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This was so beautiful!!🥹💓

The Most Beautiful Riddle

HenryCavill!Sherlock x Female!Reader

summary: Sherlock Holmes had never entertained the idea of marriage. That was, until Y/N came along and turned his world upside down. Now, after a year of sweet love and happiness, he is finally ready to ask the question. There is just one problem: How is he ever to make the proposal worthy of his one true love?

a/n: Henry!Sherlock pulls this poetic side out of me, I don’t know. This is me trying to write this period-appropriate, but don’t hesitate to tell me that I’ve failed miserably. This was also a request from this lovely anon - I hope you like it!

word count: 2.9k

warnings: fluff, fluff, and did I mention fluff?

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ

If it weren’t for her, he would have surely misplaced his head by now, Sherlock thought as he was on yet another venture to look through his study for those particular cufflinks he adored. Though he was certain, he had placed them right on his desk the other night, they weren’t anywhere to be found. 

“For god’s sake. They can’t have bloody disappeared,” he huffed in the stuffy study when a pile of books tumbled over the edge of the desk. And then, there it was: an envelope wedged between his most recent read and a note that said: ‘in case you forget’. The cufflinks were neatly placed within.

The detective smiled with a shake of his head. The handwriting was unmistakable: the soft swing of the quill made the harshest words sound lovely. There was only one person who could have done this. And this particular person, he was late to meet by five minutes already. He could not leave her waiting, he thought, not in that heat outside. 

Sherlock hurried down the stairs of his house as he placed the delicate silver pieces on his sleeves, a light touch grazing the surface of the sapphire pinched in the metal with remarkable expertise.

“There you are, Sherlock. Whatever took you so long?” Y/N’s bright eyes glimmered under her sunhat but the smirk on her lips told Sherlock that she knew. Of course, she did. She was the woman who had placed the cufflinks in the envelope after all, because she had grown custom to his scattered thoughts whenever he was deep into a case, seemly leaving every other aspect of life pass him by as if he were sitting by a train window. 

“Darling, I am sorry for I have left you waiting. But somebody appeared to have replaced some items in my study.” Y/N straightened his jacket when he reached her, her hands lingering on his shoulders for a moment longer, her eyes staring into his with a playful gleam.

“Now, who would do such a thing? It’s quite improper to go through a gentleman’s belongings like that.” She did poorly in hiding the mischief in her smile when she turned around. Not, however, before Sherlock caught her hand and placed a sweet kiss on her knuckles.

“Indeed. Though I seem to be relying on this someone after all.” It was an honest attempt in telling her something entirely different than the words he had said. And Y/N knew the meaning behind them all. It was their own personal riddle. A beautiful one, that was, and the very thing he adored most about their relationship.

“Well,” her hand squeezed his in a reassuring manner, “it’s good to have people look after one, don’t you think?” Y/N gathered her skirts and entered the carriage waiting before his home. It would take them to the market, where his favorite part of the day was awaiting the man who stood dazed before the horses, a hint of a smile on his lips and the whisper of a thought hanging in the light summer breeze.

“So it seems.”

❁ ❁ ❁

It had become a custom for the pair to visit the market every Wednesday. Though this tradition had not come to life until Sherlock had started to worry excessively for Y/N’s wellbeing after they had confessed their feelings for one another. It had been a hot summer's day then, too. And Sherlock could not help but be surprised when Y/N had kissed him under the old oak tree by the meadow and shared her feelings with him, that he in fact felt them as well. Much like now, he had been deep in thought about an interesting case of his that seemed to have his head everywhere but in the moment. Y/N had managed to pull him back with this sweet and fleeting kiss. And he were to have almost missed it had it not sparked an overwhelming feeling in his chest. A feeling he had felt many times before but were never able to place; and one he still felt whenever she was close. So, it appeared only natural to accompany Y/N to her weekly market visits. 

Sherlock would not admit it to anyone, really, but he found great joy in watching her frolic through the stands, smelling the flowers, conversing with sellers, and making him carry all the items she had acquired throughout the day. He always made sure to buy her a bouquet of the prettiest flowers as well just to see that bright smile shining through. 

It were these moments that reminded the usually rational man that he too was allowed to feel. His mind would scatter like petals on a window sill, showering his head with thoughts and scenarios he seemed to be able to visit only in her presence. Faint whispers suggested how the wind blowing through Y/N’s hair made it look just that much softer, or what it would feel like to have his fingers stroke through her delicate locks again. Sherlock knew what it felt like. He had had the pleasure of pushing his hand through the strands when they would kiss - if they were able to catch a lonely moment amongst the endless sea of banquettes and work events their life shipped them through. But he missed it nonetheless. Her laugh made him think of children running through a lively home and her loving stare whenever she presented another item for him to hold showed him how very easily he could look at her eyes and fall lost in them for hours. 

And yet, he had not found himself able to ever take their remarkable relationship to the next step. The both of them made a noteworthy team in more aspects than one. Y/N had proven herself of great help on many of Sherlock’s cases and the amount of time the pair spent together seemed unconventional for an unmarried couple. Sherlock himself was constantly reminded of that by the critical eyes of his fellows and the uttered remarks of the old women in the city. But he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He loved her. That he was sure of. And though Eudoria had been scolding him for courting a lady like Y/N for almost a year now, he had yet to ask the question his mother so desperately wanted him to pop. Sherlock had thought about it of course. There was no other woman he could even imagine marrying that was, but he was also aware that a normal proposal would not nearly do her extraordinary personality justice. So it was not that he didn’t want to ask her, it was more like his sister concluded: he was scared to mess up. Though he would never phrase it that way. His sister was a smart young woman and it seemed to prove her intelligence right once more when Sherlock agreed with her on this behalf.

Another item being placed in his arms pulled him back from his thoughts. Apples. Sherlock looked up with intrigue in his eyes, the smile on the woman’s face in front go him just brightening further.

“I will be making pie today. You love apples, do you not, Sherlock?”

Heat rose up his generally unfazed face. Sherlock was not able to prevent it from happening. 

“I do.” 

And for some unexplainable reason, this moment felt different than many as such before. Sherlock could feel his heart swell in his chest, the constant thumbing beneath his ribs aggressive and unrelenting. And it did not falter. Not when he followed her back to the carriage later that afternoon. Not when he guided her back to his house, hand resting on the small of her back and the other securely holding a basket of acquired goods. And not when he watched her prepare an apple pie for him while contently humming an unfamiliar tune that still sounded like the most beautiful melody to his ears. 

As his broad frame was leaning on the door way, his hand secretly pressed to his chest to still the violent pounding before it would kill him, Sherlock's mind began to wander again. Though this time, much to his dismay, it did not stray to case-related endeavors. It was entirely focused on the very woman spinning through his kitchen in the yellow hues of the afternoon sun. He imagined her cooking there every day. At some point, Sherlock was even surprised to hear the faint sound of tiny feet pattering through his hallway as his mind spiraled into a fantasy world he were only able to visit seldom.

To be entirely honest, it was out of the detective's comfort zone to feel as at home around someone as he did with Y/N. Sherlock was not a man to waste his time with wishful thinking. He was a man of action and rational. The feelings that were enlightened by the very woman dancing in his kitchen, however, were far from any of those attributes. Furthermore, they showed him yet again, how unreasonable he had been acting toward her. It was clear to him that something needed to change in order to set his mind at ease again. And the wave of warmth pushing through his body at the look of Y/N with flour on her nose just confirmed his suspicion. 

He stepped forward with careful strides, one hand reaching out towards Y/N and pulling her into his warm and welcoming chest. She must have been able to feel his heart pounding beneath his skin as his decision settled in his mind, he was certain of it. Sherlock placed a ginger kiss on her temple before excusing himself to his study. And when he sat down at his desk, dipping the quill in the dark ink before him, he willed himself to concentrate not to butcher his writing with the way his hands were shaking.

Dear Enola,

I was hoping to receive your help on a personal account of mine...

❁ ❁ ❁

The paper in his pocket was burning holes through the fabric as Sherlock stood above the meadow, where the trees opened to a beautiful view of the sunset. Enola had placed the last hint in the branches of the oak just a couple hundred meters away from him. It was strange for the detective to feel nervous, but this particular endeavor had him experiencing a number of new things. It was the first time, too in which he was not thinking about any case of his. His mind was entirely circled around the moment that stood before him and the plan he had acquired together with his sister. 

Y/N would arrive any second now, and Sherlock found himself lost in the speech he had prepared yet again. It was only regarding her in that he ever felt his hand clammy or his nerves firing with a speed he’d never experienced before. But it was confusing nonetheless because Sherlock was certain that Y/N was by far a thing that he could be sure about. Every time anew she proved to him how secure her love for him was, and he had never wished for anything more than her to stay by his side. 

“I have to confess: the last puzzle took me some time to solve. Though, I really liked the code you used for the letters. That was quite witty.” Y/N appeared behind the tree line, a soft smile painting her features as she approached the brunette waiting with eager curiosity. He laughed when she held out her hand towards him, fixing her hat with the other. “I believe you have something for me?”

His fingers tightened around the parchment in his pocket. She had solved his riddles - all of them - and that within the span of 34 minutes and 16 seconds, he confirmed after glancing at his pocket watch. 

“How very right you are, Sweetheart.” Sherlock held out the paper triumphantly, desperate not to draw attention to his rapidly beating heart, making his wrists pulse vigorously. He had anticipated this moment, of course. But he could not keep the shivers at bay when her delicate fingers unfolded the small note that would reveal what this whole ordeal was for.

Y/N’s eyes flew over the page and it almost seemed as if she took her time doing it in order to make his nervousness spiral. The note was not long. It was simple, too. A riddle Sherlock were able to solve when he was only six years old. He knew very well that Y/n was more than capable of doing the same, but she left him waiting still. It would not be Y/N if she didn’t anyway.

When she finally looked up, her stare was questioning. It did not go unnoticed by the detective, however, that the corners of her mouth twitched into a court smile. 

“Sherlock? Whatever is this about?” 

Sherlock snatched the paper from her fingers to look it over again:

In boxing I am square

On fingers I am round

I’m inside every tree

And too a bell’s sound

It was clear as day: Y/N was making a fool of him.

“I will not believe that this is the riddle you cannot solve, my dear.” The shake of his head spilled a curl into his face, “but since I have left you waiting for so long...” Sherlock got down on one knee and her smile finally broke free.

He reached out for her hand and was surprised to find it shaking as well. She knew what he was about to reveal to her, she just wanted him to say it. And if it weren’t for anything, Sherlock needed to subsequently get this off his chest. His mother had been right: he had left her waiting for far too long. A year too long. Being there was no denying that he had known he needed to marry her the second she had walked into his life with a witty remark and a teasing smile on her lips.

“I am grateful for you have not run from me after all the things I have made you do and wait for. I realize I am a lucky man to have you by my side. As a friend, a partner, and someone I love. You are smart, witty, and beautiful... and I would be the-”

There was an unusual lump building in his throat, blocking his words from escaping. It was a rather strange experience for the man kneeling. He had never known himself to be capable of emotion. And perhaps his body was resisting the horribly cheesy words he needed to say.

“Do not grow sappy on me now, Sherlock. You better finish that sentence right now,” Y/N cried with playful urgency. Though there was a truthfulness in her tone he had just placed into his. He swallowed the lump and took a deep breath in. This was the moment he as well as her had been waiting for.

“Perhaps what I am trying to say is...” Sherlock reached for his pocket once more to reveal a velvet box. Hidden within was a beautiful sapphire on a silver band. Much like the cufflinks she had gotten him because they shone like the color of his eyes, he wished for Y/N to always think of his whenever she looked at it. The ring shone brightly in the orange sun hues, reflecting the warm summer’s evening light and mixing into a beautiful green. It was perfect, just like her. “I love you, Y/N. Would you do me the honor of marrying me?”

Y/N’s head tilted to the side as she eyed the blue stone beneath her. It presented a nearly perfect replica of the cufflinks adorning Sherlock's wrists. He loved them and suited in them every day, and he hoped for Y/N to love her ring just as much. And though he was as certain of her answer as he was of every case he had ever had, the silence coming from the woman in front of him pushed a nervous shiver over his skin.

Her hand reached out to stroke his chin, a loving stare seeping through her irises. “I love you so much.” 

“Please, Y/N.” Impatience rose to his head. Her little games were fun most of the time, though right now, he really wished for an answer that would put his racing thoughts at ease.

“Why of course I will marry you, Sherlock!” Y/N jumped forward as her arms slung around his shoulders, a warm kiss pressing to his lips that pulled a bright smile in its wake.

“Excellent,” Sherlock whispered, too afraid to have his voice fail him once more on this evening. He placed the ring on her finger and Y/N reached up to the sky, catching a rainbow of colors in the delicate stone. 

As they rose from the ground, he pulled her further into his chest, a deep simmer of warmth traveling from his body to hers. His heart was full of contentment when Y/N pressed her face beside his neck, a soft-shivered promise traveling to his ears as he watched the sun set behind the horizon, filling the sky with colors as hot and intense as the love shared between the pair.

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[lainiespicewrites]

Needing some attention

Hello all! Just a little sherlock one shot that was cooking up in my head! God I love that man!! I promise We'll get back to the regularly scheduled program soon! I PROMISE!!!

Summary: Sherlock is busy with work, and you try your best to stay out of his way but you can be quite fussy when you want his attention.

Warnings: Cursing. Sex MDNI, P in V sex. Fingering, Multiple Orgasms. Creampie. Unprotected sex. dirty talk. Sherlock being painfully handsome! Soft Dom sherlock

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Entranced, yes that was the word. I was fully entranced just watching from the doorway. The bright morning sun streams through the window of the study, casting a warm glow around him as he works. His features are almost angelic, of course; truly, he was anything but. The thought causes a soft giggle to escape my lips.

“If you were trying to be discreet, you’ve blown your cover,” he says, his voice low, smooth, and calm. There’s an ever-present smirk on his face. Throughout the whole interaction, he never once looks up from his desk. Another giggle escaped me, and I took a few steps into the study. 

“Not sneaking, simply admiring.” I smile. “You’ve been working at this one for quite some time,” I tell him. I walk over to his desk, standing behind him, my hands gently resting on his large shoulders. His smirk grows wider, and he hums softly. I feel myself gasp as the detective captures one of my hands from his shoulders and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to my palm.

“Yes,” He says, his voice steady and strong. “And still much more work to do. I don’t want to keep you cooped up in here watching me go mad. It’s a beautiful day, darling. Why don’t you go take in some of that lovely sunshine we’ve been blessed with, and I’ll work on finishing up here.” I bite my lip, my eyebrow raised in question, but I hold back my protest. Sherlock is a busy man. I’ve always known that. He never blatantly tries to ignore me or keep me otherwise occupied. So I nod, giving him a soft smile. I lean in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

“Okay, my love, please try not to go too crazy, will you?” I giggle. The request earns me a chuckle, and he looks up briefly to meet my gaze as I move to leave his study. 

“I shall do my best, my darling.” He says before turning back to his work, leaving me alone again with my thoughts. As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right; as always, I shouldn’t waste away in this flat waiting for him to finish his work. 

So I do head out to town for a while. I walk the streets of downtown London in the warm spring air, breathing life into me. I stop at the market to see what fresh flowers they’ve got. Baker Street could certainly use a touch of color, and I know Sherlock won’t mind. After picking out a few bunches, my basket full of florals, herbs, and a few baked goods, I make my way back to the flat. It’s late afternoon now. I busy myself arranging the flowers in vases and putting away my other goods. 

I still haven’t heard a sound from Sherlock. Peeking my head into his study, I see he’s still right where I left him. I sighed and shook my head. With nothing better to do I join him in his study. I scan his shelves for something to read, it’s been one of our favorite ways to spend quiet time together lately. Lying together in the garden, reading our respective stories. I look over at him again; still lost in his work, he’s probably barely even noticed my presence. Finding a story that is a particular favorite of mine I curl up on the chaise and open the book. 

This may not have been nearly as good an idea as I’d thought. Since I woke this morning, I’ve been craving Sherlock's affections. Sitting so close now, only to be ignored and left unnoticed, has only annoyed me. I let out a huff, sitting up and looking over at his desk… nothing. I sigh and turn back to my book. I lie back, settling in again, struggling to get comfortable. Another hour passes. Or at least it feels like an hour. I suppose I can’t be sure. And I feel as if I’m going to go insane. I let out a groan of frustration.

“Not enjoying the story?” He asked, a smirk on his lips. He’s far too smart to believe that is the source of my plight. I pull back from my book far enough for him to see me roll my eyes, and he chuckles. “I do so love watching you squirm.” He says with a dark glint in his eye. And finally, he lays down his pen and slams his book shut. I raise an eyebrow at him, not daring to speak a word, but my eyes are full of challenge. 

“I was hoping to spend a nice relaxing evening with you, my darling,” he teases. “But seem’s you needs an attitude adjustment.” He’s standing behind me, his breath hot on my ear as he purrs. “Am I going to have to fuck it out of you darling? Or are you going to apologize for being so bratty and impatient?” My mouth goes dry, and my body is suddenly on fire. 

“S-sherlock.” I gasp. “I- my love, I didn’t intend to … I-” I stutter, trying to find the words, but it seems all competent thoughts have left me. This is just how he wants me. This is exactly what I meant, Sherlock is no angel. He likes to play dirty. Make me flustered and shy and needy. He won’t stop until I’m begging. Nothing gives him more pleasure than making me tell him all the dirty things I’d love him to do to me. All it takes is a look, and he has me melting. And as annoyed with him as I am for turning me into a brainless, incompetent, desperate woman. He knows this is exactly what I’ve been needing all day. 

He chuckles and steps around the sofa, standing in front of me. He takes the book from my hands, tossing it to the side. He leans over me, a primal look in his eye as his knee gently parts my thighs and he hovers over me on the sofa. 

“What didn’t you intend to do, my love? Hmm? Did you not intend to huff and pout for my attention? Is that it?” He smirks, nipping playfully at my ear as he chuckles darkly.  “You just forgot your words, didn’t you darling, just forgot how to ask properly. It’s alright, my sweet. I’ll remind you.” He purrs his lips trailing down my jaw and neck as his tongue traces my collar bone. 

“I’m sorry, my love.” I pant, my chest heaving. Instinctively, I tilt my head back to allow him better access. He lets out a feral growl, and his hands squeeze my hips possessively as he starts to explore my body with his touch. 

“Oh, I know you are my sweet. And I’m going to give you the attention you so badly need.” He smirks, his hands slide under my skirt gripping my thighs, a low growl escaping him as he kisses my neck. I let out a soft needy moan my body arching into his my thighs naturally spreading to make room for him. He chuckles his breath tickling my skin where he’s biting at my collarbone. 

“Still so impatient; you haven’t learned your lesson, have you my darling?” he cradles my face in his hands, kissing me passionately. His tongue explored my mouth as we kissed. When he pulls back, he grabs my wrist, nearly dragging me off the chaise. Before I can begin to fall, he catches me, holding me against his chest. “Now what should I do with you?” He purrs. I look up at him, my eyes blown wide with lust and desire. 

“Sherlock, please,” I begged, my voice weak and pathetic. He lets out a low growl that I can feel deep in his chest. He grabs me around the waist, picking me up he holds me tightly with one arm as the other sweeps the papers from his desk.  He sets me down and steps between my parted thighs.

“Please what, my love? Hmm?  Ask for what you want darling.” He teases his hand, slowly creeping up my thigh again. his fingers graze the fabric of my panties, and my breath hitches. 

“I-I can’t.” I blush, biting my lip. Sherlock chuckles his other hand gripping my chin to make me look at him. 

“Yes, you can, sweetheart. You’ve had those filthy little desires playing in your head all day. And I want to hear every detail,” he growls. My breath catches in my throat as I hold his gaze. 

“T-touch me,” I beg and grab his wrist, pressing his fingers more firmly against my core. “Here, please,” I whine. Sherlock lets out another low growl, capturing my lips in a searing kiss as he starts to slowly rub me through my panties. I whimper and arch into his body. 

“So wet already. You’re such a needy little thing, aren’t you?” He smirks, and finally, he slips his fingers beneath the fabric of my panties, pushing two inside me, curling them as he starts to pump them in and out. I let out a desperate mewl, my hips moving, grinding on his hand. He moves his thumb to rub circles on my clit. He smirks as he watches my face contort with pleasure.  “That’s it, my love. So beautiful when you’re like this. So desprate for my affection. He adds a third finger and pumps them faster, curling them just right so I’m seeing starts. My hands come up to clutch his shirt, my thighs shaking and head falling back, letting out a needy moan. My walls clamp around his fingers gushing on his hand. 

“Oh sherlock!” I whimper, panting as I come down from my orgasm. 

“That was beautiful sweetheart,” He smiles, kissing me tenderly. “We’re far from done. You know that, don’t you?” he teases. I giggle, nodding shyly. Without further preamble, he tears open my blouse, his eyes raking over me hungrily. He tears off his own shirt, tossing it aside, and cups my face, kissing me passionately. He gently pushes me back, laying me back on the desk, his lips trailing down my body. He stops when he gets to my breasts squeezing them softly and leaning down to capture my nipple in his mouth sucking and flicking with his tongue. I moan loudly, my back arching, pushing my breast further against his mouth. 

He groans sucking soflty and then swithing to give attention to the other breasts. He shoves up my skirt, bunching it around my waist, and then fumbles with his zipper. 

“I can’t wait be inside you,” He moans. I gasp as I feel the thick head of his cock brush through my folds

“My love, please, I need to feel you filling me. Make me whole.” I beg. With a feral growl, he surges forward, sheathing himself inside my tight heat. He lets out a groan, giving me only a moment to adjust before he sets a punishing pace. 

“Fuck,” He moans. “You’re so tight, so perfect, darling. Is this what you needed, my sweet? To be filled and taken. Reminded who you belong to?” I nod and let out a breathy moan. He pulls my leg up around his hip and drives into me deeper. The angle allows him to hit that perfect spot deep within me. My eyes roll back, and I feel myself climbing to my high. 

“My perfect girl,” sherlock praises his as he brings his thumb between us to rub my clit. My body shakes beneath him as he captures my lips in another searing kiss.” Thats it, my love. Let go,” he coos. “Let me feel all your pent up desire and love as you cum for me.” he encourages. I feel my pussy spasming on his cock and he growls “Good girl,” With those words I tumble over the edge my toes curling my head falling back gushing on his cock as my body trembles with pleasure. 

“Sherlock!” I cry out as my orgasm crashes over me and he fucks me through it. I feel his hips start to falter and he takes my hand pinning my wrists to the desk as he fucks me, his breathing ragged as he lets out a string of incoheart praises. 

“Yes,.. fuck.. You’re perfect, my love. Gonna fill you with my seed… such a good girl for me. Take it all, darling.” He growls in my ear, his body going stiff as he releases inside me. His hips jerk softly as he works himself through his orgasm. 

We stayed like that for a moment, our bodies connected and whole. With a soft groan, Sherlock stands and slowly pulls out of me. He takes my hand, helping me sit up on the desk. He cups my face and peppers it with kisses, pulling back and searching my face for any sign of discomfort. “Are you alright, my love?” He asked, his voice soft and tender. I nod a satisfied smile on my lips.

“Yes darling, I’m perfect.” I giggle. “I am sorry for being such a brat when I’m being needy.” I blush, ducking my head to tuck myself against his chest. Sherlock chuckles. 

“I know you are, my sweet. the truth is.” He says with a slight smirk in his voice. “I quite enjoy it, I was finished with my work hours ago. But I do so enjoy watching you squirm.” He winks.

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[frost-queen]

The search is afoot (Reader!Bridgerton x Sherlock Holmes)

Requested by: anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @floatlosers, @alex–awesome–22, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown, @wildiefleur , @meyocoko , @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23, @melsunshine  , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury , @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedrava-bitch-187, @erikasurfer , @slythetic  , @eliscannotdance, @p0nycurtis, @slythetic, @bitchybananaflower, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @sweetheartlizzie07, @aardvarks-and-bats

Your curiosity sparked when your sister entered the drawing room. Posture slightly bend, head turning from side to side. Clearly in search for anything. You slammed the novel shut you were boringly reading. Tossing it aside on the sofa between you and Anthony. Hopping up to meet your sister half-way.

“Looking for something?” – you asked. Eloise hummed soft. Bending down to catch a glimpse underneath the sofa’s. You moved aside when she came nearly pushing you over. Agitated she kept searching in silence. To Anthony’s annoyance. – “Just communicate.” – he spoke with a sigh.

Eloise’s posture straightened. Her hands settling with a shove at her side. – “I seemed to have lost my notebook.” – she admitted in a frustrated tone. – “The blue one with some pencil markings on it?” – you questioned curiously. Your sister humming loud.

You clasped your hands together in delight. Eyes twinkling in delight. You then cleared your throat, moving your hands to your back. – “Where did you last saw it?” – you asked, tapping a finger thoughtfully against your chin. – “Between what hours was it? Was anything out of the ordinary?” – you continued asking, circling around her. Eloise gaped confusingly back at you.

“No.” – Anthony called out, getting up as well. He came running over to you, grabbing you by your elbows. – “We are not doing this, Y/n.” – he let know. – “But…” – you responded when he started shoving you away from Eloise. – “This is a serious matter. It needs investigating.” – finishing to proclaim your intentions. Anthony sighed loud. – “You are not a detective Y/n!” – making clear. – “But…” – you repeated being shoved towards the door.

Anthony shoved you outside, holding the door frames with both his hands. You huffed annoyed at his behaviour. – “Get your head out of the clouds.” – were his final words before shutting the door in front of you. The sudden shut, startled you. Puffing annoyed, you crossed your arms. Turning away to mope. Colin crossing the hall, caught a glimpse of you. Making him pause in this stride. – “You alright, sister?” – he questioned, coming over.

With a distress sigh, you untangled your arms. – “Anthony is being mean to me again.” – you called out. – “How so?” – Colin furrowing his brows. Approaching as he rustled his fingers through your hair. You took a deep breath. – “Eloise has lost her notebook and I simply wanted to help look for it.” – you explained. Colin letting out a long ‘aah’ as he understood. – “You’ve been playing detective again haven’t you?” – he replied.

“I just wanted to help and he tossed me out!” – you dramatically called out for it being the worst. Colin only chuckled, patting his hand on your shoulder. – “I know I shouldn’t say this, but you should read less… specially those mystery novels. Look how filled your head is with it.” – he spoke, making you shove his hand annoyed away. – “You just don’t understand me.” – raising your voice to him.

With force, you let your shoulder bump into his to shove him out of the way. –“ Y/n, I!” – Colin called out. Sighing afterwards as it was no use. You stomped angrily up the stairs. Not caring if you were being too loud. Crossing the upper floors, you paused near Eloise’s room. Humming curiously before entering. Door still open as you look around. – “Where would one misplace a notebook.” – you mumbled to yourself.

Getting on your knees, you looked underneath her bed.  Going through her drawers and searching in every nook and cranny. Your searching brought some noise along, drawing the attention of your youngest brother Gregory. He walked past, furrowed his brows and simply walked backwards. Staring confused back at you.

“What are you doing?” – he questioned. – “Searching.” – you replied, ignoring him half to keep your attention on your search. – “Mother!” – Gregory then shouted loud into the hallway. – “Y/n is playing detective again!” – he finished making you widen your eyes. Dropping everything to rush over to him with a shushing tone. Covering up his mouth with your hand.

“Quiet, Gregs.” – you let out with a hard stare. Gregory wiggled his head free, trying to shout for mother again. – “Mo… mother!” – he repeated making you struggle to keep his mouth shut. – “Stop it!” – stomping your foot on the ground. Gregory kept shouting against your hand with muffled sounds.

Groaning loud, you decided to take a run for it. Picking up the hem of your skirt, rushing towards the stairs. Huffing and puffing loud at the dismay of your family. Dismay for recognizing your talents. To not let you go with your admirations and interests. Claiming it to be foolish and absurd. For no lady could become a detective or should concern themselves with mysteries.

Anthony blamed it on the novels you had been reading. Colin blaming in on the Holmes’s. Close friends to the family. For the Holmes’s had an interest in solving mysteries as well. You ran for the door, leaving the household. Needing to have an escape from your siblings taunting. You hated their mocking. For not taking you serious on that matter. Going straight for the streets. Running away a couple of streets away till you slowed down. Sure that none of your siblings would pursuit.

Catching your breath, you enjoyed a nice walk. Clearing your head and getting rid of the annoyance lingering inside of towards your brothers. You loved them dearly, but hated that they didn’t took your interest serious. Calling it un-lady-like. A waste of time. Idle hobby’s to skip lessons. All calling it such things to make you lose interest in it. Looking around, you narrowed your eyes slightly.

Trying to read people like so many detectives did in your novels. Trying to read their stories off their faces and gestures. Moving closer to a vender, you tried to understand snippets of his life. Taking a keen eye of his hands. Seeing how rough they were. Calluses on his knuckles. Then your gaze went further up, meeting up with a pair of angry eyes. The vender cleared this throat loud at you for staring. Changing your expression, you pulled up a humble smile. Apologizing.

Moving a bit away, you recognized some voices. Turning round you saw Enola and her brother Sherlock leave a shop. Knowing mystery always followed them, you couldn’t withhold your excitement. Wanting to be a part of it. Leaving the vender, you hurried over. Making sure you weren’t trampled by a passing carriage on the road. – “Splendid day is it not, Mister Holmes.” – you breathed out, catching your breath from hasting over.

Sherlock and Enola paused when you came jumping in front of them. – “No.” – Sherlock immediately responded already knowing your intentions. He tugged Enola at her arm to follow. You weren’t going to let him win so easily, going after him. – “I didn’t say anything.” – you told him, hot on his tail. Sherlock stopped abruptly, making you nearly bump against his back. He swiftly spun around.

“Your eyes made it clear, you had alternative intentions, also did your posture.” – he started pointing out with his finger. – “The tone in your voice gave you away that you are seeking. Not to mention the flush in your cheeks indicates you hurried over because you knew we might be solving a mystery.” – he answered.

“Are you?” – you responded ignoring most of his speech. – “No.” – Sherlock said clear, turning his back to you once more. – “I know you are lying to me, just let me join.” – you begged going after him. – “No miss Y/n.” – he repeated, staying true to his words. – “Please mister Holmes.” – you reached for his elbow, pulling it towards you.

Wanting him to stop walking. – “No, miss Y/n.” – he called out like speaking to a puppy to sit still. You pouted your lips in response. Enola pressed her lips together to withhold a snicker. – “Fine, you are just scared.” – you called out once he had begun walking away again. – “Scared that I’ll solve it before you.” – hoping to get under his skin would do the trick.

“A man’s observing eye is not that great. Not compared to a woman’s eye.” – you casually said to give him that extra nudge. Admiring your own hands out of boredom. To look indifferent. Enola glanced from between her brother to you. Sherlock puffed his chest, being riled up by you. – “Ha!” -  he let out with a hard sound. Intended for mockery.

“Intimidated?” – you questioned moving your hands behind your back. Leaning a bit closer to him. Sherlock puffed loud. Suddenly grabbing you firm by your arm. Pulling you along. Enola snickering quietly at the display. You chuckled amusingly, pleased that your scheme had succeeded.

Sherlock led you to a place, shoving you inside. – “One wrong thing and you are out.” – he warned you. – “You sound like my brothers.” – you replied moving past him with crossed arms. Sherlock shot his sister a scowl to stop smiling like a damn fool. You entered the room with a humming sound. Cheerful that you could involve yourself with mysteries.

You looked around the room, going straight to a painting that caught your eyes. Before you could fully reach it, you felt a gip on your elbow stop you. Sherlock shaking his head as he pulled you away from the painting. Making you huff annoyed, trying to free you from his grip. – “Why do you go for the most obvious thing. First observe then search.” – he spoke.

“Don’t go running in like a blind fool.” – he finished letting go of your arm back by the door. – “Who are you calling a fool?” – you called back. – “You.” – Sherlock tapped his finger on your nose to tease you that extra. It made you scrunch your nose and slap his hand away. You crossed your arms, looking at the room. Sherlock staring in silently, trying to take in every detail. Enola scribbling some notes down. Sherlock began moving from his position after a while.

He stepped a certain way, suddenly stopping. Looking down as he lifted his shoe up. Seeing something black and sticky underneath his shoe. It made you laugh loud. – “If you would’ve been observant, you might have seen that there had clearly been a struggle. The desk is slightly shoved back over the wooden flooring, hinting those scrape marks.” – you approached him with a smug expression.

“If you had observed that, you would’ve also seen that the commotion had tipped the ink bottle over.” – pointing in a certain direction as Sherlock followed your point with his gaze. – “For the ink bottle is over there, where is normally would be on the desk. Someone must have picked it up and moved it away. Perhaps trying to clean it up, but forgot a spot near the carpet… you are currently standing in.”

Sherlock kept staring at you. – “She’s good.” – his sister spoke with a pleasant smile. Sherlock hummed deep, fidgeting with something in his hand. Looking with a quizzable brow from you to his sister and back. Fighting hard the urge to compliment you for your observations.

“As I said, a woman’s eye.” – you repeated holding out a handkerchief to him. He curled up a smile at your silliness. – “Do continue then, miss Y/n.” – he gestured at you to go on. Bending a bit down to clean the underside of his shoe from ink. You hummed soft looking thoughtfully around. His sister was looking around as well. Taking notes near a knights suit.

Displayed for art from a long time ago. Enola narrowed her eyes on it. Her brother’s calling catching her off guard. Making her turn sharply around, but accidentally knocking an elbow against the armour. The armour started to wobble back and forth. Enola gasping loud as she jumped aside.

The armour came falling forwards towards you as you were the next close target. – “Miss Y/n!” – Sherlock shouted out, coming to the rescue. Rushing over to you, wrapping his arms around you. Turning you away, keeping you in his arms.

Staring up close to your face, panting quietly on your lips as the armour clattered to the ground behind him. Enola gasped again with her hands up to her mouth. – “I’m so sorry.” – she let out in shock. Her brother’s eyes still on you. – “Are you alright miss Y/n?” – he questioned. You nodded with a bashful flush in your cheeks. He slowly rose your posture up so you stood steady on your feet once more.

His hands still on you, till his sister made him aware of it. Making him clear his throat, immediately dropping his grip. Quickly turning away, scratching the back of his head in the process. You swallowed hard, turning away as well. Wanting to hide the fluster in your cheeks. With a nervous atmosphere, the two of you focused on the matter once more. Unaware of the Holmes gentleman catching glimpses of you.

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Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[milfloveer]

Proof of love ♡

Sherlock Holmes x fem!reader

Prompt: After y/n gets a little stressed about her and Sherlock's relation and— Well, Sherlock shows her how he really loves her ;)

Warnings: smut 18+ minors DNI, age gap (reader is in their 20s and Sherlock in his 30s), p in v, unprotected sex, fluff, creampie

A/n: I need Sherlock in my life so badly 😩

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Sherlock and I just arrived home after attending a high society party so we could unfold more information about this recent case. Enola and Tewkesbury were there too, the first working on her case as well and the later was there on work behalf as he is a Lord and has his duties as one.

Enola was clearly bothered with all the feminine attention Lord Tewkesbury was given. I couldn't censure her as I was feeling the same towards Sherlock and all those ladies around him asking for a dance, their hands all over my man. Enola and I just rolled our eyes and focused on our cases ignoring each woman who approached the men.

•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•

Sherlock opened the door to his apartment and we walked in, I was clearly frustrated and it didn't slip Sherlock's gaze "You alright, darling?" he asks tenderly and cautiously.

I turn to him and see his concern "Yes, love, everything's alright." I say, even though I was lying. Those interactions all night long made me feel easily discarded and replaced.

Sherlock and I relationship was somewhat recent, we were only together for half a year and yet none of us dared to say those three simple words.

I can say that I care for him deeply, I got really attached to his personality, behaviour, the manner he works and thinks, his papers all around his apartment in a perfectly messy way, the way he played the violin when wanted to relax and get lost for a moment.

I truly fell for this exquisite detective, but I didn't dare to say those words to his face as I was afraid he wasn't feeling what I was. So I kept it to myself until now.

Sherlock frowns and follows me to our shared room "Darling, I know you and I can tell something is up." he says with concern in his voice as I try to unzip my dress, ending to ask him for help on it. He gladly does "Please talk to me." his voice wavering a bit making me look at him worriedly.

I sigh seeing his saddened face as I've never seen him like this. Getting closer to him I lay my hands, one on each side of his face and look deep into his eyes with tenderness "It is nothing important of concern, honey." I say softly, trying to brush it off.

But then again, Sherlock Holmes wouldn't be Sherlock Holmes without discovering the truth "It is concerning you and if it is concerning you, it is concerning me." he says pointing between us as he talks "Please, don't leave me in the dark, dove." he says while holding my gaze and I gave in and told him everything I was feeling at the party and when all the female attention is on him, how replaceable I feel, how dischargeable, how ridiculous.

I was now sitting at the end of our bed with my head hanging as my eyes freely released tears while looking at our hands interlocked on my lap "Oh, dear, why haven't you talked about this with me?" he asks caringly, I sniff and he brings his index finger and thumb to my chin, lifting it so I could look into those blue pools "I didn't want to overreact." I say barely above a whisper, he smiles softly "It's not overreacting dear and I assure you here that I have only eyes for you, my beautiful girl." he says as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, caressing my cheek afterwards and cleaning the remaining of my tears with his thumb.

"Prove it then." I blurt out shocking myself with my boldness, but nonetheless Sherlock chuckles darkly making me shiver "With pleasure, darling." he says as he leans over me making me lay down on the mattress behind me.

Now hovering over me he caresses my sides teasingly as his lips brush mine. No words were said as he connects strongly and lovingly his lips to mine eliciting a moan from me. He starts lowering his hands as his lips move to my neck and collarbone, teasing and marking all the soft spots.

I was already on my undergarments making me start to take off his clothes as he's still fully clothed, first his jacket, then his tie and vest, his shirt and belt were now off and he pulled down his pants discharging them somewhere in the room.

"Please, I need you." I say tugging at the waistband of his underwear, he chuckles "Eager are we?" he asks making me flush as I nod. He frees himself as I take off of me the remains of my underwear.

Now both fully naked we scan each others body "You're so beautiful." he growls caressing my side with his fingertips before capturing my lips while aligning himself with my entrance. As he enters me my mouth falls open and a moan echoes through the room "Oh dear." he says against my ear, his arms each on either side of my body, his hands behind my back, flat on my shoulder blades as he moves lovingly in and out of me.

My legs wrap around his waist pulling him closer as my nails dig into his back certainly leaving some scratches over it. Both breathing heavily and moaning into each other's ears; I love this man so much.

Sherlock speeds up his pace hitting a wonderful spot inside me over and over "Yes, honey, don't stop!" I say gasping sensing the tension building up each time he pounds into me. He then gets on his knees bringing my legs up to rest on his shoulders, I cry out in pleasure as he groans pounding strongly "I'm so close, Sherlock." I say, my legs start to tremble with the feeling.

With a few more pushes and I'm taken over the edge, Sherlock following, spilling his seed into me "Ah, Sherlock!" I say pushing him down and kissing his lips eagerly and then softly. As he pulls away he brushes against my lips, whispering "I love you." I froze and look up at him "What?" I breathe out starstruck about his confession, his eyes widen as he realized he just confessed his feelings for me out loud.

I bring my hand to his cheek and caress it, I smile before letting out a soft chuckle as my eyes fill with happy tears. I lift my head so I could reach his slightly trembling lips and close the gap, the kiss is slow, tender and filled with love, as we were telling without words 'I love you'.

Slightly I pull away and whisper against his lips "I love you too." his eyes widen slightly hearing the words slip like honey from my mouth making me smile lovingly at the man still above me.

[holylulusworld]

Mrs. Sherlock Holmes (5)

Summary: Your marriage starts rocky.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Wife!Reader

Warnings: angst, shy reader, fluff, innocent reader, protective/possessive Sherlock, fingering, smut, unprotected sex, first time, creampie, breeding kink (a hint), degrading (namecalling)

A/N: A collection of drabbles on how you became Mrs. Sherlock Holmes.

Mrs. Sherlock Holmes (4)

Mrs. Sherlock Holmes masterlist

His large hand pressed against your untouched petals. You whimpered, in need, an unknown heat spreading through your abdomen. You felt hot and started to rock your hips, rubbing yourself against his fingers.

Sherlock watched you desperately moving your hips, faster, and faster until he took his hand away. You cried out, hands grasping for his wrist to keep him from taking away his touch.

He purred your name and teased you for turning into a whore within a few moments. Your eyes watered because he didn’t give you what you wanted. Your lips wobbled and you choked out a sob.

“Do you want to fulfill your wifely duties now,” he whispered and nipped at your earlobe. Sherlock tugged at your ear shell, making you whine. “Say it, wife.”

“I want—” you sniffled. What you wanted; you didn’t know. In the books you read there wasn’t more than kissing and waking next to their lover the next day. What happens in between, you didn’t know for sure. “I want you to fulfill your husbandly duties.”

Sherlock growled before he rolled on top of you. Just then you realized he was bare. His chest pressed against your heaving breasts, and his lips, those dangerous pillows pressed against yours. He shoved his tongue past your parting lips to lick into your mouth.

Your eyes widened. This wasn’t the way a gentleman kissed his wife. No. It was so much more. He devoured your mouth while shoving your nightie up to your waist, baring your most precious secret to him. Sherlock settled between your legs, spreading your quivering thighs for him.

“Your mine to devour, and claim. No one can have you,” he growled the words as you stared up at the beast your husband turned into. His lips claimed yours again, a little softer this time. “I’m going to fulfill my husbandly duties now, wife. You’re going to come on my cock only.”

Your eyes widened. For months you wished he’d take you like the lovers in the books you read, but suddenly you panicked a little.

What if he didn’t like touching you? What if you did something wrong? What if you couldn’t make him fill you with his seed?

His eyes bored into yours when he kneeled between your legs. He smirked before pressing one finger against your untouched opening.

“Husband,” you breathlessly whimpered. You didn’t know what he was up to until he slowly pushed his finger into your cunt.

“This is mine,” he started to move back and forth, eyes never leaving your face. “Say it.”

“It’s yours…”

“Again…” Sherlock slipped his finger out of your cunt, only to press two inside, now scissoring you open. “Say it, wife!”

“It’s yours…Sir,” you whimpered, earning a deep guttural growl. “Only yooours….”

His fingers left you empty and wanting. He was suddenly back on top of you, his mouth stealing another kiss. You didn’t know if you should do something or lie still.

“You are mine, that’s right,” he growled, his eyes black with lust. You could only nod because you felt something bigger than his fingers poke at your entrance. Holding your breath, you looked up at him, feeling his shaft slowly slide into you.

“Sher-lock,” you babbled his name. “It’s too much.”

“I know, my love,” he whispered and kissed the tears running down your cheeks away. He slowly moved back and forth, but it still hurt when he tried to push further. “It will only hurt for a moment.”

His lips soothed your discomfort. Sherlock murmured gentle words while pressing into you. He panted against your lips when he was finally fully sheathed inside your cunt.

He gently cupped your face with one hand to kiss you deeply, and softly. Sherlock gave you time, to just feel his cock inside of your now spread-out pussy. “There you go, my love. You’re doing so well for me.”

You didn’t know if he told the truth. His huge shaft pressed against your wall, and all you could do was trust his words.

He smiled, before kissing you again.

“This is the tightest and sweetest cunt I ever ruined,” there was a smirk on his lips, and his eyes full of mischief. “You will scream my name tonight, wife. And tomorrow night, and every night from now on.”

You shuddered under his hungry gaze. His grin almost wolfishly he dug his knees into the mattress and started to rock his hips. Back, and forth, back and forth.

His thrusts were powerful enough to make you scream at the sheer force. It still hurt, but something else joined the pain. A pressure built in your abdomen, and warmth spread through your body.

“You will take me any time of the day from now on,” he growled against your already kiss-swollen lips. “That’s where you belong, wife. Underneath me, full of cock like the tainted whore you are.”

Something snapped in you. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waistline and your arms around his back. Holding tight onto him for dear life. He was relentless and got faster and faster.

“Fuck, this cunt is going to be the death of me.”

You whimpered at his crude words. He called you whore, slut, and something you didn’t understand while ramming into you harder.

“I want you to come on my cock. Now! You’re my wife, my whore, and I will paint you with my seed.”

“Sir…Sherlock,” you mindlessly babbled while raking your nails over his back. And then, something happened. Pleasure. Pure pleasure forcing tears to spring free. “SIR!”

“That’s it, my love, my whore…my perfect wife,” he growled before kissing you hard. Warmth filled your cunt, and you whimpered against him, fearing you did something wrong. “Fuck, my child will grow inside this perfect womb, and I’ll fuck another into you while you carry it.”

Sherlock buried his face in your neck and collapsed on top of you. His cock remained inside, still spreading you wide.

“Sherlock?” You murmured.

“Perfect, my love. You were so good for me, wife,” he whispered against your sweaty skin. “I can’t get enough of this cunt, I’m afraid, you got me addicted.” You sighed when he finally pulled out to wrap you in his arms, allowing you to rest. “Sleep, my love. I’ll run you a bath.” He softly spoke to you and kissed your temple. “My beautiful wife.”

You soon find out that Sherlock’s hunger is insatiable.

Only hours after he took your flower, he had you again. This time he bent you over the desk at his study, telling you to hold tight onto the old furniture.

He shoved your skirts up, and slid into you from behind, growling your name as you wiggled underneath him. His thrusts were as powerful as ever as he pushed into you.

“This is mine,” he growled and leaned over your body to whisper filthy words in your ear. To your shame, you got wetter with every crude word. Your mother would’ve been ashamed of you for enjoying being called a whore, and that you’re only a slutty hole he can stuff. “No one is going to touch you. You’re mine.”

“Husband—” you whimpered, mortified because his brother Mycroft stepped inside the study. Your brother-in-law covered his eyes and retreated in a hurry.

“He needs to learn his place,” Sherlock whispered in your ear, a smirk in his voice. “You’re my wife, and he won’t interfere with our marriage ever again.”

Lips quivering you gave in to the pleasure your body greedily accepted. Your eyes filled with tears you feared your brother-in-law would now believe you’re no better than the painted ladies offering their service in dark alleys.

“Brother, that was more than inappropriate!” Mycroft yelled loud enough for you to hear his words at the library. “How could put your lovely wife in such a position.”

“That’s right,” Sherlock possessively growled. “She’s my wife, and I take her in any position I want to.”

“Sherlock, you know that’s not what I meant. I know about wifely duties, and that you always had a stronger libido than it was good for you. But she’s a lovely and innocent flower. You cannot…”

Sherlock only smirked.

“My beautiful flower is not of your concern.” He stepped closer to his brother to glare down at him. “You will only address her as Mrs. Sherlock Holmes from now on, and only when I’m around. I saw the way you looked at her. She’s my wife, my love! I love her, and you cannot threaten our luck!”

Your heart fluttered at Sherlock’s words. It was the first time he admitted he loves you in front of someone else.

“Brother, I only want you to treat her with respect and love!”

“I do,” Sherlock bit back. “How I fulfill my husbandly duties to produce an heir is none of your concern either. Not everyone only wants to put their seed in a woman’s womb. I want to hear her scream, whimper, and moan because I make her feel so good. This is nothing to discuss with my brother, though.”

“Just never mention it again,” Mycroft lowered his voice. “Sherlock don’t overdo it. She’s still an innocent flower. You cannot mount her like some animal.”

Sherlock smirked, remembering how you begged him for more and praised his name before his brother stepped inside the room.

“Husband.” You get up from the chaise longue and put the book you read aside. “How was your brother’s visit.”

“Short-lived,” he replied, eyes drifting toward the book you read. “The Romance of Lust.” He mused, making your heart drop. “I see you have developed an appetite too.”

“I’m sorry, husband…”

He chuckled, deep and rich. “What did arouse you while reading this book?”

“He—” You shook your head, unable to tell him about the young man kissing a woman’s cunt with his lips.

“I read the book a long time ago.” He lifted your chin with his index finger. “Would you like me to put my mouth on you too?”

You nodded eagerly, already tugging at his trousers. “Please, Sir.”

“Sherlock. You will call me Sherlock from now on,” he purred and claimed your lips in a soft kiss. “Let’s get you comfortable and see if your other lips taste as good as these…”

Part 6

Tags in reblog.

[iguana-eyanna]

To Break A Frozen Heart

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Summary: Sherlock loses the meaning of Christmas since he was a boy, but maybe he just needed a certain warmth to melt his frozen heart.

The frost-painted windowpanes scattered the shops illuminated the scene of bustling cheer as the distant songs of carolers echoed through the streets of London. Carriages were passing through the snow roads as young couples looked lovingly in each other's eyes.

Sherlock Holmes, on the other hand, observed the merriment with a distasteful frown as he was riding in the icy streets in a carriage. He adjusted his scarf, though the cold air was creeping in his lungs.

He hated Christmas with a passion. Since he was a child, his family was estranged to "affection" and "spirit of the holidays".

His mother did try to care for them but his father was a strict man, barely uttering a word to him and Mycroft as they were sent to reform school with no warning. No Christmas present was sent to the boys and Sherlock often escaped to the roof of his school and stared up in the stars, hoping that a shooting star could grant him just one Christmas to be spent with someone who cared for him.

But alas, his father later passed when Enola was a babe, Mycroft decided to be a stern government official, his mother shut off herself and Enola from the world, and Sherlock was forced to figure out life himself.

And now against his beliefs of staying at home and relearning Mozart's Symphony on his violin, he was forced to ride with a special heiress to one of the biggest landowners in England: You to be in fact. You were both traveling to Saint Jerome's orphanage as you often came to do acts of service and spend time with the children.

“I still don’t understand your enthusiasm for this season,” he muttered, looking at you with unamused eyes.

You, on the other hand, were glowing—dressed in a rich yet simple gown that complemented the joy dancing in your features, too gleeful to notice Sherlock's demeanor.

“Sherlock,” you said, placing a gentle hand on his lap.

“Christmas is a time to give, to bring warmth to those who need it. Surely, even the great detective can see the value in that.”

He huffed but said nothing as you wrapped your scarf tighter and prepared for the day’s itinerary. It was your first holiday with Sherlock, and you wanted to help warm up his cold heart. You thought maybe if you put things into perspective, he could find the child like joy he once forgot and take your courtship to a new beginning. But for now, you were grateful to take this one step with him.

Soon, you arrived to the St. Jerome's as Sherlock assisted you out of the carriage alongside a few sacks of treats and toys that you bought for the children.

"Oh Madam! It is so lovely to see you again." Mary, an elderly Scottish woman who was the main guardian said as she walked up to the two of you.

"Mary! It is lovely to see you again. I want to introduce you to a very special someone in my life, Mister Holmes."

Sherlock takes off his hat for formality and nods his head.

"It is a pleasure to meet you." He says respectfully.

"Come, come. Let us talk inside before you meet the children." She ushers you inside.

"We're going to meet the children?" He asks, not expecting to mingle.

You give him a stern look, ushering him to keep his snide remarks to himself as he reluctantly agrees to stay silent.

"Have any of the young boys and girls gone to new homes yet?" You ask as you settled in her office with Sherlock.

"A few have found homes, but some weren't so lucky. But we try to give them a good foundation here."

"I know Mary, you do so much work here. Never doubt that." You said as you gave her an enormous hug. Sherlock notices your deep connection to the guardian and ponders the relationship until a younger woman arrives in the office.

"Mary, the children are eager to meet the Madam as they saw her carriage by the front."

You smile widely, looking at Mary for permission. She couldn't help but smile back at you and cross her arms.

"You know what to do, love. Have fun."

Sherlock had to race after you with the leftover bags as you went into the dining hall where the children yelled out for joy at your presence.

You started to give fresh fruits, sweets, miniature wooden horses, trains, dolls to the young boys and girls. Sherlock saw how you embraced the children with such a free spirit, not fearing of ruining your dress or pick pocketing your personal items. You trusted these kids and they trusted you.

"Excuse me mister," a young boy says as he pulls the partial fabric from Sherlock's coat.

"I like your watch." He points out to the pocket watch that Sherlock sported.

"Oh... Thank you. It was my father's." He said, slowly kneeling to the boy's eye view.

"My father died last winter. Me and my sister couldn't keep any of his things." he said, bowing his head.

Sherlock felt a sudden pang in his chest. Was it remorse? He couldn't recognize the feeling but his eyes soften.

"I'm sorry to hear. My father died when I was younger too." Sherlock said.

"It's okay to cry. My sister, Florence, says it's okay to cry sometimes."

"Elias, where are you?" A voice cried out as the young boy in front of him whipped his head.

A girl who looked about 12 years old went up to the boy and Sherlock.

"Elias, I told you not to walk off without me knowing. I thought you ran off again!" The sister, Sherlock presumed, said as she held Elias tightly.

"Sorry, Florence." Elias said as he looks down.

Florence looks at the man suspiciously as she held Elias' hand.

"I'm sorry for the trouble mister. It won't happen again." She said as she ran off with Elias in tow.

Sherlock rose up, seeing the two siblings escape in the flow of children that were now eating or playing with their toys. He brushed himself off as he sought out to find you. He was bewildered to see you outside in the snow field as you were kicking a ball between the children in your velvet gown and heeled boots. You were smiling ear to ear, and saw how your nose was red like a cranberry. It made Sherlock chuckle a bit as he watched from afar.

“Mr. Holmes,” Mary said softly, approaching him with a cup of tea as Sherlock gratually took it.

“You’re lucky to have her. She’s a treasure.”

Sherlock beams with sudden pride. “I’m well aware.”

Mary looks and sees you tumble down accidentally from a sheet of ice. Sherlock almost ran out to help you, but you just broke into a fit of laughter. He even saw Florence and Elias nearby as they tried to help you up and saw how you talked to them intently.

"How often does she visit here?" He asks curiously.

"Since she became a young woman. Sure, high society would throw a coin our way to help them feed their reputation but not her. She comes every Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter. She's an angel whose soul cradles a mother’s love, though her body cannot.”

Sherlock whips his head to her, knitting his eyebrows.

Mary frowned. “Did she ever tell you?"

The conflicted man turns away and looks down at the ground.

"No, she did not."

As the sun began to set, you bid a sad farewell to the children as they waved you goodbye as you left with Sherlock. Along the ride to your estate, you were confused of Sherlock's silence.

As you two shared a tense Christmas Eve meal together, you could sense his mind was elsewhere. It wasn't until you had enough and spoke aloud.

"Sherlock."

He blinks repeatedly, realizing he never touched his dinner.

"Is everything alright?" You ask with concern.

He looks up to you, feeling his emotions get the best of him.

"You lied to me." He says in a small voice.

"What do you mean?" You ask again.

Sherlock tried to lock eyes with you, but he couldn't face you.

"Why didn't you tell me you couldn't bear children?"

Your eyes rounded as well as your lips, but you set aside your cutlery as you placed your hands in your lap.

"Mary told you..." You said, not surprised.

Sherlock rose from his seat and started pacing around.

"I should have seen the signs. You showed no symptoms of your courses when we were together-"

"Sherlock..."

"-and when we pass new parents with their baby you wipe a tear from your face-"

"Sherlock-"

"-and all of these trips to St. Jerome's. You're just trying to fill this hole in your heart-"

"ENOUGH!" You stood up as he stopped. You couldn't believe what he just acclaimed, and you knew you had to put him in his place.

"This is why I didn't tell you, Sherlock. Firstly, I am not a case to be deduced and secondly, I dearly love those children. What you accuse otherwise is a distasteful remark."

You sit back down, feeling your words choke but refused to make eye contact with him.

"I was 17 when I found out. All my hopes to become a mother just... faded away. But then I see all of these children alone and cold during this time of year. That's when my purpose changed, that's when I wanted to become something bigger than myself."

Sherlock looks at your somber state, feeling the guilt rise up his throat. He tries to get closer to you.

"I... I didn't mean-"

You raise your hand in between you and him to create space.

"You have been nothing but cold and small minded today, Sherlock. I don't want someone like that in my life. And for that, I ask for you to leave, now."

Sherlock was stunned by your words but you were right. He has hurt your honor, and he was only making things worse with his presence.

He rushes out of the dining room and collected his coat and hat, as he heard soft cries behind him.

Sherlock just decided to walk back to his apartment to make sense of your past secret.

Why did you not tell him? How did he not notice all these clues?

His thoughts grew louder until a small figure bumped into him and ran away.

Sherlock looks down to see if anything was missing until he realized his pocket watch was missing. He whips his head back and forth until he sees the same figure by a lamp post.

"You! Stop there!" Sherlock yells as he raced the fast figure.

They were at an arm's length and Sherlock grabbed them by the arm and turned them around, wanting to confront his burglar.

"Alright young man, why did you do such a-"

Sherlock's words get swallowed as he realizes he found Florence, whose hair was tucked in a hat as she held the clock firmly in her other hand.

"I'm sorry sir, I had to! Please don't turn me into the police. I'm the only family Elias has!"

Sherlock's face slacks as he unfurls his brow and gives a solemn look.

"I won't turn you in, but we are going to St. Jerome's to have a chat with Miss Mary."

Sherlock returns back to the orphanage with Florence as Mary shares fruitful words to the young girl.

"How dare you steal this man's watch, Florence. After everything him and the Madam did for us today... what do you say to him?" She scolds.

Florence looks back to the tall man and lowers her head.

"I'm sorry again Mr. Holmes." As she began to almost tear up.

Sherlock kneels down and gently smiles at her.

"It's alright Florence. My only hopes is that you never steal again."

"Go to bed, my dear girl, we will discuss your punishment tomorrow morning." Mary says.

Florence runs off, and Sherlock suddenly feels another pang in his chest.

"I do hope you don't give her a heavy punishment. She only had good intentions for her brother." He says as Mary sat by her table.

"We do not give rash punishments, but she will help around with chores around the building. But her heart is in the right place. Elias was sought for adoption, but he refused as he didn’t want to be separated from his sister since they didn’t have enough money to have the two of them. Florence must have thought if she could find the funds, they’d still be with each other.”

"That's a shame. They look very close to another." Sherlock responds, still thinking of his time here during the day.

"Do you have any siblings, Mr. Holmes?" Mary asks.

"A younger sister and an older brother." He says.

"Are you close to them?" She asks.

"I... try." He says, recollecting when was the last time he has been with Enola and Mycroft in the same vicinity.

But his thought fly elsewhere as his fixation of you grew.

"How did I not know of her condition?" he mutters to himself.

"We are often blinded from certain truths when one falls in love." Mary said as she goes up to the detective, who looked like he was carrying the weight of the world.

"When I first met the Madam, I knew from the start that she had an ache in her soul. But she pushed her problems away cause she there was so many others who faced more struggle than her. She may not mother children, but she's the reason why young boys and girls are given a childhood. Shouldn't that count for something?"

Sherlock stiffened, his sharp mind piecing together every memory, every fleeting comment you’d made about your past. He realized he’d never asked deeply, never probed. You’d shared your wealth, your kindness, and your heart, but not your history.

That shouldn't be the reason he should lose you forever.

"There's something I must do... but i acquire great help."

Mary beams proudly.

"Let's get to work."

+

You look out your window, seeing the snow fall down in the streets. It was Christmas evening, and it was silent in your estate. Although it was adorned with decorations and your staff grateful that they have been given bigger income for this time of year, your heart still felt heavy. You tried to move on and forget what Sherlock has said to you.

You then gotten dressed for the day as you were to return for the orphanage to help cook a Christmas dinner for the young children.

As you soon arrived, you knit your brow as many carriages lined around the streets of St. Jerome’s. Many status of class arrived with high spirits as you saw them holding boxed gifts or pantries of food. Once you entered the building, you gasped at the sight.

The building you we’re once in just the other day is filled of working class and upper class that mingled together as they entertained the children with songs or shared a meal together. Little boys and girls circled around a man who was carrying them or throwing them up in the air as they yelled for joy.

The man then resembled to…

“Sherlock?” You question yourself.

“Isn’t he a sight for sore eyes, love?” Mary asks as you whip your head to her

“Mary, what is going on?” You inquire.

“Sherlock happened. He stayed up all night decorating and spreading the word that that every child deserves a home. I was afraid there wouldn’t be enough children to go to new families but Mr. Holmes assured me otherwise.”

“That is correct. I contacted my family and they were quite moved to make sure no one was left behind.” Sherlock walks up to the two of you as he was smiling ear to ear.

You look around and you see a group of girls huddled around a group of women who were teaching them a sort of defense class as the young girls looked bewildered. An older woman winks at you before she returns her lesson.

You see Sherlock’s older brother, Mycroft, as he was reading A Christmas Carol to young children and adults. He looked so at ease, you almost didn’t recognize the man.

You then saw Enola as she was holding a young boy’s hand, as she introduced him to a distant relative that lived in the country side. They had a joyful reunion as you couldn’t help but wipe a tear from your eye.

“Sherlock, this is so wonderful.” You said.

Sherlock holds you in his arms as you felt the warmth radiating from his chest.

“Darling, you started this. Once I told others your name and how you devoted your time and wealth at St. Jerome’s, they found it in their hearts to do the same. I know I did.”

He brought you to a quiet corner as he held both of your hands.

"I have been unfair and unkind to you. The words I exchanged... they were out of insecurity. I hope that you can forgive me."

"Of course I do, Sherlock..."

"No. It's not enough. You've given so much to me in the time that i've known you. Your generosity, your ambition, your character... it makes me want to be a better man for you."

He kneels down with one knee and you gasp silently, slightly shaking your hands.

"Sherlock..." You knelt down as your eyes grew wide.

"I want to grow with you. I want us to build our life in an abundance of love and generosity. I want us to grow our family-"

"But you know I can't give you that." You said, your eyes watering.

"That's why they have something to give you." He said, motioning behind.

You saw Elias and Florence smiling widely as the young boy held the paper for you to grab. You reach over, confused until you open the seal, gasping loudly as you switch your head between the siblings and Sherlock.

"You're going to adopt them?" You ask.

"We are going to adopt them. You've shown me that family lies deeper than blood and bone. I want us to experience everything in this world, if you have me."

"And us!" Florence said, as she and Elias neared the two of you.

Sherlock laughs as he grabs a ring from his pocket and offers it to you.

"Will you make me the happiest man on Christmas Day and marry me?"

You nod your head as you smile ear to ear, grabbing Sherlock's face as you kiss him tenderly. An echoes of "ews" were exchanged between the siblings until you and Sherlock locked them in an enormous embrace.

"So we're going to be a family?" Elias asks you.

"Yes, my little Eli... we will together every Christmas, birthday, and every other day." You said

"I like that very much." Florence commented, smiling between her parents.

"Me too," Sherlock concluded, as he gave you one last kiss before you four walked back to the festivities where you shared the news and cheer.

These were the moments you cherished the most with your future husband, as life became a little more merry.

[bookloover35]

How to date a Holmes- Sherlock Holmes.

The flat at 221B Baker Street rarely saw a dull moment. Between Sherlock Holmes's eccentricities and your knack for keeping him on his toes, there was always a spark of life in the air. Married life with the great detective was never ordinary, which suited you just fine.

This morning, however, was quieter than usual. Sherlock was deep into a case, his sharp eyes darting over newspaper clippings and notes pinned to the walls, muttering to himself. You, his beloved wife, sat nearby with a cup of tea, watching his brilliance with equal parts admiration and amusement.

Your moment of peace was interrupted by a knock at the door. It was hurried, almost anxious. You set your tea down and rose, smoothing your dress before opening the door to find none other than Lord Tewkesbury, the Marquess of Basilwether, standing there.

"Lord Tewkesbury," you greeted, surprised. "What a pleasant surprise. Do come in."

He stepped inside, his usually confident demeanor tinged with hesitation. His mop of blond curls looked slightly disheveled, and he clutched a small bouquet of wildflowers.

"I hope I'm not intruding," he began, his voice low.

Sherlock didn't even glance up from his work. "Advice on how not to get yourself killed again? I'd suggest moving to the countryside and becoming a hermit."

"Sherlock," you chided, shooting your husband a look.

Tewkesbury flushed but straightened his posture. His tone turned determined as he turned to you and said, "I'm actually here to get advice from you, Mrs. Holmes."

That caught Sherlock's attention. He glanced up, his sharp gaze flicking from Tewkesbury to the bouquet. "Good grief. You're courting my sister?"

Tewkesbury's blush deepened, but a small smile tugged at his lips. "I'm... trying to. But she's—well, she's a Holmes. And I thought, who better to ask than someone who's successfully married one?"

Sherlock snorted, but you felt a surge of pride. You gestured for Tewkesbury to sit down.

"Enola?" Sherlock muttered, eyeing the flowers. "Of course. Only a Holmes would attract this level of reckless persistence."

"Don't mind him," you said gently. "Tell me, Lord Tewkesbury, what exactly do you need advice about?"

He exhaled, his nerves starting to show. "How to win her over. She's... remarkable, and I don't want to ruin my chances. She's clever, independent, and quite possibly the most fascinating person I've ever met. But I feel like... I don't know how to approach her in the right way."

"Ah," you said with a knowing smile. "You're right that Holmeses are unique. They value intelligence, independence, and a sharp wit. But more than that, they need someone who respects their individuality. Enola is no exception."

Tewkesbury nodded eagerly, hanging on your every word.

"Don't try to smother her," you continued. "She'll run circles around you if you try to control her. Instead, be her partner. Show her that you admire her strength, and don't be afraid to challenge her. Holmeses appreciate someone who can keep up with them."

"Challenge her?" he repeated, frowning slightly.

"Yes, but not in a condescending way," you clarified. "It's about mutual respect. Show her that you value her opinions, even if they differ from yours. And whatever you do, don't underestimate her."

Tewkesbury exhaled slowly, nodding again. "That... makes sense. She's truly extraordinary. I just don't want to mess it up."

Sherlock, who had been listening with a faint smirk, finally chimed in. "The fact that you care enough to seek advice is a good start. But if you hurt her, I'll make sure no one ever finds your body."

"Sherlock," you scolded, though you couldn't entirely suppress your amusement.

Tewkesbury's eyes widened, but he quickly rallied. "Understood. Completely."

You reached over to pat his hand reassuringly. "Don't let him scare you. You're doing fine, Tewkesbury. Just be yourself and let Enola know how you feel. She'll appreciate your honesty."

The young lord offered you a grateful smile. "Thank you, Mrs. Holmes. Truly. You've been very helpful."

As Tewkesbury stood to leave, Sherlock leaned back in his chair, watching him with narrowed eyes. "One last thing," he said. "If you're going to date a Holmes, you'll need to be prepared for danger. Our lives are anything but ordinary."

Tewkesbury squared his shoulders. "I'm not afraid of a little danger."

Sherlock smirked. "Good answer."

After Tewkesbury left, you turned to your husband with a raised eyebrow. "Was the death threat really necessary?"

Sherlock shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I have to protect my sister's interests."

You shook your head, laughing softly. "And here I thought you'd be glad she's found someone who adores her."

Sherlock's expression softened, and he reached for your hand. "I suppose I am. Though, to be fair, I still don't understand how you managed to put up with me."

"Easy," you replied, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "I figured out the secret to dating a Holmes a long time ago."

"And what's that?"

You smiled mischievously. "Patience, wit, and a touch of madness."

Sherlock chuckled, pulling you into his arms. "Well, then, it seems Lord Tewkesbury has quite the challenge ahead of him."

And with that, life at 221B Baker Street carried on—full of love, mystery, and, of course, the occasional lesson on how to date a Holmes.

[st-juliet]

Utmost Merit, Part V

Character: Henry Cavill as Sherlock in Enola Holmes

Summary: Sherlock presents the Reader with a most unconventional proposal.

Content: Absolutely 18+ for very very very filthy language, smut with minimal plot, purposely unprotected sex, breeding kink, spouses-to-lovers, pregnancy, and some period-typical gender roles, but nothing unkind or insidious.

Notes: What if I told you I'm back?

Previous Chapters: Part I Part II Part III Part IV

The first week of your married life is like a dream.

The day after your wedding, Sherlock whisks you off to his family estate, a rambling manor house set back within acres and acres of woodland paths and open fields, even more beautiful than he promised. His brother and sister’s absence and his generous afternoons and evenings off for the staff give ample opportunity for you to indulge in one another…all over the house.

He takes you in the library, pressed up against the shelves; bends you over the billiards table; and, with a wolfish grin, kneels and turns his lips and tongue to profane purposes as you perch upon the edge of his desk, clutching him closer by his hair and crying out in exaltation.

At first, this heedless freedom of passion is enough to distract you from the feelings which only grow the more time you spend with your husband, from your hours on the train and in the carriage—the conversation flowing and gentle touches exchanged—to boisterous picnics ending in you laughing your way across the lawn naked, with your ravenous lover in hot pursuit.

In these tender and impassioned moments, you find you can forget yourself: your fear and your longing fade as he pins your wrists above your head and ruts into you like an animal, growling sacrilegious curses into your ear, or when he gently, maddeningly slowly drags the head of his cock across the delicate bud at the apex of your thighs, cooing, “Such an impatient creature you are, Mrs. Holmes. I’ll have your pleasure from you first, then I will give you my cock…”

But these interludes of relief, when you can almost pretend that he returns your love in full measure, are more and more fleeting. As soon as your head rests upon his chest and your eyes flutter closed, drowsy in the warmth of his arms, you must shake yourself awake again, lest some sleepy murmur of affection escape you. When he tosses and turns in his sleep, you long to comfort him with promises of eternal devotion, your heart a safe harbor for all his worries and fears, but you can only try to comfort yourself with the knowledge that at least you get to bask in the light of him for all your days, even if the shadows cast by that light mar your joy.

A fortnight since the wedding and near a month after you first gave yourselves to one another fully, those shadows have prevailed. For the third morning in a row, you have awoken melancholy and quiet, slipping out to walk the grounds before he wakes. Your heart is most compromised in the morning, seeing Sherlock at his most vulnerable: fluttering eyelids, half-parted lips, his colossal form stretched out and laid bare to your besotted eyes and fervent hands. If you woke him with a kiss—or anything more—you knew you might not leave bed for hours. 

But you cannot risk it today. If he so much as opened his eyes, your first words would be “I love you”, and the spell would be broken, the arrangement betrayed, the trust between two equals thrown into an even greater imbalance. You are protecting him, you reason as you quietly dress, from a revelation that would only cause you both greater pain. The fresh air, you hope, will do you good and clear your head, and perhaps you will contrive as you walk some means by which you can fall out of love with the man who, you suspect more and more each day, has already given you his child.

Hours later, having traced course of a babbling brook back and forth a half dozen times and circled the tallest tree of the estate over and over again, your spirit and body grow weary—and your stomach unsettled—and you know you must return home. As you approach the house, you can see Sherlock through the wide window in the parlor, fully dressed and pacing back and forth, raking his hands through his hair. He catches your eye through the glass and, to your dismay turns away, whether in anger or embarrassment you cannot tell. Your heart plummets. You know you must go in to him, and when you arrive in the parlor, he faces you and acknowledges you with a slight bow, as if you were virtual strangers again.

“Was your walk pleasant?”

“Yes, thank you.”

For the first time since his proposal, a tense, wary silence grows between you. His manner is as sober as your own, and you uneasily hover in the doorway, unsure as to whether he welcomes your presence or would rather you go right back out again.

“Will you come and sit with me?” he asks at last, and you gingerly join him on the settee below the window. Not quite meeting your gaze, he continues, “Rosamund, these past few days, I have sensed a distance, such as has not been since we were strangers. Even when we…when I hold you most nearly…a veil has fallen between us.”

“I cannot deny it,” you murmur, steeling yourself for the conversation you have been dreading.

“Do you know the cause?” he asks.

He knows. He must know. And now he would have you name it.

“I know…I have realized that our feelings for one another…differ.”

He nods slowly, murmurs, “I have deduced the same,” and turns his face away from you, taking a slow, deep breath. The moment seems to stretch for hours, each second heavier than the last.

“Well. We are more fortunate than most,” he says at last in a measured tone, a pained smile barely flickering across his lips as he glances back at you, only to look away again immediately. “In that our minds, our tastes, and our purposes in life are so aligned. It would have been too much to ask of providence that our hearts be likewise matched, do you not think so?”

“Indeed,” you manage, feeling tears pool in your eyes. You know he does not mean to hurt you, in bringing this matter to light—entirely the opposite. You promised one another perfect honesty, but you began to think suffering in silence and doubt was far better than this excruciating surety: he had recognized your love, but did not requite it.

“If you are yet amenable to our shared purpose, I myself am wholly undeterred. Every word I have said to you is true: my respect for you, for the exemplary wife and someday mother you show yourself to be, takes precedence over all. But given the circumstances, we might perhaps continue with a more…restrained approach. If you prefer to cease our relations for the moment and wait until such a time as you may have surety of your condition, I will resume my lodgings at Baker Street in anticipation of a verdict. We may then renegotiate our terms, one way or another. But you must know that no matter what, you will never be without my protection and devotion. And my utmost fidelity.”

“Oh, oh, no, Sherlock, how could I ask—?”

“And, if one day you find you love another—”

“Love another?! I could not love another, I love only y—!”

“—I will turn my eyes away and bear it without hesitation or complaint. But I can no longer pretend! I love you. I will love you till my dying breath and whatever remains of me beyond this life will still seek your service, your comfort, your good. I cast myself upon your mercy, Rosamund!”

Sherlock Holmes, his eyes brimming with tears, falls upon his knees before you, taking your hands in his.

“Will you forgive me that I cannot pretend any longer? Will you still have me? Will you still allow me to be a husband to you, to care for you and build a life for you and for our…?”

His voice trails off into a stifled cry, and you throw your arms around him, covering his face with kisses as your own tears flow.

“Sherlock! Please, oh please don’t cry, my love!” The torrent of adoration you have stemmed for so long pours fourth from you as though a dam had burst. “My dearest friend, my very heart…we have mistaken one another! I thought you did not love me!”

Sherlock’s demeanor shifts in a heartbeat, as if he has been struck by lightning.

“You love me?”

“I have loved you since long before I knew it! And every minute we share delivers me a new reason to love you more, every day better than the last, every word I speak to you a profession of my love! I could not pretend either…for no other reason could I tear myself from your side. Forgive me my coldness! I thought it for the best—”

“No, no, there is nothing to forgive,” he insists, rising and drawing you up to stand, completely enveloped in his arms, pressing fervent kisses to your cheeks and forehead and lips. ““I have most of all deceived myself in swearing I was no romantic! What a fool to think I could resist the call of a soul’s companion? My perfect angel, my salvation! I will spend a lifetime making up for a month’s lack of telling you of my love.”

“I shall never grow tired of it,” you promise him, each breath a sigh of relief, a prayer of thanks, a new dawn of hope.

“There is no man alive who knows my joy, nothing on earth that can surpass it!”

“Nothing?” you reply very quietly, unable to be measured or careful now…it was far, far too late for that. “Then you do not wish to hear of another happiness?” For the second time in a single morning, the whole earth’s axis shifts as Sherlock’s eyes widen. You quickly continue, “It is early yet. Too early. But yet I…I feel it, in my heart, as surely as I feel I love you.”

Sherlock Holmes bows his head and weeps in earnest, burying his face in your hair as he holds you tightly and whispers over and over again, “My love, my wife…”

If you enjoyed, please do peruse my Masterlist!

And if anyone who read this story once upon a time when I first wrote it is still out there, and would like to be tagged in future updates, please let me know! 😘🥰

[ladylaviniya]

𝐖𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐖𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐬™ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐭.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞, “𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞.”

White shirt now red, my bloody nose: suspect files

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎.ᐟ

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎✒ suspect file: Ah Sing (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎✒ suspect file: Madam Irene Adler (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎✒ suspect file: Miss Ivor (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎✒ suspect file: Mrs Pennicott (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎✒ suspect file: Dr Dyer (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

Sleepin', you're on your tippy toes: Playlists ⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎.ᐟ

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎✒ Sherlock's play book: Playlist (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

Creepin' around like no one knows: drabbles ⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎.ᐟ (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎✒ Zoo time fun (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎✒ Moodboard: Mysteries (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎✒ Moodboard: An Unorthodox Marriage

Think you're so criminal: locations! ⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎.ᐟ

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎✒ Bakerstreet (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎✒ Mayfair Row: Doves Club (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎✒ Scotland Yard (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎✒ Ah Sings Opium Den (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

Bruises on both my knees for you ⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎.ᐟ

Wails of Wedded Bliss || 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎.ᐟ

Don't say thank you or please: updates ⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎.ᐟ

last update: April 2024

I do what I want when I'm wanting to - design credits ⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎.ᐟ

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎✒ baby carriage dividers – @ladylaviniya

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎✒ masterlist layout inspiration – @lilacevans

My soul? So cynical - taglists: ⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎.ᐟ

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎✒ Wails of Wedded Bliss Taglist. (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

⌕✉︎ ֶָ֢✍︎✒ The Ultimate Taglist.

[fanboyswhore9]

The Proposal (Pt. 1)~ Sherlock Holmes

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes (Henry Cavill’s version) x Fem! reader

Contains: Henry Cavil, marriage of convenience, childhood lovers, long lost love, TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF

Summary: Childhood friends Sherlock Holmes and the reader were inseparable until she left for boarding school, leaving unresolved feelings between them. Nearly two decades later, she returns to 221B Baker Street with an urgent proposition: to secure her inheritance, she must marry, and she asks Sherlock for help. Unbeknownst to her, Sherlock has harbored feelings for her all along. They confess their love for each other and agree to marry, not just for convenience but out of genuine love.

A/N: THIS IS POSSIBLY THE LONGEST FIC I’VE EVER WRITTEN ON TUMBLR! This is my first Sherlock fic that I’ve done. I hope I do him justice!❤️❤️❤️❤️

The rain was steady that evening, casting a mist over the streets of London. Inside 221B Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes sat in his armchair, eyes half-lidded, mind lost in a myriad of thoughts as the fire crackled. He hadn’t had a proper case in days, which left him restless, pacing between fleeting memories and idle deductions.

A knock on the door cut through his haze. Sherlock frowned, glancing at the clock. It was late, too late for most visitors, but not impossible. Perhaps Mrs. Hudson was entertaining guests again. He rose, heading to the door, when he heard the knock again—more insistent this time.

When he opened the door, the last person he ever expected to see stood before him, soaked from the rain, her hair damp around her face. “Sherlock,” she breathed, her voice a familiar melody he hadn’t heard in almost two decades.

His breath caught. It was her. The girl from his youth, his best friend, his confidant—until she was whisked away to boarding school, leaving him behind in a cold and silent void that he rarely acknowledged but always felt. She had grown into the woman he imagined she would be: poised, beautiful, but with that same spark in her eyes that always challenged him, intrigued him.

He stepped back to let her in, not trusting his voice just yet. She entered, glancing around at the familiar setting of 221B. “Some things never change,” she said, her lips pulling into a soft smile, though there was an edge of uncertainty there. Wanting to be polite, he asked her, “I know it’s past time, but would you like a cup of tea?” She looked at him nodding gently, “Yes, please. I’d love a cup of tea.” He nods as he starts to brew tea in the kettle.

Sherlock cleared his throat, suddenly aware of the weight of the moment. “What are you doing here?” He didn’t mean for the words to sound so cold, but they came out that way regardless.She looked at him, her expression guarded, then stepped closer. “I need your help, Sherlock.”

“Help?” His curiosity piqued, but there was something else in her eyes. Something more personal. Her fingers fiddled with the hem of her coat as she gathered her courage. “I… I’ve come back to London because of my grandmother. She’s ill, Sherlock. She’s… dying.”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, and for once, it wasn’t merely out of politeness. “She’s left me her fortune, her estate, but there’s a catch.” She glanced away, as if embarrassed to continue. “I have to be married to inherit.” Sherlock’s brow furrowed. “Married?”

“Yes,” she said quickly, her voice tightening. “My parents are pressuring me. They’ve paraded potential suitors in front of me for months, but none of them… none of them understand me.” She took a deep breath, her eyes finally meeting his. “And I really don’t want to marry any of them.” The air between them seemed to crackle with tension. Sherlock’s mind was already racing, calculating her reasons for coming to him, searching for the logical thread.

“And you’ve come to me because…?” he asked, though a part of him already knew the answer.“Because,” she said softly, stepping closer, her eyes searching his face, “I don’t want to marry just anyone. I want to marry someone I trust. Someone I care about. Someone I…” She hesitated, her voice breaking slightly. “Someone I love.” Sherlock froze.

The words he never expected to hear from her—yet had longed to hear—hung in the air. For a moment, he was sixteen again, watching her pack her things as she left for boarding school, a thousand words unsaid between them. He had always assumed she moved on, that she forgot about him. But now, here she was, standing before him, offering him not just her trust, but her heart.

“You—” He started, but his voice faltered. His mind, usually so sharp, struggled to find the right words. “I know this is sudden,” she rushed on, her hands trembling slightly, “and maybe it’s foolish. Maybe you’ve moved on, maybe you never thought about me that way. But I had to tell you, otherwise I might regret it for the rest of my life. I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember, Sherlock. And if there’s even the smallest chance that you feel the same…” She trailed off, hope and fear mingling in her eyes.

Sherlock, for once, was at a loss. His emotions, something he kept carefully locked away, threatened to overwhelm him. He had thought of her often over the years, wondered where she was, what she was doing. He had buried his feelings for her, convinced they were pointless, that she was a part of his past he could never reclaim.

But now…

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he admitted quietly, his voice raw with emotion he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years. “I—” He paused, the words foreign on his tongue. “I didn’t know how to say it, or if I even should. I assumed… I thought you were happy. That you had your life, your suitors.”She smiled sadly. “I never wanted anyone else.”

Silence filled the room, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy with possibilities, with unspoken promises. Sherlock, ever logical, ever calculating, found himself making a decision not based on reason but on something far more human.

“Then marry me,” he said simply, his eyes locked on hers. Her breath caught, her eyes widening in surprise. “Sherlock, I didn’t mean—”

“I’m serious,” he interrupted, stepping closer until they were mere inches apart. “Marry me. Not for your inheritance, not for your grandmother, but because I can’t bear the thought of you with anyone else.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she nodded, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “Yes, Sherlock. Yes.” He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he cupped her face. And for the first time in years, Sherlock Holmes, the great detective, let himself feel.

His eyes, usually so calculating and detached, softened as they locked onto hers. The distance between them seemed to disappear, years of unspoken emotions finally surfacing. His thumb gently traced the line of her cheek, his touch both tender and reverent.

“I’ve been a fool,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath, “for not realizing sooner.”

Before she could respond, Sherlock leaned in, closing the final space between them. His lips met hers in a kiss that was both hesitant and deliberate, as if he was discovering something new but also something long overdue. The kiss was soft at first, slow and searching, but then it deepened, filled with all the feelings they had kept hidden for so long.

Her hands found their way to his shoulders, holding him close as she melted into the warmth of his embrace. The world outside seemed to fade, leaving only the two of them in this quiet, intimate moment. His kiss, though unsure at first, soon became sure and steady, filled with the depth of emotion he had kept buried beneath layers of logic and restraint.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested against each other, their breaths mingling in the silence. Sherlock’s eyes remained closed for a brief moment longer, savoring the connection, before he finally opened them to look at her. “For you,” he murmured, his voice raw with emotion, “I’ll always make an exception.” A soft smile tugged at her lips, her heart swelling at his words. “Then I’ll always be your exception.”

~SHORT TIME SKIP~

A few days had passed since she had shown up at Sherlock’s doorstep with her proposition. The weight of their confession and the whirlwind engagement still felt surreal, but there was no time for hesitation. Arrangements had to be made, and there were still people she needed to see.

That afternoon, she found herself in the grand, stately sitting room of the Diogenes Club, Mycroft Holmes’ preferred sanctuary. He greeted her with his usual aloofness, but there was a subtle curiosity in his eyes as they exchanged pleasantries.

“My brother is not one for sentiment,” Mycroft said, swirling a glass of brandy as he studied her, “but you seem to have managed what few others could.” His words were clipped but not unkind. “It’s rather remarkable.” She smiled, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. “I didn’t come here expecting him to say yes. But I know Sherlock, and I believe this is right for both of us.”

Mycroft gave her a small, approving nod. “You’ve always had a peculiar influence on him. I suppose if anyone can make sense of this arrangement, it’s you.” Before she could respond, the door opened, and a young woman with wild curls and a sharp, curious look in her eyes entered the room. Enola Holmes, Sherlock and Mycroft’s little sister, stepped in with an air of confidence. It was the first time they’d met, though she had heard much about Enola’s independent and rebellious nature.

Enola glanced between her and Mycroft, her expression caught between surprise and amusement. “So, you’re the one who’s finally going to tie Sherlock down,” she said, half-teasing, half-curious. She let out a soft giggle and smiled, amused by the younger woman’s boldness. “It seems so.” Enola stepped forward, her curiosity obvious. “I must say, I’m impressed. Sherlock’s never shown much interest in anything besides his cases. You must be quite extraordinary.”

“Not as extraordinary as you, Enola. Sherlock speaks highly of you,” she replied warmly, and that seemed to catch Enola off guard. Enola smiled, clearly pleased by the compliment. “Well, you’ve certainly earned my respect. Anyone who can handle Sherlock is worthy of admiration.”

As the girls exchanged more pleasantries, she felt a sense of warmth from Enola, a feeling of acceptance, even if it came with a bit of Holmes skepticism. It felt like the final piece of her integration into Sherlock’s life, meeting both Mycroft and Enola, and earning a place in the family dynamic that was uniquely theirs.

Later that evening, in the quiet of Sherlock’s flat at 221B Baker Street, she sat at his desk and wrote a letter to her family. Her parents, grandmother, and sister needed to be informed, though she was sure the news would spread quickly once the engagement was made official.

Dearest Mother, Father, Grandmother, & my dear Sister,

I write to you with news I never expected to share. After years of distance & time apart, I have returned to London & reunited with Sherlock Holmes. Our connection, though it was once left in the past, has rekindled, & I am pleased to inform you that I am now engaged to be married to him.

I know this news may come as a surprise, but please understand that this decision was made with great care and certainty. Sherlock has always held a special place in my heart, & I believe that this union will be one of love, companionship, & understanding.

Sister, I especially want you to know how much I look forward to you being by my side through this, & I can’t wait to tell you everything in person.

I will return home soon to speak with you all in person & explain further. In the meantime, know that I am happy and excited for what lies ahead.

With all my love,

Your daughter and sister

She sealed the letter, her heart feeling lighter as she prepared to send it. The wheels were in motion now. Everything was becoming real. Soon, her family would know, and the life she was about to build with Sherlock was just beginning.

[maximsdeadwife]

The Experiment pt. 2

Sherlock Holmes x reader

The Experiment pt. 1 // Masterlist

Summary: Sherlock needs something new to keep him occupied. You have the perfect answer to his problems.

Author’s notes: couldn’t resist writing part 2, which was also requested after I wrote part 1. In my Victorian dirty talk research I discovered that the term ‘blow job’ comes from the Victorian term for cum: ‘blow,’ and how could I not make the most of that information??

Warnings/content: nsfw - smut, f!reader, blow job, hand job, marriage, first times (Sherlock’s first blow job), discussion of safe word, sub!Sherlock vibes if you squint

Upon returning to 221B, you found Sherlock barely out of bed; half-dressed and dropped down onto the nearest armchair, hair mussed from sleep and face sullen.

He hadn’t had a case for over a week, and whilst at first he had taken to spending his free time gladly tending to your desires, you did need to leave the house from time to time to run errands and see to your other commitments.

It was moments such as these that the ennui really set in. Sherlock needed something to occupy him, and if he couldn't have you, he needed something new to excite him, but whatever that would be hadn't yet arrived on his doorstep.

‘Sherlock, darling, I’m home,’ you chimed carefully, not wanting to startle him out of his melancholy.

His eyes lit up for a moment before he saw that you were already busy with the books you’d collected, and he dropped back into the chair.

You were eyeing him, though, surreptitiously as you flicked through one of your new novels pretending to admire the illustrations while really you were admiring him.

‘Remember our wedding night?’ you mused, attempting to sound entirely casual.

‘Fondly,’ he sighed dreamily. If only he could feel the excitement of that night anew, the thrill of learning your exquisite body for the first time.

‘I’ve been doing some research,’ you went on, finally snapping shut your book.

'Oh?' An eyebrow raised, interest piqued.

‘There was something you mentioned that night that I read up on since I’ve been wholly unable to distract my mind away… it's something I rather fancy I’d like to try.’

Your voice had turned sultry, immediately capturing Sherlock’s attention, his head snapping up so that he could examine your current state and gather your precise intentions.

Pupils dilated, cheeks flushed, breath quickening, he thought, and at that, heat stirred in his belly, coursing to his core.

‘You told me you would like to experiment with your own orgasms.’ Shivers crept up your neck, not yet quite used to speaking in such a way in the company of a gentleman. ‘Do you remember? You wondered how it might feel to climax in my hand... or my mouth…’ your tongue advanced slowly around your parted lips rather pointedly, eyes locked on his.

‘And how do you propose we conduct this experiment?’ he panted, beginning to tremble.

‘Sherlock… I'll need to taste you.’

His heart began to race and his eyelashes fluttered, unsure where to look. Your lust for him often threw him from his place of comfort. To him, it was ever an unexpected thrill to be the object of your desire, but never an unwelcome one.

‘Where… how do I-’ he started, cheeks flushing with shame at how utterly libidinous he felt for you.

‘Lay down for me, here, on the chaise,’ you beamed, thrilled that he was ready for a new experience with you.

As he peeled himself from the little armchair to stretch his long body out, he propped himself up on a cushion so he could observe what you would do to him.

You knelt between his ankles to slide your fingers up past his knees and over his strong thighs. ‘Spread your legs a little more… that’s it,’ you encouraged as he settled into position, one foot landing firmly on the floor, grounding him. From what you'd read, you supposed he may need it.

‘I’m going to unfasten your breeches and take you in my hand first,’ you said softly as your fingers got to work on unfastening the buttons keeping him decent. ‘Only briefly, though, for this time, I would like to suck your manhood and have you spill every last drop of your blow down my throat until you’re left limp.’

Sherlock’s breath caught in his throat.

‘Remember the code word?’ you breathed, eyes growing wide with wonder, ever fascinated with his size as your fingers released his already throbbing arousal and wrapped delicately around him, pumping lazily.

Sherlock nodded quickly, eager to begin. ‘Mycroft,’ he uttered breathily, ‘if I don’t enjoy the sensation, or it becomes too much, I say it once, and you'll stop.’

‘Precisely. And if you do enjoy it?’ you smirked up at him, gripping a little more firmly as you stroked him, lips now so close to the tip of his length he could feel the warmth of your breath against it.

‘Oh-ah-mmh… then I… ah- I will cry your name… over and over until I have- mmh!- no breath left in my… oh!- body.’

‘Understood.’

Your delightfully plump, wet lips finally brushed against the flesh of his tip, parting to suckle at the precum that oozed steadily out onto your lapping tongue.

Sherlock cried out, his body jolting at the overwhelming fever that spread rapidly through his body at the heat of your mouth on him. He tried to think through it, tried to memorise the sensations, but nothing had quite come close to this when it came to his pleasure.

He'd fucked you every which way one could imagine, finding easy release in the depths of your own pleasure just by knowing that he was the one to cause it. But this, entirely focussed on his needs, was a whole other game.

He couldn't grasp any of the thoughts swirling around his pleasure-addled mind, couldn't focus on anything but how you felt, wet and warm around his root, devouring him like a starved woman presented with a delicious meal.

And a delicious meal, he was. His cock swelled within the passion of your mouth as you took him in further still, your massaging fingers at the base, compensating for what you couldn’t fit. Remembering what you’d read in that filthy little book you'd been keeping secret, you bobbed your head and hollowed your cheeks, and you sucked, gently at first but slowly building to something more intense that made it harder and harder for him to find any semblance of focus.

You gazed up at him, eyes sparkling with your own arousal, to see him completely lost in pleasure, one elegant hand pressed to his forehead in delightful despair, the other gripping the edge of the cushion he laid back on so firmly that his knuckles had long since turned white.

You hummed, appreciating his weight of his heavy cock against your tongue as you felt a wetness grow between your thighs. The vibration your dirty little sound sent down his shaft caused him to whine out a string of incomprehensible obscenities, and his hips to buck up involuntarily as he fought to keep his eyes open and his head lifted enough to see you.

He’d never felt so safe with such a lack of control over his body, every nerve alight with passion and every muscle weak with complete pleasure. He couldn't think, but he didn't need to. He knew somewhere in the depths of this rapture that you would take good care of him, think through his pleasure for him, and finish him spectacularly. There was one other thing he knew for certain - one thought that pierced the haze of euphoria clouding his every thought - that his peak would come all too soon.

He couldn't fight it, he felt too week with imminent satisfaction to try to last any longer. He wanted this feeling to last forever, but also to explode between your lips and reach paradise all at once.

He released his grip on the seat cushion, and reached, trembling, for the nape of your neck. If his eyes must insist on clenching shut in unfathomable pleasure, he could at least follow your movements with touch, perhaps that would be just as enjoyable as watching.

It was.

At the exact moment that his fingers connected with your neck and slid up into your hair, he erupted with a shout, emptying his seed into your mouth and down your throat while your tongue circled his sensitive tip each time you moved upwards, and massaged his shaft as you slid back down.

Your name tore from his lips, a guttural cry that rang in your ears as he came down from his climax, breathless and groaning in exertion.

With a final lap to clean up the last traces of his peak, you sat back on your heels and smiled, proud of yourself for getting him off with such excellent results on your first attempt.

Sherlock was still very much floating on another plane of existence as his length twitched with aftershocks and softened upon your palm. You pushed up so settle over him on the chaise, appreciating his post-orgasm glow from a few inches above his handsome face.

‘A success?’ you chuckled, connecting your lips to his so he could taste himself upon them.

He nodded, opening his eyes slightly with an uneven smile meant as a silent thank you. ‘But I… I couldn’t focus on a thing. Nothing, that is, except for your mouth being stuffed full of me. Tell me you-’

Pride swelled in your chest. ‘I memorised every minute reaction.’

‘That’s my girl,’ he breathed. ‘You should write it down.’

‘Oh, I will,’ you promised, ‘in great, explicit detail. But first, another?’

His head fell back as you moved your hand gently over his sex, feeling it grow with arousal once again, and with that, a knock sounded at the door.

Disappointment flooded you. ‘You'll probably want to get that. It could be a case-’

‘They can wait,’ Sherlock whispered, waving his hand lazily. ‘I'm in the middle of a very important experiment for which we need more data...’

[gummydummy19]

Hi Gummy👀❤️

um, because of the post you said about just now......

Thinking about Prof!Sherlock Holmes celebrate with you that your exams are over.

Correction: you sneak in his office with a bottle of champagne and wearing the lingerie he gifted to you a few weeks ago... He was very confused at the beginning(

Well, you did celebrate TOGETHER after all.👀😋

Gaahh I would love to celebrate with him! 🥳🫠 Thank you for the ask, jammie! Im very sorry this took so incredibly long and that its a bit shit maybe lol, I hope you still kinda like it :)

His best student

Content Warnings: smut, age gap (not specifically mentioned), college student/college professor relationships (abuse of power, just to be sure), pet names (little one, Sir, baby), smidge of angst for some reason

A/N: This story is a fantasy and purely fictional. I do not condone student/teacher relationships or abuse of power in real life. Since this is pure fiction, everything is consensual. (because it's my fantasy and I fucking wrote it that way)

Word Count: 1.9k +

He was busy grading papers, the usual frown on his face, not even looking up at you as you entered his office...

You eyed him hungrily as you locked the door behind you. "Do you know what day it is today?" you asked in a sultry voice, hoping to get his attention.

You'd been waiting for this moment for weeks, ever since he gifted you that black, lacy lingerie set a few days before your first exam. He'd had it delivered, knowing if he'd handed it to you himself neither of you would be able to wait. The box contained a note, written in Sherlock's beautiful handwriting, as per usual.

"A little gift to get you in the mood. I hope it motivates you, my dear. I expect straight A's from my best student x"

You had never been so excited to study. With your new-found motivation, you propped yourself at your desk, which is where you stayed for weeks. Focused and dedicated.

You hadn't touched yourself once in the past few weeks. Partly because you wanted to stay focussed, but also because you simply didn't have the time. You were so exhausted and mentally drained from studying all day, your back and shoulders were sore from sitting hunched over your desk for hours. When you finally got to bed at night you were so tired you almost immediately fell asleep.

And now the wait was finally over. All your hard work had paid off, straight A's across the board. You were proud of yourself, proud and incredibly horny, ready to collect your reward.

"Uhh...Friday?" Sherlock answered mindlessly, his eyes still glued to the red ink he scribbled across the paper.

You rolled your eyes before clearing your throat, hoping to finally get him to look up at you.

His eyes found yours, they were filled with confusion and a tiny bit of aggravation...until you let your coat fall open. The beautiful black set was revealed and you could almost hear the wheels turning in his head.

"Yeah," you spoke, "it's Friday"

A smirk tugged at his plushy lips, 'it's Friday", he repeated as the realization dawned on him.

"Hmm." you nodded, dropping your coat on the floor with a smile.

You took a few slow steps towards him, never once breaking eye contact.

"Passed all my exams, straight A's just like you wanted Mr. Holmes", you spoke innocently.

"Is that so?" he smirked, leaning back in his chair, his knees falling wider open.

"Uh uh", you nodded coyly, chewing your finger.

You took a few steps closer to him, keeping your eyes glued to his. You debated crawling into his lap and kissing him silly, but took a seat on his desk instead. "So I think I deserve my reward now, don't you?"

He was trying to contain himself a little longer, trying not to show how much of an effect you had on him. But the glimmer in his eyes told you enough. You couldn't help but smile at him. A warm genuine smile that told him how much you adored him and how badly you'd missed him.

He couldn't hold back the grin that broke free on his face and he stood up. Wasting no time before grabbing your face and crashing his lips to yours. The kiss was full of heat and passion. Your hands tangled in his beautiful brown curls before trailing down his neck and fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. It took every fiber in your being not to rip the fabric off him, but you decided to behave. You the last thing you needed was a punishment when you came here for a reward.

Luckily he noticed what you were doing quite quickly, and since there was not much left for you to take off, he decided to help you.

"Fuck...I missed you, little one", he mumbled against your mouth as he undid the final button on his shirt.

"Hmm...missed you too, Sir...so much", you sighed back, your hands sliding over his shoulders, under the fabric of his shirt, making it drop on the floor while your fingers tangled in his hair again pulling him in for another kiss.

The kiss became more heated, more impatient, and you felt yourself starting to buck against the front of his trousers. The growing bulge pressed perfectly against the thin fabric of your panties. The panties that were slowly but surely starting to get very sticky and damp...

He pulled his lips away from yours, only to trail kissed from your jaw to your neck, groaning into your nape once he got there. His large hands trailed up and down your waist, squeezing at your flesh wherever he could.

You wriggled your hands between your bodies, your fingers eagerly searching for the buckle of his belt.

“Need you now…right now…”, you whined as you pulled his belt from his pants, your desperation made him chuckle.

“Hmmm…my perfect pretty princess…”, his voice was low has his fingers trailed down your jaw. Your breath hitched when his hand made its way down your throat, you expected him to stop there, to squeeze it as punishment for being so impatient…but he didn’t.

His hand moved down a little bit further until he pressed his palm flat, right in the middle of your chest. You were sure he felt your heartbeat thumping.

“Lay back for me”, he commanded. His tone combined with the slight press of his hand left little room for arguing, so you did what he asked.

Your back his the cold wood of his desk and you stared up at him. He held your gaze while his hands moved to caress your legs, starting at your knees, up to your thighs and back to your knees, where he held a firm grip to keep your legs spread (as if you needed any help with that?)

You enjoyed every second of it, every single touch, every look…but you needed more.

“Please Sir…”, you whined, “haven’t I been a good girl?”

He once again chuckled at your shameless display of pure desperation. “Don’t frown like that little one, you’ll get wrinkles”

“Then don’t give me a reason to frown.”

Your inner brat was starting to show and you hated it. Not that you didn’t love your bratty side, because you absolutely did, but today it meant that he was winning and you had worked too hard to let that happen.

He was staring down at you with his usual raised eyebrow. “Come on, Mr. Holmes..please?", you tried, your foot inching up his waist until your toes touched the now massive bulge in his trousers. You moved methodically, creating a friction you knew he craved.

"Behave", his voice was stern, no doubt a cover-up for his neediness, but stern nonetheless. You ignored it, continuing your movements shamelessly until he growled. "Enough!"

In a matter of seconds had pushed your legs open again and he was on you. Your wrists pinned to the oak desk just like the rest of you. "I told you to behave, little one."

"Why? When I do you give me nothing", you argued, staring him dead in the eye. "I came here for a reward, but if you insist on punishing me go ahead. Either way, I refuse to leave here empty-handed. I worked my ass off for the past few weeks, haven't even touched myself once. I kept my focus, I got perfect grades, and now I wanna cum. I deserve to cum."

You had never spoken to him that way. Ever.

The two of you looked at each other in silence. His hands still had a firm grip on your wrists and the look in his eyes gave little away. For a split second, you worried you had gone too far. He was still your professor after all, and by far the most intelligent and respected man you'd ever met.

You were simply a young girl who happened to be in his class and sucked his cock the way he liked it. You were nobody. And yet here you were, sprawled on his desk demanding orgasms.

"I'm proud of you, you know that?"

His deep voice broke through the silence and with that also through your thoughts. "Huh?" you managed to get out.

He grinned down at you, but different than before. Less devilish, more pure. "You're right, you worked incredibly hard...and you deserve a reward..."

He dipped his head down, his curls brushing your face as he pressed kisses against your neck and shoulder.

The second you felt his warm lips press loving kisses on your skin your eyes fluttered shut. A relaxed sigh left your lips as you basked in his touch.

“Such a good girl…such a…an amazing woman you…”, he panted out his praises while kissing his way down your body.

You moaned when you felt his warm lips press against your core through your panties, he kissed and licked until he could taste you through the fabric, leaving it even more soaked than it already was.

“Fuck sir…” your fingers tangled in his curls again when he pulled your panties to the side and finally ran his tongue through your sopping wet folds.

He ate you out with vigour, humming and groaning into your pussy like a man possessed.

It wasn’t long before your thighs squeezed around his head and you shook with pleasure, letting out one final loud moan as your orgasm rushed through you.

“Fuck…” you giggled while staring at the ceiling, you swore you saw a couple stars fly around.

You could feel him grinning against your skin as he pressed a few more kisses on your inner thighs.

“C’mere…” your hands grabbed at him again, this time he didn’t even try to refuse. His large body stretched over you and his hands found the sides of your face.

You both smiled into the kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue was always such a turn on. You tasted great together, every time.

It wasn’t long before hunger consumed you again, and you could tell even though he just ate…he was still starving.

Your legs locked around his waist and you bucked your hips up into his bulge, whimpering a little from the overstimulation.

He didn’t need to be told what to do. He grinned as he leaned up. Never breaking eye contact with you while he lowered his pants and boxers, allowing his thick cock to spring free.

“My sweet girl….”, was all he said before slowly…ever so slowly…pushing inside of you.

He dropped down close to you, one hand on your hip, using it as leverage while he pumped in and out of you.

The other one right next to your face, keeping him from leaning his full body weight on you…not that you would complain…

“Fuck…s-sir…” your voice was barely above a whisper given that his nose was practically touching yours.

He pressed a gentle kiss against your lips, “call me by my name…please”.

You moaned and he slowly picked up the pace, “S-sherlock…Sherlock! Oh god, Sherlock”, you pulled at his hair as he fucked you passionately on his desk, fucking you deeper and harder each time you screamed his name.

“Yeah fuck…that’s it princess…shit”, he angled his hips while his hand slid down between your bodies, “cum for me baby…cum on my cock while I pump you full…can’t hold it much longer sweetheart, you feel so fucking good, fuck” his almost whiny tone and desperate look melted you to your core, and so you did what he asked, you came on his cock, hard.

“SHERLOCK! please please please….”, your walls squeezed him tightly and with one final thrust and a guttural groan he came inside you.

Sweaty foreheads and plump lips bumped against each other as you rode out the highs of your orgasms together.

“I love you…I love you”, he spoke quietly after a few beats of silence.

Once to himself, and once to you.

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[holylulusworld]

Mrs. Sherlock Holmes (1)

Summary: Your marriage starts rocky.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Wife!Reader

Warnings: angst, injured reader (light), mentions of getting robbed, angry Sherlock, implied innocent reader

A/N: A collection of drabbles on how you became Mrs. Sherlock Holmes.

Mrs. Sherlock Holmes masterlist

“Where is my brother? We need to talk about Enola and the upcoming event. She needs to make her debut…” you hear Mycroft downstairs. He’s usually a stoic and silent man, but you kinda like he’s silent and leaves you alone most of the time. “Where is the lady of the house? Maybe she can help my sister correct her behavior."

You hear his voice grow louder as Sherlock’s head housekeeper raises her voice. She always acts more like the lady of the house than a servant.

“Mr. Holmes,” you gracefully walk down the stairs, putting on a strained smile hurting your bruised face. “I’m afraid my husband is not at home. He’s solving another case.”

“Again?” Mycroft holds out his hands. He presses a quick kiss to your offered hand. “He should’ve left his lovely wife all alone so short after your wedding.”

“Sir, it’s fine,” you flutter your eyes shut as you try to keep the wrong words from spilling from your lips. It all became too much lately.

Sherlock's absence, and his displeasure in participating in your marriage. The head housekeeper acting like you are not Sherlock’s wife but a peasant.

“My dear, what happened?” Mycroft gasps when his eyes finally see your swollen left cheek and your split lip. “Please tell me my brother didn’t raise his hand on you. If he did, I’ll make sure he’ll regret putting his hands on you.”

“It wasn’t my husband,” you reach out for Mycroft and grab his hand. “He’s a little distant and mostly interested in solving cases but…he would never. I swear, Sir. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have gone to town on my own. But Mrs. Demeter refused to send for a carriage.”

“What happened, my dear,” Mycroft worriedly asks. He offers his arm to you, and wonders if you are lying to protect his brother. “Please do not fret. Tell me everything.”

“I left the house to get the books Sherlock wanted,” you sniff. “I paid for the books and carried the books out of the store. A woman ran into me, and I dropped the books. I tried to pick them up and then…” You choke out a sob. “There was a masked man. He ripped my bag out of my hands and hit me with it.”

“My dear!” Mycroft gasps audibly. “Did you tell my brother about this?”

“He wasn’t home,” you drop your gaze, ashamed about your weakness, and inability to stand up for yourself. “The owner of the bookstore helped me pick up the books and accompanied me to Scotland Yard but…they didn’t want to listen to me.”

“Did you tell them your name?” Mycroft is furious. “How dare they ignore a young lady in need.” He huffs as you tell him repeatedly it was your fault for not telling them your name. “Stop blaming yourself, my dear. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s my brother’s for ignoring his wife.”

Downstairs it sounds like a war is going on. Sherlock and Mycroft yell at each other. And you are afraid, Mycroft is winning.

Your betrothed falls silent after a while, and you hold your breath as you repeatedly hear your name. The last thing you wanted was to cause a rift between the brothers.

They already have their hands full with their younger sibling. Now you are causing trouble too.

You wring your hands while hearing footsteps on the staircase. You hold your breath and step away from the door. “Wife,” Sherlock grumbles as he opens the door. “Where are you?”

“I’m here,” your voice cracks. “Sir.” You add, in the hope of appeasing your husband. He steps inside your room, eyes roaming your body. “Please accept my apology.”

“What for, Precious?” He steps closer to cup your face with both hands. “Why didn’t you send for me? I would’ve come here to take care of my wife.”

“I didn’t want to disturb you, Sir. It’s nothing,” you close your eyes when his gaze gets too intense.

“You got hurt. This is not nothing,” he raises his voice but gets a grip seconds later. “No one touches my wife.” His lips press against your swollen cheek, but you only feel the warmth of his soft pillows, not the slight pain. “I will call for Lestrade. We will find the man hurting you.”

“I think he worked with the woman running into me,” you explain while Sherlock inspects your injuries. “She distracted me long enough for the man to steal my bag.”

“Why did he hurt you?”

“I-I didn’t want to give the bag to the man. You gifted it to me,” you shyly batt your eyelashes as Sherlock angrily furrows his brows.

“You are fearless, my dear,” he cracks a smile. “I am sorry about my absence. After our wedding, we should’ve…” He clears his throat. “I'll send for a doctor.”

“She’s well then?” Sherlock sizes the doctor up. “I need to know every detail. Please don’t shelter me.”

“Her cheek is swollen, but the cut on her lips is already healing. She’s mostly frightened of the person attacking her,” the doctor says. “I’d suggest not leaving her alone for the time being.”

“Sir, what are you doing?” You almost screamed when Sherlock entered your room. He softly whispered your name and picked you up in bridal style to carry you toward his bedroom.

“I’m bringing my wife to my bedroom,” he carried you out of the room. His chest swelled when you rested your head on his chest.

"Sir, I think...you have a case and..." you whimpered. If he wanted to finally have your wedding night, you were not sure you are ready to be with him.

“I shouldn’t have taken case after case. We didn’t have the chance to get to know each other better. I know this was an arranged bond my mother and your father agreed to. But I…I want you to know that I’ll protect you from now on.”

>> Part 2

Tags in reblog.

[mercurial-chuckles]

Waltz Into My Heart

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x F!Reader WC: ~350 Warnings: Fluff | Some Bridgerton-inspired themes | Unbeta'd A/N: Dedicated to @thereoncewasagirlnamedjane for all the love she showered on The Curious Affairs of Mr. Holmes. I never really thought I'd write for Sherlock again if not for you, love. So, thank you, my dearest Janie, for all the beautiful love notes and for encouraging me to write for him. ✨ Just a tiny spark of inspiration for now… but who says it won't grow into something more? 🤭🩷 Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! I do not consent to AI scraping my work. Banner and Divider credits to me. Photo credits to Pinterest. Thank you :) Check out my other works: Masterlist

Indulge Away!

Sherlock despised many things.

Balls. Grand declarations. Crowds. Boastful dumb twats.

Perhaps he was more pliable on matters of friendship, for he wouldn't otherwise subject himself to this madness if not for Watson, who was currently dancing with Lady Mary.

And boy, was Sherlock grateful he'd yielded to his friend's incessant pursuit! From the moment he first glimpsed you in passing, Sherlock had been quite unable to look away, and it wildly bothered him.

You stood at the farthest corner, turned from the room, hiding behind a gigantic vase--concealing yourself mostly from your mother, from what he gathered. He realized you were the Viscount's third daughter based on introductions, and your mother was eager to marry you off along with your sisters. It didn't sit well with Sherlock. He could also tell you hated being there.

Sherlock waited for a long moment, rationalizing himself not to gaze at you which he failed to do so. When he couldn't resist, he walked toward you. He told himself he was merely curious about what you were scribbling in your dance card, and not because he needed to be close to fend off the suitors swarming you.

It was highly improper to approach you without an introduction--but damn propriety.

"Mr. Picklethwaite?" Sherlock read upside-down, placing his palms on the console table and leaning forward.

Startled at the sudden intrusion, you looked up at him, shocked, lips parted. Sherlock knew the moment recognition dawned in your eyes as to who he was. His heart fluttered delightfully.

"I suppose Lord Tiddlewick shall take the next?" Sherlock murmured, stepping beside you, eyes sparkling with amusement. You'd figured he knew what you were doing--filling your dance card with fictitious names.

You let out a nervous chuckle. "I can't take this anymore," you whispered, gently pleading with him to keep your secret.

Goodness, you smelled divine, and it was numbing his senses. You decided to torment him further by biting your lip, waiting anxiously.

He internally groaned.

A suitor approached, and you stood frozen.

"I'm afraid her dance card is full, Lord Mason," Sherlock said, a bit irked as his presence didn't ward off the attention. Lord Mason excused himself.

You turned to him and smiled in relief. Grateful. His heart quickened.

Sherlock chuckled softly, "Would you care to dance with me, my lady?" he asked, his senses completely outwitted by his heart.

You appeared quite taken aback, a flush rising to your cheeks. Then, gathering your composure, you tapped your card with a mischievous smile. "I am told you solve mysteries, Your Grace. I should prefer to remain one."

Sherlock laughed, unfathomably delighted with your answer. As rationally adept as he was, he knew then--he was already tumbling into the abyss of love.

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[livesinfantasyland]

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