#sherlock oneshots

[random-imagines-blog]

Bullet with Vampire Wings {Sherlock x GN!Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 3904 Summary: You end up killing someone that attempts to murder Sherlock Holmes. But the reason behind it is not what everyone thought it would be. Notes: Describes murder, blood, deception.

Your hands were covered in another person’s blood. It was warm, sticky, and it really did get everywhere. It was worse than hair dye in that regard. It was on your shirt, though you couldn’t remember if you had touched it or not. More than likely, it was upon your face too. There was no mirror to look in, at least, not yet. You could clean yourself up in the prison, the arresting officer said, pushing your arms behind you to put the handcuffs on. It might not be ideal, or welcoming, but there was a shower there. The flashing lights on top of the police cars were disorienting you, and you could faintly hear Sherlock shouting. It was defense, you idiots, it was all defense. Y/N had saved my life, why are you arresting them? Oh, the poor dear. He really considered himself to be brilliant but you never caught onto one simple fact. You were never on his side. Not even once.

It had started five years ago. Sherlock’s name had started popping up in the papers. A picture or two, once he had solved a case. There was something about his face that you just didn’t like. A smugness to it. This man truly thought that he was the most intelligent man in the world, and yet he was lowering himself to solving petty crimes? What a waste of a mind, and what a waste of talent. He was smart, you could give him that, but was he actually clever? You, only twenty at the time, had sipped at your tea while reading over his latest case and thinking - perhaps you could pose a sort of challenge. See how far he could actually take his intellect. And why not add something on top of it? Why not do it all while right under his nose?

It was easier to orchestrate a crime in this grand city than it should have been. You went missing. You created a trail of very subtle clues and sat yourself down in a loft in the city owned by an executive of a company you didn’t like very much and spent your days following the case on the news. Sherlock Holmes was brought in to consult. On the television, you saw him standing outside of your brownstone, Lestrade with him, waving away the press. To every question asked, they said no comment. That told you a lot.

It took them two total days to find you. You weren’t impressed at all. You thought that Sherlock was supposed to be brilliant, but alas. That’s the problem with trying to meet people these days. Most of them were a disappointment, especially in the intelligence sector. But Sherlock was the closest thing to a match that you had in this city, even if he was still a level below you. As your father said, sometimes you just had to play nice with the unfortunates. It’s not their fault that they’re so ... stupid.

You had more than enough time to anticipate his entrance, and to play it up. You were just a poor victim. You had been taken from your home, tasered, blindfolded. You had the burn marks on your side to prove it. The lengths that you would go to for this plan, the scars were just the beginning. Who took you, Lestrade asked, while Sherlock looked carefully at everything. You had no worries about him finding any evidence that you were just here at your leisure. That a simple hour ago, you had been sitting on the couch, reading a worn out copy of The Iliad, snacking on some goldfish crackers. No crumbs, the book slipped back into the bookshelf, yourself being bound once more and a look of desperation on your tear lined face. They bought it. They absolutely bought it.

You were treated in A&E for the burns, and you watched on the TV that the executive was arrested. Not only for kidnapping, but for all sorts of business malpractices. Money laundering, illegal displacements of funds, all of that very fun stuff that was going to have him tied up in the courts for at least a decade. He pleaded his innocence to everything that he was being charged with, but the evidence spoke for itself, and if he was lying about one thing, who is to say that he isn’t lying about everything? It was the simplest thing in the world. And his reason for kidnapping you? A complete accident, of course, the address of your brownstone was on an Avenue, while the address of one of the accountants was the same number, the same street name, but on a Grove. Easy mistake. They were keeping you around while trying to figure out what to do with you, since you were innocent.

Really, it was all too easy to set all of this up. You just had to act all traumatized, answer the questions, and work your way into Sherlock’s life. How did he find you, you asked. And he was only too happy to explain how ‘easy’ it was, with the eight steps that he took. You attempted to look impressed, you really did. But you couldn’t stop yourself from interrupting during the fourth, “-and those emails didn’t make it clear to you?” You asked,making him pause. That was all that you would have needed, if you wanted to spend your time looking for missing people. “Sorry, sorry,” You muttered. “I’m grateful, I am, I just would have thought - no, never mind.”

“No, go on,” Sherlock insisted. And you explained yourself, how what the email said - written by you through the executive’s account, easy peasy, should have pointed him to look into his other properties. Then they might have been at the door as soon as yesterday. Sherlock seemed to give that some thought. He looked pensive, an amusing expression because it meant that he knew you had a point, a ‘simpleton’ like you. He was gazing at you differently than before now, and you settled into the hospital bed, pretending to have gotten a sort of pain.

And as expected, he kept in touch. You had planted the seeds of interest inside of him. He was intrigued by you, and you - well, you appeared to be eager to learn. He took you under his wing, so to speak. Minute by minute, the amount of rage that he caused inside of you grew larger. He was so sanctimonious. So smug. So fucking holier-than-thou. And then you met his brother Mycroft and saw how much that ran in the family. His parents must be entirely insufferable. And then there was John. Poor little John Watson, always bring dragged into these dangerous situations, and puffing out his chest like a hero as he wrote them out on his blog, as if he had been the one to save the day. As if. It was usually some off-hand comment by you, or some comment made innocently that had put Sherlock on the right path. You weren’t made for the role of a hero. It was infuriating.

Your plotting began the first moment that he invited you to help him with a case. It was hard for you to admit, but you became obsessed with the idea of taking Sherlock down. Of wiping that stupid expression off of his face for good. Villains were always monologuing before a kill, which meant that the hero had time to escape and save the day, hurrah hurrah, so you wouldn’t be able to give him the full experience of pointing out all of his wrongs, unfortunately. It was so temping though. He really just assumed that he was always the smartest person in the room. You were giving yourself an ulcer putting up with it.

You were always one step ahead. You might have a bit of an ego but you couldn’t put it at more than that. He was close to being your match. And you hated him for it. You loathed every second that you were around him. You hated how slow he could be, how it took him an additional day, an additional hour to catch onto something in a case that you had noticed right away. There were times when you had to innocently bring up a fact just so that he would have a chance to catch up. Just so that there wouldn’t be an innocent death on your hands, or an additional murder out there. You might not have much of a conscience but you did have a care for those that couldn’t always help themselves.

God, how you hated him. And how you couldn’t express it around him. He probably thought you worshiped him, the narcissistic pig-face. You couldn’t murder him too quickly, no, you had to play it cool, learn every facet of his life to use it all against him. He had his walls built up castle size, however. It was hard to get even the slightest bit out of him without him catching onto you. That’s why it had been taking so long. Years. Years of your life wasted but the fall was going to be the most beautiful thing in the world. You already started to make your moves - Moriarty was becoming more well known now, and you pushed forward an actor who knew nothing about you save for the instructions you sent him from afar, just to throw off more blame from you.

Five years. Orchestrating from behind the scenes. There was no satisfaction that you had ever felt more strongly than that when Sherlock was stressing out over what Moriarty’s next move was going to be. You learned how to keep control of your facial features to the point where you deserved every award out there. Give you an Emmy, give you an Oscar, the Academy should be worshiping your feet.

But there was one thing that you did not foresee. Someone else wanting to get to Sherlock as much as you do. But they took the quick and easy route, rather than the concentrated long-game that you did. It wasn’t even some mastermind that did it either. It wasn’t Magnussen. It wasn’t even Culverton Smith. It was just some run of the mill murderer. Some guy with a gun who was trying to get away from Sherlock and Lestrade. The stupid Holmes, he wasn’t even supposed to be a part of physically catching the murderer. He was just supposed to stay inside of Baker Street, come up with the killer, phone it in and wait. His stubbornness was going to get himself killed before your plans came to fruition.

The man had a gun, a pocket pistol of sorts. And he was turning around to shoot Sherlock, his coat flinging away from his torso as you watched in slow-motion. He whipped it out like he thought he was some sort of action star. Lestrade was running too hard, too fast, to start to take out his gun properly. He was fumbling while trying to get it out of his belt. Sherlock was trying to stop, but his momentum was too fast. He was thrust forward, nearly falling to the ground. And John, poor limping John, had nearly crashed into a postbox. It was up to you at this point. You were closest, having been told to try to cut him off from the side street. A mere two meters. You could let him shoot Sherlock. It was an easy shot. He wouldn’t get away with it. You could claim that you were too far away to stop him.

But no. That was letting him get off way too easily.

Your knife was easier to get out of your pocket than any weighty gun was. Just the push of a button on the handle and the blade came out, sharpened just that week. It glinted in the streetlight, right into the eyes of the murderer. It distracted him but only for the narrowest second. He tried to blink the glare out of the corner of his eye and by that time, it was too late for him. You reached him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and thrusting the blade right into his gut. And with a sweeping motion, you slid it through the flesh, through the shirt, and tore it out of his side, blood rising to the surface. In his pain and his panic, he fired off a shot. It hit a no parking sign, and ricochet, going through the windshield of a car that was breaking that rule. Then the murderer started to fall towards the ground, slowly, slowly, everything still in slow motion for you as your brain worked quickly.

Stabbing someone is not as easy as one would make it seem. You had to push it through layers of skin, all pushed together. Organs as well. It wasn’t a thin little pork chop. It took strength. It took determination. And it took a real sharp knife. Even wrenching it out, covered in blood, was rough. Your biceps were sore just from the motion, but your adrenaline was rushing, making it hard to notice or focus on.

There was so much blood. You didn’t typically get your hands dirty like this. It was so sticky and so messy. It was like glue from elementary school. When you pulled out the knife, and let go of the man as he started to fall, you realized that it had spilled over the handle as well. It had gotten onto your coat. It even got onto the trousers that you had just picked up from the dry-cleaner the night before. And it looked like he wasn’t even going to be around to foot the bill to get them re-cleaned. You looked down at his body, while still holding the knife over him, and noticed how it was more than just blood that was coming out of the large gash that you had made in him. An intestine was spilling out, looking like a limp snake.

You knew exactly what you were doing. There wasn’t any shock to it, there wasn’t any trepidation or regret afterwards. It was a simple annoyance. As was everything that was going to come afterwards.

Back-up finally started to approach, sirens coming from the top of the police cars. Sherlock and Lestrade finally caught up to you, the policeman looking at the body and Sherlock looking at you. “Are you hurt?” The lank man asked - as if he had thoughts of anyone outside of himself.

“I don’t think so,” You said, knowing perfectly well that you were fine. Not even a nick. Not even a bruise. Just the work out from going through those layers and layers of epidermis. “He was going to kill you.”

“Yeah, he was,” Lestrade said, kicking the pistol out of the way, and then dropped down to the ground. Two fingers against his neck to test his pulse. He shook his head. “Dead.”

Too quick. That was annoying. You could have spit. Anger was making you start to shake, but Sherlock took it as you being in shock. He put a hand on your upper arm and you flinched away - the audacity of this skinny bitch. He muttered to the back up police that you were in shock. You braced yourself. You knew what was coming. There was no way that you were going to kill someone in public like this without getting cuffed.

And that’s where you were now. Sherlock was yelling in your defense. John was trying to explain to an officer what had happened. Lestrade was promising you that he’d meet you at the station and everything would be cleared up. Surprisingly, you felt alright. You had a calm and level head now that the threat had been eradicated. The only thing that was possibly upsetting was the fact that the victim wasn’t the correct person. You didn’t offer any trouble to the officers, to your credit. You could have broken out of these cuffs easily. They all had a weak spot, but you didn’t. You allowed yourself to be taken to the station. You allowed yourself to be fingerprinted. To be put into an interrogation room.

Just because your plan was being forced to change didn’t mean that it was off. You just had to take a different approach now. It was the perfect time to break Sherlock’s little heart. To let him know that all of the trust he had put into you over the last couple of years was misguided. That he was not smart enough to see this coming.

--

You were waiting in interrogation for an hour before Lestrade, Sherlock and another officer came in. “This is just a formality,” Lestrade explained, looking annoyed at the other officer. “We just need your statement and then we can process your release. It was clearly in self defense. We’ll have this sorted in no time,” Greg assured you. “Can we at least remove the cuffs?”

The officer acquiesced, coming around to your side of the table and undid the cuffs around your neck. You rubbed at where they had irritated your skin. Such barbaric little things, these handcuffs. A rope with a good knot was much more effective, but you know how men are. They love the look of metal. You smiled at Greg thankfully, since you honestly had nothing against the detective. He was a good man. Not smug. A little confused sometimes, but it was adorable in it’s own way. “Can you tell us what happened?” He asked.

And so you went through the story. You told him about the case. How you had come to hear about this killer. How he had the gun out and how you pieced together his intent to kill Sherlock Holmes.

“And you stabbed him in defense of Mr. Holmes?” The officer, who had conducted the interview asked you.

“Of course,” You said, leaning back casually against the chair. “I couldn’t let him do such a thing. Not after everything that I had planned. I’ve had to modify it now because of the current circumstances, but what can you do? Even simpletons can disrupt the best laid plans. I know now to try to accommodate discrepancies.”

“Beg your pardon?” Lestrade said, leaning forward, his face confused. But what you were looking at was Sherlock. He looked utterly bewildered for just a couple of seconds before he regained control. He hated to be caught unaware. It was satisfying to see.

“What I’m saying, Greg,” You reiterated. “-is that the real reason I killed this man, whatever his name is, I can hardly remember now, is because I wasn’t going to let him take the kill away from me. Since I had met Mr. Sherlock Holmes here, I’ve had this craving to be the one that wipes his smugness away from the world. I satisfied myself for a time on the fact that he really isn’t as smart as everyone, including himself, thinks that he is. Why, he never even caught on that meeting one another was a farce. I wasn’t kidnapped by anyone. I set it all up myself as a test to him, to compare intellect. He did pass it, but I thought he would catch on a lot faster. Seemed he never had,” You smirked over in Sherlock’s direction. He was starting to get flustered. An angry kind of flustered. “These last couple of years, Sherlock, I’ve helped you so many times. It was so ... so infuriating watching you take the credit when I handed you the answers. Did all of you really think that he solved all of those cases by himself? Not a chance. See, we’re very different, you and I. While you thought you were grooming me, I was playing you the entire time. I had this ... this beautiful, extravagant plan made up that would destroy your life before I took it, but it seems I’m going to have to go another way because of this. I’ll make sure that the detour is worth it. I will take your life with my own hands, and I will enjoy every second of it. That is my statement. I won’t fight against the cuffs officer, so if you please, you can take me to prison now. I admit full conspiracy to murder, and second degree murder for that poor killer. I look forward to making some new friends.”

Lestrade was in shock, because he had considered you a friend. He had considered you to be an asset to Scotland Yard. The other officer was more unbiased, and hurried to put the handcuffs back on you, to hoist you up. He was acting rather roughly with you, showing anger and disgust, which was ever more amusing because this man, this random officer, was never going to be on your level. Before you left though, you couldn’t help but say some last minute words to the tall man who was starting to stand, hands slightly trembling.

“Oh, and Sherlock” You said, making sure his eyes were on yours. You had one more blow to deliver. “If it’s any consolation to you, your brother didn’t figure out that I am Moriarty, either. And he’s of far better intellect than you are.”

If anything was going to leave him more angry than your betrayal, it was that blow to the ego. You saw those words hit home, gave a little wave with your fingers, and allowed yourself to be lead out past a bewildered John Watson, Lestrade and Sherlock following and talking amongst themselves until you were out the door.

--

Two weeks. That’s all that it took. Two weeks and you were out and about in London once more, and not in the prison cell that you should have been in. You even beat the timing in the show Prison Break. In another life, you might have been able to make a fortune in pointing out the weaknesses in the prison structure, in the timing of the changing of the guard, of blind spots from the cameras that even the guards didn’t know about.

And now, you were casually scrolling through a phone that you had stolen from some teenager in the park, while watching Sherlock being put into a black cab by Lestrade to be taken to a safe house. News had emerged of your grand escape. Of the riots that had happened in your name back at the prison. You hadn’t escaped alone, of course not. You brought some people out with you, the ones who had taken the fall for the Moriarty name.

You stepped out onto the sidewalk, and started walking to a car that was idling in wait for you. You got into the passenger seat, eyes still towards 221B. Mrs Hudson was standing in the doorway, looking worryingly out after the car Sherlock was taking off in, the one that you and your actor would be tailing at a distance. Poor dear. You always did like that woman. She knew her place. And that place was making the best cuppa that you ever had.

The dark haired actor maneuvered the car onto the small street, and started the drive. You chose the music, putting on something fun, kind of poppy. A ‘grooving on a Sunday afternoon’ sort of song, singing along as you made your way to enact your final plans.

[choccy-milky]

congrats on baby #2!🥰👍 part 2 to this post bc seb is a smug ass bitch when it comes to getting clora pregnant. and ty @rednite-dork for sending me the original pic ages ago LMFAO... i knew as soon as i saw it that i had to redraw it eventually 👼

[fandom-oneshots-etc]

✨ Dropping by to request literally anything sherlock x reader - would love something with awkward idiots in love ✨

🍄 Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

🍄 Genre: Fluff

🍄 Summary: When Sherlock goes off on a frantic tangent, John knows exactly who to call, the idiot in love with him...

🍄 Word Count: 2084

🍄 Abbreviations: N/A

🍄 Warnings: N/A

🍄 Note: I hope this is what you were looking for Anon! :)

“What’s he doing this time?” you answered the phone as John’s name appeared. You had become so accustomed to the calls at all odd hours of the day, usually all pertaining to your high-functioning sociopath of a friend, Sherlock. Odd hours like the one now.

You had just sat down in your cloud chair, kindle in hand ready to read the next chapter of your gripping (b/g) when the phone had pinged, angrily vibrating against the coffee table-top. A puff of air had moved the stray hairs touching your face as you instantly recognized the personalized ring tone you had installed. You knew that John wouldn’t call you unless it was at least a code blue, blue-in-the-face blue. A colour code the two of you had created to describe the different moods of Sherlock Holmes.

“I’m so sorry-” You rolled your eyes with a little smile. “He’s just off on one. He solved the case, you know the one with the woman and the suitcases? He’s been off the walls since then. Can’t get him to settle, he’s talking about renovating the flat, knocking walls down for more ‘thinking space’. I think Mrs Hudson’s threatened to evict him already,” You couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped your lips at the thought of the sweet old woman threatening your tall friend, knowing very well that she’d mean every word. You could already picture the offended horror on Sherlock’s face at her threats.

“I’m on my way,” you reassured before hanging up the phone and pushing yourself out of the comfortable chair. Slipping your kindle into your bag, you grabbed your keys from the hook and turned off the lights. You didn’t bother changing out of your night clothes,, instead your threw a long coat over your pajamas and slipped on your trainers before heading out of the flat. You weren’t exactly keen on the idea of getting a cab this late at night, but you preferred that over walking the streets alone in the dark.

Thankfully, Baker Street was only a few roads away and the journey was nice and short with the lack of traffic at this time of night. Looking up at 221B you could see tat it was one of the only lights on in the street. You slipped the spare key out of your bag and unlocked the door to 221B.

Mrs Hudson reached the bottom of the stairs in an angry flurry huffing as she passed, a few rushed ‘oh dear’s escaping her lips as she passed you, only briefly making eye contact as she scurried back into her flat, red-faced. Taking that as your cue, you started up the stairs to the flat, fully expecting to see the flat in complete disarray, and you weren’t disappointed.

The papers from the now-closed case were still strewn across the flat, stuck to the walls, laid out on the desk, tucked under the tea cups on the small side table. The tea cups, several sat on the desk untouched and probably growing a few types of fungus that Sherlock could happily describe for you. The pillows from the sofa were thrown about the flat as Sherlock stood on the sofa, feet buried in the sofa cushions and tape measure I hand as he stretched it across the wall in front of him, a HB pencil clenched between his teeth.

“Thank God you’re here!” John poked his head out of the kitchen as if weary of the man in the living room. He gestured for you to step into the kitchen, with a final glance at the tall consulting detective, you slipped into the kitchen.

“How long has he been like this?” you asked, setting your bag down on the cluttered kitchen table. Piles and piles of old experiments were stacked tall, filling up almost the entire surface of the table and from the darkening black patch by one of the chairs you had no doubt that Sherlock had blown something up today, yet another thing to add to the list of problems for you and John.

“A couple of hours now, I stupidly thought that solving the case would change his mood, but it only seemed to make him more antsy for another one-” He sighed. “Sorry it’s so late, I know you usually sit down and read about now. I didn’t want to bother you but with Mrs Hudson threatening eviction I thought it best not to wait.” You smiled at your friend and shook your head.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s been a while since he’s been like this so it was expected sooner or later. Better sort him out before Mrs Hudson really does chuck him out.” The two of you chuckle at the thought of a homeless Sherlock, it’s not really a sight either of you can imagine fully. But you had no doubt that his homeless network would really find him the best spots in London to squat.

“You don’t mind if I take a quick walk do you? I’ve been cooped up in here for a few hours trying to sort him out, just need bit of fresh air.” You shook your head and hurried John out of the kitchen door and down the stairwell. You knew it would be easier to deal with Sherlock without John around anyway. Not that John was a problem, but with Sherlock like this and his habit of making unsavory comments without fully thinking of the consequences, it would be easier than having a row start between the two flat mates.

You paused for a moment and brushed your finger against the black mark on the table top and inspected the pad of your finger. That’ll come off with some polish, you decided. Stepping back out of the kitchen and into the living room, your eyes zeroed in on the consulting detective who had now abandoned the tape measure and was gently knocking against the wall looking for a hollow sounding area.

“No.” You spoke clearly, catching the attention of the detective who had yet to notice you. Spinning on his heels, his eyes flashed at you wide and adorable. It kind of reminded you of a child who had been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. His mouth started to open but you shut him down quickly. “No,” You gave him a stern look. “That wall has all of the major electricity lines and one of the main water pipes. No.”

“There’s no way you could possibly know that just from looking at the wall-” Sherlock argued.

“No I couldn’t. I know because I had to get the schematics for the flat after you started shooting the walls because you were banned from in-person cases and blew the power out in this side of London,” You reminded. “An event that Mycroft still calls ‘The Great COVID Blackout’.” Sherlock’s nose scrunched at the mention of his brother. “Now, are you going to sit down or am I going to have to use that self-defense training program you insisted I go on to incapacitate you?” You could almost see the cogs turning in his head as his eyes narrowed at you, trying to deduce if you were serious or not. Your unwavering stance must have given him his answer as he slowly stepped down from the sofa and settled his feet back on the floor calmly.

“Why are you here?” You were very rarely offended by Sherlock’s blunt words, it just wasn’t worth the energy when you also knew that he rarely meant it to come across in that way. “No, don’t answer that. You’re here in your night clothes, your kindle is tucked in your bag and your hair is done up which means it’s late- John called you. Why?”

“Probably because his roommate was threatened with eviction after planning to renovate their rented flat and set the landlady off.” “Mrs Hudson wouldn’t evict me. She still owes me for getting her husband executed.”

“Favours do expire Sherlock. They have their limits.” His eyebrows furrowed.

“Really?” You nod. “Oh. Well John wouldn’t let her evict me.” “Have you been experimenting today?” You think back to the two mugs settled on the kitchen counter, one sporting a brownish green sludge at the bottom.

“Yes, why- Oh.”

“Right come on,” You clapped your hands, moving towards him and grabbing one of his hands to pull him over to his chair. You ignored the sounds of protest from Sherlock as you settled on the chair and tugged on his arm. “Sit down,” you instructed. Sherlock sighed and complied, dropping onto the floor and crossing his legs underneath him. You grabbed the TV remote and switched it on. “What should we watch? Bones or Criminal Minds?” you pondered.

“Why do we have to watch a crime show? They’re always so inaccurate-” You flick the TV onto an episode of Criminal Minds. “Look, the killer’s using tape- what about finger prints? They don’t need to study his behaviour, just find the prints-” You smiled softly, fiddling with a few strands of Sherlock’s curly hair in your lap as he rattled on about the mistakes of the Unsub and the BAU team.

It was around an hour later that John returned to the flat. Pushing open the front door of 221, he was relieved to hear nothing. The light under Mrs Hudson’s door was now off, meaning she had slipped into bed, no longer tormented by her tenant’s renovation plans. The light on the landing let off a soft glow as John started up to the flat. A heavy wave of relief swept through him as he noticed the lack of banging, drilling, sawing or any construction noises at all. You had managed to talk him out of it for now. He reached the top of the stairs and could hear the muffled sounds of the TV in the flat. Stepping into the kitchen he could see that the place was still a pig sty but at least there wasn’t any knocked down walls or partially constructed extensions. The mess could be dealt with in the morning.

As he turned the corner and peeked - still a little cautiously into the living room - a soft smile graced his face. Your back was pressed against one of the arms of Sherlock’s chair, your legs swung over the opposite side. Sherlock’s was still perched on the floor with his legs crossed, his head dropped back against your stomach, with your right hand resting on top. Your fingers rhythmically threading through his curly brown locks, soothingly. John flicked his eyes up to the TV screen to see an episode of Criminal Minds playing, Sherlock’s face scrunched in distaste as he watched the team profile the murderer. Your other hand held your kindle tightly, your fingers set comfortably around the flower pop socket on the back as you occasionally flicked the pages with your thumb.

John couldn’t help but watch in awe for a moment. No one he knew had ever been able to soothe Sherlock in the way that you could. Not him, not Mrs Hudson and certainly not his brother, not even his parents had this calming effect that you had. He wondered if Sherlock would ever confess to the effect you had on him, or explain why you had such an effect on him. John knew the reason, Mrs Hudson knew the reason… did Sherlock? Did you?

You were always just as oblivious as Sherlock. John had mentioned to you once or twice about how you effected the consulting detective, but you couldn’t see it. You wouldn’t admit to the effect you so clearly had on him nor would you confess to the butterflies that whirled in your stomach whenever you were this close to him.

You caught John’s eye and must’ve made an educated guess of what he was thinking as you rolled your eyes and shook your heads. Deciding that now was probably not the time to bring up the obvious pink elephant that shared the living room with the three of you, John mouthed a ‘thank you’ to you and you nodded, letting out a quiet yawn. He bidded a quick farewell to the pair of you before shuffling out of the kitchen and upstairs to his room. On his way up the stairs, he couldn’t help but wonder how long the two of you would remain oblivious.

As he reached the top of the staircase he paused and chuckled. Lovesick idiots.

[alexendria-rose]

I have a request

Can we see a submissive Stephen Strange story?

Like what you see?~

Stephen Strange X Reader

Warnings: PURE SMUT!! UNHOLY anyways; p in v, choking, sub Stephen with a hint of dom him, cock sucking, cussing.

Summary: Stephen comes back whining about work, and Y/n has the perfect idea to forget why he was whining in the first place-well whining about that certain situation...

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Did I ever mention how much I loath Thanos?” Stephen huffs walking into their shared room at the Sanctum. Y/n looks up from her book to look at Stephen eyebrows knit together.

“My love, I think everyone hates him.” She laughs softly placing the book down on the side table before criss crossing her legs on the bed.

“Yeah but I really hate him, wong as sorcerer supreme! That was my spot.” He says plopping himself on his lovely girlfriend’s lap. Y/n rolls her eyes playing with his hair making sure not to mess it up so much.

“So you’re mad at Thanos because of that?” She just giggled leaning back against the bed. He looks up at her with puppy dog eyes.

“Yes.” He states his eyes fluttering close as she massages his head. Y/n laughed softly.

“Oh poor baby, I’m so sorry the blip affected you getting sorcerer supreme.” She fake pouted, Stephen sees right through that groaning and rolling his eyes.

“I don’t feel comforted.” He mumbles moving his eyes away from her as he pouts. Oh people would absolutely died laughing if they found out how soft Stephen was in front of her.

"Oh do you want to feel comforted? I have a few ideas in mind." She says softly tracing his lips a small smirk planted on her face. Stephen grins moving his hand to trace her wrist.

"I do like the sound of that." He mumbles his eyes never leaving hers. She bites her lower lip leaning foreword before capturing his lips with hers in a heated passion. He groans from the taste of her lips a slight whimper escaping his mouth. Y/n just smirks against his lips moving her hands to cup his cheeks, moving her body to straddle him instead- his back against the bed. He goes to grip her hips, she pulls back from the kiss grabbing his wrist.

"Nope, I didn't say you can touch me sweetheart." She smirks, his eyes widen at her comment, feeling himself get a hard at her words. She quirks an eyebrow at him, the smirk never leaving her face. "Oh are you excited for me Mr. Strange?" He takes a shattered breath nodding his head slowly.

"I need you, really badly." He was able to choke out. Her hands making its way down to his shirt(luckily he wasn't wearing his normal outfit) she brushes her fingers teasingly against his skin noticing his breath hitching at the contact. She pulls his shirt off, watching his chest rise and fall. She connects her lips on his chest his breath wavering slightly as she moves her lips down near his lower stomach just above his pants. "F-Fuck." He gasped out, she knew he was sensitive right here so she drew it out more by creating love bites on his lower stomach. He wanted to grip her hair so bad, but also wanted to obey her by not touching her, letting her work her magic on him. She slowly unbuttons his jeans before sliding them down his legs. She looked down at the bulge begging to come out of his boxers.

"Awh look at you, its basically begging me." She taunts flicking her tongue. He swallows hard his Adams apple bobbing.

"Please, I need you." He begs his eyes begging and full of want. She moves her hands to his underwear band before pulling them off, his cock flinging out as soon as she does. She could basically already see the pre-cum leaking out. She just smiled moving her head down, her eyes never leaving his.

"I give you permission to touch my head but that's it." She murmurs before using her mouth to take him whole. He brings his hands to her hair gripping on it softly but his body shuddered under her; his hips slightly bucking at the wetness of her mouth.

"F-Fuck." He sputters his mouth going dry from the way he kept his mouth opened. He whimpered lightly at the way she swirled her tongue around his length and the way she hollowed her cheeks in. She began to move her head up and down his length to create more friction. He groaned and moaned loudly at the way she took him with such ease and grace. He felt himself so close to the edge his grip on her hair tugging on it harder, instead she pulls her head back wiping her mouth, he whined at the lost of contact. She just chuckles.

"Mr. Strange be patient. Don't you want to cum in me?" She smirked standing up from the bed removing her shirt and pants revealing her lace bra and underwear knowing this was most likely going to happen. His eyes move up and down her body, his eyes never leaving out a inch of it. "You like what you see?" She taunts crawling on top of him. He just nods watching the way she crawled back on top of him. "Well since you like it so much-" She moves her panties off to the side before sliding herself down onto his cock. He groaned his head rolling back as his hips bucked up which let out a moan out of her lips.

"F-Fuck so perfect." He choked out, his eyes traveling back to her chest, the push up in the bra making her breast look fantastic to view. God lace looked so good on her- he thought. She just grinned adjusting to his length before moving her hips and down. His moans and whimpers becoming louder. "G-God oh my fuck." He grunts out his eyes rolling back at the way she felt so good to him, wet and tight just for him.

"See? Who would want to cum in a mouth, when you've got this tight pussy just for you." She says dissolving herself in the pleasure fluttering her eyes close as soft moans escape her lips.

"S-Shit Y/n." He moves his hands to her hips gripping on them so tightly his hands turn white from the grip. She chuckles not moving his hands knowing herself she enjoyed the touch. She moves her hands down to his throat her hands wrapping around it softly, as she started moving her hips faster.

"Fuck me like I'm the only pussy you want." She moans out as soon as those words left her mouth, his grip on her hips tightens before thrusting himself up in her deeper groaning every time he hit her G-spot. She gasped out at him hitting just the right spot, the sound of slapping skin bouncing off the walls. She feels herself tighten around him-very close to her edge.

"C-Can I cum, please?" He begs his eyes gazing at hers, she bites her lip to stop the whimpers coming out seeing Stephen this sub and soft in front of her made her so weak and her pussy tighten as she thought about it.

"F-Fuck." She whimpers out nodding out a quick yes. He moves his hips faster until he reaches his climax, her following swiftly feeling his warm seed enter her, his body shaking and shuddering underneath her. She rides out his orgasm before removing herself off of him flopping herself next to him, feeling her legs just shake slightly. She hears him chuckle deeply.

"Wow." He murmurs out turning his body to face her propping his elbow up before resting his hand on his palm, his eyes traveling up and down her body. She just smiles brightly.

"Your such a good boy." She smirks winking at him. He growls lowly.

"Keep it up baby girl, and I'll show you who can also be such a little sub." He smirk moving his hand to smack her ass. She gasped at the contact whining softly. "Exactly my point." He lifts her chin with his index finger. "Now I won't say I didn't enjoy that, but you are the only living soul that can know that." She gulps lightly nodding, the dominance slowly fading away. He smirks' lightly.

"Good girl."

[star-girl-05]

Experiment

Sherlock Holmes x Reader

~★~❤︎~✦~

There are many ways to describe THE Sherlock Holmes: Eccentric, Determined, Odd, Genius. Those unfortunate enough to meet him in person would describe him as childish. It’s quite amusing to think that someone as smart as Sherlock would be so childish. He throws tantrums and pouts when he doesn’t get his way. Even when he’s solving a case, he’s giddy like his mommy brought him home a toy. So it should be no surprise he acts childish when he’s in love. 

Of course he doesn’t tell you about his new found feelings for you. No, he performs little experiments on you. Trying to inquire if you could share his feelings. He starts off slowly not wanting to alert you. He begins by increasing his physical contact with you. Just a simple brushing of knuckles when passing each other. Or a gentle hand on your back. Light innocent touches, that's all he dares to do. You don’t seem to mind which gives him confidence to continue testing the relationship between you too. 

He moves on from light touches to soft words. He’s not bold enough to openly flirt with you. That's not his style but he does tease you in his own way. He’ll whisper his explanations in your ear letting his lips graze your ear ever so lightly. Giving him the out if you should bring it up that it was accidental. He’ll give you compliments in the form of observations. ‘That colour blue suits you’, there simple barely there compliments but he still notes the reddish colour to come to your face at them. 

So far it seems you share Sherlock's feelings, but he needs something more concrete if he’s going to confess. So tonight he’s going to be more bold. Johns out with *insert girls name* Sherlock and you will have the flat completely to yourselves. Giving him the perfect atmosphere to collect the last bit of data he needs to know before he reveals his feelings. He needs your pulse, he’s been trying to get it the past week but you always evade him. Moving at just the right moment preventing him from gathering this crucial data. Tonight though he’s determined to get it. 

You have a bright smile on your face when you enter the flat holding a bag of take out. If you're being honest you find yourself nervous to be alone with Sherlock in this manner. Of course you’ve spent time alone with him before, though he was always working on a case. This was different, this time his focus would be on you. It is intimidating to have his undivided attention. Honestly you were so surprised when Sherlock texted you to come over. The simple short text of ‘John’s out come over’ It didn’t leave room for you to say no not that you would have. The thought of declining never even crossed your mind. As soon as you got his message you were responding, at first you thought he had a case. Though with a simple text he refuted the idea texting you that he was just inviting you over. 

After staring at the text for an absorbent amount of time you finally get ready. Picking up takeout on your way and that's where you are now. Sitting next to Sherlock watching some random tv program while eating your takeout. You’re the first to break the silence, “Is everything alright Sherlock?” You're trying not to ruin the evening but you can’t help but be curious as to what brought on this on. He’s been acting differently all week. It was subtle changes at least in the beginning.

Yesterday when the two of you were walking to the lab he grabbed your hand. Fully interlocking his fingers with you. He didn’t even acknowledge it so neither did you just letting him lead you to the lab. 

“Do you think I invited you over because something was wrong?” your face told him his answer. “John was out so I thought we could spend time together” you let out a soft ‘oh’. Not that Sherlock was listening, no he was focusing on your body language. Watching closely at the blush forming on your cheeks. Time to get his last few points of data. 

He feels more confident, especially when he moves closer to you and your pupils enlarge. Your voice is background noise to Sherlock, he focused on your pulse. That's beating rapidly under his finger tips. Experiment complete. 

He cuts you off mid-ramble placing a kiss against your soft lips. He smirks against your lips when he feels your pulse pick up. When he pulls away your eyes are still closed. “What- you just kissed me” your voice is shaky. 

“Yes and I want to do it again, if that’s okay?” While Sherlock was confident in his deducing skills. He was still uneasy about romantical advances.

“Please” you're already tangling your hand in his hair, pulling him back to you. 

Sherlock Holmes can be described as many things: Eccentric, Determined, Odd, Genius, and an amazing Kisser.

[make-me-imagine]

Hold My Hand

Plot: Tensions and feelings arise when you and Sherlock end up in a precarious situation when running from a murderer.

Prompts: Forced Proximity, Sexual Tension (mild), “Hold my hand and don’t you dare let go.” <changed slightly, I hope you don't mind

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes (Enola Holmes) x Gn!Reader

Written for @multifandomfix for their birthday event. Happy Birthday! I couldn't decide on one prompt so I kind of mashed a bunch together lol.

Warnings: Nothing really.

Words: 1k.

A/N: After watched Enola Holmes 1&2 I've been debating writing for Sherlock. I have a Christmas fic planned for him, and I thought this might be a good time to test it out. Also I had no idea what to title this lol.

-

Your throat was hoarse as you ran down the cobblestone street. You glanced behind you, seeing the man chasing you not far behind. Glancing to your right, you saw Sherlock, jaw clenched, hair flying as he ran beside you.

When you agreed to help Enola with her current case - which she fervently assured you wold be an easy one - running from a murderous and crooked inspector with Sherlock Holmes beside you, was not how you thought it would end up.

Slipping through a small group of people, you stumbled to a stop, as your eyes cast over the busy market square.

"The market?" You asked out of breath.

"Yes, we could lose him in here."

The bustling crowds would surely provide you cover from your assailant, giving you time to lose him, but you risked being split up in the busy crowd.

Apparently Sherlock had this same thought, as you felt his hand reach down and grab your own. You felt your heart jolt in your chest as you looked from his hand, to his eyes, which he locked with yours.

"Hold my hand and don't let go." His voice was tense, and his gaze sharp.

You nodded, before he quickly started off into the crowded market. His hand was gripped tightly around yours as you ran close behind him, slipping through the crowds of people.

Looking back behind you, you spotted the familiar bowler hat of the man chasing you, as he bobbed through the crowd. You could tell he was losing sight of you as he hesitated in his steps.

"Were losing him!" You called to Sherlock as you weaved past a large group of vendors.

Taking a sharp left, and slipping past a market stall, Sherlock pulled you into a thin, darkened crevasse of an alleyway.

The alleyway forced proximity between the two of you, as your chests pressed together. You felt Sherlock slowly let go of your hand. You moved your hands and planted them against the wall behind you. The pressure of Sherlock's grip slowly fading.

Noting the closeness of your bodies, you found yourself holding your breath. Your eyes locked for a moment and you felt something pass between you, before you both broke eye contact and peered out into the crowds.

If your sudden avoidance of eye contact was to avoid the tension that palpitated between you, or to look for your assailant, you weren't sure.

Your eyes moved from one person to another, waiting to see the man pass by. After a few moments of not seeing him, you felt nervousness and relief wash over you. You may have lost him for now, but he could be anywhere.

Looking back to Sherlock, you felt a small jolt course through you, as you saw his eyes already locked on you. You felt the back of your neck heat up, as his eyes bored into you.

The detective had made you nervous from the moment you met him. The way his eyes seemed to follow your every movement, the way he studied you, you couldn't help but wonder what he could see. It had to be something notable since he seemed determined to keep you with him since he agreed to help Enola with her case a day prior.

Finally breaking the tension that seemed to be growing heavier between you, you spoke with a hushed voice. "What now?"

Sherlock seemed to snap out of his thoughts as you spoke. He paused for a moment as he took a breath.

"Now, we slip out into the crowd, grab something that could disguise us, and find our way back to Enola. Hopefully she and Tewkesbury have gathered the evidence she needed while we were being chased through London. She should have had plenty of time. Once we have it, we take the evidence to Lestrade, and then-" He paused, his voice going silent.

You rose your brow lightly "And then?" You asked.

"And then-" He began, his voice soft, but you saw his thought falter as he spoke "And then the case is done."

You weren't sure why you thought he intended to say something else, but you felt the disappointment of it anyways. You nodded your head as you forced yourself to look away from him.

Peering out into the crowds, you mumbled softly. "Sneak out. Find a disguise. Find Enola. Case closed. Sounds easy enough."

Looking back at Sherlock, he had a soft smile on his face "Something Sounding easy, and being easy don't always coincide."

You smiled softly and shrugged your head "I guess we'll find out if it does this time."

As you began to step out from the alleyway, you jumped back when you felt Sherlock grab your hand

"Wait."

"What?" You asked as you looked around hurriedly "Did you see him?"

"No, no, we're fine, it's just..."

You eyed him with curiosity as he seemed lost for words. "What is it Sherlock?"

"I- I don't know how much time we will have to talk once we leave this alley and get back to Enola."

You felt your heartbeat speed up as your neck grew hot again. It was unusual seeing Sherlock Holmes uncertain.

"Yes..?"

"I- I have enjoyed my time with you these last few days. You...pique my interest in ways I find to be unexpected. So, if- if it is desirable to you. Perhaps, once this case is over, you would be willing to have dinner with me?"

His previously downcast gaze slowly rose to meet yours. The restraint you had to use not to show your surprise was great. But you remained stoic, before you smiled softly at him.

"I would love to have dinner with you Sherlock."

You saw the small hint of relief wash over his face before he smiled. With a nod of his head he spoke softly "Great. I could pick you up tomorrow, around six?"

You repressed the grin pulling at your face as you nodded "Alright, six it is."

His smile grew wider for a moment before he remembered your current situation. He cleared his throat.

"Perhaps we should go now, before we are found here."

You were jolted back into the moment as you nodded your head "Yes, right."

You both spared each other soft knowing smiles before you slipped from your hideaway. Sherlock's hand reluctantly slipped away from yours as you quickly returning to your previous business. But both of you anew with an excited and expectant energy.

xx End xx

General Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @imaginesfire, @onuen, @witchygagirl, @alexxavicry

I have every intention of writing at least one more Sherlock fic, so if you wish to be tagged in that, or any future Sherlock fics, let me know! (Please be specific which Sherlock Holmes as there are multiple I write for)

[faggotry-fandom-fanfic]

Evening Cuddles

Summary: Sherlock helps his friend fall asleep.

Ship: Sherlock Holmes x masc!reader Word Count: 1070

🔸The reader uses he/him pronouns and is called a man, and the relationship between him and Sherlock is inherently queer.🔸

A/N: It's just fluff based on pure vibes. I wrote it a while ago, rediscovered it recently and rewrote it today! The reader is implied to be Sherlock's roommate. I think/hope he's racially/ethnically ambiguous. Also, the reader is described as taller than Sherlock, but somehow, Sherlock is able to lift him up without any issues?? 😭I don't know, and I don't care to be honest. It's pure vibes, no common sense.

“[Y/N], are you even listening to me? [Y/N]?” Sherlock sighed, irritated at the lack of response from his companion.

Holmes shifted his position to look at the man sitting beside the window.

“[Y/N]?”

When the Detective, once again, didn’t get a response, his frustration went from “mildly annoyed” to “extremely irritated”. It wasn’t exactly in his friend’s character to ignore his pleading for attention. So Sherlock did what any reasonable adult would do in the given situation.

“OUCH!” [H/C]-haired man screamed out when the shoe hit him in the arm. “GOD DAMN YOU, YOU BASTARD!” [Y/N] slurred while rubbing the painful spot. “You’re worse than a five-year-old!”

“I was talking about something important. Something you promised to help with,” Holmes pointed out while walking up to his friend.

The taller man sighed and fell back on the soft pillows. His head was pounding, and his body felt like it was about to perish to dust any second. He was tired, and for some reason, he couldn’t verbalise it to his friend. Building sentences felt like a marathon. His brain refused to use English, forcing him to fight with his sluggish mind just to construct the easiest sentences.

“I know. I’m sorry.” [Y/N] finally mumbled, more or less, towards the dark-haired man beside him.

Sherlock just shook his head and kneeled in front of [Y/N], taking his hands and squeezing them in an attempt to provide some comfort.

“What’s on your mind? You hadn’t been yourself for the past week.”

[Y/N] ignored the question and just silently brought one of the detective's hands to cup his cheek. Silently absorbing the pleasant sensation of Sherlock’s rough fingers brushing against his cheekbones and warmth radiating from his palm. [Y/N] would never admit this, but sometimes he’d kill for more moments like this. Moments filled with silence and gentleness that were almost impossible to find in their life. Sherlock had this almost magical ability to become soft and gentle if he noticed that it was needed, but he never was great at recognising the needs of people around him.

“Just tired. Incredibly tired…” [Y/N] finally muttered while closing his eyes and hiding his face in Holmes’ hand.

“If you want to, we could take a little vacation. We’d stop taking cases for a while. Mycroft has a mansion in the mountains. Maybe fresh air will make you feel better, hm…?” Sherlock spoke softly, seeing how his friend was almost falling asleep in front of him.

“Mhm…”

Only now, when his face was mere inches away from his friend, could he see the mark that overworking left on a usually radiant face. [Y/N]’s skin was an unhealthy, muted colour as if he was made of wax. Dark circles painting his under-eye looked scarily similar to bruises. His hair was tangled and messy, framed his equally messy face, dirty with dust and dirt after a long day of working and running around London, searching for a case that’d satisfy Sherlock’s hunger for mental stimulation. It was frightening to see his friend like this – a shadow of himself. A ghost.

Sherlock’s face twisted with guilt, the awareness that he led to one of his dearest friends being so incredibly worn out that he wasn’t even able to form coherent sentences. He’s been whining about the lack of good mysteries for weeks now, and after a while, [Y/N] just wanted to help him and see him happy.

“You know what you need? A good sleep.” Holmes muttered, talking more to himself than to, already half-asleep, friend.

Sherlock stood up and carefully picked up [Y/N] from the settee. [H/C]-haired man himself, was already so exhausted that he didn’t protest. The only thing that he did was snuggle into the crook of Sherlock’s neck.

One of the many advantages of living in a small flat was that every room was close. So only after about a dozen steps were they already in [Y/N]'s bedroom. Holmes carefully placed his friend among his pillows and blankets and covered him with the woven coverlet. [Y/N] grunted, with upset painted across his face when he felt Sherlock’s hands leaving him.

“Don’t go…” he softly pleaded, grabbing Holmes by the sleeve.

Sherlock turned around only to be met with soft [E/C] eyes looking at him longingly, half-covered by eyelids. How could he deny his friend’s innocent request?

“If I’m not to go, what do you want me to do?” The detective asked with slight amusement in his voice.

“Lay with me… I don’t want to be alone…”.

[Y/N] looked like he was close to begging Sherlock to stay with him. Looking at his friend with such sorrow, as if the thought of Holmes leaving his side caused him physical pain. Sherlock felt his cheeks growing hotter while his knees became a bit softer.

Dear god.

“Alright, move over, so I’ll have a place to lay down…��.

[H/C]-haired man eagerly shifted, lifting the blanket, inviting the detective.

He’s just tired. He’s just exhausted and lonesome.

Sherlock tried to reason with himself while lying beside [Y/N]. But it was hard to logically explain how hot his face felt and how happy his friend looked while cuddling up to his side, a lazy smile spread across his handsome face. Fuck, his friend was just shamelessly cuddling with him. Making all kinds of “I feel good” noises, some sounding almost like purring. It was strange. So strange, almost wrong. But he’d lie if he said he didn’t like it. After a few moments, he relaxed and embraced the man lying beside him.

Fuck, shit, fuck.

Holmes tried to take a couple of deep breaths to calm himself down. His nostrils instantly filled with the eccentric mix of scents of old books, dust, chocolate and paraffin oil. The unmistakable smell of his friend. If he wasn’t freaking out already, Holmes would probably panic. He knew it was wrong. He knew he shouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.

But he smelled so good.

And his hands were so pleasant to the touch.

His breathing was so calm.

And he was so close.

It’d be a sin to not savour this moment as long as possible.

Sherlock was finally fully relaxed. He held his friend tight, relishing the smell, the feel, and the sounds [Y/N] would make. He was just so peaceful. So sweet. After a while, Holmes himself drifted to sleep. Happy and relaxed. Embraced by another man.

[padfootdaredmetoo]

I come with requests (pls). You can decide if it has smut or not but-

SHERLOCK (ENOLA HOLMES VERSION) IS TALKING TO IRENE AND Y/N IS JEALOUS CUZ HE SEEMS TO FLIRT WITH HER N STUFF.

Again, you can decide if there's smut or anything but I NEED this fic.

It would be greatly appreciated as I need another reason to listen to Reputation.

Hey Anon,

Again I'm incredibly sorry you had to wait so long. Hope you enjoy this!

Warnings: Smutt, dom / sub vibes, arguing

The whole situation was wrong. You stood in the doorway of Sherlock’s apartment, the apartment you recently had to move into. The woman seemed to enjoy your startled expression, her eyes were dark and there was a smirk ghosting on her red lips. 

“This is-” Sherlock started his eyes fixed on the woman, to your relief he had kept his distance. He was leaning against the fireplace mantel. 

“Oh, I know who she is.” Her eyes narrowed, and her body was sprawled across the couch. “I’m Irene, an old friend of Sherlock’s,” She said moving her gaze back to him. 

You wanted to throttle her, wishing that women’s issues could be settled like men. Instead, you smiled brightly. 

“If I knew we were having guests I would have put something together. I’ll put the kettle on.” You moved into the kitchen. 

“No need darling. I'm not here for tea.” She uncrossed her legs and sat upright. “I came here for business.” 

Then it started. You stayed on the edge of the room as the two started to banter. Crime scenes, clues, motives, both trying to get the upper hand. You struggled to keep up as they argued, one thing was glaringly obvious. The tension in the room was palpable. You felt the electricity and it made you sick to your stomach. 

They were an inch away from each other, Sherlock looking unimpressed and cold, while she looked like she was savoring every moment of the interaction. 

“Maybe you should look a little closer, somewhere in the woods maybe?” 

“Moriarty-” 

“Sends his regards.” She whispered her eyes focused on his lips. Part of you felt like you should intervene, and the other part of you felt like slinking away. This was so embarrassing, he seemed to forget about your existence altogether. Part of you knew it was because he wanted the missing information from the case he was working on, but the rest of you couldn't feel that logic. 

You were swallowed up by his lack of concern for you. He looked and acted as if he was single, he was doing exactly what she wanted him to do. 

She turned on her heel and left, slamming the door behind her causing you to jump. Your stomach and chest were tight, but you would rather be shot than let him see that he had hurt you. 

You moved to the bedroom and shut the door, locking it even though you knew he would probably be sitting there sorting through her riddles. 

You grabbed a bag stuffing it with clothes, anger seeping out of you. It was going to be a huge mess if you went to your sister's place like this but you didn’t care. Any place was better than here. 

You opened the bedroom door and to no surprise, he was sitting there staring out the window. Muttering under his breath. He never liked being interrupted when he was like this. So you walked across the living space towards the front door. 

“Where are you going?” He asked exhaling smoke from his pipe. 

“Doesn't matter.” You shrugged. 

“Of course, it matters.” He stood up fully attentive now. 

“No -” 

“She just gave us the missing clue, Morarity is--” 

“Is a fucking ponce. I don't have time for this Sherlock. I can't do this,” You slipped a little then took a deep breath making your way closer to the door. 

His large frame blocked you and you were surprised that he was making such an effort to keep you there. He looked like he was struggling to explain something. 

“You're angry. I don't understand why.” This made your blood boil.  “But Moriarty wants you.” 

“I’m glad someone does.” You bit back. His face was stern and you knew he wasn't going to let you leave and a part of you was happy to argue.  

“You don’t think I want you.” His voice was just above a snarl, and his eyes were dark. His anger had the opposite effect on your body, your pulse raced and you suddenly felt a few degrees too hot. His glare was consuming and you hated him for how attractive it was. 

“Obviously not. She was all over you, and you - you - you - just let her. Right in front of me - you didnt even -” He leaned his face closer to yours and your words cut off.

“She wants you to run out of here angry. There’s a delivery carriage just up the street that hasn't moved since she got here.”Sherlock whispered. “She’s already left, thinking you’d run out of here. We have the upper hand.” 

You thought about what he was saying, there was plenty of logic. The way her eyes would land on you periodically despite flirting with Sherlock. She was obvious too obvious about it. You still felt like fighting. 

“I don’t like this.” You gritted your teeth. Many converstations had recently been had over the many ups and downs of the life he lead. How you were attched to him publicly now due to a careless misstep. Now you understood his reluctance all these months. 

Moving in with him was the safest option. You didnt realise how angry all of that made you, how your private life was boiled down and sold as broth for everyone to consume. Somthing so dear to you, you knew deep down you wouldnt want to live without him. You closed your eyes, you wanted him. But the world needed him. All those murdered women, cases left unsolved completley neglected until he would show up. 

He was doing what was right. A thought that comforted the anger you felt at the loss of control. 

“Then let me make it up to you.” He said through gritted teeth. A voice in the back of your mind told you to run away from the darkness in his eyes. Your body stood frozen in place, welcoming his rage. 

He closed the space between the two of you and gripped your jaw tightly. You looked up at him with wide eyes, he was so angry. His mouth crashed into yours and you felt yourself slip away into blissful submission. 

This wasn't normal for you. When you wanted to fight you let him have it. You would shout at him and was always secretly grateful that he could take it. He never tried to take advantage, letting you express your emotions freely. Normally without consequence. But his hands were warm and gripping at your flesh madly.

You felt like you should make an effort to push back, try to take some control back. But your body had a mind of its own. You wanted him to make it up to you, and for once you didn’t want to be the one thinking and doing.  

You let him ravish you, pulling apart the front of your dress. His mouth biting the flesh along your breastbone. He pushed you against the living room wall, and a crashing sound was noted in your periphery but you didnt have the brain power to care. He used his knee to press his way between your legs. His hand ran up the inside of your thigh bringing your skirts up higher. 

His mouth tenderly sucked in a nipple causing you to knot your fingers in his hair. A groan escaped your lips, your eyes fluttered closed and the last of your thoughts faded away. 

Your mind was singularly focused on receiving his touch. He placed one last sharp bite against the base of your neck before picking you up. He kissed you messily as he carried you back to the bedroom. Kocking over piles of books and experiments. The place would be a disaster after but you didnt care. His large body somehow managed to safely navigate the chaos before reaching the bedroom. He threw you down on the bed and quickly discarded your dress. His body was on yours in the span of a breath, he wasn't going to risk letting you sober up and snap back to reality. 

A faint warning sounded that there were still men waiting outside the house… That thing could be dangerous. The thought only made you wetter. 

Your mind went blank as you felt his mouth on your clit. No warm-up, no warning. Your legs snapped shut and you let out a scream. Your hips bucked and he placed a hard slap to the side of your thigh. 

You were getting close, your voice was loud. He moved away and you tried to push his face back down. He resisted you easily. With a fluid motion, he had moved his whole length inside you. The stretch was almost enough to make you orgasm. 

“Not yet.” He snarled, thrusting inside you wildly. His large hand cradled your neck with a delicious grip, his teeth sinking into the flesh under your collarbone once more.  

The pain and pleasure was too much for you. Your hips met his every thrust desperate for his command. Your throat was sore from crying out. 

His thrusts became harder and deeper, stealing the air from your lungs. Your whole body was tensing up.

“Cum” he growled into your ear and your body contracted and seized. The pressure was unbearable, he forced his way in and out of your tight cunt, finding his own release. 

After an eternity your body finally collapsed into nothingness. The most soothing nothingness. 

Sherlock collapsed onto the bed next to you. Pulling you against his naked body tightly. You let him move your limp body, still not able to grasp the world. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered into your hair. His voice was thick with grief, and you shuddered against the sudden cold that moved against your skin. “I will send you to Frace, there is a monastery there -” 

“Stange thing to do to a woman before banishing her to live with nuns” You mumbled rubbing your cheek against the hair on his chest. 

“I can keep you safe.” He sighed heavily. 

“Perfectly safe here. He’ll find me if you send me away, better to stay next to you. Handle this like every other case.” You were very proud of the contributions you made to the cases you had helped with.

___________

The man shifted looking down at his watch once again. The lady never left the apartment. He felt antsy, Moriarty made it very clear how he deals with disobedience, the last thing he wanted was to end up another case file on Sherlock’s desk. 

He didnt really want this job. He looked at the apartment window through his side-view mirror. Guilt hit him at the thought of kidnapping a woman. His brother had made it very clear that this was the only way to pay off his debts. The thought of his nephew and sister-in-law, made him stay in his seat. 

Stupid family. 

After a long while he got down from the carriage. He ran up the stairs and was hit with the sounds of crashing and screaming without his better judgment opened the apartment door.  221B, just like in the papers. 

To his astonishment, the place was trashed. Books, instruments, broken glass, and various liquids thrown across the hardwood. The sound of the woman’s screams made his stomach drop. Sounds like maybe someone else was hired, in case she went the other way or something. With a heavy sense of guilt, the man turned and shut the door behind him. He ran down the street leaving the carriage there. Maybe whoever else was on the mission would go back for it.

Thinking one last bitter thought about his family, he got on the next train out of London. He sat on the train and said a prayer for the poor woman, pledging never to get involved with such things again.

[princessaxoxo]

｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ ﾟ。Masterlist 　ﾟ･｡🌷͙֒

𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 💌

𝘣𝘶𝘺 𝘮𝘦 𝘢 ˚₊‧꒰ა 𝘤𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘦 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ ✿ 𝘢𝘰3 ✿ 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘱𝘢𝘥 ✿ 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘰𝘯

𝘙𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴 - 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘥-𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘣𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘴. 𝘪 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘰3, 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘱𝘢𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘳.

𝘔𝘺 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 18+ 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺.

𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘪 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘦 𝘕𝘚𝘍𝘞, 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬. 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

𝓗𝓮𝓷𝓻𝔂 𝓒𝓪𝓿𝓲𝓵𝓵

𝓖𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓵𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓡𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓪

𝓜𝓲𝓴𝓮

𝓒𝓵𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓚𝓮𝓷𝓽

𝓐𝓾𝓰𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓦𝓪𝓵𝓴𝓮𝓻

𝓢𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓸𝓬𝓴 𝓗𝓸𝓵𝓶𝓮𝓼

𝓦𝓪𝓵𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓜𝓪𝓻𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓵

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓵𝓮𝓼 𝓑𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓸𝓷

𝓒𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷 𝓢𝔂𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓸𝓷

𝓚𝓻𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓷/𝓢𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓰𝓲 𝓚𝓻𝓪𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓯𝓯

𝒻𝓁𝓊𝒻𝒻: ꕤ 𝓈𝓂𝓊𝓉: 🍒 𝒶𝓃𝑔𝓈𝓉: ❦

[lazydoodlesandfanfic]

Answer The Phone (Mycroft X Daughter!Reader) *PARENTAL

Characters: Mycroft X Daughter!Reader, Sherlock X Niece!Reader

Universe: Sherlock

Warnings: mentions of being drugged via gas (fun story, this happened to me once lol), bomb, explosion, burns, unhealthy relationship with parent

Request: Hello could you do mycroft x daughter reader. Final problem the two have really broken father and daughter relationship and they haven't express themselves and because of it sherlock is kinda the father figure of the reader. So instead of Sherlock doing the phonecall its the mycroft who did the phonecall and reader almost said 'I love you ' to mycroft but its time up and mycrift witness the explosion in reader apartment and the Holmes are broken as they heard the shrill scream coming from the reader. Its up to you if you wanna turn out to let reader died. 😊

It had been a long time since you had actually gotten along with your dad. A long time since tensions weren’t running high when in his presence, well aware that things were one thoughtless comment away from a bicker or an argument. Whether it was wanting something from one another- more affection from him, or a more agreeable personality from you- or just not agreeing on things in general. He often commented on how you were more like your uncle Sherlock, even when you were young. Back then you took it as a compliment, seeing your uncle as a genius who adored you and was by far the funnest uncle in the world, but in your pre-teens you realised he meant it as an insult.

You could never forgive him for doing that, even if he didn’t mean it, or didn’t even realise what he was saying. Everytime he said it, it made you pull away from him even more. Spend more time with the man he compared you to, the only person who seemed to actually care about you. Of course, that was until you met Mrs Hudson and then John moved in with Sherlock. Mrs Hudson kept you company when your uncle was busy and you were avoiding your dad, and she’d softly poke into your home life and your relationship with your dad and try and give advice. John thought you were Sherlock’s assistant for a short while before Sherlock corrected him, acting insulted that he thought you were ‘just an assistant’. When he met Mycroft, he immediately began to understand why you weren’t close, and tried to be a responsible adult you could turn to. In the end, when you became a legal adult, you moved to an apartment much, much closer to Sherlock than your dad, and never in the 3 years you’d had it, had your dad stepped foot inside of it. He wasn’t allowed to. 

You had a lot of feelings towards your dad from childhood to now. Anger, resentment, distrust. A disconnect you never thought and come to accept could ever be fixed. Whenever you needed support, you went to Sherlock. John. Mrs Hudson. Never him. But this time was different. 

You were currently trapped in the said apartment. The one place you were supposed to feel safe no matter what, yet here you were, eyes focussed on the bomb that had been planted in the middle of your living room, the heart of your apartment, with several wires linking to it all across the apartment like spiderwebs. Linked to every possible escape route- the windows, the fire escape, and the only door in and out. You didn’t remember what had happened- you vaguely remember an odd smell as you wet to sleep last night, and when you awoke, you found yourself laying on the floor of your living room, and sitting up and seeing the device. Whoever had done this, had been nice enough to leave your phone right beside the bomb. You didn’t call anyone or even turn the phone on for several hours, scared that it had been tampered with as well and that was also a trigger, but you grew desperate. The first person you tried to call was your dad. You didn’t get through, so then you called Sherlock, and he picked up almost immediately, and you told him what was going on. 

That was about two hours ago now. The police cars littered the streets outside, the complex and surrounding buildings completely evacuated. It was just you and this bomb within a 50 foot radius. Well, for a period of time, both Sherlock and John were on the other side of the door, asking you a billion and one questions about what you could see, and you described everything to the best of your abilities, and it was useful. One, Sherlock was able to piece together it was well made, and whoever made this was an expert and had experience with this- probably a military man, working in a bomb squad or something, and that this was purely explosive, no nails or anything to cause more damage, and due the size, the blast wouldn’t go far past the walls of your home. However, after demanding his honesty, he admitted he also had no clue how to diffuse it, or if that was even possible. It seemed too fragile, that even a light breeze could set it off. That solidified your decision to remain perfectly still within two of the wires attached to your windows, too scared to even touch the glass or move to quickly, remembering his comment on a breeze, and didn’t want to risk vibration. 

You still hadn’t been able to reach your dad. 

“John?” You had asked over the phone. The phone was often being in call between people, mostly Sherlock and John, though Mrs Hudson had called when neither were available to try and keep you calm. It was John’s turn as Sherlock was following leads. 

“Yeah? Is something happening?” John asked. 

“No it’s just… I can’t reach my dad. I keep trying to call him but he won’t pick up… I… I just want to hear his voice.” You admitted. It sounded ridiculous, childish, but you were tired, hungry, and the adrenaline had drained your energy a while ago now. “Does he know what’s happening?” You asked. He was silent on his side for a minute. 

“I don’t know, but I tell you what, I’m going to personally find him, and drag him here, and make him answer his phone, okay?” He promised, and you could hear the anger oozing over the phone, which you couldn’t help but smile at. “In the meantime, I think Sherlock is going to call you later, I think he’s onto something. Hang on, alright?” He said, before handing up. You placed the phone on the floor, carefully standing up, and with distance between yourself and the window, you peered out of it, able to see John as he dashed off towards Lestrade, telling him something, before the pair got into a car and took off presumably to go and find your dad. Looking around more, you spotted Mrs Hudson peering up. She waved when she saw you, and you waved back. With nothing else to do, you sat back down in front of the bomb, trying to examine it to the best of your ability, seeing nothing of importance, before you laid down on the floor, closing your eyes, and waiting.

You flinched when your phone rang. You flinched every time it rang, even if someone had told you just a minute prior it was coming. You reached over, picking it up and placing it to your ear, remembering what John had said. “Sherlock?” You asked. 

“How many pieces of furniture in your flat can you crawl under?” His question was far from reassuring, as you bolted up, on high alert. 

“U-Um, I don’t know, why? Do I need to hide? Take cover? What’s going on?” You panicked. 

“The wiring to the bomb is far too fragile for someone to be able to rig it from the outside after escaping. They must have either found or made another way inside, somewhere where you wouldn’t have noticed. If we can find it you can get out yourself, or we can get inside. Think. Lay on the floor and look around for anything, furniture that you can get under, or furniture light enough but large enough to cover an escape but be able to move from below. Be. Careful. Watch the wires. Call me back if you find anything, I’m on my way back.” He said before hanging up, leaving you alone with silence and overwhelming pressure. You looked at the wires around you, before trying to think of the best places for someone to hide a hatch- under the coffee table, the recliner that you knew was easy to move, your wardrobe in your room which had some crawl space underneath, and for you, the most creepy- under your bed. You quickly checked under your coffee table in front of you, of course finding nothing, because of course that would be too easy. Your recliner was across from you, so after a deep breath, you got down on the ground, and carefully crawled under the wires, spotting a wire that was too low to crawl under, and you stood and carefully stepped over it. You then carefully moved your recliner, checking underneath, and found nothing. That left your bedroom. 

Your phone rang again, and your cursed yourself, realising you left it beside the table, and you hurriedly but carefully moved back, grabbing it and answering it. “Hello? Sherlock?” 

“Y/N?” Your dad’s voice caught you off guard, and you gasped in surprised. “What’s going on? John told me to call you and said it was dire.” He asked. A relief came over you just from hearing his voice, your eyes burning as you sniffed. 

“Dad… it’s bad.” You started, getting silence on the phone. “There’s… someone put some sort of sedative gas into my flat when I went to bed and broke in- they moved me into the living room and- there’s a bomb. There’s a bomb in the living room and it’s wired up to every escape and I can’t get out and I’m scared and I don’t want to die-” You rambled to him before you heard him finally repeating your name to try and interrupt you. 

“Y/N, Y/N, breathe. Is Sherlock working on it?” He asked, that last sentence sound a little distance, and you faintly heard John confirm in the background, before he returned to the phone. “Alright. Sherlock’s working on it. What has he told you?” 

“He um… He said that he thinks there’s a secret entrance somewhere- and that’s how the person who did this escaped after rigging everything. He told me to look for it- I’m going to check in my bedroom next.” You explained to him, looking over, being relieved when you saw no wire attached to the door. 

“Is that door rigged?” 

“No. Hold on, I have to crawl under the wires.” You explained, getting back down, crawling under the wires, before reaching it the door, and holding the phone to your ear. “Okay, I’m at the door.”

“Do you feel like a secret agent?” He asked, catching you off guard. 

“What?” You asked, pausing in your plan. 

“Crawling under and over the wires. It’s like the laser lights and those agents avoiding them. You used to love those movies when you were little. You thought that was what Sherlock did in his cases.” He reminisced. A faint smile met your lips. You’d totally forgotten about that. 

“Yeah… I remember one time when I pulled out all the red thread from a jumper you had gotten me, pinning it all over the house so I could pretend to be a secret agent and then using it to make an information board… you were so mad when you came back home because the jumper was some expensive brand and I’d made the board on a wall and wrote on it and everything… sorry about that.” You told him, somehow finding the energy to chuckle pathetically. 

“Don’t apologise.” Mycroft told you. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. You were 6, you were just being a child.” He pointed out. “I’m… I’m also sorry that I didn’t answer your calls. I should have known something was wrong when you kept trying to reach me.” He apologised. You hummed, before you realised something. 

“This is the first time we’ve been able to actually talk without bickering or arguing in years.” You pointed out. You heard him sigh. 

“When this whole mess is over, I promise you we’re going to have a proper family dinner, catch up, and actually talk. No bickering. No arguing. A genuine conversation. How does that sound?” He asked. You smiled to yourself. This was the best thing that had happened all day, not like that was hard. 

“Yeah. Let’s hope the escape is in my room.” You said, remembering your task. You reached out, grabbing the handle of your bedroom door, and opening it, and pulling the door open. “Hey, you know, despite not really getting along my whole life, I want you to know that I do love-” You looked up to search your room, but the sound of a beep made your eyes focus on the bomb attached to your bedframe, this one a lot bigger, that was rigged to your bedroom door, that you had just set off.

Mycroft heard you gasp, the sound of you running, hearing you muttering repeatedly ‘no, no, no, no”, the sound of you trying to open a door before the call ended. “Y/N?” Mycroft asked. He heard nothing. He tried calling you back, and it didn’t even ring. He got an awful feeling in his stomach and he wanted to be sick, but he looked up at John who looked confused at what was happening, having not heard what he’d heard. “Get me to her flat right now.” 

By the time the pair arrived on your street, it was already blocked off and there was more than one firetruck trying to subdue the fire that was blazing where your flat used to be. Mycroft didn’t speak as he approached, seeing the sight, realising what it was exactly that he heard. He heard his daughter realise she triggered an explosive. He heard his daughter run across the one place she was meant to be safe to the front door. He heard his daughter try and open the door, and realise it was locked and she was trapped inside.

He heard his daughter die, terrified and alone. And for what? Why? Why not him, or Sherlock? He wanted to be angry, demand answers, find who did this and get revenge even if it isn’t lawful, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t find it in himself to be angry right now. Only guilty. He should have spent more time with you. He should have tried harder to be a better parent to you, he should have been kinder, more understanding. He should have been there. 

“John! Mycroft!” Mycroft didn’t hear Mrs Hudson at first as she dashed over as quick as she could- she was sobbing and sniffling, clutching a handkerchief to her face as she approached. 

“Mrs Hudson, what happened?!” John asked alarmed and out of breath. 

“There was a second bomb in the bedroom, when she opened the door it set it off.” She explained. Mycroft finally looked away from the blaze to look at the woman. The call had ended only 20 minutes or so prior, and since the flat was still in fire, so there was no way to examine the scene. 

“How do you know that?” He asked her. She didn’t say anything, simply grabbing his arm and pulling him down the street, pass the firetrucks, past the police who looked defeated, and towards an ambulance. The back doors were open, and inside he was able to see two paramedics tending to someone in the bed. He felt his heart leap into his throat as he sprinted to the edge and jumped inside, able to finally see your face, an oxygen mask over your face, burns littering your body, and you were unconscious as a paramedic was placing bandaging on one of your burns. “Is she okay? Is my daughter okay?” He demanded answers, one of the paramedics looking up at him. 

“She’s suffered burns and blunt force trauma from the explosion. She was conscious when she was able to get out, but she fell unconscious, and we need to get her to the hospital now. Please sit down if you’re coming with her.” He instructed, and Mycroft followed and sat down. He turned, seeing John and Mrs Hudson stood, staring at you. 

“Please make sure Sherlock finds out who did this. They need to pay for this.” Mycroft demanded. John nodded firmly, before the doors shut, the sirens turned on and the ambulance began to move. Mycroft put his whole focus on you, making sure your chest moved up and down, looking for any sign of you waking up, and more importantly, any sign you were in pain. He only saw you breathing, and he decided for now he should be thankful for that. He didn’t know what exactly he was going to do, but he knew that somehow, someway, he was going to fix this. He was going to make everything better. He had to.

Hope you like it! If you have any questions, please send them in!

*Not my gif

TAGS: @holy-tea-cup-blog @sassy-specter @keenmarvellover @multifandomfix @sleutherclaw @otterly-fey @courtneychicken @graysonmalfoy @bellero @originalpottervengerlock @supernatural-pan @esoltis280 @lady-of-lies @lenaswritingandstuff @macbetheliza @mandywholock1980 @cdwmtjb8 @caswinchester2000 @determinedpines@huntheimpossible @automaticbakeryfreakshoe

[wildwallflower24]

Me waiting excitedly for my favorite author to post the fic I requested

(But also patiently because I respect that fic writing takes time and that authors have lives outside of Tumblr)

(Seriously though I love and respect every fic author on tumblr, and I hope you’re all having a wonderful day)

[j-eryewrites]

Something You Taught Me

MAIN MASTER LIST

REQUEST PROMPT (from anonymous): Maybe a sherlock fluff where reader is sick and sherlock takes care of them? I just absolutely adore the way you write fluff :)

Thank you so much for this prompt. I love writing fluff especially when it helps me get out of a writing slump! Thank you so much for the request.

Word Count: 1. k

Warnings: Major fluff, sick-fic (mentions of symptoms, the flu, etc.), Sherlock realizes that he is in love. 

______

There was one thing that was guaranteed with the winter months. One thing that Y/N terribly hated, getting sick. It seemed to be unavoidable no matter how many vitamins they took, how healthy they ate, or how much they exercised. They always seemed to get sick. Now, if it were just the common cold, then it would not be so much of a burden. However, when Y/N got sick, they were bedridden for at least two days. 

Two never-ending days where their muscles ached too much to move. Y/N often thought if they tried to move all the bones in their body would shatter…or they’d puke. One or the other. Both are horrible options. But the worst side effect of being sick was boredom. There were only so many books they could read, or hours spent on the couch binging the latest television series before the dread set in. 

It was moments like these, that Y/N began to understand why Sherlock would do the things he did: shooting guns, creating bizarre experiments, composing new songs, chasing after criminals, solving case after case, bothering John, having tea with Mrs Hudson, and plotting out new ideas to piss off his brother. 

Y/N pondered the idea of being Sherlock for one day. Oh, the things they could do and the trouble they’d get into. Soon the thought weighed on their mind just as the weight of their bones sunk into the soft mattress below them. 

Suddenly, there was a knock. A singular knock. It was loud and clear. Then came the silence. A breath was taken before the onslaught of banging began. That knock could only belong to one person and one person only: Sherlock. 

Y/N groaned. This was the worst possible time. The sweat on their burning forehead made their hair stick. They were still wearing their pyjamas from two nights ago. Feeling a twitch in the back of their throat, Y/N quickly reached for the tissues next to them, just before a thunderous sneeze ripped through the air. 

As their nostrils cleared for the 7th time that day, Y/N realized that the banging had stopped. Instead, the sound was replaced with footsteps heading toward their room. 

Sherlock opened the door with a bang. Y/N winced at the sound. The loud noise echoed in their head. Bang. Bang. BANG. BANG! 

“Christ, Sherlock. Would you be a bit quieter? I’m …” Y/N coughed. “I’m sick.” 

Sherlock’s nose twitched and his blue eyes softened. Y/N sounded as if they were talking underwater. 

“Symptoms?” Sherlock announced. 

Y/N clutched their head in pain. 

“What are your symptoms?” Sherlock whispered. He removed his jack and hung it over the back of the bed. Then he gently sat himself down on the mattress. He was at arm's length now and slowly creeping closer. 

“No, Sherlock. Stay back. I don’t want to get you sick.” Y/N whined. 

Sherlock chuckled. “Me? Sick. Never heard of such a thing.” He placed his hand on Y/N’s forehead. His hand felt like ice against their skin. Y/N sighed at the feeling. 

“High temperature, stuffy nose, and sore throat” he muttered. “What are your other symptoms?”

Y/N brushed his hand away. “I’m fine. I can take care of myself.” 

“Y/N.” Sherlock said sternly. 

“My whole body aches. It hurts to move. Hurts to do anything and…” Their voice grew quiet. 

“And?” Sherlock asked. He took their hands into his and rubbed small circles on them. 

“I’m bored,” Y/N mumbled. 

Sherlock smiled. His bright blue eyes glistened as if the sun was shining down on the rippling surface of the sea. He wiped away the stray hairs sticking to Y/N’s face before cupping their flushed cheek.

“I don’t think being bored is a symptom of anything,” Sherlock teased. “I think you have a bad case of the flu and I know just the thing to help.” 

He began to draw away from them, and Y/N reached out clasping his wrist. 

“You don’t have to help me. I can…”

“Take care of yourself. Yes, I know. You’ve told me. However, something I have come to learn is that it doesn’t hurt to let others help.” Sherlock sat back down on the mattress. He brought his forehead to Y/N’s and whispered, “Something you taught me. Let me take care of you.” 

Y/N tried to respond but the words got lost in their throat. Instead, they nodded. 

“Now, lay down and I’ll go get some soup.”

“Get soup?” Y/N asked quizzically. “Don’t you mean make soup?”

“No. I going to get soup. Mrs Hudson’s cooking abilities are far superior to mine. I’d rather not poison you with my cooking.” Sherlock joked. 

“Alright, hurry back,” Y/N whispered. 

Sherlock smiled and was out the door. 

Y/N’s head fell back on the pillow with a thunk. As they stared at the ceiling, they thought of Sherlock. Their cheeks flushed now, but for a different reason. Sherlock. Who knew the great consulting detective could be so compassionate? Y/N was sure John would love to hear about how kind Sherlock was being to them. However, before they could finish the thought, sleep took over. 

Soon Sherlock returned with a steaming bowl of soup. His hand was careful not to spill any of its contents. Y/N needed every ounce of the soup that they could get. He placed the soup on the bedside table turning to the Y/N. He smiled as he took notice of the slowness in Y/N’s breath. Sherlock looked around the room and pulled up a chair, sitting himself down in it. His eyes once again found the sleeping figure. Even in their sick state, Y/N was beautiful. Their lashes fluttered against their rosy cheeks. Their lips lay slightly parted with small sighs exhaling from their mouth. 

Sherlock would sit there until Y/N woke up. Sherlock was determined to sit by their side as the soup cooled. He would keep the boredom at bay. Just as Y/N did for him. Though, how could he ever be bored when they were around? Sherlock knew he’d never get bored being in Y/N's presence, carefully watching over them as they slept. 

A singular thought popped into Sherlock’s head. I’m in love. How could he ever be bored with someone he loved?

__________

Comment below if you’d like to be added to the Sherlock One-shot tag list.

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| MAIN MASTER LIST

[futureplayboibunnie]

‘Angel’

Sherlock x fem!reader

-tehehehe. this one has been sitting in my drafts for ages but i know how thirsty y’all are for more smutty sherlock fics so here u goooo. this one is a lil angsty too. you know the drill. enjoyyy xx

You didn't want to stroke Sherlock's ego to admit you felt special- so you simply didn't. For a reason still unattained, he'd continue his openly obnoxious hubris and unexplainable nature by asking you to travel away with him. Sherlock was insistent it was for a case, he needed your inexplicable prowess when it comes to interacting with other humans- something he hadn't really learned to get down pat yet, he disguised it as needing another detective on the case but it did raise your eyebrow when John wasn't the first person he came to.

Did that make you special in his eyes too?

You didn't know. You didn't care. It was difficult to differentiate.

Now you were in a hotel room with Sherlock fucking Holmes, expensive and paid for with Mycroft's blood money. At least the room had two beds but it was connected through a shared kitchenette, so you'd have to interact with him in such a comfortable state eventually. The case was closed, this was the last night you had here with him and you didn't like that it went by quickly, too quickly. Time slipped through your fingers like grains of sand seeping like tears during a breakdown. You were panicking and you hated yourself for it, you were just like Sherlock Holmes in the way that you never let anyone get close.

But he was.

And you didn't like it.

Sherlock utlised this time he spent with you to find out who you really were, to understand how it was so difficult to pry any information out of you - there were some fairly easy things to spot when he conducted his initial deduction of you, assessing the equation of you in his analytic mind. You were isolated. Intelligent when you wanted to be. Bold. A risk taker. Expressionless. Good at retaining a blank face. Awful in relationships. Attractive. Strangely magentic. He didn't like not understanding why he was drawn to someone in a way, was it because he felt as if you were akin to him? Leading the same life of risk taking in order to absolve the…loneliness?

It irked him.

Who were you? It felt like he was looking for something else under this hard shell you had.

It was cloudy grey, dark, aphotic. Crepuscular in the rayless shared space of the kitchen. You shouldn't be awake, not this late- but if you went to bed then it would be tomorrow...the day of your departure. Not being able to find another opportunity to be this close to him, ever. It would be too long winded to go about understanding why you felt this strange swelling bloom inside your body when you thought of Sherlock but all you knew is that you felt miffed by it. You didn't want to feel any type of way torwards him. Was satiating your need to be cured of this ailment for better or for worse? Staring out into this hell casted abyss, you just pondered upon these thoughts that plagued your head- amplified only by these last few days you spent with him. You sat at the dining table, trying to bridle the inane nature of your conviction. Attempting to sleep was out of the question, your last endeavour proved to be fruitfuless.

Is this what feeling...helpless feels like?

Sherlock noticed that he didn't hear those fated footsteps to your room, it's because you weren't even in bed- you were wilting alone, sitting at the dining table moping.

He was just like you though, wondering how to drag this out...make you stay so he could work you out. He hadn't gotten anywhere, you needed to give him a little bit of direction, some oversight- you were impossible to solve. Probably blinded by his own unwillingness to get to the heart of it all: he had to remember he didn't have one.

He wandered out of his room, padding aimlessly to find you; he didn't even get changed out of his own clothes, he just discarded of his blazer jacket.

Sherlock observed you as he entered your air, cool breezy blue thinning at the sight of you all but illuminated by the pale moonlight hitting every single picturesque feature. He knew that beauty was merely a construct created by childhood impressions and representations but you were undeniably entreating, tempting, engaging. You were right in front of his eyes, too real to be considered a measly construct. So incredible in your stance. He was in boundless awe of you, his face would never express it though.

Sherlock gazed at you as he went to get a glass of water from the sink, an excuse to be out here talking to you; but Lord was he entranced by your body, your skin. You had never showed it off so freely before, you worse a short silk nightdress with thin straps that kept falling off of your shoulders; you insessantly kept dragging them back up and he had to surpress the urge to just keep the straps down...or better yet just peel the annoying fabric off of you. He had to shake his head of the laviscious thoughts swirling, it was crowding his brain and he had to be free of it.

‘’Last night here.’’ You stated impassively, unsure of why you were running your mouth to the man that filters others words like it was second instinct.

‘’I doubt you've missed London already.’’ Sherlock replied, a slight judgement in his cadence.

‘’No.’’ You swivelled your head to look him in the eye, voice low and face hard.

All you could see was Sherlock, so confident it was a natural prospect- standing there hollowed eyed as he rolled up the sleeves to his button down, you don't think you'd ever seen him do that before. Get himself messy. Your gaze was brutal yet expressionless, it was an impossible combination and he was too preoccupied to get into it now. For once, Sherlock didn't know what to say. The silence in the room was fattening up with every moment that passed.

‘’Why am I here Sherlock?’’ You asked him sincerely, inquisitively, eyes slightly tensing with every word.

He took a beat before he responded. ‘’Because I don't who you are. And I'm no where near close to figuring it out.’’

‘’You can't see what's right in front of you?’’ You tilted your head.

‘’No. I can't. Give faith to me.’’ Sherlock's eyes daren't waver from yours as he implored you to make him understand.

You paused for a moment, hoping your mouth, brain and heart will all catch up but they never did. Severely fucked didn't cover the half of it.

‘’What do you think of me now?’’ You asked softly, breath warm and frigid. You looked candid and earnest and Sherlock didn't know how to start on this impossible question.

How could he? He stood stoic as he stilled at your interrogation.

Sherlock watched your lips part as you tried to suck your exhales back in, your mouth was distracting him- losing focus with every millisecond and he felt his inhibitions leave him like the fast colours of the wind.

‘’I think you being here in front of me right now makes me feel destitute and defenseless.’’

‘’Good.’’ You stated simply, covertly proud of yourself- denying him the privilege of seeing you surprised, you didn't want to be predictable like everyone else.

‘’Good?’’ Sherlock was taken aback by your response. You thought it was a good thing to get him all teeming? He was practically losing his mind over you and you thought it was good?

It wasn't. His mind was his sanctuary, his palace, his temple and you were wrecking his entire worldview. Sherlock was irritated by your carefree exchange, your sheer untroubled attitude provoked him and part of his consciousness was begging to grab you and fuck you over the table to never even think of dismissing him like that again.

‘’You're delicate Sherlock, don't let me be the one to break you. Especially when we've only got one night left here. It's not worth it….is it?’’ Your voice was like velvet, smooth and slow like honey.

Sherlock creased his brow as you looked down upon him once more, he detested it and he felt his insides jump and churn at your disposition.

Sherlock? Breakable? Absolutely not. He wanted to show you, feel your skin and feel you shatter beneath him. Is it worth it? It'll end badly but he was too drunk off of you to jump into the events of the future and it's consequences. You were worth it. Yes. You were.

After letting the words settle into the air for a while, you got up with a sharp exhale and started trodding off back into your room. ‘’Goodnight.’’ You mumbled as you brushed passed him but Sherlock couldn't let you leave. He caught onto your arm with heavy lidded eyes and watched your face harden into a motionless blank, you gasped as he tugged you flush into him and to your surprise you let him. Shamelessly.

‘’It is. It is worth it. I haven't figured you out yet and I will. But for now, all I know is that you're a siren, hellbent on trying to disarm me and I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to take you. Right here. Right now.’’ Sherlock grunted as he leaned into your ear, his intonation alone sent a shiver through you and it echoed through your insides.

He was gruffer than you initially thought. Eyes bottomless and dim, a pit you could find yourself getting lost in over and over again. But this was the last night.

‘’Sherlock, I'm afraid you might be…shatterable and I don't want to be soft.’’ You warned him with a deviant look on your face.

He wanted to see what it looked like when he made you feel so good you drew blood from his back.

Sherlock had never had anyone questioning his durability before- it was… refreshing. A unique change of pace. His fingers danced on the outskirts of your neck as they slowly threaded through your hair, you let out a shaky breath as he cradled your head- his grasp tight.

‘’I never am.’’ He muttered as he captured your lips with his.

Kissing him was just brutal and magical, a brawl between mouths and the break of the bubbling tension that seemed to go on forever. He tasted...untouched. You felt so damn special, and only now you were willing to admit it. Sherlock's tongue delved into your mouth, exploring, seeking, probing for an inch- to step further into your psyche by feeling you physically. A million questions fell through his mind.

What the fuck was he thinking?

Why does it feel so wrong?

But feel so damn good?

Who were you?

Why were you making him feel so helpless?

So fucking beautiful...so fucking bewitching. It'll be his inevitable undoing. The cause of his violent destruction. You bit his lip and tugged it back before breathing out, thoughts running rampant at the speed of sound as his hold didn't loosen.

‘’Tell me you want me and I'll get on my knees for you. I just need to hear you say it.’’ Your eyes were glistening and dark, wicked and unforgiving- timeless and imploring him to say what you needed to hear, you didn't care if it was real or not.

All he did was just stare at you vacantly...yet intently. Thumb travelling to the smooth skin of your cheek and lower lip, brushing the magic that danced on your lips away in the process, making this dream all too real.

‘’Baby, you don't have to do that. You’ll get a taste of how much I want you. ’’ Sherlock cooed sincerely, face dipping to the column on your neck and your jaw, peppering soft kisses as a means of reassurance. Part of him wanted to make such slow sweet love to you, in a way a normal, banal, disgusting couple would do but you were so eager and ready to go- you didn't want him to be soft.

‘’Let me just feel you. I want to feel you. I think I've been torturing myself over it. Please.’’

You stared at him momentarily before your mouth devoured his again, your fingers carding through the tufts of soft black curls as tongues twisted together beautifully.

Sherlock started walking you to the dining table again, grabbing you by the waist and sitting you down on it as he stood inbetween your legs. You were almost embarrassed by the way you were pulsating and soaked already. Sherlock's curious and insatiable hands travelled the expanse of your back, smoothing out the silk that covered you and teased the straps of the babydoll too. He liked you in silk, it flattered you perfectly.

Sherlock's free hand outlined and palmed at your thighs, they were soft in the areas he didn't leave goosebumps- he smirked into your kiss at the idea he affected you so. You grasped his head so he could nip and suck at the high point of your tits, near your heart.

‘’I think I fancy you.’’ You breathed, tongue flinging out words you wouldn't be able to take back, already salivating at the prospect that he wants to fuck you.

The whole idea made Sherlock stop in his tracks, the sentence was jarring and so comforting- he somehow thought it was all in his head but you saying those words brought him to a halt. Oh, darling. If only you knew how bad you would both be for each other. Two entirely closed off people, so emotionally distant and incapable of being in a relationship. To provide further evidence, the first thing he caught about you was that every single relationship you had you would always be bad at it.

‘’Don't drool.’’ He demanded coldly, completely ignoring your admission of honesty. He'll deal with it later even though it commanded his emotions in the present.

Sherlock peeled the fabric off of you, pleased to find your bare and naked body beneath it. You perched yourself back as you watched him fawn over you, his large hands palming at your tits and travelling to the dip of your waist. He perked up to your incessant squirming when his head bent down and dipped to your heat, Lord you smelled so inviting.

You tried to bite back the moans he illicited out of you when he started kissing your skin, he was so close in the area you needed him to be but he was obviously enjoying drawing it out for you- almost as if he didn't want it to end. When his lithe muscle finally reached home, you were sure you saw stars as he ate you out like a man starved of a meal. Like a lion at any form of meat. He loved the way your back arched and the way you tugged onto his hair that much harder.

‘’Sherlock…You...I- I've wanted you so bad, it's clouded my clear thinking.’’ You admitted in a fucked out haze, his tongue making you feel so good it made you delve into all of your dirty secrets of him. You were afraid that you would admit that the night previous you fucked yourself with your fingers playing make pretend that it was him. Now it was really happening.

Sherlock stopped his ministrations and peered up at you, his lips glazed with your wetness, those blue eyes a light cast in the darkness. He was rather excited and that was apparent by the way his lips found yours again.

‘’You taste. So. Fucking. Sweet.’’ He grunted between rough kisses, so hard on your soft flesh you were sure he would draw blood if he would be so careless.

The idea piqued at you. Sherlock...careless. One day that'll happen. And you'll be right there when it does.

You tasted yourself off his tongue and you hated that he was right, all of these flavours coming together to form a patterned myraid. Sherlock swallowed your moans, those lewd noises he could never be able to phase or drown out, his need for you amplified tenfold.

He pushed you back down roughly before unzipping his pants and tugging his impossibly hard cock, you waited in expressionless awe your mouth open agape like a fool as you waited for him to just fuck the melancholy and mopiness out of you. Sherlock gazed at you intently, fixed on every jerk your body made when he stroked himself at the sight of you- his teeth sunk into his bottom lip when his brows furrowed.

He aligned himself with your glistening pussy with a kiss between the valley of your tits to your collarbone, you lifted his head up so you could take him in through all of his glory and when he pushed himself in you...it was as if it was only you and him left in the world.

It felt delectable. The push and pull. The strain. The delayed gratification. He slid in and out of you so easily, your bodies merging together as one as he set a brutal pace that only a person with a libido like him could create. You couldn't help but gawk up at him dumbly, what could you say? He got you all bendy and incoherent. All inarticulate and tongue tied.

‘’What is it baby? Can't think properly already?’’ Sherlock scrutinised but you couldn't care less- all you could think about was his constant pet names. He called you baby twice now, it made an unfamiliar feeling swell in your chest. You bit his lip again at his insult.

‘’Don't be so righteous. You can't figure me out, remember?’’You flirted and you were pleased to find that you caught him out.

‘’How proper of you.’’ He said gruffly, obviously annoyed that he still had to solve this puzzle of you, like a never ending equation that just couldn't be ammended. You felt your brain turn into mush and your body whirr as he just kept up his never ending torture: so fast, so good, so painful...perfect. Stretching you out entirely to accomodate his massive size, but he got you so wet it was an ease. Sherlock sensed the thrumming of your heart, it's pace kicking into a noticeable overdrive as sweat dripped down your body and pants encompassed the dim room. You were feeling shameful at the idea that he could make you cum this quickly and at this point you were sure anything else could set you off

You were proven to be right.

‘’Angel...’’ Sherlock cooed at you and the use of another pet name made you spiral into an endless pit of oblivion.

Your scream caught in your throat, so you let out a strangled cry for mercy instead as you came undone around him. Lungs caving as you gushed whatever energy you had left onto him, hands clawing at his back to make him realise the fate he set within you.

You came so hard around him Sherlock was struggling to fuck you through your orgasm; Christ, how long have you went without a fuck? How long has it been since you actually came? He didn't have it in him to figure out the logistics, all he was concerned with was how he felt the coil within him break. Sherlock let out a gutteral groan as he finished inside of you, completely and utterly spent and tweaked by how tired you got him; he pulled out of you and rolled himself off of you to lie beside you. Breathing heavy and laboured, like you'd just ran a marathon.

‘’Is this the part where we forget this ever happened?’’ You questioned him in an all too serious tone that Sherlock didn't like.

‘’Is that what you think?’’

‘’Am I an experiment, Sherlock?’’ You asked with no sense of humour playing at your words, not annoyed either just rational.

Sherlock stayed in a moment of brief silence, scared of not being able to say the right thing for once. He never really cared about it…until now.

‘’Answer the question.’’ Your tone was flatlined.

‘’No.’’ He stated plainly.

‘’I think I'm falling in love with you.’’

Sherlock was dumbfounded, he turned his head so he could stare at you after you said those words you would never be able to take back. You were falling for him? As he was for you? Blinded by nothing but cold relations to see that the warmth was right here all along...he frowned. He was afraid that he would disappoint you like all of the other relationships you had been in, he detested the idea of being banded in that same category. He was better. He wanted to be better. For you. You deserved to feel wanted. Was that worth his sanity though? Sherlock swivelled and grabbed your face to make you look him in the eyes, he stroked your cheek as a form of tenderness. Your eyes were guileless and the reaction you drew out of him was pitiful.

‘’You're so...inconceivable. When I look at you, I see heaven incarnate and I don't think I'm going to be able to live up to your expectations.’’ Sherlock said under his breath, thumb grazing your lips as he stared at them parting.

‘’I think you’ve finally figured me out.’’

[topsyturvy-turtely]

Let Me Fix You (Johnlock OS)

for the one and only @safedistancefrombeingsmart <3

“Fuck! I mean- shite! Oh, bloody hell!” John watched as that asshole run away, clutching the knife wound he had left on him. “Jesus Christ. I hate you.”

“John! Why are you- Did you get hurt?”, Sherlock came running towards him.

“No, I am cursing because it is fucking funny. Of course, I am hurt, you bloody-“, John bit his tongue. “He barely missed my scar.”, he added, more quietly.

There was actual concern shining in Sherlock’s eyes. “How bad is it? Let me loo-“

“I am fine!”, John turned his body away in a quick movement. It hurt. He gritted his teeth and pushed air out through them. It made a funny noise, almost like a whistle. “Let’s just get home.” John already walked back out on the brighter lit main street.

“Don’t you think we should call a doctor-“

“I am a fucking doctor!”

“But John-“

“I am goddamn fine fucking enough, okay. Now just do your-”, John let go of his wound to wave vaguely with his good arm in the air. “Thing and get us a bloody cab.” John talked- yelled too loudly, too aggressively. But he didn’t care right now. He was pretty sure he wasn’t even cut that badly. But he was pissed as hell and the asshole stabbing him got away and there was no one else around to yell at. So his flatmate would just have to endure it. John had gone through worse with him.

When Sherlock stared a bit too long at him, John grunted. Immediately Sherlock moved to get them a cab.

(keep reading = link to ao3 and funfacts)

---

title: Let Me Fix You

fandom: Sherlock (TV)

words: 1,932

summary: John gets injured during a case. He is pissed as hell. And determined he will stitch himself up. It's not his fault he forgot that Sherlock actually cares about him.

additional tags:

Whump, John Whump, John Watson Whump, POV Third Person, Hurt John Watson, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, and takes care of him, Angry John Watson, Worried Sherlock, Angst, okay probably not actually angst lol, Hurt/Comfort, maybe?, bro idk, doctors are the worst patients, John is a living example for that, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, I take no responsibility for medical accuarcy, You Have Been Warned, DO NOT COPY TO ANOTHER SITE OR APP, Light Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones

---

tagging list (tell me if you wanna be added or removed💚) @catlock-holmes @justanobsessedpan @helloliriels @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @so-youre-unattached-like-me @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @pansherlock @the-smol-bean-libby-blog @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @captaincrucnh @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee @baker-street-blog @quickslvxr @macgyvershe @myladylyssa @johnlock2708 @battledress @a-victorian-girl @dreamerofthemeadow @oetkb12 @ohnoesnotagain @mutedsilence @muddboi

[alexendria-rose]

Who are you?~

Stephen Strange x Reader!Stark

Warnings: smut, baby girl nickname, dominate Stephen, age gap (20 ish years) cussing, choking.

Stephen sat by the bar a martini in his hand regretting telling Tony Stark that he would make it to yet another victory party- even though Stephen was pretty sure it was just an excuse for Tony to have another party. With the mission they all had; it was probably a good idea on Tony’s part to release some tension that was weighed on their shoulders from the mission.

“Hey pretty boy- do you want more of that drink?” Natasha said with a soft laugh as she leaned across the bar counter. Stephen rolled his eyes but a smile placed on his face.

“You know I could just refill it myself.” He commented a slight cocky look on his face- Nat just rolled her eyes.

“Hey im being nice to you- don’t be cocky mr magic.” She laughs taking his cup and refilling his martini drink. She handed to him and he did a quiet thank you. His eyes snapped towards a young woman in a black dress- who laughed loudly at what Thor was saying to her; most likely trying to impress the young girl. Stephen almost dropped his drink when she caught his eyes. Why hasn’t he seen her before? She was gorgeous, h/l h/c hair and when she looked around he caught the color of her eyes. They were so bright and full of youth and life. Natasha notices this laughing lightly.

“Ah so you’ve finally caught your eye on her?” Natasha says titling her head at the sorcerer seeing the way he didn’t want to remove his eyes from her. He looks back mouth slightly open before clearing his throat.

“Who is that?” He questions rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. Nat just smiles knowing exactly who she was but wanted to see how this would play out.

“Why don’t you go see.” She hummed before turning around to prepare more drinks for the guests. Stephen had a cocky smile on his face before doing exactly what Natasha had suggested. He straightened his suit before walking over to the mystery girl.

“And that’s why I can be the only whom can hold the hammer!” Thor boomed loudly as she laughed at how loud and energetic Thor could be.

“So you have to be worthy? So if it’s on an elevator- does that mean the elevator is worthy?” she cocked her head to the side- her gaze pure and full of interest.

“You’re very funny Lady- Oh Mr. Wizard!” Thor exclaims looking at Stephen who was behind her ready to go up to introduce himself. She turns around to face the sorcerer smiling from ear to ear.

“Oh hi.” She chuckles bringing up her martini up to her lips. Stephen swore his breath caught in his throat when he saw her up close- she was stunning.

“Hi. My name is Doctor Stephen Strange.” He said bringing his hand out- she giggled before taking his hand giving it a firm shake.

“I knew that already but hi.”

“So you’re not going to tell your name?” He chuckles bringing his hand back away from her touch suddenly missing the feeling of warmth.

“I’m afraid if I tell you Doctor- you’ll run away and I don’t know about you but I don’t want you too.” She smirked- ah so a flirt she was. Stephen grinned leaning against the wall closest to them.

“Oh? Is that so?” He sipped on his drink as he looked at her- she couldn’t be more than 23 years old. Young- maybe a little too young for him but god was she the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen. “I think I can handle it.” He hummed. She walked closer to him tilting her head.

“No- I don’t really think you could Doctor Strange.” She smiled softly poking his chest. “Have a great night.” She winked at him before walking away from the sorcerer. Stephen watched as she walked away- her hips swaying. She knew she was a tease, she knew that Stephen strange was completely attracted to her. Only if he knew she loved to play games.

Stephen rubbed his forehead with his fingers as he looked up at Tony explaining their next mission. That’s when she walked in. The mystery girl from the party.

“Aye there’s my girl.” Tony smiles softly. She smiles widely giving Tony a side hug- her eyes landing on Stephen.

“Hey Y/n.” Natasha smirks looking between the two knowing Stephen had no idea yet and that made it much more entertaining.

“So y/n is your name?” Stephen smirks leaning back on the god awful office chair. Y/n smiles softly looking at Tony- who was glaring daggers towards Stephen.

“How do you know my daughter doctor?” Tony asked as he crossed his arms his gazing never leaving Stephen. Stephen almost choked- eyes wide as Natasha sat there giggling like a maniac. Y/n bit her lip nervously watching Stephen’s reaction.

“I met him at the party dad- don’t worry about it.” She said flicking her dad’s nose a smile on her face- that made Stephen basically swoon.

“So you’re Y/n Stark?” Stephen whispered rubbing his gotee mentally face palming himself. He flirted with Tony’s daughter- god she must be so young then. Tony kept his gaze on Stephen.

“Stay. Away.” Tony groaned. Stephen smirked lightly moving his gaze from Tony back to Y/n as she used that little flirt smile; basically begging him to not stay away.

“I’ll see you guys later.” Y/n grins walking away from the meeting. Stephen heart thumping against his chest as he watched her walk away.

“No- don’t think about it.” Tony warned pointing a finger towards Stephen. “She is 23 years old-“

“So why isn’t that I didn’t know you had a daughter Tony?” Stephen laughed leaning against the chair crossing his arms.

“Because- I like to keep her safe and away from public eye.” Tony grumbled. Stephen hummed smirking a bit. “Now stay away!” Stephen tried to… he really did.

And there she was again- he’s bumped into her everywhere now. The kitchen, in the training room, anywhere and everywhere. He watched as she read in the common room, her knees curled up to her chest- as she let the tv roll with a random show as a background noise. He knew it was creepy to watch but she looked so peaceful. He kept hearing Tony’s voice- “stay away” but god was it so hard. She was beautiful and brought a certain light in the room. He watched as she slowly chewed the bottom of her lip- reading glasses framing her face, a messy bun on top of her head. Stephen needed to talk to her- instead of small talk it was driving him crazy. He ran a hand through his hair before walking up to her on the couch.

“Must be interesting whatever you’re reading.” He mutters lightly. She looks up from her book a small smile on her face.

“I mean it is Harry Potter- of course it is.” She giggled placing her book down on her lap. “I mean you would know about wizards huh? Did you come from Hogwarts?” She jokes- she was a lot like her father.

“Haha-“ he laughs sarcastically sitting himself down on the couch before looking at her. “I’m a sorcerer by the way- not a wizard.”

“That’s not what my dad says. I’m pretty sure you’re a wizard.” She smirked tilting her head in a cocky way that made Stephen’s heart thump.

“Does it look like I have a wand?” He joked back at her- she just laughed lightly rolling her eyes moving herself dangerously close to him.

“I don’t know. Do you?” She flirted batting her eyelashes- she knew she was cute, she knew she was a flirt and she used that to her advantage when it came to Stephen strange. Stephen looked at her when she moved herself closer to him- her batty lashes and pouty lips.

“You know you’re a flirt don’t you?” He chuckled lightly his face moving dangerously close to hers-

“Only with you- I told you, you’d run when you found my name.” She smirked moving her head away from his- Stephen let out the breath he was holding noticing the small smirk on her lips. He knew she was playing a very dangerous game. He looked around his surroundings to notice no one was in fact here- he decided to take a very dangerous step, that could end up getting him killed by Tony but god she was all he could think about. He grabs her chin moving her head closer to his- his eyes flickering from her eyes to her lips.

“I didn’t run.” He mutters softly- smirking lightly seeing the blush that covered her cute face. He brings his face closer rubbing his nose against hers- her eyes fluttering close as his breath hits her soft lips. “I can tease too, you know.” He grinned letting go of her chin pulling his head away noticing the slight whimper and pout escaping her lips and face.

“No- you cannot get to do that and walk away.” She huffs standing up from the couch her arms crossed as she stared down at him. Stephen laughs lightly standing up to tower over her.

“You’re cute when you get mad.” Stephen chuckles deeply winking at her before walking away- he could hear her huff and plop back down on the couch.

Stephen was determined to make Y/n stark blush, and wanting to more. They hung out all the time- of course when everyone was asleep. They would talk and flirt but most importantly he got to actually know the young stark- he found out she loves reading, and quite like her father; sassy, witty, silver tongue. He was enjoying her presents more and more. Dare to say he was actually falling for her.

Stephen groaned again as he was at ANOTHER party of Tony starks- it wasn’t even a celebration. It was just a party because Tony got bored. Stephen smiled as he watched Y/n wearing a red mini dress trying her absolute best to get Stephen’s attention and god it was working. He sipped on his martini as he stared at her talking to Wanda- she kept glancing at Stephen behind her shoulder the red lipped smirk aimed at him, and every time she looked at him she would bit her lower lip in such a seductive way. She was waiting for him to break- and he was so close to. Stephen chewed the inside of his cheek before setting his glass down and marching over to her. He slyly wrapped an arm around her waist giving Wanda an apologetic smile.

“Wanda- May I borrow y/n?” Stephen asked- y/n eyes wide as she looked up at Stephen her head tilting in confusion. Wanda laughs waving her hand.

“Please do- she can’t stop looking at you anyhow.” Wanda sipping her wine. Stephen laughed lightly before guiding Y/n away from the party and into a secluded area- the idea of secluded area was the furthest bathroom away from the party. He brought her inside closing the door behind them before slamming her against the door. His look was full of lust- the teasing was too much for him at this point. Her eyes widen when he pushed her against the door. His hand on her lower stomach and his other on her cheek- his face was close to hers. He watched as she bit her lower lip nervously but a small smirk wanted to escape.

“Ah so you’re breaking huh?” She giggled lightly moving her leg in between his thighs, rubbing her foot up and down his leg. Stephen breath hitched moving his hand to place on the wall besides her head.

“You know I can show you what I do to naughty girls.” He purred lightly his heart beating against his chest not believing his own words that fell out of his mouth.

“Me naughty no-“ Stephen smashed his lips against hers before she can come back with a sarcastic and bratty comment. She almost gasped loudly at the contact but instead she decided to move her hands to his hair gripping onto it like her life depended on it. He groaned into the kiss his hands moving down to her waist gripping tightly which made a quick squeak escape her lips. He pulled back before immediately attacking her neck creating small love bites on her neck and making his way down to her chest. She moaned tugging on his hair roughly. “I want to go slow… but I cannot wait- don’t want people to be suspicious now do we?” He mumbled against her skin before turning her around to face the wall a gasp escaping her lips.

“N-No I guess not.” She whimpered, he chuckled deeply his hands on her hip. He ran his hand up and down her bare legs.

“Was this short dress for me love?” He smirked in cocky way. She chewed on her bottom lip at the way he caressed her legs, moving his hand between her thighs getting dangerously close.

“Maybe…” she squeaked. He just chuckled darkly before hitching up the dress to show her lacey black underwear.

“Oh my darling- as much as I love these. They need to be gone.” He growled before ripping off her underwear- which caused her to gasp loudly when he did so. The pool between her legs starting to become even more wet- if that was possible. “Look at you dripping for me darling girl.” He cooed. She blushed deeply trying to close her legs but he immediately kicked them apart. “No, keep them spread.” He purred- she heard the sound of him unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants which made her mouth go dry. She didn’t have much time to think as he shoved his hard cock inside of her tight pussy. She moaned loudly her hands going in front of her on the door to support herself.

“Fuck!” She shouted- Stephen chuckled gripping onto her hips as slowly moved himself in and out of trying to get to adjust to his size- her pussy was delightful was warm, tight and delicious.

“Baby girl- you are the most delightful thing I’ve ever had.” He groaned. “Think you’re fully ready for me?”

“D-Don’t hold back. N-need.” She stuttered gasping at every thrust- he was hitting her g-spot just right; everytime he would pull back slowly and then push himself inside of her just right. It made her mouth just water at the way he knew what he was doing. Both of their heads snapped when the door knob started turning. “Someone’s in-“ Stephen chuckles quietly before thrusting himself harder in her. “H-here!” She looked back and shot him a glare at his cocky face. He was loving this.

“Oh I’m sorry lady y/n! We were just looking for you!” Thors voice booms through the door. Y/n hitched a breath when Stephen started increasing his pace- that same cocky look on his face. She tried to calm down her uncontrollable breathing, trying not to slur out profanities and moans.

“N-No it’s okay! I’ll b-be out soon!” She was able to gasp out but it wasn’t helping that Stephen moved one of his hands to massage her very sensitive breast over her dress.

“Are you okay in there lady y/n?” Thor asks in concern. Y/n felt the tears threatening to come out of her eye pocket- not out of pain no out of pure pleasure. Stephen moved his hand to push the hair out of the way of her neck to place gentle kisses as he continued to pound into her his grip on her hip never leaving.

“I’m fine! I’ll be out soon Thor! Please!” She exclaimed her hand on the door scratching lightly throwing her head back- making Stephen wrap his hand around her neck.

“Alright alright- I’ll tell your father that you’ll be out there soon.” Thor laughs- she hears his footsteps walk away. Stephen laughed a bit gripping her neck more.

“Good girl.” He cooed making her pussy tighten around his hard cock making him grunt in the process. “Now sweetheart we’ve gotta make this fast- prepare yourself.” She nods not being able to make any sentences- but moan. He moved his hand down back to her hips; before forcing her hips to hit more into him. He rocked his hips against her- her moans sounded like pure bliss in his ears. The sound of skin and skin smacking together. He threw his head back grunting and moaning feeling himself close to the edge; and he knew she was too- with the way she was clenching around him.

“Fuck Stephen. I’m so close please.” She moaned out. Stephen grinned moving his head down to her ear kissing and nibbling her ear gently.

“Cum for me baby girl.” He mutters- as soon as those words escaped his lips. She screamed loudly her juices cumming around his cock. He smirked before going faster getting him closer to his edge. He gasped loudly before spilling his seed inside of her(god he hoped she was on the pill or something) he lazily placed his head on her back finishing himself out. He pulls out of her groaning at the loss of contact. He watched as his seed dripped down her leg- with the swish of his hand he removed and cleaned the seed off of her. She turned around to face him- her face flushed as she fixed her hair.

“You lost.” She hummed- he chuckled lightly placing his hand on her cheek before placing a soft peck on her lips.

“And I’ll lose a 1000 times over if it means that I get to do that as many times as I can.�� He muttered. She giggled lightly picking up her underwear from the ground. He started fixing himself up- buckling his pants back on.

“If you’re cool with it- I never want this to stop.” She flirted before shoving her underwear in his pocket. “Now we should get back huh?” Stephen smiled lightly tracing her lips with his thumb.

“I was hoping you would say that; but yes we should probably get back.” He laughed gently- she giggled as well before opening up the door.

“Wait for a bit and then come out.” She said turning to look back at him. He nods smacking her ass in the process.

“So commanding my love.” She rolled her eyes before leaving Stephen alone in the bathroom. She walked back into the party- still seeing everyone was here. Tony looked over at his daughter- he walked over to her a drink in his hand.

“Where were you?” He asked titling his head at her -sipping his drink. She tried not to blush, and bit her bottom lip.

“Bathroom.” She muttered trying to turn away from him. Tony scrunched his eyebrows grabbing his daughter’s wrist pulling her back and when he did she saw the hickeys on her neck- more like covered all over her neck.

“Who the flying f put that on your neck!” Tony roared eyes widen- thinking of his daughter that way made him internally angry and mad. Y/n tried to look in his eye-line but then mentally face palmed herself. Fuck. Stephen soon shortly came walking in the same direction she had which had Tony look over. His face was red- when the dots connected. “Stephen Strange!”

Uh this was not going to be a fun conversation for any of them.

Let me know what you think! You dirty little hoes 🫡🥰

[star-girl-05]

Eventful

Jim Moriarty x Reader

~★~❤︎~✦~

You run your hands over his suit jacket smoothing out non-existing wrinkles. He watches your movements focusing on the way your fingers barely graze his tie before straightening it. You eye him up and down, a smile forming on your face seemingly satisfied with your work. “There you go darling now you’ll be perfect for your little date” He places a sweet kiss to your lips, saying a quick thank you before heading to the car waiting for him. “That Sherlock stands no chance with you in that suit” he chuckles at the comment but doesn’t disagree. 

When Jim comes back from his ‘Date’ with Sherlock he’s buzzing. A joyous smile on his face as he practically skips over to you. “Helloooo, Love” he calls out, placing a kiss on your cheek. You chuckle, a smile forming of your own. 

“I take it went well”

“It was splendid you should have seen his face he was like,” he immediately started mimicking Sherlock's face albeit dramatically. This is just one of the many things you love about Jim. He’s so animated when he talks. You have never met anyone like Jim Moriaty and you doubt you ever will.  “Not only did I get to mess with Sherlock, I got a call about a potential business deal, overall it’s been quite the evening” 

“You know an eventful evening should end with an eventful night” Jim’s smile seems to get larger (If that's possible).

“My, My it must be my lucky day” You grab his face planting a deep kiss on his lips. 

“Won’t you join me in the bedroom, Moriaty” His skin prickles at the way you say his name. How could he ever decline such a lovely offer? You grab his hand hastily leading him to the bedroom.

You're shoving the bedroom door open while grabbing Jim's face. Kissing him with so much fever. He returns the passion, slipping off his jacket. By the time you make it to the bed his top is completely unbuttoned and yours is discarded on the floor. 

The two of you fell to the bed, not wanting any space between the two of you. That's how you spent the rest of the night eliciting moans and groans from each other and thoroughly marking every inch of skin on the other.