#john watson x y/n

[sardonic-the-writer]

SHERLOCK: VALENTINES DAY HEADCANONS <3

• "It's valentines day?"

• That's how the morning had begun. With John exasperatedly running a hand down his face as he tried his best not to shout at his flat mate

• He had been reminding Sherlock that valentines day was coming up for the past week and a half, adiment on getting him out of the flat to go out and do something for once. You were in on it as well, giving Greg the heads up not to send any cases Sherlocks way for the day

• So of course John was a bit pissed when he found Sherlock hard at work at what used to be the dining room table, hunched over some of Moriarty's latest work instead of getting ready for the day

• "Yes its bloody valentines day. Sometimes I wonder how you can be so smart but so fucking oblivious at the same time."

• "Not oblivious, John. I meerly have no room in my brain for such trivial things. And the holiday occasion would certainly explain why Moriarty's latest crime was littered with rose petals and the hearts of the victims. Thank you John, that was percicly what I needed."

• "I know you're being serious right now, but I have never wanted to punch you in the mouth more."

• "You wouldn't be the first."

• Eventually, two hours after John and you had originally planned to drag Sherlock away from his work, the doctor finally got him out the door—where you had been standing for quite a while waiting

• He immediately sighed before outwardly deducing the both of you. Probably just to get on John's nerves even more if you had to guess from how red the latter's face was

• "Ah. I see what's going on. You two have devised a plan behind my back to take me out to some rather bland coffee shop or restaurant today in hopes that I will join into your mindless banter. Now I think I'll pas—"

• "Nope." You had popped the p on the end of your sentence, speaking before John could blow a gasket. "You're coming with us, Holmes. Come on, we're going to that fish and chips place you like. I'll even let you talk about the case I'm sure you stayed up late working on while we walk."

• That had gotten him to start following you down the street, breath showing up as cold puffs of air in the freezing england morning

• True to your word, you had let him talk about the case all along the way there as John occasionally put in his two cents

• "—and you know this all is making a lot more sense now that I'm out and seeing the affect this holiday has on people. I never pegged Moriarty as someone to go for something so trivial, but then again that's just another devious—"

• "Wait, what do you mean trivial?"

• Sherlock paused, both in his rambling and walking, before picking up his pace much slower

• "Well, amongst the blood and roses we found at the crime scene a few short days ago, there was a note for me. Per usual. But this time an actual one, fancy parchment and all. Detailing how I'd eventually loose, how we play cat and mouse, getting odly sexual I might add, that sort of thing blah blah blah. But what really stummped me—" He ignored the way you and John exchanged amused glances when he admitted that "—was the innuendo he left for you, (Y/n). I assume it was to throw me off in a similar fashion to Irene Adler's tactics but—"

• "Hold on." John stopped him in the middle of the sidewalk, eyes wide. "You're telling me, the most dangerous man we know left one of your best friends a note flirting with them, and you didn't think to tell then until valentines day?"

• Sherlock clearly didn't think much of John's steadily increasing tone, just raising an eyebrow in response

• "I didn't see the need to. They have never met before like you and he have at that pool. No reason to worry. Simply a move to get under my skin. Which did not work, I should add."

• You had to choke down laughter at the befuddled look on Sherlocks face, not sure John would appreciate you finding humor in the situation

• The rest of the holiday outing was spent with the two arguing; most of it coming from John as he worried. It wasn't the worst entertainment you had ever had over coffee, so you didn't mind watching your friend fret over something that didn't even concern you. Moriarty had never even known of you until what seemed like recently, so you didn't see reason to fear

• "That's it. You're staying in the flat with us this week. I'm not letting that bastard lay a finger on any of us again." John eventually said, throwing his hands up.

• "Oh come on. It was just a fake out from Mr. Jimmy boy. You heard Sherlock say it himself."

• "Please (Y/n), never call Moriarty that again. And John, leave them be. They're a grown adult."

• "Thank you, Sherlock!"

• "You're welcome (Y/n). Like I was saying, you can move into our flat on your own. No help required from us."

• "You too Sherlock. Really?"

[shuichiakainx]

they put Sherlock BBC on Netflix and guess who's watching it again 🙋🏻‍♀️🙋🏻‍♀️

[j-eryewrites]

Stressed Out

MAIN MASTER LIST

Word Count: 1.k <

Warnings: Not really any, kind of ooc Sherlock (but who cares)

Author's Note: Finally feeling like I have time to write and that the writing gods have been in my favor. This was a fun little one-shot to write. While I'm still trying to get back into my writing groove, this one shot definitely helped get some of the dust off my creative writing brain. So, thank you @my-dear-sweet-melody for requesting this one. I hope you enjoy it!

You weren’t sure how you’d been doing it: managing the day-to-day lives of two people who also happened to be good friends of yours, assisting Sherlock with cases, seeing things you’d never thought you’d see in your lifetime (both good and bad), juggling relationships, your own well-being and health, and time to relax. Although it seemed like you had less and less time to do the things concerning yourself. You knew it wasn’t healthy, but when you were thrust into the world of Sherlock Holmes, more important things came into play.

Sherlock was the first to notice how the stress was weighing on you. It was a total shock when he casually announced your current state to John. The moment the words of concern were uttered from Sherlock’s lips, the puzzle in John’s mind had been completed. With the help of Mrs. Hudson, the two men began to conspire to make life easier for their dear friend.

At first, Sherlock’s conscious decision to wash his dishes and put them away in the correct cabinets struck you as odd. Sherlock’s mind was usually too busy for such arbitrary tasks, and such magnificent brain power couldn’t be wasted on such a thing. Then came the tidiness of his experiments. You could swear you hadn’t seen a stray finger or eyeball dissolving in vinegar for quite some time.

When you had asked Sherlock about his new behavior, he shrugged it off with some wildly strange research idea he had come up with. You tried to follow along, but your brain began to hurt after a moment, so you opted to believe him instead.

Meanwhile, John took extra care to charge his and Sherlock’s devices. He knew no matter how brilliant Sherlock was, the man seemingly ceased to forget that computers, phones, and the lot needed to be charged via a charging cord and port. On the other hand, Mrs. Hudson made the note to prepare extra tea and biscuits to save yourself the trouble of doing that for Sherlock and John.

Now, you felt no need to question John and Mrs.Hudson’s new behavior. It was in character for them to do small things like that. However, you continued to question Sherlock; he grew tired of it. Why couldn’t you see that he cared for you, too? That maybe he cared a bit more for you than he should. He was growing weary of the excuses he made to your insistent questions when all he wanted to do was throw them up and tell you the truth. Truthfully, the truth was something he insisted upon. Sherlock always found it one way or another. Yet, he could only fib when you had a new query about his altered behavior. Was it hard for you to understand that Sherlock could care? That he, too, could be human?

“Sherlock,” you called as you sat on the couch, pouring over the current case. It was usually your job to organize each thing into its Sherlockian category to save Sherlock his brain power. However, when you opened the file, it had already been done. “Did I happen to organize this in my sleep?” You raised the file and peered at him. Sherlock felt his mind conjure up the latest lie. Just before it left his mouth, he paused. He got up and marched to the window, where he began to gaze out onto the street below. He couldn’t lie anymore. He had to tell you the truth.

“I organized it,” Sherlock said.

You froze. Something was seriously wrong with the man if he was now organizing his own cases. “Sherlock, you never orga–”

“Why can’t I?” Sherlock’s voice grew tense. His eyes clenched shut, all while his back was still towards you. He wouldn’t dare look at you. He knew if he saw your eyes, he’d crumble and tell you everything, but everything was what you needed to hear. Everything was what he needed to say.

“I never said you couldn’t. It’s just,” you faltered, “…strange.”

Within a moment, Sherlock whirled around. His icy blue eyes began to thaw under your gaze. “I observed you have stressed: Your trousers falling to your hips instead of hanging snuggly on your waist, the dark circles under your eyes that only grew prominent by the day, the growing urge to sleep instead of join Mrs. Hudson for the weekly watch party of the latest soap opera,” Sherlock shut his mouth. He had said too much already; he shouldn’t say more, but his lips moved again. “I wasn’t the only one who noticed, John and Mrs. Hudson, too. We devised a plan to lessen the blow of our–my constant mess.”

As Sherlock spoke, you realized his words were only the truth. You had noticed you suddenly had more time to eat a meal, spend time with your favorite landlady, who was more like a mother, go on walks in the park with John, listen to Sherlock compose his latest piece, sleep, and live life as it should be lived. Amidst Sherlock’s rambling, you whispered, “Why?”

“Because we–because I care you for,” Sherlock choked.

Slowly, you remove yourself from the comfort of the couch cushions and find a place in front of Sherlock. You watch as Sherlock shudders from the touch of your hand on his cheek. “Thank you,” you said as a smile grew. “Thank you for caring when I forgot to take care of myself. Although…”

Sherlock frowned.

“…while I appreciate the sentiment of you organizing your own cases, John charging the computers, and Mrs. Hudson always preparing tea, I’d still like to be able to do my job. After all, the great Sherlock Holmes still needs to use his brain power to solve cases and save the day.”

Sherlock could only smile at that response for he'd give you anything you'd ask. "Of course. Of course, Y/N."

____

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_____

[softestqueeen]

misty mornings

pairing: sherlock holmes x reader feat. john watson and mrs. hudson

summary: When Sherlock Holmes awakes on his birthday, he doesn’t expect anyone to remember it. But of course, you do.

warnings: none, just some birthday fluff

wordcount: 968 words

a/n: Happy Birthday Sherlock Holmes! I think his birthday calls for some well deserved fluff and I had the idea for this while listening to the song "misty mornings" by travis bretzer, which is where the name for this fic comes from! This is also the first time I scheduled a post, so I hope this works and uploads properly, but we'll see! I'll stopp rambling now: Enjoy <3

It was one of the rare nights where Sherlock Holmes could actually get some sleep. He didn’t dream, which made awaking a lot more pleasurable, knowing his mind had actually gotten some rest. The only strange thing: when he awoke, you weren’t in his arms.

That was weird, normally you’re the one dragging him to bed and practically forcing him to sleep. He rolled over, but your side was cold to the touch, you must have been gone for some time. He looked at the digital alarm clock and it’s red shinning numbers illuminated the room with the time just behind the light. 7:30 a.m.

Mhmm.. strange. Normally you would be still fast asleep next to him. Slowly, he was getting worried. Did you go to work early? No, that’s impossible, it’s Saturday. You never worked on Saturdays, did you?

He spent a few more moments debating with himself on what to do now, when he suddenly heard noises and the fridge opening and closing again. At first he could only hear his old flatmate John (what the hell was he doing here?), but then he could hear you whisper yelling, probably at John. What were you discussing?

He looked at the alarm clock again, this time not for the time but for the date. Did he forget something?

Oh. It was his birthday! How could he forget?

The detective dreaded his birthday every year. He would get calls from his parents and random fans sent him letters, sometimes even flowers. He didn’t see the importance of his birthday. And even when John lived with him, he never celebrated his birthday.

But now that he was in a relationship with you, he thought things might change. You probably didn’t know when his birthday was, so he could maybe casually drop it in a conversation today. Maybe even take you out to celebrate, but more to use it as an excuse to spend more time with you.

But he would have more time to think about that later. For now, he would get up, see what you and John were up to (hopefully a new case) then do some thinking and maybe afterwards take you out. Sounds like a plan, doesn’t it?

He got up, put on a pair of plait pyjama trousers and his signature morning gown and opened the door that led to the rest of the flat.

But the sight that awaited him, was nothing he could have ever imagined.

There you were standing, still in your pyjamas, holding one of Sherlocks lighters. Next to you, John who was  just putting a small cake on the table. Neither of you had noticed Sherlock yet, but it didn’t take long.

Once you did notice Sherlock standing in the doorway, a smile broke out on your face. You turned to John for a second to whisper something into his ear, whereupon John approached the detective, blocking his view of you for a second.

“How are you feeling today, Sherlock?”, John asked him with a smile on his face.

“What are you two up to?”, Sherlock shot back, visible confusion on his face.

“You’ll see in a sec.”, John answered, his smile now accompanied from a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Sherlock couldn’t react as quickly as John put the party hat on him. After his assault on Sherlock, he put one on himself. The consulting detective was still shocked and confused at what was happening.

John let him be and went back to his initial place next to you. Now Sherlock could see it all. You were wearing a hat as well and the cake was now adorned with three burning candles. You’re smile was brighter than the candles though and he got lost in your eyes for a moment.

He didn’t even know you knew when his birthday was, even though Sherlock had yours marked in his calendar.

Because of the short distraction, he didn’t realise that Mrs Hudson had come up to join the party as well and of course she also wore one of the colourful hats.

“Good, I came just in time.”, she said, beaming into the room. Apparently the group was now complete. At least he hoped it was, he couldn’t handle his brother or parents right now.

Now that everyone was here, you start to intone “Happy Birthday”. After the short serenade, Sherlock applauded the three of you, a smile forming on his lips. You walked up to him and pecked his lips. “Happy Birthday, Sherlock”, you whispered against them, before walking back to the cake.

“And now, blow out the candles and make a wish!”, you seemed more excited than him, but as long as it made you happy he’d do anything for you.

He made eye contact with everybody in the room, hoping he could tell them without words how grateful he was for this little surprise, before he went to the cake.

He thought about what to wish, but soon realized that he had everything he could ever need. He had you, a loving partner who always cared for him and waited for him when he came home, no matter what time. He had John, his best friend who always helped him and with whom he could talk about everything. He couldn’t forget about Mrs Hudson of course, who always had some advice for him and was almost like a mother for him. He had his brother, who was exactly how a big brother should be: annoying and unbearable. He even had Gevin? Gerald? Lestrade. He had Lestrade who was slowly becoming more than a colleague, a friend.

He had everything he could have ever imagined. So, he just closed his eyes and when he blew out the candles, he just wished for this to never end.

a/n: i hope you liked this, if so please leave some notes, likes, reblogs and comments! feedback is very appreciated!

please also consider supporting my ao3: @softestqueeen

taglist: @silvermagnolias @milywatermelon @BigBananaa

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Take Care

Sherlock and Mycroft x little sister!reader, John x teen!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: you get a startling diagnosis that turns everyone around you overprotective

Warnings: cancer, mentions of death (no actual death)

“She…she has what?”

John looked up from his newspaper at the sound of Sherlock’s distress. He had picked up a call from Mycroft and answered with the usual bored disdain, but after listening for a moment he had sat up rigid in his chair.

“I see,” Sherlock went on. “I’ll be right over, I…oh. Yes, alright.”

“What was that all about?” John asked as Sherlock put the phone down. After a moment, John thought he wasn’t going to answer, but finally he spoke, his voice dazed.

“What? Oh, Y/N, she’s…Mycroft is bringing her over for a bit.”

“Is she alright?” John asked hesitantly.

“I…no. I don’t know,”

“Sherlock this is ridiculous, what’s wrong? You’re worrying me.”

You had become quite the regular at Baker Street, sleeping over there almost as much as you stayed with Mycroft, your legal guardian.

“Y/N…she has cancer.”

“She what?” Surely he had heard wrong.

“Mycroft took her in for an appointment, routine check up, that’s all, but…” Sherlock swallowed, and didn’t finish.

“How…I mean…” John wasn’t sure how to ask about the severity.

“I’m not sure,” Sherlock said finally. “Mycroft didn’t say much.”

“Hey Sherlock!” To say Sherlock was surprised when you came bounding into 221B like nothing was wrong would be a severe understatement.

“Hello,” he greeted hollowly. You stepped past him to bring your bag to your room, and Sherlock turned to look at Mycroft.

“She knows?” He asked quietly, and Mycroft nodded.

“I believe she doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“How bad is it?”

“They said they aren’t sure about the outcome. They want to start treatments as soon as possible, and it all depends on how she responds to it. All we can do is make sure she gets enough rest and water between visits for now.”

“Alright,” Sherlock sighed. “Then we do all we can do.”

…

“Where do you think you’re going?”

You looked up at Sherlock with a frown.

“Just for a walk.”

“No you’re not,” he responded. “It’s time you took a nap.”

“Gee grandma, you first,” you scoffed.

“Y/N, don’t be like that,” John insisted.

“You guys really aren’t gonna let me take a walk?” You glared at the two men, who didn’t waver an inch. “Fine,” you groaned, brushing past them to your room and closing the door.

…

“Drink.”

“I’ve had like four glasses of water today Mycroft, I’m not thirsty.”

Mycroft gestured to the glass in front of you insistently. You rolled your eyes and took a sip.

“Finish that, and then you should take a nap.”

“I’m fine.”

“He’s right,” Sherlock chimed in from the sofa.

“Since when do you two agree on anything?” You scoffed.

“Since now.”

You glared at Mycroft.

“You can’t lay off for one afternoon?”

“No.”

“Ok, I’ll nap on one condition; you let me go to Christie’s later, she wanted to study together.”

“You’ll take a nap either way,” Mycroft responded.

“Wanna bet?” You challenged.

“No, because I don’t have to. You’ll do as you’re told.”

“John, a little help?”

“Don’t look at me,” John raised his hands. “I’m with them.”

“Could you guys stop treating me like this for two seconds?” Your tone rose with your anger.

“Like what?” Mycroft’s resolve hadn’t changed.

“Like I’m an invalid!” You shoved past your brothers and slammed the door to your room.

…

“She won’t answer.”

“I know that,” Sherlock griped at his older brother.

“Should we pick the lock?”

“She’d kill us.”

“Well, she’s worrying me, she’s been in there for a while,” Mycroft pulled out a lock pick and got to work.

When the lock clicked, he called out a warning.

“We’re coming in if you don’t open this door!”

Silence.

Mycroft pushed open the door, and sighed in relief when he saw you on your bed, a book in your lap and headphones in your ears. You looked up in disgust.

“Privacy much?” You growled as you pulled your headphones out of your ears.

“You’ve been in here for too long, and you wouldn’t answer when we knocked,” Mycroft insisted.

“Why won’t you leave me alone?”

“Because we need to talk,” Sherlock came to stand by your bed.

“About what?”

“About ‘how we treat you’,” Mycroft sighed.

“Alright, talk.”

“You know why we do it,” Sherlock insisted.

“Yeah, because you’re nosy control freaks.”

“Because we’re worried,” Mycroft corrected.

“You shouldn’t be.”

“That’s a load of crap,” everyone turned in surprise when John entered the room. “You know full well why they’re scared, and you are too. There’s not much we can do, alright? The only things we can do is make sure you get your rest in between treatments, and try our best to take care of you. So that’s what we’re doing.”

You were silent for a long moment.

“I-I just…” the tears in your eyes were perhaps the most surprising because it was the first time your family had seen you cry since the news came. “I don’t want to spend what could be my last few months just…resting. Wasting time, relaxing, and-and-“

“Hey,” the sternness in Mycroft’s tone shut you up immediately. “These aren’t your last few months. That’s what we’re trying to ensure by keeping you rested, and able to fight this.”

“We’re not letting you die, understand?” Sherlock lowered himself to meet your gaze.

“Ok,” you choked, and you were relieved when John stepped forwards and pulled you into his arms.

“You’re going to be ok,” he promised.

You smiled.

“Thank you.”

[kanroji-san]

Obanai!Y/n/Reader AU

Sherlock: You’re a lying piece of shit!

Obanai!Y/n: Oh yeah?! You’re the idiot who thinks he can get away with everything you do, WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD, HOLMES!!

Sherlock: I’m leaving and I’m taking the kids with me!

Obanai!Y/n: Oh no, you don't!-

John: *Gathering Monopoly cards* I think we should stop playing now.

Mrs. Hudson: *Sigh* I told you.. it was a bad idea, John.

Some random oneshots for series

[french-vanilla-in-the-clouds]

𝐁𝐞𝐝𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬

𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Oh no, reader! Are you feeling unwell?? Sherlock has the hot soup and blankets ready. Just one problem... he's not used the whole "taking-care-of-people" thing. This might be a problem. 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

Sherlock paced the length of the flat, dialling John's number as he went. Only the rings of a busy line sounded. "Come on," he muttered. "In this lifetime, dear friend."

"Hello?"

Sherlock let out a sigh of relief.

"John, Baker Street. Come at once."

From the other end of the line, John sighed. "Here we go again."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your calls only ever come with strings attached. You can't expect me to come running each time!" 

Sherlock stopped pacing. "Isn't that the point of our friendship? I summon you, you move to my beck and call? It's harmonious."

"Listen mate, we'll have to run through your mobile etiquette later on, yeah? Mary and I have dinner reservations. I don't know what you've gotten yourself into, but figure it out!"

"Tell your wife that dinner's off," Sherlock pressed. "We need our doctor on Baker Street." He scratched the back of his neck impatiently. "Y/N is ill. I wouldn't have called otherwise." 

John clicked his tongue. "Is she really?"

Sherlock grinned at John's softened tone. He was depending on his friend's sympathy. Y/N had caught cold earlier that day and Sherlock desperately needed help in caring for her. He had promised to join Lestrade on-site for a triple homicide case, and refused to miss it on account of his partner's sore throat.

"Yes, she's terribly sick," he explained, carefully. "I can hardly get a word from her. Chills, fatigue, aches and pains. The poor girl needs you." Sherlock checked his watch, pleased with his performance. If John arrived within the next half hour, there would still be enough time to catch Lestrade at the crime scene.

John was quiet for a moment as he deliberatated. "Send Y/N mine and Mary's love," he decided. "I'll be over in the morning to check on her. In the meantime, you'll have to play nurse. Best of luck!"

The call ended.

Sherlock frowned. "John?" he called. "John, are you there? Hello?"

A fit of coughing sounded across the flat. Sherlock glanced in its direction before tossing the mobile to the sofa. He crinkled his nose with displeasure.

"Sherlock," a voice croaked from the bedroom. "Could you get me a glass of water, please?"

Sherlock kicked at the rug. "Wondeful," he muttered. "I'm grounded." In a louder voice he called, "I'll be with you in a moment!"

Sherlock shrugged off his coat and settled in for a night at home. Rolling up his sleeves, he set out for the kitchen.

***

Y/N lay worn on the bed. Her head ached, her throat burned, and her nose was irritated from the sting of tissue.

It was late in the evening, but she couldn't sleep. She tried closing her eyes and snuggled closer to Sherlock's side of the bed. She had nearly dozed off when the room's lights were switched on.

"Drink?"

Y/N sat upright, her eyes bleary with sleep. "Sherlock?" she groaned. She turned away and sneezed into the crook of her arm.

Sherlock swatted at the air, brusquely. "Let's keep the contagion on that side of the room, yes?"

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Water?"

"Certainly." Sherlock approached the bed, holding the glass at arm's length. He assesed Y/N as she sipped, taking note of the shadows benath her eyes. As much as he cared for her, he felt awkward playing watcher for the night.

As soon as the glass emptied, Sherlock clapped his hands together. "Very good," he announced. "If that's all, I'll take my leave. Rest."

He made to leave but Y/N was quick to stop him. "Stay? Just sit with me for a while. I can't sleep."

Sherlock sighed, but turned back and perched on the corner of the bed. He didn't know how to make use of himself. "Could I perhaps bring your medication? It might help ease the symptoms." He tried to stand, but Y/N reached for his wrist.

"No, that's fine. My next dose isn't for a few hours."

Sherlock nodded. He glanced at the wall, feeling unsure of himself. It was an odd sensation. "Pilllows then?" he suggested. "Could I fetch you another glass of water?" He tried to think of more excuses to walk out the door, but Y/N just shook her head.

"Sherlock, I don't understand what's making you so uncomfortable. Its just a cold! You're a scientist, I'd think sickness is something you're well aquainted with."

Sherlock straightened, making the bed creak. "In theory, certainly. I'm afraid your situation requires a bit more practical experience. Care has never been my area of expertise."

It suddenly clicked.

"Oh, I see." Y/N smiled and gestured for Sherlock to move closer. Reluctantly, he lay beside her, leaning his head on her shoulder.

"I'm still easing up to the familiarity that comes with domestic life," he admitted. "I don't mean to be cross, I just don't want to disappoint you."

Y/N cleared her throat but her words were still raspy. "You could never disappoint me," she whispered. "You always have my back and I know you always will. Stop overthinking this. I just want you close."

"I can do that." Sherlock let out a breath, glad that Y/N could see past his foolishness and into his heart. Every day, he could feel himself open up a bit more, spurred by her affections. He would care for her tonight and always. He owed her as much.

"I love you dearly," he said. "You are aware, yes?"

Y/N let out a contented sigh as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder. She closed her eyes. "I know you do."

Sherlock raised himself on an elbow and  pressed the back of his hand to Y/N's forehead. "You're very warm," he noted. "And I dont think it's my charm that has you feeling that way. Just a moment, love."

Sherlock creeped out of bed and fetched a damp towel from the bathroom. He wrung out the excess water and walked back to the room.

"This should help," he started, careful to catch any falling drops. When he reached the bedside however, Y/N was already snoring, her face hidden behind his pillow.

Sherlock placed the towel aside and perched on the side of the bed. He caressed Y/N's cheek and laid a kiss just above her hairline.

"Sleep now," he whispered. He was just about to leave when he recalled his promise. Y/N had wanted him close.

Sherlock let out a small laugh and turned off the lamplight with a click. Careful not to make a sound, he crept to his side of the bed and settled in for the night. Y/N immediately snuggled close against his chest.

"Goodnight dove," Sherlock breathed. "Sleep well."

He wrapped an arm around Y/N and ignored the worsening itch in his throat. He had the sudden feeling that he'd soon be bedridden with her far longer than expected.

For now though, he held Y/N close and didn't let go.

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Did you wanna give Game of Kings a shot???

I wrote half of this back in the summer. I'm on a quest to finish all my abandoned fics. Wish me luck! 💖

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[rocknroll-stolemyass]

Sherlock characters and the can you buy me pads text

[jokatsuya]

The day off

Sherlock x reader / Sherlock x Gn!reader

Wordcount: 1233

Warnings: none

Summary: Will (y/n) and Sherlock ever have the chance to enjoy a relaxing day with each other without being disturbed? Maybe. But not today.

A/n: The idea alone makes me grin like crazy. So have fun reading. Yours JoKatsuya

>>What time is it?<<, the quietly getting through words of the man below me tear me out of my thoughts. I must have drifted off a while ago. Still dreamy, I stretch as far as my current position in the tub will allow me and I can't hold back a satisfied sound.

>>Why?<<, I mumble softly, sliding deeper into the water again and positioning my back properly against his chest. Heavens, this is comfortable. I could stay like this forever.

>>Didn't you hear John? He announced himself so loudly, now probably all of Baker Street know he's there.<<, he asks as he pushes me forward a tiny bit to reach for his watch on the small side table. Don't move Sherlock.

Sleepily, I open one eye and turn my head to face him as best I can: >>Obviously not.<<

>>Sherlock?<<, I now hear John's voice as well and look towards the door, startled, my eyes now fully open.

>>God help you if the door is not locked.<<, I warn him now completely in my senses. Just the idea that John could see us like this... I don't even want to think about it any further.

>>Don't worry.<<, Sherlock replies with a calm hand gesture, making the mistake of looking me in the eye. That miserable liar. Now John's footsteps can be heard, slowly but surely approaching.

Looking at Sherlock in warning, I almost jump out of the tub and go to the closet to take out one of the bath towels. Hissing, I tell him to get out of the tub as well and to take care of the matter with the door.

At least putting on his pants, Sherlock finally stumbles to the door, slamming his elbow against something in the process. A hiss escapes from him. An admittedly very amusing sight, which is only made more amusing by the situation we find ourselves in.

I can't help giggling, which is why I hold a hand in front of my mouth, caught off guard. John shouldn't hear directly that we were here. At least not until I could at least cover my body properly. But that can't really do much after Sherlock's hiss. This reminds me of one of those cheesy romance movies. Apart from the fact, of course, that we'll probably be caught by John, the man who is shipped by a great many Sherlock Holmes fans with my boyfriend. Admittedly ironic.

>>What?<<, I ask innocently with a shrug, justifying the laughter before turning my attention back to the small cabinet in front of me.

My reaction ensures that I get one of those usual looks from him. That wrinkling of the eyebrows, the pursed lips, the questioning look with the touch of a grin. He knows perfectly well that I couldn't stay mad at him for long with that look. Yup, he's got me wrapped around his finger, but he's not getting off that easy now.

>>Sherlock, are you in the bathroom? We need to talk.<<

>>Do we have to John?<<, I hear Sherlock after a little clearing of his throat to continue in an old familiar tone of voice.

>>Yes. That's why we agreed to meet today?<<, John chimes in slightly irritated now just outside the door. At the same time you can hear his hand reaching the door handle. My pulse begins to race.

When I don't find any of the towels I'm looking for, I look at Sherlock in panic and whisper as quietly as possible: >>You should put the washed towels away again!<< At the same moment, a loud click pervades the room and I breathe a sigh of relief. With my lips I form a thank you in the direction of Sherlock.

>>Sherlock? What are you doing?<<, John gets upset on the other side of the door, trying to open it with a shake, but in vain.

>>Were we supposed to meet? I don't remember at all.<<, Sherlock returns, playfully unknowing, and leans against the door.

>>Yes, Sherlock.<<, John answers, trying to keep his tone calm. Wait, he had an appointment for today? I had written him ages ago in any calendar that I have today off, whereupon he meant to keep himself also completely free. With a raised eyebrow, I give Sherlock a wary glance. His seemingly innocent look around and avoidance of my gaze tells me exactly that he is only too well aware of his guilt.

>>Now open the door and come out.<<, another rattle. Sherlock's hand slides slowly to the knob, pausing briefly as he looks to me. Without taking my eyes from his, I slowly shake my head. He better not open that door. Why would he open it anyway? But what goes on in Sherlock Holmes' head stays in it far too often.

Suddenly Sherlock turns to the laundry basket and in the next instant takes out a completely rumpled shirt and throws it to me. And so another click sounds. He's in for a treat when this is behind us. Then he turns back to the door, which opens not even a second later.

In the corner of my eye, I notice Sherlock spread out and put a foot behind the door so John couldn't really see much. After today, Sherlock will never again undress me in a place we don't stay. Okay, that sounds weird, but the point of the statement is clear. Eager to proceed as quietly as possible, I pull the shirt apart. But who would have thought it? A corresponding noise is unavoidable. I freeze.

>>What was that?<<, John suddenly wants to know. Oh crap.

>>Nothing.<<, Sherlock replies as if shot out of a pistol and tries to push the door shut in John's face. Who would have thought that opening it would not be such a good idea? I roll my eyes.

>>Nothing? Let me in.<<, John states emphatically, placing his foot between the door frame and the closing door.

>>I'm naked.<<, the first thing that seems to have popped into Sherlock's head shoots out of the latter's mouth.

>>You have pants on, so let...<<

>>(Y/n) is naked.<<, it now escapes the curly-headed man's mouth, causing an uncomfortable pause on all sides. He didn't say that. In moments like these, I could really wring his neck.

>>(Y/n)? What does (y/... Naked?<<, the doctor tries to process the words he just heard. Rushing, I button up the crimson shirt and try to fix my still wet hair according to the circumstances. Take a deep breath (y/n), it's going to be okay.

>>Not anymore.<<, I awkwardly acknowledge and tiptoe past Sherlock and John toward the bedroom.

>>Hi, John.<<, I greet him quickly as I walk past him and look into his eyes for a brief moment. He had confusion written all over his face.

>>Hi...<<, he stutters to himself and makes room for me, his gaze suddenly on everything but me.

Putting my hands on my hips, I take a deep breath and lean my head against the cool wall as I close the door behind me. The thing was so absurd that I can't suppress a muffled laugh.

>>So...you two...?<<, I hear John ask as the men move toward the living room.

>>You wanted to talk about something else, right? Tea?<<, Sherlock tries to steer him away from the subject. This is going to be a long conversation with John when I get out.

If you want to be tagged, just write me at what.

Strictly do not: copy, claim or translate those stories of mine anywhere else  

[fool-who-dreams]

home sweet home

summary:

Sherlock invites you to be his plus one to John and Mary's wedding. You haven't seen him in years, but he still feels like your home.

"Your- you want me to be your- best man? me?" Sherlock asked after several minutes of silence.

"Of course Sherlock" John reassured his best friend with an amused smirk on his face.

Sherlock was confused, surely, but happily surprised nonetheless.

"So? Do you think you could do it?"

"Y-yes. Yes, I do."

"No offense, but that is not something I'd want to hear from you when talking about my wedding."

Sherlock let out a nervous laugh, but his mind was elsewhere. He was organizing, browsing, scheduling, defining, panicking. But he was happy.

As the wedding planning went on, - Sherlock being really involved in its every part - it became the detective's priority. The great Sherlock Holmes was already really selective when it came to cases to take on, but now, since he vowed to dedicate most of his time to his new responsibility, he became even pickier.

Mary and John tried everything to distract him once in a while, but it only worked for a brief period of time: no mystery was intriguing and time consuming to the point where he'd take more than six hours to solve it. Until what was supposed to be just a simple question completely froze his brain.

"Hey Sherlock, I was thinking..." John begun.

"Well done, John, I always knew you could make it one day." Sherlock mocked.

"...I was thinking" John repeated with a roll of his eyes. "who you're going to take as your plus one to the wedding."

"My plus one?" Sherlock looked at his friend with confusion in his piercing blue eyes. "Am I not enough on my own?"

"Of course you are." John chuckled. "I'm just saying, if there's anyone you'd want to ask, feel free."

"That's a kind offer, thank you John." Sherlock smiled, but the feeling of confusion wouldn't leave his head; then it moved to his stomach. He thought about it thoroughly, but the whole time he knew who he wanted to see standing next to him in such an important day. It was you.

He hadn't seen you in so long, but he never missed a chance to talk to you via text. The two of you had been friends for as long as you could remember. The dynamics of your relationship was nothing but an innocent childhood bond, that slowly tuned into the best kind of flirty friendship. You had left England years prior, due to your parents' job, then to your own. But you wouldn't have missed the wedding for the world, you couldn't miss a chance to see your favorite curly-haired best friend.

The day of the wedding finally came and so did the reception.

"So, Sherlock" Mary begun as the bride and groom approached him. "Are you having fun?"

"Yes, very much so." He absentmindedly replied while attentively looking around.

John tried to follow his gaze for a few seconds. "Are you looking for someone?"

"Yes, I am looking for my plus one."

"You brought someone?" Mary smiled. "Like- you actually brought someone?"

"Yes. Is this so surprising to you?"

"Yes. But in the best possible way."

"Why so?" Sherlock asked, moving his focus on the bride.

"Because now John owes me 10 pounds." She laughed.

"No, no I don't owe you anything because we still don't know if that's actually true. I won't believe it until I see her. Or him."

"Her." Sherlock corrected as his gaze started scanning the room again.

"Or him." John replied.

"Oh no, it's definitely a her." Mary interrupted while openmouthedly following the point where the best man's gaze had fixated upon.

The moment you walked in you quickly scanned the room in search of the familiar face. You felt really confident and beautiful in the outfit you had chosen and, from the gazes you were receiving, many of the guests would agree with you.

"There she is." Sherlock smiled warmly as you approached him and the spouses. "On time, as always." He mocked.

"Why William, you have somewhere else you'd rather be than here, waiting for me?"

"Never." He confessed sincerely, kissing your hand softly. How much had you missed him. The two of you always jokingly flirted, but you couldn't help but feel a thunderstorm in your stomach every time. Neither of you would address the feeling they'd get when the other said or did a certain thing in a certain way. You could only hope it was all true. But it would be unrealistic and unfair of you to ask the most famous persona in the whole England to not get involved with anyone because you loved him.

"Wait a moment-" John interrupted. "William?"

"Oh right. You're known as Sherlock here, aren't you? The Great Sherlock Holmes. I don't mind it, it has a nice ring to it." You jokingly pinch his blushing cheek as he rolled his eyes. "You must be Mary and John. I'm y/n." You smiled at the two, shaking their hands. "Congratulations. You know, I've heard so much about you two."

"I can't say the same." John's gaze darted between you and Sherlock, not hiding his confused expression.

"Oh Really?" You turn your eyes to meet the icy blue ones of your friend. "Maybe William is just ashamed of me."

"It's the exact opposite of that. If I had told them how beautiful you were, they would've thought I was crazy." He flirted.

"That's not why we think you're crazy, Sherlock." John chimed in, causing you and Mary to giggle.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" Sherlock offered. Mary and John politely declined the offer, but you didn't.

"Yes please, a glass of wine would be perfect." You smile thankfully, watching him walk away.

"He was always so sweet and kind, and just so fun to be around. I'd give it all to be able to live in the same city as him. Like when we were kids, and we were neighbors." You say nostalgically, earning puzzled and perplexed looks from the spouses.

"Sweet and kind? And fun to be around?" John exclaimed amazed. "Your William and our Sherlock must not be the same person, then." He let out a chuckle, followed by Mary.

"He always was a little...peculiar, if that helps. But I'm glad he has found people who love him just as much as I do. He always talks about you two, I've heard the most wonderful things."

"That's very kind of you, y/n." Mary smiled. "And that's very kind of Sherlock." She let out a giggle.

"There it is." Sherlock smiled. He handed you the glass, to which you kindly thanked him with a small kiss on the cheek. You didn't need to turn your head towards him to know how deep the shade of red that had taken over his cheeks was.

"You see that too, right?" John whispered to Mary. "I'm not going crazy, am I?"

"No, he's blushing hard." She whispered back.

The two newlyweds excused themselves to go check on the other guests, leaving the two of you alone.

Not too long after you were standing before an unforgettable moment. You couldn't help but tear up at the sight of the weds, dancing to the sweet familiar sound of Sherlock's violin. You knew that song far too well, he always used to play it for you. He had written it for you.

After the first dance of the bride and groom you quickly dried your teary eyes. But, as soon as you lifted your gaze again, Sherlock was no longer amongst the musicians that had just then started playing all together. You looked around and to your immediate right, there he was, standing next to you, dangerously close.

"Could I have this first dance?" He softly whispered in your ear. His deep, warm voice making your heartbeat accelerate.

"You'll always have the first dance." Your lips brushed against each other before lightly pulling him towards the crowded dance floor.

He was right there, right then. His voice, his gaze, his touch.

"I missed you." You whisper.

"Me too." He lightly tightened the grip of his hand on your waist. The two of you just stayed in the moment for a few seconds before Sherlock spoke again. "When are you going back to the States?"

"In a couple of days." You replied sadly.

"Where are you staying?"

"At a friend's. She offered me her spare room."

"I have a spare room. And I am your friend."

"You know you're much more than that, Sherlock." You confessed as your eyes drowned into each other's. "If I stayed at yours, I would risk never wanting to go back.

"It's fine by me." He smiled, making you chuckle. Your lips spontaneously turned into a smile the moment your head reached his chest.

Every time, he made you forget why going back to where you lived was so important when your home was right there, in your arms. Home sweet home.

would you like a part 2? maybe with a bit of angst?😁 lmk!!

[j-eryewrites]

The Blind Banker (Final)

Part 14 of The Arbitrary Lives of the Occupants of 221B Baker Street

SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTER LIST

Previous | Next

Word Count: 10. k

Warnings: Guns, violence with weapons, violence with non-weapons, strangling, kidnapping, Sherlock is Sherlock, mentions of death, traumatic responses (let me know if I missed any)

*I woke up one day while writing this chapter and decided to be a poet. 

There was no meowing. No incessant begging from Bjørn. In fact, it was quiet. Quiet was nice. Y/N snuggled deeper underneath the blanket. Her brow furrowed. The sheets were soft like they were when they had just been washed. However, Y/N knew for a fact she hadn’t washed her sheets. She dared to open her eyes. Her body went tense as she shot out of bed. Nothing was stranger than waking up in a bedroom that looked eerily similar to your own. The blanket was a different colour. There was a desk in the corner. A desk Y/N knew that she did not own. The closet door was open. A wide variety of men’s button-ups and trousers were present. They weren’t Jim’s. Her eyes narrowed on a purple button-up. In a wave of recognition, Y/N groaned and her face fell into her hands. She was in Sherlock’s room. 

Just like the light seeped through the curtains, her memory of last night had come back to her. She was helping Sherlock. John had passed out on the table and it seems that she had passed out on the couch. Now, how she had ended up in Sherlock’s bed was a mystery. There’s no way Sherlock brought me in here, Y/N thought. 

The warmth of Sherlock’s arms around her. Her head rested in the crook of his neck. The scent of him clouded her senses. A kiss on her forehead–a kiss goodnight. Y/N’s face went red. 

No. You’re just missing Jim. 

She tapped her cheeks and shoved the thoughts of Sherlock into the back of her mind. They, the thoughts, were just a product of loneliness. Jim had been gone a few days already. Jim. 

Y/N started to feel up in the surrounding areas. Her hands searched for the familiar shape of her phone. That small rectangular object soon became like a lifeline in this modern world. It astounded Y/N how much power such a tiny thing contained: the internet, long-distance communications, and entertainment. Another groan escaped her mouth once Y/N realized her phone was not in sight. She’d have to get out of bed. The warm bed. It smelled like Sherlock. 

No. Stop it. 

With that, she pulled back the covers and jumped out of the bed. Every morsel in her body protested. A protest she refuted with her sanity on the line. She was just missing Jim. Her boyfriend. The magnificent Jim made her have butterflies. The gentlemen. The man who ceased to amaze her. 

Her hand reached out to open the door, yet she found her hand hovering over the brass knob. It was a simple thing. Turn the knob and open the door. But the thought of having John just outside the door, or Mrs Hudson–Sherlock. Y/N’s cheeks burned and she was absolutely positive her face had turned a scarlet shade of red. 

Against her better judgment, Y/N opened the door. It creaked open with the loudest screech known to mankind. She winced as the sound echoed throughout the flat. 

“Good afternoon,” Sherlock announced from the living room. 

Y/N gulped as she tried to straighten her thoughts. She could very well go back into the room and pretend she had never arisen from her sleep. A suggestion that her mind heavily agreed with, but Sherlock knew. He knew she was awake. 

“Morning,” Y/N squeaked. She quickly cleared her throat, and her normal voice returned, “morning.” 

“It’s the afternoon,” Sherlock corrected. 

“Right, good aft–wait what? What time is it?” 

“Just a little past four o’clock.” Sherlock chuckled as he heard Y/N reprimand herself for sleeping in so late. 

Sherlock was still making his way through the crates. His finger carefully flipped through the pages. They flicked against each other before Sherlock shut the book, placing it in the never-ending pile. 

“What’s a book that everybody would own?” Sherlock wondered. His mind tired from the stream of words that filled his mind. He was even sure he had a couple of paper cuts from all the books he had handled throughout the night, but that was a problem for a later date. 

“Huh?” Y/N asked. Her mind was still groggy from her slumber. 

“A book that everybody would own,” He placed down the newest book in his hand. His eyes instinctively flew to the woman in the room and his heart did a little backflip. Her cheeks were the perfect shade: rosy and sweet. Her hair was in a bit of a mess and her clothes were wrinkled, but Sherlock couldn’t help but think how overtly domestic the scene was. Her in his flat coming out of his room having slept in his bed. What was he thinking?

“I don’t know…maybe a dictionary? Bible? Harry Potter?” Y/N muttered. 

Books. Right. The case. Sherlock nodded and ran over to his bookshelf and pulled out the allotted novels. His fingers found the pattern once again. “Fifteen. Entry one.” He mumbled to himself. His brow furrowed again as it always did once seeing the words. This time it was “add.” Not helpful. 

“Well, I’m going to go shower,” she looked down at her outfit. “And change. And eat. Just everything…” 

Sherlock nodded, paying her no mind. He flicked through the next book; it was Harry Potter. Same result. His last hope was the Bible. A book Sherlock wasn’t sure why he owned. He was in no way a religious man and never was. As he scanned page fifteen he recalled that he had used it for a case once. A serial killer had been using religious themes and reasonings. Sherlock didn’t think he had read a book as fast as he read the Bible. It took him twenty-three hours, twelve minutes, and thirty-three seconds. Then his eyes landed on the word, “I.” He closed the book with a thunderous thud. 

Sherlock tilted his head. He couldn’t have slammed the book that hard. He opened the book once more to snap it shut. The sound was like the squeak of a mouse compared to the noise from earlier. The sound came from John’s room. 

John emerged from his room. His eyes fell down to the pile of books that had appeared on the desk he called his bed last night. As if on cue, John’s neck was filled with a soreness. Just then he made a promise to himself to never fall asleep at that desk again.

“I need to get some air. We’re going out tonight,” Sherlock stated. 

“Actually, I’ve, er, got a date,” John smiled. 

“What?” Sherlock asked. He eyed John up and down. He was dressed quite nicely: a button-up and his beige trousers, the ones he only wore for nice occasions. Those occasions, Sherlock had noted, tended to dates with women. 

“It’s where two people who like each other go out and have fun,” John commented. 

Without missing a beat, Sherlock replied, “That’s what I was suggesting. You, me, and Y/N.” 

“No, it wasn’t ... at least I hope not,” John mumbled. Sherlock’s idea of fun was chasing criminals and digging through the bodies at St. Mungo's to find parts to experiment with. 

“Where are you taking her?” Sherlock asked. 

“Er, cinema,” John replied. 

“Oh, dull, boring, predictable.”

John scoffed. What did Sherlock know about dates?

Sherlock reached into his pocket and pulled out a strip of paper. He unwrinkled it and handed it over to John who had a puzzled look on his face. 

“Why don’t you try this?” Sherlock suggested. 

John eyed his friend carefully. Sherlock seemed genuine enough. John looked down at the paper. It was a circus event. “Yellow Dragon Circus?” 

“In London for one night only,” Sherlock said. His voice presented the event as if it was an Elton John concert. 

John chuckled. “Thanks, but I haven't come to you for dating advice. Never have. Never will.” 

_________

There was a knock on Y/N’s door and then a hiss from Bjørn. A combination that could only mean one thing–Sherlock. 

“One second!” Y/N exclaimed. She hastily picked up the brown cat who was adamant about staring at the door. Bjørn crouched low. His ears perched back. He was waiting to pounce on the man who’d walk in sooner or later. But when he was lifted up from his defensive position,  Bjørn meowed in protest. His meows only grew louder when Y/N threw him into her bedroom, the door closing behind her. 

“Sherlock,” Y/N said. Her face was flushed from her struggle to place Bjørn away from Sherlock. 

“Y/N.” He replied. He looked her up and down as she stood in the doorway. He frowned slightly. “Can I come in?”

Y/N’s eyes widened and shifted to the side. “Yeah, just come on–” 

“I need to get some air. We’re going out tonight,” Sherlock stated. 

“Oh, okay?” Y/N replied. “Where’s John?”

“On a date,” Sherlock stated. 

“Right. Let me just…” She pointed to her room, where the tiny demon’s meowing had turned into a roar. 

She hurried to her room making sure to take extra care to open and close the door. Bjørn hissed at her for thwarting his attempts to catch Sherlock. She profusely apologized only earning a glare from Bjørn. 

“I’m going out,” Y/N explained. 

Bjørn’s eyes narrowed and his tail flicked side to side. It was a judgemental look. 

“What? I’m just going out with Sherlock.” 

Bjørn made a warning noise. It was a mix of a growl and a hum.

“Don’t judge me,” Y/N hissed back at her cat. “I’ll be back tonight. I promise.” 

Bjørn made one last attempt to sway his owner otherwise, before meowing in acceptance. Just this once Bjørn would allow it. Y/N chuckled to herself. She was talking to a cat. A cat who absolutely despised Sherlock. 

“Right, I’m going to open the door. Don’t pounce on Sherlock.”

Bjørn meowed in protest. 

“Bjørn. Please.”

Bjørn’s eyes narrowed before walking in a circle and plopping down on the bed. His furry brown head was tucked underneath his tail. Y/N smiled softly and gave Bjørn a quick kiss on the head followed by a small pat. “Best cat ever.” Bjørn purred in content. 

Without another word, Y/N left the room and accompanied Sherlock out into the cold evening air. It was a strange feeling just the two of them. Hardly, had they ever been alone, and when they were things tended to go sour except for last night. 

Y/N thought of that night. She thought of how she woke up in Sherlock’s bed. An unquenchable curiosity filled her. How did she get into Sherlock’s bed?

“Sherlock?” Y/N pondered.

“Yes?” He replied with a raise of his brow. His eyes looked upon her as she was lost in thought. Her mind carefully thought through her next words. 

“I remember falling asleep on the couch. How did I–”

“I carried you,” He replied as if it was the simplest thing in the world. Y/N couldn’t help the gasp that left her mouth, she quickly covered it up with a fake cough, hoping Sherlock hadn’t noticed. He did. “I always get a soreness in my spine when I sleep on that couch. Thought I’d save you the trouble.”

It was a white lie. A half-truth. Yes, Sherlock did want to save her the pain, but in all honesty, he just wanted to hold her. To carry her figure in his arms. To smell her hair and perfume without being seen as a creep. Sherlock, in all honesty, wanted to pretend. Pretend that he could have that–have her. To pretend he wasn’t obligated to follow through with his genius status; to be normal and willingly dance with emotions. Something that entirely scared Sherlock and Sherlock wasn’t one to be scared. How could he have let a chemical defect in the brain grab a hold of him? Sherlock chalked it up to a moment of weakness. Never again would he indulge himself in such things. Yet here he found himself, with her, without John, pretending that once again they were not colleagues, neighbours, that she didn’t have another to call home. And then Y/N smiled at him. A sight that Sherlock could never tire of. He adored the way her lips parted and the way her eyes crinkled in the corner. He cherished how her cheeks grew a slight shade of pink whenever she smiled, something he had only seen her do. He liked how her eyes sparkled with emotion. Her face was so expressive and Sherlock could sit all day and night watching her. His eyes could observe every detail and still find something new and beautiful about her. 

Sherlock tore his gaze away from her. His cheeks turned a shade darker than would be applicable to the chilliness of the evening. 

“Thank you,” Y/N said. 

“You’re welcome,” Sherlock responded. 

Y/N exhaled and the air in front of her turned into a fog. The warmth of her breath fought against the cold, only to disappear in defeat. “Where are we going?” Y/N asked. 

Sherlock sighed. He’d have to tell her. Tell her that they were going somewhere for the case. That, truthfully, wasn’t the case in the first place. He saw something she’d like. An event she'd like to go to as friends. Sherlock never knew he could hate a word so much. It astounded him that in all those hours spent flicking through books the most common word that was page fifteen, word one, was “friend.” Friend. Friend. Friend. Friend. It was a taunt. An unavoidable truth. But for now, it was enough. 

“Out,” was all Sherlock said. Again a half-truth. A white lie to push off the inevitable, but for now, Sherlock would pretend. That’s all he could do. 

_________

John was not taking dating advice from Sherlock. 

Dinner was a success. Sarah and he talked about everything from work to their worst dating experiences. A conversation that was meant to be fun.  However, somewhere along the candle-lit dinner and fantastic pasta, Sarah mentioned her worst dating experience involved a dinner, and then a trip to the cinemas. John paled on the spot and hurriedly excused himself to the bathroom. 

John most definitely was not taking dating experience from Sherlock. Yet there he stood in a bathroom stall, his phone out, and finger frantically ringing Sherlock’s number. 

In a hushed voice, John asked Sherlock for the number to the box office of that circus. He could practically hear Sherlock’s smug face as he told John he had already reserved tickets for him. John rolled his eyes at his friend’s antics. Sherlock practically rubbed it in John’s face. Information about the location and time were exchanged, and John found himself thanking Sherlock. John had thanked Sherlock for the dating advice he did not take. 

Within an hour, dinner had finished, and John was showing Sarah to the next course of their date, the circus. 

“It's been years since anyone took me to the circus,” Sarah admitted excitedly. 

The tone of her voice had made John smile. Maybe he’d start taking more dating advice from his friend. John thought about the idea and then brushed it off. This was a one-time thing. A moment of weakness. 

“Right, yes! Well, it’s ... a friend recommended it to me. He phoned up.” John replied. 

“Ah. What are they, a touring company or something?” Sarah asked. 

“I don’t know much about it,” John confessed. 

Suddenly their path was illuminated by a scarlet shade of red. Hung above them were red lanterns leading up to the building John could only have guessed was their destination. 

“I think they’re probably from China!” Sarah exclaimed.

John chuckled to cover up the tightness that had formed in his chest. “Yes, I think ... I think so, yes.” He was already thinking of ways to scold his friend if what he thought was gut was telling him was right. 

As they entered the building and found the box office, John noted the vast amount of people there. It surprised him. A one-night-only event. An event that Sherlock knew about just so happened to be quite popular. His friend wasn’t known for the popular sort of events. 

“Hi. I have, er, two tickets reserved for tonight.” John said to the box office manager. 

“And what’s the name?” They asked. 

“Er, Holmes,” John replied. 

The manager nodded and riffled through the numerous envelopes behind the counter. Their finger came to a halt over one and quickly handed it over to John. 

“Actually, I have four in that name.” The manager responded as they looked at John and Sarah. 

John shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. We only booked two.”

Suddenly a familiar voice appeared behind John. “And then I phoned back and got one for myself and Y/N as well,” Sherlock explained.

John looked back at his friend in disbelief. Behind the consulting detective was none other than Y/N. The look on her face as she looked at John and his date then Sherlock meant that John wouldn’t have to bother reprimanding his friend. She’d already had that covered. 

Sherlock ignored the pair of eyes that were glaring at him as he introduced himself to John’s date. “I’m Sherlock.” He turned around to Y/N, motioning for her to introduce herself. 

The death glare she had been giving Sherlock moments before had evaporated into a polite smile. “Hello, I’m Y/N.”

Sarah looked at Sherlock and Y/N then at John. “Er, Hi.” She reached out and shook Y/N’s hand. 

“Hello,” Sherlock smiled back. His fake polite smile. 

“Are you two here on a date as well?” Sarah asked, unsure of where to take the conversation. It was clear to her the two people standing in front of her knew John. 

Y/N’s eyes widened and she opened her mouth to correct Sarah when Sherlock cut her off. 

“Yes.”

Y/N looked at Sherlock and tugged on his sleeve. “Excuse us…” Y/N said. Her tense voice betrayed her polite smile. 

She dragged Sherlock down the hall, far away from John and Sarah. “You said we were going out!” She hissed at him. 

“We are. Going out that is.”

“I’m not–Sherlock,” Y/N groaned. “We are crashing John’s date. It’s rude.” She then began to mutter to herself. Something along the lines of ‘why do I ever trust him with anything.’

She grumbled in frustration before setting her sights back on Sherlock. “Was this your plan all along?” Sherlock did not need to respond for Y/N to come to her conclusion. “Why are we here? Is it to spy on John? Or it is about th–”

“I thought you and John might’ve liked it. It is a Chinese circus after all. I was planning on taking just you and John, but then he had a date.”

Y/N chuckled at the response. “So you told him to take his date here?”

“Yes.”

“So this is not the case. At all?” Y/N asked. She had an underlying suspicion about the circus. The same one John had. 

“No,” Sherlock stated. It was a lie, but Y/N didn’t need to know that right now. 

Y/N eyed him carefully. “Sherlock, if you are lyi–”

“I’m not.” 

He most definitely was. 

Y/N sighed and placed her hands on her hips. “Alright. But if you are lying,” Sherlock opened his mouth to tell her once again that he was not. “Ah. Just let me finish. If you are lying, I will not speak to you for a week. That is a promise.” 

Sherlock’s brow furrowed in confusion. “How are you supposed to get your job done then?”

“I’ll figure it out. I’m a big girl,” she immediately replied. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and then agreed. He couldn’t go back on his word now. His word that he knew was a lie. A week with no words shared between Y/N and Sherlock. Not horrible. It could be worse, Sherlock thought. 

_______

Y/N and Sarah had accompanied each other to the loo, per Sarah’s request. John and Sherlock stood awkwardly on the stairs near the entrance to the theatre. Couples and other attendees walked past them. John’s eyes followed them. His mind was in debate as to whether to voice his opinions or not. 

“You couldn’t let me have just one night off?” John grumbled. 

Sherlock had to keep up the act. John would most assuredly tell Y/N and Sherlock would be damned to let the truth slip from anyone’s mouth but his. A determination that was immediately thrown out the window the minute John had asked. “Yellow Dragon Circus, in London for one day. It fits. The Tong sent an assassin to England …”

“... dressed as a tightrope walker. Come on, Sherlock, behave!” 

Sherlock leaned down to John and in a hushed voice said, “We’re looking for a killer who can climb, who can shin up a rope. Where else would you find that level of dexterity? Exit visas are scarce in China. They need a pretty good reason to get out of that country. Now, all I need to do is have a quick look around the place …”

“Fine. You do that; Drag Y/N along. I’m gonna take Sarah for a pint.”

Sherlock sternly looked at John. “I need your help.”

“I do have a couple of other things on my mind this evening!”

“Like what?” Sherlock asked curiously. 

John could only stare at his friend in disbelief. “You are kidding.”

“What’s so important?” Sherlock asked. There was a sense of urgency in his voice. 

John sighed. “Sherlock, I’m right in the middle of a date. D’you want me to chase some killer while I’m trying to …” John was not going to answer Sherlock. “Why’s Y/N here?” 

Sherlock went stiff. “If you need my help, then why is Y/N here? She’s capable enough–” John cut himself off. “Oh.”

“What?” Sherlock asked yet again. 

“You didn’t tell her.”

“Didn’t tell her what, John?” Sherlock questioned knowing full well what he hadn’t told Y/N. 

John rolled his eyes. “Right, Sherlock. You’ve got to stop-”

“Stop what Jo–”

“She’s taken, Sherlock! Don't think I noticed that bit there where you told Sarah you two were together this evening.” 

Sherlock turned his head away from John. His jaw was clenched. At that moment, Sherlock regretted having taught John how to read people. It seemed John could see right through Sherlock. “She has a wonderful boyfriend who she likes a lot. She’s your employee. Not to mention she’s our land lady’s niece–granddaughter, whatever, I’m not quite sure. But Sherlock, you couldn’t have picked the–”

Suddenly Sarah and Y/N emerged from the corner. John immediately flashed a pained smile, hoping he just hadn’t outed Sherlock. 

“Heyyy,” John called out. 

“Ready?” John asked Sarah. She nodded. Then he offered her his arm and then guided her into the theatre, but not before sending Sherlock a warning look. 

Sherlock and Y/N stood in the stairwell watching John and his date go. To say it was uncomfortable between the two of them as strangers passed them by, would be an understatement. It was as if the air turned into smoke, making it hard for Sherlock to breathe and even concentrate. He couldn’t help how his eyes fell on her hands which were fumbling with each other. He wanted to take a page out of John’s book. He wanted to offer her his arm and guide her in, but that expression John had given him told Sherlock otherwise. 

So when Sherlock noticed a warmth at his side, he couldn’t help but gasp. Y/N’s arms hugged his own, holding him close. Sherlock blinked. Just the touch of her hands through his coat lit a fire in his body. When her quiet voice broke through his spell, to ask if they should go in, Sherlock knew he was lost. She sensed his hesitancy and took it upon herself to guide Sherlock in and Sherlock knew, he’d rather be lost at her side as neighbours, friends, colleagues, or as a man and his land-lady’s grand-niece, than to not be lost at all. 

The two of them entered the performance area. There was a stage on one side of the hall. The red curtains were drawn with a thin layer of dust on them. In the middle of the room was a large circle. It was painted onto the worn-out floors. The room was lit by candlelight and lights from above that were so dim, one would think that they were not even on. Around the circle stood the guests. There were no seats in sight. Sherlock noticed John and Sarah on one end of the circle. John smiled as Sarah whispered something into his ear. 

Soon Sherlock found himself standing a few feet away from John and Sarah. Enough space that Y/N deemed to be comfortable, but not so much that they’d have front-row seats to John and Sarah’s date. Sherlock and Y/N stood towards the back of the crowd. Y/N had to manoeuvre her position until she had a clear view of the scene in front of her. 

All of a sudden there was the thundering of drums and YN couldn’t help the grin that appeared on her face. She was not going to let the guilt of possibly ruining John’s date take away from the experience in front of her. Then a woman with a heavily painted face and wearing traditional Chinese Opera clothing entered the circle. Y/N gasped at the sight. The colour and designs of the clothing astounded her. Sherlock chuckled slightly at her response. It was like watching a child on Christmas. 

The woman raised her hand into the air and the drummer finished his song. Then she walked over to a large object in the centre of the circle. It was covered with a white cloth. A cloth that was quickly removed to reveal a gigantic crossbow. Just like the dress the woman was wearing, the crossbow was painted and carved with intricate designs. Next, the woman picked up a large arrow. The silver edge glimmered in the dim light. Her careful hands presented the arrow to the audience earning some awes before loading it into the crossbow. The woman reached into her pocket and withdrew a feather. She placed it onto the crossbow. Instantly, the arrow was released. It flew across the room lodging into a target on the other side of the circle. 

While the other women and guests in the room gasped at the sight, startled by the sudden action, Sherlock found that Y/N only smiled. Her giddiness only grew. She turned to Sherlock and raised herself up on the tip of her toes. As a piece of instrumental music began to play, a new actor entered the scene, and Y/N whispered into Sherlock’s ear. 

“A Classic Chinese escapology act,” Y/N said softly. Sherlock beamed down at her. His breath caught as she glanced up at him. She pointed to the actor who was now being chained up to the target the arrow was lodged in moments before. 

She then pointed over to the crossbow. “The crossbow on a delicate string. The warrior has to escape his bonds before it fires.”

Sherlock nodded taking in the information. He tried his very best to ignore the overstimulation his senses experienced being so close to her; Her smell, the sound of her voice, and the touch of her hand as she nudged him to look at certain aspects of the scene all drew him in deeper.  

He ignored the addition of padlocks on the chains that held the actor. He ignored the cry of the warrior as he showed the audience his predicament. Sherlock ignored the build-up of the music and the crashing of cymbals. He was only focused on her. Something very bad. Horrific event. He was here for the case. He should be watching the scene or observing the people, yet he could not tear his eyes away from Y/N. 

“Look,” Y/N exclaimed. She was practically jumping. Sherlock finally did look away. The woman had taken out a knife. Y/N had opened her mouth to explain when Sherlock interrupted her. 

“She splits the sandbag; the sand pours out; gradually the weight lowers into the bowl,” Sherlock whispered into Y/N’s ear. 

“How d-” She began. 

“I do my research,” Sherlock smiled. “Especially with things that those I care about enjoy.” 

Sherlock didn’t notice the flush that appeared on Y/N’s face. He was too busy hiding his own. His words had betrayed him. His mouth had spoken out of turn. He forced his attention onto the display in front of them. The drums and erhu playing couldn’t have been loud enough to drown out the sound of his beating heart. 

The Opera Singer does just what Sherlock had said – she reaches up to a small sandbag hanging on a long cable and stabs the knife into the bottom of the sack. The Sand began to pour out, grain by grain. As if on cue the warrior cried out once more. His body flailed in an attempt to escape the chains. As the sand continues to pour out of the bag, a weight attached to the other side begins to lower closer and closer to the crossbow. 

Suddenly the warrior whips out one hand. John is watching the weight lower, and Sarah now looks nervously at it as it crosses paths with the sandbag on its way up. They turn to look at the warrior as he gets his other hand free and starts tugging at the chains around his neck. The weight is now only a few feet above the bowl and Sarah clings tightly to John’s arm, grimacing. The warrior cries out again as he pulls at his chains and the weight gets ever closer. As it almost reaches the lip of the bowl the warrior loosens the chains around his neck and struggles to free himself. The sandbag raises all the way to the ceiling just as the weight crashes down. The arrow flung across the room. There was a thud. The arrow had hit the target. The warrior was nowhere to be seen. There was a cheer and the warrior emerged. The crowd let out a collective breath. All was fine. 

Y/N laughed along as cheers and applause filled the theatre. She hadn’t noticed Sherlock missing from her side. She hadn’t noticed Sherlock had to force himself away to the open stage door. He needed to clear his mind and focus on the case. 

A wave of silence fell over the crowd as the woman raised her hand into the air. For the first moment in the night, she opened her mouth. “Ladies and gentlemen, from the distant moonlight shores of the Yangtze River, we present for your pleasure the deadly Chinese bird-spider.”

Broken applause once again filled the air as the woman walked out of the circle. Suddenly a masked acrobat descended from the ceiling. His body rolled and swirled in the air as the silk red cloth around his waist unravelled. The audience gasped in excitement.  

“Did you see that?!” Y/N exclaimed. She turned to face Sherlock only to find him not there. Her face fell slightly. She looked around the crowd. Her eyes scanned the room watching closely to catch sight of a head of dark curls and sapphire blue eyes. Yet there was nowhere to be found. 

As the acrobat continued to amaze the crowd with high sky high feats, Y/N withdrew from the crowd. Her eyes were on the sudden wave that rippled out from the curtain on the stage. The red fabric danced out from a single point. A crack in the red wall. There was a feeling in her mind; a feeling that it was Sherlock. A feeling that this wasn’t for pure entertainment. A feeling that this was all for the case, as everything was with Sherlock. A feeling that told her she should have left when she had the chance. A feeling that told her, her cat was right. 

A feeling that became all too real when she saw Sherlock fly out from underneath the curtain. His back came crashing to the floor on his back. The masked warrior from before was on top of him. A silver knife in hand. John, the closest to the scene, lunged at the man knocking him off Sherlock. The knife flew from the attacker's hand. Y/N looked around the room as the attacker set his sights on John. Her eyes found a broom in the corner of the room and she darted over to retrieve it. 

Everyone else in the room fled from the scene. The attacker, having stunned John, turned back to Sherlock who now stood shakingly on his feet. The attacker at some point had found another weapon–a sword. His arms were raised high into the air and aimed at Sherlock. A killing blow, but not before Y/N whacked him with the broom. The man grunted out in pain and swung the weapon at her. She dodged the attack and lodged the broom in the man’s side with a bruising force. Stunned, she hit him again, successfully knocking him in the head, and labelling him unconscious. 

Y/N stands up breathlessly. Her hand on the broom tightened, unwillingly to let it go. Her eyes were on the unconscious form of their attacker. Sherlock limped over to her. His hand covered her grip on the broom. His warmth begged her to release it. 

“It’s over. We’re okay,” Sherlock whispered to her. She closed her eyes tightly. Her grip was unwavering. “Look at me…please.” He placed his hands on the sides of her face. His thumb rubbed circles on her cheek. 

She opened her eyes. Those tear-filled eyes met Sherlock’s. He swore she leaned into his touch. He could swear time froze as her breath returned to normal. Soon, she nodded and dropped the broom on the floor with a clang. 

Behind them, Sarah ran over to John. Her hands hovered over his body to make sure he was okay. John was able to subdue her worry and then turned to Sherlock who was now removing the attacker’s shoe. A black lotus flower was tattooed on the man’s heel. 

Y/N couldn’t help the tear that slid down her cheek. Her eyes met Sherlock’s. They were sad and disappointed. She had trusted Sherlock. He knew. He let her trust him. He let her believe that they were just going out. That this wasn’t the case. He couldn’t help but question why she never knew. She should have known. She should have walked away. She should have broken the mirage and stopped him from pretending. She bit her lip and shook her head at him. The silence had begun. A week from now she’d speak to Sherlock again. Though there was a thought in Sherlock’s mind, that she’d never speak to him again. The look in her eyes said it all. 

_____

“ I sent a couple of cars. The old hall is totally deserted,” muttered Dimmock. He rubbed his face and grumbled to himself. 

“Look, I saw the mark at the circus – that tattoo that we saw on the two bodies: the mark of the Tong,” Sherlock explained. 

Dimmock turned around harshly on his heels. His eyes bore into Sherlock. 

“Lukis and Van Coon were part of a-a smuggling operation. Now, one of them stole something when they were in China; something valuable.” John added. 

“These circus performers were gang members sent here to get it back.” Sherlock finished. 

“Get what back?” Dimmock hissed. 

Sherlock bit his lip and refused to reply. 

John sighed. “...We don’t know.” 

“You don’t know.” Dimmock gasped in disbelief. “Mr Holmes …I’ve done everything you asked. Lestrade, he seems to think your advice is worth something. I gave the order for a raid. Please tell me I’ll have something to show for it – other than a massive bill for overtime.”

Sherlock’s silence said it all. Dimmock sighed and collapsed into his chair. His hand worked hard to remove the stress lines that had already begun to appear on his face. 

This case was going to be the death of him. 

________

The comforting sight of 221B was not a comfort at all. They all held a collective sigh of defeat when they entered Sherlock and John’s flat. Sarah was still in tow and, to Sherlock’s surprise, so was Y/N. Though not a word was shared between the two of them as she brushed by him to brew some tea. 

“They’ll be back in China by tomorrow,” John groaned. 

“No, they won’t leave without what they came for. We need to find their hide-out; the rendezvous,” Sherlock said. His voice was tight. He refused to give up. Instead, he focused on the photos on the wall. Their yellow code bared at him. “Somewhere in this message, it must tell us.”

Sarah looked around the room. Her coat was still on. “Well, I think perhaps I should leave you to it,” she told John. 

John turned to her. “No, no, you don’t have to go ... You can stay.”

“Yes, it would be better to study if you left now,” Sherlock uttered. He looked back at Sarah and John. His eyes noticed John’s glare. He couldn’t handle any more anger tonight. “Kidding,” Sherlock smiled in his fake manner. “Please stay if you’d like.”

Y/N scoffed from the kitchen. Her hand removed the tea bag and tossed it into the trash. Sherlock lowered his eyes to the floor. Sarah looked nervously toward Sherlock and Y/N. She caught Y/N’s eye and smiled awkwardly.

“Is it just me, or is anyone else starving?” She asked. 

Sherlock closed his eyes and pinched his nose. “Oh, God.” 

John smiled back at Sarah and entered the kitchen. He opened the fridge to find it almost empty apart from a couple of bottles, and a can containing an eyeball lying on a shelf. He sighed. 

Y/N peered over her shoulder at John. “Hey,” She whispered. “Take out. On me.” John smiled and tried to refuse her offer but quickly gave in knowing Y/N wouldn’t let him. He watched her as she stepped out of the flat to call the take-out place. He noted the way Sherlock’s eyes followed her before returning to the photos before him. 

“So this is what you do, you and John, Y/N. You solve puzzles for a living.”

Sherlock bit his lip. “Consulting detective,” He corrected. 

“Oh,” Sarah replied before backing away from Sherlock. She strolled over to John who sat in the kitchen. He continued to frantically look through the cabinets making a mental note to task Y/N for getting groceries for which he made sure she’d get a pay raise. 

John cracked open another cabinet and found a small bag of cheese puffs. He quickly picked a clean bowl and poured the puff into it. 

Suddenly the cheerful voice of Mrs Hudson popped into the room. John felt a wave of relief wash over him as the woman carried a plate of snacks with her. 

“Thank you so much,” John said. His voice was full of gratitude towards the elderly lady. 

Mrs Hudson smiled and waved her hand dismissing them thanks. “I’ve done a punch, and a bowl of nibbles.” She explained before placing the tray on the table. 

“Mrs Hudson, you’re a saint!” John muttered. 

“All Y/N she came down and told me. If it was Monday, I’d have been to the supermarket!” She continued. 

“No; thank you! Thank you!” John repeated. 

Mrs Hudson quietly excused herself, allowing John and Sarah…and Sherlock some privacy. 

As John and Sarah snacked on the treats Mrs Hudson provided, Sherlock continued to examine the photos. 

“So these numbers – it’s a cypher,” Sarah stated. 

“Exactly,” Sherlock said. His voice was tight. 

“...And each pair of numbers is a word.” She continued. 

John and Sherlock looked at Sarah in astonishment. “How did you know that?”

Sarah chuckled. She walked over to the photos on the wall and pointed to the photo. “Well, two words have already been translated, here.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. There were indeed translations. “John.” Sherlock beckoned. “John, look at this.”

John walked over to Sherlock. 

“Soo Lin at the museum – she started to translate the code for us. We didn’t see it!” Sherlock exclaimed. He pulled the photo close. “NINE” “MILL,” He read. 

“Does that mean ‘millions’?” John asked. 

“Nine million quid. For what?” Sherlock asked. He walked over to the coat rack and pulled on his coat and scarf. “We need to know the end of this sentence.”

“Where are you going?” John wondered. 

“To the museum; to the restoration room. Oh, we must have been staring right at it!” Sherlock answered. 

“At-at what?” Sarah questioned Sherlock. 

“The book. The book – the key to cracking the cypher! Soo Lin used it to do this! Whilst we were running around the gallery, she started to translate the code. It must be on her desk.” Sherlock explained and without another word he had left 221B. 

________

John and Sarah were quick to start up a conversation after Sherlock’s disappearance. A reason for Y/N to re-emerge from downstairs. She entered the room and told John and Sarah that takeout was on the way, before laying down on the couch. 

John was worried that he’d replaced Sarah’s candidate for the worst date. In his Johnly manner, he found a way to apologize for the night only to have it turned into a bonding moment for the two of them. 

“Yeah! No, absolutely. I mean, well, a quiet night in just-just what the doctor ordered.” Sarah joked. 

“Ha-ha-ha” John smiled back.

“Er, I mean, I’d love to go out of an evening and wrestle a few Chinese gangsters, you know, generally, but a girl can get too much.”

“No, okay. You’ve got me there,” John replied. 

Their laughter was cut off by knocking from downstairs. John stood up to go fetch the door only to have Y/N commanding him to return to Sarah. 

“I’ll get the take-out,” She muttered before sending John back to Sarah. John was ever the gentleman but sometimes Y/N really wished John knew how to take help every so often. 

She heard John and Sarah fighting over who set the table. A problem she wished to have instead of the manchild she called her boss. With a sigh, she ran her hands through her hair. It was a mess, to say the least. From sleeping in late that day to having fought a man with a sword with a broom was not her idea of “going out” as Sherlock had put it. 

Soon her steps came to a halt at the door. She turned the knob and swung it open. She doesn’t bother to take notice of the hooded man in front of her. She doesn’t notice there is no food in his hands as she rummages through her pockets for her wallet. 

“Sorry to keep you,” She apologized. “How much is it?”

“Do you have it?” The man in front of her asked. He had a thick Chinese accent. 

Y/N’s blood turned cold. “What?” Her voice trembled, praying that she had heard the man incorrectly.  

“Do you have the treasure?” The man asked. His voice was low and threatening like a growl from a dog. 

Y/N could only freeze as she saw the man remove a pistol from his side. Her lungs ceased to breathe and her vision turned black as a painful impact hit her head. 

______

The door to 221B slammed with a force that shook the walls. Sherlock ran up the stairs. In his hand was the translation of the code. “John! John! I’ve got it!” Sherlock rejoiced. 

He ran into the kitchen of his flat. The table was set for dinner. The punch and snacks Mrs Hudson had brought up earlier lay untouched. The table is empty of its occupants. He turned around to look in the living room. “John the cypher! The book! It’s the London A to Z that they’re using…”

Sherlock feels his face grow cold. The triumphant smile on his face falls. John wasn’t there. Neither was his date. Sherlock became utterly aware of how quiet the flat was. There was no shuffling of paper, no giggling, nothing. 

Then Sherlock finds himself wandering down the stairs and towards a door. He finds himself listening in. It’s too quiet there as well. Sherlock knows he shouldn’t open her door. Sherlock knows that Y/N would be furious for him breaking into her flat again. But it was better for her to be mad than to not be there at all. 

Sherlock’s worry only grew as he scavenged the flat for any sign of her. Nothing. Sherlock’s lungs collapsed as the air grew tight. He quickly reached into his pocket. His phone called the number and finally, he heard a noise. A buzzing from the other side of the living room. It was her phone. Sherlock’s mind began to run wild. 

No. No. No. No. No. 

The memory of the museum. The utter terror at the sound of the gun from the distance. The deadly sound from the room in which she was last seen. The image had pictured to find her flashed in his mind once again. Sherlock gasped out in pain. 

No. No. No. No. No. 

He isn’t sure if he’s saying it out loud. His thoughts and words merge into one. His only thought was her. He ran out of the flat and froze in his step. He scolds himself for not having seen it sooner. Along the hallway was that sickening yellow spray paint. The depiction on the wall was enough to break Sherlock. He bit his lip to muffle the cry. 

He had broken the code. He knew what it meant. DEAD MAN. 

There was no John. No, Sarah. But worst of all, no Y/N. 

The words burned into his brain alongside the image of her lifeless body. 

No. No. No. No. No. 

He could still save her, Sherlock told himself. Still, save them. He gripped his hair tightly. The pain shook him from his terror just long enough for him to focus. He pulled out the translated photo once again. 

“NINE MILL FOR JADE PIN DRAGON DEN BLACK …” Sherlock read. “... TRAMWAY.”

His eyes widened as he muttered the word “Tramway” once again. 

Sherlock’s focus dissipated as a fog clogged up his mind. His watery blue eyes threatened to spill out. His hands crinkled the photo tightly. “Oh, Christ,” he whimpered. 

Think! Sherlock, Think!

The tramway. He needs to find the tramway. 

Sherlock rushed upstairs with a speed unknown to man. His eyes scoured the shelves landing on the folded map of London. He scurried over to the dining table. The map tore as his hands scrambled to get it open. Once it lays flat, Sherlock takes a finger and hunts for the tramway. 

“There.” He slammed the table. Without another word, he’s gone. Fear fills his body. A fear that if he says anything, thinks, breathes, and doesn’t put every ounce of his will into finding them–to finding her, that they’d be gone. Sherlock would be all alone again. His heart, mind and soul were torn open for all to see. The man who’d let everything he cared about to get stolen away from him. Sherlock would be damned if he ever let that happen just like he was damned for loving her. 

______

***

There was a dull ache. Not the needles and pins kind of ache, but the ache as if the world turned upside down and inside out with no warning. Y/N’s head throbbed as light from a nearby fire lit the room. Except, she wasn’t in a room. It was cold and wet. The walls were curved as if she was in a cave. Everything was dark except the fire in, what Y/N could clearly see, was a dustbin. 

“Y/N?” John whispered. 

“John?” Y/N winced as she tried to look around for the noise. Just behind her sat John and Sarah. Both of whom were tied to chairs. It took Y/N a moment to realize that she always was confined to a chair. Dark rope coiled around her ankles, wrists, and torso like black snakes. 

“Are you alright?” John asked. 

Y/N flashed him her best I’m just peachy face, but then realized her friend couldn’t actually have the pleasure of seeing it. “Does it look like I’m alright John?” She closed her eyes and tried to yank her wrists out of their trap. 

Before John could answer another appeared. A clear and commanding voice echoed off the walls. 

“A book is like a magic garden carried in your pocket,” a woman’s voice recited. 

Y/N raised her head to the voice. She looked strangely familiar. The tracksuit she wore and those sunglasses. It was the woman who had been taking photos of her and John all over London. 

The woman approached Y/N and held up her chin. Behind her, Y/N could see two men. Their build reminded Y/N of the performers at the circus. The woman frowned slightly at the sight of the dried blood on Y/N's head. She tsked before moving to John and Sarah. As she left Y/N’s side, the two men replaced her. They whipped the chair around to face the other direction. Y/N could see John and Sarah clearly now. Out of the three of them, only Sarah was gagged. She was terrified. Her eyes were red from crying and her hair was tangled up. 

“A Chinese proverb, Mr Holmes,” The woman explained. 

John looked up at the woman confused. “I ... I’m not Sherlock Holmes.” 

The woman smiled humorously. “Forgive me if I do not take your word for it.”  She reached down and picked up John’s pockets. “Tickets under Sherlock Holmes’ name. A cheque for five thousand pounds made out in the name of Mr Sherlock Holmes.” 

“Yeah, he gave me that to look after,” John explained. 

“Debit card in the name of S. Holmes,” The woman continued. 

“Since when did you–?!” Y/N muttered. 

“After the row with the chip and pin machine!!” John replied frantically. 

The woman looked between Y/N and John.

 “I realize what this looks like, but I’m not him.”

“We heard it from your own mouth,” stated the woman. 

Now John was really confused. “What?”

“I am Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone ...” She repeated back to him. 

John groaned. “Did I really say that?” John chuckled weakly as Y/N looked at him in disbelief. 

“I s’ppose there’s no use me trying to persuade you I was doing an impression…” John tried to say, but the woman silenced him with the raise of her pistol. He leaned back and closed his eyes prepared for the shot to fire. It never came. 

“I am Shan.” The woman introduced herself. 

“You’re ... you’re Shan,” Y/N muttered under her breath. “我有话要对你说.” (I have words to say to you.) Her anger from all the pain Shan had caused seethed through her voice. Y/N thought of Soo Lin. She thought of all those victims whose blood was on Shan’s hands. 

Shan only offered Y/N a glance before turning back to John. “Three times we tried to kill you and your companion, Mr Holmes. What does it tell you when an assassin cannot shoot straight?”

She lifted her free hand to cock the pistol. Shan smiled and pulled back the trigger. 

“No!” Y/N screamed. 

Shan only chuckled. The barrel was empty. “It tells you that they’re not really trying.”

Then Shan motioned to the men behind her and one of them scurried to her side. He presented her with a clip. The metal of the bullets caught the light of the fire. Shan wasted no time loading the gun and cock it. The weapon found a resting place near John’s head. 

“Not an empty gun. There are bullets now.”

“Okay,” John whispered. 

“If we wanted to kill you, Mr Holmes, we would have done it by now. We just wanted to make you inquisitive…Do you have it?”

“Do I have what?” John questioned. 

“The treasure.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” John confessed.

Shan turned away from John and walked back over to Y/N. She looked at the men who nodded in understanding. Moments later the crossbow from the circus appeared. The arrow was already loaded. I would prefer to make certain.

“Everything in the West has its price, and the price for her life …” She lifted Y/N’s head to the light. “ ... information.” 

John’s eyes widened. “No. Please–”

The men lift up Y/N’s chair and place her in front of the crossbow. She can’t help the sound that escaped her mouth. It was a cry. A plea. She’d had her life put on the line too many times. Each time Sherlock was there. How she prayed that Sherlock would come. The feeling of safety that came from his arms. Tears spilt down her cheeks as many thoughts flew about her mind. All the if’s that came if Sherlock couldn’t make it in time. All the if’s that came if the arrow lodged its way into her heart. 

“Where’s the hairpin?” Shan demanded. “The Empress pin valued at nine million sterling. We already had a buyer in the West, and then one of our people was greedy. He took it, brought it back to London and you, Mr Holmes, have been searching.”

John looked at Y/N’s frantic attempts to free herself from her bonds. “Please. Please, listen to me. I’m not ... I’m not Sherlock Holmes. You have to believe me. I haven’t found whatever it is you’re looking for.”

“I need a volunteer from the audience!” Shan exclaimed. 

“No, please. Please,” John begged.

“Ah, thank you, lady. Yes, you’ll do very nicely.” Shan patted Y/N on the head. Then she walked over to the crossbow. A silver knife glimmered in the firelight. It was raised into the air. The sharp blade had pierced its way into a sandbag. Just like the display at the circus. 

Grain by grain the sand fell. The weight lowered closer and closer to the crossbow. Every second was an inch closer to death. Y/N’s skin began to burn. The snake-like rope rubbed against her wrists. The delicate skin broke, but the pain was nothing compared to what awaited her. 

“Ladies and gentlemen. From the distant moonlit shores of NW1, we present for your pleasure Sherlock Holmes’ pretty companion in a death-defying act.”

“Please!” John cried out. He was crying as he fought his own bondage. Desperate to reach Y/N before it was too late. 

“You’ve seen the act before. How dull for you. You know how it ends.” Shan complained. She walked over to Y/N and placed a black origami flower on her lap. 

“I’m not Sherlock Holmes!” John screamed. 

“I. Don’t. Believe. You.” Shan enunciated. 

“You should, you know,” A voice thundered. It echoed off the walls and silence fell upon the group.

Y/N gasped. She knew that voice. She’d know that voice anywhere. 

Shan spun around. She darted around the room to look for the source. 

“Sherlock Holmes is nothing at all like him,” Sherlock stated. 

Y/N couldn’t the shaky sigh of relief she felt. Sherlock was here. 

Shan raised her gun defensively. 

“How would you describe me, John? Resourceful? Dynamic? Enigmatic?” Sherlock asked. 

“Late?” Y/N trembled. 

Sherlock felt his throat clench up at the sound of her voice. “That’s semi-automatic. If you fire it, the bullet will travel at over a thousand metres per second.”

“Well?” Shan asked. 

“Well …” Sherlock chastised. “... the radius curvature of these walls is nearly four meters. If you miss, the bullet will ricochet. Could hit anyone. Might even bounce off the tunnel and hit you.”

Suddenly Sherlock burst out of the shadows. There was a bang, as he knocked over the dustbin with the fire. The light snuffled out. Darkness took over. 

Y/N could hear Shan’s breaths getting heavy. She could hear the trickling of the sand as it continued to spill out of the bag. The darkness triggered something in Y/N. Once again she was in the cabinet in the museum and the room chained to the heater. Fear overtook her body. Darkness and death had something in common they would disappear at the sign of light. Now all Y/N could do was pray that her light–Sherlock would free her. 

Y/N cried out at the feeling of a hand on her shoulder. 

“Shhh. It’s me.” Sherlock whispered. 

“Sherlock…” Y/N whimpered. His hands trailed down her arms and found her wrists. His fingers made quick work of the bonds on her wrists. His hand moved up to find the rope around her torso when he was yanked away from her. 

“Sherlock!” Y/N shrieked. 

There was a gagging noise. Sherlock was being strangled. Once again his lungs began to scream. It could have been from the lack of oxygen. That vital compound his brain needed to pump the blood and fight back. But that was not the case. Every molecule in his body screamed out for her. The grains of sand piled higher and higher. The weight was ever closer to the crossbow. The arrow was just moments from stealing the place in her heart that was meant for him. 

By some will of God, Sherlock was able to knock his attacker away. He scrambled back over to Y/N. His hands were a little bit less calculated and sure as he reached to undo the knots. Again Sherlock is pulled from her. The struggle for her life as well as his continued. 

John observed the struggle of shadows and the gleam of the arrow. Sherlock wasn’t going to make it. John groaned as he did his best to stumbled forward. A mixed effort of carrying and dragging the chair across the floor to Y/N. 

There was a thud and John fell to the floor. Sherlock grunted. Sarah whimpered. Y/N sobbed. Her body had given up. Her arms no longer flailed. The chair no longer creaked. Her mind was already made up. The arrow would become a part of her. Staked into her heart, next to her love of records and her stubbornly perfect cat.  

Suddenly there was a grunt from beside her. John had freed his foot just enough to kick her chair to the floor. Y/N cried out in pain as her arm bared most of the impact. The weight dropped. The arrow released. Its path changed from Y/N’s heart to Sherlock’s attacker’s chest. 

Sherlock was on his feet and next to Y/N within the blink of an eye. His mind was foggy from the lack of oxygen. His hand ripped off the rope that tied her to the chair. In an instant, he wrapped his arms around her. Her body pulled flush against him. His head was buried in her neck. His hand was around the pulse point on her wrist. He could feel her heart beating. Frantic, but alive. She clutched onto Sherlock. Her grip made no intent to let him go. 

“It’s all right,” Sherlock soothed more for himself than the woman in his arms. “You’re gonna be all right. It’s over now. It’s over.” His free hand found its way up and down her back in a comforting manner. 

John groaned out in pain beside them. Sherlock looked down at his friend. A grateful look flickered in his eyes. John nodded and smiled softly back up at Sherlock. 

“Mind if you…?” John croaked. He looked down at his tied hands. 

Sherlock nodded and began to pull away from Y/N. 

“Don’t go!” She whimpered. Her grip tightened on his shirt causing wrinkles to form in the fabric. 

Sherlock closed his eyes and leaned back into Y/N. His lips found the crown of her head. “Just going to untie John.” He whispered into her ear. A moment later her grip was loosened. Soon John was free and by Sarah’s side. She hugged him once she was freed. 

“Don’t worry. Next date won’t be like this,” John murmured. Sarah laughed. It was a sob-laugh. 

Y/N was back in Sherlock’s arms. She snuggled into his side. Her grip once again demanded his presence, but Sherlock didn’t mind. For once he didn’t have to pretend. He didn’t have to pretend she needed him as much as he needed her. He didn’t have to lie to himself to hold her close. So he sat there on the floor of the cold and wet tunnel. His body was safe and warm, as he rocked Y/N back and forth. Praying to god that he would never have to pretend again. 

________

Life had seemed to die down for the occupants of 221B Baker Street. Their lives once again became arbitrary: the daily newspapers on the table for Sherlock to read at breakfast, John scrambling out of bed to get to work at the clinic, Y/N plating some eggs and bacon, Mrs Hudson making tea, and Bjørn collecting all the love and pets he could get from those he did not despise. 

It was one of these fine mornings when Y/N was making breakfast, John sat at the table drinking his tea, and Sherlock read the paper that all seemed at peace. There were no cases. No murderers on the run. Just John, Sherlock, and Y/N. As it always seemed to be. The case of the blind banker far behind them with their pockets full from the check Sebastian had written for Sherlock, and the mystery of the hairpin solved. The vow of silence was long forgotten. 

Sherlock smirked as he read the front page of the news. “Who wants to be a million-hair,” He read to the group. 

John chuckled. “Over a thousand years old and it’s sitting on the assistant’s bedside table every night.”

“Van Coon didn’t know its value; didn’t know why they were chasing him,” Sherlock muttered. His hands found the warm cup of tea Y/N had placed in front of him earlier. 

“Hmm. Should’ve just got her a lucky cat. Right, hubby?” Y/N said as she placed down breakfast. She sent John a wink earning a groan from him. 

“Not this again.”

“It’s better than you holding up a can of beans,” Y/N retorted. 

Sherlock smiled at the two of them. After their laughter subsided and thanks were given to Y/N, they began to eat their breakfast. Sherlock played with the eggs on his plate. His fork barely missed the opportunity to pick up anything worth substance. 

“You mind, don’t you?” John asked Sherlock as he stuffed his mouth with bacon. 

“What?” Sherlock questioned. 

John put down his fork. “That she escaped – General Shan. It’s not enough that we got her two henchmen.”

“It must be a vast network, John; thousands of operatives. We barely scratched the surface,” Sherlock sighed. 

“You cracked the code, though, Sherlock; and maybe Dimmock can track down all of them now that he knows it,” Y/N added. 

“No. No. I cracked this code; all the smugglers have to do is pick up another book,” Sherlock explained. 

Their arbitrary routine began once again: Sherlock picked up the newspaper, John ate his breakfast, and Y/N looked out the window. The morning sun filtered through the window. The sound of sirens was heard in the distance. London was very much alive. 

Y/N thought of Sherlock’s words. He was right. They had barely scratched the surface. They had scratched the surface of something that, she thought, was meant to be left alone. 

__________

In a room somewhere sits Shan. The only light in the room was the screen of her computer. Her image appeared on the screen next to a blacked-out box. It read “No image available”.  

“Without you – without your assistance – we would not have found passage into London. You have my thanks,” Shan spoke to the computer. 

‘M: GRATITUDE IS MEANINGLESS’ The computer typed back. ‘M: IT IS ONLY THE EXPECTATION OF FURTHER FAVOURS’ 

“We did not anticipate ... we did not know this man would come – this Sherlock Holmes. He had assistants. A man and a woman,” Shan explained. Her face flashed with concern. “And now your safety is compromised.”

The computer beeped. 

‘M: THEY CAN NOT TRACE THIS BACK TO ME’

“I will not reveal your identity,” Shan promised. 

‘M: I AM CERTAIN.’

Not another word is uttered from Shan’s mouth. Her body lay on the floor of the dark room. The computer screen had gone black. A bullet hole in the head of Shan.

______

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[pinkthick]

For the request fic:

4. repositioning the mistletoe because it annoys them

5. repositioning the mistletoe because they need MORE kisses

With BBC Sherlock Holmes x Reader

[Ngl, the #4 one made me laugh my ass off cuz it reminded me of Sherlock 🤣. Like he would canonly do this fr💀]

Hi. 🙃

I am aware that Christmas has long since passed, but I've had such a writer's block because of this request, and even now I'm not happy with how the fanfiction ended, but I hope you'll forgive me. I do, however, hope you enjoy it.🫶🏻🫶🏻

Where are the mistletoes?

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Fem!Reader

Sherlock Holmes & Mrs. Hudson & John Watson & Reader

Summary: Although your relationship with Sherlock is still relatively new and he still has a lot to learn about how people interact with one another, the two of you are beginning to understand each other better, even if Sherlock did believe that he should attach mistletoes so that he could kiss you whenever he wanted.

John began decorating the apartment an hour ago, but he didn't get much done. He wasn't sure how long the detective would be entertained by just trying to assist you in purchasing gifts for the others and items from Mrs. Hudson's shopping list that weren't really necessary for Christmas. Sherlock would soon understand what everyone was attempting, it was pretty obvious. Get him out of here so they can at least decorate this apartment for the holiday.

He abruptly halted what he was doing when he suddenly heard someone climbing the stairs. Mrs. Hudson opened the door while holding a little box and John abruptly let out a breath after realizing he had been holding it just moments earlier, feeling relieved that it wasn’t Sherlock.

“Oh dear, perhaps you should take a break. It is obvious that you won’t finish decorating anytime soon.” the elderly woman smiled somehow sadly at him.

“Well, if I had help from others, it would have been finished by now.” John spoke aloud in a harsh manner.

“Don’t hold that against me. I am the one doing all the cooking.” As Mrs. Hudson eventually set the box down on the couch and made her way outside, she stated in an irritated voice.

As he went to check what was in the package, John sighed. It was disappointing to decorate an apartment alone when it was supposed to be something you would do with your friends and family. However, he didn't have the right to snap at the poor woman because she had already accepted so many things Sherlock and he had done. But was it really that simple when you shared a home with Sherlock Holmes? But when it came to the detective, nothing was, in fact simple.

He was a little shocked by what Mrs. Hudson had brought him. But not in a bad way. The box was filled with mistletoes. Even though he had no idea how she could have obtained this, he knew better than to question her. He could take one or two, they wouldn’t hurt anybody hopefully.

He grabbed one and walked up to Sherlock's armchair, but before he hopped on it, John placed a newspaper over it since he didn't want Sherlock to become upset that he climbed on it while wearing his shoes. Only the great detective could do that since it was his chiar. He could be such a drama queen sometimes, but that’s just how the young Holmes is.

He took the tape from the small table and the doctor lifted the mistletoe over his head and eased it up to stick it on the ceiling. As he climbed down and took the newspaper in his hands, he wrinkled it as he threw it in one of the small trash cans. Might as well get rid of the evidence, right?

Perhaps he could hang one more right at the door? Even though it was a bad idea, nobody could have stopped him. He managed to climb on a small chair, but attaching it to the ceiling was a little bit more difficult. He did lose his balance once, but it undoubtedly didn't seem to stop him.

Although he was pleased with himself, John felt as though he would never be able to finish decorating this apartment as he once more glanced out the window and noticed that the Christmas tree was still slightly blank. He went to begin decorating it once more after retrieving the box of decorations.

The grocery store isn’t a place you would normally consider crowded. It's rather easy to get in and out of aisles without having to weave through threads of people, but Christmas was coming up and everyone was buying food like there was no tomorrow. It didn’t matter that they would have throw out half of the food when the holidays are over.

Sherlock worked very hard to keep himself entertained since he didn't want to be a burden to you. He scrutinized everyone who passed him, looking for even the smallest detail that wasn't even really significant in order to infer something about their life. The seconds were flying by, and he was beginning to grow increasingly bored and everyone knew that Sherlock Holmes should never grow bored. He was perplexed as to why fewer crimes occurred over the holidays. It didn't matter whether anyone died during them. A crime was a crime, as if the killers would receive acclaim if they avoided killing around orthodox holidays. The way regular people thought was so bizarre to him.

He watched you as you read the list Mrs. Hudson provided you while growing increasingly impatient as he struggled mightily to come up with something he ought to do. He snatched it from you against his better judgment since he didn't want to be here anymore, eliciting a startled gasp from you.

“Sherlock!” You said as you turned to follow the detective.

"I feel that if I stay here any longer, my brain will rot. You can attempt to keep me outside the building all you want; I don't care. The sooner we leave, the better.” He gave an explanation as he started to select the items Mrs. Hudson had written.

“Was it really that obvious?” You asked in a defeated tone while attempting to match his pace.

He slowed down and nodded briefly as he gave you a faraway "yes" while turning his head away from you and looking ahead. You weren't surprised, but you were a little let down. Well, you did know who you were dating.

As he started to make is way straight to the baking aisle, you were a little held back by other people. It’s not that it was that hard to pinpoint where the detective exactly was, thanks to his height, but somehow you couldn’t see him. Just then someone slipped his hands into yours and you glanced up, seeing Sherlock.

“If we want to get home sooner, it would be beneficial if you didn’t get lost. It would take some time to find you.” He said as you felt his fingers thighten around your hand.

As you allowed yourself to be dragged by him, you grinned a little. Maybe you should text John to let him know you'll be home sooner than expected.

While listening to Christmas music and halfway through decorating the tree, the doctor was unaware that the door had been opened.

Even if you did send him a text, it wasn't very effective because he didn't see it. In addition to the music playing through the entire apartment, John left his phone in the kitchen and set it to mute. He couldn't really do much at this point, especially since both of you had returned.

You initially went to Mrs. Hudson and left her the grocery bags, saying you would return to assist her as soon as you had left the gifts upstairs. Maybe, just maybe, you were interested in Sherlock's reaction as well, hoping that he wouldn't act out as he did the year before.

For a short while, the detective remained silent, and you were staring directly at him while he examined the entire apartment. You weren’t sure if he had any issues with the decorations or not.

"Why is this parasite hanging over my chair?" he asked at that same moment.

Yup, there it was.

Swiftly approaching it, Sherlock snatched it off the ceiling and dropped it into the trash. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed how you and John were looking at him.

"You and Y/N were just standing under the mistletoe moments ago," John said as he observed the detective's devastation. How could he fail to notice something that was right in front of him?

Your boyfriend wasn't even concerned about what it truly meant as you walked over to him; instead, he was only pondering on how he hadn't been able to notice the mistletoe at the entrance the first time. He was startled out of his reverie when you rose to your tiptoes and gave him a swift kiss, noticing a hint of pink brightening your cheeks.

“What was that for?” He asked bewildered

“You are familiar with the tradition, right?” You looked at him while chuckling slightly as he didn’t know what to say.

Given that Sherlock Holmes believed his brain to be similar to a hard drive, it only made sense to store useful information there. He didn't think the customs of Christmas would be useful after all.

“John, see if you can make him help you, I’ll go aid Mrs. Hudson.” You said while also leaving the flat.

As John began to assemble some candy canes on the tree, the doctor did not even make an attempt to persuade him to assist him. It appeared as though he was actually looking at the Grinch. He didn't understand why Sherlock was so opposed to anything that was Christmas-related.

John continued to embellish it with globs and some lights but the detective suddenly disturbed the comfortable silence. “Where are the mistletoes?”

Sherlock would occasionally come across you throughout the day, lead you somewhere where there was mistletoe, like outside the kitchen or the hall, and give you a short kiss before leaving you so he could clean the apartment. Even though you didn't understand what was going on with him, you would just resume helping Mrs. Hudson since you didn't want to question him.

He occasionally had you go where there was mistletoe hanging from the ceiling even after the guests arrived and the party started. This was the first time that the presence of other people didn't matter. Sherlock never kissed you in front of others, so you knew something was off. So, you began to ask yourself even more questions, even if you did know that you couldn't find your answers yet.

You didn't even have the courage to ask him what had actually happened today while you were lying in bed with him. Yes, Sherlock would typically behave strangely, but not in that way. And that kept you up.

You have a routine of rising late at night to get a glass of water. Really nothing out of the ordinary for anyone, but because you were having trouble falling asleep, Sherlock realized that something wasn't right.

You were being held by the detective in a soft yet firm manner. Unaware that he wasn't even sleeping, you made an effort to escape his grasp. Just then Sherlock Holmes' anxious voice suddenly reverberates through the empty space. “Is there something wrong?”

“No, don't worry. Just want a glass of water.” The detective eventually let go of his hold on you. He just realized how big of an impact you had already had on his life as he saw you discreetly stand up and leave the room. Now that he was accustomed to your touch, being alone didn't feel right. It's strange to consider that he reacted negatively when you originally suggested cuddling.

He began to wonder what was keeping you up at night and somehow came to certain conclusions without knowing if they were true. As he lifted his head to look at you, Sherlock must have been too preoccupied with his thoughts to notice when you entered the room.

“Is everything all right?” As you once more get onto the bed and sit next to him, you inquire.

“You have a question, don’t you?” He states bluntly as he wraps his hands around you again. “So let’s have it.”

“What was up with you today?” You asked as you tilted your head slightly.

“I am— not quite following Y/N.” He says unsure as he changes his position, allowing you to get closer to him.

“The mistletoes?” You ask as Sherlock becomes more rigid “They were everywhere today.”

“I should have asked you if I could kiss you, right? I’m sorry. I thought that I could do it without asking for consent if I used the mistletoes.” He says quietly.

“What?” You chuckle a little, which only confuses the great detective further. Despite his brilliance, it was obvious that he still had a lot to learn about emotions and interpersonal relationships.

"I don't—"

"Sherlock, you don't have to ask me every time you want to kiss me. We are a couple. We didn't snuggle like this before, but we do now because it's pleasant for both of us. You don’t need my consent for some things and that includes kissing for me.” You explain as Sherlock brings you closer to him.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.” You informed him as he nodded and silently uttered ‘oh’

For a while, neither of you said anything, but then Sherlock probes once more: "But are you really sure that you are fine with it?"

You stayed quiet beside him and the detective raised a hand to your nose. Of course, now was when you fell asleep.

His eyes rolled under his eyelides as he rolled over. “Goodnight, Y/N” he murmured, aligning his arm over the curve of your side. “And Merry Christmas..”

Tagging list: @rhasima @fictional-hooman @so-this-is-a-thing-noww @bumblebee0609 @vynrichtermybeloved @xx-sonofabitch-xx @realityisadamnlie @friendlydemon @sleutherclaw @k1mikoz @spadequeen22 @justanotheromen @kh-aii @paola-carter @alahmorah @quesowakanda @jyessaminereads @harukaaaaa172993 @whiteboycarlgallagher @couldntbedamned @marebare21 @scar-lett-mess @lokiethar @chorraich

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

The Same Page Part 4/?

Part 4 is finally here, enjoy!

Warnings: panic attack, I think that’s it. I’m not big on editing so there’s probably some mistakes.

Synopsis: you let your anger override your fear, and John is there to help.

Same Page Masterlist:

You didn’t dream the rest of the night.

When you awoke, you found that your anger was just as potent and alive that it had been in the middle of the night.

Mycroft was asleep in the chair beside your bed, Sherlock slumbering on your bed right by your side.

You knew how hard they were working to make you feel safe, but that didn’t change how much they had lied to you in the past two years. You weren’t ready to let that go just yet.

Your shaking fingers found your phone, and you pressed John’s number, relieved when he answered right away.

You got straight to the point.

“I need you.”

John didn’t hesitate.

“Where are you?”

“Mycroft’s.” You lowered your voice when the man in question stirred. “I can’t be here. With them. Not right now. Please come get me.”

“I’m on my way.”

…

John was nervous, not a feeling he was incredibly used to. He had faced down murderers, terrorists, basically every form taken by the scum of the earth, and yet none of that had prepared him for what had happened in his life the past two years.

As if losing his best friend to suicide wasn’t bad enough, he had to watch you, the girl who had become like a little sister to him, spiral into a depression that nearly destroyed you, and nearly destroyed him to watch.

And now that the person who had caused all that pain—albeit for a good reason—was finally back, he knew you had to be just as angry as him—if not more. That wasn’t something he was used to. He almost never saw you angry—he was always the hothead at Baker Street, never you.

But this was different.

You slid into the car the second John slowed to a stop in Mycroft’s driveway.

“Do they know you’re leaving?”

“Just drive.”

John hesitated. “They’re going to-“

“John. Drive.” He saw your clenched fists, your narrowed eyes, and your tense jaw, and knew that he had never seen you this angry before. It wasn’t something he was about to mess with. He stepped on the gas and the two of you journeyed away from Mycroft’s house.

“What happened?” John asked after several minutes of tense silence. Something had to have made you snap like this.

“I realized I was the only one,” you weren’t looking at John, your gaze directed out the window.

John frowned, “Not the only one. Only a handful of people knew-“

“The only Holmes.”

Oh.

“I’m sure they thought-“

“Mycroft was the one who told me the news. About—about the suicide,” you spat the word out, your teeth gritted in anger. “He watched me fall apart day after day for two years-“ your voice suddenly caught, your anger giving way to tears. “And my mum and dad…they knew, they knew all of it, and they let Mycroft lie to me. They lied to me,” this time when your voice broke off, you didn’t bother trying to start speaking again. The tears had overwhelmed you, and John watched helplessly as you cried into your hands next to him.

John pulled into the parking lot next to a cafe that you both liked, and he leaned over your armrest and wrapped his arms around your shaking frame.

“I’m so sorry.”

…

“I’m sure she’s alright.”

“Alright? Sherlock, you don’t understand, she hasn’t left this house in-“ Mycroft broke off, turning away from his brother to continue scouring your room for evidence to your whereabouts.

Another thing Sherlock wasn’t used to: being the calm one. But perhaps Mycroft was right, perhaps he wasn’t grasping the seriousness of the situation, because he wasn’t used to you being like this, not being able to care for yourself. You had always been rather independent, and Sherlock was all but certain that your grief wouldn’t have robbed you of that quality.

But perhaps he just didn’t understand you. He never had, not really.

But you always understood him. You were a quiet girl, so when Sherlock wanted someone to wow with his observations, you were a perfect listener, and when he went quiet for days on end, intent on his work, you would curl up on the sofa across from him and crack open a book, the two of you lapsing into comfortable silences.

You didn’t have his kind of intelligence, but you loved to listen to his ramblings about whatever case he was on, and every once in a while you would give him an angle that he hadn’t thought of. You weren’t a partner-in-crime the way John was, but you were good company, and you were very patient with him, a quality not found in most people Sherlock met.

But more than any of that, you were his baby sister, and while he had never completely grasped average human sentiment, he knew that he would rather die than see harm come to you. He wanted to see you safe and happy, the way you had been two years ago before Moriarty had robbed you of both.

“Sherlock!”

Sherlock snapped back into focus at his brother’s outburst.

“What?”

“Would you please just focus? I can’t have you distracted, not with her missing.”

Sherlock sighed impatiently.

“We don’t know for certain she’s missing. Just because she isn’t in the house doesn’t mean she’s lost. Have you tried John?”

“Yes. He doesn’t answer.”

“Well then there is your answer. He would have answered unless she asked him not to.”

Mycroft nodded. He may have been more accustomed to you in the past two years, but Sherlock knew John.

…

“That’s the third time he’s called.” John sounded almost worried. You didn’t care.

“I know, John. Just ignore him.”

The two of you had gone inside the cafe, and John was sipping on a cup of coffee while you picked at a muffin.

“I know you’re angry at him, but he’s going to be worried sick about you.”

You didn’t bother with a response to this.

John sighed, “So what now?”

You look up at him, biting your lip. You really hadn’t thought any of this out.

“I don’t know, I guess. I just needed some space.”

“You’re going to have to face him. Both of them.”

“Can’t I just stay with you for a little while?”

John hesitated. He didn’t think it was a good idea, but he also knew how stubborn you could be. If he denied you, you might just push harder.

“Alright. For a bit.”

You smiled at him, and the two of you fell into silence for a while.

“They care about you.”

You were surprised by John’s sudden change in demeanor. His eyes were like laser beams, hyper focused on you, and his sudden analysis made you squirm.

“I know that. But they-“

“What would you have done, in their condition?”

You stared back at John, meeting his gaze.

“Why are you asking me this? Don’t I have a right to be hurt by what they did?”

“Of course you do. But this, what you’re doing now, isn’t going to solve anything. You know that they only acted to protect you, and even though their actions hurt you, their intentions were out of love. You trying to hurt them back won’t fix what’s happened.”

You shake your head, “I’m not trying to hurt them back. I just…I don’t think I can-“

“You don’t want to face them, I get it. But you have to. They’re your brothers, and they care for you. Forgive them.”

You stared at John, and he stared back. While your resolve seemed to be wavering, his was rock solid.

You hated what Sherlock and Mycroft had done to you.

But you couldn’t find it in you to hate them.

Your resolve cracked, and with it, your anger.

A smile crept across your face.

“And I suppose punching Sherlock was going to change something?”

A soft chuckle escaped John’s lips.

“No, no it wasn’t. But it was fun.”

You laughed, the first real laugh in…

Well, in a while.

“Was he surprised? When you hit him?”

John’s laugh grew to a full out belly-laugh.

“It was the most picturesque example of cartoon shock, you should have seen-“

John froze. You weren’t laughing anymore, not really. You had a smile on your face, but it seemed frozen, almost a grimace. John knew that look, that polite, forced smile of yours. He hated it when you used it on him.

“What’s with the face? What’s wrong, are you ok?” He didn’t want you hiding anything from him.

“I-um,” you gulped, blinking rapidly. “I think I-I want to call Mycroft now.”

John felt a mixture of worry and relief. He was glad you seemed to be ready to start forgiving your brothers, but you seemed on the verge of a panic attack now.

You reached your hand out, and John left his seat to kneel next to yours, allowing you to latch onto his arm while he pulled out his cell phone.

“Alright, ok that’s great. I’m calling him now, just, can you breathe for me?”

You coughed out a shaky breath, and John smiled nervously at you as he pressed Mycroft’s number.

“Good, that’s good, again?” Just then Mycroft answered his phone.

“Where are you? Is-“

“The cafe near Baker Street, Sherlock knows it. Hurry,” John hung up on Mycroft and turned all his attention to you. “He’s on his way, with Sherlock, alright?”

You nodded, your eyes darting around the cafe as you lifted a hand up to rub your chest, your breath coming in quick gasps now.

John took both your hands in his, and spoke in a slow, even tone.

“Hey, look at me.” When your eyes met his, he smiled at continued. “This is a bit much, yeah? You haven’t been this far from Mycroft’s house in quite a while,” John was encouraged by your nod. Responding was a good sign. “Yeah, well that’s alright. I know you’re a bit overwhelmed, but there’s nothing to fear. I’m right here, I’m here for you, and Mycroft’s coming to take you home.”

“Are you John Watson?”

John turned instinctively at the sound of his name, and was alarmed to find a woman dressed suspiciously like a reporter standing over him.

“Now’s not a good time, give me some space please,” he tried to turn his attention back to you, but the reporter was insistent.

“How do you feel now that Sherlock Holmes is reported alive?”

“No comment, go away.”

Just then the reporter caught sight of you, and recognition lit up in her eyes.

Oh no.

“Y/N Holmes!”

You flinched at the sound of your name, and you tried to back away from the reporter, but your progress was stopped when the back of your chair hit the wall. John moved to stand in front of you.

“Y/N Holmes, how long have you known that your brother Sherlock is alive?”

“No no, no, stop it, leave her alone!” It was one thing to interrogate him, but John wasn’t about to let this reporter anywhere near you, especially not now.

“Did you help him fake his suicide? Was Mycroft Holmes in on it? Did Sherlock murder Jim Moriarty?” The reporter was trying to move around John now, elbowing her way closer to you.

You were hyperventilating now, one hand wrapped around your knees while the other was grasping for John’s. John instantly moved to grab your hand, but he was beaten to it.

“Back away, unless you’d like to lose your job.” Mycroft Holmes put himself between you and the reporter, grasping your small hand in his and carefully pulling you to your feet. Sherlock was right behind him, holding your shaking frame up with an arm around your shoulder and guiding you toward the door, where John could see Mycroft’s car waiting outside.

“Mr. Homes! I just have a few-“

Neither Mycroft nor Sherlock even bothered to respond, they simply ushered you outside with John right on their heels.

…

Once safe and sound in his car, Mycroft finally turned his full attention to you, quickly analyzing your condition. Quick, shallow breathing, darting eyes, shaking like a leaf. It wasn’t good.

It also could’ve been worse, though. Your hand was gripping tightly to his, and your eyes seemed to finally be focusing on him.

“Mycroft…” he was relieved to hear you speak, it was a good sign. He let you fall into his arms, and when you did he pressed his hand to the side of your head and leaned you against his chest.

“Breathe when I breathe, alright?”

You followed his example perfectly, it was an exercise you were quite used to.

Mycroft noticed Sherlock staring at him, shock and discomfort distorting his features. Mycroft understood the look. If he had seen himself like this two years ago, he wouldn’t even recognize himself.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love his siblings, it was just that showing it had never been something he had been comfortable with.

Sherlock’s “death” had forced him to almost permanently vacate his comfort zone.

He was not a touchy-feely man, and he did not believe in babying you simply because you were his sister. But when you had fallen to pieces after Sherlock left you, Mycroft had quickly realized that if he didn’t change some of his ways, you might just never be able to pull yourself back together again.

“I’m sorry,” Mycroft came back to himself when he heard your soft voice. “I shouldn’t have-have left. I wasn’t thinking.”

Mycroft shook his head, “Don’t apologize. You were upset, I understand.” He pulled you away from him and brushed your short hair away from your face, “how are you feeling?”

Your small hands gripped onto his.

“Better now.”

…

Sherlock was relieved when Mycroft’s car pulled into his driveway. The small car felt even smaller when he was stuck watching you and Mycroft. Your bond was something he didn’t understand, and he wasn’t used to not understanding Mycroft.

When the car pulled to a stop, you seemed recovered enough to walk inside, Mycroft letting you hold onto his arm the whole way. When the two of you were gone, Sherlock turned to John.

“Thank you. For watching her, that was…good.”

John gave a weak smile.

“I care about her too. You take care of her, she’s a good kid.”

“I know.”

John turned to leave, but hesitated.

“She’ll forgive you soon enough. She loves you guys.”

Sherlock allowed a smile to cross his face.

“Thank you.”

Taglist:

@navs-bhat @chaoticglitterkitten

[cherrytr3kisses]

Comfy Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Sighing, I sat down on the sofa with a cup of tea and looked at the wall, deep in thought. Today was a busy day, the library where I work was overcrowded all day long. I stretched out and sipped my tea and then decided that I should take advantage of the silence and watch a movie until Sherlock and John returned. I turned on the television and went through the programs until I found something that suited me. The only problem was that halfway through the movie I realized how exhausted I was and therefore didn't realize that I had fallen asleep.

Sherlock's POV: Me and John just had an unnecessary conversation with someone who promised me new information about our current case, but instead things we already knew were brought up. John and I walked quietly back home while I wondered if I had missed something. I was quite annoyed about today because I was hoping to finally make progress with my case and instead I didn't make any progress. I cleared my throat, started to think about whether Y/n would be home yet and came to the conclusion that she probably would be home. I was hoping that maybe she could add some taxes, but then I remembered that she had worked today. She was somehow so important to me. I understood the feeling, which is rather unusual for me, I just knew that she was a very interesting person and understood me.

Without really noticing we had already arrived at Baker Street, John nudged me and said something about how he had another date and disappeared again so I went up the stairs and towards my room. I opened the door and blinked when I saw Y/n laying on my sofa, her hair mussed and a half-empty cup of tea placed in front of her. I found myself smiling when I heard her yawn my name. Apparently I was a bit too loud. I quietly walked towards her and carefully lifted her into my arms. She buried her face in my coat and whispered my name once more. I walked towards my bedroom, pushed down the doorbell and walked purposefully towards my bed. When I got there, I put Y/n, who had now fallen asleep again, down and covered her with my blanket. I looked at her one last time with a smile and then went into the living room to continue my research.

[french-vanilla-in-the-clouds]

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐅𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬

𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐗 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐎𝐍! 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Though Sherlock and Y/N have established a close relationship, Y/N still fears the consequences of commitment, and won't tell their friends. During the St Bart's charity ball, Molly Hooper flirts with Sherlock, making Y/N jealous. Hearts are tested and promises are made as Y/N and Sherlock struggle to find clarity during the masquerade gala.

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲: Anonymous

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It was the morning before St Barts' annual charity ball, and Y/N was visiting her brother John in preparation for the event. This year's theme was Venetian masquerade. Guests would arrive in elaborate masks, hidden behind jeweled disguises and false faces. Though Y/N already had a costume set, John had asked her to deliver the fitted suits that he had ordered for himself and Sherlock earlier that week.

Y/N rubbed her neck, stiff from carrying the delivery, and opened the door to the flat. "John!" She called. "John, I have your things for tonight!" She could hear the shower running, so settled her bags across an armchair and marched over to the bathroom. She rapped her knuckles against the door, louder than necessary. "Did you hear me?" She yelled over the sound of running water. "Come out, John! Is this any way to treat your favourite sister?"

She smiled to herself, pleased to play the role of the annoying sibling. Finally, the water shut off. She heard movement inside, and was about to walk away when the bathroom door opened. She took a step back. Standing with a towel wrapped around his waist, and his brow quirked upwards in amusement was Sherlock.

"I'm afraid John's out at the moment," he said. There was a glint in his eye as he leaned against the doorframe.

His hair was slicked back in darkened waves. The towel dipped lowly on his hips, its navy colour a stark contrast against his skin. Y/N pursed her lips, concentrating on keeping her gaze locked above his neck. She ignored the water droplets beading his chest, the steady rise and fall of his breaths.

Her eyes betrayed her and flickered downwards. She cringed, sure that Sherlock had noticed. "I realize that now," she said, carefully.

Sherlock bit back a smile. Y/N watched as he fetched a towel and ruffled it through his hair. "I'm obligated to tell you," he said, running a hand through his curls, "that I feel rather objectified beneath your stare."

Y/N smiled at that and moved closer. Sherlock dropped his towel to the floor and caught her in his arms. "It's intimidating to be the subject of such focus," he murmured, tilting her chin up, gently. Y/N leaned forwards, parting her lips. He felt warm against her touch, his skin still damp from the shower. Sherlock trailed his lips against her jaw, and she pressed a hand to his chest, chasing more of the sensation.

The distant echo of footsteps sounded in the hallway outside. Somewhere in her haze, Y/N heard, and tensed. She jerked away from Sherlock, and pushed against his chest. He stared back, bewildered.

The front door opened and John walked through. His smile faded at the room's obvious tension. 

"Morning," he said, feigning cheer. "Have I missed something?"

Y/N glanced at Sherlock who stood straight faced, despite his earlier affection. "Not at all," she lied. "I was just dropping off your costume for tonight." She felt Sherlock's stare as she fetched the garment bag and moved to give John a quick hug.

"Sherlock!" John called over her shoulder. "We have a guest, for crying out loud, and you're practically naked in that flimsy towel!"

"Your sister is quite agreeable," Sherlock said, an edge to his tone. "I doubt she minds much." She tried to catch his eye, but he looked away.

John sighed. "I just came to fetch my wallet. I'm due for some shopping with Greg. He needs new cuff links if you can believe it. I'll see you at the gala, yeah?"John planted a quick kiss on his sister's cheek and sprinted out the door.

The flat was silent after John's departure. Y/N rubbed her arm, nervously, until Sherlock finally spoke. "Are you ashamed of me?" He asked, steadily. Y/N whipped around, appalled by the question. "That's ridiculous," she said. "Why would you ask such a thing?"

He appraised her, his stance rigid. "I don't have another explanation for your keeping our relationship a secret. For over a year, you've indulged in shadowed outings and concealed affections. Where do you propose it all ends?" Sherlock looked up to the ceiling as though it could provide him answers. When he turned back, there was fear his eyes. "Will you truly deny me the chance to love you forthrightly?"

Y/N's heart burned at the fragility of his tone. She didn’t know how to respond. "I like the safety of our secrecy," she said, quietly. She feared her vague response would puzzle him, but it didn't. It only hurt.

"I see. Then perhaps it's time to take a risk."

"What do you mean by that?"

Sherlock tugged at his towel, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. He studied the threading for a moment before looking up. "I don't know," he admitted. "With you I am shattered, though in some twisted way, I find completeness in the broken pieces. When we met, I took a chance. I leant you my heart, faithful in our future. Will you not do the same for me?" He swallowed, and stepped towards his room. "Until tonight," he said, stoically.

Y/N stood frozen in place. She ached for clarity. Sherlock hadn't outrightly dumped her, but that wasn't much comfort when  considering his pain. She collected her things. The next time they met, it would be at St Barts' charity ball. Fear of commitment may have held her back, but she dreaded losing Sherlock more than anything else.

Tonight, she would fix what was undone.

***

"Still with me?" John teased, waving a hand in front of his sister's face.

Y/N flinched, torn away from her thoughts. Her cheek was pressed against the cab window as streaks of light bled from the city glow outside. The night was setting in as she and John drove to the gala venue.

"I'm fine."

John frowned. He reached for her hand, his eyes searching. "I know you. And I know when you're lying to me. I don't need Sherlock's deduction thing to tell as much."

Y/N tensed at Sherlock's name, her heart breaking a bit. John lifted his brows in surprise. "I'll be damned," he crooned. "This is about him, isn't it?"

"Does it really matter?"

"Of course it does! I knew there was something off about the two of you this morning! Has he said something? You know he doesn't mean half of what-"

"He loves me."

John frowned. He opened his mouth to say something, but held his tongue. "Pardon?"

Y/N pursed her lips. "He loves me," she repeated. "Sherlock and I have been together for a long time now, and-"

"Together?"

"Like, dating."

John nodded.

"Anyway," she continued. "He's wanted to tell you, but I've held back. I'm not sure why. I guess that I just didn't want to disappoint you." She leaned her head against his shoulder. The car thrummed as she searched for the right words. "It all feels so stupid now. I took him for granted. You'd think Mr High Fuctioning Sociopath would be the emotionally detached one, not me!"

John nudged her gently.  "You could never disappoint me. I know you'll figure it out."

"How could you possibly know that?"

"Because you always do, and I give credit where credit is due. It'll work out soon enough, I'm sure of it." He smiled warmly, doting on his sister.

When the cab came to a halt, John's smile grew wider. "Look, we've reached the event hall. Best foot forwards and all that, yeah? I'll handle the fare. Why don't you take a breath outside?"

Y/N peeked out her window. A grand building stood outside, stoned and grey. She wrung her hands nervously and stepped outside. An evening breeze nipped at her skin but she was grateful for the chill. Groups of people were already stepping through the glass doors.

She looked down at herself. Black, silken gloves draped her arms, their length adding a touch of drama. Her evening gown twirled down in shocks of merlot, the sleek satin trailing to the floor. Its ruched bodice bloomed into a full skirt, with lines of delicately placed jewels. She glittered beneath the moonlight, a scarlet vision.

"You look lovely." John stepped forwards as the cab departed. He wore a classic  dinner jacket and was sporting a white mask that concealed his eyes.

"Wow, John! You actually clean up well!"

"Somehow, that sounded like an offense." He reached behind his back and held out a mask. "Also, last time I checked, this was a masquerade. You almost forgot the key accessory in the cab!"

Y/N smiled in thanks. She wrapped the mask's silk fastening around her head and checked her reflection in a parked car's window. It's black lace design complimented the darker tones of her dress, and added a sharpness to her look. Though only her eyes were hidden, she felt anonymous.

"If you're ready..." John mumbled, tiring of his sister's self reflection.

Y/N took a breath. She knew that Sherlock awaited just beyond the shining glass doors of the building. She straightened her mask and ignored the distant pounding of her heart.

"I'm ready." 

The pair entered the venue at last, and Y/N gasped in awe. Hundreds of people danced and mingled amid the golden interior. Crystal chandeliers softened the atmosphere, catching the glint of sparkling costumes. Y/N's heels clicked against the marble flooring, its shine so pronounced, that it mirrored her steps.

"I think I see them," John murmured beside her. Y/N surveyed the sea of masked guests. Her eyes trailed over sequined gowns and classic frock coats. Costumes and masks of all colours and styles danced around the room, unrecognizable and strange. Finally, she spotted three people standing by a corner of the ballroom, in the lounging area. They were Molly, Lestrade, and Sherlock.

She and John weaved through the crowds. Her blood thrummed.

"Y/N! John!" Lestrade called out. "Where have you lot been?" The detective inspector dipped a whiskey glass towards them in greeting. A mask hung loosely around his neck; he was obviously enjoying a light party buzz.

"Sorry for the wait," John gasped. His cheeks were still rosy from the crowd surf. "Traffic was hell."

Molly smiled cheerfully from behind a cream coloured mask. She sipped at a glass of wine, nearly swishing the drink onto her canary ballgown. "It's fine! Sherlock was just telling us about his latest case. It's all been terribly exciting."

Y/N finally glanced at Sherlock. Her chest prickled with anxiety. In the backdrop of the ballroom, he seemed as regal as the portrait paintings hanging along the walls. He donned a silver mask, with intricate lines weaving patterns around his eyes. A cravat necktie complimented his tailcoat suit; its deep navy distinctive against the charcoal ensemble.

"Hello Sherlock," she said. "Are you well?"

He appraised her. The blue of his irises was striking behind the mask, but his gaze was indifferent. "Very well, thanks." He sampled his glass of champagne and looked away.

Y/N nodded, hurt by the slight.

A tension fell over the group until Molly spoke up. "Sherlock, are we still on for tomorrow?" There was a lilt to her tone.

He smiled tightly. "Yes, of course. You have an autopsy scheduled at noon, isn't that so? I'd like to cross reference your findings with a witness testimony."

Molly leaned forwards and grazed her fingers along Sherlock's arm. "I was thinking that it might be nice to catch lunch afterwards. Just the two of us." She smiled sweetly and looked up at Sherlock through hooded eyes.

Y/N coughed, awkwardly. There was a staged sensuality to Molly's movements that made her uncomfortable.

"Lunch?" Sherlock inquired.

"Would you prefer dinner?" Molly giggled. "I could never pass up a late night with you." She hooked her arm through Sherlock's, beaming. 

Y/N clenched her fists at Molly's suggestions. She kept expecting for Sherlock to discreetly move away, but he didn't. Her face burned with jealousy.

"Is she coming onto him?" John whispered in his sister's ear. She nodded wordlessly.

"Shamelessly so," Lestrade chuckled. "And the ol' sod's running with it!"

Y/N glared at Sherlock until he finally acknowledged her. There was no trace of yesterday's affection in his eyes. He tilted his head to the side apatheticaly. Y/N snapped.

"Excuse me," she said through clenched teeth. She pushed past Sherlock and left the group behind. Dizzying crowds of guests swirled around her. Suddenly, the party had lost its glamour. Its elegance was galling and only tested Y/N's nerves. Masked faces blurred as tears pooled in her eyes.

She reached a distant corner of the ballroom and hurried up a staircase to the venue's second floor. It was as elaborate as the first, but vacant except for a musician's quartet playing in the corner. Y/N overlooked the balcony, taking in the sights from above. Couples still danced to champagne melodies, though many had lost their masks; a consequence of the open bar.

Her gloved hands squeaked against the railing as she recalled Sherlock's earlier behavior. He had cut her off tonight. Whatever connection they had between them died the moment she rejected him at the flat. Or perhaps it had been dying slowly every day, and she simply hadn't noticed. She pondered over the ruined relationship, guilt and jealousy clawing at her heart. She imagined Molly's hands against Sherlock's chest below, his fingers tangled in her hair. The impassioned kisses, and stolen glances...

"Care for some company?"

Y/N's back stiffened. She turned abruptly. Sherlock stood on the top step of the staircase, his leg bent as he awaited her answer.

She nodded, yes. 

He joined her by the balcony. He still wore his mask, but had undid the first three buttons of his jacket. The cravat hung loosely on either side of his chest.

Sherlock looked over the banister, his stance reflective. Y/N ignored the excited shiver running down her spine. Neither spoke for some time until the quartet strummed the notes to a new song. The mood shifted below as guests hurried to collect their partners for a waltz.

Sherlock smiled solemnly. "Moon River," he said. Y/N listened to the tune and sure enough, it was familiar. "Moon River," she affirmed, awkwardly.

Dancers moved gracefully to the melancholy tune, pressed up against the ones they loved. Sherlock swallowed and turned to Y/N. He offered out his hand tentatively. "Would you share this dance with me?"

She didn't meet his eye. "It wouldn't be right."

Sherlock smiled kindly. "Nonsense. A masquerade without dance is a masquerade not worth having. Especially where your company is concerned." He placed one hand against her hip, and the other on her shoulder. "Indulge me," he said, softly.

She accepted.

The sweet sound of strings guided them along their own dancefloor, Sherlock taking lead. He studied Y/N, his face shadowed with doubt and desire. "You look beautiful tonight," he said.

Y/N's head spun with every rotation. "Thank you," she mumbled. Her steps were rough as thoughts of Molly passed through her head. What game was Sherlock playing?

"We have much to discuss, don't we?" he mused.

Y/N kept an eye on her feet, wary of missteps. "Do you like Molly?" she asked bluntly.

"Ah, right to it then." Sherlock pursed his lips. "I'm afraid Miss Hooper has had one too many drinks tonight. She'll have a clearer mind in the morning. I assure you, I hold nothing but an amicable relation with her."

She looked up at him, searching his eyes for deceit. "Do you swear it?"

Sherlock stopped dancing and looked at Y/N seriously. His eyes gleamed in the dim lighting, dark with offense. "You should know by now that you own a part of me. Foolish as it seems, my heart is yours. Would you think so lowly of my affections to assume that I would chase another not twelve hours after our dispute?"

He winced at his cutting tone and sighed. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to snap."

Y/N smiled. "I know." She moved forwards and brushed a hand againt his cheek. "I told John about us," she whispered. "He was pleased."

His eyes lit up. "I don't understand. I thought you valued discretion in our relationship."

"I owe you an apology, Sherlock. I was afraid of having everyone know about us because I wasn't sure how things would pan out. I don't like change. It wasn't until our fight that I realized it wasn't worth losing you. You're not a secret to keep. You're everything to me, and I love you."

Sherlock reached up and undid his mask. His eyes crinkled in a smile as he studied Y/N adoringly. "You took a risk telling John," he said softly.

Y/N grinned. "And I would do it again in a heartbeat. I think Molly and Lestrade should be next to hear the news."

"No doubt Molly would be next on your list," he hummed. "Jealousy is a fickle thing. Perhaps this will put your mind at ease."

The back of Y/N's legs hit the banister as Sherlock leaned forwards and kissed her.  He felt soft against her mouth, and her knees weakened. She was trapped between him and the railing of the balcony, aware of the drop below. He found her hands and curled his fingers around them, desperate for her touch. The warm feeling of his breath was dizzying, and Y/N was struck by the proximity of it all; his lips, the music, his hands, his touch...

Sherlock pulled away, breathless. His lips were swollen. "Sorry," he gasped. "I've simply had enough of this infernal thing." He carefully undid the fastening of Y/N's mask and tossed it aside with his own. When he turned back, his eyes swept over her face, his lips turned up in awe.

She looked up at him, flustered. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

"Your eyes," he whispered. "I could get lost in them." Sherlock cupped her face with both hands and slid his fingers delicately over her cheeks. "I love you more than any word can say."

Y/N felt her heart lighten. She reached up and took both of Sherlock's hands in her own. Moon River played on as she leaned her head against his chest and swayed along to the lazy tune. She could hear the muted chatter of guests below, and imagined their painted faces. She gave Sherlock's hand a squeeze.

"You're worth any risk."

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Hey! Read The Campus Detective!

Okay, if you haven't heard Moon River, you NEED T0. It totally sets the mood for the fic, so here, take some ambience music, from me to you -- 🎁

Requesting Anon- This sort of diverged from what you had originally asked (I was a *bit* self indulgent), but I hope you enjoyed it anyway! 💖 Masquerades are my weakness...

If you’d like to be tagged in any future Sherlock fics, just tell me in the comments! (and if you’d rather not be tagged in ALL Sherlock fics, please specify; EX: Reader x Sherlock, Reader x John Watson...)

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

tagging: @spencerrxids  @i-beg-your-pardonn ​ @lucywrites02  @danzalladaggers @mrs-holmes  @twisted-monster @starryeddie @high-functioning-lokipath @the-chaotic-cow @turkisherlockian  @kabubsmagga @aephereal ​ @andthevillainshallrises ​ @baby-bloos ​ @cookiemumster1 ​​ @eternal-silvertongued-prince ​ @bogginsreadings ​ @lumosouls @waiting-for-cas-to-save-me

[hellobitches990]

Your eyes are like 💎 sapphire 💎

Insta @ sherlockholmesfan2021