#sherlock fanfic

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom

The Greatest Gift

Sherlock still remembers the day like it was yesterday. The sixth day of July. He turned seven and a half years that day. And every birthday gift up until then had never come close to this marvellous surprise.

“Open your eyes, darling,” Mummy said, her voice filled with restrained excitement.

He did as she asked, but slow because he didn’t know what awaited him when his eyes were wide open. How could he have predicted that his life would change forever after that moment. He wonders if his parents knew all those years ago, that they literally gifted him his first best friend.

Sherlock opened his eyes and on the floor in front of him was a basket. Inside the basket was a dog. A living breathing dog. His dog he realised after a while. When those chocolate-brown eyes met his, Sherlock zoomed out anything but the puppy who struggled to get out of his prison.

His fur was wavy and some places curly. The colour of it was auburn. An Irish Setter.

“What will you call him?” Father prompted.

Sherlock startled, having been totally engrossed in watching the dog’s pathetic tries to get his small frame over the top of the basket.

“I get to name him?” Sherlock asked incredulously.

“Of course, Sherlock. It’s your dog,” Father told him. 

“Do you like him?” his mother coaxed.

By the tone of her voice, Sherlock discerned that it wasn’t the first time she had asked the question.

“Yes,” Sherlock whispered.

“You can pick him up, you know,” his father said mirthfully. “It’s clear that he won’t be able to get out of there by himself.”

Careful, so he didn’t frighten the animal, Sherlock sat on his knees and leaned over the basket to lift the dog up. Seconds after an eager tongue licked his face and Sherlock giggled.

“It tickles!” he exclaimed.

His parents chuckled and told him he had to train the dog to obey, to teach him what was allowed and what wasn’t.

“In due course. Today you can play all you want with him,” Father assured him when Sherlock looked sceptically at his parents by the mentioning of rules.

Every morning after that, when Sherlock opened his eyes to a new day, Redbeard was there, ready to follow him wherever the day would take them. They became inseparable and Redbeard was quite obedient and didn’t need all the training and commanding his parents had mentioned. The dog was happy to follow Sherlock everywhere and if his master told him no, Redbeard refrained from doing whatever shenanigans he’d been up to at the time.

***

“Open your eyes, love,” John whispers.

Sherlock gets a sudden flashback to a certain July day almost six decades ago. Just like then, he opens his eyes slowly, and just like then he’s gobsmacked by what awaits him. At his feet, in their Sussex cottage, is a basket with an English Cocker Spaniel, red in colour, inside, looking expectantly up at Sherlock.

“John.”

It’s all Sherlock’s capable of uttering. In a fluid motion, unsuitable for his age, Sherlock seats himself on the floor beside the basket and stretches out his arms. The puppy comes eagerly and just like Redbeard did all those years ago, licks Sherlock’s face with fervour.

“Easy, my sweet,” Sherlock coos burying his hands in the soft and curly fur.

He looks over at his husband who’s seated himself beside Sherlock, with a bit more effort. 

“The kiss will have to wait, I’m afraid,” Sherlock says, his face still damp from the greeting.

John chuckles.

“You always make it up to me. Do you like her?”

“Oh, yes, John. She’s adorable. How did you keep this a secret?”

“A puzzle you can figure out later, my heart,” John teases. “What will you name her?”

“Hudders, would be appropriate, but I’m afraid our former landlady’s ghost would hunt me for eternity if I did. Hm…how about Queenie?”

“Perfect,” John agrees. “One drama queen and one…what role would she…”

“John!” Sherlock exclaims affronted, which makes the puppy bark.

“Ah, I see…she’ll be your protector,” John quips.

“Mm. I guess one more couldn’t hurt,” Sherlock ponders.

“Agreed,” John says emphatically. “Now, let’s get up and you can wash that beautiful face of yours so I can get that kiss you promised me.”

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @safedistancefrombeingsmart @phoenix27884 @gregorovitch-adler @a-victorian-girl @topsyturvy-turtely @peanitbear @raina-at @helloliriels @7-percent @ninasnakie

[lilmoonbunny]

Denial; Mycroft Holmes

Mycroft only seeked you out to deduce you (aka, how Mycroft realised he liked you).

John and Sherlock were, without a doubt, the loudest neighbours that Y/N had ever had.

Gunshots at God only knows what hour, constant stabbing, banging, and so on. Despite this, she still considered them dear friends and the best neighbours that she had ever had. Sure, they were weird and loud, but they were also kind and genuine, at least for the most part. Alongside this, they also appreciated her baking, especially after long cases.

A gentle knock sounded on the door the 221B catching the attention of three people.

“You can come in, Y/N,” Sherlock called from behind the door, greeting the woman with a nod before turning his attention back to Mycroft whilst John smiled at her.

“Hi, Sherly. Hi, John.” She smiled at the two friends before turning to the older Holmes brother. “Hi, Mr Holmes.” Y/N greeted him with a smile. Although she hadn’t met him before, it wasn’t difficult to deduce who he was; the expensive suit and the fact Sherlock was glaring at him gave it away.

“Sherly?” Mycroft spat, grimacing at the nickname given to his brother. “Who on Earth would you let call you that?” He asked.

“This is Y/N, our neighbour. What have you brought for us today? I’ve been looking forward to this all week.” The sweet smile Sherlock gave to the woman made Mycroft feel ill. He had no clue who this woman was and absolutely no idea why they seemed to be this close.

“Chocolate cake, sugar cookies, and love.” She joked, beginning to laugh at the way Mycroft audibly gagged. “I’m only kidding. No love.”

“I should certainly hope not,” came Mycroft’s response, one which simply made her laugh again.

“Are you jealous, Mycroft?”

“Because of the cake, he is.” Sherlock interrupted, waving Myrcoft off. “No, I won’t take the case. You can leave now.”

“This is an urgent matter, brother mine.”

“Don’t care.”

With a groan and a roll of his eyes, Mycroft lifted himself to his feet and prepared to leave.

“I’ll leave these with you, just in case you change your mind. Goodbye brother mine. John.” The hesitation was obvious on Mycroft’s face, despite how well he typically hid his emotions, as he faced Y/N.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr Holmes.” Y/N smiled sweetly, earning a simple nod from him before he left.

Sherlock, who had leaned to grab the tub of baked goods from the woman’s hands, rolled his eyes as Mycroft left and immediately began to eat.

It wasn’t long until Y/N’s entire life had been researched.

There wasn’t much there. No criminal record, a few jobs, occasional moves, but no sign of her posing any danger to Sherlock and, by association, John. However, the way Mycroft felt upon seeing her was unusual, so he decided to do his own investigation.

“Morning, Mr Holmes,” he was greeted before he reached the empty counter. “Welcome to my bakery! Would you like anything?”

“Just a coffee, please. Black.” Mycroft nodded, not returning the smile she had given, despite the odd feeling it gave him. She was evil and he would prove it to Sherlock.

“Coming right up! Take a seat wherever you’d like, and I’ll bring it over.”

As Mycroft occupied a seat, he took a moment to properly assess the woman making his drink.

She didn’t seem threatening: a content smile on her lips as she prepared his coffee, humming a quiet tune that he barely picked up on. In fact, she didn’t seem out of the ordinary at all, but the feeling when he first saw her – a feeling Mycroft couldn’t explain – had him needing to investigate her further.

“Here you go, Mr Holmes.” Y/N said, placing a hot coffee and chocolate cake on the table in front of him. “Sherlock mentioned that you like cake, so I grabbed you some. It’s all on the house.”

“Why?”

With a small laugh, she responded without hesitation. “You’re Sherlock’s brother.”

How odd, Mycroft thought to himself. She doesn’t even know me and she’s giving me things for free…

Despite his thoughts, Mycroft simply nodded, watching as she took a seat opposite him. “I hope you don’t mind. It’s quiet today so I figured I’d try and keep you company the best I can. I’m sure you have better company than me, though.”

“I don’t mind,” he replied before even thinking. It was safe to say that he didn’t enjoy the way his chest felt whilst he watched her smile.

Maybe she’s a witch? No, don’t be stupid, Mycroft. They don’t exist.

“So,” Y/N’s voice broke the man from his thoughts. “It’s a funny story how me, Sherlock, and John met. I was actually working and Sherlock bursts in demanding to talk to me. My baking stuff had been found at a crime scene and he thought it was me!”

“How interesting.” Came Mycroft’s blunt reply, even if he was intrigued.

“You listened to it, so you must care, even just a little bit. I think that’s a win for me!”

Mycroft couldn’t help the tiniest smile that crawled onto his lips, but he internally prayed that nobody noticed it, especially her. She, however, seemed oblivious to the movement, simply staring over his shoulder and out of the window.

“Anyway, what was he like growing up? Was he like he is now? Blunt and rude?” Y/N asked with a giggle.

“He wasn’t, actually. He was rather sweet. He liked playing pretend with his friend; he always wanted a dog too.” Came Mycroft’s reply. “His favourite thing was pirates.” He said with a fond look in his eyes. Sherlock wasn’t going to be happy when he found out that he had told her, but he couldn’t resist answering her question.

Mycroft watched closely as the woman in front of him grinned, the bright and happy smile a nice contrast to what he was used to whilst working with the government. He couldn’t help but smile back, noting how her smile widened further as he did so.

“That’s sweet. I couldn’t imagine that, to be honest,”

It was time to ask the question that was on his mind. “Are you attracted to Sherlock?”

“Sherlock?” Y/N said, bursting into laughter. “No, absolutely not. He’s more like an annoying older brother. Same with John. We’re just friends, and, well, neighbours too.”

Confusion spread over Mycroft as she felt the weight on his shoulders lift at her words; she was telling the truth.

“How is she?” Sherlock asked the moment he answered the phone.

“How is who?” Mycroft’s voice sounded through the device.

“Y/N,”

“Why do you assume that I know?”

“It’s obvious you were there earlier.”

“…”

“Well, that and Mrs Hudson told us.”

“Of course she did.” Mycroft said with an involuntary roll of his eyes.

“So, how was it?”

“It was fine.”

“You like her then?”

“What makes you think that?”

“Well, you went to see her. It’s quite obvious, Mycroft. Come on, I thought you were smarter than that.”

Mycroft simply put the phone down.

He did not like her.

The next time that Mycroft came across Y/N was when it was raining.

He hadn’t wanted to seem ‘creepy’ by seeking her out again for more investigations and deductions, so he simply waited. She was friends with his brother, it wasn’t like their paths wouldn’t cross at some point. Besides, he didn’t want Sherlock to think that he liked her.

“Raining real bad tonight, isn’t it?” The driver spoke to Mycroft. He was new, so Mycroft couldn’t exactly blame him for attempting some type of conversation with him; it was still annoying, though.

Anthea, looking up from her phone was what caught Mycroft’s attention. “I feel bad for her.” She said, nodding towards a soaked woman. It only took Mycroft a moment to realise who it was.

“Pull over,” he stated bluntly, grabbing his umbrella. He simply ignored the look he was receiving from his assistant.

It had been a long day filled with rude customers, and to make it worse, it was raining, and she had forgotten her coat. Today couldn’t be going any worse for Y/N.

Shivering wildly and soaked to the core, Y/N huffed, watching the way her breath instantly evaporated; it was clearly below freezing, but she held out hope that the rain would stop and she would be home soon.

Her hope seemed to pay off, though, since she could no longer feel the rain. As she looked up at the sky, she spotted a familiar face.

“Mycroft?”

“Y/N.”

“What are you-“

“Get in.” He said, pointing towards the car before wordlessly leading her towards it, still holding the umbrella above her, even if he was getting wet.

“You don’t have to, Mycroft.” She said as he ushered her in and shut the door behind them both. “I mean, I’m soaking your car!”

Mycroft, who could feel the heat on his cheeks from their proximity, simply shook his head. He was too focused on the way her leg was pressed against his as she sat between him and Anthea who stared at her phone with a small smirk.

The ride was void of conversation, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, the only noise was that of Y/N shivering.

After a moment of hesitation, Mycroft shrugged off his jacket and handed her it. “Here.”

There was no chance of refusal, Mycroft wouldn’t allow it, so with a quiet ‘thanks’, Y/N popped the jacket over her shoulders. He just found the chattering of her teeth annoying, was what he told himself.

As they arrived at the flats, Mycroft followed her out of the car.

“Thank you, Mr Holmes.” She said as they stood on the door of her flat.

“Mycroft is fine, Y/N.”

“Thank you… Mycroft.” She said with a small smile before bidding him a goodnight.

“I see you gave her your jacket,” Was all Sherlock said as Mycroft entered 221B.

It was hard. Very hard. Harder than anything Y/N had ever experienced. Having a crush was not easy as it was, but having feelings for Mycroft Holmes was the hardest thing in the world: he rarely showed emotion, he was blunt, he was rude, but most importantly to her, deep down, he was nice.

A small sigh left Y/N’s lips as she worked on her latest batch of cookies for the morning. He was on her mind… again. It was a common occurrence by now.

“We’re not open yet, sorry!” She called over her shoulder at the sound of the door opening. As she turned around to see who it was and apologise again, a blush rushed to her cheeks. “Mycroft! What are you doing here?”

Mycroft stood there, umbrella in hand, and gave a simple shrug. “I was on my way to work so thought I would ‘pop in’ as people say.” He explained, earning a laugh from the baker.

“Modern phrases don’t suit you, Mycroft.” She teased.

With an amused shake of his head, Mycroft took a seat at the table nearest her.

“Want some cookies? They’re fresh out of the oven!”

Mycroft nodded with a grateful smile, always glad to have sweet treats. He would never turn down anyone’s desserts, least of all Y/N’s; not because he liked her and didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but because she was a good baker.

The pair sat in a comfortable silence, Mycroft gladly eating his cookies with an appreciative look whilst Y/N worked on her next batch. There was nothing awkward between them, and there, surprisingly, never had been.

“Are you not at work today?” Y/N broke the silence with a question that was bugging her. She could have sworn Mycroft had always worked this time over the months that she had known him.

Mycroft hesitated for a moment. He was supposed to be there right now but had decided to visit you before. It wasn’t like anyone could fire him for it, he was basically the British government, after all.

“Not yet,” he lied, and he was glad that he was a good liar.

“Oh, okay! I’m happy you came then. I don’t want to bother you.”

“You could never be a bother,” the words fell from his lips before he even registered what his thoughts, and he noticed the blush race up her cheeks, as did she with his.

“Thank you, Mycroft.”

As he stared at her and her rosy cheeks, a million thoughts went through his mind, but they were all related to one thing: her. It was in that moment that he realised the truth, he did like Y/N, and he had been attracted to her since the beginning; that was what he was feeling.

Oh dear…

[princessaxoxo]

Strangers to lovers Part 2

A/N: this is now a multiple-part series.

Sherlock x reader

Summary: Being Enola’s sitter was an adventure, but not as much as falling for her brother, Sherlock.

Warnings: 18+ Only, cussing, angst, kissing

Word Count: 2k+

4 years later...

Dressed in your finest clothes with your suitcase in hand, you were ready to head to your family's home for a few days. The train was running a few minutes behind schedule today. Peaking your body and head forward a little, you saw the train before you heard the horn.

You happily stepped back, waiting for the train to come to a stop. You’ve wanted to get away for a while, and you knew spending time with your family would give you some relief. A smile was plastered on your face from the excitement.

People started to unload: parents with their children, lovers hand in hand, and many more.

You bent down to pick up your suitcase and started for the entryway to get on, but stopped once you saw him, Sherlock.

The smile you held dropped from your face. He got off with his brother, Mycroft, both of them talking and then looking around as if they were waiting to meet someone.

You took notice of who they were looking for—of course, Enola.

You took notice of how that relieved you; it made you feel better that it wasn’t another woman. It upset you that you still cared and that you still got jealous; you didn't want to, and you thought it had left, but seeing him again made you show how you still did.

Enola and you had kept in touch but weren’t as close anymore. The both of you would meet for lunch now and then.

Standing there, seeing them talk, you wanted to walk away; you needed to, but you were stuck and couldn't move. It was as if your feet were glued to the concrete. And then, with no warning, Mycroft noticed you, his eyes landing on you, and you knew you looked like a deer caught in headlights; your eyes bulged out.

You weren't breathing; you turned in a hurry before Enola and Sherlock turned to see that Mycroft noticed you.

Secretly hoping he didn’t realize it was you and that they wouldn't be able to tell from your back.

You were cursing the heels you decided to wear; you couldn’t walk fast enough as you were trying to push past multiple people, but you were failing.

All you could do was hope; they couldn’t tell it was you.

Sherlock looked at his brother, noticing Mycroft had turned his attention away. “What is it?"

He looked over at Sherlock. “Hm, your old lady friend was just here. I do have to say, she looked much better."

Sherlock gave a confused face, old lady friend. He thought. Who had he been speaking of?

Mycroft noticed his brother's turmoil. He rolled his eyes. “The one you always ran around with.” Mycroft looked at Enola and said, “She babysitted Enola."

Sherlock realized who he was speaking of now, and he turned his head in search of you, his eyes moving around the crowd of people. You were dressed differently, but he was able to tell it was you just from your backside.

He wanted to know why you were here—were you waiting for someone, maybe a lover?

He knew he had no right to be possessive over you, especially since he left you.

Enola tugged on him and said, “Come along; the carriage is waiting.” Sherlock nodded his head. But he took one look back; however, you were already gone.

“I’ll invite y/n over tomorrow for lunch,” Enola said with a big smile. Sherlock's stomach dropped at the thought. He was sure you would yell at him or hit him. And he wanted to have a conversation with you in private, but it felt too early.

Both Mycroft and Enola stared at Sherlock, waiting for his reaction. “Sound’s great. Can’t wait”

You rushed back home, slamming your door once you reached inside. You felt stupid; why did you rush away? You were over him. You decided a long time ago that you wouldn't allow him to upset you. But here you were, running away from him.

You put your hand on your forehead and started to hysterically laugh at yourself.

After you stopped, you wrote to your family to tell them you couldn’t make it. The excuse was horrible, and to make matters worse, a lie. You despised lying.

The next day, you dropped the letter off, and Enola found you: "Y/N, you must come to lunch with me at my home.” You were unsure of how to answer, "I don't think." Enola cut you off, making sure you weren't able to say no. "Great, I'll see you at 1."

You were left speechless as she left; of course, Enola would be able to find you. And get you to come to her house.

On the carriage ride to Enola’s house, you gave yourself a pep talk. You would only stay for lunch, maybe an hour? And then leave. And you certainly wouldn’t let Sherlock get under your skin; you just wouldn't pay any attention to him.

The home looked the same—more aged than the last time you were here four years ago.

You weren't alone for long before you could take another step. Enola was in front of you, pushing you to the dining room.

You expected to see Sherlock, maybe even Mycroft. But they were nowhere to be seen. “Sit, sit,” Enola excitedly said. “I have some biscuits for us," she said, pushing the tray full of desserts toward you.

Enola and you talked for what felt like hours.

She smiled at you. “I like this change.” She looked at you up and down. You turned your head in confusion about her comment; you hadn't thought you changed that much; you dressed differently; you were more socially acceptable; but that was all.

“Your style but attitude as well.”

You laughed at Enola but thanked her.

Soon after you heard multiple footsteps enter, you turned your head on instinct. As soon as you saw him, your laughter faded. “I do have to say, you look like a lady.” A dig from Mycroft was expected.

You rolled your eyes. “Pleased to see you as well, Mycroft,” you said with a small fake smile.

Sherlock didn't say a word, and neither did you. But the way he looked at you said a thousand. “I enjoyed this Enola. Thank you for the desserts and for making my afternoon. I’m afraid I must go."

“NO! Sorry, would you mind staying with Enola? Me and Mycroft just need a couple of more minutes.”

You were stunned when he shouted, but you agreed to stay with her.

Most of the time, you were in your head, not paying attention to her like you should’ve. All you could think of was Sherlock. You needed to talk to him; it was eating you alive.

Once you heard his office door shut and Mycroft leave, you told Enola that you’d be back soon and headed toward Sherlock's office.

Sherlock heard his door open and shut again. “Need something else, Mycroft?”, He didn’t receive a response.

So he turned his head and saw you standing against the door, speechless.

He coughed, "Y/N, how may I help you?” Sherlock was having a hard time looking at you.

"You... you actually can’t help me at all," you said, and he raised his face.

“After I say this, I am going to leave, and you won’t see me again; you don’t deserve to see me again."

He swallowed, getting ready for what you were going to say. Sherlock knew he deserved every insult and every hurtful word you would give him.

“You left me. You left me with only a letter; I couldn't believe that you didn't tell me in person. I waited for you all night. Once I saw the sun rising, I knew you were indeed a coward. A coward who didn't love me. A person who loves you wouldn't have done what you did."

Tears started to brim.

“I saw a life with you. And I thought.. " you sarcastically, let out a chuckle. “I thought you saw one with me too. But I realized I was just another fling to you.” You shook your head at him. “But just answer me: why would you let our relationship bloom just for you to let it go without a problem?"

Sherlock stared at you wide-eyed. “I am first and foremost a detective; I have always been that and never said otherwise. And I admit, I regret and have regretted the way I left you. You deserved more than that. But I loved you, and I still do. With every part of my being.” Sherlock patted his chest, where his heart was. “I couldn't let you go, not after that night. That night, you became mine. I knew what would happen, but I didn’t care. I was selfish. I am a very selfish man when it comes to you. There are things I regret, but I don’t regret keeping you to myself. And I never will.”

Sherlock walked towards you.

Your eyes stayed on him. “Thank you. I’ll take my leave now."

But your feet didn’t move; you were stuck in your place by his eyes that were blazing within.

“Okay, take your leave,” he said, and you nodded your head. Sherlock took notice that you weren't moving, reached behind you, and opened the door.

As your eyes didn't leave him, they spoke a thousand words you couldn’t say to him. Sherlock clenched his jaw, waiting for your next move to see if you would leave.

He slammed the door shut and grabbed you by your face, kissing you with passion. He pressed his body against yours. "Sherlock,” you whispered.

He didn't want you to speak; he wanted to kiss you. He never wanted to stop kissing you. He feared that if he did, you would leave and he wouldn't see you again, just as you said earlier.

You knew what was going to happen if you stayed; you were deciding what you should do.

“y/n, stay with me. please. I don’t want to lose you.”

You took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I have to go. If I stay, I’ll be the one who ends up hurting again.” You backed away from him and left. You said your goodbyes to Enola and tried to rush home.

Sherlock caught you outside. “Fuck, please stay. I’m begging.” He got down on his knees and hugged the lower part of your body. “I thought of you as someone who would never hurt me, but you did. You can’t just say sorry and beg me and think that’ll make up for your actions."

A tear fell from your eye, and Sherlock rose to his feet. “Are you going to forgive me?”

You put your hand on his cheek. “You need to earn my forgiveness."

He ran his hand through his head of curls. And shook his head continuously. “Let me at least see you home”, “No, you stay, and I’ll go. Have a good night, Sherlock.”

As you returned home, you were torn.

You wanted to forgive him, and he had you so close to letting that happen. You wanted to stay with him and forget the past. The other part of you was happy that you left; he needed to stir, and he needed to be without you.

Sherlock had many sleepless nights, but this one was the worst of all. All he thought of was you. His hands didn’t leave his hair, countlessly running them through and tugging on his stands. He started thinking of what he could do to earn your forgiveness. To get you back within his reach.

He hadn’t realized how long he had stayed up until he left his office and saw the morning sun. With the bright rays burning his eyes, he shielded himself from the sun.

Sherlock sat at the table, staring off into nothingness.

He heard a voice. “What are you going to do about her?"

Sherlock looked behind him and saw Mycroft. “That lady you seem to be interested in, what are you going to do?"

Sherlock only had one answer.

“Anything.”

Part 3

[depressedoompaloompa]

✨Hydrate✨ bitches

This is a reminder for everyone who sees this. Get up from where you're sitting and drink a glass of water<3

Reblog so your moots don't die on their beds in their girlcaves

[a-victorian-girl]

SH: (using John's computer, of course): - " What's this? 'Archive of our Own'..."

SH: (starts reading an 'explicit' Johnlock fic John left open): - " WHAT THE....??"

[strawberrywinter4]

I’m supposed to be working at the moment, but I’m going to take a break and say this:

I have been in the Sherlock fandom for about two years now and I am so grateful I found such a safe place.

I started watching Sherlock during a difficult time in my life.

I was hanging out with a friend one afternoon and I don’t even really know how it happened, but she convinced me to watch Sherlock.

It can take me a while to get into a show. Like… a long while. So, I was a bit wary about it, but I’m grateful for her persistence because she just sat me down and turned it on.

I’m going to admit that I didn’t instantly fall in love with it. There’s a lot to the show and (in my opinion) it can be tough to understand if you don’t pay good attention to it.

My friend and I only ended up watching two episodes. After that, I didn’t think much of it.

One evening, I was sitting on my sofa, scrolling through my TV to see what’s on and low and behold, I somehow find Sherlock.

I watch it again… and this time I can’t stop watching it. It only takes me a few days to get through the whole series, and suddenly it’s my new obsession.

I legitimately couldn’t stop thinking about it. It got worse when I found fanfiction.

Sherlock saved me. I don’t mean to be too dramatic, but it really did. I was in such a stump part of my life and reading Sherlock fanfics or watching Sherlock(TV) allowed me to feel a little lighter, like all the burden that was presented at my shoulders could just dissipate.

The creators of the show turned characters that were popular in the 1800s into something people in this century could relate to.

They got these marvelous characters and studied them in such a deep manner and brought them to life on screen, in the modern world.

And it isn’t just about the characters but it’s also about the whole feeling of the show. They show 221B Baker Street as a cozy, homey safe haven which Sherlock and John can live their adorable domestic life. It is where they plan, discuss cases, laugh, drink tea, sleep, sit by the crackling fire, watch crap telly, eat takeout, and all the things that make them feel at home.

And with Sherlock and John seeing 221B as their home, it has also had the fandom seeing it as such as well.

Just the thought of the show makes me feel comforted. It made my past self feel comforted when she was going through hell.

I know for a fact Sherlock has helped every person in the fandom someway, somehow. It’s a beautiful show that portrays intelligence, friendship, family, relationships, mystery, excitement, warmth, sadness, grief, romance, happiness… there’s too much to list.

But all the qualities of the show have allowed us fans to find a place where we can feel safe. We go to Sherlock whether we feel happy or sad, we go to Sherlock when we need comfort, we go to Sherlock when we need distraction, we go to Sherlock when we need to cry, we go to Sherlock when we need to feel something.

So, sorry for my dramatic rant but I just needed to get this off my chest.

I hope that Sherlock has offered all of you some sort of happiness.

Have a marvelous day <3

[naefelldaurk]

New Sherlock Fic

Sherlock has one last chance to show John how he feels. The results far exceed his expectations.

[delicate-moon-princess]

Hello, if it's alright to request stuff, may I ask for some soft smut with Sherlock? Like morning, sleepy makeout in bed or something along those lines? Thank you!! I really love all your work! Keep up the great work!!

Taste of Home

Summary: You wake up next to Sherlock in bed after months of being apart. It never felt like home when he was gone. And now finally, he’s there to fill the void in your heart.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, kissing, thigh fucking, unprotected p in v, sleepy sex, cock warming, a tad emotional?- Let me know if I forgot anything!

Word Count: 2k

Any typos are my own!

A/N: Of course, thank you so much for the request! Here’s a very soft and sleepy Sherlock for you, nonnie ❤️

Daylight flooded the room, waking you as it beamed onto your face. The curtains had not been closed, and you were facing the window. The brightness made your eyes ache and you pouted as you covered them.

It was far too early, you decided. You sighed as you tried to go back to sleep, burying your face in the pillows. When you shifted, confusion filled you when your bare skin rubbed against the soft sheets. You realized you were nude. It was not like you to sleep without clothes.

You lifted your head and looked around. A shuffling sound came from behind you on the bed, making you look back. A familiar sleeping face greeted you. Your husband. Sherlock. Who was also nude, judging by the way the blanket draped low on his hips. You had a perfect view of his chiseled torso and defined v-line.  

It all came rushing back to you when you looked at him. He came home from a very long work trip the night before. And after a quick dinner, he made love to you till the early hours of the morning. You remembered falling asleep in each other’s arms immediately afterwards.

It was no wonder he was exhausted. As were you. After the workout he put your body through, it was almost like you hadn’t slept at all.

Even now as you gazed at his dozing features, you felt like you could easily fall asleep. Nevertheless, you carefully rolled over so you could get a better look at him. You laid your head on the pillow next to his as he faced you, taking the time to admire how beautiful he was.

To say he was beautiful was an understatement. His curly brown locks tousled, which softened his appearance. His long lashes fluttered as he slept. He looked so peaceful.

Who were you to disturb him? He worked so hard all the time. This last particular case he was working on had been especially tough to solve. Of course Sherlock Holmes closed the case, but even the famous detective ran out of steam.

He deserved to sleep in for as long as he liked. His brows began to twitch as you admired the lines in his face. You tilted your head and watched him. At first, you thought he was dreaming, but then his eyes opened. He took in the sight of you, before he gave you an enamored smile.

“Mrs. Holmes…” Sherlock murmured groggily. “Good morning.”

You didn’t have time to say it back, because his lips were on yours the instant the words left his mouth. Your eyes fluttered shut, letting out a pleased hum. Good morning to you too, husband. He hummed back as you lifted a hand to his cheek, your tongue coming out to lick his bottom lip. When his taste hit your tastebuds, you shivered. 

That taste. You missed it so. Like wintergreen and tobacco. It was both bracing and earthy. A taste of him this early in the morning was a treat. 

Your mouth watered as you avidly drank down what you could from his lips. If you could bottle up his taste and drink it every morning, you would. He tasted like comfort, like home.

Then, the warmth of his lips was gone. You sluggishly opened your eyes, finding him looking at you as his fingers stroked your cheek.You tried to savor the residual of his saliva on your tongue.

“How long have you been awake, dear?” His question took a moment to register with you, given how exhausted you were. Based on Sherlock’s lazy caressing of your face, you could tell he was just as tired as you.

“Not long.” You muttered when your sense of understanding came back to you.

“Why didn’t you wake me sooner, darling?” He asked you, letting his hand rest on your cheek.

You melted, leaning into it. Bringing your hand up to cover his, you nuzzled your nose against the lines of his palm.

“You needed your rest.” You whispered, pressing a kiss to the crease of his thumb.

“After all the time we were apart, what I need more than anything is to spend time with my gorgeous wife. And I need to be awake and conscious to do so.” He pointed out to you, his voice still laced with sleep.

Sherlock moaned when you nibbled gently on the ball of his palm. His fingers flexed, and he lazily rested his forehead on your temple.

“Or at least lucid enough to admire how angelic you look in the morning.” He yawned softly, his face falling to your neck. “Though I am having trouble keeping my eyes open.” He mumbled against the flesh of your collarbone.

“Perhaps we should rest a little while longer.” You suggested, your fingers in his soft curls.

“Hmm… perhaps. Then again, we should get up and get ready for the day. My guess is we’ve already slept past breakfast. I fancy your idea much more, however. Staying in bed, with you.” He nudged his nose along your jaw, inhaling your sweet scent.

“Sleeping. Staying in bed, sleeping.” You corrected him, smiling softly.

“Hm? Oh, sleeping. Yes, of course.” He hummed innocently, his lips on your jaw. “I wouldn’t be surprised if I find it hard to fall asleep, though. You smell too good.” He moaned, tugging you closer.

You gasped when you felt his erect cock against your stomach. His manhood twitched when it touched your belly. 

“And so warm. I’ve missed your warmth.” He murmured, squeezing his length between you as it leaked onto your skin.

His seed was sticky as it oozed onto your flesh. You shivered, it was so warm and you were reminded of last night when he shot his fervid seed inside you. A large hand grabbed the back of your thigh, lifting it so your legs spread slightly.

“I’m willing to bet you're also wet for me.” He reached down to grab the base of his cock. 

You watched him guide his manhood towards the crease between your luscious thighs. It wasn’t until he slipped in with ease that you realized your inner thighs were covered in your fluids. Not only a result of his current actions, but also the very pleasant dreams you had of him last night.

A deep blush bloomed on your cheeks. Sherlock further situated his erection, nestling it between your wet folds. You jerked and gasped, your clit pressed against his solid length.

“So wet for me. Mmm…” He gave a sleepy smile and hum. Then he pulled away to look at you. “Tell me, my love, did you dream of me?”

There was no chance of hiding anything from him. His question was answered when you lowered your head bashfully. You took interest in where he buried himself in your thighs, watching as he shifted his hips. The top of his shaft nudged your delicate bundle of nerves. A heat rose in your belly, making you mewl as you rolled your hips.

“I dreamed of you. The entire time I was gone, I dreamed of you every night. It was the only thing that kept me going, the promise that I had you at home, waiting for me.” He sighed as your thighs squeezed him.

“I knew soon enough I would be back here, surrounded by your warmth. Your smell. Your taste. U-Ugh, your taste.” He groaned as he pulled out from between your legs. Your clit was rubbed the other way. You arched your spine with a breathless hiccup.

“Like the sweetest honeysuckle. I can't get enough.” He grabbed your cheeks, moaning as he brought you into a deep kiss. 

His tongue slipped into your mouth, lavishing yours in sensual licks. Your flavors paired beautifully together. Honeysuckle and wintergreen. Sweet and refreshing. It made your cunt pulsate as you swallowed.

“Sherlock.” You hiccuped, your hands falling to his chest and you weaved your fingers through his chest hair.

You squeezed your legs together, gripping his cock as he continued to buck between them. He panted against your mouth, hitching your leg up onto his hip. He reached down, rubbing the tip along your now exposed slit.

“I need to be inside you, darling. Need to feel you.” He exhaled into the kiss, and you greedily drank down his breath.

He lined up with your dripping hole, and slowly sank into you. Sherlock held your hips, squeezing when you sucked in a breath. Your body accepted him inside you easily. Like it was welcoming him home.

There was nothing better than this. Being wrapped in the arms of your beloved, being as close as two people can get. Yes. This was home.

You whimpered, pulling him closer with your leg. Pulling away from the kiss, you opened your eyes to stare into his. You cradled his face in your hands.

“I-I’ve missed this.” You admitted, your chest heaving in soft pants as he shallowly began to thrust. “I’ve missed you. I dreamed of you too, Sherlock. Every night-ah!”

You sighed in pleasure. The tip of his cock nudged your cervix and it felt like all your nerve endings sparked. He was so deep.

He cradled your bum, easing in and out you. Your words caused him to moan and press his head against yours. 

“Did you always wake up wet for me?” He groaned, licking his lips as he waited for your response.

“Yes. Yes, everyday.” You whined as you remembered the mornings where you woke alone in bed. “It always felt so… cold without you here. I dreamed of this every night. And each morning, I ached for you to fill me. I-I felt so empty.”

A whimper escaped you, your emotions jumbled from the mix of pleasure and fatigue. Sherlock shushed you, grinding his hips to remind you of how not empty you were at the moment. His pelvic bone grazed your clit. You melted, your face falling against his neck as you moaned.

“It’s alright now, my love. I’m here. I won’t ever leave you empty again.” He promised you, burying his face into your shoulder as he gained a little speed, though his pace was still slow and lazy.

His deep momentum had you to the edge in no time. It was all too much. You felt every inch of him and it was making your drowsy head swim. Sleep sounded so good right now, but cumming all over your husband’s cock sounded even better.

“I’ve got you, dove. You can let go. I’m here now.” He breathed into your ear, pulling your body impossibly close.

With one last jolt of his hips, you came with a soft cry. Sherlock quickly pressed his lips to yours, swallowing down all your sobs as he gave his own gasps. He pressed into you all the way, shaking as he shot his load deep inside your cunt. His hot, thick seed covering your cervix only prolonged your orgasm.

You felt his heart thudding in his chest as he pressed it to yours. He held onto you tightly, and you clung to him. As your climaxes subsided, both of you were left panting.

You never wanted this moment to end. Being one with your husband, it was euphoric. Why did it always have to end?

He shifted, and you whimpered. You tightened your leg around his side. He grunted when you clenched down on him in an attempt to trap him inside you. His hand squeezed your ass.

“Relax, darling. I told you, I’m not going anywhere. I promised not to leave you empty again, didn’t I? The both of us are going to get a bit more rest, as we stay just like this. And when you wake, my love, I will still be here. Inside you.” He hummed in content as he closed his eyes,  stroking your back to relax you.

You were able to unwind once you realized he wasn’t going to pull away. Closing your eyes, you burrowed into his chest. A soft sigh escaped you, blowing around some of the hair on his chest. Sherlock pressed a kiss on the top of your head.

“Rest now, sweetheart. I’ll keep warm. And full.” He murmured, his low and comforting voice made your eyes droop. 

The warmth of your husband helped lull you to sleep. Your dreams were once again filled with him. There was no need to worry about waking up aching and empty this time. Because Sherlock was back home, and everything was whole.

A/N: Look at me, finally getting another fic done😅 Sorry it’s been a bit, I’ve had a horrible case of writer’s block. I hope you enjoyed, love you all! ❤️ Taglist: @sunshine-with-daisy @leigh70 @islacharlotte @lysarria @kebabgirl67 @pandaxnienke @identity2212

[xs1344]

[strangesthirdeye]

A detective and a part time dad (SH x wife! Reader ft baby)

Summary: only a detective whose part time job is to look after his son. Warning: it's Sherlock. He's detective. Sweet, fluff, baby, love, warm, William can be 5 or 6 months years old. (The Sixth Thatcher references ahead) As usual, I'm sorry if there are any wrong sentences or typos or grammatical mistakes, please forgive me and again English is not my first language, so I try to improve my language and writing in this way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"you just need to make his milk and heat his milk if it's cold. And make sure his diapers are always clean" You told Sherlock as you put your wallet in your handbag.

"what if he cries? How to stop him crying?" Sherlock adjusted baby William's support in his arms. Sometimes he took out William's hand that was put in his mouth.

William babbling in protest after his wet hand was removed from his mouth. Sherlock then wiped William's hands and mouth with a napkin.

"Just sway him when you pick him up until he fell asleep or give him that soft cookie or when all that is useless maybe you should give him attention" You cooed at William with a sweet smile while stroking William's cheek with your finger.

"Didn't he always get attention?" Sherlock replied while stroking William's small foots.

"perhaps he needs your attention more." You said then walked to the door of the flat and put on your black jacket. "I won't be gone for long, I just want to settle some files in St's Bart. So you, young man. Be good to daddy, okay?" you muttered to William as you played with his little hand.

William let out a small babbling and then showed a wide toothless smile. Sherlock then sighed a little. Right, this is the first time he took care of baby William. So far only you know how to handle William with what he wants but now it's Sherlock's job.

You noticed Sherlock's concerned face and looked softly at him then you put your hand on Sherlock's cheek. "don't worry, I'm sure Will can cooperate with you. You boys go have fun while I do work, ok?" You stroke Sherlock's cheek and kiss Sherlock's lips passionately.

Sherlock returned the kiss and nodded slightly. You smiled gently and walked out of the flat. The flat door is slammed, signifying that you had left and there was only Sherlock and William left. Mrs Hudson went out to London to visit a friend far away so there are only two people living in the flat for now.

Sherlock then looked at his son who was also looking at Sherlock's face with his mouth and his shirt wet with saliva. Sherlock looked narrowly at his clone.

"Wonder what's going on in your head" Sherlock wiped William's lips.

William wailed happily and patted Sherlock's chest as his feet kicked in the air in Sherlock's arms.

"Ok Will, now.. what should we do?" Sherlock looked around for a moment trying to think of what activity they should be doing. William let out a small cooes trying to get Sherlock's attention. Sherlock then looked at his son's chubby face with calculating on his face.

"fancy a game of Cluedo?"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Already told John the victim could be a suspect but he didn't believe it and said that's not how this game works." Sherlock mumbled to himself as he flipped through the cards in his hand.

William who was sitting on the strap on John's chair (like Rosie's chair in The Six Thatcher) let out a loud wail as if agreeing with his father and waved his hands in the air.

"see, you agree with me"

William babbling while bubbling his lips with saliva creating a bubble. Sherlock wiped William's lips with a napkin.

"well, the rules are wrong"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"no you can't put my magnifying glass in your mouth" Sherlock snatched his magnifying glass from William's grasp and put it on the dining table so William couldn't reach it.

William then screamed in protest trying to slap his father's hand with his chubby hand. His feet kicked in the air several times quickly.

"you cannot put that in your mouth, understand?" Sherlock kneeled in front of his son in front of the baby seat.

William then stopped screaming in protest and looked at his father's face with a red face. And immediately his face scrunched up in sadness and started crying loudly.

Sherlock panicked and didn't know what to do and then he got up and lifted William from his seat. His hands held William's small body tightly and swayed left and right trying to calm William down. But it doesn't work. William kept raging and sobbing as he pressed his face to Sherlock's chest. This is tiring. Sherlock was stumped. He doesn't know how to calm his own son let alone persuade him to stop crying.

Soft cookies were given but William still wanted to put something hard in his mouth. What did you say before? William started teething? Is that what you call? Perhaps his gums are already itchy and uncomfortable, that's why he always puts hard things in his mouth to relieve his itchy gums.

Sherlock sighed tiredly. William was still struggling in his arms but his face pushed into Sherlock's chest making Sherlock's shirt wet with his tears and saliva.

Sherlock then gave up and put William back in his seat and walked towards the corner of the living room where there was a toy box and reached one of William's toys. Sherlock then kneeled in front of William and held out a toy magnifying glass towards William with a soft face.

"You can put this in your mouth. At least it's a little soft and won't hurt your gums" Sherlock said softly and put the magnifying glass toy in William's hand.

William, whose face was red and had streaks of tears on his face, looked at the toy in his hand for a long time. Sherlock smiled genuinely at William. Not a few seconds later, William threw his toy magnifying glass at Sherlock's face precisely making Sherlock startled and dumbfounded.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

After a few hours later, Sherlock and William slept together on the couch. William who was lying face down on Sherlock's chest snored slowly while Sherlock had his arms around William's small body protecting him from falling. The father and son were sleeping so soundly that they didn't even hear the flat door being opened by you who had just returned from work.

You expect this flat to be noisy with William crying or Sherlock mumbling to himself but no. This flat is quite quiet. Weird. You took off your jacket and hung it on the hook next to the door then slowly you went up the stairs to flat 221B. As soon as you arrived in front of the door of the flat, you slowly opened the door and were stunned to see your husband and son sleeping soundly on the couch. You refrained from making a sound. This scene is too sweet and it will give you a cavity but what the heck, it's too cute.

You slowly took out your phone and opened the camera and pointed your phone at your two boys and snapped the picture to make memories. This is so cute. You chuckled softly and walked without footsteps to your bedroom to change your clothes and bring a blanket to join the two of them.

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom

I Can’t Stand It

Rosie’s tantrum in the park, reminds Sherlock of his own childhood. It’s strange that so much of what the little girl says and does resonates with him.

“She’s not yours,” several voices inside his head tells him.

Still, he can’t shake off the feeling of being something more to her than just…what is he exactly to her? She calls him Lock; he calls her Watson. He desperately wants her to call him something else, which he only allows himself to think about when he’s alone.

“I can’t stand it, daddy!” Rosie exclaims and stomps her feet.

“But, sweetheart,” John tries to reason with his four-year-old daughter. “You were perfectly fine eating this last week.”

Rosie rolls her eyes and throws her arms in the air. Sherlock can see that John’s mouth twitches slightly as he’s supressing a smile. Sherlock hears his mother’s voice filled with delight in his mind.

“She’s so much like you sometimes, darling.”

“There are big pieces in it,” Rosie explains to John. “I want smooth ice cream.”

John looks over at Sherlock for help, but Sherlock has long ago decided to never lie to John again. He shrugs apologetically at mutters something under his breath.

“What was that, Sherlock?” John inquires, his tone exasperated now.

“It’s quite normal for children her age to change tastes and react to new textures. I was the same.”

“Yeah, well, she’s not…”

“I know, John!” Sherlock snaps. “You and everyone we know keeps telling me that.”

He turns on his heel and walks briskly out of the park. Behind him the two Watsons call after him, begging him to come back but he can’t. Sherlock can live with everyone else claiming that he’s not Rosie’s father, but it hurts when John joins the choir. Of course, Sherlock knows he has no biological connection to her, but he’s raising her together with John, isn’t he? She comes just as willingly to him as to John. 

“Protect your heart, brother mine,” Mycroft told him after John and Rosie moved to Baker Street, and not for the first time. His brother knew that Sherlock’s heart belonged to John and had for a very long time.

***

Where are you? I’m sorry, Sherlock. We need to talk. Are you coming home soon?

Sherlock’s heart races in his chest when he reads John’s text. He barely registers the apology. All his brain is capable of is trying to deduce what John wants to talk about.

Are they moving out? Does John want him to spend less time with Rosie? Won’t he be allowed to do children safe experiments with her anymore?

He pulls his hair in frustration. Why is it so hard to figure out what John wants? Sherlock’s able to read anyone but John. Why?

“Hi, Sherlock. I didn’t know you were here,” Molly says when she walks into the lab at Barts.

“I’m leaving,” Sherlock tells her and walks rapidly out of the room.

***

Sherlock stands and watches the Thames float by. The London Eye is coloured in pink in the far distance. It’s getting dark and he’s got no recollection of the last hours. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he suddenly remembers that he’s forgotten to answer John’s text.

“A bit not good, Sherlock,” John’s voice scolds him.

Can I call you? Rosie wants to say goodnight.

Sherlock feels his face soften. The Watsons are probably still at Baker Street then. He doesn’t hesitate but calls John’s number.

John’s voice sounds relieved when he picks up, but it’s tinted with worry.

“Hi. You alright?” he asks.

“Fine,” Sherlock says, and it comes out more clipped than he intended.

John sighs and apparently gives the phone to Rosie.

“Lock!” the little girl exclaims.

“Hello, Watson. Ready for bed?” Sherlock inquires softly.

“Yes. Tired,” she tells him and yawns.

Sherlock feels his throat thicken, and he must swallow hard and close his eyes to keep his tears at bay. Without thinking he uses the endearment only Rosie has heard.

“Goodnight, my heart.”

“Night, Lock. See you tomorrow,” Rosie slurs, clearly almost asleep.

Sherlock ends the call before John gets a chance to ask him humiliating questions. The sharp intake of breath from John when Sherlock bid Rosie goodnight didn’t go unnoticed.

“You’ve ruined it now, Holmes,” he tells himself.

***

Aldi is still open, and Sherlock buys two boxes of ice cream for Rosie without any pieces of fruit, berries, crunch, chocolate or other abominations.

He takes a deep breath before locking himself into Baker Street, and he ascends the stairs silently. John sits in his chair, reading one of his medical journals. Sherlock just nods and walks to the kitchen with his purchases. He places the boxes in the freezer before walking to the bathroom.

“Sherlock?” John calls after him.

“Shower,” Sherlock answers.

The shower does wonders, and Sherlock feels quite refreshed and relaxed when he puts on a t-shirt, pyjamas bottoms and his maroon dressing gown. John stands just outside Sherlock’s bedroom and Sherlock startles a bit.

“Everything alright?” he asks. “Watson?”

“She’s fine, Sherlock. Soundly asleep. I just want to apologise properly to you. I was way out of line earlier. No, Sherlock, listen. I need to say this. Please.”

John’s expression is pained, and Sherlock doesn’t know what’s to come next. Nothing could have prepared him for this.

“I know it’s no excuse that I was exhausted and sleep deprived, but that’s the defence I have, and it’s appalling to say the least. Rosie…she is…just as much yours as she is mine. You care for her just like any parent. She loves you, we both do, and…”

“John?” 

Sherlock’s voice is trembling, and he feels his balance is about to fail him. Warm and steady hands are placed on his upper arms and when John speaks again, his voice is warm with affection.

“Forgive me. Please?”

Sherlock just nods and lets himself melt in John’s embrace.

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @helloliriels @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitch-adler @raina-at @peanitbear @topsyturvy-turtely @7-percent @ninasnakie

[forevers-world]

A Mycroft Holmes appreciation post.

What a beautiful specimen of the human race. 👏👏👏

[lilmoonbunny]

First Kisses; BBC Sherlock

Includes: Sherlock, John, Mycroft, Lestrade, and Moriarty.

Sherlock:

It wasn’t rare for Sherlock to come out with the strangest things, but there were times when his requests were so unexpected that one would choke.

“I need to test out a theory,” Sherlock broke the silence between himself and Y/N one day.

“…Okay?” Y/N replied simply, preparing to tell Sherlock that he can’t put a head in the microwave again.

“I require your help.”

That was odd, he rarely ever trusted someone else to help him with an experiment, not even John.

With a raised eyebrow, she responded. “How so?”

“You need to kiss me.” Whilst his words were as blunt as always, Y/N couldn’t help the way that she choked in surprise, all whilst he rolled his eyes. “It is not that serious, Y/N. I simply need to see if it solves these thoughts.”

“These thoughts?” Came her confused response, watching him as he walked towards her seat on the chair opposite him.

“That is what I said, yes. Do keep up.”

Rolling her own eyes, she stared up at the detective who had an impatient look on his face.

“I mean, okay? If that’s what you want.” He smirked slightly at her attempt to seem nonchalant at his request; he didn’t expect her to actually do it.

“I just need to see if t-“He began speaking, only to have his sentence cut short by her lips pressing against his own.

Sherlock’s eyes widened as her hand gently gripped his cheek as kissed him. He was frozen in place, heart racing, and chest heaving once she pulled away.

“Did that help?” She asked, looking up at the startled and silent man as she seated herself back where she was previously. She waited for a few more moments to see if he would respond before giving up. “Anyway, I need to get going. Tell John I said hello whenever he returns.” Y/N said as she reached the door, Sherlock still frozen in place, at least, until the door clicked, and he snapped out of his haze.

“Hey, Y/N, wait!”

John:

Despite his initial dislike for the youngest Holmes sibling, John couldn’t deny the feelings that he had grown for Y/N Holmes over the past few months. It was obvious to everyone besides the woman herself who was, unlike her brothers, oblivious to any and every sign of affection towards her.

It was just the two of them in 221B going through the latest case files whilst Sherlock attended a crime scene. He had originally asked John to accompany him, but the man refused after realising that Y/N was remaining at the flat, something at which Sherlock simply rolled his eyes, having already deduced his friends crush on his sister long before he even knew himself.

It was a trickier case than usual, hence why Sherlock had to return to the crime scene, leaving John and Y/N to search through mountains of files looking for one specific word.

“This would be so much easier if these files were all on a computer.” Y/N yawned, flipping the page over to the other side, John doing the same.

“Agreed.”

“Wait, this might be what we’re looking for!” The woman shot up onto her feet in excitement, turning the paper towards John and pointing at what she was looking at with a smile which was soon returned as he agreed.

In excitement, Y/N’s arms wrapped around John, and she pulled him in for a hug, only to pull away once she realised what she had done.

“I’m so sor-“ she began, only to be silenced by John wrapping his hand around the back of her neck and pulling her into him for a moment, lips pressed against each other.

“Finally,” a deep voice sounded from the doorway, making the pair pull back away from each other in both shock and embarrassment. “Now if you two lovebirds are quite finished, what have you found?”

Lestrade:

It was odd for Greg to enjoy working with Sherlock.

Whilst he didn’t mind John’s company, Sherlock was an absolute nightmare, but their friend on the other hand, Y/N, she was wonderful and Lestrade could not get enough of her.

She was everything that Sherlock wasn’t. Kind, sweet, funny, genuine, and it came as no shock to him, or anyone else for that matter, when he began developing feelings for her. However, despite how obviously reciprocated his feelings were, the man refused to believe that she could ever like him back, even after Sherlock himself told him that she likes him too.

The two had become fast friends, having clicked as soon as they met, and a friendship with Lestrade meant coffee. All the time. Coffee was his favourite time of the day, especially if there were doughnuts involved.

“Your coffee is in the kitchen.” Y/N called as Greg let himself into her apartment, a common occurrence amongst the two, and he shot her a thumbs-up as he passed her to grab his drink.

“Thank you very much.” He grinned, taking a seat beside her on the sofa and turning his attention to the football for a moment. He knew she had no interest in the game, so why she had agreed to watch it with him, he didn’t know.

“It’s no problem, Greggy.” She teased him with the new nickname, one that always earned a blush from the older man.

“Do you have to call me that?” He muttered, both his cheeks and ears tinted red in embarrassment.

“Yep!” She smiled, pinching his cheek as he continued to stare at her, or, more specifically, her lips as she licked them.

He knew he shouldn’t have done it, but he couldn’t resist. He leaned over, his hand resting on top of hers, and pressed his lips against hers, something which she gladly reciprocated.

In his panic, he abruptly pulled back before registering that she had returned his kiss and began rushing out apologies.

“I’m so so sorry, oh my God, I should definitely not have done that. I am so sorry!” He rambled, previous blush darkening as she pushed himself to the other side of the sofa, disgusted with himself.

“Greg.”

“If you don’t ever want to talk to me again, I get i-“

“Greg.” Y/N repeated his name to try and catch his attention.

“I’m just so-“

Sick of his unnecessary apologies, the woman reached out to grasp the fabric of Lestrade’s shirt, pulling his lips back onto hers, her other hand landing on his shoulder.

“There’s no need to apologise.” She whispered against his lips as she pulled back. “I wanted that.”

Greg, too confused and happy to even register what she was saying, just listened to his brain go oh!

Mycroft:

Mycroft Holmes had two soft spots, his brother and Y/N, the latter being one that he was unwilling to admit to himself, let alone anybody else.

“Morning, Mycroft,” Y/N greeted him as he entered the café, one which he was a regular at; only for her, of course, but she could never know that.

“Good morning, Y/N,” came his simple response as she brought him his usually coffee, having already anticipated his arrival; he was nothing if not punctual, after all.

Neither of you knew how your friendship had evolved into him driving you home once you finished work, but there was never a single complaint heard about it. The moment you ended up at his home, however, that was when something shifted.

It wasn’t uncomfortable, just… odd. Having never been this close to someone besides his younger brother, Mycroft wasn’t entirely sure how to act, especially when the tension in the room reached its peak and your lips ended up pressed up against the others.

It was awkward, as to be expected considering that the older Holmes had never kissed anybody before. However, the awkwardness had its own charm about it, especially when he pulled away with flushed cheeks and immediately changed the subject, ignoring what had just happened for his own peace of mind.

“Should we like, I don’t know, talk about it?” You asked him the next time he entered the café, watching him closely for any sort of reaction.

“Talk about what? Nothing weird has happened recently, nothing at all. Nothing out of the ordinary.” Mycroft rushed out, desperately praying that you were oblivious to the shade of pink that now covered his cheeks.

He had no idea how it even happened, it just… did. Myrcroft was never one for affection, or even friendships, so he didn’t know why he kissed you and even worse for him, he didn’t know why he wanted to do it again.

“If you say so,” you chuckled at his embarrassed demeanour. “Either way, I finish in an hour if you like, wanted to go for dinner or something.”

Maybe he would wait around an hour, not for any specific reason. After all, nothing weird had happened.

Moriarty:

For as long as they had worked together, Y/N and Jim had always flirted with each other.

It started off small, almost unrecognisable, but gradually grew into full-blown flirtations with invitations that were never accepted. Co-workers turned into friends, and a friendship turned into longing, it was just how the cookie crumbled.

The two stared across at one another, Y/N pushing a plate of food in front of the criminal. “Eat it, or I’ll shove it down your throat, do not test me.” She warned, although there no malice in her voice; she just wanted him to eat something for the first time in a few days.

“Do I have to?” He pouted like a young child, earning a giggle from Y/N.

“Yes!” She laughed, leaning in closer. “Or I’ll force feed you it.”

“With your mouth, I hope.”

A blush dusted the woman’s cheeks as an idea formed in her mind, one which would solve many problems, including his refusal to eat.

As she leaned in closer, Moriarty couldn’t resist the joke falling from his lips. “Ohh, are we about to kiss right now?” His words were teasing, he didn’t actually expect her to do so, but as she leaned in and pressed her lips against his, he couldn’t stop his eyes from widening.

Despite his initial shock, he was quick to respond to the kiss, his hands moving to cup her cheeks and pull her closer into him, deepening the kiss whilst one of Y/N’s hands moved to his shoulder and the other to his neck.

“I suppose we are,” were the only words spoken with a cheeky smile before she pulled him back in for a kiss to shut him up.

[princessaxoxo]

Strangers to Lovers Part 1

Originally thought of as a one-shot but decided to make it a two-part series.

A/N: This is no longer a two-part, there will be multiple parts.

Sherlock x reader

Summary: Being Enola’s sitter was an adventure, but not as much as falling for her brother, Sherlock.

Warnings: NSFW, 18 Only, sex (p in v), cussing, masturbation (f receiving)

If I’m missing any please let me know.

Word Count: 2k+

When Enola was younger, her mother sought you out to take care of her. You accepted gleefully. Meeting Enola for the first time was unlike any other; at the ripe age of eight, she was a daredevil, a venturesome young lady.

After spending most of your time with her, you soon met her brothers, Sherlock and Mycroft. Sherlock was charming but reserved. Mycroft was shrewd and practical.

You are able to read people without fault. It was easy to tell Mycroft wasn’t fond of you. Sherlock wasn’t so easy; he kept a blank expression around you. The difference was that he put in the time and effort to talk and get to you.

Little did you know, he was very fond of you; you were constantly on his mind.

He couldn’t help but analyze every part of you—the way you licked your lips, how you scrunched your eyebrows together when you got confused, the lines on your face from how much you smiled.

When you weren't paying attention, he let his eyes roam downward, noticing how your breasts looked when you breathed in, your delicate fingers, and the beauty of your legs that he wanted to kiss.

It wasn't ethical, but he couldn't care less.

You often found yourself thinking about him as well; you would let your eyes linger on him longer than allowed, especially for a lady.

Especially late at night like now, you were wondering what would happen if the two of you found yourselves in a room alone.

You closed your eyes, imagining him, his curly brown hair, his blue eyes, and that smirk he would occasionally show. Slowly brush your fingers between your thighs, thinking they are his.

As you started to picture his eyes that were looking up at you as he placed kisses between your thighs, you pulled down your panties.

You soon found your clit, making small circles. "Mhm,” a small moan left your lips. Moving your fingers down, you entered two of your fingers, moving them in and out.

You started to pick up your pace. “Oh, Sherlock," you let slip out, still imagining him.

Your pussy squeezed around your fingers, arching your back and moaning his name embarrassingly. You opened your eyes, your brain still in a haze from your orgasm, but he still hadn’t left your mind.

Trying to keep up with Enola was tricky; she kept you on your toes. Her excitement always made your day. At the moment, she was hiding; that was the game of the day. Hide and seek: her version was far more difficult.

She would leave small clues, making you think you’re on the right track, but it’s quite the opposite.

Walking around the house, you were checking each room thoroughly. A door at the end of the hall was already open; you checked inside, noticing it appeared empty.

“Enola, Enola, sweetie, where are you?” You walked into the room, searching as if you were a detective. You saw a desk, which she could easily hide under. Walking around it, you bent down to check.

But, of course, no luck.

“What are you looking for?” You accidentally hit your head, and his voice made you jump.

"Ow!” you winced, rubbing your head to ease the throbbing pain. Sherlock walked over to you, offering his hand.

“Enola is hiding; I’m looking for her. I saw the door was open, so I decided to check.”

He nodded his head. “Would you like some help? I have an idea of where she could be."

“Yes, she doesn't make it easy,” you chuckled awkwardly, looking down, your heart pounding out of your chest.

He put his thumb underneath your chin, making you look at him. “Let’s go” 

You followed him, finding Enola hiding in a closed-off room.

She had a laughing fit, making fun of you for taking so long and having to involve her older brother to help. Enola left the room, leaving only you and Sherlock. You started to follow her, but Sherlock stopped you.

“Let me make sure you’re okay; you hit your head hard.”

He took you back to his office, guiding you down on his leather loveseat. He started checking you for a concussion and then brought you a cold pack for the small bump that was forming on your scalp.

He sat next to you, making you stiff. “Thank you for helping me,” you said, looking over at him. “It’s my pleasure, y/f/n."

It was getting dark out; you had to leave, but you wanted to stay here with him. “I should go home; it’s almost night out."

Sherlock didn’t want that to happen; his question could go wrong. But he wanted you to himself, if only for tonight.

“Would you want to stay for the night? I would be delighted to keep you company.”

You were taken aback by his question. Your answer was yes, but nothing came out. His facial expression turned worrisome. “Don’t worry about it”, "Yes,” you said eagerly, hoping he didn’t take notice. “Yes, I would be happy to stay.”

You showed a calm facade, but that’s not how you were feeling.

He began to show you his work and what interested him. “Do you wish for a drink?”, He was pouring himself one. "No, thank you; I don’t drink,” you said with a small smile.

Your eyes were scanning his wall, which had a map covering it with small dots placed in certain places.

He stood next to you, drink in hand, watching you concentrate on his work.

You turned to look at him, and you smiled. “Yes?” You were unsure of why he was looking at you in such a way. But then he lowered his head and kissed you.

After he kissed you, your eyes widened in surprise. But that surprise soon turned into enjoyment.

You cupped his face while he placed his hand on your lower back. He tried to set down his drink with his eyes closed, but it fell and shattered on the floor. Neither of you faltered from the enchanting kiss.

He pushed you backward, lifting and placing you on top of his desk. Your thoughts were running wild; was this really going to happen? Your questions were answered when he roamed his large hands under your dress. treading lightly, his hands hovering once they reached closer to your core.

He wanted this; he had imagined it countless times in his head. But he couldn’t go rough with you like he wanted; this wasn't normal, and this shouldn’t be happening since the two of you weren't married. And a woman like you? He thought, wasn’t someone you just fucked and then left in the morning? That was not you.

You hated that he was going slow; he was starting to pull away, but an instinct in you grabbed him by his hips and pulled him forward harder.

“I want this, Sherlock; don’t be gentle with me. I want you."

Hearing you say those words broke Sherlock's facade. He snapped, locking your legs tightly around his waist as he walked the both of you over to his leather couch. He laid you down, hovering above you, teasing you with his mouth.

He stood up, removing his bowtie, followed by his vest and white shirt. His chest, his chest—you couldn’t wait to roam your hands up and down his hairy chest. You let a moan out just by the look of him; he got on top of you, recklessly ripping your own clothes off.

He took a long look at you, salivating. He needed to get inside of you.

His kisses were sloppy with need, as were yours. You were getting wetter by the second, and yet he hadn’t really touched you. “Touch me, please."

He snacked his hands down to your clit, rubbing circles while kissing and sucking on your neck. You held his head, moaning his name. He left my neck and came face-to-face with me. “You want me inside of you? Do you want my cock to fill your pussy?”

“Please, yes, I need you."

Removing his pants eagerly, he lined his cock up, smoothly coaxing his cock in my wetness, before deeply entering slowly at first, then removing before entering again faster each time.

Your nails are scratching at his back, making him grunt in your ear. “Your pussy is so tight around me; it feels so fucking good.”

You wanted him deeper in you; you wanted to feel every inch of him. "I want to feel all of you.

He thrust his hips rougher this time, your back arched, and that gave him a chance to put his arm underneath you to change positions. Now, sitting up right, you are on his lap, riding him. He helped you with his hands on your hips, guiding you to bounce up and down.

“God, you are memorizing.”

His eyes were rolling to the back of his head as he closed them. “Just like that, baby,” he grabbed a hold of your breasts, squeezing them gently and rubbing your nipples, making them erect and pleasurable going through you.

His curly hair covered his face, brushing back just as he grabbed the back of your neck, forcing you forward. His tongue danced with yours, so far down your throat that you sucked on it.

His lips were soft; they had you memorized in a daze, moaning into his mouth. You felt yourself coming.

“Sherlock, fill me up with your seed."

“You want my seed? Want to feel it dripping down your thighs?"

"Yes, please, yes. I’m cumming on your cock."

You pulsated around him, your thighs shaking, and you saw stars in your vision as you came on his cock.

He stopped his movements, his nails digging into your skin as he groaned aloud, his head falling forward onto your chest. Both of you were heaving, trying to regain your breathing.

The smell of sex radiating in the room and the glistening sweat off of your and Sherlock’s bodies made this moment intimate. One you hadn't shared with another.

After the night you and Sherlock shared in his office, the both of you fell deeply in love. Sharing every passing moment with one another. And when the both of you weren't together, you were thinking about each other.

He told you countless stories about his endeavors, what he’s done, and the kinds of cases he’s received and solved.

Enola was so happy; she thought of you as a sister already, but now she couldn’t contain her excitement about how the both of you would end up being family.

You pretended not to notice at times the way Sherlock would stare at you; he would admire you from afar, from your side profile, any time he got the chance.

You were certain that nothing would break the two of you apart or that he would break your heart.

So you thought...

One day, out of the blue, Sherlock didn't meet you at the time planned; you were at his house, waiting for him to come home.

You were taken by surprise when you heard a person knock at his door, and you went to open it. A postman handed you a letter and left abruptly. You shut the door and sat down. It was signed with your name.

Opening the letter, you started to read what it said.

You read the letter over and over again until you couldn’t anymore.

This couldn’t be true, you thought; he couldn’t have left you.

He loved you. No, no, he loves you. So this couldn’t be the end.

You waited all night to hear the front door open. To hear his voice call out for you, but by the time you saw the sun rising, you knew he had left. He was gone. You fell to the ground with an uncontrollable sob. The tears never ended. You began to hyperventilate; it felt as if your oxygen was cut off.

You were at home as your tears started to stop; now you felt your blood boil.

He is a coward.

He couldn't even face you; had he that little respect for you?

A person who loves you does not treat you in such a way.

Your face was red, and your eyes weren’t brimming with sadness anymore but with anger.

You weren't going to let him hurt you in this way again. He wouldn't get the chance.

But everyone does have a weakness... He happens to be yours, and you his.

Part 2

[a-victorian-girl]

"Guess we should see what we came here for?" John offered, leading the way, "think the library is back here? Ah!" He flicked on a lightswitch behind a pair of double doors ... and a . "WHOA!!!!" Slipped out of their mouths simultaneously ... jaws dropping. As the darkened warehouse before them flickered to life, row ... by illuminated row ... Revealing hundreds ... if not thousands ... NO ... HUNDREDS of thousands!!! Of stories ... . Written about ... them? . John winked at Sherlock. Before dashing ahead in a mad chase. Each grabbing up several volumes apiece and meeting to read a few pages ... . "Look at this one!" . "John - you won't believe-!" "Sherlock!" "John!" . "This is-" "-I'm taking this one!" "This is brilliant!" . "We're in a sci-fi!" "oooh an epic!" "OHmyGOD!" John's giggling could be heard a few rows down, and Sherlock tucked another in his pocket and swung around the shelving to peruse over John's shoulder. His jaw dropped.

This is an excerpt from this brilliant fic written by @helloliriels, you can read it completely here (( my gift to you, sweetie, I LOVED TO READ IT!! ))

And... this is also my tribute and gratitude to all the wonderful writers, illustrators, digital retouchers, and GIF makers in this glorious fandom, to which I've been very attached for almost a year :)

❤️

[strawberrywinter4]

Unleash

Fandom: Sherlock (TV)

Rated: Mature

Tags: BAMF John Watson, Protective John Watson, Doctor John Watson, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Dark Themes, Case Fic, Sherlock Holmes Whump, Hurt Sherlock Holmes, Drugs, Drugging, John Watson to the Rescue, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, First Kiss, Kissing, Rough Kissing

Sherlock touches John’s arm briefly and John’s attention goes back to him instantly. His hand grips Sherlock’s form, bringing him impossibly closer. John presses their heads together, his voice coming to a whisper. “Everything will be okay, darling. I promise. Just hang in there for me. Stay awake.” Darling was on instinct. Really, it’s the only thing that grounds John. Sherlock’s anguished eyes meet John again, though it seems like he’s struggling to do just that.

Read here on ao3.

Tags: @a-victorian-girl @jolieblack @whatnext2020 @helloliriels @colourfulwatson @totallysilvergirl @ninasnakie @thegildedbee @whodwantmeasaflatmate @with-a-ghost-mr-holmes @sherlocknjohn221b @jawnn-watson @blogstandbygo @lisbeth-kk @holmesianlove @7-percent @itsonlytext @chinike @peanitbear @mary-johnlocked @bakerstreetbe @curlyjohnlock @keirgreeneyes @ceceliajupe @ghostofnuggetspast @dw91165 @demonboycrowley

(Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged or wouldn’t like to be tagged.)

Omg, I finally finished it! Thanks to all who encouraged me with BAMF John. It meant so much🥰