#sherlock x gn reader

[just-a-strange-boy]

experimenting for friends

part 2 - hair-pulling

part 1

Sherlock Holmes is a man prone to addiction. In means of trying to finally set an end to his substance abuse by finding something equally stimulating, he is eager to do his share of research - and of course, it's your help he's requesting. Another experiment entails.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader (GN)

Warnings: 18+ (Minors DNI), mentions of drug abuse/addiction, mentions of relapse, penetrative sex, mentions inexperienced/virgin Sherlock, questionable sexual favours, fwb (?)

A/N: this is definitely not how you (should) treat substance abuse, but hey... it's Sherlock

"I have a request."

You were just sorting through some paperwork, a whole clutter of important documents you figured he should keep, neatly organizing them in binders and folders, something Sherlock thought was too mundane and boring to do, when the detective came to approach you, downright startling you with one of his spontaneous verbal outbursts.

"Fire away", you had said, looking up from the piles of paper to find him standing in the doorway, hoping that he wasn't just going to ask for another walk so he could have yet another cigarette. You'd managed to get him down to three a day, which was a huge success, considering he had only relapsed recently, heavily abusing substances far worse than nicotine. It had been your agreement from the get go – you'd turn a blind eye to Sherlock smoking a limited amount of cigarettes as long as he stopped using otherwise.

However, it wasn't a cigarette he was asking for.

"Obviously my desire for substances mostly stems from how they affect the release of chemicals within my brain, chemicals that stimulate and influence the way I process my thoughts. They minimize the often overwhelming sensations I experience and are inhibiting my natural urge to deduce everything. They manage to calm my mind, a rather positive effect, which is why I have always relied on getting high if I needed a moment of peace. Can you follow me?"

Sherlock was speaking as rapidly as you were used to, not even allowing you the slightest opportunity of uttering a single word, "Of course you can follow me. You're not an idiot. I know you've done your research and I explained it to you plenty. My point is that I have been researching with the intention of finding something that will have a similar positive effect, in order to...not having to use."

"Let me guess", you replied with a sigh, processing what he was telling you, figuring quickly why he came forward with a request, "You're suggesting another experiment that I will have to be part of? To research and find out whether any theory you have might be correct?"

The detective nodded, striding over until he was standing next to the table, gaze drifting over what you were currently sorting, before giving it a dismissive look and focusing back on you.

"Yes. Exactly. I knew you would get it. I have... reconsidered that time when we... um...uh", he began almost awkwardly, all the sudden stuttering in a way very unlike him, "...when you touched me and when we were close... I felt good. In a way that might be comparable to a high. But I need to figure out what kind of effects it has on me from an analytical point of view to make sure I am right about my assumption."

So very clearly, Sherlock was suggesting you gave him another sexual favour – like once before in an experimental setting, needing to gather 'information' before he could confirm his assumption.

You had no doubt that a sexual high could be comparable to a drug high in some way – you wouldn't know though – and you would have liked to help him, but also considered it risky.

As much as you would have wanted him to find something, anything, to stop him from using ever again, you didn't know whether that would be the right way.

Leading Sherlock to another kind of addiction was risky, considering he was definitely prone to developing them, may it be his evident addiction to the thrill of his work, trying to keep up with and challenge the dangerous minds of criminals, or the substance abuse itself.

Besides that, you didn't want to put your friendship at risk and you were also not going to be some object for Sherlock to figure out whether sex could make him feel similar as a high on drugs.

The man sensed your initial reluctance, continuing his lengthy explanations, so typically like him, so casually like only Sherlock could as he seemed to have found his grip again.

"But at the same time I know it wouldn't be fair of me to continue requesting those things for my own gain. You are your own person and I would never try to guilt-trip you into something that could possibly set an end to my habitual substance abuse. I am very aware that I am the one owing you a favour for your help in the first place. I do not want to further strain our friendship with my demands, but I need you to know that... if I can share and research this with anyone, I would want it to be you."

You sighed. It was ridiculous. Ridiculous that you were even considering this in the first place.

Could you have refused Sherlock? Possibly. That's what you should have done anyway.

Did you want to refuse him? Certainly not.

Last time you had decided to work on an experiment with him, you had gotten to see a very different side of Sherlock, soft and submissive and gorgeous. You had kissed him, touched him, not to mention you had absolutely jerked him off too. You had praised and cherished him. Sherlock had sounded wonderful, looked beautiful, so raw and open and honest – you had definitely not forgotten the sight. And yes, you might have masturbated to the memory itself too.

The instance had been hard to forget.

But ever since then nothing else had happened between you two. For good reasons.

Sure, you had sought out his presence like you usually did. You were friends, comfortable around each other, spend time with one another, though Sherlock wasn't necessarily an affectionate person. He didn't hug, didn't cuddle. He certainly wasn't interested in being anything but friends.

So you had figured that first time was just going to be a one time thing, just an experiment for research, and tried your hardest to get over the fact that Sherlock didn't harvest feelings for you other than appreciation for the friendship you offered. Romantic and sexual attraction were a rarity for him, so you knew, and you had never pretended you might be the exception.

Nevertheless you couldn't help your own feelings. You liked Sherlock a lot.

It pained you to see the detective on edge and all sombre, to see him lost in drug addiction and throwing himself into dangerous case work, just to escape from his own mind for a moment. You hated to see him hurt and so bloody lonely.

Of course it also made your heart ache to know you were nothing more than a friend to Sherlock, so you should have been wiser, refusing to partake in the experiment, because you indeed weren't some test subject and this was a recipe for disaster, something that would likely hurt you and potentially harm him in the end – which you did not want.

But the idea of being close to him again, of being able to potentially help Sherlock get his mind off the drugs, to ensure he would be feeling good and okay, even if just for a little while. You couldn't quite escape your own track of thoughts, your own wants, your own conviction that you might the person meant to save Sherlock Holmes from himself.

"Do you want me to... uhh... you know?", you asked, followed by a very specific hand gesture, unable to ignore the certain awkwardness, you sitting there, Sherlock standing there, a mess of case and paper work all around, as you kept looking at each other.

There was no distinct expression on the detective's face save for slight expectation and a bit of redness on his cheeks, blushing as you suggested giving him another handjob.

"I have not determined any specifics", Sherlock admitted to you, though not in refusing, "Meaning... I don't know what I would want, what would work. The things you offered me last time have had a positive effect on me. I know that I want to be close to you. I don't know what would suffice."

You contemplated, gnawing on your lips like you always did when you were a bit nervous, breaking his gaze for a moment as your glance fleeted over the table, even though your head was undeniably full of Sherlock.

You were both only human. While the detective craved something to ease his mind, you craved the physical intimacy and emotional connection to him. Neither of you should have taken use of the other, but since you were both consenting adults, you allowed yourself to be weak and stupid.

"We'll try to figure it out then", you agreed, "Let me finish this first?"

"Of course", Sherlock nodded, "Don't be too long, Mrs Hudson has invited us downstairs for dinner and I was suggesting we watch an episode of that ridiculous show you like afterwards. Before we... um... do anything?"

Evident surprise must have crossed your face and for a moment you had a hard time searching for the right words, not knowing what to think. It was kind of him to suggest, almost domestic.

Of course, having dinner at Mrs Hudson's wouldn't be like dinner at an actual restaurant, but Sherlock didn't want to go anywhere public in his current state of body and mind, so soon after his relapse. His landlady made impeccable food and she was even went out of her way to make it for the two of you, so you were amenable.

"Yes to dinner. We don't have to necessarily watch the show though", was all you replied, "You'd never be able to shut your mouth during the episode anyway, making comments about it the entire time. That's why we never watch TV together, Sherlock.”

"I comment on everything and you usually don't seem to mind", Sherlock stated and the slightest sign of a smile snook onto his lips.

And you smiled right back at him, not needing to have the last word and returning to your paperwork, while Sherlock continued his usual pacing and casework.

Needless to say, any attempt of continuing this work was useless anyway, since you were entirely incapable of focusing on the stack of files before you, unable to shrug off your nervousness as your thoughts went spiralling about what you had just agreed on.

You eventually came to the conclusion, while you were brooding over payment checks from clients, this might actually make for a nice time together.

Having dinner with Mrs Hudson was nothing unusual for you two and always made for an enjoyable time. Sharing a bed wouldn't be weird, as you had done so before, if only for a couple of danger nights, with a distance appropriate for friends between you.

What was appropriate for friends by definition anyway? Hadn't that line already been crossed by the one sexual favour you had given him? If you followed through with this today, closing that distance between you once again and going even further than last time, every possible line you could think of was going to be blurred forever.

It was very hard to not think about the possibilities, not the consequences, but how far Sherlock would be willing to go with you, what he would allow and ask for.

You wondered whether Sherlock would want to kiss you again, whether he would want to give as much as receive, whether you would actually have sex and how it was going to be, whether he would ask you to stay afterwards and share the bed with you.

Even thinking about what your evening would entail made you a little nervous.

Thus you were more than grateful for having dinner beforehand, considering it was so much easier to keep your doubts at bay and just stop thinking so damn much as Mrs Hudson was bustling around the two of you. She was as chatty as always, kept you entertained with stories from her past and her good food was a welcome distraction. Once again, she expressed her gratitude over you getting Sherlock back on his feet and voiced how glad she was that her tenant was doing much better with your assistance, going on about how happy she was he had found an actual friend, even though she still heavily insinuated your romantic involvement with each other.

You neither denied nor confirmed the idea in the moment, finding it rather amusing how flustered Sherlock got at the mention, though not bothering to say a word about it either, and after helping Mrs Hudson with the dishes, the two of you eventually headed upstairs together again.

It was fair that she had her suspicions. Probably many people had.

After that last experiment and tonight, rightfully so.

You ended up taking turns in the bathroom.

Admittedly, you were more anxious than expected while in the shower, scrubbing yourself clean everywhere, not knowing what to expect, what you were going to do, if Sherlock would even want to touch your body or if he just required you to touch him – and you were just as nervous while Sherlock was in the shower, sitting on the bed, fidgeting with your glasses, scrolling mindlessly through your phone as you kept thinking about what you wanted the man to do to you and more so how you were planning on bringing him pleasure.

If he'd let you.

You had dressed down to what you usually wore to bed, a loose t-shirt and sweatpants, being so bold as to forgo underwear altogether, curious how Sherlock would react to such a clear proposal, if he took note of it at all. Glasses still perched atop your nose, you turned your head when you heard the door to the bathroom open again, eyes following Sherlock as he came back out to join you on the bed, shrugging off his housecoat to reveal his choice of pyjamas, not so different from what you had decided on wearing.

"So, what did you have on your mind?", you dared to ask again, courageously, placing your phone on the bedside table, before turning further to Sherlock, who was now just sitting there, right next to you, neither seeming expectant nor nervous by any means, "I know you said specifics weren't clear, but I'm sure you have a fair amount of imagination."

"That is correct", the detective agreed, "I came to the conclusion that perhaps it would be wise to... begin like we did last time."

You shot him a smile. "So, you'd like to kiss me?", you asked, arching your eyebrows at him, hoping that Sherlock would take the bait and just go for it. There was nothing he could've done wrong. The thought of getting to kiss him again made you awfully excited.

"I'd like you to kiss me, yes." Though seeming slightly reluctant and reserved, his words were clear. He wanted you to kiss him.

And you definitely were going to kiss him, but most importantly you wanted to give it time. There was no need to rush and hopefully, neither of you were going anywhere any time soon.

So you reached out and grabbed Sherlock's hand. Instead of climbing him like a tree and slipping onto his lap right away, kissing him like your life depended on it, you were deciding for the two of you to take this slow, beginning with something as simple and innocent as touch.

Perhaps this would allow Sherlock to gather information better, how he responded to affection, how he responded to you initiating, how the simplest things would influence him or perhaps how they wouldn't. Whether it would leave him hungry for more, driving him mad with anticipation, or whether it wouldn't do anything for him at all.

This was an experiment after all. Might as well just do some experimenting.

You slotted your fingers together, marvelling how your hand fit into his so smoothly, so perfectly, and pulled them apart again, letting your fingertips dance over the expanse of his hand, tracing those long, skilled fingers with simple fascination. Fingers you had watched so often, whether it was them dancing over the fret of his violin, preparing samples for his microscope, picking up evidence at a crime scene. Wonderful and careful hands.

Eventually linking them into one another again, you gave his hand a gentle squeeze and looked at him, finding him glancing back at you. Of course you tried to read Sherlock's expression right away. There was some curiosity, he seemed attentive and receptive, the grip of his hand tightening instinctively, a response. He was just looking at you, observing, perhaps contemplating.

Your own heart was beating a little faster, sensations heightened by the sheer intimacy of the moment, time seemingly standing still all around you, so you couldn't exactly pinpoint the moment when you decided to move further. Perhaps it was the synapses in your brain finally snapping, perhaps it was just the need to break the tension that had come up between the two of you, perhaps it was a mutual silent agreement to do this all of the sudden.

Whatever it was, you leant into Sherlock, who met you halfway, pressing your lips together, responding to one another immediately.

As your mouths slotted together, a rather gentle brush of lips at first, you could feel how the grip on your hand was instinctively tightening, holding onto you more, in fear you might be slipping away any second again. But you certainly did not, would not, wrapped up in Sherlock's taste and warmth and his smell, licking along the seam of his lips, sliding your tongues together as he let you claim his mouth, as you let him explore.

You didn't know what had gotten you so hungry all of the sudden, but you knew you needed more of Sherlock. Speaking of addiction. So you decided to get more of him, who seemed compliant to your every move, absorbing every little bit, every touch, you allowed him.

Even those moments apart, when both of you had to catch your breaths, small gasps of air between you, he was quiet and observant. He let you shift around, slipping onto his lap again, greeting you with another sweet kiss after having you perched on his thighs.

Reaching up, you gently cupped Sherlock's face in your hands, tracing his jawline, those high cheekbones, before sliding them all the way up into his dark curls, tugging on his hair.

The reaction was imminent, the kiss broken immediately, a groan slipping from Sherlock's mouth, leaving the two of you a bit startled at the sudden response.

"I need you to do the exact thing again", the detective requested then, his tone demanding and firm, before smacking your mouths together again, a kiss hot and downright desperate for more, and you gladly obliged, fingers tangled in his locks, giving them another pull, which caused a reaction not so different from the first time.

Apparently praising wasn't the only thing that got Sherlock going.

So you continued your eager advances, seeing how far you could take this, brushing through his curls before gently tugging on them again, letting Sherlock's moan break the kiss, tilting his head back by his hair and baring his throat.

"How are you doing this?", the man groaned, almost hissed when you began mouthing at his neck, "I don't understand how you can have this effect on me."

But there was no explanation you could have possibly given him. Perhaps you just clicked with Sherlock and that was why.

You only knew how addicted you already were, how you couldn't get enough of the man's taste, the warmth of his body, the sweet noises from his throat and the thought that perhaps he really wanted you too.

Making sure to not bruise the skin, you kept nipping at the expanse of his throat, pulling on his hair times and times again, dragging more moans out of him. Your name passed his lips after a while, the softest sound, then a "Can we stop for a moment?"

Raising you head again to look at Sherlock – a delectable sight, slight blush on his cheek, lips swollen red from kissing, pupils dilated with need, a dreamy expression on his face – and waited for however long was necessary.

"Are you okay, Sherl?", you asked immediately, hoping you hadn't made him uncomfortable.

Apparently he just wanted to elaborate though.

"I am more than okay. I just need to tell you something", Sherlock replied, holding onto you by your hips, a steady grip, "As you have... um... figured, I respond quite heavily to your advances. I am puzzled by the effect you have on me, because I was always very convinced that I simply was not interested in things of a more physical nature. But you keep kissing and touching me and I'm not entirely sure what it means that my body reacts like this."

Quite passively, you continued to stroke the back of his head, listening to him as attentively as you could, trying to ignore your own arousal. You were going to work through this with Sherlock, not questioning his worries or uncertainty for a single moment, allowing him to take the time he needed in order to understand himself and what he wanted and most of all, why he did.

Of course, you had wondered before and you were still asking yourself the same question now. Had Sherlock even had sex with anyone ever? Everything about his words and his behaviour was indicating he hadn't. But he didn't seem to be all too nervous, instead content and collected.

Maybe you were even more nervous than him.

"You're turned on, if I had to guess. Which I find really flattering. And it's more than okay that you're feeling like this. I want you to enjoy this experience, so please don't let the unknown hold you back", you advised with a soft smile, "I like you, Sherlock. I enjoy being around you and doing this with you... it turns me on too."

"You know I don't experience and approach things like most would do. Sex has never been the focus of my interest, so I... I have never done this. I have done research, but I'm not going to know exactly what to do", Sherlock admitted, eyes flicking over your face, the look of consideration, as if he were searching for the right words, "You're... absolutely endearing. It's nice to have you around and I trust you. And I want to do this with you."

"So do I", you responded, unable to stop the smile slipping to your lips, thinking it was lovely how Sherlock entrusted you with his mind and body, how he wanted to share this moment with you and no one else. "We can sure figure out what you like best", you added, "Would you want me to take the lead?"

The man seemed to consider your question, although you were partially convinced that he was more so enjoying the quiet of the moment, your fingers brushing over his scalp, basking in the closeness, though simple affection usually was something Sherlock didn't like. Not with anyone other than you apparently.

"Would you want to participate in penetration? If so, I suppose I have no clear knowledge of which position would serve best, but I am interested in learning. Since you are the one with more experience, I find it only logical you are the leading part", he spoke up eventually.

"Fine with me", you hummed, "I have no preference either, but I find it quite comfortable on your lap, so perhaps we can work around that?"

Admittedly, your wet dreams always tended to drift in a direction similar to this. There was something submissive about Sherlock, something that made you want to take him apart, lay him out on the bed, mount him and fuck him silly until he was a desperate mess begging to come, and you were sure it would have been a beautiful sight to have him this way.

Since you were already sitting on his lap, your crotches pressed together, hands tangled in his hair, seconds away from bringing your lips to his throat again, you wouldn't mind it sweet and gentle either, letting him explore all you had, letting him consume all you offered, letting him take his time to harvest the information he needed.

Maybe one day he would like to take the reins, but you couldn't really imagine him as the dominant part just yet.

You knew exactly how you would take the lead, how you would ride Sherlock all the way to ecstasy, until the brilliant and smart detective would fail to find the proper words and fall apart under you. Oh, how you wanted to hold him close, wanted your bodies entangled and conjoined, wanted to be able to sense and enjoy all of him.

It was a silent and natural agreement between you, so you figured as Sherlock's skilled hands sought out the hem of your shirt.

"I'm afraid you have to stop touching me for a moment", he mused and went on to gently pry the thin shirt off your body as you complied. After all you had been together for all kinds of weird occasions and sharing rooms, you had been close to him before but never quite so exposed, not in a way like this. Never undressed for him to see or touch.

In comparison, you had seen Sherlock bare plenty of times before, naked and vulnerable, so stripping him out of his shirt in return was by no means unfamiliar. There was something about this level of intimacy though, the sensuality of his touch on your skin that already made you shudder with need, winding you up with anticipation.

It was Sherlock then, who so carefully let his lips ghost over the expanse of your neck, exploring bit by bit, spreading gentle kisses, teeth grazing the skin and you supposed he was not entirely distracted from making deductions just yet – how else would he have possibly figured how to strike a nerve within you?

Your hands wound up in the dark curls again, playing with strands of hair, tugging on them, using them to pull Sherlock's head backwards as the advances on your sensitive skin were too much to handle. You too were soon moaning, panting hard, a pretty rosy colour to your cheeks.

"I find it very enjoyable when you pull on my hair", Sherlock admitted to you and while he had previously held his hands very still, he couldn't continue to resist and began touching you more, exploring your body with diligence. He had never touched you or potentially any other person like this, so excessively. If you thought about it, no one ever really had been so thorough as him, trying to map out every inch, every crease, every little mark. It was as if he was memorizing you, cataloguing. Careful with you. Mesmerized by you.

You didn't mind his advances, had never been on the self-conscious side but under the impression you weren't really sporting an exceptionally beauty. If anything you were ordinary, and still... this man looked at you, touched you with utmost adoration, curiosity, interest. Like he couldn't simply get enough from you. Like he didn't want to ever stop again.

"I find most of you very enjoyable", he added.

"Likewise", you smiled at him, hands busy stroking his nape, his upper back, pale shoulders, skin flush with heat under your touch, "I suppose you figured out what's getting me going."

"I think it's fascinating", Sherlock mused, "Because I could feel your pulse quickening and your body tensing up when I began kissing your neck. I imagine these are the exact responses you could notice on me when you tug on my hair. It's fascinating how our bodies respond so impulsively to a variety of triggers in such different ways and..."

Not wanting to be rude, but also not wanting to let Sherlock ramble about the creation of personal preferences, you quickly shut him up with another kiss, sealing your lips together promptly, giving a sharp tug to his curls. It certainly earned you a moan of surprise and Sherlock seemed not entirely displeased about your decision, hands returning to your waist to keep you steady, maybe wanting to prevent you from slipping away, afraid of losing what he was just learning to enjoy, kissing hungrily and with the kind of fervour one didn't really expect him to have, every bit of what he had wanted to say forgotten.

Your mind ran quite blank too. You knew that you wanted and desired Sherlock, pressing further up to him, could feel heat pooling in your groin and knew that you were already aching for him within the restraints of your sweatpants, becoming painfully very aware of how you had decided to forego underwear altogether, meaning it was just a bit of fabric between you.

Starting to rock your hips atop Sherlock's lap, because you couldn't hold yourself back anymore, you figured you weren't the only one getting aroused, feeling his hardness trapped beneath the remaining clothing, soft groans leaving both your mouths as you ground down on his bulge, creating a friction that left neither of you unaffected.

"I need you, Sherl", you moaned against his lips, throwing the decision to take this slow out the window, too far gone at this point, wanting nothing more than to feel the man inside of you and ride him to the breaking point. You were so horny you almost whined as you moved atop of him and your obvious neediness seemed to render Sherlock speechless altogether, his gaze just as clouded with lust as he simply stared at you and you lost yourselves into each other, chests heaving hard, bodies melting together.

All he gave was a nod of consent and you started beaming with unrestrained joy, slipping off Sherlock's lap to come kneel on the bed, hands drifting up to the waistband of his pants. "Are you sure this is okay with you?", you still decided to ask. Even though the man had seemed consenting before, you'd rather have him be comfortable too.

Whereas you would have expected a snappy comment or an entire mass of words breaking loose over you, Sherlock remained rather quiet, nodding, the smallest 'Yes' slipping past his lips.

He seemed entirely enticed and you made sure to keep on looking at him, pulling the soft material down by the waistband and stripping him bare, carelessly throwing the clothing aside, once you had wrestled it down his legs.

To have him so exposed and naked before you was a sight to take in, letting yourself simply look at him for just a moment, your hands rubbing over those lean thighs.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous", you uttered, fingers gliding along the inner sides, brushing over wisps of hair, all the way up to his crotch, the hardening cock, taking the member into your hand, watching him twitch and grow in size. You would be lying if you said you hadn't thought about his cock after the first time, never been able to forget the sight, wishing to feel all of him inside.

"I...um... how do we do this?", Sherlock quietly asked, redness burning on his cheeks as his eyes were fixed on the sight before him, "How would you want me?"

"You lay down on your back, get comfortable and let me do the work", you advised and gave him a quick wink, watching Sherlock settle down almost immediately after your advise, more than eager. And wasn't it just the most perfect sight, his lean body atop the sheets, skin reddened with small blotches, traces of his arousal, his cock raging hard in the grasp of your hand, dark curls bedded on the pillow, dreamy look in his eyes as you looked at one another.

"There's... uh... lube and condoms in the bedside drawer", Sherlock muttered, like he didn't quite want to admit to it.

You shot him a pleased, but surprised expression. "Did you plan for this?", you wondered, reaching over to fetch anything you'd need from the drawer, "Or do you just keep them in your bedroom all the time?"

"I was certain that I had at least a seventy-eight percent chance you wouldn't refuse and since I have considered all possibilities that almost meant including the accomplishment of a sexual encounter, I thought it was best to be prepared just in case. As I have however opened up to you that I have no experience with sexual interactions, so no, I don't keep them here all the time, I've purchased them for this purpose... recently", Sherlock answered, his nervousness evidently easing again as he managed to speak mostly unaffected as he always did, the kind of rationality not unusual by any means.

"78 percent? You did the math and all, didn't you?", you grinned, using the moment to slide your own sweatpants off your hips, revealing your full nakedness to the man, whose eyes remained on you, widening, darkening, looking up and down your body, trying to seemingly capture every single little detail of you, lips parted and his pink tongue slipping through as he admired you.

At a lack for words, Sherlock just nodded, watching you return to him and slump down atop his lap again. You gave him a reassuring smile, reaching for those fine and skilled hands, placing them on your body as Sherlock remained a little taken aback, probably slightly overwhelmed with the sight and sensations alone. Though once he dared to begin touching you again, he got this look of fascination on his face, a spark in his eyes, tender touches on your thighs.

"Would you like to help me prepare?", you asked, knowing full well that with a curiosity like Sherlock's he would likely not refuse.

"I understand that it will make this more pleasurable for you, so yes, I think I'd like to", he agreed and you canted your hips forward, towards him, allowing Sherlock to reach out to you, trailing his fingers down your body, lower, across the expanse of your belly before slipping between your thighs, no doubt finding what they were searching for.

A heavy shudder surged through your body when he did, breath hitching in your throat as you felt fingertips circle your entrance. You knew the breach would initially feel unusual, not having had a partner in a long time and not being an avid user of sex toys either, but god, how you ached for him to touch you, how you wanted to just feel him. After adjusting his hand into a comfortable position for the both of you and slicking fingers up with lube, Sherlock slid one into you so easily that all worries were just leaving you at once.

You couldn't stop a moan from leaving your lips, even just one finger in, and wondered how much research Sherlock had actually done as you found yourself arching into his touch. It wasn't clumsy by any means, if a little more careful.

There was a pleasant tingle pooling low in your stomach, your arousal rising to indescribable heights in thorough interest of getting fucked, and your mind went blank when he pushed another finger into you, gently spreading you open with a passion.

"Fuck, Sherl, feels so good", you groaned, looking down at the man, who so gently and kindly fingered you open, like he wasn't doing this for the first time, like he wasn't a stranger to this at all, "Can't wait to have your cock inside of me."

While Sherlock did not seem to be one for dirty talk, remaining mostly quiet and fixed on you, he definitely seemed pleased with your reaction, urged on to continue his advances, fingers already sinking in deep and lord, he had these long and wonderfully skilled fingers that were certainly capable of finding the sweet spot. If you let him continue, he was no doubt going to make you cum like this. You were so obsessed with the feel of him already, bloody hell, his fingers alone, pressing further into his touch and technically begging to be fucked.

Trying to keep your right mind though, you thought it was best to request Sherlock to stop, knowing that as soon as you were going to ride his dick, it would all be over for you anyway.

The small break did you well as he withdrew his fingers again, not leaving you out of his sight for a moment. You shuffled back down on the man's lap, making sure to prepare Sherlock just as much, rolling a condom over his raging arousal, before drizzling a bit of lube on him, coaxing another grunt from him as you rubbed him up and down.

You weren't sure who was more gone on the other – yourself, cock-hungry and needy, positioning the tip of his hardness against your hole, already going crazy at the slightest nudge, or Sherlock, watching you with a dreamy and blissful look on his face, blushing hard, lips parted and breath stuck in his throat in anticipation as you eventually sank down on his cock, taking him all in, slowly.

Bodies combined, becoming one, groans and panting immediately merged into one as well.

"God, Sherl...", you mewled, filled out so sweetly. It felt just right. You began moving once used to the stretch of his length, fully sheathed within you, and tried to keep your gazes locked, save for taking in the entire sight of Sherlock once in a while – skin flush from arousal and the heat of the moment, his eyes attentive and almost adoring, full blown with desire, his chest heaving and sinking hard, hands almost trembling as he let them skim over your waist, your thighs and all he could reach.

"This feels very good", the detective acknowledged, only occasionally and shyly rocking his hips in time with your movements, seeming unsure and perhaps a bit overwhelmed with the sensations, "You feel very good."

You couldn't quite respond anything that would make sense and at a loss for words simply continued to move atop him, supporting your slow motions with hands perched flat against the man's stomach.

There was no need to talk about what was going on, neither for you nor for Sherlock, as unspoken truths were shared between you two, how well your bodies fit together, how good you felt and how much admiration you had for each other. You hadn't expected it to be like that, so intimate and fulfilling – to be honest, you hadn't even had expectations when it came to Sherlock anymore.

There was always this element of surprise about him, something unpredictable, and fairly said you hadn't even expected to get into this situation with him in the first place.

But there was this amount of comfort and trust that exuded Sherlock in the moment, being vulnerable with you, submitting to you, an unusual innocence sticking to him. It made you feel possessive of him and even more so, protective.

Though he never failed to surprise you.

While he had previously held back moving too much under you or daring to explore your body with more bold touches, he seemed to warm up to the idea of intimacy and sex, for that matter. Astonished by the suddenness of his motion, you couldn't hold back a gasp when Sherlock pushed himself into a seating position, sliding his arms around your waist to keep you steady on his lap, his cerulean eyes fixed onto you with curiosity as he observed your reaction, as you continued to ride him with long and deep strokes, one hand shooting up to support yourself on Sherlock's shoulder, the other drifting into his hair.

You swore you could hear him cuss under his breath, once tugging on his dark curls again, but since you were entirely overcome with a mass of different sensations and emotions, it really could have been anything he muttered. And all the same, you found it didn't matter.

Your mouths slid together again, tongues finding each other once more, and you rocked even harder into him, pulling on his hair over and over, wanting to elicit more sweet sounds from him, being rewarded with the most desperate whimper.

You were completely lost in one another, something you hadn't quite awaited, but very well welcomed. That was the thing about Sherlock, always seeming so put together, so closed off and shielded from the outside world, so focused on facts and information and logic - and yet he was far from all that. You only knew all that because he let you see.

Sherlock was sensitive, could be pried apart as easily as made whole again, he lost himself in the smallest things so quickly, searching for things to ease his thoughts and mind, prone to getting addicted to them. Emotions overwhelmed him and that's why he refused most human interaction.

But he wasn't refusing this, wasn't refusing you, because there was an unspoken trust between you. You didn't know where that trust stemmed from or how Sherlock truly felt about you, but this wouldn't be happening if he weren't convinced of you being trustworthy.

On the cusp of pleasure, you were both entirely gone, and all that mattered were the raw sensations, bodies sliding together, obvious heightened emotions pouring out between you.

Head buried in the crook of your neck, Sherlock was breathing hard, moaning into you skin, shaking in your hold as you continued to tug on his hair, causing him to twitch and whine and crumble apart under you.

You spoke the sweetest praises, words mangled with your own moans, your thighs trembling but still riding him with fervour, though you could sense your stamina failing you, could feel yourself being so close to the edge by the way your nerves tingled within your core, the way pleasure heightened immensely with each thrust, something building up, and yet you were only able to let go as Sherlock himself toppled over.

His entire body went tense, not to say rigid, tightening his hold on you like he was afraid of losing you altogether, a moaning and twitching mess as he was overcome by his own pleasure.

"You're doing so good, Sherl, so good for me", you found yourself whispering and it must have been a combination of all things going on, Sherlock falling apart and pulsating inside of you, keeping you seated on his cock with a tight hold, and being on the absolute verge of sexual excitement, that made your own orgasm hit, causing you take him exceptionally deep with one last thrust, rocking out waves of pleasure and arousal.

"Oh, Sherl, my Sherlock", you let out a heavy sigh, coming back to your senses fast, while the man still seemed a little absent, clutching onto you tightly, face pressed to your shoulder, where you could feel laboured breathing and an unexpected wetness against his skin.

You knew they were tears, but didn't mention it, stroking the back of his head with the comfort that Sherlock just needed, comfort that he often refused or wouldn't allow himself to get. Perhaps it wasn't even sadness, but relief washing over him, the sudden overwhelming feel of orgasming.

While his previous responsiveness to affections and especially praising had fired up a curiosity within you, it was this specific moment, just holding Sherlock so close and having him so vulnerable after just having sex with him, that caused your heart to swell as well as ache, mind heavy and clouded with so many thoughts and sensations rushing in.

You couldn't help but feel for him. For his sadness and loneliness and desperation, all things Sherlock would never admit to having, but all deeply rooted within him.

And you couldn't help but feel love. A love that shouldn't be, because that was not what you were to Sherlock. It was not the point of your care for Sherlock, it was not what his older brother was paying you for. It should not be the reason behind your thorough protectiveness of the man, behind you caring, behind... this and all you did for him. But it was. You couldn't shut it off.

Yes, you were Sherlock's caretaker and this shouldn't be happening.

You had already crossed the line of sentimentality and any professionalism by becoming his friend so early on. Any decision you had ever made for Sherlock's sake was painted by your friendship to him and therefore not logical but emotional.

It would be surprising to none that you had developed this love for the man and everything he was. Feelings couldn't be helped, of course not, and you doubted people close to the two of you were unaware of how much you actually liked him.

In the end, it wouldn't matter anyway.

Sherlock didn't feel and love like most people did, not to say that he couldn't, but the way he was and would always be simply differed from the mass – so it would be wise of you to expect nothing and accept things as they were.

And whether Sherlock Holmes could ever feel the same or something similar as you did for him, would perhaps forever remain a question unanswered.

[loki-is-my-god-of-mischief]

Damn Holmes (Sherlock x GN!Reader)

A/N: This is part 3 of my Game is A Foot series. Please read parts 1 & 2 first.

It has been a nearly a month since (Y/N) moved into 221B baker street and they have barely left the flat. John has been making regular visits to check in on them and make sure Sherlock is taking care of them properly. Let’s face it, Sherlock can barely look after himself never mind someone dealing with shock and grief. He even sometimes brings Rosamund with him to offer some distraction from (Y/N). Which works to bring a smile to their face….if only because Sherlock pouts at having to put his experiments away after John claims them to be non-baby friendly. ‘How else are they supposed to reach their cognitive developmental milestones John!’.

Today was one of the days that John had come to visit. He was sat in the living room with Sherlock, taking glances towards direction of the bedroom door. “Have they come out today? They seemed to be doing better the last time I was here. Have they eaten ye-” Sherlock flashes John a look that stops his rambling in its tracks. “Sorry. It’s just…I’ve been here for two hours, and they still haven’t come out. I’m worried.”

“You think I’m not?” Sherlock snaps.

“What? No, of course not.”

Sherlock opens his mouth to retort when the recognisable sound of a door opening interrupts him. Two pairs of eyes turn to watch as (Y/N) silently walks through the living room towards the kitchen, not even giving the boys a glance. There are various sounds coming from the kitchen of cupboard doors opening and closing followed by the fridge. After five minutes, (Y/N) re-emerges from the kitchen door. “Oh! Hey John. Sherly, we’ve got nothing in so I’m going to the shop. Need anything?”

Sherlock and John share a quick glance and John decided to speak, “I was planning on going to the shop anyway, I’ll go and get everything you need and bring it back.”

“No, that’s ok. I got it. Just tell me what you want John and I’ll grab your stuff too.”

The boys shared another glance, and this time Sherlock was the one to speak. “(Y/N)…” He was quickly interrupted by (Y/N).

“No. Stop. Don’t treat me like I’m a fragile baby. You’ve both been doing that non-stop for nearly a month. I’m going to the shop. It’s just ten minutes down the road. I’m not going to be scared into staying indoors all my life. I’m climbing up the walls in here, I’m ready to get back out there.”

(Y/N) stared both of them down with nothing but determination and neither one of them could begrudge them the opportunity to get their life back. “If you wanted to get back out there then why don’t you join me on my cases? I could use a doctor now that John is too busy looking after baby Sherlock”

John’s quiet mumble of “That’s not her name” went ignored. “Do you actually need a doctor or is this your way of keeping an eye on me?” (Y/N) accused.

“I don’t see why it can’t be both?”

“Ok, I’ll consider joining you on cases…..If you let me go to the shop.”

Neither John nor Sherlock could come up with a justifiable excuse, so they lamented. Besides, like they said the shop is ten minutes down the road, how much trouble could they get into.

________________________________________________________________

(Y/N) had dropped by at Mrs H’s to see if she needed anything from the shop whilst they were there and is now on the way with a big shopping list. Mrs H had been delighted that (Y/N) was finally getting out of the house again that she had provided them with a list of what looked to be at least fifty items. How they were expected to get this back alone was beyond them but they appreciated that it would give them more time outside. So engrossed in checking the list, they never noticed the black car with tinted windows creeping up behind them along the road.

“Get in” an unfamiliar female voice commanded. Startled, (Y/N) flinched away from the car. Their breathing started to pick up and they belatedly realised they were panicking. They didn’t recognise this woman, what if she had something to do with what happened to Claire. The mystery woman quickly realised that (Y/N) wasn’t going to get in the car anytime soon if they were panicking but she also didn’t have the time to calm them down in the street. She exited the now parked car and grabbed (Y/N) by the arms leading them towards the back of the car. (Y/N) instantly started to struggle, but they had no chance when they were struggling to even catch their breath. Once in the back of the car, the woman spent the time attempting to calm them. Asking them to name five thing they can see, four things they can touch, three things they can hear, two things they can smell, and one thing they can taste. It calmed them enough that they managed to finally stabilise their breathing only for them to pass out in the back of the car.

________________________________________________________________

When (Y/N) woke up, they were sat in a surprisingly comfortable chair. For a moment, they thought they was still back in 221B with Sherlock and relaxed back into the chair. Their eyes flew open when they remembered the car and the unfamiliar woman. Glancing around the room to gather their bearings, they were greeted with a familiar man sitting behind a desk, a slice of cake in front of him.

“Mycroft.”

“Hello (N/N). Would you like some cake?” (Y/N) stared at Mycroft astonished. Did he just ask…?

“Would I like some……No! No I would not like some cake! What the hell My? You can’t just have people grabbed from the street, that’s kidnapping! Who even was that? That wasn’t Andrea”

For a fraction of a second, Mycroft looked genuinely ashamed. He wiped it from his face very quickly. "I apologise. Andrea is ill and her sister Charlotte has been filling in for her. I had gotten used to using Charlotte instead of Andrea that I had not considered your reaction to someone you didn’t recognise collecting you for me. It was not my intention to scare you.” If Mycroft had been speaking to anyone else, expect maybe Sherlock, then they would have found that comment patronising. However, (Y/N) had known Mycroft a long time now and could recognise that he was being sincere.

“You should also know that I am doing everything in my power to find the person who killed Claire. I won’t let them hurt you. You’re family. Besides, it would be a waste to lose someone who is a lot smarter than the rest of the goldfish in this world.” As he was speaking, Mycroft has picked up the fork, ready to eat his slice of cake”

“I thought you were on a diet. I’ve been your doctor for the past year My, you shouldn’t be eating those with your current levels of cholesterol.” (Y/N) says in concern. Mycroft sighs, ponders, and eventually puts the fork back down.

“I suppose you’re right.” Even though he agreed, he couldn’t stop the disappointment from appearing on his face. (Y/N) sighs, hugs Mycroft and thanks him for trying to find Claire’s killer. Charlotte meets them at the door, ready to take them back home. Before they leave, they turn back to Mycroft. “I suppose one small slice won’t hurt.” They had never seen a smile so warm on Mycroft’s face before.

________________________________________________________________

Charlotte had dropped them off outside of the café underneath their flat. They took a few minutes to collect themselves before they go back inside to face the inevitable interrogation from John and Sherlock. It brough a small smile to their face, thinking about how much they cared for them and have been there for them the past few months. As (Y/N)’s hand touches the doorknob to head inside, they pause……they hadn’t gone shopping. “Damn Holmes”.

[saturncodedstarlette]

Detective!Ghost : Punch me in the face!

Y/N : …punch you? 🤨

Detective!Ghost, points to his face : Yes, punch me. In the face. Didn’t you hear me?

Y/N, squints : I always hear “punch me in the face” when you’re speaking, but it’s usually subtext.

Detective!Ghost, rolls his eyes : Oh, for god’s sakes.

Detective!Ghost, smacks them hard across the face :

Y/N, gasps : 😨😵‍💫

Y/N, returns the punch to his face :

Detective!Ghost, stumbles a bit : Thank you. That was …that was…

Y/N, continues to punch him in the gut :

Y/N, puts Ghost in a headlock : You ought to remember, Ghost, I was a soldier! I killed people!

Detective!Ghost, struggles to break free : You were a doctor!

Y/N, grips harder : I had bad days!

[make-me-imagine]

A New Years Kiss

Part One: A Christmas Rose

Plot: After an agonizing wait over the holidays, you finally get to see Sherlock again at the Tewksbury family New Years gathering. Will you find out if the rose was truly meant for you?

Pairing: Cavill!Sherlock Holmes x Gn!Reader

Words: 2.2k

A/n: In Victorian times they did not celebrate New Years as heavily as we do today. The rich families would often be the only ones to hold parties or they had "open houses". So this is based around that a bit. With a little modern New Years kiss theme thrown in.

-

As you stepped down from the carriage, your eyes ran over the Tewksbury's residence. You often forgot just how large it was.

People mingled outside, greeting each other before slowly making their way inside. Your heart beat was heavy as you took a deep breath and made your way towards the house.

Spotting Enola lingering outside, you approached her. As she spotted you, you saw her smile.

"Y/n, thank God, I was afraid I would have to go in alone."

"Isn't Tewksbury greeting you?"

She sighed "No, alas he is busy hosting, he has to greet everyone with his mother."

"Everyone? I do not envy him"

"No do I." She sighed as she looped her arm through yours. "Come, lets go inside."

As you began entering the house, your eyes cast over the crowd. You wondered if Sherlock was here yet. Was he still coming? It had been torture for you having to wait until this party to see him.

You had given in once, a few days prior and went to his apartment. But he was not there. So you had to wait. But you could not help but worry that he might not come tonight. How long would you have to wait to see him then?

What if he did not leave the rose after all, and your anxious waiting meant nothing?

Shushing your own thoughts you looked over at Enola. "Is it true your brother is coming?"

She nodded "Oh yes, apparently he has a very important reason to be here, though he wont tell me what that is exactly. I can't help but think it is about a case he is working on. He is here somewhere." She glanced over at you "He asked if you would be coming as well."

You tried to hide any emotion you might be feeling "Did he?"

You saw something akin to curiosity cross her face, but it quickly faded when she spotted Tewksbury motioning for her to come over to him.

Looking over at you, you nodded "Go ahead. I'll be around."

Smiling, she darted off to go to his side, and you smiled at them. They made a cute couple. Looking around, your heart began beating a bit faster as you wondered where Sherlock was. You wanted to look for him, but feared you might be getting in his way if he was really here working on a case.

Saying hello to a few people you knew, you grabbed a drink and stood at the edge of the room, your eyes casting over the art pieces the family had set out for people to admire.

When some time had passed and you had yet to see Sherlock, you started to doubt he was still here. Maybe something happened and he had to leave.

As people began filing into the large dancing hall, you followed, continuing to stand at the edge of the room.

As Sherlock entered the large room, his eyes found you almost immedietely. You were dressed in an elegant outfit that suited you very well. You looked slightly nervous as you stood among the crowd.

Ever since the day you exchanged gifts, he was tormented with thoughts about how you found the rose. Did you immediately think he left it? Did you return his feelings? Did you even find the rose within the pages?

Walking through the crowd and around the room, his eyes remained on you as he grew closer. A dance would be starting soon, he did not dance often, but with you, he would very gladly do so.

As couple after couple made their way into the middle of the room, including Enola and Tewksbury, you felt an odd sense of jealousy. You were not much of a dancer, but you would like to experience the thrill of dancing closely with someone you had feelings for.

As if on queue, a voice spoke near your left ear, taking you by surprise.

"Would you like to dance?"

Looking over, you saw Sherlock standing close behind you, leaned over to speak softly to you. His hand was placed out for you to take, and a small smile on his face as he met your eyes.

You felt at a loss for words for a moment, but you smiled and nodded "I would love to" You finally muttered out shyly.

His smile grew slightly as he took your hand in his and lead you to the dance floor.

You were not unaware of the mutters that followed as people saw Sherlock Holmes leading a mostly unknown person out onto the dance floor. But you didn't care about their opinions, much.

Your heart was fluttering, and your chest was tight as Sherlock pulled you closer to him to prepare for the dance. Your eyes met and he still held the familiar soft smile on his face.

As the music began, you quickly fell into rhythm with everyone else on the dance floor. There was a silent moment between you, before Sherlock spoke.

"I was glad to see you were able to make it."

"Oh yes, wouldn't miss it." There was a hint of sarcasm in your voice that made his lip quirk. "I was still a bit surprise you came yourself. Enola said you were here for something important. A case perhaps?"

His smile changed almost to a soft smirk and you felt small jolt from your heart.

"The reason I came is important, but it does not have anything to do with a case"

The way his eyes studied you made you think he meant you were the reason. But you feared you may be hoping for too much.

"And what reason is that, may I ask?" Your voice was soft.

Sherlock could tell what you were hinting at, and this was enough to tell him what he wanted to know.

Spinning you around to the music, he pulled you close to him again your back against his chest, as his voice spoke softly in your ear.

"I wanted to know what you thought of my gift."

You felt a shiver roll through you as his lips just brushed your ear. Twirling you back around to face him again, your came chest to chest, your face hovering just in front of one another before you stepped back and continued with the dance.

"The book? Or the other gift within it?" You didn't say explicitly what it was, but your word were obvious enough.

He smiled at your choice of words "Both." He said simply.

"I adore the book, and I've already read it front to back twice." His eyebrow quirked and you smiled. "And the other-"

Pulling you close to him against, his face hovered close to yours as you moved around the room in dance. You were sure there were eyes on you, but you didn't care.

"I loved." Your voice came out softly.

"Loved?" He repeated, his own voice soft.

"Such a beautiful color. And the meaning-" You seemed to be losing your train of thought as his face remained so close to yours.

"Is returned, I hope?" He finished, just as the music ended.

You stopped as everyone else did, but remained locked on each other before you pulled your eyes away to clap for the musicians. Sherlock did the same, his own chest tight as he looked back at you.

He was unable to say more before a group of men started to make their way over to him, already speaking loudly, asking questions and trying to gain his attention.

He saw you step away, somewhat alarmed by the interruption. Gently grabbing your elbow he leaned in to whisper in your ear. "Meet me on the balcony at Midnight."

Stepping away again, he was almost swallowed by the group of strangers, most of whom you assumed were reporters or politicians.

Making your way away from the crowd, you looked back, only able to see glimpses of his face. You felt pity for him, knowing he hated this kind of attention. And you felt anger, for being interrupted at such an important and intense moment. Looking at the clock nearby, you noted it was nearly forty minutes to twelve.

You sighed as you looked back to here Sherlock had once been. You assumed he had been dragged off by the group of people. You dd not envy him, but you wished you had someway to help him.

"You and my brother seemed to be deep in conversation during that dance."

You jumped slightly at Enola's voice. Turning, you saw her standing beside you, having not even heard her approach.

You cleared your throat lighlty "Yes."

"Did he tell you about the case?" She asked with obvious curiosity in her tone.

You shook your head "He is not here for a case." Your heart jumped slightly. Should you tell her more? What would she think?

Her smile widened as she moved a little closer "Well that confirms the other thing I had a feeling about then."

"Feeling about what?"

"That he was here to see you."

Your eyes glanced to his last location before you looked back at Enola. "Why would you think that?"

She rolled her eyes slightly "Because ever since I introduced you, he always asks about you, wants your opinions, and his eyes follow you everywhere, every time you are around, it's obvious he has feelings for you. "

You felt heart rise up your neck and ears.

"Sorry was that too much?" She asked as she noted your change in demeanor.

You smiled and shook your head "No, I just...didn't know it was obvious."

She smiled "Well your feelings for him were obvious too. But, surprisingly I don't think they were obvious to him."

Deciding to tell her vaguely about what happened between you and Sherlock, she kept you company asking questions and going on long rants about how cases might work after you and Sherlock got involved. You simply listened, too overwhelmed by her ideas and thoughts to say anything.

After some time she tapped you aggressively on the shoulder and pointed at the clock.

"It's nearly midnight."

"Oh!" You said with a jolt "I should go."

She nodded her head hurriedly as she ushered you away, watching as you made your way towards the balcony.

Stepping out onto the balcony, you looked around for Sherlock. Seeing he had not come out yet, you let out a soft breath and wandered over to the balcony's edge. You looked out at the property, seeing groups of people scattered around. The night was brisk, and the stars were bright in the sky.

"Y/n." Your voice was spoken from behind you, causing you to turn around.

Sherlock stepped out and smiled at you, closing the doors behind him. "I hope I did not keep you waiting."

You shook your head "I've only been here a few moments. "

As he approached you, you felt jjttery and nervous.

"I'm sorry all those people bombarded you, I'm sure you did not wish to deal with that tonight."

He smiled "No, I did not. But it was not as bad as it could have been. Though I very much would have preferred being able to spend the time with you."

You smiled as you looked down towards your feet. He smiled at your familiar bashfulness. Stepping forward, he reached into his jacket and pulled something out

"I got this for you."

Looking up, you half-expected to see another purple rose. But instead, he was holding a beautidul dark red carnatin flower.

As your eyes lit up at the sight, Sherlock felt a jolt in his chest. You gingerly took the flower from him and met his eyes.

"You read the book front to back, yes?" You nodded softly and he smiled "What does it mean?"

You looked down at the flower again as you tried to recall the section on carnations.

"White carnations symbolize purity and luck, pink are for gratitude, light red for admiration, and dark red for love and affection."

He nodded softly and took a step closer to you. Reaching out, he gently touched the petals.

"Love, affection, dedication, and passion. Red carnations in general express that-" he paused as his eyes locked onto yours "-my heart aches for you."

You felt a shiver roll through you and your breath seemed to catch in your throat as he stared deeply into your eyes. Slowly, his hand rose and cupped your face, his fingers gently caressed you as he moved closer.

His face hovered just in front of yours as his eyes drifted down to your lips. There was thick tension in the silence between you, that was abruptly interrupted as fireworks shot into the sky from the yard below.

You let out a soft gasp as you and Sherlock looked over to see the bright explosions in the sky. Letting out a soft laugh, you looked back at Sherlock who had an amused smile on his face.

His fingers gently held your chin as he pulled you closer "Happy New Year Y/n"

"Happy New Year Sherlock."

His lips met yours softly as his hand slowly trailed from your chin to rest at your neck as he deepened the kiss. His hand then slowly moved to cup the back of your head as he pulled you closer. His other hand rested at your back, as he held you close to him.

As one of your hands held the carnation, the other reached up and wrapped around his neck as you leaned in and relished the kiss.

xx End xx

I'm really bad at ending fics lol, but I hope you liked it!~

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

Sherlock Taglist: @will-grammer, @multifandomfix-recs, @readingbookelf

[tenthcrowley]

[JOHN]: So, are you two...?

[SHERLOCK, Y/N]: No.

[JOHN]: (Looks at the clothes all over the floor) You sure?

[SHERLOCK, Y/N]: Yeah.

[JOHN]: O-okay, if you say so.

[frickingnerd]

herlock sholmes with a shy s/o

pairing: herlock sholmes x gn!reader

tags: fluff, established relationship, extrovert herlock

herlock is far from being shy himself, so the two of you are polar opposites!

herlock doesn't quite understand why you would be nervous to talk to new people or why you don't just say or do whatever you want, just like he does!

you'll often be forced out of your comfort zone by him, as he drags you around london, taking you to places you've never been to before – and likely never wanted to be at!

since you're dating him, you get introduced to all the hundreds of people he knows! after all, it would be rude if he didn't introduce, would it?

even when you're at his place, it's never just the two of you!

iris, ryunosuke or susato are always around, but it's only a matter of time until you warm up to them and grow comfortable around them

the three of them are much more understanding about your shyness and sometimes have to scold sholmes when he'd being a bit too much

but it's not like dating herlock only has negative aspects!

he's an extrovert through and through and whenever you're too shy to say or do something, herlock is there to take your place and help you out!

[anonymousewrites]

A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 3) Prologue

Father Figure! Sherlock Holmes x Teen! Reader

Prologue: Difficult Loss

Summary: (Y/N) is dealing with the aftermath of losing Sherlock.

Mouse Note: Welcome to A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 3)! Very angsty beginning, I know, but it didn't exactly end that well. I hope everyone enjoys this, please feel free to comment (It gets me to keep writing and I always respond). I can't wait to see what everyone thinks. I've worked very hard on this! So, without further ado, let's go!

            Two years. Two years of going on autopilot. Two years of loneliness. Two years with Sherlock.

            (Y/N) was…not doing well.

            If someone asked them, they’d refuse to respond, but if pressed, (Y/N) would assure everyone (coldly) that they were just fine. Anyone close to them knew that was a giant lie.

            Mrs. Hudson could speak of how (Y/N) refused to eat whenever their loneliness got too strong. Even their beloved lollipops were abandoned and thrown in the trash. She saw them curl up in Sherlock’s armchair and just stare into space, lost in their memories as they ached for Sherlock to come back to them. She knew they had resisted washing their sweater for quite some time, and when it had come out smelling of detergent, (Y/N) had nearly burst into tears as it suddenly felt so foreign, like the last remnants of Sherlock had been destroyed.

            Mycroft could speak of how he let (Y/N) go on cases (supervised and ensured to not be dangerous at all) but saw nothing but mechanical work. They would solve the cases, but there was no…spirit. There was none of the energy they had when they worked with Sherlock. It was like they were on autopilot. And they only spoke when Lestrade prompted them. There was no desire to show off. In fact, (Y/N) had reverted to who they had been without Sherlock. Insecure. Unsure of themself. Unsure of everyone around them.

            John could speak of that better than anyone. He had lingered for so long in 221B, but (Y/N) hadn’t liked it. They were unsure of his presence, the lack of Sherlock being too much. It was too much for John, too. He couldn’t stay in the flat. And (Y/N) hadn’t protested. It was like they were waiting for him to leave, too. Like Sherlock.

            And he had. He had met Mary. He had fallen in love with Mary. He was ready to marry Mary. He had hoped (Y/N) would like her and they’d start finding more people to trust (or anyone to trust). But they hadn’t. They had acknowledged Mary, but they were so unsure of people. It wasn’t that they disliked her—John knew what (Y/N) was like with people they didn’t like—but they just couldn’t let themself get close. They couldn’t get past losing Sherlock. Without him…

            (Y/N) was empty.

            And everyone around them knew it.

            However, there was one thing (Y/N) kept to themself. They visited Sherlock’s grave. They knew he’d remind them that such sentimentality was silly, and they should be moving on to greater things. But they couldn’t, and since Sherlock was dead, (Y/N) didn’t have him to tell them to stop visiting his grave.

            So they kept going. They’d talk about their cases. They made sure they solved each one just to make sure they had successes to share with Sherlock. They had to make him proud. But still…

            “I miss you,” whispered (Y/N), curling up in front of his grave with his old purple sweater pulled around them. “I miss you so much.”

            (Y/N) missed their dad.

Taglist:

@stilesstilinskiforlife-blog

@im-making-an-effort

@ilse235

@schrodingers-intelligence

@awsedrftgyhujikol

@lxserthxngzzz

@forever1313

@mentallyunstablemanlover

[in-love-with-srk]

Have fun

Random Villain: *after tying Y/n up* Have fun

Y/n: *Mocking him* Have fun.

Y/n: Once I get out of these chains, I will beat the shit out of you and have so much fun.

Sherlock,John and (F/n): *Break down the door*

Y/n: Have fun bitch!

A/n: This is also inspired by Mythpat but I can't find the video :(

[niilue]

character: sherlock (mtp) w/ gn reader

prompt: 21

cw: ruining orgasm and gagged

thank you for considering and congrats on 1k!

‧₊˚⊹ sub sherlock x gn! reader

prompt: "let me show you what happens to little brats who don’t follow the rules"

cw: drabble, dom reader, gender neutral, ruining orgasm, gagged, a little of impact play. words: 425 1k event

"what am i supposed to do with you sherly?"

sherlock found himself gagged in his favorite chair in his study. completely naked while you paced in front of him, teasing him.

you touched his shoulders down to his nipples. sherlock stirred at your icy touch.

"mhmmm, nnhg" sherlock only let out moans and incongruous "words" as he had a cloth in his mouth.

"what? ahh sorry cutie, i don't understand you."

after playing with his nipples for a while, poking and prodding him a bit to see how they bounced. you got down on your knees in front of the man. looking up at him from below with desire.

"let me show you what happens to little brats who don't follow the rules."

sherlock smiled a little smile even though he was gagged. pervert.

you opened your mouth and got dangerously close to his member, which still hadn't woken up yet.

but it was just a game, instead of taking it in your mouth you slapped his cock, hard.

"uhhhg"

sherlock jumped from the blow you had given him. you started to suck him a little while you masturbated him and kept slapping him from time to time.

you massaged his tip, squeezed his balls and even used your teeth a little when you were sucking him, causing his whole body to become a whimpering, grunting mess.

his cock was now erect and hard before you. you watched it quiver desperate for more.

"what? do you want to cum? ummm, i don't know..."

sherlock was begging you with his eyes, and when you thought you couldn't see him he lowered his hands to his cock. to touch himself.

you slapped his hands and looked at him menacingly.

"don't even think about it, asshole. i'm in charge here, and you won't do what you want."

you stood up and grabbed him by the cheeks, hard and crushing them. as you faced him, you kept touching his cock. watching as he opened his mouth wanting you to kiss him.

"what do you want sherly? talk to me. ahh that's right you can't, ha".

you hit his cheek, over and over again. watching how it turned him on and made him cry out.

you increased the rhythm making him whimper. you lifted his hips to give him better friction. and when you could feel something starting to come out of his cock. you stopped touching him. ruining his orgasm.

"hehe, how ingenuous sherly, but you look better this way, exposed to me and not being able to cum."

[just-a-strange-boy]

experimenting for friends

part 1 - praise

part 2

An unawaited opportunity introduces you to the complicated and intriguing man named Sherlock Holmes. Harder to understand than most, you are not quite sure why he reacts peculiarly everytime you spare him a compliment. Well, not until you get wrapped up in one of his "experiments".

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader (GN)

Warnings: 18+ (Minors DNI), mentions of drug abuse/addiction, handjob, praise kink, hints at inexperienced/virgin Sherlock

A/N: listen, I'm so fond of submissive Sherlock and just want him to get the love he deserves :')

When you met Sherlock Holmes for the first time, he saw through you right away.

Straight away, he knew that you were raised by a single mum, who had always tried her hardest to ensure to the happy childhood you deserved, since your father had left the family early on.

That you were living with two cats, one Cornish Rex, one coming from mixed breeding, both awfully affectionate, apparently leaving traces over nearly everything you wore.

That you were ambidextrous, ink from pens on both hands, also indicating you were working an ordinary office job, usually taking down notes with your right hand, though whenever you took phone calls you tended to use your left to write things down – and that you took a lot of pride in your handwriting, which was why you had a knack for using pens with ink in the first place.

But that wasn't all.

He figured that you were short-sighted, working a desk job that included staring at a computer screen far too often, missing out the fact that you were also on your phone a lot.

That your glasses were an old model from the early 2010s, which also told him you didn't have the finances for purchasing new ones, money likely being the reason for you taking this new job in the first place (which however wasn't entirely true). And also that your glasses were, of course, entirely unsuited for your current sight, still making you have to squint an awful lot while looking at your surroundings.

He even found out that you used to take acting classes during your school years, obtaining a compassion for the old bards and newer works alike, but didn't continue playing theatre, settling for your ordinary, time consuming desk job instead in order to make a living in London, more so because you were never confident enough in your skills.

And damn, if he weren't right about that.

Needless to say, Sherlock had been right about everything, his gift of picking up any piece of information nothing short of amazing, his talent for deduction truly unmatched, though you were certain that he might have had a little help on one or two details. It had been impressive, regardless of whether he might have gone through your personal records at least once or not.

Considering that someone definitely had kept a close eye on you, presumably meant that there was a lovely file titled with your name on the desk of your new and well-paying employer, Sherlock's older brother and relentless watchdog, Mycroft Holmes. Who, as you understood, was doing secret government work, keeping the state upright and preventing international chaos from ensuing, when he wasn't busy tending to his slightly odd, self-proclaimed sociopathic brother from a distance.

You weren't sure whether you would have even tried applying for the job if you had known what it entailed. But you hadn't needed, nor planned, to apply at all.

Truth is, you had been approached out of nowhere, a plain call coming through on your work phone. After hearing the rather scarce explanation as to what you were meant to do and the large sum the older Holmes brother offered for this position, you had definitely not wanted to say No. You hadn't asked why you out of all people had been chosen – so you hadn't gotten an answer either.

But since Mycroft Holmes was thorough in all he did, you supposed he wouldn't have gone for someone as ordinary as you if he hadn't had a good reason for it.

And fairly enough, for that much money, the job description didn't sound too challenging – take care of Sherlock Holmes. Be his companion, keep an watchful eye on him, make sure he doesn't get back into a habit of using again. Three simple points.

It might not have sounded too challenging at first, but then you had gotten to meet Sherlock and words couldn't describe how peculiar, how unique, how utterly confusing this man was.

People didn't really get him. Sherlock didn't really get people, though clearly able of picking them apart with deductions or uncovering their motives for all kinds of crimes, having solved plenty of unusual cases in the past. Sometimes people's behaviour clearly struck Sherlock as odd and while he was exceptionally smart, there were some things in the world even he wasn't able to understand.

While you had been worrying you might not get along with each other at first – plenty of people had made it their mission to warn you about Sherlock having a dismissive stance on ordinary people – you quickly figured out the consulting detective was simply misunderstood by those around him and not that dismissive after all.

He was peculiar, unique and utterly confusing. He was thinking differently, behaving and acting by his own logic. It took a while to figure out, though finding yourself incapable of understanding Sherlock as whole, you started to catch glimpses of what he was truly like.

Sherlock Holmes was lonely.

Even though regularly solving cases with his best friend John Watson, he had also gotten significantly lonelier since the man had found himself a wife, a child following not long after, and was not living with him anymore. As a husband and father and doctor, case work was nothing more than a distraction from his ordinary life. His responsibilities often kept him from actively joining cases and therefore, more than once in the time you've gotten to know Sherlock, the detective was out solving them on his own.

While he loved the work and didn't seem too bothered, you figured it substantially dampened his mood when John couldn't be around.

You also learned that Sherlock was actually quite friendly with a few people – especially his very motherly and caring landlady Mrs Hudson (who got regularly annoyed by the ruckus he was making upstairs in his flat), DI Lestrade (who slipped him the cases, relying on his help all too often) and Molly from St Bart's morgue (who provided him with body parts for experiments).

But he never sought them out when feeling some sort of way, more so relying on the exchange – accepting their presence because he deemed them useful. This for that. Never unconditional.

Sherlock Holmes also got bored easily.

Casework and experiments, both sometimes of questionable importance or downright dangerous, could only keep him busy for so long. You figured that he lived for the thrill as much as trying to keep his brain constantly working – he needed the distraction for his mind, needed something to stimulate it or else it would get too loud, too dark, too insufferable in his head.

As soon as he got bored, he took to moaning and complaining and behaving unhinged, desperate for something, anything, to cure him from the boredom, to keep his mind busy.

Having him in a state like that was anything but good.

Because when he was lonely and bored, Sherlock Holmes had a tendency of substance abuse.

It started with a heightened craving for nicotine, especially in the form of cigarettes, which you sometimes gave in to, for the sake of preventing worse – even if it meant going on a walk in the middle of a night to have one, since Mrs Hudson would have strangled you both for even thinking about smoking at Baker Street.

When it wasn't cigarettes, it was something worse he desired. Mostly heroin, though Mycroft Holmes had made sure to slip you a full list of substances Sherlock had abused in the past.

It had been unsettlingly long.

So you tried your very best to keep Sherlock away from those things by simply keeping him busy and well, less lonely.

By the time you would have considered yourself and the odd detective being something like friends, you were also finally able see that Sherlock Holmes – even though not nursing relationships to others like normal people did – was in his own way very sweet.

He wasn't always cold or seemingly incapable of feeling things, just direct and less reliant on sentiment. He was absolutely not a cat person, but still accepted whenever your rather friendly pets decided to climb all over him.

And all the times you had happened to unexpectedly fall asleep after crashing on Sherlock's couch (that man wore you out with his ever changing temper and the way he sometimes talked constantly) while he would still be working on researching for cases or doing his fair share of experiments, you would always wake up covered by a blanket, your glasses perched on the table next to a water cup.

Sherlock Holmes didn't like a lot of people, he struggled with making strong connections and put off a lot of the people around him by the way he was. But that didn't apply to you.

Initially perceiving you an entirely obnoxious obstacle in his thinking process, he had soon noticed you weren't so distracting in a negative way at all and even found himself positively surprised how pleasant you were to have around, beginning to tolerate you in the same room.

For his standards, he seemed to like you plenty enough and appeared to be rather comfortable around you too, in a way seeking out the companionship you were meant to offer to him, even if it was just being around each other in complete silence.

While Sherlock worked best in silence, especially when he figured out a case in his mind, sitting and staring for hours, there were also moments when you couldn't stop him from talking and showing off his knowledge. Often times, he seemed so happy to share his thoughts with someone, even though he was likely aware you usually weren't really able to follow him.

Admittedly, you liked Sherlock too.

You knew a lot of people were blind to Sherlock's humanity and never got to know him well enough to truly discover how much there was to him. He didn't let most in, or at least never far enough for them to really see him. You knew though. It was there, no matter how hard Sherlock tried to prove otherwise with his resenting behaviour, and you caught plenty of glimpses of him being human.

So after a while of knowing Sherlock Holmes, there was this one thing that had caught your attention and remained to be uncovered.

Why he avoided words of praise.

It was something you had brushed off at first, thinking that Sherlock's odd reaction whenever you said something nice to him, his sudden quietness and slow blinking and urge to swiftly leave the room before awkward silence arose, was completely normal behaviour for him.

You doubted that the detective got to hear a lot of niceties or compliments. Obviously his work was impressive, but did most even consider thanking him for it? If they had the chance, that was.

One could have also gotten the impression that Sherlock didn't really know how to nor wanted to take a 'Thank you', or a compliment for that matter.

Therefore he was more likely to escape the situation than accept it with content.

One day, you had asked "Did you compose that yourself?" after having listened to Sherlock play the violin for what must have been a good twenty minutes, without the man even having taken note of you being in the room, though you had walked in and slumped down on the couch normally, like on any other day.

Sherlock had seemed startled hearing your question, only acknowledging you then, but had shaken his head in silence.

"Well, sounded very beautiful anyway. I love your playing. Could listen to it for hours", you had added then, "Always surprises me how bloody skilled your hands are with everything you do."

Much like you had offended him, Sherlock had placed down the violin and the bow immediately, turning to leave the room.

You had let him, knowing that if he needed space, it was best to leave him be. But you had immediately wondered if perhaps your compliment had made him uncomfortable and asked yourself why.

On another day, you had been asked to accompany him on a case – there was no other logical explanation to it than the fact that John was busy yet again and couldn't make it in time – so there you were, looking at different samples of dirt, trying to make yourself as useful as you could (which wasn't much, but you tried).

Sherlock didn't seem to mind that you had no idea what you were supposed to be looking for. Whereas he would have called another one in your stead stupid, small-brained or dull for only having an average mind, the detective had simply begun explaining the necessity of taking dirt samples and how much they could tell the human eye if looked at properly.

Well, what they could tell his eyes, at least – because you still had not an ounce of an idea what he was talking about, even after his explanations.

"How does your brain even work?", you had only muttered under your breath, staring at Sherlock in awe, "It's just...amazing. The fact that you can read people like a book was already pretty mind blowing, but now that you are doing it with something as mundane as dirt, words can't describe how amazing that is."

While usually so quick and rational in his responses, Sherlock had just blankly stared back at you, until continuing with his dirt samples, speechless, not saying another word about ground analysis.

Then another time, you had been flat on your couch for a good few days after catching a cold. While Sherlock had made sure to keep his distance, not wanting to contract anything, he had come by anyway. He had helped you with the cats, had brought you a bag of pills and goodies (that Mrs Hudson had packed, but it didn't matter since Sherlock was the one making time for you, bringing them over) and had chatted away about the latest case, trying to cheer you up while you sniffled into your tissues. Then he had made you tea and warmed up chicken soup for you, before deciding to take his leave again.

"Thanks, Sherl, you're a great friend. A true blessing when you get all domestic", you had sighed with a stuffed nose, trying to joke, although you knew joking around Sherlock was risky business, because... well... he didn't think like most people. That meant he didn't get jokes most of the time either, had problems trying to figure out whether you were actually serious about some of the comments you made or not, didn't know what to make of it.

You had thought that must have been the reason why Sherlock had left your flat in a hurry.

Honestly, you had begun to worry a little about Sherlock's behaviour by then.

Whenever you tended to say something nice, or gave him a compliment for that matter, the man simply went out of your way immediately. It was making him feel some sort of way, negatively you thought.

Maybe he really didn't know how to handle kind words and just couldn't show that he appreciated them. Maybe you had actually made him uncomfortable, but Sherlock never admitted to it, because he didn't want to put you off or hurt your feelings in return – you were friends after all.

Maybe it would take him a while to get used to someone being so unconditionally nice to him.

Things cleared up a little when Sherlock had approached you one day, deciding to start an 'experiment' in order to gain 'data' for his 'research' – he had something along those lines at least – which apparently included you as a test subject as well. He had specifically asked for your help, and though unmentioned you knew it was likely because of the bond and trust between you two.

Sherlock hadn't wanted to share what the point of his research was, but you had no opportunity to ask either after agreeing to it, because before you could open your mouth again, the detective had moved way too close into your personal space for his usual standards, cupped your cheeks and just leaned in to kiss you.

Short and sweet and... a little inexplicable.

"What was that for?", you wondered then, knowing that there always was an explanation to everything Sherlock did. You just didn't really know how he was going to explain this, overwhelmed with wrapping your head around what had just occurred, staring at him in an almost shock-like state and most definitely frozen to the spot.

"I told you, it's an experiment", Sherlock responded, "About... my own responses to... certain stimulus from certain...uh...people. I've decided to start with you, because we are significantly close, you have decided to pester me with your presence today once again and I figured you will not mind."

You only replied with a soft smile. How convenient you happened to be around right now, pestering him, just in time for his experiment. Though you had to admit, Sherlock wasn't wrong about his assumption either: you didn't mind. You were perfectly decent friends and being friends with Sherlock meant partaking in things out of the ordinary anyway. This was a way better experiment than lightening things on fire in the kitchen and causing the house to be contaminated with toxic smoke.

The kiss was tempting you. It made you curious. What was he trying to figure out?

"Alright, let's see what your experiment entails then", you agreed to partaking in Sherlock's personal studies, "Will you kiss me again, to get more data?"

"Likely", the detective mused, not wasting another moment before bending down to capture your lips in another and longer kiss, this time evidently unsure what to do with his hands as he didn't hold onto your face anymore, a little fidgety before eventually placing them on your waist, keeping you close.

He was a surprisingly sweet kisser. You adored the softness of his lips, the slight initial awkwardness, placing your hands on his shoulders, gently smoothing them over the material of his suit jacket, and returning the kiss with equal gentleness.

"Is that...to your liking?", Sherlock asked, upon parting for a moment.

You slid one hand to the nape of his neck, ready to pull him into another kiss, just to feel those lips on yours again. He was endearing and admittedly kind of addictive.

"I thought this experiment was about your responses, so why care what I'm thinking?”, you began, seeing a flicker of insecurity passing his face, since you avoided answering his question.

“Yeah, I love how tender and careful you are. Your lips feel great", you added in a whisper, hoping it would lift the worry from his brow.

An entirely different reaction followed. Now that you had just complimented him and Sherlock couldn't flee the situation like he usually did, you were more than surprised taking note of his reaction, a slight shudder, but not of discomfort.

Thus, you finally understood why he had wanted to avoid praise times and times again: It caused him to react.

"I honestly can't wait for you to touch me with those hands of yours", you added then, fingers carding upwards into Sherlock's curls, trying to push your own exploration to the limit, continuing to praise him with sweet words of affirmation, "Once we get there, I bet your touch will feel incredible. Just like you are."

Standing so close to the detective, you could hear his breath hitch, and there was no doubt his pulse was rapidly quickening too. Pupils blown wide with interest, lips parted, and oh, a little bit of red tainted his cheeks too. He definitely liked being praised.

"What do you want me to do with my hands?", Sherlock asked. He was still holding them placed on your waist and the unexpected question was more out of innocent curiosity, as blandly spoken as Sherlock usually talked, paired with the slight notion that he was perhaps truly a little clueless.

You wondered if he had ever done this with another person before – experimenting, kissing, touching – and came to the conclusion you couldn't quite imagine Sherlock being touchy and affectionate or sexual for that matter.

"I'm sure you know exactly what to do with those hands of yours", you chuckled, however trusting that Sherlock had to know at least a little bit about those things or else he wouldn't have dared to be so bold and just kiss you. Perhaps he had done a different kind of research beforehand.

"It's okay to touch me, I don't bite. There's no wrong and no right, go with what feels natural. Your deduction skills are unmatched, so why don't you just experiment and collect the necessary information?"

Blue eyes mustered your face, a slight look of confusion written all across his expression, and he still didn't move his hands, searching your face for something in return.

If you didn't know any better, you would have said that you might have broken Sherlock.

But then he came to life again, speaking up once more. "I've come to the conclusion that I like you. Being around you, usually at least, does not only calm my heart rate, it also quietens my brain. However being this close to you, I find my heart rate rising and my brain rattling. I just cannot figure out why your words cause me to feel the way I do."

"Well, if I might say so, I think that you're into it", you shrugged, fingers gently brushing through his thick curls, letting your other hand glide down the front of his shirt, feeling up his chest under it.

What would he look like under this? Would he enjoy being touched? How far was this experiment meant to go?

"I kind of enjoy how flustered you get when I praise you. Makes me think that no one has ever cherished you like you deserve it."

"I don't know if I am... interested in being cherished, but you do manage to make me feel like no one else has ever accomplished. I am tempted by your amenability", the detective admitted, finally catching the drift as he pulled you into a tighter embrace, arms sneaking around you, bowing down to capture your lips in a kiss again, this time with a lot more force.

As sweet and tender Sherlock was, you had simply known there was more passion, more curiosity, more hunger within him than suspected at first.

Saying you were amenable was also an understatement. You were more than compliant and sure let him know, responding to his advances with a passion, curiosity, hunger paralleling his.

So you began moving together, stumbling through the living room, careful not to trip over Sherlock's organized chaos on the floor, mouths busy with each other as you clung onto his neck, letting yourself be ushered all the way into the bedroom – a place you had only occasionally caught a glimpse of, neat and tidy compared to the rest of the flat, and while you had never expected you would ever end up in Sherlock's bed, you certainly weren't complaining about the opportunity.

Though technically, you were the one to shove the man down on his bed, wasting no time to climb onto his lap.

As much as you liked Sherlock for who he was, for his peculiarity, for the fact that he did not fit in with the rest of people, what he was being like right now definitely added onto the feelings you had for the man. Looking at him after pulling back from the kiss, you took note how beautiful Sherlock was in a moment of passion, his pretty dark curls, his sharp features, blue eyes watching you with interest, his luscious lips all swollen from kissing.

"You're such a pleasure to look at", you muttered, knowing that your praises would strike Sherlock where you wanted them too, "I've never known someone so graced by both intellect and beauty."

The man under you let out a soft sigh, wanton, perhaps a little aroused even. As you placed a hand on his pulse point, stroking along the curve of his jaw and the crook of his neck, you could very well feel that his heart was beating fast, just like his breathing got more intense, swallowing hard, even slightly squirming.

Sherlock's grip on your waist tightened a little, especially when you, perched on his thighs, slid forward in his lap, carefully pushing the suit jacket off the man's shoulders, before continuing to work on his shirt.

You were more than interested in discovering what Sherlock looked like under all those clothes, most certainly not disappointed, in awe as the man let you continue the quest to strip him off his shirt without a word of protest. You wondered what Sherlock was thinking, could never quite figure it out - because honestly, whoever managed to figure all of him out?

He was eyeing you curiously, occasionally brushing his large hands over your thighs, seemingly trying to take note of all affections given, but completely overwhelmed and unsure what to do.

"I usually don't like being touched", Sherlock spoke up eventually, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he seemed to swallow down a bit of nervousness yet again, "But I must admit that I want you to touch me."

"Good", you mused, sliding your hands over the man's pale skin, along his toned arms, back up to his shoulders, down the plane of his chest.

"Because I like touching you", you admitted, coaxing a moan out of Sherlock, as you just happened to brush your thumbs over his nipples. He seemed almost a little embarrassed after the sound had slipped past his lips, causing him to bite them in a try to repress any further noises.

And even more so, he was blushing a darker shade.

"Don't feel like you have to hold back", you assured him, trailing curious fingers over Sherlock's sensitive and delicate skin, flush with redness, since you had established that touch alone would get lovely reactions out of him, "You sound wonderful. I love how responsive you are."

Yet again, the words of praise caused Sherlock to shudder and he leant forward, asking for another kiss. You gave into it immediately, responding with eagerness as your hands moved over his slim belly, brushing far beyond his belt buckle, which startled the needy detective as he broke away for another moan, fingers squeezing into your thighs.

"Is this okay?", you took a moment of consideration, searching for uncertainty on Sherlock's face, who seemed oddly concentrated and focused on the situation, either of you unable to ignore that he was very aroused.

"I suppose this is a perfectly normal reaction to being touched so...thoroughly", the detective said oddly collected, a little out of breath, perfectly aware that he was responding and while the attention to his body certainly played a part, it undeniably were the words of praise that heightened the experience for him, "So yes, I would consider it okay."

"Do you want me to... go on?", you tried to assure yourself, wanting his consent before you went further, toying with the belt loops of his trousers, deciding to not give any more attention to his growing hardness until Sherlock confirmed that it was fine to continue.

"Yes", was the curt answer you received, rather eager, and you didn't want to deny him anything of what you were promising anymore. He wanted more. You were happy to give.

Opening the buckle of his belt with swift hands, it took a little bit of shuffling and changing positions for a moment to free him from his restraints, pulling his hardening cock out of his pants, wrapping a firm hand around him – no less sensitive, this caused Sherlock to take a deep breath, eyes closed and brows furrowed in concentration, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours.

"Just focus on my touch. I'll take good care of you", you simply whispered, gently running your fingers along the warm skin of his throbbing cock as it was quite responsive to your touch, giving an interested twitch, trickle of precome leaking from the tip.

"Gorgeous. I love how hard you get for me", you started praising Sherlock, rubbing your thumb over the glistening head, and then gently going on to stroke him, his head slumping down onto your shoulder, another desperate moan slipping past his lips.

"I wish you could see how lovely you are", you continued murmuring, pressing your face into Sherlock's soft curls, smiling to yourself. He really was lovely, sweet, surprisingly needy.

You tightened and eased your grip around the weeping cock, changing the rhythm times and times again, sometimes firmly grasping him, sometimes barely applying any pressure.

"You're doing so good for me", another soft praise as you dragged out the sweetest sounds from him, the response a warm and breathy moan against the crook of your neck, "Beautiful, brilliant Sherlock."

It was a huge turn on for you, something about Sherlock being all needy and desperate, whimpering against your own skin, breathing hard, tensing up, even shuddering at times, surrendering to his own pleasure in a way that you had never thought would happen.

Who would have thought the cold, distant detective was so submissive at heart?

Being painfully aroused yourself – your body was craving to feel the same amount of pleasure and attention, because of course it was – you did want to make sure this was all about Sherlock though, pushing your own desperation and need aside.

The man clung onto you for dear life, too overstimulated by the sensations rushing in, not used to this sort of attention, too gone and weak at the knees by being praised and teased and touched.

"I bet you're going to look and sound so beautiful when you come", you muttered, your strokes quicker, more erratic, the man beneath you shaking, panting heavily, face still hidden in your shoulder. Sherlock was getting really vocal, groaning and whimpering, claiming that he was close, so close, that he didn't want you to stop, not now.

It wasn't a demand. It was a plea. A desperate request.

"Are you going to be good and come for me, Sherl?", you asked then, placing a gentle kiss into his curls, lucky to have such composure or else Sherlock's warmth, the smell and touch of his hair, his desperation, his neediness, the sounds he made might have caused you to throw all of your self-composure out of the window and ride him to your own ecstasy.

But this was enough for now. Good enough for you, because when Sherlock did come, it was all for you.

His body was trembling, squirming, bucking under you as he fell apart, his words getting lost in his panting, culminating into a moan of relief – he surrendered, spilled himself so wonderfully all over your torturous hand, guiding him all the way through his orgasm, and between your bodies.

Coming down from the high took him long, shaking and gasping for air as he went completely lax and fell back into the pillows.

It was the perfect moment for you to look at the mess you both had made. The detective's cheeks were glowing with red, before he went ahead to cover his own face in shame with his arm, his curls spread out on the pillow, skin flushed pink from arousal and perhaps a bit embarrassment, the flat of his stomach heaving, his hardness softening in your hand.

He looked downright ethereal.

And you would always make sure to let him know.

[loki-is-my-god-of-mischief]

One Way To Move In (Sherlock x GN!Reader)

A/N: So, it’s been a few years since I wrote anything and I decided to turn my old oneshot My Girlfriend Tells Me Everything (and now it’s other gendered counterparts) into a series so please read that first if you haven’t. I’m not quite happy with how this turned out but I’m going to continue this series anyway so please be kind.

It was 8pm by the time (Y/N) saw their apartment door. After just getting off a twelve-hour shift, all they wanted was to eat the leftover Chinese in the fridge and pass out in bed. Being a doctor was always (Y/N)’s dream but the hours sucked….hard. Seeing the door in front of them, they quickened their pace and hurried inside.

“Look what the cat dragged in” Claire, (Y/N)’s roommate of two years, states. (Y/N) turns towards them on the couch and glares at them, which comes out as more of a grimace due to exhaustion. Claire looks them up and down and proceeds a drawn-out whistle. “Damn, that cat drag you through a hedge or something? You look rough.”

“Wow, thanks. That’s just what I wanted to hear.” (Y/N) snaps before heading to the fridge for the desired Chinese food.

“Well, what do you expect, you’ve been out since yester-“ Claire cuts herself off with a gasp. “Oh, you dirty stop out you! You were with Sherlock weren’t you! Omg, when am I going to meet this ‘elusive genius’ of yours?” This draws a laugh out of (Y/N).

“No, I wasn’t with Sherlock, I was at work. Which by the way, shouldn’t you be heading off to work now? Go get ready to leave and let me eat my Chinese and pass out for a week in peace please” said Chinese gets stuffed into (Y/N)’s mouth to emphasise their point. Claire just chuckles at the sight whilst heading to her room. She calls over her shoulder, “Yeah, yeah. I’m going. Jeez. Not all of us can crash for a week you know, we’re not all fancy private doctors.”

______________________________________________________________

The following day finds (Y/N) heading to the hospital to meet up with John for lunch, a regular occurrence since he found out about the whole ‘dating his best friend’ thing. They don’t even have to enter the hospital as they spot him at the entrance upon their arrival. “Hey John!” Said man looks up from his phone upon hearing his name. “Hey (Y/N). I hope you don’t mind but I’ll have to bail on lunch a bit early. Rosamund has a bit of a cold and Mrs. Hudson has to leave in an hour. I’m really sorry” John starts to ramble his apology.

“John…John…John!” The shout finally catches his attention, “That’s completely fine, you don’t have to apologise. What kind of person would be upset at you wanting to look after your sick kid” (Y/N) smiles kindly.

“You’re right. Sorry.”

“Stop apologising John.”

“Right. Sorry” they both look at each other at the involuntary apology and giggle. “Shall we?”.

The walk to the café felt relatively short as they spent the time cooing over pictures of Rosamund. They decided to go to the café under 221B Baker Street so that John could be close to Rosamund in case Mrs. Hudson had to leave early. After sitting down with some tea and John buying some cake to share, as Mary would kill him if he broke his diet, the conversation turned to Sherlock.

“So, you never did explain why you kept your relationship a secret.” John states giving (Y/N) an expectant look. They sigh.

“Well, you know how Sherlock is. At first I interested him, he said it was because he can’t deduce me. At first he thought it was because I was dangerous as the last time this happened it was with Mary, back when she was lying” at this John look uncomfortable. “But then he started ‘engaging me in intellectual conversation’ as he put it. I realised this was his way of trying to decipher whether I was a threat. When he realised I wasn’t it was also around the time he realised he may ‘like’ me. Of course, being the sociopath he is, he had no idea what to do with that and started being rude and distant” at this (Y/N) laughs “You should have seen his face when I called him out on his shit. He looked like I may have hung the moon itself.”

John laughs himself when trying to imagine it as the image he comes up with is ridiculous. “What happened then?”

“What do you think happened? I get dragged into a car on my way home by Mycroft’s assistant” (Y/N) says exasperated. John laughs remembering his first Mycroft kidnapping. “He spent the next two hours interrogating me. When he deemed me as ‘more than a goldfish’ he proceeded to tell me how I should go about Sherlock”. John looks interested and says, “What did you do?”.

“I told him where he can shove his advice. If I wanted to be with Sherlock I would do it my way.”

“What happened?”

“Well, it turns out Sherlock was listening; he’d stormed straight to Mycroft’s office when he heard I was there. He asked me out for coffee-” John looked shocked, “-I know! He asked me! And as we were on the date he asked we keep it a secret until he makes sure that this is real for him. He was so worried about hurting me as he finds emotions hard to understand”

Before the conversation could go any further, they get interrupted by John’s phone going off. He excuses himself to answer it. When he comes back he starts apologising again. “Sorry, I have to go. That was Mrs. Hudson. I have to go pick up Rosamund. I’m so sorry”

“John, what did I tell you?”

“Stop apologising, sorry.” He says with a smile which makes (Y/N) chuckle.

“Go, I should head home anyway. Give her hugs and kisses from me?” John promises he would, they hug and part ways.

______________________________________________________________

After arriving home (Y/N) decides to surprise Claire with a movie night, with their long hours they haven’t been able to spend time with Claire in weeks. Deciding to make it special, they go around the apartment collecting all the things necessary to make a pillow fort because you’re never too old for a pillow fort!

By the time the fort was built, Claire was just arriving home. “What’s all this?”

“Surprise! Pillow fort and movie night?” Claire’s face lights up at the suggestion. “Hell yes! Chinese food followed by copious amounts of ice cream?”

(Y/N) laughs, “You read my mind”.

“Ok well let me change out of my work clothes and then you can ord-” she gets cut off by the window shattering. (Y/N) screams whilst turning towards the window. They press themselves to the floor and sees Claire’s hair against the floor behind the couch. They shuffle their way over to help her hide and come up with a plan to leave without getting shot. (Y/N) screams again as they make it to Claire. Surrounding her head was a puddle of blood, growing by the second and right in the centre of her forehead was a bullet wound. (Y/N) grabs their phone out of their pocket and calls Lestrade.

“Hello?”

“Greg?” Greg hears the tears and uneven breath and immediately fires of questions.

“(Y/N)? Are you ok? What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“Greg. My friend she…she’s…she’s been shot. Oh, my go-” a sob forces its way out of (Y/N)’s mouth.

“(Y/N)? Where are you, tell me where you are?”

“I’m at my home”

“I’m on my way, I’ll bring Sherlock and John” and with that the line goes dead.

Much of what happens next goes by in a blur for (Y/N). They pay some attention when Sherlock pulls them into a hug but all they can focus on is the spot their friend lay. Even when the coroners remove the body, they still focuses on that spot. All they can hear is an overwhelming buzzing in their ears. It wasn’t until Greg kneels in their line of sight that they snap out of it. “Mm, what?” They say in a daze.

“Hey, I said it’s probably best if you don’t stay here. We’re still not sure if you were also a target or not. It’s not safe here.” Greg says gently.

“Obviously Gareth, they’ll be staying with me at 221.” Sherlock cuts in like it was obvious.

“Greg.” (Y/N) says numbly.

“Yes?” Greg answers thinking they were talking to him.

“His name is Greg, Sherlock” They continue, almost sounding dead inside.

“Really? That’s what they focus on?” Anderson says in the background, receiving glares from Sherlock, John, and Greg.

“They’re in shock you buffoon!” Greg admonishes.

“Want me to pack your things (Y/N)?” John asks kindly.

“Wait? Pack my things for what?” (Y/N) asks confused, having missed most of what was spoken about in the last ten minutes.

“To move to 221B. It’s not safe here.” States Sherlock, looking more concerned by the minute.

“Well…” (Y/N) attempts some form of smile to break the tension, “…That’s one way to ask me to move in.”

[saturncodedstarlette]

Detective!Ghost, leaning closer to insepct : Do people actually read your blog?

Detective!Y/N, stops typing abruptly :

Detective!Y/N, glances at him : Where do you think our clients come from?

Detective!Ghost : I have a website.

Detective!Y/N, sighs & went back to typing : In which you enumerated two hundred and forty different types of bourbon brands. Nobody’s reading your website.

[make-me-imagine]

A Christmas Rose

12 Days of Christmas: Day 8

Part Two: A New Years Kiss

Plot: When you show up at 221B Baker Street with a Christmas gift for Sherlock Holmes, you are surprised to learn he has something for you as well.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Gn!Reader

A/N's: Obviously this is during the Victorian Era, so Christmas is celebrated a bit differently, so I didn't mention much about the holiday in general. Also idk if lavender roses were a thing in Victorian times, but go with it.

Words: 1.5k

-

As you stopped in front of Sherlock's door, you took in a deep breath. The wrapped box was held behind your arms as you stood nervously for a few moments.

Taking another breath, you quickly knocked, not wanting to lose the courage you had. After a few moments of hoping he'd answer quickly, or not at all, you heard the door lock click before the door opened.

Sherlock, upon seeing you looked at you with mild surprise before looking past you, you assumed to see if Enola was accompanying you.

Most times you saw Sherlock, she was with you. She introduced you when you ended up helping her with a case. Now you were her friend, and, even got along well with Sherlock. You were of course, head over heels for the detective, but you assumed he had no feelings for you.

"Y/n." Sherlock greeted with a smile "What a pleasant surprise, do you need help with something?" You could see a soft hint of concern in his gaze, before his eyes dropped down to the box in your hands, hidden somewhat behind your back. You saw his brow quirk in curiosity.

"Oh, no, I'm fine, I hope I'm not interrupting anything?"

"No of course not, please come in." Sherlock pulled the door open for you to enter, and you felt a jolt of surprise. You weren't sure if he'd even let you past the doorstep.

Walking into his apartment, your eyes cast over the wall plastered in case information. Not letting your eyes linger, for fear he may not like it, you turned and smiled at him.

"I wont take up much of your time, I just wanted to bring you this."

Handing out the box for Sherlock to take, you saw him look from the box to you in confusion "For me?"

You nodded and smiled "Yes."

"What for?" He asked softly as he took it from you.

You titled your head softly "Well it is Christmas, more or less." You smiled, Christmas was still a few days away, but it was close enough.

Sherlock looked at you and you saw his lip quirk into a soft smile "Ah, yes. Christmas." You saw him look over to his desk before he looked at the box "This is quite fortuitous, as I...have something for you as well."

You felt your heart leap in your chest. You kept your voice calm though you were confused, and surprised.

"You do?" You voice came of softer than you meant and you were sure he noticed.

Walking over to his desk, he pulled out a small object from the drawer, before walking back to you and handing it over.

It was wrapped in brown parchment paper and tied with a gold ribbon. You couldn't imagine Sherlock wrapping a present, but the thought made your chest feel warm.

"Thank you Sherlock." You said with a soft smile as you looked down at the book. "You didn't have too."

"Neither did you." He added on with amusement.

You looked back up and smiled, shrugging your head.

"Am I allowed to open this?" Sherlock asked with a quirked brow.

You nodded with a smile "Yes."

You watched as he untied the ribbon that had been holding the box closed. It was long and thin, and you were hoping he would not be able to deduce what was inside.

As he slid open the lid, and you saw the way his eyes widened a bit, you felt a jolt of excitement.

Pulling out the long cane, he gently ran his fingers along the slick black almost porcelain surface. Grabbing the hilt of the cane, he unsheathed the sword that had been hidden inside.

His eyes drifted to you and you smiled "I know your's was broken last week when you helped Enola and I."

He had a soft smile on his face as he looked back down at the cane. There were delicate hand-carved markings on the handle, and along some of the blade. And he noted the small engraving of his initials as well. His smile widened as he looked back at you.

"Thank you Y/n, this is more than I could have asked for." You smiled and shrugged your head again "It was the least I could do. You did save my life after all."

Sherlock smiled as you shrugged your head, it was a common quirk of yours, he noticed. It was often when you were uncertain, or bashful that you did it.

Smoothly sliding the blade back into the cane, he tested the balance. It was impressively made "The craftsmen who made this is very talented, and takes great care in their work."

"Thank you." You said sofly and his eyes shot up to meet yours.

You shrugged again, "My father taught me at a young age. Though it has been a while since I made something like that. I'm glad that you like it."

He smiled and there was a glint in his eye you could not decipher "You continue to impress me Y/n." You felt your heart jolt at this. His eyes flicked down to the object in your hands "Though I'm afraid my present may be much more underwealming now.'"

You smiled and shook your head "I don't think so. Every gift has at least an ounce of important thought in it, and that makes it important no matter what."

He smiled at your words, he really did admire how you saw the world. Gesturing at the object in your hands, you realized he wanted you to open it.

Gently removing the ribbon and unfolding the paper, you saw that inside was a thick, yet small book

It was embroidered with various flowers, and had a hard fabric cover. Turning it over, you smiled as you read it. "The language of flowers."

"I recall overhearing you mention to Enola that you were interested in flowers, and their meanings when you learned of our mother's unique way of communication."

You looked up at him with a bright smile, and he felt his chest tighten at the sight.

"It's wonderful Sherlock thank you. I didn't even know where to being to find a book like this, and I did try."

He smiled, glad you liked the book. He felt his heart start hammering in his chest as you fiddled with the pages. He wasn't sure if he was ready for you to find what he left inside.

Hearing the clock chime on the wall, your eyes shot up, and he could tell you had stayed longer than you had meant.

"Oh dear." You said softly as your eyes met Sherlocks "I have to go, I'm late."

He smiled and nodded his head "I understand"

You turned and went to the door, Sherlock followed swiftly grabbing the door and opening it for you. As you stepped out, you turned back and smiled at Sherlock, holding the book to your chest.

"Thank you Sherlock."

He smiled and nodded his head "And thank you Y/n." Remembering something he stood up a bit straighter "I assume Enola, invited you to the New Years Eve party Tewksbury's family is holding?"

You nodded "Yes, I will be going."

He smiled and nodded "As will I. So, I will see you there then?"

You were surprised at this "Sherlock Holmes attending a party? How intriguing." You joked and he smiled.

"Yes, well, there is something there that will make it worth going, no matter my distaste for parties."

You wondered what that meant. Perhaps a suspect in the case he is working on will be attending?

Saying your goodbyes, you began heading down the street quickly. Aware you were running late, you couldn't help but begin to flip through the book again. You smiled as you did, excited to begin reading through it.

Noticing something in the pages, you opened the book, and stopped in your tracks. Within the book, was a small dried and pressed lavender rose bud. Gently picking it up, you stared at it In awe. It was such a rare color of rose.

Did Sherlock put it in the book on purpose, for you to find?

Looking down at the page, you saw it was left on the page about roses. As your eyes skimmed the page, you spotted the entry about purple roses. Reading the passage, you felt your breath hitch in your throat.

A lavender, or purple rose, means enchantment, wonder, and love at first sight.

Certainly Sherlock didn't leave the rose in the book. Perhaps it was owned by someone previously? Though, the rose didn't seem that old. And you did notice the way his eyes kept glancing down at the book as you fiddled with it. Did he know it was there?

He notices everything, he would have seen it in the book if it had been left their by someone else. And he would not leave it if it did not hold that meaning for him as well.

Looking back down the road, you debated going back, but decided against it. You were already late. You would see him again, if not before the New Years party, then there. You would ask him there.

xx End xx

Sorry for the abrupt ending, but I do plan on making a part two to this around new years (hopefully)

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

Cavill!Sherlock Holmes Taglist: @multifandomfix-recs

[tenthcrowley]

[Y/N]: (carrying Rosie in their arms, watching her sleep with a big smile on their face)

[SHERLOCK]: (watching them)

[JOHN]: Thank you, (Y/N), really, I was losing my sleep.

[Y/N]: Don't worry, John, my placer. I love this little girl so much.

[SHERLOCK]: I've had enough. It's me that should be in your arms.

[JOHN]: Are you jealous of... Rosie, a baby?

[SHERLOCK]: Yes, so?

[Y/N, JOHN]: (Look at each other) Oh my god.

[so-far-frogs-and-oscar]

All of my favorite stories have good night reader

[jokatsuya]

The Moon

Sherlock x reader / Sherlock x Gn!reader

Wordcount: 1010

Warnings: Watch out! It’s a little cute at some point :)

Summary: After a worrisome night for Sherlock, the emotionally reserved man finds his own way to tell his partner that he loves them.

A/n: Okay, I'm back and I saw this one video a while ago where I was like >>Jo, you have to write a story about this with (y/n) instead of John. That would be cute, right? << Long story short, here it is. Happy new year! Yours JoKatsuya

>>(Y/n)? (Y/n)!<<, I hear Sherlock's...worried sounding voice? His heavy rushing footsteps approach me as I'm studying one of the books from the shelf in front of me. A while ago, he had dropped me off here, to say the least. In short, he disappeared without warning after we broke into the British Library. Break-ins are definitely something that happens too often in this relationship. I mean, how did John put up with it?

After a while of supposedly looking for Sherlock, I had finally given up on it and decided to devote myself to books if I had to participate in this break-in already. Amazingly, I fairly quickly recognized one of Sherlock's new books, which he claims to need for one of his current cases.

At first I thought it was just monotonous literature about philosophy of language or something like that, which is why I wasn't really interested in reading it. Even if it is obvious that Sherlock is intellectually better equipped than I, I try to make my contribution, too. But with some things is an end. Nevertheless, I could drag myself to get a look at it, if it is supposed to be so important for the case. But already at the first page it had grabbed me and I regret not to have read it earlier. It deals with different ways of expressing on a linguistic level something special that you don't want to say exactly to the point. The whole thing is related to different cultures which makes it even more interesting in itself. In addition, you can even find a great listing of examples. I'm definitely going to grab it from Sherlock and finish it.

After a few minutes of continuing silence and an extremely interesting expansion of my knowledge, I heard muffled noises from the direction of the main corridor. Confused, I turned to face them and glided my gaze through the rows with the flashlight in my hand. In retrospect, perhaps not one of my best decisions, had it not been for the silhouette of the tall man with the black curly head, so familiar to me in the meantime, which I got to see.

>>(Y/n)!<<, Sherlock's voice sounds again with a relieved tone. In one swift movement, I put the book back in its place. With my finger raised in front of my mouth, I go to meet him and take a quick look behind him to see what might have caused him to behave in such an uncharacteristic way. There was no one there, though, so I turn my attention back to him. What could have upset a Sherlock Holmes so much?

>>If we had to break in here already...<<, I make a theatrical gesture with my arm across the room while whispering, >>...then please keep your voice down.<<

With three long strides, he finally arrives at my side, paying no attention to my words, and abruptly takes me in his long arms with a firm grip. His chin finds its place on the crown of my head, making me feel his heavy breathing even more clearly. One of his hands slowly wanders into my hair, drawing slow little circles with gentle movements, as if trying to soothe himself. Automatically, my arms also slide slowly around his waist, gripping tightly into his long coat. Whether out of fear or as a sign of security, I don't know.

>>What happened?<<, I ask quietly, not having expected such an action on his part. Sherlock holds his breath for a moment, which makes me look up. My eyes find his, glazed and marked by concern, which avoid any eye contact. A look that is rarely seen on the face of a detective who is actually so collected. However, it tells me everything I have to do now.

My head once again finds its place on Sherlock's chest and I follow the slowly recovering heartbeat. We remain like this for a short while before he detaches himself from me and seems to be completely in control of himself again.

Relieved, I let my head fall back into my neck and look up into the night sky of London. We really had just broken into the British Library. Something I don't think many can say about themselves.

>>Do you think Mrs. Hudson has any of her fabulous cookies left?<<, Sherlock suddenly asks freely into the space, as if that had just been a fun little excursion. I can't help but laugh a little. This man and his thought processes are simply unpredictable.

>>Maybe?<<, I answer thoughtfully and look at the picture above us. It has something magical about it. All these little dots orbiting the moon, which casts a dull light from itself. The alley we are in gives off only muffled sounds of the weakened traffic, which only seems to accentuate the whole picture with its beauty. What time was it now, anyway? Crica at 1 he had pulled me out of bed and it was certainly two, three hours past, so about four? I feel the tiredness slowly creeping back into my bones.

>>Beautiful, isn't it?<<, Sherlock's soft voice comes to me. Out of the corner of my eye I see how he has also let his head slide into the neck and is now also looking at the scene above us. Enjoying the sight of him, I look over at him and notice how a fine smile spreads across my face. In me this one feeling of admiration, fascination and love spreads, which only he can cause in me.

>>Thought you didn't care about...<<, I want to tease him before he cuts me off.

>>Doesn't mean I can't appreciate it.<<, he means while lowering his head again and casting a brief fleeting glance at me, probably hoping I didn't notice what he actually meant. How could this man be so cute in that one special way?

>>Yeah, it sure is.<<, are my words as I hook up with Sherlock and let my hand slide to his in the pocket of his coat. 

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

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