#pretend john is in this image laughing at sherlock

[spooksicl-e]

i wish you could have worn the antlers

some things are best left to the imagination

[gregorovitch-adler]

Wallet

John sat back on the sofa and relaxed. Rosie was at the daycare, and the renovation of 221 B Baker Street was about to finish in a day or two. Sherlock and John were done with today's work at least.

Sherlock was out for a walk to clear his head, probably to delete some insignificant information from his Mind Palace. John was only guessing, so he shrugged to himself.

Working on the renovation of this house - the place where they used to live together and John had the time of his life before Sherlock's awful staged death - had brought them closer together once again. John had moved back into this flat with Rosie a while ago.

Perhaps this was their way of forgetting about the dreadful day at Sherrinford. John was trying to forget Eurus in general, but his messy and still a little burnt surroundings were making it difficult. She was the one to send the silent bomb to their place, after all.

Still, John was trying to live. Trying to make things better between him and Sherlock. He knew he had to be the one to make the most effort - given how he'd treated Sherlock after Mary's death. Cutting him out of his life. Abandoning Sherlock when he needed John the most, and letting him end up in that morgue at Culverton Smith's mercy.

The images of John kicking and punching Sherlock until he lay half-dead on the floor, actually bleeding from several places, flashed before John once more.

John closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He hadn't stopped being haunted by the vivid images of that day. What had he done? He'd ruined everything they once had between them, that's what. John deserved to be haunted, and so much worse. How could he possibly treat someone he was in love with in that way? He didn't deserve Sherlock at all.

They'd started to work together again on the cases because, for some inexplicable reason, Sherlock didn't hold John accountable for his actions, even when he had every right to do so in the world.

John would never dare to even think of Sherlock as a heartless person again. John knew he would never be able to comprehend the size of this man's heart.

Still, things weren't the same. John felt that he and Sherlock had a lot of things they needed to talk about with each other. Both of them had been holding back on many things.

Not that John expected things to remain the same, after how he'd treated Sherlock. But a better communication was needed.

John will have that with Sherlock someday. He didn't know how, but he was going to try. He'd start by apologising first. He was ready to get down on his knees if that was what he needed to do. He'd do anything Sherlock asked. Anything in the world.

For now, he pulled out his wallet from his back pocket to open it.

His stomach twisted when he saw it was Mary, Rosie, and himself in the photo that the wallet contained. He felt nauseated looking at his fake smile in that photo. The time when everything was bitter but he was supposed to pretend he was okay.

It went without question that John loved Rosie, but he couldn't bear to look at the fake happy family photograph anymore. Not with how things with Mary turned out in the end.

John decided he needed a different photo for his wallet, so he took this one out and placed it on the coffee table.

He wondered which photo he'd use instead. John grabbed his phone from his pocket and opened the gallery, to go through some suitable images.

John wasn't the one to take a lot of pictures, but as he scrolled through, he stumbled across one from ages ago.

It was Sherlock in that picture, standing just outside a restaurant and laughing. Heartily and beautifully.

John stared at the image trying to recall what this was about.

That's when he remembered: They were on a case and they'd taken a short break because John was hungry. And John had tried to pull the door instead of pushing, even when the sign clearly said 'Push'. John had spitefully taken his photo after that.

John chuckled at the memory and swallowed. This one it was then. The picture he'd use for his empty wallet.

John was very much aware that he'd lost the chance of trying to have a relationship with Sherlock. He was incredibly lucky that Sherlock was ready to have him back as a friend.

John had to take his feelings to the grave, but this was the least he could do to make himself feel better. It was selfish, but it was his private thing.

It had to be this way.

*

Sherlock September Challenge by @onesmallfamily

Prompt: Wallet.

Tagging: @helloliriels , @topsyturvy-turtely , @lisbeth-kk , @keirgreeneyes , @gaylilsherlock , @clueless-mp4 , @curlyjohnlock , @a-victorian-girl , @lookingforlifeoutthere , @missdeliadili, @peanitbear , @calaisreno , @kettykika78 .

[nhasablogg]

Tickletober Day 14 - Tracing

Fandom: Sherlock

Characters: Sherock/John

A/N: Changed pairings last minute, but might post the other fic I didn’t finish as a little bonus for this being so short??

Words: 460

[Tickletober prompts]

John did it simply because he knew Sherlock would freak out otherwise, in his regular Sherlockian way. He did it and didn’t talk about it, that is. He knew Sherlock was aware of it and aware of how John knew what he was doing. But not talking about things was how they coped when things became too much. Too human and too emotional and too raw.

And this was such a silly thing to not be talking about.

Sherlock shivered when John reached the inside of his elbow, visibly holding himself back from recoiling. It was probably frustrating to be reacting at all, the involuntary movement making it much more clearer than he knew John was touching him, even though it would make no sense if he didn’t.

John kept tracing his skin, for reasons unknown even to himself. Perhaps he just liked seeing Sherlock try to contain himself, pretending he wasn’t human even though they both knew he was.

Perhaps he just wanted to be touching him. Perhaps he wasn’t fully ready to admit to that.

“Ticklish?” he didn’t ask when Sherlock shivered again, this time as John had moved down and was tracing his wrist, a spot sensitive enough that John had found out about it early. Sherlock would deny being ticklish and John would find it delightful if he blushed a bit, but the risk of Sherlock pulling away too much was too big, and so John relished in the image he’d made up. Sherlock averting his eyes, cheeks pinkening, an eventual laugh when John would curl his fingers over his side in earnest. It was something he’d never seen and maybe never would, but it brought him joy anyway.

He moved his hand upward again, tracing the skin slowly enough so that he could drink in each reaction, as small as they all were. Sherlock was reading something, something related to a case, but he’d stopped talking aloud to himself ages ago, maybe when John had sat down beside him and started touching him. Only his arm, but that was enough for them, for now.

John turned his head slightly to look at him, seeing the way his jaw was set, eyes stuck on the page but not moving. His lips tightened when John reached the inside of his elbow again, and John wondered if that was another tickle spot. He couldn’t know for certain, but he enjoyed the idea of Sherlock being sensitive and not knowing what to do with himself when touched there.

A smile was suddenly on his lips and John turned away to hide it, afraid Sherlock was watching him, too, and that this would be the final straw. John wasn’t ready to stop touching him.

Matter of fact, he rarely was.

[7soulstars]

wskwsns i cant send images in asks, but there was this post that went "i like gold but the a is silent" "there is no a in gold" "...." "oh you like urum?" "urum?" "when you remove a from aurum" (1/2)

Hshshsjjsnsnsns this is so funny now that I think about it. But like I always like teasing Sherlock by acting as if I don't get it. Wait I'm gonna do smthn outta this.

My Incorrect Universe Headcannon

Me, looking up and away from my phone with a cheeky grin : I love you too.

Sherlock, pretending to be mad at me: well I don't......

John,sipping tea: you're literally laying on her lap at least try being mad....

Sherlock: sHuT uP! god I'm never doing that again.....

--a week later--

John, walking in and trying not to laugh: which one was it today? How many has he sent anyway?

Me, unbothered, flipping through a book: Today was 'My favourite attractive force is Van der Waal's force. Can you feel it? I'll move closer if you can't.' He sends me 2 every day.

Sherlock*practically hanging onto me as he buries his head into my neck*: tHiS dOeSn'T mEaN aNyThInG!

Sherlock, panicking whenever someone asks him about the pickup lines:

I hope you like this 🥺. Thank you so much for that headcannon! Please do not hesitate to send more! I really like them!

For those who do not get the Van Der Waal one,

Van der Waals forces' is a general term used to define the attraction of intermolecular forces between molecules.

[statticscribbles]

Pain

Summary: Sherlock Holmes/shy!reader, Soulmate AU of You feel intense pain in your soul when your soulmate is in life-threatening danger.

You’d heard about Sherlock Holmes from his brother. You’d been aware of Mycroft before Sherlock, you’d been working with him, mostly as a secretary, but when he’d mentioned his brother needing help, you’d been only slightly confused. He wouldn’t have been so open with his family unless there was a reason.

You’d been confused when you’d actually met Sherlock. You knew he was your soulmate. You’d realized the pinpricks on your arms, the pain you’d felt had been his drug addiction. You remember the pain when he’d broken his arm, the ache in his chest when something even worse had happened in his childhood. You wondered what life threatening scenario he’d been in. You’d never been in anything like that, despite working with Mycroft and the government that doesn’t exist.

”This is Y/N, she’ll be helping you and John out on this case.”

“Goos, hold this.” Sherlock shoves a paper file into your hands and a cup of coffee. Mycroft shoots you a look and nods a little and you shake your head already knowing what he wants you to do. He wants you to confess that you’re Sherlock’s soulmates.

“Moriarty won’t stop until…” You tune Sherlock out, you know it’s rude but you can tell that whatever he’s saying isn’t really meant for you. Besides the fact he hasn’t looked over at you since you’d arrived beyond handing you the file, as you’re flicking through it he turns, aware of you for the first time.

“Y/N.”

“Yes?” You jerk your head a little, surprised he’s deemed your name important enough to remember.

“Did Mycroft pay you to spy on me?”

“No he believes that you need all the hands you can get on this case, and since I just make his coffee…”

“Then what use are you to me?” He cuts you off and narrows his eyes, tilting his head slightly as if he’s analysing you.

“You can go back to him.”

“I’d rather stay here.” You make sure your grin is a little more bitter than necessary.

You’d been put on a coffee run and while you don’t mind, you’d made a point of grabbing lunch for yourself as well as everyone else. You’re walking back when you can tell someone is following you. You duck into the nearest shop, pretending you need to pick up flowers and you end up leaving with a bouquet of roses, trying not to laugh at the image of you returning with cold coffee and flowers as an apology.

You don’t feel the person grabbing you, you just feel the food sliding from your grasp and the nudge towards a waiting car. You can feel a slight breeze on your back before you feel what you assume is a gun pressing against your spine.

“In the car.”

“I’m the secretary.”

“You’re his soulmate. He’ll have to come for you.”

Sherlock scowls. He turns from where he’d been thinking, knife twisting in his fingers and cutting through the air. John looks confused when the knife drops and Sherlock jerks forward cringing, gripping his arm around himself.

“Sherlock?”

“Y/N’s in trouble.” He mumbles straightening himself up and John frowns a little.

“How would you know that?”

“I’ll explain once she’s safe.” He snaps and John sighs but nods following him out the door.

The room is dark, you wonder if Sherlock is in any sort of pain, you’d been surprised once you’d found out he was your soulmate, all the pain you’d felt in the past, the warmth that coiled around your chest indicating your soulmate was in a life threatening scenario.

You can’t hear anything, or see anything but you can’t figure out if it’s because your eyes have been covered or if the area you’re trapped in is just that dark.

“Hello. You must be Sherlock’s soulmate. Pleasure.” You instinctively try to move back, but find a hand wrapping around your shoulder, you can feel a rope digging into your wrists and you reason you’ve been tied to a chair.

“Wish I could say the same.” You snap back and the laugh makes you cringe.

“Oh my dear, you poor thing, you don’t know. Sherlock’s always known you were his, he just doesn’t want you.” You frown and then the light blinds you. The man standing in front of you is wearing a suit, his eyes shimmer almost black as he grins.

“Jim Moriarty. You must be Y/N. It is very nice to meet you. I always wondered how Sherlock would react to feeling his soulmate die. Well at least be tortured.” You wonder why he amends the death but then you think you can hear footsteps approaching.  

“Don’t worry, if they’re fast you won’t die.” He grins, firing the gun.

Support My Writing?

[unholyfrank]

Sherlock Babysits

Sherlock knocked on John’s large front door. He waited for a few seconds before the door opened with a welcoming smile from the man standing in its doorway.

"Hi, Sherlock. Thank you so much for doing this, I've just got an appointment to run to." He smiled as he let Sherlock in and shut the door behind him.

"Sherrrlllloccccccckkk!" Shouted the two small children as they ran through from the living room and towards Sherlock.

"Hey kids, how have you two been?" He laughed and bent down, scooping them into his arms, sitting one on each of his hips. He cared so much for these kids and he loved watching them grow, they’d already grown so much in such a short time. He sat Hamish on one hip, giving him a tight squeeze around the boy’s waist as he hugged back and Sherlock kissed his head. Hamish was four, the spitting image of his father but with one exception, he was all legs. Rosie wrapped her arms around Sherlock’s neck as he moved his arm to sit under her nappy padded bum, hugged her and gave her big kisses all over her cheek. Her laughter was one of the things Sherlock loved about Rosie, she was two and always wore the biggest smile on her face. That and her little chubby cheeks and legs, Sherlock just couldn’t get enough of them.

They made small, happy noises and hugged him back with the same enthusiasm. "Gooooood." They smiled and cuddled up to him.

John leaned one shoulder against the hallway wall and smiled at his kids, he was happy to see them smiling again and happy to see Sherlock this way around his children. He knew how Sherlock was and John knew he was doing his best to always have a smile on his face around the kids and he was doing great.

"They really miss her being here. Since she left, they're always asking for you." He said and kissed Hamish and Rosie’s heads before grabbing his keys. "Again, thank you Sherlock." He smiled.

Sherlock chuckled slightly and smiled back at him, rocking from side to side, making the kids sway on his hips. "Anytime, John. Now go before you're late." He grinned as the kids waved goodbye to their father and Rosie blew kisses at him. John pretended to catch them and walked out the door, shutting it again behind him.

Sherlock put Hamish down onto the floor and kept Rosie on his hip, pushing the hair out of her face as he walked with her. “So what are we getting up to whilst Daddy is gone, hmm?” Hamish walked to the table and sat up on his chair, sitting on his knees to see properly and pushed a small pouch of pencils and crayons into the middle of the table.

“We were just going to draw, but Daddy said to wait until you were here so we could all draw together. He said you are the best at guessing what we’re drawing.” Hamish smiled and moved some paper over to the seat next to him.

“Oh I don’t know about that,” Sherlock laughed, pulling Rosie’s highchair over towards them and sitting her down inside. “But drawing sounds like a great idea, Hamish, I love it.”

The smile spread across Hamish’s face as he watched Sherlock sit down next to him. He excitedly moved more paper and pencils towards Sherlock and sat back down on his own seat, pencil in hand, his body bouncing slightly from his legs swinging beneath his seat. Sherlock picked up a piece of paper and a blue crayon and put it on the tray of Rosies highchair. “Now don’t put this in your mouth, Rosie,” he said, picking up the crayon and moving it like a wand in his hand, “it’s really really yucky and it’ll turn your tongue blue, forever!’” He side eyed Hamish and saw the boy holding back a little laugh before regaining his composure with a cough. Sherlock smirked slightly and put the crayon down and smiled with a raised eyebrow as Rosie picked it up and nodded, a determined look on her face as she started scribbling on the paper with the crayon upside down.

Sherlock picked up a pencil and started sketching, it had been a while since he had drawn, he never thought he was that good, but as always, if he sat down and dedicated time to it, he could feel like he wasn’t a complete amateur at it. Rosie dragged Sherlock out of his head by drawing ‘spots’ on her paper, banging on her tray. Hamish and Sherlock laughed, both for completely different reasons. Sherlock just saw her stabbing her poor piece of paper but Hamish saw her trying to make as much noise as she could.

“What are you drawing, sissy?” Hamish laughed and stretched his neck to see his sister’s drawing. She looked up from her paper and across to her brother and moved her paper to show him, “Fishes!”. Sherlock grinned as she turned to show him too and put her paper back down.

“Wow, well done Rosie, what a clever girl!” He smiled and watched as she kept on scribbling, colouring all the paper in, as much as she could. “What about you, Hamish, what are you drawing?” He sat back in his chair and looked at the older boy.

“It’s a secret, you don’t get to know until it’s done!” Hamish grinned and went back to colouring. Sherlock laughed to himself, picked up his pencil and started drawing again, taking his time and losing himself in his thoughts as he hummed to himself, a piece he would usually play on his violin.

Every now and then Sherlock would look up at the kids, still humming his melody, checking on them, making sure he was definitely not ignoring them or their needs. The children both had smiles on their faces as they coloured and scribbled. This made Sherlock so happy, just relaxing with the kids and they were comfortable around him, they trusted him and he wasn’t making things awkward. Just a little tune Sherlock had committed to muscle memory when playing broke the silence and made time pass so quickly, and he saw that it relaxed the kids, they didn’t need to worry about talking, or sitting quietly, which Sherlock knew all too much about. He just wanted the kids to feel safe around him when their dad was gone and by the looks on their faces he was doing just fine.

Sherlock spent the next ten minutes working on his drawing, he was determined to finish now that he had started, and watching over the kids before Hamish started rummaging through his pouch of pencils and crayons.

“Sherlock, I don’t have any more green pencils for my grass, my last one got too short for me to hold so Daddy had to throw it away.” Hamish looked up at Sherlock with a puzzled look on his face. “I can’t colour the grass in another colour, it would be wrong.”

Sherlock chuckled a little and picked up another piece of paper. He knew Hamish wouldn’t want him showing him on his drawing, after all it was a secret. He quickly scribbled down some grass and a flower on the new piece of paper and picked up a yellow pencil. “If you don’t have a green, then you can mix one. Green is a colour you can mix out of other ones.” He smiled and looked over at Hamish as he scooted his chair closer so that the boy could see. “Blue and yellow mix together to make green, bud. Here let me show you.” Sherlock took the yellow pencil and started colouring the grass in a flat yellow shade. “I’m starting with yellow, because it is lighter and you can put dark colours on top, but it is harder to put light colours on top of dark ones.” He explained. Once this was done he picked up a blue pencil and went over the yellow lightly and smiled as Hamish let out a little ‘wow’. He laughed again and put his pencil down.

“It works with other colours too, with orange and purple,” he showed the boy as he drew a carrot and some grapes. “For the orange you start with yellow, like we did before, then you put some red on top.” He grinned, watching the boy’s eyes widen as he showed him. “And then for purple you colour the grapes with some red, and go over it with some blue.”

“What happens if you colour something with all the colours, Sherlock?” Hamish asked with a curious but excited look sparking all across his face.

“Oh, you get this lovely shade of dirty brown.” Sherlock laughed and pushed the paper towards Hamish to try for himself. The young boy looked so excited and tried all the colours next to Sherlock’s tests and was so impressed with himself when the colours began to change as he drew one colour on top of the other. Sherlock grinned to himself as he stood up out of his chair to make himself a cup of coffee, putting his sheet of paper on the counter next to the kettle. “Want something to drink kids?” Sherlock asked as he took two cups down from the top shelf and a mug for himself.

Hamish nodded and grinned up at Sherlock. “Oh yes, can I have milk please?” He asked, putting down his pencils and pulling his chair in with a squeak.

Sherlock beamed and nodded as he grabbed the milk from the fridge and turned to Rosie, bending down to look at her. “And you, missy? What are you after?”

She banged on her tray with flat palms and gave her big smile. “Juice?” She asked with, what looked like to Sherlock, the faintest trace of puppy dog eyes. He bet this worked on John every time. “And what do you say, Rosie?” He said as he pushed her hair away from her face.

“More Juice,” the girl insisted as Hamish covered his laugh with his hand behind Sherlock. Sherlock turned to her brother and shook his head with a laugh.

“You know what you have to say, don’t you Hamish?” Sherlock asked. Hamish answered with a nod as he kept his hand over his mouth, hiding his giggles. “Then let’s see if Rosie knows.” He nodded and looked up at his sister who was looking puzzled at him from her highchair.

“More Juice.” She pouted and looked up at Sherlock with her lips pursed and her eyebrows furrowed. By this time, Sherlock knew that John would have given up and got the girl some juice, but Sherlock wasn’t going to give up. He was far too stubborn.

“There’s a magic word, Angel. It starts with a P. P-P-P...” he encouraged her. She gave him a confused look and moved her eyes between Sherlock and Hamish. Sherlock smiled as Hamish hopped off his chair and put his hands on Rosie’s highchair tray and stood on his tip toes to whisper in his sisters ear. “Pleeese.” She spoke down to her brother and he nodded. “Juice Pleeeeeeeese?” She beamed, turning to look at Sherlock again. He could only laugh and nod as he kissed her head and ruffled Hamish’s hair as he walked around the table to sit back in his chair again. He half filled a cup with milk for Hamish and put some orange juice in a sippy cup and filled the rest of it with water for Rosie. He gave the kids their drinks and turned to make himself his coffee. “And what do we say now?” He asked as he poured hot water into his mug.

Hamish smiled and finished his gulp of milk as he looked at his sister over his glass and sang, “thank you, Sherlock!” Rosie laughed and repeated after Hamish with her mouth still glued to the end of her cup. Sherlock smiled and sat back down with the kids at the table as they finished their drinks and chatted away. After they had finished, Hamish got down from the table to go and wash his hands whilst Sherlock cleaned Rosie’s face and hands with a baby wipe. He lifted her down from the highchair and wiped all the crayon off the tray too. He put the crayons and pencils away in their pouch and zipped it back up. Sherlock chuckled as Rosie walked off, shouting on her brother to find him.

He was pushing the chairs in to the table when he heard some giggling and saw a head pop out from a door before it shut again.

“What are you two doing?” He laughed, pushing the last chair in and walking into the living room to sit on the couch.

“You’ll see!” Shouted Hamish with an eruption of happy little giggles coming from the room. Sherlock chuckled to himself, rolled his eyes and smiled as he lay down on the couch, closing his eyes with his hands clasped over his stomach. And as he expected, he was poked in the arm in no time. Sherlock slowly opened one eye. “Prepare to be defeated, Mr Giant!” Hamish grinned as he stood in what Sherlock could only call a patient defence stance. He saw Hamish in his super hero costume, with his mask and cape on. Rosie was standing behind him looking over her brother’s shoulder in a princess dress with a cape on too. “Let’s get him, Rosie!” Hamish yelled as he pointed at Sherlock. Sherlock closed his eye again quickly and pretended to be asleep. Rosie struggled to get up onto the couch and began poking at Sherlock’s leg, trying to hold back her laughter.

“We are this city’s super heroes!” Hamish laughed as he started poking at Sherlock and trying to tickle his sides. Sherlock stayed as quiet as he could. A wicked smile spread across his lips as he sat up slowly, the kids squealing in excitement as they moved backwards.

“And I’m Mr Tickle Monster!” He boomed and grabbed the kids, pulling them into his arms, tickling their sides as they wriggled and squirmed. They laughed and squealed more, causing Sherlock to laugh himself. He stood up, a child under each arm and started to walk around the room as if he had won them as prizes, still tickling them.

“Stop! Stop, Sherlock, Stop!” The kids laughed and turned in his arms. He gave up and stopped tickling them and let them down onto the floor. He smiled and took a breath as he sat down on the floor with them laughing as he did. The kids smiled at each other as they saw Sherlock sitting down with them. They ran up to him and jumped in his lap, causing Sherlock to roll onto his back. They giggled even more and started climbing all over him.

“This is the last of you, Tickle Monster!” Hamish bellowed as they sat on Sherlock. He tried to wriggle free from beneath them but they crawled up his body and both of them sat on his hands, pinning them to the floor.

“Okay, okay, you got me. The super heroes have defeated me!” Sherlock sang out in a playful huff.

The door handle turned and all three of them stayed exactly where they were and looked at the door in unison. John walked in the door and Sherlock tried to hide his laugher as John looked at them curiously, the kids still sitting on Sherlock’s hands.

“Do I want to know?” John asked as he raised his eyebrow.

“Daddddyyy!” The kids grinned and got off Sherlock, running to John’s legs. This sight only put a bigger smile on their father’s face as he kneeled down to them. “The super heroes beat the Tickle Monster, the city is safe!” They grinned as John picked them both up and kissed their heads.

“Good, Tickle Monsters are the worst kind of monsters! I bet you’re all tired out now?” John chuckled. The kids both nodded and Sherlock nodded behind them with a smile.

“They don’t give up easy.” Sherlock laughed and stood up, brushing off his legs. “Reminds me of someone.” He joked.

“Oh that’s just mean.” John chuckled as he put the kids down and stood up too.

“Yeah, meanie!” Rosie repeated and chuckled as she held onto her father’s leg.

“Right kids, go put your capes and things away and we’ll get some snacks ready for you.” John said and patted Hamish’s back. They both ran out of the living room, leaving Sherlock and John alone. “Coffee?” He asked with a smile. Sherlock hummed approvingly and nodded, following John into the kitchen and sitting down at the table. Sherlock grinned as he saw Hamish’s picture that looked like a family out in a park, having a picnic before he realised it was Hamish, Rosie, John and Sherlock all together around a blanket. His heart fluttered and he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.

“How was your appointment?” Sherlock asked with a smile as John passed him another cup of coffee.

John just smiled and untucked his dog tags from under his shirt. They were different. He had got them engraved, one with an ‘H’ and one with an ‘R’. Sherlock’s face flushed red as John moved them slightly and a third tag fanned out behind the other two, this one engraved with a letter ‘S’. Sherlock looked at it and grinned as John walked around to him, leaning down to peck his lips. Sherlock beamed and dragged him down for a proper kiss, his hands falling on John’s waist as he sat on Sherlock’s lap. He smiled on John’s lips, it was soft and sweet and put into words everything he was feeling. “Well?” John mumbled against Sherlock’s lips.

“Well, what?” Sherlock whispered as he pulled back, opening his eyes as John placed something around his neck. Sherlock looked down at it and took the tags into his hand. They were similar to John’s, three tags, one with the letter ‘H’, one with an “R” and the last one, reflecting in the light, an engraved letter “J”. Sherlock gazed up at John, a smile with a hint of confusion on his face.

“You’re a part of my squadron now,” John chuckled and tucked his own dog tags back under his shirt and did the same with Sherlock’s, gently resting his hand where Sherlock’s tags lay under his shirt. “That is, if you want to be?” John smiled down at him. Sherlock simply nodded, smiled and kissed John sweetly again. John giggled on Sherlock’s lips and stood up as he heard the patter of the children’s feet coming down the hall. John jumped across to the counter happily and started cutting fruit up for the kids. Sherlock stood beside him, filling their cups up as he turned over his drawing of John, Hamish and Rosie, together like a family photo. John beamed up at Sherlock, the man really was talented at everything he did, he would have to frame it somewhere around the house so everyone could see it. “Thank you again, for looking after the kids.”

“Like I said, anytime John.” Sherlock grinned and sneakily kissed his cheek.

[ukthxbye]

I’m Already Someone Else’s

On ao3

Molly didn't look for Sherlock on purpose. But they found each other in the reception crowd. With hands in his pockets, he stood still as a statue. She approached and stopped beside him, letting half a foot of air remain between them

A sip of wine for courage, she looked up to catch his gaze away from the room and complimented him.

"Your piece for the happy couple, it's gorgeous. Really truly gorgeous.

"Better than the speech?"

She sighed and pursed her lips "Honestly no one believed you could do it.

"Excepting you, of course," he sighed, taking his hands from his pockets.

Molly sensed his gaze turn from the crowded room to her. She kept her stare forward as she shrugged one shoulder. "I well, I had more confidence than some," she snickered. More wine she reminded herself and took a large gulp from her glass as she braved a glance. He's handsome, sure she mused, and the tuxedo an extra touch of elegance made for those cheekbones. God those cheekbones, but why? Why did she want to stare at him, mapping every line? Tracing them with her fingers and her lips... she shook away those stray temptations and looked back across the room to Tom to reset her thoughts. She hoped anyway.

"Terry is...?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her, head cocked but she spied the tiny upturn of his lip. Not unlike when he calls Greg anything but his name.

She raised an eyebrow, one he would recognize as a censure but smirked as well. "Tom is enjoying a drink at the bar last I saw him," she turned to survey across the room. "Mrs Hudson was nearby I thi—"

Sherlock groaned.

Molly pivoted her head back with a frown, "What?"

Sherlock sighed, eyes closed head fallen back. "She's had enough wine to—"

Molly smacked his arm with her free hand and ignored his false injured face. "Have a good time?" She caught his eyes with hers when he dropped his chin.

He did not answer and his eyes held hers, much too long as always and the room suddenly felt small and warm. She released her stare first with a gulp and lifted her glass focusing on the burn as it choked out any words as she watched the crowd dance before them. Why does he have to be so fucking intense?

His eyes did not leave her, and she hoped to blame any flush on the wine. Why? Why even now, she mused. His effect a thorn in her side still. Tom loved her, actually loved her and told her so, showed her. Put a ring on her finger that she fidgeted with as she pondered, pretending to watch the room. But might as well be empty for all it mattered as all faded around him and her awareness of him. His study of her like a spotlight. And she hated his next words before he even said them. So she stumbled out something instead.

“It was a lovely wedding.”

He sighed, “Small talk better for someone you don’t know... but yes, I'm happy for the two of them. John isn’t made to be alone.”

She nodded with a grin, "Not that he was but... yes. And Mary's able to give as good as he sends," she chuckled. "I really do love her."

Sherlock nodded with a soft smile. She studied him as his face softened, “Yes. She is a match for him in more ways than one.”

“But you are afraid it all changes now.” Her turn to have the advantage, she thought. She sipped her wine, cutting her eyes in his direction and back to the John and Mary laughing with another couple

Sherlock stiffened, his spine lengthening as he creased his shirt down like a reflex. “I'm a creature of habit as you well know, but I'm sure the disturbance to our work will be minimal... for now.”

Something guarded in his last words as his brow folded But secrets were all an art this entire group pedaled well, she contemplated as she brought her glass back to her lips once again. Her turn to study him as he focused on John and Mary.

Molly knew he wanted to run. That tension tight in his shoulders as his eye landed on the door with longing. But John nodded in his direction and Mary blew a happy kiss. No, he could not leave now. More awkward standing until Tom decides the bar is less interesting.

But she felt the air change near her arm and her heart stopped as his hand laid on her shoulder and moved in front of her. His fingers with no hesitation ran down her arm and wrapped around her hand. "We should dance. "

"Um…" she swallowed and shocked herself with hoarseness in her voice, "Ok?" She set her glass at the table near her and allowed him to guide her away.

"It's a wedding after all," Sherlock added with mirth as he pulled her to the edge of the dance floor. Further away from view of Tom, much to her relief and trepidation by how it made her feel. To say nothing of his hand moving to her back and resting there light near her spine and a tingle she strived to ignore. They paused, adjusting to a shifting crowd as the songs changed and turned to a Latin beat. A consequence of wine but her hips naturally swayed to the rhythm.

She shrugged as she spied him smirk at her.

"You went a Salsa dancing night before, am I correct?"

"Brilliant deduction there...not unusual really" she giggled, nerves on edge as put his hand at her waist and she found his shoulder with her own. "It’s been a year though." Hands clasped now.

"Your hip movement gave you away. You'll forgive my poor attempt at the style but... I do know how to lead at least." His eyes turn in the direction of some struggling couples and they both snickered.

And with that he stepped, and she followed. Within a couple beats they found the basic pattern but tension remained, and the light caught her engagement ring with a flash like lightning and she missed a cue and their rhythm thrown off.

"Let me lead," he instructed low as he brought her into a spin and gripped her hips tighter and lower when she returned. Something witty came to her mind but flew away as he drew her closer hip to hip for a step. Breaths matched. Such a brief pause an eternity between them. But she smiled, and he did too. Back to the pattern they went and she let the moment clear her mind. Relaxed she let him guide her into the turns and twirls. The lightness of it all washed over her and she thought she could read a similar mood in him. Physical all they needed right now. Words always were dangerous, she mused. Beads of sweat on both foreheads well earned. But the song ended, fading into a dreamy tune and the contrast like a warm breeze.

Whatever resolve left melted wax as the song shifted too romantic for propriety. It wasn't fair she told herself as his hand slipped across her back and he drew her closer. But not as close she hoped. This terrible just barely respectable distance as he swayed her achingly slow.

She hated it. Years changed them like the notes floating around them. She wanted any nearness in the past. But now… she wanted it more. Something desperate and tense in his grip at her waist. Hot enough it burned through her dress. She matched it with her hands on his hips. Her eyes fluttered closed but every other sense sharpened. His cologne drifted into her nose and the hint of snuck cigarettes earlier and warm starched fabric heated against his skin. His skin she focused too much on it and images danced behind her eyelids that she hid. His nearness exposed nerves she thought dead and gone like he was for years.

She squeezed her eyes tighter when his breath caressed her ear. “You can dance better with open eyes.”

Her mouth opened, jaw dropped, and he slowed their movements, "Molly, I… I’m…" Her heart lept at the breathless sound and she opened her eyes to meet his. So close she could see every thread of color even in the dim light. Were there words that matched that gaze?

A gulp and his tone fell. “Here’s your proper partner.”

The bubble popped as she heard Tom’s voice, slightly slurred saying her name and she released her grip.

“Hey thanks for dancing with her” Tom grinned, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and resting his chin on her shoulder.

One more lingering stare and Sherlock let his gaze fall first this time. Her chest heavy and her breath held. What was he going to say? If only... she squeezed Tom's hand slipping from his hug. But Sherlock only offered a slight smile and with a nod walked away.

Tom lead her to Mrs Hudson who greeted her with a tight hug and they all danced in a small group. Conversations flitted around her but the words gibberish in her ears still filled with her own heartbeat. Molly craned to search the other side of the room to watch Sherlock find his way to the door he lusted for earlier. Her chest ached, but she swallowed a lump into a wide grin at her fiance who danced up next to her. With Sherlock gone, she locked away every sensation and memory. In the same box inside her mind she kept for years. But his breath at her ear remained uncontainable and mingled with memories of his lips at her cheek. She hoped one more glass would dull it all and greedily took Tom's glass tipping it back until empty

[kc-s-e]

Study Moods as Sherlock Characters

- INDIVIDUAL IMAGES NOT MINE -

- as requested by an anon -

Sherlock Holmes

Knowing you're top of the class and being damn proud of it. Working hard for what you want but pretend you're slacking. Only putting effort in when you care about a subject. Running on tea. Soft violin music as you study. What's a study group? Loudly voicing your opinions in class. Being both prideful and self depreciating. Staying in bed all day and getting on that homework grind at 3am. What's sleep?

John Watson

People think you're really quiet but actually you're secretly judging them. Defending your friend's opinions during class. Slow and steady wins the race. Short and light study sessions. Never participating in class but writing down questions to ask the teacher later. Running a studyblr. Rifling through hundreds of papers to find that one specific sheet from two years ago. Working out loud. Quiet voice loud mind.

Mycroft Holmes

Slow drawl in front of stupid people. People watching during study breaks. Perusing the newspaper on a morning because you can. Staying up to date with gossip, so much so that you know before everyone else. Tea stained paper. Either writing in perfect calligraphy or hastily typing out everything, no in-between. Finishing your work before you even get it. Scaring people with your random facts.

Jim Moriarty

The kid in class nobody notices until they say something creepily accurate. Always being dressed to impress even when studying. Using analogies to explain something. Shakespeare binges. Managing to store everything in your pockets. Having a favourite pen which you use for everything important (aka nothing in school). Despising school but not functioning without it. Always carrying a letter opener (not for letters).

Greg Lestrade

Guys listen I've got this - does not got this. Deals with a lot of stress. The kid with a weird name that nobody can pronounce. Dodging school drama. Not getting involved in arguments. Excessively researching obscure Wikipedia pages at stupid o clock in the morning. Managing to spend all your time online without doing a single shred of homework. Caffeine highs. Deadpan facial expressions.

Molly Hooper

Quirky smiles and snorting when you laugh. Bad puns and jokes at inappropriate times. Being passionate about your studies. Cuddling with your cat when you revise. Having an extravagant personality but keeping your work minimalistic. Daydreaming about that one person. Motivational quotes on t-shirts. Loving romance novels. Clean bullet journal spreads. Neatest and tidiest work space ever.

Mary Morstan

Looks like a cinnamon roll but is actually a sinnamon roll. And can kill you. Perfecting a smirk or a glare instead of working. Having a flawless persona. Smarter than people give you credit for. Keeping vodka in a water bottle to get you through a class. Swirly loopy handwriting. Smelling of lavender to lure people into a false sense of calm. Handing in your homework one day in advance. Lighting candles instead of lamps.

Mrs. Hudson

A secret badass. Don't grow up it's a trap. Sightseeing and travelling the world to avoid that one deadline. Taking aesthetic photos of your notes (which are over two years old). Drinking tea in the morning to wake up. Demanding that your position not be taken for granted. Laughing at idiots in class. Secretly loving to gossip. Actually just a human made out of big secrets. Honestly working hard for the grades you have.

Sally Donovan

Eye rolling. Being harsher than people expect in study groups. Committed to that A. Not having time to date because sTudYInG. Being super organised. Not dealing with anyone's bs. Preferring the cold hard facts over someone's opinion. Being a bitch but still getting the job done. Nobody can really complain because you're efficient in your work. Reading before bed. Having an intense skin care routine for relaxation.

Eurus Holmes

Oh my god will you shut up - something frequently said. Underappreciated quips. Preferring the solitude of a library. Minimal distractions when working. Having one colour scheme used for all of your aesthetics. Gothic architecture. Planning out everything you're going to do in your head. Writing long essays with no clear point but still getting a good grade. Monologuing. Little patience in class. Minimalistic stationery.

- KC

[love-y-o-u-3000]

Undercover in Spain - Part I Part II Part III  Part IV Part V

John has already changed into the sleepwear and got into bed but trying to focus on anything but the notion of Sherlock currently showering in the bathroom seems to be absolutely futile. As it happens, Sherlock steps out of the bathroom just as this very vivid image pops into John’s mind and... fuck, John curses in his head. Sherlock has nonchalantly walked into the room wearing only a towel loosely wrapped around his waist and as if that wasn’t enough, he runs his fingers through his semi-wet curls, reducing John to a proper mess. John is very well aware that he is gawking at Sherlock, but hell, what if he is doing all this on purpose? After everything that has happened in the restaurant, John simply cannot rule out this possibility anymore. And, only to reinforce his suspicions, Sherlock throws a coy smirk in his direction just before walking into the other room.

No. Ignore it. Think of something else. Anything. “The case,” John finally remembers. “Er, Sherlock?” he calls after him, making sure he sounds composed enough even though he doesn’t feel as such at all.

“Yes?”

“That guy... Harrington... whatever. Did you learn anything useful at all?”

“He is cheating on his wife.”

“...I’ve figured out that much myself. And how is that useful anyway? Isn’t this whole thing about money?”

Sherlock shows up in the doorway again, putting a t-shirt over his head, then leans against the wall, gazing down at John like he’s just discovered the most precious gem in the galaxy. He’s got that fond, dreamy smile on his lips and John cannot be absolutely certain that he is paying attention to him but, in a way, it’s somewhat adorable.

“Sherlock, we can’t come back empty-handed, what are we going to tell his nephew, hm?” John tries again, and this time Sherlock does reply, but doesn’t seem to be fazed in the slightest.

“Well, if we do come back empty-handed, that means the nephew was wrong and his uncle is here to bask in the sun and betray his wife, not to sell his family’s company to a filthy magnate... I wouldn’t worry too much.”

“Right, okay.” John averts his eyes, knowing there’s nothing else to be said about the case. Silence has fallen and he can but fiddle with the hem of his blanket, as if to keep himself occupied before inevitably breaking it again. “Are you... coming to bed now?”

“I might. I might not. I can still sleep on the sofa.”

It’s like Sherlock expects to be rejected any second now. Once their eyes meet again, John can see that he’s got the faintest blush upon his cheeks.

“Sherlock, we’ve already discussed this. You don’t have to sleep on the sofa... Come to bed. It’s fine,” John smiles softly despite feeling perhaps just a tiny bit nervous.

At that, Sherlock’s face lightens up like thousands of Suns but it’s still Sherlock. He doesn’t walk around the bed to reach his side, he climbs right over John and then leans against the headboard to mirror his position. Once he’s finally nestled, he turns to look at John who still hasn’t completely recovered after momentarily ending up underneath him.

“Remind me, John,” Sherlock says, pretending to be serious for a split second. “Why exactly we've never slept in the same bed before?”

John needs a moment to perceive but as soon as he does, he bursts into giggles, gently bumping into Sherlock’s shoulder. “Because we’re not actually dating?” It’s meant to be a joke but John can only hardly lie to himself. He’d do anything for a chance to be with Sherlock for real. Especially now that he realises that sharing a bed with him feels as natural as if they’ve been doing it since the very beginning.

“Good point,” Sherlock laughs. 

“Not that I wouldn’t love to try your bed sometimes.”

“Now that sounds strangely suggestive.”

John shrugs, smiling innocently. Any other time he’d make the effort to take his words back after making an innuendo but not this time. And turns out, he’s made the right choice. Because one innuendo leads to another and soon he and Sherlock are teasing each other back and forth and sometimes break into a crazy fit of giggles, and just like that they accidentally spent over three hours chatting and bantering. 

Which is why John looks positively horrified when he takes a glance at the alarm clock and sees the big flashing 2:14 on the screen.

“Jesus, no wonder I feel so knackered.”

“What, you’ve never stayed up this late?”

“Yeah, I have. I often do. Usually when you’re doing a particularly loud experiment,” John chuckles before reaching to switch off the lamp on the nightstand. The room suddenly goes dark and it takes a few moments until their eyes get use to it.

“Does this mean... good night?” Sherlock sounds almost disappointed. Or maybe his voice is just so hoarse due to exhaustion. He wouldn’t admit that though.

“I don’t know about you, but I do need to sleep, Sherlock,” John utters, adjusting his pillow, then lies down on his left side, so he’s still facing Sherlock.

“Sleep is boring.”

“You say the same thing about eating,” John murmurs, closing his eyes, for he feels so tired he can barely keep them open. “And the Solar System. And singing... Come to think of it, is there anything in this world you don’t find boring?”

“Well... you.”

John’s eyes slowly flutter open again. He can feel his lips spreading into the widest grin, even though he’s half asleep and can’t see much of Sherlock’s face for it is illuminated only by the moonlight that’s peeking through the windows.

“I never thought you could be this sweet.”

“Am I being... sweet? I am just stating the truth.”

John laughs sleepily. “I wish I was more awake to return the compliment.”

Sherlock lets out a long, dramatic sigh, but in the end, just smiles. “You really are going to sleep.”

“Mhm, you should try it too.”

Realising this conversation leads absolutely nowhere, Sherlock finally surrenders, lying down to face John. He doesn’t try to fall asleep though. His mind is too full, too clogged with thoughts, ninety nine percent of which involve John. After a few minutes of intense pondering and as equally intense studying of John’s face, Sherlock shuffles closer to him, and ever so softly whispers: “John? Are you asleep yet?”

John stirs and groans, but doesn’t open his eyes.

“John?”

“Mhm...”

“I have a question. Remember what you said yesterday?”

“I said a lot of things yesterday,” John mumbles into the pillow.

“About kissing.”

At once, John’s eyes fly wide open. He’s never been awaken this fast.

“I... I’ve been thinking and something’s just occurred to me,” Sherlock continues, looks a bit like he’s having trouble with picking the correct words though. “Remember what you said, in the elevator? You seemed to be fine with the idea of... of kissing me. But then... you didn’t kiss me in the restaurant even though you’ve had the perfect opportunity. I did notice that out of the 18 couples that were in the restaurant, only two didn’t share at least one kiss. One of them because the woman was about to end it and the other... us.”

John swallows. Is he dreaming? He can’t be. And yet, he can’t think of the first thing to say.

“Is that because we didn’t try it before?”

Words suddenly escape John’s mouth all on their own. “Try it?”

“I assume you didn’t want to kiss me in front of everyone because we’d never kissed before and messing up a kiss could easily butcher our cover. But-”

“But?” John can barely hear Sherlock over the sound of his heart thudding inside his chest.

“There’s no one else here now.”

“Sherlock, what are you implying?” What the hell is he implying?

“I... I think we should kiss now. To break the ice.”

Silence. John blinks at Sherlock, speechless for a brief moment. “You want me to kiss you. Now.”

“Yes. I am not an expert but I am pretty sure that kissing takes a lot more practice than flirting. If we kiss for the first time here, in private, it shouldn’t be a problem later... in public. I think.”

Practice. He’s still talking about the case. John can’t blame him though. ’What’s a kiss or two for a case’ those were his words, he remembers. Backpedaling now would make it seem like he was fibbing and in fact doesn’t want to have anything to do with Sherlock’s lips. Not even for a case. Which is nowhere near true, obviously.

“All right, then,” he breathes out at last, trying to ignore all the ways his body is responding to the fact that he is about to kiss Sherlock... right now.

“Just... a small peck on the lips?”

“No more, no less.”

“...Okay.”

Instinctively, they both begin to move forward in the same time, pulling against each other like two magnets until their faces finally meet in the middle of the bed. As it turns out two seconds later, however, this is most certainly not going to be just a small peck. First, there’s but a tender, tentative brush of lips but as soon as they actually touch John instantly melts against Sherlock’s body and kisses him hard and lovingly, completely forgetting that this whole thing is supposed to be just a ruse for a case. Because to him, it’s not and never have been anyway. John kisses Sherlock for real, holding on for a couple of long, beautiful, extraordinary moments... only to realise he’s probably overdone it and should have retreated much sooner. But just as he is about to withdraw, Sherlock suddenly parts his lips and begins to kiss back with somewhat an unprecedented passion. John half opens his eyes in disbelief, as if to make sure he truly isn’t dreaming, but he immediately closes them again because Sherlock is really urging him to deepen the kiss and hell, John has no idea what’s going on but this might as well be the most amazing moment of his life and he’s not going to pass the opportunity to make the best out of it.

But once he reaches to cup Sherlock’s cheek and bring him even closer, Sherlock whimpers into his open mouth and then... abruptly pulls back, panting and staring at John, wide-eyed, feeling like he’s just done something he should be terribly ashamed of.

Confused, John blinks at him, trying to make out his expression in the dark, but before his eyes manage to adjust again, Sherlock quickly turns away from him and curls up under the blanket.

“Sherlock?” John gulps, his voice but a broken, quivering whisper. This is precisely not how he wanted the kiss to end like.

“Good night.... John,” Sherlock exhales, struggling to steady his breathing. Closing his eyes, he presses two fingers against his own lips, as if to relive the feeling of kissing John but it’s too much, too much emotions to cope with all at once. This need to turn around and kiss John again is crushing him, he might as well burst with it, but... he can’t. John’s oblivious to how much Sherlock desires him, how deeply and unconditionally he loves him and... it has to stay that way, for Sherlock believes that revealing the truth and confessing his feelings would irrevocably ruin whatever it is between them. Just keep pretending, he thinks, keep acting like every next kiss and every touch is only for a case. Even if it hurts.

The saddest part about these thoughts is that right now, in this very moment... John is having exactly the same ones.

@pastelcolorsandrain @echosilverwolf @johnlocked-in-portland @hpswl-cumbercookie @mypatronusisaunicorn @ljetno-sivilo @tildathings @johnlockedatbakerst @shiplocks-of-love @silver99johnlocked @besina @dearlydevoteddawdler @sherlockruiningmylife

[janeofcakes]

Chapter 107

(John’s mobile sounds right as Sherlock steps out of the cottage to put their cases in the rental car. Starting a walk-through to make sure they haven’t forgotten anything, John takes it from his coat pocket and sees that it’s Sarah Sawyer.)

J: (smiling) Sarah, how are you? How’s that beautiful baby of yours?

SS: Hi, John. She’s perfect, as usual. How are you?

J: I am fantastic, actually.

SS: Good. That’s excellent. You and Sherlock got some rest? Or has he been chasing down cases the whole time?

J: Not a single one. It’s been wonderful. Like a honeymoon, really. I’ll never forget this place.

SS: Oh. So you’re still there then.

J: Just about to leave.

(Sarah is quiet on the other end and John stops in the sitting room with a hand on his hip, seeing a pair of bright red pants he knows to be Sherlock’s favorite peeking out from under the sofa. He bends down to pick it up and makes a mental note to get a good look under there for more articles of clothing, then gives Sarah his full attention. He has known her long enough to know her silence, in this case, is indicative of guilt.)

J: Sarah, is something wrong?

(He hears a little laugh and deep intake of breath.)

SS: I swear you’ve spent too much time with him. (sighing) I need a favor. I feel terrible asking before you’ve even come back.

J: What is it? Please say babysitting.

SS: (laughing) I wish I could say yes, but it’s the surgery.

J: You need a shift?

SS: Yes. Tonight. (John blinks his eyes wide as she continues.) I’m so sorry, John, but Janet is out of town for her daughter’s wedding and Robert is sick and this is the one night of the week that the surgery’s open late. I’d do it by myself and just call in more of the aids to help, but no one’s answering. It’s just me, Jack, and Elsa.

J: Slow down. (finally getting a word in edgewise) I can be there by 4. Is that early enough?

SS: (gasping and relieved) Yes! Yes, that’s perfect! God, John, thank you. I’m so sorry about this.

J: It’s no trouble, Sarah. Just know you owe us a visit with Madeleine.

SS: (a smile in her voice) Done. Thanks so much, John.

J: You’re welcome. I’ll see you later. Ta.

(John hits end and pockets the mobile.)

S: Was that Greg? I have been resolutely ignoring his calls.

(John turns to see his fiance standing in the doorway.)

J: So I’ve noticed.

(He gets on his knees and peers under the sofa, finding a black sock. Getting back to his feet and walking toward Sherlock, he holds up the red pants.)

J We nearly left these behind.

(The detective pretends he doesn’t care, but John can see the shadow of pique in his eyes and smiles as he presses them into Sherlock’s hand. The detective shoves them in his pocket and looks down at John.)

S: (cocking a brow) Greg will seek out our help with the triple murder case as soon as we enter the city.

J: (playfully) Ah. So you have done a little looking after all.

(Sherlock shrugs as he rests his hands on John’s hips and gives him a quick, soft kiss.)

S: You were having a ridiculously long lie-in. I needed something to do before I woke you for farewell sex.

(John smiles at the memory and gives the man in his arms a squeeze.)

J: And we’ll need to have welcome home sex after you’ve solved the case.

S: After I’ve solved it? Won’t you be with me?

J: Yeah, about that. (He looks at Sherlock apologetically.) That was Sarah. The surgery is open until eight and it’s just her and a couple of the medical aids. I said I’d help out. Sorry.

(Sherlock pouts with those glorious lips that John can’t help but kiss and then suck lightly. A low moan rises from Sherlock’s throat and he pulls John’s hips close to his own. When the doctor leans back to meet Sherlock’s eyes, he sees pools of silver mischief.)

S: We are definitely having sex as soon as I get home.

(John laughs as Sherlock presses another kiss to his lips and then leads him out of the cottage by the hand. They both stand before the small two-story and grin. Sherlock tilts his head a little and gives John a sideways look. John turns to see a knowing smile playing at Sherlock’s lips and laughs. The detective joins in and then kisses his doctor once more. When their chuckles die down, Sherlock slides his arms around John’s body and faces him adoringly.)

S: Let’s go home.

***

G: Thanks, Sherlock.

(They watch as Sally Donovan and two uniformed officers drag the author of the triple murder case to a police car and push him inside.)

G: Will John be home waiting?

(Sherlock reads 10:30 on his watch and nods at the DI.)

S: Most certainly. The surgery closed its doors at eight o’clock. He would have arrived home at least an hour ago.

G: Better get yourself home then.

S: (with a congenial smile) Good evening, Greg.

G: Night.

(Sherlock catches a cab and sets off for Baker Street. He removes his mobile from his coat pocket and types out a message.

On my way. Greet me naked, if convenient. SH

He looks out of the window for a moment, watching as people hurry in and out of the streetlights that illuminate the dark night. Smiling to himself, he sends John another message.

If not convenient, greet me naked anyway. SH )

(Sherlock pockets the mobile and looks out the window again. Now that they are back in London, he can actually arrange their wedding instead of just thinking about it. The date they settled on in Cornwall is just over two months away, so he must get invitations out to the small group they intend to invite. Sherlock gazes thoughtfully at the darkened sidewalks. He knows a calligrapher who could quickly make the handful he and John need. The detective could put them in the hands of their guests within the next few days.

He resolves to make the design he already has stored in his mind palace digital in the morning and then send it to his friend. Friend? Sherlock frowns slightly. He has used that word to describe people he’s known for some time quite a bit of late. He never thought he had friends before meeting John, and was absolutely convinced that John was his only one. It certainly seemed true at the time. Until John got him to see how Greg felt about him. And Angelo and so many others.

Angelo. A part of Sherlock would like to ask Angelo to cater the wedding, but he’d rather see the man simply attend and enjoy himself. Fortunately, Sherlock knows just the place to do it and transporting the food to the Holmes property out of the city will be no trouble for them.

The detective methodically moves down a checklist he has been keeping since John agreed to be his husband. He will order the flowers and decorations, the cake, the music. Aside from his own, of course. He has been writing a piece for violin and will play it just before their first dance as husbands. Sherlock’s lips curl into a smile as he sees himself and John dancing together slowly in the eyes of all their friends. He catches himself sighing quietly and rolls his eyes. He was once above such sentimentality. What has John Watson done to him?

Lost in his thoughts, Sherlock doesn’t notice the cab has stopped until its driver informs him in a rather loud, but friendly voice. Sherlock pays the man and climbs out of the car. He glances at his mobile as he approaches the door to the building and sees that John never texted him back. Not even one of those eye-rolling emojis he is so fond of. Sherlock shrugs and unlocks the door.)

(When he steps into 221B a minute later, the beaming face and naked body dripping of pure sex that he expects are not there. The flat, in fact, appears to be completely dark. Sherlock sheds his coat and scarf, and toes off his shoes. He rounds the corner to their bedroom, imaging John waiting for him in the bed with not a stitch on his glorious body, but the light at the end of the hall is also turned off. The detective silently continues on his quest for the short doctor. The surgery must have been packed and, coupled with the day’s long drive, John must have been exhausted and gone straight to bed. He would’ve had no idea when Sherlock would arrive home, after all.)

(Sherlock quietly enters the room, eyes immediately finding the bed. The room is barely lit by a streetlight that is obscured by thin curtains, but even in the dim light, Sherlock can tell that the bed is empty. He flips on the light switch and frowns. Looking to his left, he sees their still unpacked cases next to the door. There is no lingering humidity from the shower John always takes after a shift at the surgery to rid himself of antiseptic and other associated stenches. The scents of his soap and shampoo are absent as well. Nor is there the spiced smell of take away.

Sherlock’s heart goes cold, every muscle in his body tense. John has not been back to their flat since he left for work hours ago.

His mind begins to whirl with the possibilities. The detective starts when a ring from his mobile crashes into the silence. It’s Greg. The color drains from Sherlock’s already pale face. He answers with a steady voice and shaking hands.)

S: Lestrade.

G: Sherlock. (The DI sounds quiet and nervous. And scared.) I need you at the surgery now. It’s John.

***

(Sherlock waits impatiently in the cab, tapping his foot on the car floor and looking anxiously across the front seat out the windshield. He slides up the seat to perch on its edge when the cab slows to a stop. There are flashing police lights four or five blocks ahead and a line of cars in between. The cabby’s gruff voice remarks that the detective would get to his destination faster on foot just in time to turn and see two bills float into the front seat with him. He looks out the side window to see his former passenger running down the pavement toward the lights. The driver shrugs and turns on his radio.

Sherlock arrives at the surgery in minutes, bumper to bumper traffic all along his run. Police cars and ambulances block most of the street, leaving only one lane and officers directing. Police tape is draped around the building’s entrance with officers everywhere. Sherlock stops dead when he sees Sally Donovan pacing by the tape a few feet from the surgery’s door. An officer steps up to tell her something as Sherlock approaches. She gives him a stern nod and a few terse words, the detective catching her eye when the officer hurries away. Sally nods at Sherlock in a similar way and raises the tape for him to enter. They walk briskly to the door.)

S: Where is she?

SD: Inside. There are two others. (He looks at her as they enter.) Both dead.

(Sherlock glances around the waiting room full of pleasantly upholstered chairs with an occasional table for magazines, a water cooler next to the door leading to the examination rooms and offices. In front of him is a tall reception counter. Anderson’s minions are everywhere, dusting and peering.)

SD: She’s back there.

(They start across the room. Sherlock looks toward reception as they go and observes two techs on their knees next to a woman lying dead on the floor. Shot expertly in the chest. Straight through the heart. Professional.

Sally leads him through the door and into the hall that leads to exam and supply rooms, loos, and offices. Several techs are moving in and out of an exam room a few doors down to the right. Sherlock can hear Anderson speaking loudly over the din)

SD: The other medical aid is down there. Shot just like the first one.

(Sherlock turns his head to look at her, but sees around her instead. Down the hall, techs are going in and out of doors, stepping around two officers standing guard at John’s office door. He strides quickly through the hall. Blood is smeared on the floor from the office door to one of the exam rooms. Sherlock quickens his already swift pace, stopping at the door just as Greg Lestrade comes out of it. The DI’s hand is at the base of his own neck, having just run it through his salt and pepper hair. His brown eyes are wide as he meets the sharp silver of the detective’s.)

G: She’s in here and she’s asking for you. It’s bad.

S: And John?

G: He’s gone.

(Greg steps into the office and to the side, so the other two can follow him in. Paramedics surround Sarah Sawyer where she lies on the floor next to John’s desk in a pool of blood. Sherlock can see at a glance that it is too much to be only her own, in spite of her obvious wounds. She has been shot twice, once high in each shoulder. Not fatal unless she were to lose consciousness without calling for help and bleed out. Even then, it would take hours. Sarah is mouthing off to the medics and being generally uncooperative as Sherlock comes near. For the first time, he can see why John likes her so much. Her eyes widen when she notices him. Her expression is somewhere between relief and terror.)

SS: John. They took him.

Medic: Slow down, Doctor. You need to relax.

SS: Fuck off! (turning to Sherlock, face full of worry) He shot him. The blonde one. He was losing so much blood. (Sherlock squats at her side and she clutches desperately at his arm.) I tried to convince them to let me help, but they wouldn’t listen. Just dragged him to the exam room to bandage him up. Sherlock, John will die without surgery. He has to get that bullet out. It’s his shoulder in nearly the same place as the war wound.

S: The two men. What did they look like? 

(Sarah stills, but for a hard shiver through her body. Her hand squeezes tighter on Sherlock’s arm. Her eyes bore into his with a piercing cold.)

SS: He told me to give you a message. (Sherlock cocks a brow.) He had dark hair and gave the orders. Said he’s an old friend of yours and John’s.

(Sherlock clenches his jaw. His eyes are pure steel. He vaguely hears Greg rub his hands over his face and Sally gasp behind him.)

S: What is the message? Tell me what he said, exactly what he said.

SS: (swallowing hard) He said John belongs to him. You took his property and you’ll pay. You’ll both pay.

(Silence hangs heavy in the air like a dense fog. Sherlock feels Sarah’s words sink into his bones, replacing his blood with ice. A chill settles over his body. He wipes his hands over his own mouth as he looks into Sarah’s pleading eyes.)

SS: I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I saw Jack walking him to the exam room, but I didn’t know who he was. I didn’t warn John. I should’ve warned John! And now… There’s no way he’ll live without medical attention.

(Sherlock closes his eyes briefly and opens them with new resolve. He places his own hand on Sarah’s and gives it a firm, but brief squeeze.)

S: I’ll find him. (looking at her with a penetrating stare) But you must tell me everything they said and did, every detail. Leave nothing out.

(Sherlock can feel the glare of the medics. He looks at Sarah’s bandaged shoulders and then back to her cool blue eyes.)

S: Can you do that?

SS: (with sincere eyes) I’ll be fine. He wanted me to give you the message. I heard him call the police himself as the other one dragged John out. I’m fine, I promise.

(The medics grumble. Sally shifts on her feet. Greg rests a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. The detective meets Sarah’s eyes.)

S: Tell me everything.

[wellntruly]

THE YOUNG POPE - 1x02

Back on my nonsense, and Pope Lenny is ALL over his. Plus: nun novelty wear, ‘roos, and a new cardinal enters the picture to my instant appreciation.

Young Pope Live-Bloggin’ No. 2

I just laughed through this entire Previously On, in case you’re wondering if I’m in the same mood

cardinals on iPads is the new BTS photos from Marie Antoinette

so many shots of this show just unabashed Tina Barney “The Europeans” art framing. and they just string them together.

soccer nuns!!!!! yes

wait the exact opposite line from Sister Mary to this weeping redhead about calling her Ma, interesting! she’s like a folktale character

Father Marc Evan Jackson smoking in the windowsill over here, on board

I love that she’s just, openly the eminence gris. or is there a name for specifically older women forming younger leaders? if not I got one for her: the Fairy Godmatriarch

I’m so proud of my read of Marc Evan Jackson on him, every new line my feeling grows, like Jackson originated this role on stage or something

they’re talking about jokes and humor again!!! this is my Drinks Space Nine. maybe this time I will actually take it all down and write an essay

Pope: “You, I think it’s safe to deduce, are not the Prefect for the Congregation of the Clergy.” Sofia, complimentary: “No. But I would like to be.” y’know what she’s great

“But what you couldn’t possibly have imagined is the fourth letter I sent him.” I AM HYSTERICAL. god I love Pope Sherlock Holmes. asdfkjk Jude Law finally made it

the longer Sofia talks the more I want to get her to stop because I feel she’s digging herself into a hole. Lenny is absolutely that story of the girl on a date with a guy who started telling a John Mulaney joke like it was his own story that had happened to him, and she silently let him get out THE ENTIRE MINUTES-LONG BIT before responding “Yeah I love John Mulaney.”

is Pope Pius XIII going PROTESTANT? no images of me, only Christ exists!

The Invisible Pope. shit that’s brilliant. because everyone knows he’s young and babely, and if they can’t look at a picture of him the image is only going to grow, oh DANG. this hot pope we can’t see, the Princess in St. Peter’s.

what fanfiction is this

“Virtuosity is for the arrogant.” lol. so, you then.

every. single. author and film director they’ve mentioned….have been Jewish. just feel like that’s worthy of note. 4 for 4.

“I don’t know the first thing about electronic music.” [shaking his head] “You say Harvard is a good university.” I love one (1) meme show. anyway it’s Daft Punk, I’ve gotten two now that I know his game.

she loves it. she pretended to be interested in him, but now she really is.

this dog sitting on the pool table, give him me

seems Lenny has been playing a long game and is only now stretching his wings, as they say he was nothing but subservient to Spencer before. huh.

just dispassionately discussing what Lenny’s sexual orientation might be. no not dispassionately, with interest, but without the Weight you would imagine that would have to frickin…cardinals

Australia sending him an entire kangaroo is such an Antipodes move, you absolute riots

Lenny called this buff kangaroo ‘sweetie’ and I’m LOSING it

music stops. “Don’t be funny with me.” I am just—

gotta admit, I never consider that the Vatican is its own state and that’s why all the actually legit politics and diplomacy. it IS a court drama!

what is this shot, this violin!

that is actually a really pretty address, Cardinal Finance Bro

contained, progressive toad-man cardinal is intriguing

I guess this is just the episode where we talk about clergymen being gay!

he took his glasses off, put them back on, and then said yes Holy Father!!!! I am on the EDGE of my SEAT, what is Lenny gonna SAY. it could go a dozen ways.

he deliberately didn’t say anything. oh my god this guy.

Lenny’s back on the roof with his confessional informant wearing a papal-white zip hoodie and I’m flippin. he’s like a cartoon character where no matter what he’s wearing it’s his same iconic color.

oh gentle Father Aesop. beatific. this is a man who could get me to convert. “Where do afternoons land?” in my heart you lovely fellow. if he turns evil don’t tell me.

ah, deliberately distancing himself from Mary to quell the rumors I see. that seems obvious in comparison, Lenny’s machinations have heretofore been somewhat obtuse.

“A city-state of lost souls who’ve never really lived.” nicely imaged.

is Lenny eating a plate of watermelon cubes, or raw tuna? either way: haha wat

oh NOW I get Spencer’s rage & despair: it’s because HE wanted to be Pope! and holy moly is he ever bitter.

man this is a whole needy, young side of Lenny we haven’t seen! I’ll tease it out later if it’s consistent

DIANE KEATON IS WEARING A T-SHIRT THAT SAYS “I’M A VIRGIN BUT THIS IS AN OLD SHIRT,” Sister Mary

Lenny get it together! are you a Vatican Shelby or are you NOT! (okay yeah actually the Shelby’s are also messy)

he genuinely loves this kangaroo. [peacefully] what the fuck

runs up late, smiles—Cardinal Marc Evan Jackson is such a mild bad boy. can’t believe how fond I am of him.

ah the little boy’s letter, tidy. oh and pasting it into the folder: hella Drama Bitch

holy shit this address!!!! wOW, fear inducing, isolating, everyone literally trembling in the dark

“I don’t know if you deserve me, at this point.” hahahaa oh my god

wow he IS Protestant, the GRIM CALVINIST POPE

thunder crashes, lightning---IT’S A NEW AGE, HOES

actually instead of like, fun & flirty, it probably holds more worth to have this youngest (and American) pope be A HARDLINE FRIGHTENING sort. suddenly he’s historical, physically young but of an old line not seen in generations. because your Modern Pope goes one of two ways right: scandalous progressive or freaky fundamentalist. and he’s soorrta kinda both?

admittedly I would also believe that Lenny actually has no convictions at all beyond a desire for gaining and maintaining power, everything he does just a manipulation in service of that. but I feel like that sort of character has been done, you know? they’re ultimately so hollow when they only have the one craven note. Lenny “I’m a contradiction” Belardo has a more varied chime, so here’s hoping we do that.

Pope Notes

[thehiddenlawyer]

Stranger Than Kindness Chapter 37 The End

Enjoy on Ao3!

With a sigh, with an outward breath, with tears, I give you the last chapter of Stranger Than Kindness. 

I had to use this gif because it literally started with me watching The Reichenbach Fall and screaming about how Sherlock kissed her. Here’s the post.

Guessing the sex of the new baby had become a game between father and son, and they’d even gotten Mycroft and John to participate in the baby betting pool. Molly disapproved, of course she disapproved, but she knew that once the two had their minds set on something, there was no way she could talk them out of it.

The baby was due early February, and they already had three sonograms to determine the baby’s gender but this little one was stubborn, refusing to turn around no matter how much it was prodded by the technicians, no matter how much its father cajoled it to just turn around.

But the child refused, delighting Sherlock endlessly, especially when it kicked and responded as readily to his voice as Benedict had. “Just goes to show, the baby can clearly understand what we’re doing whenever we go to the doctors,” he’d laughed.

Finally, the fourth time, with Molly growling vague threats against Sherlock’s life if the baby didn’t turn around, they went in for a sonogram. Benedict was with them that day, looking slightly nervous as he looked around at all the equipment in the examination room. His parents quickly caught the worry on his face, and Sherlock sat patiently with him in his lap on the plastic chair, Belstaff wrapped around his son, lips pressed to Ben’s ear as he quietly explained the equipment, explained what was going to happen and how the technology worked to show them his unborn brother or sister.

Sherlock stood with Benedict in his arms by Molly’s side when the tech finally showed up, squirting the clear jelly on Molly’s belly that made her jump, no matter how many times the nurse told her it would be cold. Everyone in the room was holding their breath, Sherlock still murmuring quietly in Benedict’s ear, explaining the grainy black and white images that were blossoming and receding with the movement of the technician’s wand. Ben’s eyes widened when he heard the heartbeat, when he finally could make out the shape of a baby on the monitor.

Molly and Sherlock held their breath, laughing in relief when they realized the baby was finally facing them, Sherlock breathing a “Christ! A sister,” he told his son, kissing his temple, “you’re going to have a sister.”

“I knew it!” Ben said triumphantly.

Unlike Benedict, they didn’t want until the last minute to bicker over names, decided they would start the fight early on, disagreeing with every name that came into mind until an entire wall in Baker Street was covered with baby names, designated by names that were gender-neutral and names that were girls only, categorized by Sherlock as “old, older than time, ancient, boring, passable”. She had looked at the wall as she stood next to him, her hands on her hips as he’d rubbed his lips in thought, his simple wedding band glinting in the sunlight filtering in through the window.

“The passable category is empty,” she’d commented.

“That’s because we haven’t found a passable one,” he told her, rolling his eyes with impatience.

She rubbed a hand over her stomach as the baby kicked in response to her father, “we’re going to have to name her something, Sherlock.”

“Something Holmes, does have a ring to it!” he’d grinned cheekily but she walked away from him, exasperated.

Their daughter, much in keeping with her parents impossibly dramatic life and following in her brother’s footsteps, decided that she would not only take her time and arrive a full two weeks after she’d been predicted, but also arrived in the middle of the night. Sherlock had woken up to Molly pushing him awake, this time he was a little bit more composed, calling Mrs. Hudson repeatedly and tersely telling her to get to their flat five minutes ago. They’d kissed Benedict before Molly had waddled down to the waiting car as they pretended they weren’t chocked up about leaving Benedict, Mrs. Hudson agreeing to bring him to the hospital in the morning, if he was up to it.

Their daughter arrived with indignant screams and howls of protest only a few hours after Molly had gone into labor, weighing about the same as her brother, only slightly taller, and much angrier. She looked at her father with pale eyes, not bothering to hide her displeasure at being deprived of her mother’s warmth. He’d grinned at his daughter’s angry face as she lay against Molly’s breast, “I know little one,” he’d assured her softly, “but it does get substantially better, I promise you.”

He laid his cheek against Molly’s chest, watching his daughter find serenity as she fed, pressing kisses over her soft hands as Molly played with his hair. There was a special fluttering in his very soul at the sight of her, at the sight of his daughter. “God, her skin is as delicate as lace,” he murmured, touching her with the lightest fingertip, “she’s so beautiful Molly, and we made her.”

Molly had grinned a tired grin, handing their daughter to him after she’d finished nursing, loving the sure touch he now had as he took the precious bundle into his arms, sitting on the edge of Molly’s bed, his entire being concentrated on the purple bundle tucked against his chest. “She needs a name,” she murmured, stroking his bicep as she watched father and daughter stare at each other with inexplicable, mutual obsession.

He tilted his head, looking at his daughter from different angles, “all the names we’ve had picked out for her don’t seem to fit.”

“I still think Ishtar is a good one,” she grinned.

“Name her after an ancient war and sex goddess,” Sherlock laughed softly, “what a teenager she’d make.”

“Lacy,” she said suddenly, “Sherlock, what about Lacy?”

“Lacy Mary Holmes,” he murmured, “I like it.”

But they had agreed earlier that they would only sign the birth certificate if her older brother approved. Mrs. Hudson brought him in, the boy shy and slightly alarmed at seeing his mother in the hospital bed, looking so tired and forlorn in the hospital gown that engulfed her. His pale eyes instantly swam with tears, “oh darling,” she lifted her arms for her, “hush now, come here,” she urged him and he ran across the room, but Sherlock caught him around the waist, lifting him off the floor before he could jump on Molly’s body.

Sherlock held his son in one arm, his daughter nestled against his chest with the other arm, kissing his son’s cheek, “gently darling, gently,” he told him, “mummy’s tummy is still a bit delicate, okay?” then he set Benedict on the bed next to Molly, pressing a kiss to his son’s forehead.

Benedict instantly pressed his cheek to Molly’s chest, nestling against her as he cried quietly, his lips trembling with emotion. Sherlock sat at his son’s feet, stroking his legs and his back as Molly held him, soothing him, “everything is alright,” she told him, “I know all this stuff looks scary, but it really isn’t. None of it is hooked up to me because I’m perfectly healthy, just a bit tired bringing your sister to you,” she kissed his forehead, “the doctors said I get to go home tomorrow, so it can’t be all that bad right?” she used her finger to lift his face to hers, “now then my sweet benediction, don’t you want to meet your sister?”

Sherlock smiled at his son, watched the boy’s eyes widen as he looked at his sister’s sleeping face. With a pang Sherlock remembered in snippets when he’d seen Eurus for the first time, cradled in his mother’s arms. He’d felt such love for her, such immense joy at her presence. He’d been so impatient for her to get there, his head filled with possibilities of a sister. He grinned at Benedict, at the way his son leaned over her curiously, “what color are her eyes?” he asked.

“They look exactly like yours and daddy’s,” Molly answered, running a reassuring hand over his back.

“She even has black hair like yours,” Sherlock murmured, “and ten perfect fingers and toes but she’s a bit louder. We’re thinking about calling her Lacy Mary. Lacy because she’s so perfect and pretty, Mary after your aunt Mary. What d’you think?”

“Lacy Mary,” he murmured, running his fingertip softly over his sisters clenched fist, “she’s so soft,” he looked up into his father’s eyes, “I like it!”

Nothing was hidden anymore.

Their love in the sunshine, their story in the air, the connection of their souls a palpable, tangible presence for all those who saw them together.

They had lived through more than any human should, had survived more than their share of heartbreak and trauma, had dragged each other through the deepest pits of hell, had seen each other at their worst. But somehow, the darkness never seemed to touch their lives now, somehow the dark memories of his drug use, of the way they’d torn each other’s hearts apart, the endless fights, his fake death, Janine, Tom, him getting shot, Magnussun, Culverton Smith, Sherrinford, Moriarty…none of it held them back.

They still had their moments, Sherlock still lost himself in cases, they still butted heads, whether it was about the way he still climbed over furniture, now with Benedict and Lacy following him, or the way he sometimes forgot to put away crime scene photos and one of the kids glimpsed them. Molly and Sherlock still had nightmares that had them reaching for their spouse in the middle of the night, breathless, terrified, needing to feel the other’s presence, the reassurance that all was well.

He wrestled with his demons on a periodic basis, when his visits to Eurus were too much or if he was dealing with a particularly difficult case. He had briefly lost his mind once and considered using drugs, imagining the needle piercing his skin when a London serial killer had started targeting children. But Lacy, four at the time, had found him, running towards him with a book in her hands and asked him to read it for her. The demons disappeared as Lacy had nestled in his lap, her cheek against chest, her black hair soft as she giggled into his chest.

But Sherlock couldn’t figure out whether it was the routine that protected him from complete madness, the routine of waking up every day and knowing he had a certain list of tasks he had to accomplish, all revolving around his family, or if it was the maturity of age that had him meet the rising bile of panic with serenity. It still haunted him, scared him out of his wits when he thought that his wife and his children could be used against him, still took paranoid precautionary measures to protect them, but he didn’t let it hold him back. His heart was open to his family and friends now, his smile more readily available for them, his laughter easier to come by.

It was shocking, nearly crippling him the easy way he looked at his children and told them he loved them, how natural it was for him now to walk into a room and press kisses to their foreheads, to reach for Molly whenever he needed her. It terrified him still that he had embraced such a blinding weakness so wholeheartedly, still heard Moriarty in the deepest pits and dungeons of his mind palace. But Benedict and Lacy’s laughter always forced Moriarty to be quiet, forced his demons to recede, to give up, to leave him be in peace.

 And Molly…his Molly.

He sometimes found himself in utter amazement at her quiet strength, at the steel in her eyes, at the resilience of her soul, her endless capacity to love that she had given to their children. He watched her during their work days, wearing her white lab coat, sifting through stomach contents without blinking an eye as she explained to him something vital about to the case they were working on, her hair often in a ponytail or braid, depending on the length, her tone always professional with him. Then during the evening, he watched her with their children, helping them with their homework, catching up on their day, scolding them when she needed to and always loving them, always ready with a kiss and a hug, with a kind, encouraging word.

And at night, when she stopped being Dr. Hooper or Professor Hooper, when she stopped being a mama to their Benedict and Lacy, when she turned into just Molly…simply his Molly in his arms…he imagined it was like going to heaven every night. Her smile never lost its charm, her sighs and moans always sinking into his marrow, her kisses pure ecstasy, her body his sanctuary, his obsession as he tracked every single change in her, finding himself falling more passionately in love with his wife with every single age line, with every single laugh line they gave each other.

He lost himself in her and she held tight. He sometimes found himself thrusting inside his Molly, his lips pressed against her throat as he panted, as she held him inside her, and remembered that night so long ago…when he’d told her he wasn’t okay, when he’d confessed his death to her and found in those brown eyes everything he’d been looking for. The friend he’d needed, the accomplice who would save his life, the strength he’d never known he’d lacked, the love that crippled him yet gave him superhuman strength. For as long as he lived, Sherlock would never forget the ferocity of her expression when he’d asked what she would do if he wasn’t the man either of them thought him to be, her simple reply of “what do you need” forever etched in him. He remembered how he’d sank himself in Molly’s warmth after they’d faked his death, on her couch in their old flat, how she’d dried his tears with the tip of her tongue, how she’d let him lose himself inside her body…And now…she was his wife. So much a part of him, of his day, of his life, of his everything, that he couldn’t tell where she ended, and he began.

Looking at Benedict and Lacy, Sherlock knew he was forever intertwined with Molly, that they were now one being, sharing everything.  

They woke up every morning as a unit, Sherlock the designated alarm clock when the kids started school, often uncovering their feet and wiggling their toes until they woke up. Most morning, Sherlock himself would be too sleepy to be a responsible parent, and he’d end up curling next to one of the children. One morning, after they’d moved into their new place in the outskirts of London, exhausted from the move and the case that he’d been chasing for the Yard, he got to Lacy’s freshly painted lavender colored room, slamming his foot into one of the boxes that were still stacked on her floor. His daughter, a heavy sleeper like him, didn’t even budge. He looked down at her, another walking, talking piece of him, with his eyes and lips, with her mother’s smile and chin, a temper all her own.

“I can’t,” he murmured, and slipped into bed next to his daughter. She immediately curled up around his arm, hugging his bicep tightly, and Sherlock only realized he’d fallen asleep when Benedict pushed him, his son’s eyes barely open, his hair standing up in odd clumps the way Sherlock’s always did.

“Move,” was all Ben croaked, and immediately fell asleep with his cheek pressed against Sherlock’s chest, the way he had since he was a baby, forgetting his teenaged protests of affection in the haze of sleep and infinite affection for his father.  

Eventually Molly had gone looking for them, finding the three in Lacy’s bed, fast asleep, the sight a familiar one. She’d almost let them sleep in that morning, but the kids had school and she knew Sherlock was still on that pesky case, so she woke them up.

Three pieces of her soul, all grumpy.

The four of them would have breakfast together, discussing their plans for the day, husband and wife swapping kisses to their children’s delight, touching each other in small, imperceptible ways. Then Sherlock would take the kids to school, all three of them kissing Molly good bye for the day as she headed to Bart’s, head of the department now, the most respected pathologist in all of England with students reaching out to her from the United States. He would drop the kids off, pressing kisses to each other cheeks before heading to Baker Street to see if he could find a few cases, John always by his side, Greg always a strong presence, Mycroft always looming.

The kids would often accompany him to Baker street after school, and he never let any client see them, and always ensured that they were either safely tucked away in his room or downstairs with Hudders, sneaking cookies he’d forbidden. They would end their day with Molly, eating dinner together as a family, talking about the most ridiculous things they could think of, moving as a unit to end their day.

One morning he stood outside their brand-new home, a cottage with four bedrooms that gave his growing son and daughter room to flourish, his hands in his trouser pockets as he tilted his head back, letting the sun warm his face. He could hear his children in the house behind him, heard his 14-year-old son laughing heartily, heard his 8-year-old return the laughter, her voice soft as she responded. Ben’s voice was lost in his movement in the kitchen, all Sherlock managed to hear was his saying “nope!” popping the P the way Sherlock always did.

He smiled when he felt familiar arms wrap around his waist, a familiar kiss pressed between his shoulders, “are you happy Sherlock Holmes?” his wife asked softly.

“More than happy,” he told her, tracing her wedding band on her finger.

The one that always mattered, that mattered most of all…

“Do you think require anything else?” she asked him.

“Nope,” he turned in her arms, “as long as I have you Molly Hooper, there’s nothing else that I will ever need.”

And in the end, love, emotions, attachments, relationships, kindness…none of them were stranger to Sherlock Holmes.

[beloved-child-of-the-house]

Does Sherlock have a list of favorite things about John or does she think in images or feelings instead of lists

Sherlock loves lists. First 24 hours? Let’s see.

1. John doesn’t pretend not to be annoyed. She’s not rude, but she’s pretty direct, which is a huge relief to Sherlock, who has trouble parsing how people feel towards her

2. John loves and praises Sherlock’s music. So far music has been Sherlock’s purest pleasure in life and it’s so gratifying that John is so evidently moved and openly complimentary. 

3. John’s laugh-In the first 24 hours, Sherlock hears 4 different versions of it, and decides she’s going to find out how many there are

4. John is polite to Hudson and doesn’t make a big deal about them not using binary pronouns. Sherlock hasn’t come out to John as nonbinary yet, but it’s always good to see people acting right

5. John reads aloud. Sherlock hasn’t asked her to yet, though she’s sure she soon will ask. John just sort of wanders into reading aloud anything she happens to be reading. Sherlock thinks maybe it is the most endearing thing she has ever seen, even moreso because she knows she would usually be horribly annoyed. 

[babystolemyheart-blog1]

Restlessness: Sam Winchester x Reader (One-Shot)

Alright y’all let’s jump into it. First (ever) work on Tumblr so finger’s crossed I won’t be looking back at it in a year’s time with a cringe on my face!! Let’s get it!!

Trigger Warning!

Angsty, depression (slight), self-hate/loathing, insecurity, accusation of cheating, mild-language, a few swears (not too many I think), smidgen of fluff?

Sam Winchester x Reader-insert

Word Count: 2,332

Restlessness: One-Shot

Eyes danced across the darkened room, the only light emitted was from the charging laptop in the corner of the room. The bunker was cold on nights like these, almost as if adding to the rising stress and doubts of the girl huddled in a chair on the other side of a different bedroom. With heart racing and mind running a thousand miles a minute, she looked at the photo of the man of her dreams; at the man she’d fought tooth and nail alongside for years.

Doubts.

Self-loathing.

Y/N was filled to the brim with toxic thoughts, images of the gorgeous blonde who’d lost her brother to vampires crossing her mind momentarily. Hair that cascaded down her shoulders in soft, bouncy waves accompanied by flawless skin and radiant blue eyes.

Stella.

Stella Wentworth was her name, a gorgeous young thing from Virginia Beach. With gorgeous tanned, airbrushed skin, she seemed to glow with confidence and beauty,

Everything that Y/N didn’t have. Instead of airbrushed skin, Y/N’s skin was littered with tiny blemishes and scars; hidden to the naked eye, but there nonetheless.

Hell, her eyes seemed dull in comparison to anyone she encountered; Dean’s forest green eyes, Cas’ electric blue orbs and then Sam. Damn, Sam’s eyes were magical; hazel, then green, then blue. All of the different shades just as incandescent as the rest. Living with the Winchesters was bound to be a blow to Y/N’s already dwindling self-esteem. But she stayed for him.

Her whole world revolved around him. She had been by his side through everything; growing up on the road, staying with Bobby when John and her father went their separate ways, hell, Y/N was even there when he left for Stanford. She was the one who continued driving when he broke down in tears, the ache of leaving his family overwhelming him and pushing him to the edge of darkness.

She was the one that pulled him out of the dark hole, encouraging him to continue studying, learning, fighting. To grow into the man she knew he was going to be one day. She sat on the sidelines as he met Jess, watched as they fell in love and became engrossed in their own little world. And almost as if in a movie, she watched him slowly forget about her, any memory of her fading from his mind.

He’d found a new rock to keep him stable, to hold him to the ground. He’d found someone else, and left her behind just like that.

He wasn’t the only one who got into Stanford on a full-ride. But he was the only one who stayed. From a distance, Y/N kept an eye on him, taking small cases around the area to ensure nothing disturbed him; disturbed his new, normal life. Dean knew what had happened, knew what Y/N felt for his brother. And in a way, he was satisfied, knowing that she would always be there for his little brother. Another person to protect him from the outside world.

It all changed when the fire happened.

It was as if nothing had happened, as if Sam hadn’t forgotten about her.

He was laughing again.

With her.

He was exploding with excitement when he’d found a new piece of information. And he’d almost sprint to discuss his new discovery.

With her.

It was like someone pushed play on their lives again; it was almost normal to anyone other person looking in.

But slowly, in the back of Y/N’s mind, that loneliness, that heartache and betrayal sat in a dark corner. Consuming her every thought. Y/N was always good at hiding things, acting as if everything was fine. Lying was second nature, so what difference would it be to lie to the men in her life?

It took years for Y/N to let herself finally be comfortable around Sam. One night stands and finding comfort at the bottom of a bottle, habits which were slowly being laid to rest as Sam confessed. Albeit drunkenly, he collapsed into a childish heap at her feet and proclaimed his love to her. And with great care (and a giant bottle of aspirin), their relationship began, the doubts still crowded in the back of her mind, but quiet for the time being.

Until two weeks ago.

With three hunters and an angel, the case had been easily dealt with. Y/N somehow ended up being more banged up than Dean (for once), waved them off, settling into bed for the night, the stitches along the inside of her right forearm burning with every jolt. Cas had left right before the hunt, hence the impeccable patch job Dean had done on her arm.

Both boys had showered and changed, looking incredibly appealing in their jeans and flannel combo as per usual. Dean ruffled her H/C hair, just dodging a swinging hand, chuckling as he danced out the door.

Sam sat on the edge of the bed, concern laced in those gorgeous hazel eyes of his.

“It’ll just be for a few drinks, okay?”

And just like that, with a gentle peck to her lips, Sam had disappeared through the door, no other words spoken between the two as the door slid shut.

****** ****** ****** ****** ****** ****** ****** ****** ******

With the assumption that they’d be back before midnight, Y/N waited. Eyes on her phone in case anything happened. The few hours to midnight came and went. And still with drooping eyes, she waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Morning appeared and dragged by, and soon, her heart was racing.

Where are they?

Were they okay?

Did we miss one of the bastards?

Thoughts raced through her head of the extreme situations they could be facing and without hesitation, she jumped out of bed and changed. At 11am she was out the door, eyes falling on the parking spot in which Baby should have been. Her heart leapt into her throat.

It wasn’t until 2pm when she returned to the motel, having searched the local area and visited the bar down the street, coming back empty handed. Sitting on the pavement, Y/N watched around her. Listened for any sign of the deep rumble of the Impala pulling up around the corner.

No luck.

They got back at 4.

Dean’s hair standing on end with bruises along his neck. And Sam. Sam’s hair was tousled, his clothes were wrinkled and his eyes, his normally beautiful eyes; they were bloodshot and teary, refusing to look up at anyone.

Stepping out of the car, Dean headed inside, mumbling about a shower, leaving Sam and Y/N standing outside, both refusing to look at the other. As her heart pounded in her chest, and her blood seemed to throb in her ears, Y/N didn’t notice Sam stepping closer to her until a scented breeze invaded her sense; flowery perfume. Nothing she was familiar with.

And just like that, every doubt, every insecure thought raced to the front of Y/N’s mind.

It was a long, quiet ride back to the bunker. Dean had refused to turn the radio on, which that in itself, was a tell-tale sign that something wasn’t right.

As soon as they pulled into the garage, Y/N was out of the car, bag in hand.

****** ****** ****** ****** ****** ****** ****** ****** ******

Two days later and the argument unfolded.

“How many times do I have to tell you?! I’m FINE!”

Screams echoed around the library as Sam stood with his hands planted on the table, Dean nowhere to be seen, though probably listening for any sounds of a violent dispute.

“You’re not fine Y/N, ever since we got back from that vamp case you’ve-”

“I’ve been what? Avoiding you? Well no shit sherlock! If I came back from ‘a couple of drinks’ smelling like some other guy, you’d avoid me too!”

With voice raised, Y/N stood from her chair, folding her arms across her chest in hopes of holding herself together.

Don’t break, not yet

“Nothing. HAPPENED! For God’s sake N/N do you really think I’d do that to you? After everything we’ve been through? I’ve always been there for you, so why the sudden distrust in me, huh? Why now?”

And just like that; the wall broke.

“Don’t you DARE say you’ve been there for me you ignorant asshole! You LEFT me!”

Tears fell from her E/C orbs, voice cracking under the emotion and pain, finally being released after so long.

“When did I-”

“You used me and then you left me! I watched as you faded from my life, with no hesitation. I was there from the beginning and then as soon as I get you back to yourself, another girl comes around and you drop me like a sack of freaking potato’s!

I didn’t say anything after you came back to hunting because I knew it was a sore spot for you. I watched the man I’ve loved since day one-”

Taking a deep breath and choking down a sob, Y/N carried on, turning her back on Sam’s broken face.

“-fall in love with someone else and forget I even existed. So don’t you get all huffy with me you dick...I think I’m entitled to think you’ll leave again.”

And as if all the fight in him had been physically sucked out of his body, Sam dropped backwards, pushing the seat to the side as he fell onto his ass.

“I-I, I didn’t-”

“You didn’t know. I know that Sam. You know that. Dean knows that. I just want a straight answer, you owe me that much.”

Looking up at the heartbroken girl, Sam’s eyes filled with unshed tears, nodding slowly at her back before making a small grunt.

“Did you want her?”

****** ****** ****** ****** ****** ****** ****** ****** ******

It took them over a month to come to terms with their damaged relationship. One full month filled with fights and doubts...as well as love. Sam knew that he’d hurt her. He’d begged his brother to tell him what he knew, listened as Dean told him all of what Y/N did while he pretended he was normal. Sat through the memories as his heart broke over and over again for the pain he’d put the woman of his dreams through.

And she was exactly that. Y/N L/N. A woman who made him powerful, who made him strong, who made him want to be a better man than he was. She’d been through thick and thin, had always looked after him despite her being younger. 

In his mind, he watched her age, watched her become this beautiful, intelligent woman he saw today. In his mind, he couldn’t piece the time between him leaving for college, and Dean showing up to look for their dad. He couldn't remember her being by his side, being the one constant he’d always had in his life.

And in his mind, he saw the signs; the little reactions she’d give when she’d put up the wall. Her eyes would strain and blink, before settling into a pointed gaze. The way the right corner of her lips would twitch down before hiding her sadness with a smile. The way she’d run her left finger around the hair tie on her other wrist exactly three times to compose herself.

All of her nervous ticks he finally picked up on, after years of suffering for her. Every night he went to sleep, he dreamt about how he could’ve changed it all. If he’d stayed by her side through college, as she’d done over the course of his life. If he’d have dated her instead of Jess, if he’d have gone back to hunting if she was the other option.

Having felt her love the way he did now, Sam knows he would’ve married her. Still would marry her if she’d have him. And if she would, he’d spend the rest of his life, showing her that he’d never leave her again. That he’d never forget her again. Until that one night, where her got up from his bed and left the room.

And on those same nights, in her new bedroom, Y/N would sit in that very same chair and contemplate how it had all gone wrong. She knew now that nothing had happened, that Sam had not wanted Stella that night. She also knew that Sam (under the influence) had been disorientated, and had seen Jess in Stella. Even the perfume she’d smelt that day rang bells in her head; similar to Jess’ soft, flowery perfume.

It hurt, to be apart from him. To not be in the safety of his arms. But Dean had suggested different rooms to clear the air between the disgruntled couple, and so far, it had been for the better. There hadn’t been any fights for the last two days and Y/N and Sam had finally sat down to talk; Sam talking about his experience in college and wanting to be normal, and Y/N talking about her fear and insecurity that had plagued her mind since.

It was the most they’d ever talked, and as night slowly faded into the early hours of the morning, they parted ways to their separate rooms located at two different ends of the hall, due to Dean’s suggestion.

Fighting for him was normal. Fighting to make him smile, to make him happy wasn’t something she’d shy away from. But the three boxes sitting on her bedside table screamed at her and made her restless.

Looking down at the paper, Y/N chewed on the edge of her pencil. There was so much to fix between them, was it worth adding another burden to the ever-growing pile of problems?

A different night and a surprisingly different routine. Jumping, Y/N looked at the door, her heart almost having jumped out of her throat.

Who could be-

“Y/N...it’s me. Can we talk?”

Looking at the bedside table again, Y/N froze hearing his deep voice again, alongside another knock.

“Sam...come in.”

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

OKAAAAAY! I was expecting to pump out like a 600 word drabble or something to start but like...I hope this is okay? Please y’all don’t be afraid to tell me what you think PLEASE!! I’m legit looking to improve just like everyone else so please please please with a cherry on top. Even if you don’t like it, tell me. If you like it (YAY *-*), tell me. Grammar hasn’t been checked because it’s 1am my time and I’m just too lazy and too eager to wait till morning so please if you see any mistakes, let me knoooow.

That was kinda pulled out of thin air as well because I’m special like that hehe, thank you for taking the time to read this. I really do appreciate it and um...yeah!

Just want to say thanks again, and until next time!!! Much loooooove

- Ninzzzzzzzz <3

P.S - It is a little over the place, I’m sorry!!! xx

[sherlockxreader]

In The Damp Street of London (Sherlock x Reader)

Title: In The Damp Street of London

Summary: You anticipate Sherlock’s proposal for marriage, only to discover that it is not what you had thought. Author: Maddy @laterthantherabbit Words: 3150 Characters/Relationships: Sherlock x reader, Molly x platonic!reader, Molly Hooper x Greg Lestrade, John Watson Warnings: None

Request: #12 with Sherlock from the prompt list? Please? Maybe it could be some kind of fluff ending with Sherlock proposing after a "case" of sorts - @fightqueen18

Author’s Notes: I know It may seem like the prompt is not in here at first but it’s near the end I swear. I really enjoyed writing this and I hope that it’s what you were hoping for @fightqueen18! Enjoy!

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Prompt 12: “I thought we were friends. Everything… This — all of this — was for a damn case?”

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You had known that having Sherlock as a boyfriend was going to be stressful. The cases, the unusual date times, the ‘bored Sherlock’ and of course the unconventionality of your relationship. Nevertheless, you had been committed to him for just over two years; two of the best years of your life no doubt and you couldn’t imagine how your life was going to get any better, well you thought you couldn’t until you had caught up to have coffee with Molly after you had both finished work one sunny afternoon.

“So…” Molly dragged out the vowel of the word after she had a sip of her vanilla latte. You quirked your eyebrow at her from over your cappuccino, licking the foam off your upper lip when you lowered your cup.

“So… what?” Molly rolled her eyes and leaned over the table, causing your bubbly laugh to rise out of your throat at her antics. You picked up your cup again and shook your head at your friend, taking a sip as she leaned back and spoke again.

“Do you think Sherlock is going to pop the question soon?” She returned your laughed as you began to splutter into your coffee. Your eyes widened at having such a topic come into the conversation. You had never pictured yourself marrying Sherlock and told Molly just so. “Seriously? It’s been, what, two years and you’ve never thought about it? I began thinking about marrying Greg after three months!”

“Yeah well that’s different-”

“Different how?” She crossed her arms over her chest and you shifted your eyes away from her scrutinising glare and fiddled with the spoon on your saucer.

“I don’t know. It’s just, Greg and Sherlock are completely different from one another, I don’t think Sherlock had ever thought about marriage either and I’m not even sure if he will for some time, which is fine, really. I’m happy where I am now, it’s been really nice.” You heard Molly’s scoff and your head whipped up to glare at her.

“I’m sorry Y/N but really? I see how he looks you, it’s how I used to look at him.” She smiled wistfully into her nearly empty cup and played lightly with the sugar sachets she had used. “He loves you so much, I don’t doubt that he’s been thinking about it, even unconsciously. That and John told me he was thinking about it the other day whilst in his Mind Palace thingy.” The unknown information had you choking on your sip of coffee once more, your face going red and your eyes tearing up with the sudden lack of oxygen. You regained your breath quickly and stared at Molly, gaping widely and not blinking at all. “Geez you look like Sherlock when you do that.” She laughed shakily at both your near-but-not-really-near death experience and unusual behaviour yet you didn’t stop being gobsmacked at her jest which had alarms to ring in Molly’s head. She reached over the table and grasped your hand. “Y/N?”

Snapping out of your stupor, you stood and gathered your belongings, leaving some cash on the table and motioning for Molly to follow. Your face was beginning to cool down as Molly caught up to you and asked where you were going.

“If I’m going to keep having this conversation, I’m going to need more than coffee to get through it. We’re going to your place.”

-------------------------------------------------------------

The walk over and following conversation at Molly’s flat made you feel as if you were floating on air. Molly had told you about the day she had met with John who had been giddy as he overheard Sherlock talking about which type of ring would suit your finger the most and about how he was going to do it. It was no wonder Sherlock hadn’t heard John listening in on him as John had said that he was so lost in his own little world that he was actually able to come into the room and watch Sherlock think for a while. John had told Molly that he had never seen Sherlock with such a warm smile on his face that morning. Hearing Molly retell John’s story had made you realise that Molly wasn’t just joking at the cafe, Sherlock was really planning on proposing to you, and soon at that if John had been right.

You had walked back to Baker Street with a skip in your step and a bright smile on your face after chatting with Molly, your happiness lasting all the way into 221B and up the stairs into the flat where you saw Sherlock lying flat on his back on the ground, his eyes closed and fingers twitching as he explored his Mind Palace. You smiled fondly at him as you removed your coat and scarf and placed your bag on the table near the door. You quietly stepped over to Sherlock to watch him closer. You could see that his lips were upturned into a small smile as he thought and you couldn’t help but to mimic him as you imagined him thinking about the proposal.

The smile stayed on your face as you prepared to make tea in the kitchen, which caused Sherlock to emerge from his mind and look around the flat. You glanced back into the room as the kettle boiled to see him glancing around the room as if confused about how he managed to get into his position on the ground anyway. You chuckled and he turned towards the noise, his furrowed expression morphing into one of joy as he saw you standing there radiating happiness.

“Y/N. I thought you were out with Molly.” The kettle whistled as the water was finished and you turned your back on Sherlock to make tea, and to keep your amusement from him.

“I was. I might have taken longer than usual, a certain… topic came into the conversation which ate my time as Molly talked to me.” You felt arms trace patterns around your waist as they came to rest on your hips and you felt breath tickle the hairs at you neck as Sherlock embraced you.

“And what would cause that I wonder?”

“Hm you would know, you know everything.” The smirk on your face caused your voice to become higher and more playful as you spoke. You didn’t want Sherlock know that you knew about the very near proposal.

“I don’t know everything, just what I-”

“Observe? Yes I know hon. Tea?”

“Please.” He kissed your shoulder and stayed draped on your back, tracing lazy patterns on your stomach as you finished making the tea, pouring the milk and adding sugar into both cups.

“Where’s John?” Sherlock’s nonsensical movements stopped suddenly at your question. He straightened slightly, his arms still around your body, and he looked around the kitchen and tried to look into the living room.

“He was here a minute ago.”

“And by a minute ago he’s probably left to the pub or something. No matter, it’s just us then.” You smiled and pulled yourself out of Sherlock’s embrace and went to sit in John’s chair whilst Sherlock sat in his own. You placed the tea into his hands and saw that he wanted to say something to you by the way his brows had become furrowed. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Hm?”

“And you tell me I’m thinking too hard. What’s on your mind?” You sipped at your tea and sighed as the sweet brew hit your tastebuds and as the liquid warmed you from the inside. You waited as Sherlock tried to gather his thoughts and construct words out of them yet each time he seemed to have finally figured out what to say, his mouth closed again and the silence remained in the flat. You were used to this type of silence when Sherlock’s mind worked faster than his mouth yet when the quiet stretched on for many long minutes, long past when you had both finished your tea, you grew concerned, yet excited as Molly’s voice replayed your conversation with her, especially highlighting the fact that the proposal would be soon. “Sherlock? It’s okay if you don’t-”

“I need your help. On a case.”

“Oh.” You deflated slightly as images of his nervousness amounting to a proposal fled from your mind. “Of course I’ll help. What do you need?”

“This weekend there’s an event and there’s most likely going to be another murder if we don’t go and stop the man at the event. You and I will go in as guests and John will pretend to be a waiter on the night.”

“Okay sure. I don’t know why you were so nervous about asking me that.” You laughed to yourself and gathered the cups you had used to wash up later. As you were entering the kitchen, Sherlock’s voice once again filled the flat.

“You have to wear heels Y/N.” You froze and cringed as Sherlock continued to tell you of the attire you were required to wear. Apparently the event was one of the most prestigious balls in the country. When he had finished speaking you let out a long sigh and let your body wilt as you dragged yourself into the kitchen to wash the dishes. “Y/N?”

“I’ll still go Sherl. Don’t worry.” You mumbled to yourself as the sink filled with water and bubbles. Sherlock once again draped himself along your back and kissed you sweetly on the neck.

“Thanks.” You leaned back into Sherlock’s embrace and closed your eyes, smiling as wedding bells rang in your ears.

“Anytime Sherl.” He kissed you once more and sat down at his microscope to study something whilst you began to scrub at the cups and plates. “But don’t think I’m not going to complain the whole time.” You smiled as you heard Sherlock’s deep chuckle accompany the sounds of domesticity in the flat.

-------------------------------------------------------------

“This is hell! Why is everything so tight?” You tugged at your backless dress and adjusted your long white gloves on your arms, cringing as the fabric itched at your skin and prevented you from taking a deep lungful of air. The red dress was adorned beautifully by delicate lace which rested directly against your skin around your neck and shoulders, the details rubbing uncomfortably against you as the corset top constricted against your chest. You hair draped elegantly over your shoulder in gentle curls which constantly needed adjusting and holding back as you snacked on passing hors d'oeuvre which hardly quelled the pangs of hunger in your stomach. Your face was made up with a perfect smokey eye and red lip combo, the only part of your ensemble you actually liked because it was the only part you got to control. You picked up a glass of champagne as a waiter walked past you and Sherlock and you took a large drink from it, enjoying the taste of the expensive liquid running down your throat. “Though I must say being rich has it’s perks.”

“You’re not rich though.” Sherlock mumbled next to you as he led you through the pompous crowd.

“I am for tonight aren’t I?” You grinned as you took another sip from your glass, raising it slightly as you saw John through the crowd carrying a tray of little somethings. He nodded his head back to you and smiled slightly before moving on to keep himself in character. “So where is the bastard we’re looking for Sherl?” You scanned the mass of people as Sherlock directed your gaze.

“There. The one with the woman in the green dress on his arm. She will be the victim if we don’t stop him before this event is finished.”

“I see him. So how are we going to do this?”

“We need to get everyone’s attention away from that side of the room so John can take him down swiftly.”

“Okay, and we’re going to do that how?” You looked around the room again and sipped at your champagne. You felt Sherlock remove his hand from your waist and turn you around. You felt a few people’s eyes turn your way and heard mumbling emerge from their mouths as you saw Sherlock get himself on one knee, holding out a simple velvet box in his hands.

“Y/N, you are the most interesting person I have ever had the chance to call a friend. The day I saw you walking across the street and then proceed to help me in a rather peculiar situation, I knew that you would become the most important person in all my life. I cannot imagine my days without you in them anymore and I don’t wish to. Not now, and not ever. My life was so dark without you in it and I don’t want to return to those days again. Please, will you do me the honor of marrying me?” You felt tears running down your eyes and heard nothing as the entire room had gone silent at the new revelation of events. Your grip on the champagne glass tightened slightly as you began to see red in the corners of your sight as you realised that Sherlock was using you as a way to distract the people solely for the case. The so called ‘proposal’ he had been planning had only been a means to the end, and that end was not getting you to be his fiancé.

The slap that struck his face echoed throughout the room and gasps were heard from many of the people that had been watching. You barely felt the sting that was now in your hand as you began to shake with anger.

“You bastard.” You were seething and spoke through your teeth before you began to walk away from the room, letting the glass fall from your hand and shatter on the ground with little care with the mess you had made. You looked around to see that John had indeed apprehended the man the whole scene was meant for. You couldn’t help but let out a few quiets sobs as you started to run from the room, hardly hearing Sherlock calling out for you as you left the building.

The cold air outside startled you out of your mind as you replayed your thoughts over and over again. You shivered and rubbed your gloved hands over your arms to try to create some warmth, dabbing away your stray tears from your cheeks with your fingertips as you began to walk away from the love of your life, fully intending to leave forever after such a trick. You shivered more violently as the night grew deeper, stopping when you felt a jacket being draped over your shoulders and the most comforting scent surround you. “Y/N. Please. Talk to me.”

“No Sherlock.” You tried to walk away again yet he grabbed your arm softly and turned you around to face him. You saw that his face mirrored yours with his reddened cheeks and tear tracks down his face. “Sherlock stop. Let me go!”

“I’m sorry! Whatever I’ve done, I’m sorry Y/N.” You froze and stared at Sherlock as your anger bubbled again.

“Whatever you’ve done? Sherlock, I thought we were friends. Everything… This — all of this — was for a damn case?” Your lip quivered as you struggled to remain composed on the deserted street of London. You looked up at the sky and at the buildings, blinking fast to keep tears from falling. “I… I thought-”

“Thought what?”

“Molly told me that you were going to propose to me soon a few days ago. I just never thought that it was going to be all for a case and not the real thing.”

“What do you mean not the real thing?” You groaned and threw your arms up to the sky, making sure the jacket wouldn’t fall to the ground as you did so.

“What do I mean? Sherlock you used me to catch a bad guy. I know we’ve done that before but this? This is-”

“A bit not good?” You deflated and sighed, breathing out an unamused laugh.

“Yeah I suppose that’s what you can call it. A bit not good.” You shook your head and wiped away the tears as the began to fall once more. You felt as if everything you had been hoping for for the past few days had been snatched away from you and that it was never going to come back. Sherlock seemed to had known where your thoughts were heading and spoke before they became the only thing you could think of.

“It’s not what you think Y/N. What I said, that was all true.” You looked up from the ground and into Sherlock’s own watery eyes. His mouth was quirked into a sad smile as he grasped your hands into his own. “I am so sorry for what has just happened Y/N. It was idiotic of me to use my marriage proposal for a case and it was never my intention to hurt you but,” He knelt down on one knee again, in the middle of the dark and slightly damp street, “it would make me so happy if you would reconsider your answer.

“It’s true that you make me so happy, happier than I’ve felt ever in my life. It’s true that you are the most interesting person in the world to me and that I have loved you since that day you tried to defend me from my brother’s bodyguards and instead got roped into joining me for lunch with Mycroft.” You giggled at the memory of how you two met and smiled down at Sherlock. He smiled back up at you and took in a breath as tears streamed down his cheeks and rain began to fall gently from above.

“It’s true that I cannot live without you and that I would die before anything happened to you ever. Y/N,” He let go of one of your hands and reached into his pocket to pull out the black box, opening it to reveal the beautiful yet elegantly simple ring you had yet to fully admire, “will you marry me?” You smiled wider than you had ever had and nodded your head vigorously, droplets from the rain falling from your hair. You heard Sherlock let out his breath in a sob and felt him place the perfectly fitting ring onto your finger before he stood and engulfed you in the warmest hug, whispering sweet nothings into your ear before he pulled away to look into your teary eyes before he kissed you sweetly and deeply. You smiled all throughout his murmurings and the kiss as you revelled in the love Sherlock had shown for you, not caring for your now ruined appearance or the increasing rain. You hugged Sherlock tightly in the dim light of the street and cried happily as you anticipated the future with Sherlock by your side.

[nightingveilxo]

The Lady From Shanghai (1947) & Swimming With Sharks

This is just one of the Orson Welles films that will have meta, where we see it influencing the Sherlock series. Links to other relevant film noir that have been done so far, are at the bottom of the post.

Plot: Irish sailor Michael O'Hara (Welles) meets the beautiful blonde Elsa (Rita Hayworth) as she rides a horse-drawn coach in Central Park. Three hooligans waylay the coach. Michael rescues Elsa and escorts her home. Michael reveals he is a seaman and learns Elsa and her husband, disabled criminal defense attorney Arthur Bannister (Sloane), are newly arrived in New York City from Shanghai. They are on their way to San Francisco via the Panama Canal. Michael, attracted to Elsa despite misgivings, agrees to sign on as an able seaman aboard Bannister's yacht.

They are joined on the boat by Bannister's partner, George Grisby (Glenn Anders), who proposes that Michael "murder" him in a plot to fake his own death. He promises Michael $5,000 and explains that since he would not really be dead and since there would be no corpse, Michael could not be convicted of murder (reflecting corpus delicti laws at the time). Michael agrees, intending to use the money to run away with Elsa. Grisby has Michael sign a confession.

Welles as Michael O'Hara in The Lady from Shanghai (1947) On the eve of the crime, Sydney Broome (Ted de Corsia), a private investigator who has been following Elsa on her husband's orders, confronts Grisby. Broome has learned of Grisby's plan to actually murder Bannister, frame Michael, and escape by pretending to have also been murdered. Grisby shoots Broome and leaves him for dead. Unaware of what has happened, Michael proceeds with the night's arrangement and sees Grisby off on a motorboat before shooting a gun into the air to draw attention to himself. Meanwhile, Broome, injured but alive, asks Elsa for help. He warns her that Grisby intends to kill her husband.

Michael makes a phone call to Elsa, but finds Broome on the other end of the line. Broome warns Michael that Grisby was setting him up. Michael rushes to Bannister's office in time to see Bannister is alive, but that the police are removing Grisby's body from the premises. The police find evidence implicating Michael, including his confession, and take him away.

At trial, Bannister acts as Michael's attorney. He feels he can win the case if Michael pleads justifiable homicide. During the trial, Bannister learns of his wife's relationship with Michael. He ultimately takes pleasure in his suspicion that they will lose the case. Bannister also indicates that he knows the real killer's identity. Before the verdict, Michael escapes by feigning a suicide attempt. Elsa follows. Michael and she hide in a Chinatown theater. Elsa calls some Chinese friends to meet her. As Michael and Elsa wait and pretend to watch the show, Michael realizes that she killed Grisby. Elsa's Chinese friends arrive and take Michael, unconscious, to an abandoned Fun House. When he wakes, he realizes that Grisby and Elsa had been planning to murder Bannister and frame him for the crime, but that Broome's involvement ruined the scheme and that Elsa had to kill Grisby for her own protection.

HLV

The film features a unique climactic shootout in a hall of mirrors involving a multitude of false and real mirrored images in the Magic Mirror Maze, in which Elsa is mortally wounded and Bannister is killed. Heartbroken, Michael leaves presuming that events which have unfolded since the trial will clear him of any crimes.

The Six Thatchers

John (laughing): A jellyfish! You can’t arrest a jellyfish. Sherlock: You can try. John: We did try.

Be sure to read Predator and Prey: The Jellyfish of Sherlock by @devoursjohnlock 

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