ever again.

Bloody But Unbowed by BeautifulFiction (E, 43,211 w., 8 Ch. || Abduction, John Whump, Mild Torture, Background Case Fic, Friends to Lovers, Post-TRF / S3 Rewrite, Hurt/Comfort) – When a familiar argument threatens to destroy the last remnants of John and Sherlock's failing friendship, both men are left questioning their worth to one another. Before either of them has the chance to make amends, circumstance intervenes. John is left at the mercy of his abductors, and this time, he's not sure Sherlock will bother coming to his rescue.

Wars We Fought, Things We're Not by blueink3 (M, 55,204 w., 10 Ch. || Post S3 / Post TAB, Parentlock, Fluff & Angst, Kidnapping, Whump, Post-TAB, UST/URT, 3G, Mild Peril, Slow Burn, Couple for a Case, Protective Mycroft, Infant Death Pre-Story, Friends to Lovers) –  Five months after John's world has fallen apart, Mycroft sends the consulting detective and his doctor on a case that neither is prepared for.

You Have Drawn Red From My Hands by J_Baillier (T, 67,085 w., 17 Ch. || Three Garridebs, Heavy John Whump, Hurt / Comfort, Pining, Heavy Angst, Case Fic/Adventure, Slow Burn, Sick Fic, Injury, Guilt & Depression, Just Talk Already Please, Medical Realism, PTSD) –  John getting injured leads Sherlock on a path of guilt and revelations.

The Vapor Variant by 88thParallel (M, 72,684 w., 18 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-THoB, John Whump, Protective Sherlock, Guilty Sherlock, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD John, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Suspense, Virus, Sick Fic, Big Brother Mycroft) – They stood face to face in the middle of a clearing. The dim light of the moon barely allowed Sherlock to see the glassy terror in John’s eyes and the sweat that glistened off his forehead. His nose was bleeding again, blood dripping in a slow stream from his right nostril. They were both gasping for air, John’s eyes locked on Sherlock’s. There was no recognition there, just wild animal fear. Time stood still for an eternal few seconds, and Sherlock took a shaky breath. “John—”Spell broken, John spun and bolted back into the woods. Still heaving for air, Sherlock took off after him. 

Repairing the Broken Things by BakerTumblings (M, 75,256 w., 15 Ch. || S4 Compliant, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Hospitals, Big Brother Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Realizations, Severe Accident, John Whump, Pneumonia, Medical Procedures, Bed Sharing, First Time, Healing, Happy Ending) – "I'm calling today to notify you that there's been an accident."

Summit Fever by J_Baillier (M, 78,802 w., 18 Ch. || Mountain Climber AU || POV John, Angst, Tragedy, Suicidal Ideation, The Himalayas, Mountain Guide / Doctor John, Mount Climber Sherlock, Loneliness, Drama, Suspense, Slow Burn, Injured Sherlock / Sherlock Whump, Pining John) – After graduating from medical school, John Watson followed his heart to the Himalayas. Ten years later, he's a haunted cynic working for his ex-lover's trekking and mountaineering company. Will leading an expedition to Annapurna I—the most lethal of all the world's highest mountains—shake John out of his reverie, and who is the mystery client added to the group at the last minute?

THERE BUT FOR THE GRACE OF JOHN WATSON by skyefullofstars (T, 110,758 w., 24 Ch. || H/C, Kidnapping, Angst, Violence, Whump, Nightmares, Murder, Drug Addiction, Torture) – While Sherlock grapples with his new-found feelings for John Watson, he faces a very real threat: John's kidnapping and shooting at the hands of James Moriarty. And the knowledge that the love of his life is being used to test an addictive drug - at the risk of John's sanity and life. Prequel to THE BOYS OF BAKER STREET. Part 1 of THERE BUT FOR THE GRACE OF JOHN WATSON

Two Two One Bravo Baker by abundantlyqueer (E, 114,574 w., 27 Ch. || Military AU || Afghanistan, War Story, Thriller, Switchlock, Rimming, Emotional Lovemaking, Lots of Sex, HJ/BJ’s) – Captain John Watson of 40 Commando, the Royal Marines, is assigned to protect and assist Sherlock Holmes as he investigates what appears to be a simple war atrocity in Afghanistan. An intense attraction ignites between the two men as they uncover a conspiracy that threatens everything they’ve ever known, but Sherlock is as much hunted as hunter, and everyone close to him is in deadly danger. Can he solve the case in time to save himself and John? Part 1 of Two Two One Bravo Baker Universe

[starkraivennemad]

Gestures

It had been – in a word – a day. Two domestics and burglary that went very wrong. Sherlock had been – Sherlock. Greg’s C.I.D. was on a tear. Mycroft and even Anthea had been unreachable all afternoon. It was not exactly unusual, but it did not help his mood. The only good thing about the day was that it was Friday, and he would be leaving soon.

Greg nearly cursed, seeing C.I.D. Ahlers swiftly approaching his office, already knowing his plans to go home were as fubar-ed as the rest of the day had been. He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Sir…?”

“Something doing at Hatfield House. You’re being directly asked for. Come with me, hurry. Helipad.”

“Who asked for me?” Greg immediately rose then stopped. “Sir, did you say helipad?”

“It’s rush hour. Don’t look a gift horse – Lestrade. Don’t know the details. Just that it’s big and someone who apparently knows your name. So yes, helipad. Move it.”

Greg just managed to suppress his annoyed groan as he followed his boss. The man was correct, at that time of day he would be at Kenwood in mere minutes compared to nearly an hour in traffic.  

It was not the first time Greg had been in an NPAS helicopter, but it was rare that something was deemed so important that NSY allowed use of the helipad just for his transport. He sent off a quick text to Anthea and Mycroft that he was called on a case and would be late coming home. He was chagrinned at the lack of respond from either, but it had been that kind of day.

He barely paid attention to the required instructions as he boarded, the flight captain and co-pilot already on board and beyond grateful that that his C.I.D. was not coming with them. As the helicopter lifted off, the vista that is London at night spread out before him.  It was the tail end of sunset, and the city was lit for the evening. Greg rarely gets to see it from this viewpoint live.

“Such a beautiful view. Does it get old for you?” Greg doubted it but had to ask.

“Never.” The pilot confirmed. The co-pilot shook his head in agreement.

Greg sighed, a part of him wishing Mycroft were there to share the view with him. It would make a great treat on a date night. Greg made a mental note to suggest it, because Mycroft would not think of such a thing.

Having seen the relationship between Sherlock and John, Greg Lestrade understood loving a Holmes brother, particularly Mycroft, was not going to be an easy thing. Mycroft does not mean to somewhat reserved – neither brother can help themselves, that cool detachment is part and parcel of who they are – but Mycroft just is not one for grand romantic gestures.

He knows the man he is in love with. He knows Mycroft loves him deeply. Quite deeply. It took weeks to stop being blushing in front of their household chief of staff when he realized they had been seen in flagrante delicto in foyer because they just had to have each other then and there. Like all good staff, they have learned the talent to not see a thing between Greg and Mycroft when necessary. And Greg is quite happy to say, when necessary, happens often enough for two middle aged men – thank you very much. 

Thus, the onus to provide silly romantic things for them mostly fell to Greg. Greg does not mind. Mycroft, like Sherlock slowly had with John, is learning. It’s wonderful to see and feel as Mycroft gets better in how he demonstrates his love in little gestures.

Still, there are times Greg wished for some insane grand gesture - like a sunset helicopter ride for a date night.

Greg squinted as the pilot announced their approach. He only seen photos of the historical country house and its grounds, but he did not recall ever seeing pictures of the grounds near the place being lit as he was seeing.

“Was some event happening on the grounds? It looks like there are a thousand candles--.” Greg started to ask but stopped as they got closer, and he could better see.

The courtyard of the structure was a blaze with light on the ground.

“No….” Greg looked to the pilot. Surely, he was seeing things.

“Yep.” The pilot grinned as Greg’s stunned face. “Circling around so you can see it again before we land below the South Garden and…”

Greg did not hear another word the man said, his attention focused on the lights on ground as the helicopter circled. Logic told Greg it was artificial, real candles would have never lasted in the windy evening. Still, logic could not ruin the beautiful effect of only goodness knew how many candles were needed to spell out a message – well – ask a question to be precise.

Marry me, Gregory?

There was no mistaking the figure surrounded by a circle of candles that knelt on bended knee in place of the dot of the question mark.

Greg was breathless and giddy with joy.

The helicopter landed on the lawn of the South Gardens. It had barely touched ground when Greg was removing his headphones. He instinctively ducked under the whirling blades and ran for all his worth towards the open gate. The light on the other side of the garden drawing him like moth to flame.

“Oh, you bastard!”

A grinning Greg did not stop until he all but toppled Mycroft who braced for the impact and ensuing kiss.

He had wished for a grand romantic gesture, and Universe answered, there was no arguing this was the grandest and best.

“I take it that is a, yes?” Mycroft grinned when Greg finally pulled away.

“Yes, I’ll marry you!”

@flashfictionfridayofficial​!!

[victorianpining]

victorianpining(.)tumblr(.)com/post/720853863374192640/the-fact-that-watson-writes-their-relationship It's called Granada Holmes with Jeremy Brett and David Burke/Edward Hardwicke. It's 41 episodes of Holmes and Watson being domestic with no wife at all. Watson stays with Holmes at Baker Street the whole time. It's great! It's also on Youtube in its entirety.

Haha I am slowly working my way through that series, and it is very good and domestic and happy, but I’m still hoping with something with slightly more kissing

[timeskiprindou]

Sherliam Fic Recs

( A Little Bit ) Selfish  by RyuuKevin | M,15.4k, 1/1 |

He was a monster

But maybe that wasn't so bad. ---- Sherlock is a demon hunter that prefers to be alone more than anything. Who knew that a demon he will stumble upon one day will change his life for the better?

Metanoia by applechausson [ T, 4k, 1/1 ]

Sherlock’s heart swells and squeezes as well. He’s never seen Liam be soft so naturally until they adopted the twins. It brought a nice change of pace to their lives and definitely changed Liam for the better. He’s slowly healing, the blood that once coated his hands now being washed by the two souls next to him. Liam Moriarty-Holmes reflects on his current life and the family of four he's now a part of. He decides that the domestic life suits him.

call me that again by kuroissant  [ G, 7k, 1/1 ]

That someone happened to sit directly in front of him. Shiny blonde hair that looked like it was practically inviting someone to run their fingers through, perfectly tailored outfits that fit his form just right, enticing scarlet eyes that drew you in until you couldn’t look away. He was pretty, Sherlock would admit that, though nothing more.

Until he’d first heard that pretty boy opened his mouth.

You’re too down on yourself Liam by IcyFrice [ Not rated, 3.3k, 1/1 ]

The news about Sherlock and Irene reached all over the newspaper. Suddenly unexplained feelings started to bloom within William.

What's better with your brother's comfort who keeps partnering you up with random Noblemens to keep you distracted from the detective?

Will William move on from Sherlock? Or just give up and hope for this said unrequited love?

Or Sherlock gets jealous of his brother, Mycroft. Because he's way too close to William

Christmas in 221B by etherealsylvix [ T, 2k, 1/1 ]

When William stood in front of that door, he felt like he was standing in front of the door to heaven, ready to enter a paradise that will make him experience feelings of happiness he had never once experienced before. He knocked on it a few times and then waited for an angel to let him in. In his case that angel would be...

"Liam?!"

A certain detective that decided to give him a nickname so sweet that it made William love his own name, despite it not being his.

Habits Stay High by TheWeepingAngelOfCas [ T, 1.9k, 1/1 ]

Soulmate AU - You get your soulmate's injuries.

Sherlock Holmes was interested in meeting his soulmate, yes. But apparently, his soulmate was much more eager to speak to him than he expected.

Opposites Attracts, as They Say by sayonarash [ E, 4.3k, 1/1 ]

Modern Au: William is a college math teacher who also follows a student course in fashion designing. He dresses in that cute classic and soft academia style, is loved by everything and is always really nice.

Sherlock is that leather jacket guy, dressed in all black, long messy hair, tattoos, not very sociable, and black and loud motorbike. He also follows fashion designing courses and is known as William's extreme opposite and nemesis.

But... What if what everyone believe to be hate was only part of their play? What if they were actually much sweeter and fond than they looked to be?

The World I Mean to Destroy by nek0mancer [ M, 48.5k, 16/16 ]

Sherlock Holmes is helplessly infatuated with William James Moriarty, and vice versa. Sherlock proposes they travel on a cruise together, since the sailing of Noahtic had been cut short by the tragedy of Enders. While on the voyage, they openly fall in love, but another disaster strikes that causes William's biggest secret to be revealed. Sherlock deals with the aftermath and is left in an internal battle between his mind and his heart on how to move forward.

[defectiveconantoy]

All He Needs Is Ran

Fandom: Detective Conan Pairing: ShinRan Rating: T Prompt: Domestic Genres: Slice-of-life, Romance Word Count: 742

A/N: I don’t know if the title fits the fic, but I’ll still keep it. I love this title too much to let it go.

All He Needs Is Ran

The morning alarm clock rings. Shinichi sighs groggily and slams the snooze button with his hand. Eight minutes later, it sounds off a second time. “Ugh! What time is it?”

He slowly opens his eyes. “Oh!” He looks at the time. “Shit. I’m running late. That’s what I get for staying up late to reread The Sign of Four,” he thinks to himself.

School starts soon, and Shinichi is running late. He quickly gets out of bed, dresses up, grabs his tie, washes himself, brushes his teeth, and rushes out of the bedroom door and down the stairs. That’s what he gets for staying up late last night and through the first alarm.

“Bye, Shin-chan! Don’t forget to grab some toast,” shouts his mother Yukiko.

“Thanks, kaasan.” He places his tie around his neck, grabs the toast, and walks out holding the toast with his mouth.

He runs toward the gates and finds Ran waiting right outside the entrance.

“Shinichi! I messaged you during your second alarm.”

“Hmm?” He checks his phone. “Mmm,” he muffles.

“Seriously, you with that toast! And your tie’s unmade. Here, hand me the toast and fix your tie before we leave.”

Shinichi tilts his head in Ran’s direction while fixing his tie. She pulls the toast out of his mouth. Once he’s finished, the grabs the toast, and they begin walking.

“Hah! Sorry, Ran!” He yawns. “I’m so tired. Stayed up late again.” He munches on his toast.

“Was it Sherlock Holmes again?”

“Of course! What else would it be?” Munch.

Ran grins and teases him. “What can I expect from the Deduction Freak?”

Munch. Shinichi barely talks along the way, as he’s both tired and quickly eating his breakfast.

Right before entering the school, Ran glances at Shinichi and smiles, “It’s nice to have you back. Oh, by the way, your mouth’s dirty, Co-nan-kun.”

“Huh! So you’re remembering the Conan days? How motherly of you, Ran-nee-chan,” he taunts back.

They both laugh as they walk into the Teitan High School building.

School is over later in the day. Shinichi walks again with Ran to drop her off at her home. They were laughing and gossiping about school along the way.

As they walk by her front porch, Shinichi remembers, “Hey! Remember when you called me Conan-kun this morning?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, uh, before I leave, I want you to hug me and stroke my hair, just like you did to me as Conan.”

“Ah Shinichi, you’re so cute!” She hugs him, sighs, and breathes in his scent. “Sure! I miss you being near me almost all the time. Please, come in. We can study together, and I can make you some dinner tonight.” This interaction makes Shinichi blush. He can’t shake this feeling off. Ran being this close to him is too much to handle.

They go up the stairs and walk inside an empty Mouri Detective Agency. At the entrance, Shinichi immediately hugs Ran and rests his head on her shoulder, his face still red. He lets out a sigh of relief as she strokes his hair.

He gently lifts his head and plants a soft kiss on Ran’s lips. “Mmm…tastes like strawberry.”

Ran blushes too. “T-that’s my lipbalm.”

“I like it,” he whispers close to her face, kissing her again.

They lose track of time. The quiet moaning and soft lip smacking continues. Tongue action starts right before the Mouri Detective Agency’s front door is unlocked.

Ran’s stops, eyes widened in shock. “Otousan! He’s here.”

Shinichi, also shocked, whispers, “Oh. Right.”

They awkwardly move to the couch and sit there as Kogoro passes by them. “Hello, Ran,” he says. He then glances at Shinichi. “Hello.” “Hello, ojisan,” replies Shinichi.

Kogoro explains, “As you two know, I’m taking over the TV. Yoko’s on soon. So, shoo! Go study elsewhere.” He then walks up to his apartment afterwards.

Ran and Shinichi remain on the couch and laugh. “Seriously, otousan,” Ran rolls her eyes, shaking her head. “I swear,” Shinichi whispers. “He’s too busy fantasizing about Yoko to even hate me anymore.” “He can’t complain. You two helped each other: him with your Conan mess and you with his career,” Ran chips in.

“Right, right,” Shinichi agrees. “I don’t blame him. So, Ran! Let’s go to my place instead.” He lightly squeezes her hand.

“Sure.”

They leave together, like they did earlier in the morning and do almost every day.

[ready-to-obeyme]

[OM!] Domestic Ship Meme: Satan/MC

//sure thing Satan-anon ;) 

[Domestic Ship Meme]

--

who reaches out to new neighbors

Satan is your boy-wonder in making connections everywhere he goes. By the time you get home the week after you move into a new neighborhood, your neighbors are cheerfully greeting you and giving you baked goods-- gushing about how adorable the two of you are and how you’re more than welcome to knock on their door to ‘return the favor’ because Satan already invited them once. 

When you ask Satan about it, he plays it off as not a big deal. This is just a natural part of his charm-- and well, you get free food from it, so you aren’t about to complain.

who remembers to buy healthy food + junk food

Both of you do! The two of you work together to remember what the other doesn’t. Satan’s big on nutrition facts and you’re well-versed with what you normally need to eat just based off experience. He’s the type to get you to buy a vegetable of every color to get the proper vitamins you need-- you like it when your food has color so it’s a win-win. 

For junk food, you’re more likely to buy it, but Satan’s prone to buying junk food for you if you happen to forget. 

who fixes the oven when it breaks

Satan does-- he’s probably read up all the possible instructions in a book or online that tells him how to fix the oven, and he has no problems getting down and dirty to fix it when it breaks. 

Given, of course, this oven is your shared oven. If this was the House of Lamentation oven, count him out-- unless you ask him to help, of course. 

who waters the plants/feeds their pet(s)

You water the plants, and the both of you feed the pets. Satan especially would dote on your pets if they were cats-- to the point you’re a little jealous and slightly concerned about whether you’re spoiling your cats too much with gourmet wet food. You always end up watering the plants because Satan forgets. He’s busy reading his books and, quite frankly, they aren’t cats, so he’s liable to just forget to water them for days on end and end up killing them.

who wakes up earlier

it’s a competition to see who can sleep the latest smh

Regardless of whether you sleep late or stay up with him, chances are Satan can and will go some days without sleeping, or at least stay up until dawn trying to finish a book. I mean, sometimes, it really be like this:

So normally, you’re the one who wakes up earlier-- probably hours later before Satan does, and you always think it’s cute every time he wakes up drowsily, blearily opening his eyes and calling out your name slowly. 

who makes the bed

Satan does! He usually doesn’t really care about making his room too neat, but since the two of starting living together, he’s started to care just a bit more. Also, he tends to leave the bed later than you do, so it’s usually up to him. 

who makes the coffee

You do, only because Satan doesn’t drink coffee. 

If you do prefer tea over coffee like he does, he’ll gladly make a cup for you, choosing your favorites and brewing them. Just don’t expect them in the morning haha he’ll gladly make it for you in the afternoon or evening.  

who burns breakfast

Neither or both-- there is no in-between. Satan is pretty attentive when it comes to his cooking duties, and you’re not keen on wasting any food or burning any of it either. When you’re in the kitchen together cooking, there is an immensely greater chance that something will be burnt because the two of you are too busy making conversation or continuing your morning trysts. 

Satan’s definitely the type of guy to wrap his arms around you and kiss your neck until you’re unbearably ticklish and entirely focused on him. 

A fire probably started on the stove behind the two of you and neither of you noticed earlier because you were too busy making out. 

how do they let each other know they’re leaving the house

You can do whatever you’re doing in the house and Satan will never fail to come up to you and press a kiss to your brow. “I’ll be back soon,” he tells you, touching you on your shoulder, elbow, or lower back briefly before leaving the house. 

how do they greet each other when one of them gets home

It’s a ritual going out and coming home-- the little kisses you give each other. Satan really does prefer the kisses he gets when he comes home though-- they tend to be more thorough, less rushed, where you can bury your hands into his hair and tilt your head to press a kiss to his lips. 

“Hey there, handsome,” you say with a lilt of teasing. “Welcome back.” 

“I missed you,” Satan tells you every time, and he means it every time. And he always ends up smiling into his kisses. 

who brings home little gifts like flowers/chocolates more often

Satan brings home so many things to you that you’re thinking of installing another bookshelf just to keep all of the memorabilia. Sometimes it’s travel gifts from friends that visit that he thinks is fascinating and tells you all about them. Other times, it’s things he encounters during the day. Maybe a bouquet of roses from a florist he walked past today or little lucky cat trinket that caught his eye when he was talking to a friend. The man is always on a look out for something that you will like or at least amuse you. 

It’s endearing how much he’ll do just to see you laugh.  

who picks the movie for movie night

The two of you switch off. Satan wouldn’t want to deprive of you of the choice to pick out your favorite movies, especially if they’re of different genres from his favorite ones. Actually kind of likes the days when you get to choose because it gives him a little insight on what you like, what you find important, what themes do you gravitate towards? Movie nights in general give him a chance to discuss these types of things with you.

their favorite kind of movie to watch

Satan looooooves watching mysteries and documentaries of all kinds. Definitely a nerd for Sherlock Holmes (probably his hero) and other variations of them like Detective Conan and Elementary. He also likes crime shows too as long as they’re done right. Documentaries are basically books with a visual and Satan adores being able to learn about all there is about the world. 

Very intrigued by thought-provoking movies in general but enjoys the occasional rom-com and horror movie. 

who first suggests a pillow fort

You do! Satan doesn’t get it at first, but after the first time you guys make one and spend the night in the dim lights, he’s hooked and he starts suggesting it more on relaxing days.

who builds the pillow fort

The both of you do! Like most of your lives together, it’s a combined effort that the two of you manage to create a pillow fort to an intense scale, possibly using all the pillows in your house. Satan loves it when the two of you just spend time in the fort talking to each other. If you end up sleeping, he has no problems just having your head on his lap, hand absently brushing through your hair and the other hand holding his book.

who tries to distract the other during the move

You do it more often than Satan does because he’s usually more engrossed in the movie than you are. Sometimes you don’t even notice that you’re doing a pretty decent job distracting him, putting your hand on his chest as you lie on his shoulder and curling your fingers against him. Or when you take his hand into your lap and start tracing lines in them, curling up your legs and wrapping them around his.

He’ll look over to you a little confused in the middle of the movie when you do this. If you do it on purpose, he’ll flush and clear his throat and try to focus on the movie... just a little more. (Though, to be honest, there are times where he just does NOT notice.) If he notices that you’re actually invested in the movie but still somewhat distracting... just by being you, he’ll actually be WAY more flustered because what the hell is he that smitten with you? 

Probably has a hard time trying to focus on the movie after that and starts to distract YOU instead.

who falls asleep first

You fall asleep first. If it’s in bed, in the pillow fort, in the backyard when you were looking at stars, Satan always lets you sleep. If it’s cold, he’ll take off his jacket to drape it on your shoulders and just enjoy being in the moment with you by his side. 

His mind always drifts to how lucky he is to be where he is now. 

who is big spoon/little spoon

You’re little spoon more often than not. It just happens that way because you fall asleep first and when Satan climbs into bed with you, he puts his arm around you waist and keeps you there. 

If you really want to be big spoon, you’d have to tell him and you’d have to lie in bed together. Doesn’t mean you won’t fall asleep first, but your arms are around HIM first so he stays put because he doesn’t want to wake you up... and also because he kind of likes it. Kinda blushy even when he’s reading his book. 

[polyamoryinfandoms]

Monthly Fic Roundup!

Hey gang! I’m posting the fics that were recommended on our last surveymonkey poll; thanks for everyone who recommended fics. Please note I did not get to read every fic on here and depended on your responses and the AO3 tags to mark for any triggers or story notes, so please read with caution if you’re worried about any content warnings!

If you want to recommend more fics, I’ll be posting another roundup poll later in the day today! 

Under the cut are 32 fics from: 

Agents of Shield (1) 

Bill & Ted (1) 

Castlevania (1) 

Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (1) 

DCU (2) 

Ferris Bueller’s Day Off (4) 

Game of Thrones (1) 

Harry Potter (1) 

Leverage (1) 

Mission Impossible (1 -- series) 

Sanders Sides (1-- series)

Sense8 (1)

Sherlock (1-- series) 

Star Wars (1) 

Stranger Things (8) 

The Man from U.N.C.L.E. (1) 

The Untamed/CQL/MDZS (2)

Teen Wolf (2) 

White Collar (1) 

Agents of Shield: 

is it chill that you’re in my head? by lazyfish 

Pairing: Lance Hunter/Bobbi Morse/Alphonso Mackenzie

TW/TAGS: PTSD, Referenced Torture

Summary: It doesn't take long for Mack to realize he's in love with Bobbi and Hunter and has been for a while. Other realizations take slightly longer.

Bill and Ted (movie):

Our Home, Our Family, Our Love by CaptainWeasley

Pairing: Bill/Ted/Elizabeth/Joanna

TW/TAGS: slurs, implied/referenced child abuse, internalized homophobia, self harm

Summary: A series of firsts in Ted's life, as he slowly comes to terms with his sexuality and learns how to handle being in love with both his wife and his best friend. When Billie and Thea come out as trans, each in her own way, he does everything he can to help them be who they are.

Castlevania: 

Deliverance by cricketsong1985

Pairing: Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades/Alucard

TW/Tags: Blood kink, explicit sexual content,  gore, trauma, angst

Summary: Adrian is beginning to think that Wallachia will be a smoking pile of ash long before he, Trevor, and Sypha can stop Dracula’s war on humanity. They’ve been chasing the castle for months, but each time they get close, it vanishes. Traveling with such genuine and trustworthy allies has been unexpectedly pleasant; Adrian doesn’t mind that Trevor and Sypha are involved with each other, but he is taken entirely by surprise when they open their relationship to him one evening. Hopelessly in over his head, his heart keeps urging him forward, even when he’s forced to confront the darkest aspects of his nature. Adrian must learn to swallow his pride and let himself be vulnerable if he wants a chance at happiness. Unfortunately, there isn’t much time for looking within when the world is drenched in blood and magic, and the path to victory may destroy him completely.

Chilling Adventures of Sabrina: 

We will be judged by the courage of our hearts by MagicClem

Pairing: Harvey Kinkle/Sabrina Spellman/Nicholas Scratch

TW/TAGS: mention of an abusive parent 

Summary: It's been a month since the 13 almost destroyed Greendale. Now a full Witch, Sabrina tries to move on, with the help of one Nicholas Scratch.But one night, Harvey arrives at the Spellman's house and everything becomes complicated.

DCU: 

not for the faint of heart by pasdecoeur

Pairing: Hal Jordan/Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent

TW/TAGS: Explicit Sexual Content 

Summary: Clark opens a door that was meant to stay closed. Things spiral. or, What Not To Do When You’ve Fallen in Love with Batman: A Guide by Hal Jordan & Clark Kent.

All Good Things Come in Threes (Legends of Tomorrow) by IncendiaGlacies

Pairing: Gideon/Rip Hunter/Miranda Coburn

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting

Summary: “Two is a couple, three is a crowd,” Gideon stated. In which Gideon navigates her polyamorous relationship with Rip and Miranda. Domestic slice of life goodness.

Ferris Bueller’s Day Off:

Pairing for all of these are Pairing: Cameron/Ferris/Sloane and are written by @fbdo1986

it’s enough to be whiplash

TW: death mention (no character death), drowning

A/N: To put it plainly, I took a few tricks from John Hughes’s earlier scripts of the film, which were more surreal and up-front with discussing death and end of the world scenarios. It was inspired by a concept that I couldn’t seem to shake after I thought of it: what if the pool scene was just a bit more high stakes?

all the things I never told you 

Summary: It’s Sloane, Ferris, and Cameron’s first afternoon alone at the Bueller residence in months. The busy twenty-four year olds who’ve struggled to find time together as their lives unfold in front of them try to think of what to do for the day when Cameron decides to let them in on what he’s been keeping from them.

bye bye love 

TW: Death mention (none of the main characters)

Summary: A hopefully angsty number that details Sloane’s, Cameron’s, and Ferris’s journey through heartbreak and loss after their Sophomore year in college. The title is named after a song by The Cars by the same name!

firestarter

Prompt #5: Where it doesn’t hurt with the OT3

Game of Thrones: 

Constellatory by blueandbulae

Pairing: Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell/Robb Stark (polycule, NO incest) 

TW: Some canon typical violence

Summary: It’s strange and messy and maybe nobody else will ever understand them but it works. It’s theirs, and theirs alone, and nobody can take that from them.Or: Robb and Theon storm King's Landing, rescue the princesses, and save the kingdom. Then comes the hard part.

Harry Potter: 

Unconventional by silver_fish

Pairing: Harry Potter/Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger

Summary: A few years, now, have passed since Hedwig’s death, and Hermione thinks it’s time Harry got a new pet. What sort of pet, though, neither she nor Ron know. Not until Harry himself offers her the perfect solution, that is.

Leverage: 

for better or worse (we change together) by idkimoutofideas

Pairing: Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer

TW/TAGS: Canon typical violence

Summary: The moment Parker saw the stranger standing by the elevator, a dozen alarm bells went off in her head. She froze, and Hardison nearly walked into her as he entered behind her. It took her a moment to realize that while half of the alarm bells were telling her to get the fuck out of there, the other half were telling her to look closer. Or, Eliot Spencer is a recent war veteran who just moved to Portland in an attempt to lead a calmer lifestyle. He ends up with some weird neighbors, but it's Portland, everyone's a little weird.

Mission Impossible: 

Polyamorous Spies (series of 2 fics) by MagicClem

Pairing: Benji Dunn/Ethan Hunt/Ilsa Faust

TW/TAGS: Blood & injuries (2nd fic) 

Sander’s Sides: 

Love and Other Fairytales by SoDoRoses (Fairychess)

Pairing: LAMP/CALM (Logan, Roman, Virgil, Patton)

TW: violence, major character death, no NSFW in the main fic but there is a side series with NSFW, animal death, description of rot, nonconsentual control of another person, 'like death' state of being

Sense8: 

Crazy Life by MagicClem

Pairing: Kala Dandekar/Wolfgang Bogdanow/Rajan Rasal

Summary: Rajan would admit that this past few years had been crazy and life seems determined to make it crazier and crazier.Or: This is "Amor Vincit Omnia" from Rajan's perspective.

Sherlock: 

Lorem Ipsum by Saathi1013 (series) 

Pairing:  Sherlock Holmes/John Watson/Sarah Sawyer

TW: Abduction

Star Wars:

so just pull the trigger by Darnaguen

Pairing: Han Solo/Qi'ra/Lando Calrissian

TW/TAGS: Alcohol use 

Summary: “Oh, don’t pout Haan.” Lando lounges back, licking his newly berry-tinted lips with a lazy grin. “You know all you have to do is ask.”(Qi’ra’s eyes are glinting and her smile is dagger-sharp. Han knows the look: it’s one she wears whenever she has a winning hand.The dice on the table are mediocre at best. He shakes his head and drinks deep.)

Stranger Things: 

All pairings are Steve Harrington/Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler

The Hawkins Three by nonymos

TW: Some canon typical homophobia and slurs

Summary: It's two weeks after the Snow Ball, Nancy's officially with Jonathan, and Steve is trying to move forward. If only he wasn't on a path that keeps circling back to the both of them.

lovers in a dangerous time by diogxnes

TW/TAGS: Briefly: panic attacks/PTSD, parental neglect

Summary: “So,” says Robin, sitting back in her chair, “what’s the deal there, anyway? With the whole you-Nancy-Jonathan thing.”The question makes his mouth run dry. Why would she ask that? Can she tell, possibly, how much he’s been thinking about Nancy these past few days? How starstruck he was when Nancy showed up at his house? Does she know about the mysterious warmth in his stomach when he thinks about Jonathan? “What do you mean, the whole me-Nancy-Jonathan thing?” “Come on, Steve. She’s your ex and he famously beat you up two years ago and now they’re dating each other and all three of you somehow ended up a part of this weird little monster-fighting club together. There’s gotta be a story there.”“I don’t know, Robs,” says Steve, rolling his eyes, relieved beyond measure that that’s all she meant. “You pretty much just covered all of it. There’s not much more to tell.”

Have Happened by cortexikid

TW/TAGS: Homophobia

Summary: "I overheard you. You were talking in your sleep.”Steve's heart fluttered nervously.“It was a little funny at first,” Nancy admitted, her tone a mix of teasing and apologetic, “you were moaning my name and I thought it’d be kinda funny if Mike accidentally overheard you having a sex dream about his sister—”Steve couldn’t control the guffaw that escaped him. “But then you said Jonathan’s name. Right after mine. All in the same breath.”

it’s a risk, it’s a gamble by nondz (pinkjook)

TW/TAGS: NSFW

Summary: “I think we should pretend to date,” Robin says. "What?" Steve answers.

still turning out by scoutshonor

TW/TAGS: Homophobic language

Summary: Steve knows senior year's supposed to be tough, but seriously?Not only does his dad want him to take over his business, but he lands himself into a fight with his best friend leaving him friendless and booted out of his inner-circle, gets stuck watching a bunch of kids after school because of a missing credit, has to repeat eleventh grade history, and, oh yeah. He has the minor issue of having no idea what he actually wants to do with his life.But it's not all that bad: not the kids he has to watch, and certainly not Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers, two friends from his history class. Friends. Just friends. Yeah, he and you both know that's bullshit.Steve's got a lot of figuring out to do.(or: HSAU Stoncy with Steve as a senior, doing his best)

(Following Stoncy fics are by @pterawaters​) 

Now and For Always 

TW/TAGS: Explicit, Sex where one party is drunk and the other isn't

Summary: Between graduating from college, starting new careers, and planning a wedding, the summer of 1990 is a busy time for Nancy, Steve, and Jonathan. When a war starts in the middle east, Jonathan gets called away just three weeks before the wedding. He’s determined to make it back in time, no matter what it takes.

It's not like people live like this

TW/TAGS: Car Accidents, Period-Typical Homophobia, NSFW

Summary: Concerned that Steve's less-than-stellar grades might have been making them look bad, his parents hired him a tutor, Jonathan Byers, they were sure he wouldn't find as distracting as his last one. Sure, Jonathan had good grades in school, but he really wished he didn't have to take the extra work to help his mother put food on the table. After all, everyone knew Steve Harrington was a jerk. Right? It turned out, not so much. After an impromptu study-session-turned-party and a game of spin the bottle, Steve and Jonathan both found themselves dating Nancy Wheeler. And that wasn't even the strangest thing that happened to any of them that week.

Mr. Sandman (series) 

TW/TAGS: Canon-typical violence, Explicit scenes

The Man from U.N.C.L.E.: 

Simmer On Low by canardroublard

Pairing: Illya/Napoleon/Gaby

TW/TAGS: semi-implied consensual voyeurism, whump

Summary: Scenes from five kitchens.

The Untamed/CQL/MDZS: 

inclusions by keiyashi 

Pairing: Sòng Lán | Sòng Zǐchēn/Xiǎo Xīngchén/Xuē Yáng | Xuē Chéngměi

TW/TAGS: NSFW

Summary: “I guess I feel left out. And I’m asking you to show me how not to?”“Show you?” Xue Yang laughs, easing the tension the only way he knows how. “Daozhang, if you aren’t careful, I might think you’re implying something quite forward.”Xingchen blinks at him. “Xue Yang, I feel like you’re trying to embarrass me, but that is what I was implying.”

melting the glacier by keiyashi 

Pairing: Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén/Mèng Yáo | Jīn Guāngyáo/Niè Míngjué

Summary: Wanting to be with Nie Mingjue is something Lan Xichen accepted about himself long ago. He wants only happiness for his friend, no matter what form it takes. Even if that form is quite lovely and possesses an enchanting mouth.

Teen Wolf: 

Feels Better Biting Down by callunavulgari, hiza-chan (callunavulgari)

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale/Lydia Martin

TW/TAGS: Blood

That I See You by FiccinDylan

Pairing: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski/Jordan Parris

TW/TAGS: NSFW, abo, m-preg (non graphic), werewolves, triads are normal

Summary: Deputy Jordan Parrish and Chef Derek Hale are in the prime of their lives and ready to take the next step in their relationship by courting an omega. Everything seems to be progressing smoothly until the new omega (aka Stiles Stilinski, the sheriff’s son) surfaces some unresolved tension from Jordan’s past. Jordan originally had the benefit of amnesia to block out his harried background, but now with his amnesia behind him, will he be able to resolve his past before he ruins his future?

White Collar: 

Always Starts the Same, with a Boy and a Girl by lightgetsin

Pairing: Neal Caffrey/Peter Burke/Elizabeth Burke

Tags: AU 

Summary: Summer, 1998. Neal Caffrey robs the gallery where Elizabeth O'Dell is working late, and comes away with a lot more than art. Agent Burke has no idea what's about to hit him.

[sherlollysecretsanta]

For the second prompt... I suppose merely some parent Sherlolly, or the two of them taking care of Rosie and it goes horribly awry or something like that. *shrugs* I'm not a terribly picky person, honestly, just nothing NSFW please.

Here you go!

Thoughts On Domestic Perfection - Sherlock spends some time in his daughter's room, thinking about how lucky he is to have the wife and children he was blessed with.

READ @ AO3

“Fudgebucket!”

Sherlock instinctively lifted up his foot in response to stepping on the Lego. Neither he nor his brother, and possibly his sister, had had Legos in the house, but Molly’s brother had sent a big yellow bucket of them for Christmas, possibly in retribution for the drum set that he and Molly had gotten for her niece. He wasn’t sure. But if it had been revenge, it was well played. That yellow bucket held crayons now, and the Legos were willy nilly all over the place.

Molly gave him a pained half-smile as she picked up the Lego he had stepped on. “I thought I got them all,” she said.

“I just hope I didn’t wake Timothy up. He’s off his naptimes,” he said. No damage to his foot, but he was thankful he hadn’t said an actual curse. Eloise was picking up on the things adults said and her happily saying “fuck” all day would get him yelled at or worse, Molly wouldn’t speak to him.

Parenthood felt like a minefield, but he did love his children.

Molly was bent over, putting various toys in the chest that Eloise and Janice, the twins, used in their room. She had put on some more curves thanks to twins and then their surprise son, and he found he appreciated the view quite a bit. She straightened up and turned to look at him, a curious look on her face before she wiggled her hips and grinned. “Later, Sherlock. Later.”

“Delayed gratification?”

“I know, your least favourite thing.”

“I don’t know. If I get a kiss, I could be swayed.”

She chuckled and went over to him, winding her arms around his neck. He bent his head down and kissed her soundly before she pulled away and he got another lovely view of her arse as she left the room.

He was glad they had Molly’s old home for their family home. Baker Street would always be special to him, but with Timothy’s arrival nearly a year ago they knew that Baker Street was going to be too small for their growing family. Eloise and Janice were now seven, and they needed room. The twins were happy sharing a room, but should that ever change they could have separate rooms. They had a backyard here, with a play structure and a somewhat dodgy fort in the oak tree in the backyard. By the time Timothy was old enough to climb the tree to use it, the girls might be tired of it.

And that was only if Molly wasn’t expecting their third as he suspected she might be.

He had never expected himself to be a family man, or to want children. But Molly had changed his views on all of that. As long as the children were hers as well, he wanted as many as she wanted. He’d get snipped if she said four was enough, but his home was filled with laughter and love, and after the childhood that was coming back to him, slowly but surely, it was a panacea he desperately craved. Not even his best drug high compared to hearing his daughters call him “Daddy” for the first time, and he had Timothy’s first words to look forward to as well.

“Sherlock?”

He shook the thoughts out of his head as Molly came back into the room, looking at him. “Sorry, I was lost in thought.”

“Anything wrong?”

“No,” he said, lifting his arms to reach for her. She walked into his embrace and he held her close, this woman whom he loved more than life itself. “I was just thinking of how perfect this life with you and the children is.”

“Well, I think it’s perfect too,” she said. Then she looked up at him. “Timothy is still sound asleep, and the girls aren’t due home for two more hours. We could...spend a little time together.”

“We could,” he said, looking down at her, a wide smile growing on his face before he let go of Molly and picked her up, carrying her to their bedroom and gently kicking the door shut behind him.

–

He had been mistaken about Molly being pregnant already. But he wasn’t the slightest bit surprised when they welcomed Matthew Louis Holmes into the world nine months later.

[darlingstarbby]

Once Bitten, Twice Shy | h. styles | Chapter Two

Thankfully, we reached Holmes Chapel before either one of us acted on the urge to kill the other. I dropped Harry off at the end of his mums' drive, sparing a moment to wave frantically to her as she stood on the front porch to greet Harry and then careening away before I could get roped into staying and providing an explanation. I'd leave that to Harry; I had my own mum to deal with.

Mum had gotten the house we'd grown up in in the divorce, so a wave of nostalgia always hit me when I pulled up to the detached house just a few streets away from Harrys' own. It looked as if Phil, my stepdad, had finally gone through repainting if the now stark-white appearance of the siding and the bright nautical blue of the shutters was anything to go by. It being December, the numerous rose bushes my mum religiously tended weren't in bloom, but they were still trimmed neatly along the front of the house. Phils' truck and mums' own Honda Civic were parked in the drive, along with an unfamiliar red Vauxhall Astra that must have been Riley and Dylans' rental car. I parked behind them and grabbed my suitcase, duffle, and backpack before heading up to the front door that my mum had already opened. Thankfully, there hadn't been much snow recently, so all I had to trod through was slightly soggy grass from the rain as I approached.

"There's my favorite girl!" My mum sang out as I stepped up onto the porch. She pulled me into a bone-crushing hug without even letting me drop my things, but Phil was quick to come up behind her and take my bags. I shot him a grateful smile and returned my mum's affectionate attack, wrapping my arms around her smaller frame. Marjorie Tuttle had always been short and plump, with light brown hair that she had worn long throughout my childhood, but recently had cropped into a long bob. When she pulled me back to grab my face in her hands, a pair of watery hazel eyes that matched my own looked back at me. "Oh, you look so beautiful Ella Bell!"

Mum was the only one who ever called me Ella Bell. Even though my middle name was Maeve she never used my true full name when she referred to me. As a kid, I always knew I was in trouble when she did use my full name. If anything but Bell followed Ella, I was in for it.

"Hello, Mumma," I said, leaning into her touch. "How're you?"

She gave my cheeks a final pat and then stepped back to lead me into the house. It smelled of sugar cookies, bergamot, and cedar. Though she knew an awful lot, my mother was not a baker, so I knew the scents must have been a part of her winter candle collection, courtesy of Bath and Body Works. I wasn't complaining, though, it smelled magical and cozy. I could feel all the tension I'd held in my shoulders on the drive up slowly release at the comfort of being home once again. "Oh, I've been fine, darling," my mum replied, leading the way into the kitchen where we were met by the sight of Riley and Dylan washing dishes side by side. The poster boys for domesticity. "Just anxious to see my daughter and that boyfriend of hers. Where is he, by the way?"

I resisted the urge to let my shoulders raise towards my ears in embarrassment as Riley turned to shoot me a small smile tinged with concern. "Erm," I began, locking eyes with my older brother as I answered my mum. "He'll be here shortly, he just needed to sort some things out beforehand."

Riley's brows furrowed in confusion at my words, but I just shook my head slightly in a way to tell him I'd fill him in soon. "Well, good," mum said, quickly taking the dishtowel Dylan was holding and shooing the two of them towards me. "I can't wait to meet him! Your brother's been very tight-lipped about everything. Honestly, what's the point of having the two of you living in the same city if neither one of you will fill me in on the other?"

My brother and I exchanged eye rolls before I was quickly swallowed up in a RileyandDylan sandwich. "Hey, bug," Dylan murmured in my ear, his Scottish brogue comforting like my mums' candles. "How're ye?"

I could tell by his tone that Riley had filled him in on my relationship status. I backed out of the hug to give them each a look, which was met with sheepish smiles from both. I rolled my eyes. "I'm good, actually, but I need to talk to the two of you. Help me unpack?"

They nodded and we gave mum our excuses before hurrying out of the kitchen. I felt like a kid again as we tiptoed past the living room, where Phil was busy watching a rugby match and then up the stairs and towards my room. It was the last one at the end of the hall, right next to the bathroom and the room that had been dad's office before the divorce and which was now the guest room. The walls were still a light lavender and all of my old Twilight, Jonas Brothers, and Jesse McCartney posters were still plastered everywhere. I could tell mum had started packing away things by the totes half-filled with clothes I hadn't worn since high school, but the slight layer of dust said that she'd predictably gotten distracted by something else. Phil had sat my things on my bed, which was dressed in the quilt my nana had made for me when mum was pregnant with me, and I carefully pushed them aside before gesturing Dylan and Riley to sit down. With the door closed firmly behind me and my brother and his boyfriend—sorry, fiancé, that would take some getting used to—staring at me anxiously, I finally felt the weight of what I was about to say settle over my shoulders. I folded my sweaty hands in front of me and took a deep breath, pushing aside my nerves.

Then, I spilled.

"Harry Styles and I are dating," I began and, at their dropped jaws and widened eyes, rushed to clarify. "Fake dating! We're fake dating."

Riley blinked and then let out a hoarse laugh. "I'm sorry, what?"

I pressed my fingers to my forehead and placed one hand on my hip. "Listen, I know it's nuts—"

"This is the best fucking thing I've heard in years!" Riley burst out, a mad cackle following his words. "You two are going to kill each other!"

I glared at him and Dylan, who was not openly laughing (yet), but who looked on the verge as he bit his bottom lip harshly. "No, we are not!" I said, stomping my foot like a child and lying straight through my teeth. The odds of mutual murder were very high, unfortunately, but they didn't have to say it. "Look," I stated, glancing back and forth between Riley and Dylan, as the latter tucked my brothers' head into his neck, trying to stifle his giggles. "I'm tired of being looked at as the Romantic Failure in this family and Harry doesn't want to focus on his own love life right now." Okay, so he hadn't said as much, but he wouldn't mind me putting words in his mouth when he wasn't here, would he? He would, but oh well. "And this was what we came up with. A mutually beneficial situation. Plus, mum'll be ecstatic! She's basically been planning our wedding since forever!"

Riley pushed away from Dylan to look at me, his laughter finally dying away, and the look of concern he shot my way almost had me taking the words back. Almost, but not quite. "You're not a romantic failure, Ella," he murmured.

I rolled my eyes. I hadn't rolled my eyes this much since I was a teenager. "Not true, but also not the point. I need you and Dylan to go along with this. Please, Riley."

My brother licked his lips and exchanged glances with Dylan. That weird telepathy thing that couples that'd been together forever had mastered. I'd never reached a point in a relationship where the couple telepathy came to be. Finally, they both looked back at me with determined eyes. "Okay," Riley acquiesced. "Whatever you need, Ella. Just tell us the plan."

I grinned and proceeded to do just that.

***

My Aunt Cecelia and cousin Heather showed up about an hour later when Riley, Dylan, and I were gathered around Phil and that mornings' crossword puzzle at the kitchen table, throwing out suggestions that became crazier the further along we went. Phil took it all in stride, blinking at the newspaper behind his glasses, pen poised above the page as he carefully ignored the three of us and filled out the correct answers. Mum stood behind us at the hob, stirring the first pot of mulled wine of the holidays, and yelling her own suggestions over the radio she had playing classic Christmas tunes.

Burl Ives was singing about having a holly jolly Christmas when Aunt Cecelia came bursting into the kitchen, both hands thrust before her holding bottles of whisky. "Marjorie!" She sang, flinging herself at my mum as she turned from the hob. "Grab the moose mugs, it's time for fucking Christmas shots!"

"Shots shots shots!" Riley and I cried out, Dylan watching on and laughing in delight, as my teenaged cousin Heather stepped into the kitchen, reeking of angst and the kind of embarrassment that only one's family could bring out in you as a kid. She'd grow out of it eventually; before she knew it, she'd be the one Conga-ing around the kitchen to Burl Ives as glasses were gathered for Fucking Christmas Shots.

"Holy shit," Aunt Cecelia panted as she flopped into the seat next to Phil, glass moose mug (yes, just like the ones from Christmas Vacation) filled with whisky cradled delicately in her hands. "Have I needed this."

Riley and I hummed our agreement as we each took sips of our own spirits. Unfortunately, the moose mugs were only a pair. So mum got the other one as she continued fussing with the mulled wine. Aunt Cecelia was mum's younger—"By twelve years, can you believe it?"—sister and the embodiment of everything Cool Aunt. She'd taken both Riley and me for our first drinks when we each reached legal age. She'd been the one to give me my first box of condoms when I turned sixteen, winking as she said: "I know you may not need them now, but it's better to be safe than sorry!" She was my mum's physical opposite; tall and blonde and boisterously flirty. Where mum was more than happy to sit back and quietly enjoy the show, Aunt Cecelia wouldn't rest until she became the show. Every moment with her was an Event.

Heather was a less...abrasive version of her mum. Still chatty and exciting, but more settled and willing to step back out of the light. She was tall and willowy like her dad had been, with her mum's blonde hair and a pair of large blue eyes that she always focused on you when you were speaking. She was a good listener and had wisdom far beyond her years. It was hard for me, as her older cousin, not to be intimidated by her because of this. Heather was only seventeen and she already had so much of her shit together. I may have been twenty-four with a stable job and a shoebox flat of my own, but I still felt as if I was a child playing at an adult most of the time. I only hoped that feeling would fade in the next few years. Otherwise, I was fucked.

"How're things with work, Celia?" Phil asked, finally setting aside his crossword and accepting his own mug of whisky.

Aunt Cecelia was a journalist and, in her words, the one I inherited my love for writing from. She worked at a culinary magazine in Manchester and often traveled around the country stuffing her face with food from, also her words, under-appreciated restaurants. She sat her moose mug down on the counter and flapped her hands excitedly. "Oh, Philip, you have to try this place I found in Cornwall. It's a little French bistro and their pain au chocolat is to die for. They make them from scratch every morning! You and Margie should make a weekend of it; tell them CeCe sent you!"

Heather took the seat next to me, a bottle of water in hand, and nodded sagely. "Yeah, they were pretty good," she added, before pulling her phone out and proceeding to get lost in Snapchat or TikTok. Whatever the kids were into nowadays.

"Maybe for the new year, then," Phil said, shooting my mum a look over his shoulder. "We still haven't decided what to do for our anniversary; perhaps a road trip would be nice?"

Mum squeezed his shoulder as she passed him on her way back to the hob from the spice cabinet, a fistful of cinnamon sticks in hand. "Sounds lovely, dear. I could use a beach holiday."

"In February?" Riley laughed. "Mum, you'll freeze your bollocks off."

"Language," mum tutted, and Dylan and I snickered into our drinks at Riley's chastised expression.

"Speaking of holidays and anniversaries," Aunt Cecelia began, reaching across the table and taking my hands in her own. She was fresh from a manicure, nails a shiny lacquered red. I swallowed at the mischievous twinkle in her eye as she grinned at me. "Where's that mysterious boyfriend we've heard absolutely nothing about, Ella?"

I could feel every member of my family's curious eyes on me—except for Phil, who had dove back into his crossword once again. I offered her what I hoped wasn't a nauseated smile. "He'll be here in a bit. He's just spending some time with his own family right now."

"What's his name?" Aunt Cecelia questioned. "What's he do for a living? Is he fit? A generous lover? Tell us everything."

"Perhaps not everything," Phil muttered in amusement, evidently still present in the conversation.

Beside me, I could feel Riley positively vibrating with his effort to suppress laughter. I jabbed my elbow discreetly into his side as I smiled at Aunt Cecelia, ignoring the furious blush I could feel rising to my cheeks. "It's a surprise, auntie."

"Oh, what a load of tosh. I'm thirty-eight, Ella, I'm much too old for surprises," Aunt Cecelia rebutted, taking one hand back to down the rest of her whisky. "Give us a hint, love."

Rolling my eyes—honestly, I could feel that becoming a habit now—I sighed. "Fine, he's an artist," I offered begrudgingly.

Aunt Cecelia practically swooned. "Oooh, an artist. Is he the moody broody type? Decked all in black and mysterious as he sketches you like one of his French girls by the light of the moon?"

I choked on embarrassed laughter, face quickly turning red at the thought of Harry seeing me in any form of undress. "Definitely not," I managed to say. "Mum, you can rest assured that there are no nude pictures of me anywhere."

Mum snorted and Aunt Cecelia pouted. "Oh, you're no fun, ducky." She sighed, then, taking her hands away and leaning back into her seat. "Fine, keep your secrets. I'll just entertain myself with daydreaming of what he's like before he arrives. I'm sure he's a darling if he's managed to capture your attention. Or, at least, he better be! Or he'll have us to deal with, right Margie?"

Mum raised her moose mug in a toast of solidarity and I shook my head in exasperation. They'd surely be over the moon when Harry walked in the door, every thought of beating an undeserving boyfriend flying from their minds. They'd most likely wonder what I had done to capture his attention.

I shook the pessimistic thought from my mind and settled into the arm that Riley had rested over the back of my chair, my older brother rubbing my shoulder in encouragement. At least I had him and Dylan on my side.

I was jerked out of listening to Aunt Cecelia describing the process of making the perfect pain au chocolat by my mobile buzzing in the pocket of my hoodie. Before I'd dropped him off at Anne's, Harry and I had reluctantly exchanged numbers, so I wasn't too surprised to see that he'd texted me.

mum fell for it hook line and sinker. ready for your own personal hell to start?

Despite myself, I smiled and huffed a small laugh. So, he could be funny; I already knew that despite all efforts not to absorb any knowledge of his personality throughout the years.

Bring it on, doll face, I replied, before tucking my mobile away quickly when Riley tried to take a sneaky peek. Older brothers, honestly.

I spent the next ten minutes drumming my fingers restlessly on my knee and all but jumped from my chair when the doorbell finally rang. "I'll get it!" I cried and threw myself out of the kitchen to laughter from my family. Once in front of the door, I took a moment to compose myself; big breaths, smoothing of hair, wiping of sweaty palms on jeans. Then, I opened the door.

I don't know why I expected Harry to look different from how he had that morning, but despite that feeling, I wasn't disappointed when I saw him stood there dressed in the same black skinny jeans and wine red jumper as before. He had tucked his curls into a faded pink beanie for the walk over and thrown on a heavy army green coat, neither of which had prevented his face from going pink from the cold. His eyes blinked evergreen at me in contrast.

He licked his lips and I had to consciously remind myself not to let my eyes drift to his mouth. Down that lane lay trouble, I knew from experience. "Hey," he breathed, sounding more nervous than I had ever heard him. Which, wasn't too nervous, but it still made me feel better that I wasn't the only one bricking it at the thought of letting him in the house with my family. "Ready?"

I huffed out a slightly manic laugh. "Not at fucking all, but it's too late now."

I never would have imagined sharing something with Harry Styles, but I could feel the trepidation almost like a thread tying us together as I let him into the house and we took careful steps back towards the kitchen. My family had gone quiet, not so subtly trying to listen in, and Riley was even peeking around the corner, watching Harry and I approach with equal parts concern and amusement. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Harry shaking his head and flicking him off and Riley snorted before turning back around to let us enter without being watched. There'd be enough eyes on us for the rest of the holiday.

Mum was the first to see us. I imagined she hadn't looked away from the doorway since I'd practically sprinted from the kitchen. Her hazel eyes blinked quizzically at the two of us before crinkling with the grin she focused on Harry. "Oh, Harry, love. I didn't know you were in town already! How're you?"

It hadn't hit her yet, I realized. Not like it had Aunt Cecelia, who was almost trembling in her seat with joy. Not like it had Heather, who looked between Harry and me before shooting me a rare, mischievous smile. Not like it had Phil, whose glasses were slipping down his nose as he nodded his head approvingly. "Erm," Harry began, "I'm alright, Mrs. Tuttle. How're you?"

"How many times do I have to tell you to call me Margie, young man? Honestly, you've known me most of your life the least you—" Mum cut herself off then and I tried my hardest not to flinch when Harry shuffled closer and wrapped a tentative arm around my waist. His hand on my hip had shivers coursing down my spine; I could just imagine what those calluses would feel like skating over my skin. I swallowed thickly and firmly pushed that thought away. Get a grip, Ella. Mum's eyes had gone as wide as a saucer, zeroed in on where Harry and I were touching. She fumbled with her moose mug, setting it clumsily on the counter behind her—Phil had to quickly reach out and right it before it fell and shattered on the floor—and then clasped her hands over her mouth. "Oh my goodness," she breathed. "Oh my goodness! Are you two dating?!"

"Yes!" Gasped Aunt Cecelia dramatically, rearing back in her seat and throwing her hands out in victory. "I knew it!"

Heather snorted. "Mum, you did not!"

Mum ignored them both, walking towards me and Harry and placing a hand on each of our arms. "How did this happen? Oh, I'm so happy, my darlings, but I'm also terribly confused."

"Yeah," Riley drawled from the table, chin in hand and shit-eating grin on his lips. "Tell us how this happened, Ellie. Harry."

I narrowed my eyes at my brother, who covered his mouth with his hand. It did nothing to hide the smug expression on his stupid face. Behind him, Dylan shrugged and gave me a look as if to say: what're ya gonna do? I could see the amusement dancing in his own eyes. Traitors.

"Well," I started, turning back to mum. I darted my eyes up to look at Harry, only to find him staring at me with wide eyes and what could only be described as a smitten smile on his lips. Damn, he was good at this. "It's kind of a long story."

"It's a good thing we have all holiday, then," Aunt Cecelia teased. "Now sit down and have some whisky, Harry. Ellie wouldn't want you to freeze your bits off, would she?"

My face went red and Harry snorted, ducking his head and scratching at the back of his neck to hide his amusement as the rest of my family burst into raucous laughter. Yes, I thought. We have all holiday for this. Strangely, I didn't find myself all too disturbed by the idea.

***

Fortunately, the story wasn't dragged out of us until a few hours later, when we were gathered around the dining table with the remains of our first Christmas dinner (mum's famous lasagne, which everyone had had at least three servings of). We were all drinking the first batch of mulled wine, talking and laughing over nonsense, when the subject of Dylan and Riley's recent engagement finally came up. Mum, of course, had gotten teary. She was an emotional drunk. "I can't believe my babies are all grown up," she hiccoughed over admiring the simple sterling silver, diamond-encrusted band that Riley had given Dylan, with Harry's help he'd said.

Harry, who of course was sat next to me to keep up appearances, had looked slightly sheepish but mostly proud at the comment. I tried to imagine him in a jewelers with my brother, bent over the displays with brows furrowed in concentration as he tried to find the perfect band for my brothers' fiancé. I blamed the warmth that had bubbled up in my chest at the thought on the two and a half glasses of mulled wine I'd already consumed. "Riley's engaged," mum continued tearily. "And Ella's happy with Harry. My goodness, my heart is full to bursting."

"And don't think you've gotten out of explaining how this happened," Aunt Cecelia teased, gesturing with her glass between Harry and me. Next to her, Heather sipped at the small glass of wine she'd been allowed in order to smother a smile. "Last we knew, you two despised each other."

I pursed my lips. "Despised is a strong word, auntie."

"But the right one," Harry noted, slinging an arm over the back of my chair. I shot him a look and he threw his head back with a laugh. "What? You gonna try and tell me that I'm wrong, dove?"

Dove. My heart fluttered at the word like it traitorously had every time Harry had slipped the endearment into the conversation. I knew pet names were a part of most relationships, but I never would have thought that Harry would be one of those people who used them. He was really trying to sell this. "Fine," I acquiesced with a smile. "I despised you. Happy now?"

"Unimaginably so." His smug grin and the way he ran his fingers oh so casually over my shoulder had me blushing. We'll blame that on the wine as well. "To answer your question, Celia, well—it was mostly hate sex in the beginning."

I choked on the sip of wine I'd just taken, while Dylan and Riley burst into surprised laughter. Aunt Cecelia positively lit up in scandalous delight at the words, whereas Heather blushed to the roots of her hair and sunk deep into her seat. I couldn't blame her, I was all but doing the same in order to not make eye contact with my mother and Phil, who were chortling along with my brothers. "I can not believe you just said that," I hissed, to everyone's further amusement.

Harry beamed, all too pleased with how he was humiliating me. God, I hated the fucker. "Did you want me to lie to your family, Ella?"

"Of course not," I scoffed, trying to not think about how that was exactly what we were doing. "I just wanted you to tell them anything but that."

"Well, that's how it started." He turned back to Aunt Cecelia and then went on the story that we'd planned. "But then I realized that I wanted more, that I always had. I didn't think that I'd fall back into a relationship so soon after Jessie left me, but everything with Ella had always been different. I'd fancied her since I was seventeen, probably before that to be honest, and I wasn't about to let her get away again. So, I," here, he laughed self-deprecatingly. "I badgered her into going on a date with me. One date, I'd said, and if you still hate me afterward then we'll never speak of it again. So I took her to the Luna Drive-In and we talked all the way through When Harry Met Sally and then all the way through a late-night dinner at McDonald's and then all the way home—"

"And I didn't hate him at the end of the night," I cut in softly, meeting Harry's eyes and trying to look desperately in love. I smiled, "At least, not as much."

Everyone chuckled. The atmosphere in the room had settled into something soft, comforting. I had to remind myself not to get swept away in the feeling. "It's been a lot of work," Harry continued, pulling me as close as our separate chairs allowed. My heart thumped heavily in my chest. "She drives me insane most days and I'm half convinced she's plotted to kill me at least five times, but—" His eyes were doing that evergreen thing again and I had to harshly swallow down a lump in my throat. "I wouldn't want her any other way."

I looked away from his mesmerizing eyes and down at my lap, blinking rapidly. Good god, was he good at this. "Goodness," Aunt Cecelia breathed and I looked up to see her clasping her hands close to her chest, wide smile on her lips as she eyed Harry and me. "That is positively sweet. You two will give me cavities."

"I think I'm going to be sick," Riley teased, miming gagging over the table. Mum was quick to reach over and smack him upside the head in retaliation.

"Shut up and be happy for your sister and Harry," she said, sniffling slightly. Oh god, we'd made her cry. She then turned to the two of us and I knew that if she hadn't been sitting too far across the table, she would have taken both of our hands in each of hers. "I'm so happy for you, darlings. Have you told your dad yet?"

I shook my head. "Not yet, no. Was planning on telling him when we visit him in Manchester on the 23rd."

Mum quirked a brow at me. "Don't you think you should tell him a little sooner, Ella? Perhaps not give him a heart attack the day before Christmas Eve?"

I raised my glass and took a long, deliberate sip as the rest of the table laughed. And then nearly choked on the mulled wine when Harry's hand dropped to my knee, the heat of his palm like a brand even through the protective layer of my jeans. "We can head up there tomorrow, maybe?" He suggested, looking to me for my input, lips twitching a bit as he saw me struggling to wipe mulled wine from my chin. "Sound good, dove?"

"Sounds peachy," I replied tightly, with a very wide and very false grin. I could see Riley drowning his laughter in wine. "Sugarplum." I dropped one of my hands onto his on my knee and pinched the skin. Hard.

Harry winced and my smile turned genuine, as my mum and Aunt Cecelia all but cooed at us from across the table. Two can play this game, Styles.

***

An hour later, I stood on the front porch of my childhood home with my arms crossed over my chest to ward off the winter chill and Harry Styles stood across from me with his hands deep in the pockets of his coat. I could almost feel the stares from my family as they, not so sneakily, peered through the living room windows at us. The downside of having a very tight-knit family? No privacy, whatsoever. "So we're going up to Manchester tomorrow, then," I said wryly, quirking a brow at Harry.

He had the decency to appear a bit sheepish. "It seems so."

I sighed and scratched under my chin. "Guess I'll have to prepare myself to be stuck in a train car with you for half an hour."

He kicked gently at my sock-clad toes (red and green with reindeer print, to keep up the holiday spirit) with his scuffed boots. "Hey, if you could handle a three-hour car ride then the train's nothing. I'll try to be my least annoying self."

I laughed. "Liar. If anything, you'll be even more annoying."

"You know me so well, dove."

We shared a smile. Through the night, I'd found myself becoming more used to the thought of sharing good things with Harry. A part of me even liked the idea, if the butterflies I'd been feeling every now and then said anything. Ella of last week would have pissed herself laughing at the very idea. Ella of today, though, was too busy admiring how the porch light sent flickers of gold throughout the green of Harry's irises to think of anything else. God, it felt like I was fifteen all over again.

Harry cleared his throat to break the soft silence that'd settled between us. He jerked his chin towards the window. "They're watching us."

"I know." I pursed my lips and hugged myself tighter, a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold running down my spine. "They're probably expecting us to kiss or something."

He laughed softly and hunkered down further into his coat. "Not like we haven't done that before."

My breath caught in my throat at the words and I blinked at him in surprise. Of course, I remembered that October night by the viaduct when I was sixteen, even though I'd downed enough vodka Redbulls to put a grown man to sleep. Of course, I remembered my first kiss. I just hadn't expected Harry Styles, who had been just as drunk as me, to remember it as well. Or be the one to bring it up.

"You remember that?" I asked, voice shaking slightly. I cursed myself internally for showing even an ounce of how affected I was.

An indecipherable look came across his face and he took a step closer to me on the porch, out of the light so that I could no longer see those flecks of gold. I pushed the glimmer of disappointment down deep. "Of course I remember it, Ella," he murmured before a cocky grin stretched his lips. "Not every day you're someones' first kiss, is it?"

I rolled my eyes and reflexively reached out to shove him, but he caught my hands and held them to his chest. The warmth of his body had seeped through the coat and now sent pleasant tingles through my fingertips. "You're such a shit," I muttered, fisting my hands so that I wouldn't be tempted to grab his coat and reel him in. "I should never have told you that."

Harry laughed and ran a thumb over the bone of my wrist. "Oh, you definitely should not have told me that. I was basically shitting myself for days afterward, thinking Riley'd come for me when he found out I corrupted his baby sister."

"You think I would have told him?" I scoffed. "Please, do you know the hell I would have gone through if my family had found out that I let you be my first kiss? Mum would have been even more relentless trying to convince me that I was actually in love with you and didn't hate you with every fiber of my being."

"Heeey," he drawled, still smirking. "Obviously not every fiber or you wouldn't have let me kiss you."

"Close enough," I grumbled, wishing it'd been true. Sixteen-year-old Ella contained multitudes of feelings for Harry Styles. Not one of them had been hatred. No, that'd come later.

Harry hummed and drew me into him so that I was leaning into his chest, my chin just above our joined hands. I stared at the cross tattooed in the junction of his pointer finger and thumb as he continued to rub over my wrist bone, trying to steady my breathing so it didn't all whoosh out of me in a stuttered gasp. Here, in the shadows of the porch light, Christmas lights twinkling in my peripheral, I could almost pretend that this was real. Goddamn, the realization that I wanted it to be was terrifying. It was just eleven more days and I could go back to hating him; shake every soft feeling out of my heart and pretend he'd never made my stomach flip like an acrobat with just the brush of his skin against mine.

"You might have to kiss me again one day," Harry said, breaking the stillness that had settled between us. "You up for that?"

I pulled back to look at him and tried to force a smile onto my face. I hoped it looked less constipated and more teasing. "As long as you don't eat a clove of garlic beforehand, I think I might just survive it."

He laughed and pulled me into a surprising hug, most likely all for our audience. I let myself melt into it regardless. "No promises," he said, placing a sweet kiss on the crown of my head. I felt the heat from his mouth seep down through my skin like drops of summer rain. God, what was wrong with me? I swore I'd never felt this poetic.

We stood like that for another moment, before I—god, I couldn't believe it—reluctantly pushed him away. "Think we gave them enough of a show, don't you?" I deflected, quickly crossing my arms and tucking my hands into my armpits.

Harry blinked, taking another step back and shoving his hands into his coat pockets. He cleared his throat, "Yeah, yeah. Erm, I should go before mum decides to come knocking."

I huffed a laugh. "The last thing we need is our mums to be drunk on mulled wine and crying about the two of us."

He pointed a finger at me, smiling. "Exactly."

"I'll see you tomorrow, Harry," I said, reaching back to place a hand on the doorknob. Somehow, I couldn't pull my eyes from his.

"Goodnight, Ella."

Harry didn't seem to have the same problem. He turned his back on me and took off walking into the dark. The warm feeling I'd had in my stomach all night, like a tangle of Christmas lights, stretched between us until it unraveled completely; until I was left holding the jumbled mess all on my own. I turned and went into the house before I could do something stupid like run after him.