#yuukoku no moriarty fanfiction

[manias-wordcount]

Lost and Found (William James Moriarty)

Kinktober 2023 Day Seven: Body Worship

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

“Hello…it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

  Deep down inside, there’s a part of you that is trying to convince the rest of you that the man before you is familiar. 

  “Do you perhaps…remember me, my dear?”

  More so than just another nobleman you would pass by on the street. But the night is cold and faces and shapes and colors tend to blur in the rain. You have seen many of men walking along these streets. And very rarely do they pay attention to you aside from the occasional drunken pass and snide remark. So it would only make sense that the first noble that went out of his way to touch you- that willingly grabbed your wrist- would feel a least a little bit striking to the memory. It would also make sense that this same nobleman would start telling you lies and stories about how he knew you from long, long ago. Before he had lost you. It would make perfect sense. Perfect sense. Yet it doesn’t.

  Because somehow this encounter has led to you sitting in a dark room in his residency as he kneels in front of you and whispers sweet praises into your skin. 

  You’re a fool to let a stranger convince you. You’re a fool to trust a nobleman as well. But when a man with striking red eyes holds your hand so gently and says your name so quietly, it’s hard to find it in yourself to say no as he offers you a place to escape this cruel, rainy night. There would be no one around to save you if something went wrong. There would be no one around to care about you if you went missing. Yet you still took his arm when he offered it to you. You still fell step in step with him as he pulled you into his side and walked you down a few dark streets. Ones that you were unfamiliar with. Ones that made you feel as though you didn’t belong here. That you didn’t belong anywhere. 

  And yet, he still opened the door to his residency for you, like you were a gentlewoman- deserving of his kindness. He still ushered you with promises of a nice cup of tea and a spot in front of a warm fire- like you were truly an old friend. And he helped you strip out of your soaking wet outer layers before removing his own hat and coat with the absolute softest look in his crimson eyes- like you were his to nurture. His to care for. His to protect. 

  You grew very silent after that. The stranger noticed but he didn’t address it. Instead, he just directed you to the sitting room with a hand placed on the small of your back. He touches you often. You recognized that the very first moment you had run into him. You notice it even more now that he has just helped you settle into a chair with hands that seemed to linger a little too long on your waist. And even as he parted from you to get the nearly dead fire ignited for you now, you can still recall all the guiding little touches and holds you received in just the few moments you’ve known this man. 

  And yet, you aren’t afraid. You’re just lost. 

  So, so very lost.

  He knows this though. The stranger- the man who claims to know you- he knows this. You can see it in his expression when he turned back to you. You can see it up close as he walks towards you with another gentle smile on his face. It’s so peaceful. So disarming. You’re still a little cold. Your tights are a bit soaked. Your boots are full of water. And your dress still clings to your skin. But when he looks at you like that? When he looks at you like you’re worth his time.

  It makes it very hard to say no to him. Very, very hard.

“Forgive me,” He requested to you in a quiet murmur as he got down on the floor in front of you and reached his hands towards your boots. The second his long, pale fingers brush against your boots. you draw back in instinctive surprise. But the man is quick to reach out and grab at one of your legs before you can escape him. Though for a second afterward, all is quiet. All is still. The stranger in front of you’s face has taken a bit of an alarmed expression.  Almost as if he surprised himself with his own actions. But then his eyes casts down and a bitter smile grows upon your face. “But I can hardly contain my excitement now that you’re here. Louis would be most pleased to see you again.”

  He begins to tie your boots. Before you can even question him. Before you even can ask what he means. He pulls at the strings, and he loosens them more and more and more until finally- your shoe is able to slip off. He’s slow as he moves. He’s graceful. Letting his long, blonde hair hang over his face. Letting his pale, beautiful skin reach for you and touch the items that you just own. Your commoner items.

  Your face warms.

  You feel embarrassed. You feel ashamed. You’re far too beneath this man to be sitting her like this. Sinking into this plush, comfortable chair that you know is expensive enough all the food you could ever need to fill your starving little stomach. It’s so soft beneath you. Just like his fingers are just gentle as they close around your shoe and pull it off slowly- inch by inch until finally, it falls free with a dull clump. All for him to turn his head and direct his attention to your other shoe. All for him to turn his head and to follow the same routine. Like you’re deserving of it. Like you’re deserving of anything at all.

  And when all is said and done? When both shoes are off and your feet are free from their cold, wet confines. He reaches forward once more. Slowly. Slowly. Slowly. He reaches forward and you draw in your breath and you squeeze your eyes shut. Because this time, you know that there’s very little that he could be reaching for. Because this time, it’s very little reason for his fingers to be stretching out searching for what’s hidden beneath the skirt of your dress. Because this time, you knew what was coming. What was finally coming when you deal with a nobleman like him? Too kind to be honest. Too lovely to be pure. 

  A man is a man is a man. No matter how blue his blood may be.

  So just as you expected, the long pale fingers that had just disappeared beneath your dress have found their way to the very tops of your stockings and pulled down. And just as you expected, the stranger seemed very pleased with your quiet willingness as you adjusted your weight and let him strip you of them. Slowly, slowly, slowly they roll down your legs, exposing bare skin to the stranger’s unholy gaze. You bit at your lips. You squeeze your eyes shut. But you do not fight it. You knew it was coming. From the moment you took his hand tonight, you knew. You do not fight it. You do not cry. But you do brace yourself for the inevitable.

  Except, it never came.

  Your mouth parts in surprise at the feeling, but the words that need to come out sit in your throat and they struggle. They struggle and they struggle and they struggle as if words were never yours to begin with. Or perhaps, they struggle because they do were surprised that a man such as he would take such great care to ensure his lips would know every inch of your skin.

  You feel lost. You feel so lost and that he must have lost it. You had never encountered such behavior before. You had never encountered a man so willing to mix with the likes of someone like you. Never. But for some reason, you still don’t protest. For some reason, you still don’t speak. And for some reason?

  He still continues to press his mouth against your skin. 

  You had heard from other girls who were taken to noblemen’s houses on nights like these before. You heard stories of rough, cruel men picking up someone defenseless and cold and wet- someone like you- only to treat them so harshly during such a delicate act of intimacy. All to send them on their way with a little money for their trouble. A little something to keep their secrets.

  But that is not your story. This is not your rough, cruel man. It’s not. Where in those stories did those girls talk about what to do when the nobleman remains on his knees just to kiss the crown of yours? Where in those stories did those girls talk about how to feel when the nobleman starts speaking into your skin words and compliments and praises that are far too gentle, far too kind to be said to you? Oh, where in those stories did those girls talk about handsome young men with expressions so kind as they speak your name as if they truly know you? All to lead you back to their home and dance their fingers across your skin. To tell you how much they missed you. To tell you how much they longed for you. Searched for you. Hoped for your safe return. Where in those stories did the other girls talk about that?

  Nowhere. 

  Because those aren’t your stories. They never were. And you’re a very lucky girl. Very lucky that it took him many hours to strip you bare. Very lucky that it took him many hours to do anything except kiss at whatever piece of your skin he could find. Very lucky that never once told you anything but the words you thought you would never hear from a man like him. Very lucky your night ended up with you being worshipped. Being praised. Being cherished. 

  Being his.

  For now, you are still lost. For now, you are still confused. But the morning sun is just starting to rise. And the nighttime rain is just now finally turning into a spotty drizzle. And this stranger is finally letting his lips wander and brush and place themselves against a spot that is far too private for you to mention by name. But the feeling is far too good for you to wish he was doing anything else.

  And so, you sit there. In a nobleman’s fine, luxurious sitting chair. You sit there and you stay with your legs parted. Mind at ease. Body relaxed. And lips parted. Your body finally dry and warm but oh-so-wet for a much different reason. And your own fingers find themselves more and more comfortable with reaching out and touching- grabbing him now. Gripping at his clothes. Threading your hands through his hair. And calling out a name. The one he told you. The one he gave you. The one he thought would make you remember. As if the two of you truly weren’t strangers. As if the two of you truly did know each other.

  As if the name of the man now called William hadn’t lost its meaning to you when he and his brother had ultimately abandoned you.

  Long, long, long ago.

[a-book-scarfing-goblin]

YuuMori: I’ve always wanted Lupin written into the manga but have yet to get it. So I will be taking that into my own hands. This will be the same story framework as YuuMori but with a Lupin family instead. ( I don’t even know if this counts as fanfic because it’s all OCs )

Bungo Stray Dogs: This will be a French AU with all French author OCs based around a crime syndicate.

[intheticklecloset]

Not My Name (Moriarty the Patriot)

Summary: William and Sherlock are finally alone together, but before things can get exciting, they start off learning other things about each other...

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY @giggly-squiggily!! SURPRISE!! >:D

Thank you for giving me a reason to stick with Tumblr, for fangirling with me about our favorite shows and ships, for giving me the courage to start posting stories again, for being there for me in my darkest moments. I couldn't have asked for a better friend. I'm honored to know you, and I hope your birthday is THE BEST BIRTHDAY EVER!! 💖💖💖

(Side Note: This is my first and probably only attempt at Moriarty the Patriot, so I gave it everything I had. I hope you all enjoy!)

Word Count: 2,855

~~~

Will didn’t typically bring strange men home from bars.

Technically speaking, he still hadn’t brought a strange man home. He’d brought home a man he knew – a man he’d wanted to get involved with for some time, if he was honest. A man Louis would absolutely kill him for bringing into their home if he found out.

Sherlock Holmes let out a snort. “You’re going to waste time with that?”

Will stopped shrugging out of his suit jacket halfway, the sleeves still on his forearms and the collar bunched around his waist. “Would you prefer I didn’t?”

“There’s no need to bother with that.” Sherlock smirked at him suggestively. “We can have plenty of fun with the clothes still on.”

“Call me a perfectionist, but I do prefer to keep my clothes tidy, Mr. Holmes.”

“Still on with that ‘Mr. Holmes’ nonsense, Professor?”

Will couldn’t help but smile at him. “For now.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and lay back on the mattress in Will’s room, groaning. “I’m literally in your bed, Liam. I think we can be on a first-name basis.”

“And yet, Liam is not my name.”

“Smartass.” Sherlock glared at him. “William.”

Sherlock Holmes saying his first name with that kind of growl did things to Will’s insides that he wasn’t sure he could stand, in the best possible way.

He hiked his suit jacket back up into its proper place, but kept it unbuttoned as he strode to the bed and leaned down so they were face-to-face. “Clothes on, you say?”

Sherlock smirked. “Yeah. Then I can do this.” The detective grabbed onto his tie and yanked him down even further, falling back on the bed so they were sprawled on top of each other.

Will gasped in surprise and braced himself on his elbows above the dark-haired man. “You’re very forward, Holmes.”

“Ah, we’ve dropped the ‘mister,’ I see.”

He kissed him. He couldn’t hold back anymore. Their lips collided like they were always meant to, like they’d been waiting their whole lives for this one, perfect moment.

It didn’t take long for hands to wander – for Will to slide a hand from Sherlock’s hip to his back, trailing along his side and ribs along the way, wanting to feel him, all of him. He pulled him closer as the detective wrapped his arms around his neck, playing with the buttons on the other man’s suit jacket.

“Liam,” Sherlock groaned, pulling away, breathless.

“Not my name,” Will growled back, finally unclasping the buttons and snaking his hands inside, grasping his waist.

Sherlock tensed beneath him, and all of a sudden Will realized what was happening here. He’d taken Sherlock – Sherlock freaking Holmes – home with him after a night at the bar, and they were in his room together, and now…

Had it all been a mistake?

No, Will decided, his eyes roaming over the detective’s form briefly, mind whirring. The man hadn’t been drunk – neither of them were – and he’d consented readily to this exact scenario, even initiated it before either of them could disrobe. So why was he suddenly looking at Will with such apprehension?

“Holmes?” he said gently, carefully removing his hands from the detective’s waist.

Sherlock smirked. “What’s the matter, my lord? Nervous?”

The taunt sparked something in him, and Will pushed Sherlock down onto the mattress, and this time, seeing the other man’s wide-eyed look only spurred him onward. He loosely straddled his hips and murmured, “Nervous? I’ll show you nervous, Mr. Holmes.”

“Not my name,” Sherlock shot back, then shivered when the nobleman started trying to untuck his shirt. He let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a giggle and clamped his hands down on his arms, stopping him. “N-No need for that. We can do this with our clothes on, can’t we, Liam?”

That’s when it clicked. Will felt everything fall into place, and judging by the panicked look on Sherlock’s features, the detective knew he’d figured it out, too.

“Why, Mr. Holmes,” he said in a low, teasing register, “are you ticklish?”

Sherlock let out a tiny gasp and tried pushing his hands away. “Don’t get any brilliant ideas, now—ack!”

“I deduce that you didn’t want to disrobe due to your high sensitivity, Mr. Holmes,” Will said as he casually began poking along the detective’s waistline. “Would I be correct in that assumption?”

“Bugger off,” Sherlock grumbled, trying to suppress his giggles but failing to hide a wobbly smile.

“That’s not very nice. I should teach you some proper respect for the nobility.”

Will gently grasped his sides and ribs, digging his fingers in gently but consistently, watching with elated satisfaction as the detective first let out a curse, then tried to push him off, then – failing both of those things – covered his mouth with one hand and gripped his assailant’s wrist with the other.

“I know you’re not trying to hide from me,” Will teased menacingly, leaning down to press a kiss to the back of Sherlock’s hand covering his mouth. “I do have other means to get you to open up to me, as it were, Mr. Holmes.”

The look in the detective’s eyes told him he understood what he meant perfectly.

“Buhuhuhuhuhugger off,” Sherlock spat out through helpless giggles as he finally, begrudgingly uncovered his mouth, squirming on the bed beneath Will’s tickling fingers.

Will tsked. “Manners, Holmes. Whatever will I do with you?”

“Lehehehehet me go!”

“Oh, I think not, my dear.” Will grinned down at him and expertly swept up his wrists with one hand, pinning them above him on the pillows. He relished the detective’s useless struggling as he brought his free hand down to poke along his ribs.

Sherlock spasmed and let out a bark of laughter before biting his lip and going back to those adorable giggles, cheeks turning pink as he pressed his face into his arm to try and hide. “Yohohohou nohohohohoble bahahahahastard!”

“You’re not doing yourself any favors calling me names, good sir.”

“Haah!” Sherlock gasped, arching his back as Will darted down to squeeze his hips. “You ahahahahahass! Stohohohohop alreheheheheady!”

William merely smiled at him, digging his fingertips into various ticklish spots sporadically – waist, belly, sides, ribs – gaining a new sound for each new location. He soaked them up eagerly, wanting to learn them all, memorize every spot that got Sherlock giggling and cursing and demanding that he stop.

But more than that, he wanted to find the spot that would make him absolutely crumble.

“Ahahahahahare you sahahahahatisfied yehehehet?!” Sherlock snapped through high-pitched cackles as the blonde reached back to squeeze his thigh, kicking his legs out into the open air as he struggled.

Will smirked. “Not in the slightest.”

“Nohohohohoble jeheheherk – ahahahahaha!” The detective tossed his head back and fought off a shriek when his assailant returned to his ribs. “You’ll wahahahahahake the hohohohohouse, Liam!”

“I have ways of taking care of your noise if it comes to that, my dear Holmes.”

Sherlock’s cheeks turned pink, though he didn’t appear flustered in the slightest. Well, not from the suggestion, anyway. “Lehehehehehet me gohohohoho already, you ahahahahahasshole!”

“Not my name.” Will shifted his grip on Sherlock’s wrists and finally tried the spot that had been calling to him from nearly the beginning. He scribbled lightly in the detective’s open underarm, and oh, the reaction he got.

Sherlock bucked his hips and let out a screech, frantically trying to hide his face in his arm. “Yohohohohou fuhuhuhuhuck! I’ll wahahahahahake everyone up – dohohohohohohon’t!”

“Aha, the first display of submission,” William chuckled. “What would happen if I were to tickle just a bit harder, hmm, Mr. Holmes?”

“Nohohohohot my nahahahahame, you – AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

William switched from light scribbling to purposeful digging, and Sherlock arched and thrashed and laughed beneath him, finally losing his defiance as he dissolved into helpless hysterics.

“STOHOHOHOHOHOP!! PLEHEHEHEHEASE, LIAM!!”

Will chuckled. “Not my name~”

“I’LL WAHAHAHAHAHAKE THE HOHOHOHOHOUSE!!”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

“SAHAHAHAHADISTIC BAHAHAHAHASTARD – NOHOHOHOHOHO!!”

William let go of his wrists to dive into both underarms at once, tickling ruthlessly, enjoying Sherlock’s openly laughing face and pink cheeks; the way his hands flew down to grasp his shoulders and try to shove him away with no success whatsoever.

“BUHUHUHUHUHUHUGGER OFF, LIAM!! LIHIHIHIHIHIAM!!”

Will took the opportunity to get right up in his personal space, lips brushing his ear as he murmured, “Not. My. Name.”

“WIHIHIHIHIHIHIHILLIAM!! PLEHEHEHEHEASE, STOHOHOHOHOHOP!! PLEASE!!” Sherlock finally submitted, legs kicking wildly as he laughed. “PLEHEHEHEHEASE, WILLIAM!!”

Will finally showed him mercy and stopped, smirking with satisfaction as the detective flopped back onto the bed in a breathless heap, still giggling out leftovers as he covered his eyes with one arm and rasped, “That was the worst…”

“Terribly sorry, Holmes. I couldn’t resist,” Will replied, sounding not at all sorry. His heart was racing both from the exertion and from hearing his name tumbling from Sherlock’s lips so frantically like that. The extra noise had been so worth it.

“Bugger,” Sherlock muttered as he propped himself up on his elbows, still trying to catch his breath.

“You like to use that word a lot, don’t you, Holmes?”

Sherlock chuckled. “Not my name.”

Suddenly Will’s world was spinning in a blur of motion and tangled limbs. By the time everything had settled it still took him a moment to realize their positions had been flipped and he was now the one on his back with the detective looming over him triumphantly.

It didn’t take a genius to deduce what was about to happen.

Will was giggling even before Sherlock cracked his knuckles and wiggled his fingers teasingly.

“Oho? What’s this?” The detective smirked. “Were you just trying to get a rise out of me so I’d tickle you, too?”

“Nohohoho,” Will protested honestly even as the other man started scribbling along his ribs. “I swehehehehear, I dihihihidn’t!”

“Then why do you seem so eager for me to retaliate?”

“Antihihihicipahahahation!”

Sherlock hummed, scanning him with his eyes much in the way Will had at the beginning of the night, making his own conclusions. “Anticipation, hmm? Then what happens if I do this?”

Will’s wrists were pinned together above his head exactly the way Sherlock’s had been just moments before, leaving him no choice but to look up at the detective’s smug features as he used his free hand to wiggle one single finger right in front of his face, gradually moving it closer and closer to his now exposed ribs.

The blonde couldn’t help his reaction; he whined and giggled even though the man wasn’t touching him yet, squirming and shivering the closer he got to touching down. He swore he could feel the ghost of that finger on him already, and he squealed.

Sherlock burst into laughter again, shaking his head. “I’m not even touching you and you’re giggling like a little girl!”

“Plehehehehehease!” Will begged, blushing furiously. “Juhuhuhuhust do it alreheheheheady!”

“Hah! If my lord commands it,” he said, then drilled all five fingers into his ribs at once.

William tossed his head back and shrieked with giggles, doing his best to keep his voice down even as he squirmed, noise after noise being forcefully pulled from his lips. He both loved and hated the way Sherlock was looking at him now, with that triumphant smirk and knowing glint in his eyes.

“You like this, don’t you, Liam?” he teased. “Oh, I’m sorry, William.”

He’d never tried to hide it. Truly, it was impossible to, especially once he got into this position. Will nodded as he cackled, his body reacting on its own even though he wanted nothing more than to stay put and take it.

Sherlock’s responding hum sent shivers down his spine. “Hmm…then what if I were to…?”

The pressure on his wrists lifted, leaving a chill behind that made it clear he’d been released from Sherlock’s grip. Still, he didn’t bring his arms down to stop him. He simply lay there and let out whiny giggles that clearly conveyed how much he was both enjoying and embarrassed by this moment.

“Ooh, interesting,” the detective chuckled, shifting his weight on Will’s hips while simultaneously darting his hands down to squeeze his sides. “What about here – aha! Must be a good spot, eh, Liam?”

Will couldn’t even reply; his giggling shifted into laughter as his arms flew down of their own accord, gripping Sherlock’s wrists loosely. “Plehehehehehehehease!”

“Oh? Please what?”

“Juhuhuhust – plehehehehehease, Hohohohoholmes!”

Sherlock smirked. “If you’d wanted me to tickle you so bad, you could have just asked. No need to come after me first.”

“I dihihihihihidn’t—! It’s nohohohohot lihihihihihike thahahahahahat!” Will arched his back when the detective found a particularly sensitive bundle of nerves along his sides closer to his belly, one hand flying up to cover his mouth.

For a short while, Sherlock contented himself with getting his revenge, tickling all over the blonde’s torso and even reaching back to squeeze his thigh like Will had done to him, but for all of his exploration, he couldn’t seem to find a spot that was particularly ticklish over the others. He hummed, shrugged, and ultimately decided the man must not be overly ticklish like he was. Must be why he liked being tickled – it didn’t wreck his nervous system like it did for Sherlock.

“Now,” the detective murmured after a few minutes of easy tickling, leaning down to withdraw Will’s hand from his mouth and kiss him. “Since we’re already in this position, shall I take the lead?”

Will let out a few extra giggles as he caught his breath and nodded, happy to let the detective do as he pleased with him. He’d been dreaming of this moment for so long, after all. He’d take anything he could get.

Sherlock kissed him with a low growl, and Will wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling him closer as the detective’s kiss grew more and more heated. A hand that had been resting on his side post-tickling slipped around to trail up his spine, pulling him closer—

Will let out a loud gasp and arched into him, away from his touch. For a moment Sherlock seemed confused, the wheels in his head obviously trying to figure out if he’d done something wrong, but then…

It clicked.

Will was giggling again, but with an added bonus this time – begging. “W-Wait, plehehehease wait, Holmes—”

Sherlock flashed him a wicked grin, and Will knew he was screwed.

“Not my name,” he said, then used one arm to hold him close in a hug trap while his opposite hand dragged fingers from the top of his spine to the base of it, and the blonde completely lost his mind.

“NOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!” Will screeched, unable even to cover his mouth in this awkward position. “PLEHEHEHEHEASE, HOHOHOHOLMES – AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

“Quiet, Liam,” Sherlock teased into his ear, wrapping his legs around him as well to keep him fully immobile. “You’ll wake the house~”

“I CAHAHAHAHAHAN’T – NOT THEHEHEHEHERE, HOLMES!! PLEHEHEHEASE!!”

Just then, there was a loud pounding on the door, followed by Louis’ voice. “William! What’s going on? Why are you…laughing?”

“Not to worry, my lord!” Sherlock called on Will’s behalf as the blonde dissolved into silent hysterics as he clawed at the space between his shoulder blades. “He’s in excellent hands! Aren’t you, Liam?”

“AHAHAHAHAHAHA PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!”

“Is…is that…Sherlock Holmes in there with you?” Louis’ incredulous voice came from outside. The doorknob rattled but didn’t give; thank goodness Will had locked it behind them.

Will knew he had to speak up, or this could end very poorly. He tried to shoot Sherlock a “stop for a minute!” look, but the detective merely grinned at him and kept tickling, forcing him to laugh-shout, “I’M ALL RIHIHIHIHIHIGHT, LOHOHOHOHOUIS!! I PROHOHOHOMISE – SHIHIHIHIT!!”

Sherlock giggled against his neck as he bit his earlobe again. “Now who needs to learn manners, my lord?”

Louis was quiet for so long Will was sure he’d left, but then his voice called out one last time, “You have some explaining to do in the morning, brother!”

Will didn’t even try to reply; he was gasping for breath laughing so hard at this point, Sherlock’s expert violinist fingers teasing and tickling his spine like a pro – and when had he gotten under his shirt to wiggle against his bare skin?!

“STOHOHOHOHOHOHOP, HOHOHOHOHOHOLMES!! PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE, I CAHAHAHAHAHAN’T—”

Sherlock bit his ear again gently and whispered, “Not my name~”

“AHAHAHAHAHAHA SHEHEHEHEHEHERLOHOHOHOHOCK!! SHEHEHEHERL-EEEEEEEE!!!”

“Sherly?!” Sherlock laughed along with him as he drilled into the base of his spine and the top of it simultaneously while still biting and kissing his ears. “That’s brilliant, Liam! Please do call me that again.”

William was going to die like this – trapped and tickled and made to scream by Sherlock freaking Holmes, of all people. It would be a gruesome, tickly death, and decades from now when he was nothing but bones archeologists would wonder why his skeleton was smiling so big.

But for now, he didn’t care about any of that.

Sherlock Holmes was in his room. Louis had already figured it out. There was no need to hide anymore.

He gave in and let the detective do as he pleased with him all night long.

[iloveblogging2]

Just toxic rambles😍🥰

You love him.

Everything about him.

Even though he's mean to you.

Even though he hits you.

Even though he cheats on you.

Everyone knows.

They wonder why you're still with him.

Even thought it's an arranged marriage you can still leave.

But you feel in love.

Each time he cheats on you, you brush it off.

Everytime he is mean and insults you. You ignore it.

Every time he hits you. You deny the pain.

Why?

Because your in love.

He will change, you can make him change.

You'll quit your job and focus on the marriage.

You'll cut off all contacts with friends and just be the obedient and supporting wife.

You don't want a child but you know he will stay with you.

At least for a while.

You we're so happy when you got pregnant.

Though he didn't feel the same way

He finally found you attractive only for you to get fatter and for your stomach to enlarge.

To him you look disgusting.

The child will probably be disgusting like you.

You irked him so much.

In public he denies the fact he slept with you.

So how did you get pregnant?

You slept with someone else of course

Which just reduced your public image

When your water broke he just left you with the doctors.

To him, why should he see someone so disgusting give birth.

In the end your plan didn't work because the next day he filed for a divorce.

Gojo Satoru, Albert Moriarty, William James Moriarty, light Yagami, Griffith, Eren , Aquamarine Hoshino, Izana, Kisaki, anyone that comes in mind....

[tinkerleaf]

Housework

So this little fic was something I wrote in like 2021 with the help of Dreamily, but I loved it too much not to share. I love MtP and had to put something on my blog for it. I also didn't mean to make Moran sound dumb lol. ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ Synopsis: Moran can't stand to do chores, and Louis can't stand him. The reader tries to save the day. gn reader Pairings: Sebastian Moran/reader/a little bit of everybody Words: 830 Genre: fluff? comedy? lighthearted Warnings: none that I can think of.

✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

Sebastian was truly a ditz when it came to chores. You had caught Louis scolding him for not helping around with the housework numerous times and couldn’t help but laugh.

Louis was very strict in his expectations and how he ran things, but it made you so happy to know that Sebastian was attempting to do his chores for once.

Normally, he asked Fred or you to do them, which you hated. Especially when you have your own things to do.

But this time? This time, you felt bad about telling him off. As for Louis? He was ecstatic.

You went inside William’s office to pick up some needed papers to finish writing up for his next mission. Unsurprisingly, you found him asleep upon opening the door. He typically fell asleep in strange places all the time due to exhaustion, and you really couldn’t blame him. You could see how often William had been working recently, so it made sense for him to find refuge in such a quiet room. You didn't dare wake him.

However, what did wake him was the sound of glass breaking from downstairs. He jolted awake and was almost startled seeing you there in front of his desk. You two maintained eye contact briefly before he finally spoke, “What was that noise?”

You sighed, “I’m not sure, but if I were to guess, Sebastian dropped another frame.”

He stared at you for another moment giving you a small smile, “Never a dull moment in this house, is there?”

“Not really, no.”

With that said, he got up and left the room as you followed suit. You went through the hallway and down the steps leading to the foyer. Sebastian was standing near the staircase looking down at Louis with fear in his eyes. His hands were above his head and guilt was written all over his face.

Looking down beside the two, you saw the shattered picture frame dispersed on the floor. You rolled your eyes, “You know, I didn’t want to be correct.”

Sebastian whipped around to look at you, “It was an accident! Honest! Louis told me to dust the frames and I did!” He lowered a hand to the back of his neck, “And then it fell…”

Louis stepped forward, “Well, you can't put it back together, right?” He looked directly at Sebastian and then at you, “You can't always ask one of us to fix your problem. We don’t care how it happened. You need to clean the mess, Moran! It’s a simple task.”

“Fine, fine.” The large man muttered before stepping back towards the closet.

You sighed and began to walk away from the scene when Louis stopped you. “Wait! Come here for a second.” You followed him to the kitchen. When you both were inside, he closed the door and turned to you. “I cannot take this anymore.” He pushed his glasses back.

Rather than responding, you simply nodded.

“He does this every time I ask him to do something.” He took out his handkerchief and dabbed it across his forehead. “He does this for attention, you know? But it’s never enough.”

You heard the closet door reopen.

His eyebrows furrowed and sighed, “Please…” He put a hand on your shoulder, “Do something about that stupid man.”

You gave him a nod before heading back to find Sebastian sitting on the couch.

“What are you doing?” You asked annoyed.

He turned to look at you, “Oh!” Before he could say anything else, you crossed your arms and glared at him. He stood up and began picking up the pieces of the frame.

Once they were all gone, you shook your head. “Do I have to watch over you all the time to make sure you do what you’re supposed to do? I only hope you’re not like this on missions.”

He snapped his head up, “No! Of course not!”

“Then why are you letting this go on?”

“Because I hate it when he tells me what to do…and it’s fun to watch him get pissy over little things.”

You scoffed, “There’s no way that’s it.”

“And why not?”

“Because that’s stupid!”

He narrowed his eyes at you, “I thought you were on my side.”

“I’m not on anyone’s side! It’s just,” you paused. “Look, just try to make it less obvious that you’re making fun of him. He doesn’t deserve it. He’s stressed enough as it is. And stop throwing your chores to Fred!”

“Fred doesn’t mind.”

“That doesn’t make it right! Stop it!”

He opened his mouth and then closed it. “I understand.”

“Alright. Now let’s get back to work.”

The rest of the night passed without any further incidents, though Sebastian did drop a wine glass or two while Louis was gone.

As you were putting away the dishes after dinner, you heard a loud crash coming from upstairs, followed by yelling.

‘Damnit.”

[currentlylivingonaprayer]

my favorite sherliam fanfics

In no particular order

doing one of these again, even though literally nobody is asking for them

~~

https://archiveofourown.org/works/47340676

Garden Of Blood by Kiarrionss and luvviexq

A sherliam hanahaki disease fic, but it's somehow much more painful

Hello Police, Yes, this story right here. *aggressively points at phone* It made me laugh and blush and cry and rethink what love really was and realize that I will never be loved like this in my life. Amazing work. I absolutely loved it. One of my absolute favorites.

~~

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32692183

floriography by jellyfen

Liam becomes the new target of a serial killer. Sherlock is there to help him find out who the killer is.

What would this list be without this story. Ive read it at least 4 times. It's number one on ao3 for a reason.

~~

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41868567

mosaic broken hearts (we learn to live with the pain) by iridescentsung

sherliam may or may not have accidentally adopted a child after they started to live in America and finally sorted everything out between them.

Really, really beautiful and I only recommend it.

~~

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31359539

Laws of Gravity by @glanceart

They survive the fall, battered and on the run. They find themselves at the mercy of a noble whose motives are misled.

I absolutely adore this story. The way both of them are struggling to live on after everything and learning how to deal with the difficulties of living a simple life. It ends on a good note.

~~

https://archiveofourown.org/works/35645362

Hangman's Dilemma by Averylostcause, Cutie_Pi3

Sherlock catches Liam and puts him behind bars, only to realize how much he hates this and teams up with the Moriarty gang to get him out again. Louis tries to stab him multiple times, for realizing it so late.

I just finished this. It's sooooo sweet. Alternativ titel: sherlock just straight up not having a good time for 48k.

~~

I know, there's still so many more and I will add to this list as it continues, but this is it for now.

I don't know why, but somehow all sherliam fanfic seem to make me rethink what love is. Also, it's not a good sherliam fic, if you don't have a case to solve.

As always: if you know any of these authors here on tumblr, please tell me, so I can link them to this post. Please check out their stories and show them the love they deserve.

Also, if you have and sherliam stories you enjoyed, PLEASE TELL ME.

[rayne-astrophile]

William j. Moriarty x Fem! Ranpo! Reader Part 2

William's pov

Honestly, he's a bit scared of you now

Why? He might have misheard it, but he hears you say 'lord of crime' before you leave

He should definitely be careful, you're the greatest detective after all

Three days have passed since then, and every person in moriarty manor already knows about his worry

But his job must stay active

Currently, he's on his way to the abandoned house with Louis, Fred and Moran

He receives a telegram about a request, so he needs to continue his job

When they arrive, the other side where the client's place is dark, but he just shrugs it off

After a good three minutes of silence, he realises that he needs to start talking first

"...Mr. Fyodor Dostoyevsky?" He calls out the russian name. Louis and Moran look at him confusedly, their gaze asking why would a russian be here, in london. William shrugs, he himself is confused. That's when you speak. "William James Moriarty,"

To say that they are shocked is an understatement

In fact, they're flabbergasted

Moran clicks his tongue at his carelessness, which leads to William in danger

He immediately, but quietly makes his way to the other side; your side

"First of all," you speak calmly. "Loosen up, I'm not here to catch you or anything." William narrows his eyes as he stays silent. Louis and Fred are on each side as they prepare for any outcome. "I told you I mean no harm, but suit yourself, I guess." You say nonchalantly. "I want to make a deal with you. Meet me outside, under the big tree, in five minutes. Don't be late,"

The moment moran arrives at the other side, you are gone. Well, thanks to dazai of course, or you would just let moran see you

They did arrive five minutes later.

You are leaning against the tree when they see you, and william widens his eyes.

"Miss Edogawa...?" William says in shock as you raise your hand at him, a grin spreads across your face. "Yo, lords of crime." You greet them. Moran is ready to take out his gun when he realises that it is no longer there. Click. The gentle sound of the loaded gun behind them catches them off guard as they turn around only to see your colleague, dazai. A sly, dangerous smirk is on his face. "Let's not make this hard for us, yeah?" He smiles with his eyes closed. "You give cooperation, no one will hurt. Easy as cake, hm?" Moran clicks his tongue as William assures him. He then looks at you, who is struggling to open your lollipop. "Miss Edogawa, can you explain this?" He asks softly. You let out a hum before groaning. "Dazai, open this!" You throw the lollipop at him, which he swiftly catches with a low 'oof'. Then, you finally turn to the blonde in front of you, your eyes always closed. "You must be wondering why us, detectives from japan are here, right?" You ask as william nods his head. "The queen asked for our help to get rid of you." You say nonchalantly as dazai walks up to you and gives you the lollipop, which you happily plop in your mouth. Louis, Fred and Moran go stiff at your words. How can you say such a thing so carelessly? Knowing you, the greatest detective in the world, you should know better than to tell them that. They are about to attack you until you continue. "But we're not here for that." You say softly. "Plus, it would be a big loss to lose someone like you, william." You approach him and lean in, trespassing his personal space. You open your eyes, revealing your emerald orbs and smile, and william feels his heart skip a beat. "You caught my eyes." You admit shamelessly. You close your eyes again and lean back. "That's why, let's make a deal." You offer. "We will help you create a new world without the royal's interruption, and as payment, after you reach your goal, join us." "Join the detective agency..?" He mumbles as he thinks for a while. You then step back, and whisper something into dazai's ear, who needs to bend slightly as you're shorter than him. Then you turn back to the lords of crime. "Take your time," you take the lollipop from your mouth. "In two days, we'll know your answer." You and dazai start walking away when william stops you again. "Wait...!" You halt your steps and turn back, closed eyes looking at him. "..will we meet again?" "..." you stare at him, or at least he thinks so. Slowly, you open your eyes, and he feels his heart leap in his chest. "Of course, Will. We'll always meet again."

After you leave, moran looks at william, dumbfounded.

"What the hell, william? Don't tell me you catch feelings for that detective?!"

William only smiles at him.

He doesn't really know, actually. But he finds himself loves meeting you, hearing your voice and looking into your beautiful eyes.

Maybe he did catch feelings for you.

[loichte]

It's 2 AM, I have an appointment in... 4 hours but I can't sleep because of this goddamn guy in a manga

Let me just say:

The cover from chapter 67, Liam standing on his twig legs with a cane he got from who knows where. Probably stored in his room, just in case I'd still like to complain mildly. As someone who had ruptured something in her foot, walking after six weeks in a cast was... nearly impossible. I had exactly zero muscle strength left. This man up there lied in bed for almost half a year, so someone must have moved parts of his body to make sure he'd be able to use his arms and legs after he wakes up. I have a little guess, and personally I'm very happy about that:

I can't believe Sherlock is that person sleeping at a hospital bed, he's so husband material I can't

I'm giggling like a lunatic. I bet he moved Liam's limbs and stroke his cheek and-

[glanceart]

Hi, my Ao3 is seraphic_gate and this is my big Sherliam fic and the art I’ve done for it.

Law of Gravity

60k+ words

Teen-appropriate

Ongoing

Ships: William/Sherlock, slight implied MyAl

Contents: post-ch55 (or anime) canon divergence, suspense, slow burn romance, gay kissings and fade to blacks

Synopsis: alternate story (started it before the timeskip was published) about how Liam and Sherly survive and go into hiding.

It’s not historically accurate, but it is pretty gay.

[neontokyoo]

Fanfiction Recs

Just thought I'd post this because I can't ever keep track of all of my really good stories that I'd like to reread, and people have been asking for some recs anyways (even though I'm disgusting and it's 95% smut) (y'all should be so proud of me for blasting music to not have to deal with my siblings screaming bloody murder downstairs for 15 minutes just so that I could make this for y'all). Feel free to send me any fanfiction recs though, because I'm desperate to find more to add on here. <3

MTP: Rough play - Louis James Moriarty, NSFW Red- William James Moriarty Partners in Crime - William James Moriarty, NSFW New Beginnings - Sebastian Moran, NSFW The Case of the Troublesome Roommate - Sherlock Holmes, NSFW For You, He Will - William James Moriarty The Allure of a Well-Written Politcal Critique - Albert James Moriarty, NSFW The Price of Information - Sebastian Moran, NSFW Wants & Needs - Mycroft Holmes, NSFW Some like it sweet - Louis James Moriarty And then these, of course:

BSD: These are mostly 18+, I believe, but the smut doesn't come for quite a while. . .

Haikyuu: Still mostly 18+, but whatever

[moriartyluver]

You’re content is so cringe and literally nobody thinks William would ever act that way. How old are you anyways?? Your probably like 12 or something. Sherliam>>>>>>>> you’re content (William is gay and it’s really homophobic that u ship urself with him) anyways sayori challenge go!! Kys bitch

I would rather you not question my age when you can’t even use the right “you’re” and “your”. You literally messed up with that like three times lol. (Pro tip: You’re is an abbreviation of “you are” and your is used for possession)

Also I’m not going to share my age because the internet is a scary place but I’m guessing you’re either a 13 year old who has a strange superiority complex over people younger than them and fails to realise how truly young they are or a grown ass person who has nothing better to do than bully a random person on the internet.

Sherliam, although well liked by the fandom, isn’t canon and sometimes people forget that. William is also not canonly gay and is currently unlabelled, therefore it is perfectly acceptable to not ship sherliam. And I don’t ship myself with William, I just write content for self inserts.

To think you need to send me an ask that tells me to kill myself while being ANONYMOUS (really unoriginal with the sayori joke) shows just how obsessed you are.

Anyways stay mad , you jealous hoe.

[manias-wordcount]

Divine (Sherlock Holmes)

Kinktober 2023 Day Twenty-Two: Rough Sex

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

John tells you that you have the patience of a saint. You tell him that you know, every single time. But it still surprises you how far you’re willing to go for the sake of one man sometimes. 

For instance, right now.

You had barely a moment to prepare when he slammed open the door to 221B and locked it behind him. You tried to greet him with a smile. With a softness that could ease the pain, you knew your beloved was feeling. But he was slamming down the morning paper with the latest update about the Lord of Crime onto the ground before he stalked over to you. You couldn’t get a word in before he kissed you harshly- one hand hovering dangerously over your backside with the other combing itself through your hair to keep you near and to keep you close. And when he was done kissing you? When he was done stealing away your breath to make it his own?

He had begun stripping you down. Pulling off your dress and helping you step out of it. Exposing you to the rest of the apartment as he all but tore off your undergarments between stolen kisses. You’re ashamed to admit that you weren’t much better than him in this moment. After all, you didn’t once bother to speak up about bringing this little moment into the bedroom. You were far too busy tugging his hair out of his holder and letting it flow through your own fingers as you held him against you.

But now you’re past all that. Past the stripping and the kissing and the oh-so-dangerous way Sherlock liked to press his face between your thighs and lap at your core like no man had ever done before. Now he’s got you folded in half on the couch with your legs up on his bare shoulders. His shirt and suit jacket are on the ground by the couch. His trousers are down to his ankles. Or maybe they’ve been kicked away- possibly in the same direction as your clothes. But does that really matter? Does that really matter now that he’s sliding his erect manhood into your opening with very little resistance? Does that really now that’s making you moan and gasp and cry out so loudly and with so little restraint?

Does that really matter now that he moving faster? Going in harder? And harder? And faster? And harder? And faster? And harder? And faster? And-

You cry out suddenly. You cry out loudly. You wonder if it’s the walls or the world that is spinning or if it’s just the rapid beating of your heart. You wonder if the people outside of these walls could hear. If they could know. Of just want the great Sherlock Holmes does to you- to your body and your womanhood. But there is little you can do now that your beloved is slamming into you like you aren’t made of glass and fine china. Like he’s sure you won’t break.

And he’s right. You won’t. You’ve been in this position before. You’ve been here before. You’ve survived it then. You’ll survive it now. You’re Sherlock’s saint, John told you. And the divine don’t break so easily.

But they sure do whimper and whine and moan.

And your only saving grace was that you knew it’d be another couple of hours before John would return to the apartment. But even then, a little privacy will hardly save you from the soreness between your legs that you’ll feel tomorrow morning.

“Sherlock…” His name falls out of your mouth with a loud moan you struggle to hold on to him. It doesn’t serve its purpose. It doesn’t capture his attention or snap him out of his fervor. It doesn’t even get him to falter. To slow down. No, instead he keeps going. He just keeps slamming and pounding and thrusting away at your most precious place. His face buried in your neck, and his hot breath spanned your skin. “Sherlock, ah~!”

You whine again- the sound loud and high in your throat as he manages to make contact with that spot inside you that never fails to get you even louder than before. There’s no calming his mind when he’s in this state. There’s no calming him. Not now. Not until he’s come back to you. 

“Sherlock, please~!”

This time, the call of his name earns you a growl. Guttural and low, it tears out of his throat and into the open. But the sound doesn’t cause you to shrink away. It shamefully only spurs you on. Instinctively tightening around the manhood he has and locking it between your warm, wet walls. Instinctively reaching up and reaching out to dig your nails into the skin of his back- no doubt leaving bright red marks against his warm skin that will be left for him to in the early tomorrow morning. That action gets you another growl. But more than, that it gets him to pull his face away from your neck. It gets him to look at you- dark eyes swirling with so many emotions. 

Frustration. Lust. Anger. Desire. The face of a madman. But the face of your man. Your beloved. Your Sherlock. 

So you clutch even harder at whatever you can grab. 

Because when he looks at you, he doesn’t slow down. The intensity is all there- alive and well. But his movements- they grow more purposeful. As if he can see past the red and the anger and the frustration to give into the lust and the desire and greed of how he makes you feel. Because when he looks at you, he looks at you. He takes in your every expression. He watches as your eyes screw close and as your lips part to let through another gasp. He lets the dark expression on his face melt away into something more soft. Something more sweet. As he forgets about his troubles. As he forgets about the Lord of Crime. As he forgets about his brother or John or his rent or any of his other troubles before this. Because he has something else to look at. Because he has something else to think about. Because he has something else to do. 

You. 

To pleasure you. To lay with you. To kiss you. To hold you. To pray to you. Because you’re his as much as he’s yours. And what’s a saint without a follower to stand behind? What’s a follower without a saint to lead them? What are you without him? Him without you? 

Simple. It’s nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Because what is the purpose of being divine?

If there is nothing there to prove your divinity in the first place?

[turnupswritessometimes]

Sherliam Oneshot - Lessons in Anatomy

Summary: John murmured, "You don't believe in mermaids?" Sherlock snorted. "Do you? Truly?" "I think, on an expedition to see new species, we shouldn't be surprised to find new species." It was actually wise, even if it was teasing. Sherlock bit the inside of his cheek, bumping his shoulder against John's. "Don't expect me to sew a monkey onto a fish to indulge you."

***

Sherlock, a sailor on an expedition to the Galapagos Islands, gets shipwrecked - and saved, by a mermaid. 'Anatomy lessons' ensue.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52038016

Fic under the cut:

Sherlock stood at the rail of the ship, staring at the waves. They lapped against the hull in a steady, insistent rhythm. There was just enough of a breeze to push his hair back from his face; it had been tied back with a thoroughly salt-encrusted rope. His own tie had been lost the first day.

He loved sea voyages. For the first day. The change of scenery; the ocean; the crew and the tales they told. But then the next day was more of the same. Then more of the same. Open sea was, for the most part, not interesting to watch.  

He felt like a lion trapped in a cage at the circus. He'd happily leap through fire to be away from the monotony.

And it was even worse because he was so curious about what lay at the end of this voyage. Because they were headed to the Galapagos. This was an Exploration, and they were growing shorter and shorter in supply now the maps were mostly filled out. They would find all manner of strange creatures; the likes had only been recorded in Darwin's journals. Maybe a new species. Certainly there would be something interesting to take back to London.

But ships moved slower than they did in journals, and Sherlock was growing all the more restless. He’d tried to help with the ropes, and only succeeded in getting red burns against his palm. The only help he was to the crew was a violin performance in the evenings, and he was beginning to run out of songs.

"The crew say there's whales, in this area." That was John, at his side. At least he had John Watson, to while away the hours with.

"What a shame we have no hunting supplies." Because that, at least, would be exciting.

John raised his eyebrows. "I thought you didn't much care for hunting. A coward’s sport, you said."

"That's true. There’s no point in killing something just for exciting.” He sighed. "I shall have to content myself with a few grey backs, bobbing in the grey sea."

Though the sea wasn't grey here, not like England. It was picture book cerulean, the sky just a few shades lighter.

"Well, whales have blowholes," John said, seriously. "It will no doubt spray me in the face. That'll give you a good laugh."

Sherlock grinned, just at the thought.

"There ain't just whales, in these waters." One of the crew came behind them, swabbing at the deck as though it were a particularly pesky fly. "There's all manner o' strange creature."

"Oh, aye." Sherlock couldn't wipe the smile away completely. "Mermaids, even?"

"Oh, mermaids and all." The crew member's eyes grew wide, and earnest. "I seen 'em. Clear as day, fluttering through the water like butterflies."

"Well, we'll be sure to keep a weathered eye out."

The sarcasm flew over the man's head. "Just see you do, sir. Just see you do."

The two of them turned back to the ocean view, listening as the man continued his vigorous swabbing. When he was far enough away, John murmured, "You don't believe in mermaids?"

Sherlock snorted. "Do you? Truly?"

"I think, on an expedition to see new species, we shouldn't be surprised to find new species."

It was actually wise, even if it was teasing. Sherlock bit the inside of his cheek, bumping his shoulder against John's. "Don't expect me to sew a monkey onto a fish to indulge you."

John nudged him back. That was the moment the first spot of rain came down. Sherlock looked to the sky. That beautiful blue was suddenly filling with grey clouds.

"You two'd better head inside," the captain called. "Storm's coming, and it'll be a big one."

Even as he finished speaking, the rain became to come down in earnest. Not like English rain; this came down in fat, warm droplets and made the air more humid than ever. It was that humidity that signalled there was a storm on its way.

 They complied. Headed back to their cabin and listened to the waves crashing against the hull. To the rain clattering against the porthole. To the deck hands shouting above them.

Thunder came. A rolling thunder that seemed angrier and more foreboding than back in England.

"I say." John steadied himself against the wall. "Do you think they're alright?"

The boat lurched sickeningly to one side. Sherlock slipped, only just catching himself against the wooden wall. It lurched to the other side. The rain spattered against the porthole so heavily that it seemed in danger of cracking.

“No,” Sherlock said, though he couldn’t tell if John heard him, over the roar of the storm. He felt his way to the door, fumbling to get it open against the roaring wind. Every step up to the deck felt like a fight. But eventually he stepped out onto the deck to see chaos. The boards were as slippery as ice, the ropes caught in the wind, lashing like whips, men fumbling to get everything under control.

Sherlock was soaked through in a matter of moments. Lightning flashed in the dark sky.

He grabbed the nearest deckhand by the arm. Yelled, “What can I do?”

“The ropes!” The man replied. “The sails!”

So Sherlock fought his way across the boards. His boots slipped; he crashed to one knee. Ended up crawling to the masts and fighting to grab hold of one of the lashing ropes. It kicked like a snake. He fumbled to copy the sailors around him, his fingers slipping over the rungs of the rope, rain pelting at his back.

The wind howled, battering his cheeks. He gritted his teeth, tugging the rope to knot it.

The cries sounded the same as all the rest. He looked up too late. But the mast was swinging, with a terrifying speed, towards him. Lightning illuminated it for a moment, and in that moment, Sherlock realised that he wasn’t going to get out of the way in time.

The mast hit him in the next moment. Right in his chest. It knocked the breath from his lungs; reverberated through every part of his body. The deck fell away. There was only the wind and the rain; he was in the air.

Then there was rain all around him. No, not rain. The ocean. Salty ocean water that enveloped him whole. Everything was black, and dark and he’d thought the ocean here would be warm, but it was freezing, now.

It was freezing, and he hadn’t had time to take a breath. His lungs screamed, banging against his ribs. His limbs were heavy – too cold and too heavy from the water around him..

And shit, Sherlock thought, shit this was how he was going to die. He wanted to be angry about it, but even that seemed like a huge effort.

There was something in the water with him. It brushed his limbs, and his back.

Then he lost all of his senses.

*

Sherlock returned to the world with the same sickening thud that had sent him out of it. He lurched upwards; coughing up seawater. It burnt his throat. His hair hung in his face. Everything seemed terribly bright, and terribly hot.

He left a puddle of seawater on the ground. The ground. He blinked, his eyes aching, as it came into focus. There was sand underneath his fingers. But his arms felt like jelly; he couldn’t push himself up.

“That was not as elegant as I thought it would be.”

A voice cut through the roaring of blood in his ears. Sherlock fought to catch his breath, blinking hard. It wasn’t particularly light, after all. It was easier to roll onto his back. The sky was beautiful. Dusky mauve and indigo and a hint of rose in the clouds. Dawn, then.

“You saved me.” Sherlock’s voice was hoarse.

“Perhaps it’s because you are not a maiden.” Fingers brushed dark strands from his face. And a face came into view. The long, blonde hair framing it were as bright as the sun. It hung over his pale shoulders, framing an elfin face. High cheekbones, cupid’s bow mouth. “Or because I am not a maiden.”

Sherlock didn’t have the strength to sit up. His clothes hung, soddenly, to him. He stared up at his saviour. “You’re as pretty as one.”

He hadn’t meant to say that. He’d meant to ask who on earth this was, and how he was still alive.

His saviour smiled, just as elfishly, and it made his eyes glitter. They were a rich, shining red, like conkers.

“Thank you.” The hand was still on his cheek, a thumb trailing down the side, to the corner of his mouth. It pressed there. “You’re rather nice, as well.”

His heart pounded. He managed to raise his own hand, to catch his saviour’s wrist. “What wasn’t as elegant as you thought?” “Saving you.” The boy’s head tilted to the side, causing his blonde hair to ripple. “I thought you’d wake more elegantly.”

“How could you save me?”

“Do you remember? You fell overboard.”

“But I’d remember you on the crew,” Sherlock murmured. He was noticing more; that his saviour wore no shirt. He could see inches upon inches of creamy, pale skin. Could just see a pink nipple, between the strands of hair. His body was just as beautiful; just as elegant; as his face.

“I am not part of your crew, sailor.” The hand moved again, just over his bottom lip – his mouth fell open – to his chin.

“Who are you?”

Because there was something in his saviour’s hair; poking out where his ears would be. Something that looked like, and twitched, like fins. That wasn’t possible. Surely. Surely his mind was being ridiculous.

“Well—” The boy pulled away, looking Sherlock over. “I’m not a whale. Or a monkey sewn onto a fish.”

They were familiar words. His hand shifted, as well, down to Sherlock’s chest. Over his damp shirt, and racing heart. It was pounding for a different reason now; pounding because there was a beautiful face smiling at him. He shifted, managing to get onto his elbows. Managed see that he lay on a stretch of beach; scrubby plants to either side, the waves just beyond his feet.

And by his feet – his mind refused to believe it – a fish tail. A long, curving fish tale, the fin caught by the edges of the tride. The sun shone on the scales; they were vermillion. But in the light, there were hints of orange, of rose. In the shadows it was burgundy. Sherlock could watch it all day, but he trailed his gaze upwards. Saw the top of the tail, where it turned to the creamy skin of the boy’s stomach.

“I’m dreaming,” he said. This was not possible.

“Are you in pain?” The creature’s voice was soft, almost silky.

Sherlock nodded, and his dark hair was pushed back from his damp cheeks again. His chest still burnt and there was a dull pounding in his head.

“Then you aren’t dreaming.”

“Mermaids aren’t real,” Sherlock insisted.

The creature chuckled. A soft chuckle. His hand gently entwined with Sherlock’s, tugging it to himself. Sherlock’s hand felt heavy. His fingers brushed against the boy’s bare shoulder. The curve of his collarbone. The softness of his neck, and the line of his jaw. His fingertips disrupted the sparkling water drops there, turning them to rivers running down his skin.

“Am I real?” His saviour smiled at him.

Sherlock made a sound. Because now that his mind had woken up, now that he could see and think clearly, he realised the boy’s eyes weren’t brown at all. They were red. Like cherries. Like his ears and his tail.

This boy – this creature – this mermaid – was beautiful. Stunningly beautiful, and maybe it was because he was still half-drowned, maybe he was under some kind of spell, but he felt enchanted. Entirely drawn in.

“Perhaps I’m dead.” But he didn’t pull his hand away.

The mermaid’s hand shifted, so it lay over Sherlock’s chest. His palm was warm. “I can feel your heartbeat.”

“I’m delirious, then.” He arched into the touch. "Imagining things."

The mermaid chuckled. And did something that, to Sherlock, only confirmed his suspicions of delirium: he leant down, and pressed their lips together. He was warm, and tasted of salt. His eyelashes brushed Sherlock's skin, as he pulled away from the kiss, eyes glittering.

"Could you imagine that?"

It felt real. "No. I couldn't."

The mermaid's tail flicked. He felt it against his trousers and he felt a surge in his stomach. This creature was beguiling, and his kiss had made Sherlock's stomach leap. This was something out of a penny romance novel. Complete fantasy. Worse than that. The kind of explicit story that he would only read in private. It could go further down this route, if he lay back.

Did he want it to?

He pressed a hand to the mermaid's bare chest, pushing him away slightly. Those crimson eyes blinked at him; surprised.

"Let me make sure I have this right." He cleared his throat, and hoped it could help him clear his head. "A mermaid saved me from the ocean, because you've fallen in love with me."

"Love is a strong word." The mermaid touched the back of Sherlock's hand. Very gently, tracing down to his wrist. It sent goosebumps prickling through him. "I am intrigued by humans. By you."

Intrigued. The same feeling Sherlock had for the flora and fauna he was sailing to see. As though this was an experiment. He sat up properly, the swimming in his head beginning to fade.

The mermaid sat on the beach, his tail curled, as though an artist had drawn him. His hair shone gold in the daylight.

"Intrigued," Sherlock murmured. "You have an interesting way of showing intrigue."

The mermaid shrugged, catching a dark curl on his finger, and twisting it around. "You're very beautiful."

"High praise, from you."

The mermaid smiled. Their fingers nudged, in the sand, and Sherlock realised that he still had a palm pressed to the creature's chest. He stared. His skin was smooth and ivory. When he leant into the touch, Sherlock could see the lines by his ribs - deep lines. Were they gills? The mermaid took a breath, when he moved towards them, and the lines fluttered.

Sherlock let his fingers fall to the wet sand. His throat felt raw, and his head still too light. His chest still ached where it had been hit by the prow.

“As intrigued as I am,” the mermaid said. “You are unwell.”

“I could manage…” His mind was jumping ahead, and his gaze fixed on the mermaid’s lips. If he was delirious – if this was real – then he didn’t want to waste any time.

“You need rest.” Though the mermaid leant closer, as though he felt this same magnetism. So close that Sherlock could feel breath on his mouth. “There’s a cave, just around the bay. Could you make it there?”

“Not without you.” Sherlock grazed through blonde hair, gently taking hold of the strands, as though that would make him stay.

This creature, who smiled at him, somewhat indulgently. “I’ll meet you there.”

His lips grazed Sherlock’s. Just enough for him to lean forward, and manage to kiss him back, before he pulled away. Before his tail grazed Sherlock’s legs and trousers again, as he twisted away, easily over the sand, and disappearing back into the surf.

Sherlock saw a flash of crimson, above the water. It flashed again, to the left, and he realised he was being led to this cave. He managed to pull himself, with difficulty, to his feet. Managed to stagger through the wet sand, with his head still dully pounding. Now the mermaid wasn’t in front of him, he was sure he was delusional.

But his lips still tingled.

His imagination wasn’t that strong.

He found what was less a cave, and more an overhang. But it was shaded, with ferns springing from the soft sand. Very soft sand. He sat back down, his back against the rock, and watched the waves; the light on the waves; the sun was just beginning to set. That was good. It was much too bright, and much too hot.

He couldn’t be certain anymore, but there was another flash of crimson.

Then he had to give in to the pounding in his head.

*

Sherlock had dreamt it. He must have. Because when he awoke again, with a raw throat and raging stomach, there was no mermaid in sight. No mermaid to meet him. A delirious dream that had somehow led him to safety in the shade.

Because he was safe. Now his head was clear, he could see that he was on a bay of a large island. There was a forest, beyond the sand. He kept to the beach. Found coconuts and smashed them on the rocks, drinking their milk and going so far as to lick the flesh before he scraped that off with his teeth too. They were good fuel for the signal fire that he built where he’d washed up. He added leaves to it as well, to create as much smoke as possible.

Then he sat back under the overhang, and waited. Did not think of the beautiful face belonging to the beautiful creature. Did not think of those two chaste, fairy tale kisses. If he did, his trousers became tight.

It had been a fantasy. A dream. Because that sailor had told tales of mermaids, so it had all gotten mixed up in his mind.

But, in the late afternoon, then he saw something in the water. He first thought it was a shark, cutting through the waves towards him. But then a head emerged; a mostly human head, with sleek, golden hair. With glittering crimson eyes.

Sherlock met the creature at the start of the surf. Sat down as the mermaid pulled himself up, leaving the very end of his fin in the sea.

“You said you’d meet me,” Sherlock said. It came out accusing.

“And I have.” The mermaid pushed his long hair back, over ivory shoulders. His collarbone shone with drops of water, like a necklace of jewels. “I had to convince my brother that I hadn’t saved a sailor’s life. He’s not fond of humans.”

“You have a brother.” Sherlock watched a drop of water run down the boy’s bare chest, down to his naval. Even with a clear head, he felt attracted to this creature. It was his sparkling eyes and coy smirk; his softness contrasted with his boldness. He’d never met a boy like this, let alone a creature.

“Do you?”

“Yes.” Then Sherlock took in the second part of that sentence, and forced his eyes upwards. The boy’s crimson ones examined him, much too closely, shining like garnets. “Are you not supposed to save sailors?”

The mermaid chuckled. He reached out, catching a strand of Sherlock’s dark hair, and twisting it around one finger. “We’re supposed to drown you.”

“Then why didn’t you?” His fingers twitched, and grazed the scales of the mermaid’s tail. He felt it move against him. It was warm; the scales the size of his fingernails.

“Because—” The mermaid kept twisting his hair, until he had to lean forward to accommodate. Their faces were very close. “You call hunting a coward’s sport.”

“You listened to me.”

“I listen to many ships. Your conversation was interesting.” The boy’s eyes were half-lidded. “You’re interesting.”

Sherlock laughed. It felt light, and bubbly.

“To me, you’re interesting,” he replied. Dared to reach out his hand, and wipe his thumb over the boy’s collarbone. Felt the intake of breath under his touch. This was happening, then. They were continuing where they had left off. They were flirting, and that should have been absurd, but what else was he going to do whilst stranded on an island? With a beautiful boy who had his hand in his hair? “If you have a brother – do you have a name?”

“No.” He traced his fingers over the back of Sherlock’s hand. “But I like the name William. The first sailor I met was called William. It’s a nice name.”

Sherlock found himself smiling. He liked this one; with his knowing eyes and soft voice. With his slight smile.

“Can I call you William?”

The mermaid tilted his head to one side, catching the sun. “If I know what to call you?”

“Sherlock.” Sherlock leant closer to the mermaid – William, then, who buried his long fingers in his hair. “My name is Sherlock Holmes.”

Their lips brushed together, and Sherlock felt sparks dancing from the contact, as William whispered, “Sherlock Holmes.”

"I'm – not a sailor,” he whispered. “I’m on a research trip.”

William's mouth moved, to graze Sherlock's jaw. But only just enough to take his breath away. "What were you researching?"

Sherlock tilted his head away, his heart fluttering as surely as the mermaid’s tail. “New species.”

“I see.” He felt William’s lips move against the soft skin of his throat, then he dipped lower, nudging the collar of Sherlock’s shirt. “And what will you study, when you find this new species?”

Sherlock ghosted his fingers up the mermaid’s arm, past the curtain of silky hair. “Anatomy.”

"Remarkable.” William pulled away, his tail twitching eagerly between them. “I have the same interest."

They were watching each other's mouths. Watching the slow smirks growing there. Understanding each other.

Sherlock ran his fingers over the hollow of William's shoulder, his thumb tracing his collarbone.

"A joint investigation, then?" he whispered, as if this island was deserted. As if anyone could possibly overhear them.

William chuckled, breath warm on Sherlock's lips. "Quite."

Heat pulsed through him like a tidal wave. A tidal wave that sent him crashing forwards, his lips against William's. Their mouths opened against each other. The mermaid tasted of sea salt; felt soft, like velvet. He explored Sherlock's mouth greedily, his hands searching Sherlock's shirt, damp from the ocean spray. His fingers seemed to stick on every crease, sending sparks dancing across his stomach.

He pressed his palms to the curve of William's arms, round to his shoulder blades. They pressed against him as the mermaid pressed forward, humming in pleasure. His own back hit the sand once more, though he was only dimly aware of it; much more interested in William taking Sherlock's bottom lip between his teeth.  Sherlock's breath shook.

William's thumb caught his nipple through his shirt

Sherlock's back arched; they were so close his chest brushed William's. His bare chest. This boy was so very bare, and his skin was warm; his hair shining with damp, his tails glistening. Certainly something from a Greek epic.

His hands tightened on William's back, feeling his spine shift under him.

William pulled away from the kiss, licking his bottom lip, as though savouring it. His crimson eyes shone. "Intriguing."

"What is?" Though Sherlock knew. He was arching his back, one hand clutching at the sand, feeling deliciously trapped.

"This." William's thumb pressed over Sherlock's nipple again. Caught the damp fabric of his shirt, sending sparks darting through him. His tail twitched, twined around and through Sherlock's legs. He toyed with Sherlock's nipple, watching his breath catch and the heat rise in his cheeks. "Your reaction. What is the purpose?"

Sherlock's fingers explored the mermaid's spine, and how it shifted under his touch. William's eyes watched him, almost lazily, shining with amusement. He kept up his slow torture.

"Pleasure." Sherlock smiled.

William chuckled, in response, dipping down to kiss him. Sherlock kissed back, pressing his tongue through to feel William's tongue; his teeth. When William pulled away, he made a sound in the back of his throat. It only earnt another chuckle, as William tugged open his shirt. Press just the tip of his tongue to Sherlock's nipple, before grazing the tip of his teeth against it.

Sherlock whined. He felt the tail tighten as if in answer. William's mouth was warm, his lips damp. His other hand pressed against Sherlock's chest. His heart raced against it, his he'd light enough to feel delirious.

William pulled away when he thought he was about to unravel completely. Smirked down at him, "Pleasure, indeed."

Sherlock's fingers tangled in long, golden hair. He smiled. "Humans are very sensitive."

"I can see." William smiled back. He pressed a kiss to Sherlock's chest, then moved lower. Let his warm breath fan across the hollow of his chest, down to his abdomen. His teeth grazed sensitive skin, tongue poking out just enough to get Sherlock's breath to catch. He twitched, soft sounds emerging from him without his permission. He heard, and felt, William hum in response.

Sherlock twitched, and gasped, and let silky hair fall through his clutches. Felt scales against his bare legs and it sent a rush of arousal all the way through to his core. And when he felt William chuckling, knew he had to resist this. Couldn’t lose whatever battle was occurring. He shifted, half sitting up. Tilted William's chin up, so that those heavy-lidded, crimson eyes looked up at him.

"And is it the same for you?" he asked. His voice was low. It was a tease - because surely, he knew this about humans. Surely, this was a tease, and he felt the same way.

William pressed his teeth against Sherlock’s thumb. Nipped it, lightly. Murmured, "Why don't you investigate?"

Sherlock's hand dropped to William's chest. Eased him round, and down onto the sand. His tail flicked up after him, hitting the back of Sherlock's shins. He looked more beautiful, if possible, sprawled on the sand. His tail was a lurid red against it, stray scales climbing up his skin. Sherlock ran his thumb across them, and William’s stomach twitched against the touch. His skin was only a shade or two lighter than the sand around him, his hair sprawled out, those red eyes watching him with interest.

Sherlock kissed him first. He had to, to taste the salt on William’s lips one more time, before his lips trailed down, though still touching his skin until his found William’s nipple. Took it between his teeth and - toyed with it. Enjoyed the soft sound that William made as he did; how he arched in the sand and took a handful of Sherlock's curls. Tugged it, once, and he felt the sharp pain through his scalp. It made a sound come from the back of his throat involuntarily. From William's answering gasp, he enjoyed that.

Sherlock investigated lower. Trailed his tongue down William's chest and stomach, to the line where his scales began. No bigger than his fingernails, glistening in the sunshine. They were beautiful. He traced his finger across them, and William's tail shifted in response.

"This is where we differ," he said. "How sensitive are you, down here?"

William tilted his head, from where he lay in the sand, smirking. "That's for you to discover."

Quite, Sherlock found out. His fingertips earnt him twitches, and his mouth earnt gasps. The join on his fin was particularly sensitive. William whined, and keened at the tiniest touch.

Sherlock couldn't help smiling. His heart raced like music in his ears, his mouth tingling from the rough sensation of the scales. His own desire was a growing, heavy knot just below his stomach. He clenched his legs together in an attempt to hide it.

It wasn't successful. William was watching him, perched on his elbows. He flicked his fin against Sherlock’s side, reaching down. He palmed Sherlock’s crotch, his eyes glittering.

“Your body intrigues me.”

Sherlock’s breath hitched. It felt absurd to feel embarrassed, but his cheeks still flushed with heat.

“Tell me why that’s happening.” William’s voice was soft. His fingers twitched, and Sherlock gasped.

“I think you know,” he managed to murmur. Because surely he was not the first sailor this mermaid had studied anatomy with; he was too skilled for that.

“I don’t,” though the smirk at the corner of William’s mouth said otherwise.

“You.” Sherlock couldn’t help pressing his hips into William’s touch. It didn’t relief the need at all – it made it worse – he could feel each of William’s fingers pressing into him. “This. I’m aroused.”

That smirk widened. William pressed a kiss against Sherlock’s cheekbone. He kept his face close, his lashes brushing Sherlock’s skin. He kissed against his jawbone, whispered against his throat: “Can I see?”

As if Sherlock could argue. His fingers dug into the fish scales underneath him. He nodded, his hair falling into his face. William brushed it back. Sand stuck to his bare chest; to his fingers; he found the tie of Sherlock��s trousers. They fell open, and William eased them down. Exposed Sherlock’s need. He watched William’s expression, as he examined it. The interest and the satisfaction and his own desire.

His fingers stroked down his length, lightly; Sherlock’s hips bucked like a donkey in response. Those fingers went lower, exploring. Researching anatomy. That was what they’d said. The reality of it made Sherlock whine with arousal, his heart racing.

William’s tail flicked against him in answer. “What now?”

“Now—” Sherlock tried to smirk. It was hard to, when his heart was racing in his ears, and he was leaning over a mermaid on the beach. When this felt like something from a erotic fantasy novel. “You show me yours.”

But William was smirking back. The lower part of his tail twisted between Sherlock’s legs as he pulled him closer. Water droplets sparkled on his collarbones like diamonds, and Sherlock pressed his mouth to them.

And the studying, Sherlock thought, truly began.

*

They’d lain on the sand together, afterwards. Sherlock had lay with a mermaid on his chest, toying with his damp, dark locks. It was hard to catch his breath; his pulse still drummed in his ears, as constant as the tide. It lapped at his legs – his trousers were still undone – at William’s tail; the water was cool compared to the sun above them.

“You’re a fine sailor,” William murmured. He nipped at Sherlock’s collarbone, and he hoped that it would leave a mark. Then he would have a souvenir that this had happened.

“And you must be a troublesome mermaid to your brothers,” Sherlock replied, stroking his fingers through William’s long, golden hair.

William chuckled. “As enjoyable as sinking ships is, I much prefer this.”

Sherlock didn’t quite laugh. It had been easy to forget what William was – what he said mermaids did – whilst they had been wrapped up in each other. Now, he felt a shiver up his spine. He was laying with a predator; a killer. Perhaps he was in danger all over again.

But as it grew dark, William slipped back into the water. His brothers would be missing him. He left Sherlock on the beach, with a long, final kiss. He heaved himself to his feet, his clothes heavy with sand and sea salt.

At least it was a full moon. He spent the night re-building the signal fire; spelling ‘SOS’ on the beach. There were plenty of bone-dry leaves that created a thick, dark smoke. He sat on the beach, pressing a finger against his mouth, and remembering William’s. Remembered kissing the gills on his ribs. Remembered going lower, and discovering the secret of how mermaids procreated.

Useful, scientific insight, he was sure. Though he had been distracted by William’s beautiful face. Had been distinctively unscientific when that pretty face, with that pretty mouth, had pleased him, red eyes glinting up at him in amusement.

William came back. They continued their anatomy research. Lay against the rocks together afterwards, and Sherlock told William stories about London, and England. William told him of underwater palaces, and he was sure that he was being teased.

Eventually – after two days of surviving off coconut milk and seared fish – Sherlock’s ship found him. He was welcomed back on deck and told he was a very lucky man. Sherlock smiled back at them all, because he could see a red fin disappearing into the waves. A lucky man, indeed.

John hugged him. Tight enough to squeeze the air from Sherlock’s lungs.  He pulled away.

“I’m so glad we found you!” he cried. “The men all told me there was no hope, but I—” John ducked his chin to his chest. “I wouldn’t let them.”

“Thank you, John.” Sherlock caught his hands, squeezing them in his own. Another sailor put a blanket around his shoulders – his shirt was torn, and he was consistently sprayed through from the ocean. His shoulders and cheeks had burnt from laying in the sun. “You’re a good friend.”

John’s cheeks were pink, and his eyes shone. He kept grinning back at Sherlock.

“I’m really alright,” he said, as they were led across the deck. Bedrest, the Captain was saying – Sherlock needed lots of bedrest, and a proper stew, and a good measure of rum. “I survived.”

“Of course, you did.” John stayed by his elbow. Of course he would, and Sherlock was glad to have him back. “It looks like you got your adventure after all, Sherlock.”

His mind conjured up William’s red eyes and sparkling scales. The way he’d tugged Sherlock’s hair when they lay together; his tail wrapping around him.

He smiled back at John. He knew he couldn’t say what had happened. They would call him delirious – and maybe he was. William would have to stay a secret. So, instead he said, “Oh, absolutely.”

After all, he’d found his new species.

And maybe, he’d see William again, one day.

[seeingteacupsindragons]

Concept: Louis sits down awkwardly next to Sherlock after they return to London and awkwardly starts telling Sherlock about the first time William had a nap attack on him and trying to protect his brother when he didn't know what was happening and the streets were so dangerous, and Sherlock is like why are you... 💡

Sherlock: Are you tryna bond wit' me?

Louis: Don't ruin it.

[jenevawashere]

I never thought the day would come, yet here I am, writing about a married couple interacting with one another. I don't know how to feel.

[tinkerleaf]

Updated Masterlist

Last Updated: April 1, 2024

Bungou Stray Dogs

Headcanons

Random

Random Dazai Headcanons

Random Fyodor Headcanons

Random Chuuya Headcanons

Reader Insert Headcanons

Protective Men - Dazai, Chuuya

Drabbles

Sleeve - Dazai

Inside - Dazai

Bliss - Dazai

Passing By - Dazai

Speed Drive - Chuuya

One-Shots

Beach Day with the ADA!

Chuuya

Yandere!Chuuya Nakahara x PM!Reader

Fitness Time with Chuuya!

Dazai

Nose Bleeds

Rainy Days

Anxious

Quiet Night

Series

Prom Series (Updated March 18, 2024)

Chuuya/Dazai x Reader Timeline

Once Again

Not the End

Drunken Ballads

Jail Time

Thoughts/Opinions/Analyses

Akutagawa Angst Hour

Season Five Analysis

Moriarty the Patriot

One-Shots

Housework

Drabbles

Nap Time - William James Moriarty