and miss adler

Honestly y'all get your shit together. I mean no harm or anything but suddenly giving the whole of Sherlock a bad name mainly because your otp isn’t canon is childish beyond words.

I personally loved the episode and am still at a loss for words, this was unexpected and very, very great.

So...

1. For a couple of seconds I thought Mary might be alive

2.Your allowed chips.

3. Mrs Hudson continues to be a total badass

4. John didn’t you hear Molly Sherlock is KILLING HIMSELF WITH DRUGS

5. Culverton Smith is so slimy and creepy it made me feel uncomfortable to watch him

6. John hitting Sherlock had me flinching

7. I don’t want to die

8. You cock! Trust Sherlock to have me laughing 5 seconds after crying

9. Mycroft bow chicka wow wow

10. Mary giving great advice even from beyond the grave

11. Yay Irene I love Irene

12. Awww Happy Birthday sherlock

13.John crying was the most heartbreaking thing

14. THE HUG! Need I say more

15. Totally thought for a second Euros was Moriarty in disguise. (Seriously I thought he was gonna pull of some elaborate prosthetic mask and be like hiiiiiiii)

Sentiment (or Play her p4)

“Time’s up sis.”

“Hello, brother or better say…” Eurus started, but Irene icy gaze stopped her, forcing her to simply raising the eyebrow in return.  
But the damage was done, and her brother’s mind was already racing, trying to figure out what had just happened between them “Better say, what?” his voice echoed “Explain yourself, what…”
“Not now” Eurus interrupted him “But thank you, Sherlock, she was a beautiful present, appreciated, really.” she paused for some seconds “I do like her” she finished with a smirk.
“I do like her, too!” Sherlock exclaimed in the fury of the moment and his sister smiled satisfied, she smiled in a way that almost seemed gentle, almost.
“You do?” Irene’s voice mocked him, but in that mockery, Sherlock almost heard a surprise, too.

The Woman seemed genuinely shocked to hear him saying that aloud and he could see why. He was Sherlock Holmes, the clever detective in the funny hat, the alone, misogynous, impossible sociopath. Except he wasn’t and she knew it.

“Ops” Eurus hissed amused, finding that whole situation incredibly… interesting. And stimulating. Sherlock’s icy gaze was becoming… less icy and more… annoyed.
“Mister Holmes, are you exposing yourself?” the Woman’s voice echoed.
“Don’t” Sherlock warned her before turning towards his sister “And you” his voice heightening “What have you meant with “better say”? Better say what?”
“She will tell you. Privately.” Eurus said resolute “Now play”
“What would you like to hear?” Sherlock asked looking at the Stradivari Eurus was offering him insistently.
“Isn’t that obvious?” his sister hissed rolling her eyes “Her.”
“I’m not playing Her” he answered resolutely and terribly annoyed.
“It’s my birthday” the younger Holmes insisted angrily.
“Yes, and you already had your present, I won’t play Her” Sherlock insisted, and Irene widened her eyes at the same time “Me?” she asked surprised “Do you want Sherlock to play ME?”

An awkward silence fell between them, and after some seconds Eurus grinned exclaiming

“She didn’t know!”
“Of what?” the Woman asked looking at her and then at Sherlock and then at her again. “Of course she didn’t know” Eurus whispered happily and satisfied “Of course.”
“Eurus could you NOT, please?” Sherlock warned her, but it was too late. Irene would have never let that go and he knew it “What is it about? What do I not know?” the Woman asked urgently “What…?”.
“Don’t.” Sherlock said again to Eurus, this time with a strange anger in his voice “Don’t.”
But the east wind had no intention of letting that good either “When I fist re-met Sherlock I asked him to play himself and guess what? He played a song he had written for you” she said, staring at the Woman, who turned in her man’s direction instantly, almost speechless “Did you write a song for me?”
“Half a dozen, as far as I know,” Eurus said interrupting the pair intense glancing at each other “And I can’t wait for him to write something also for…”
“It was nice to see you Eurus” he interrupted her nervously “I hope you’re satisfied with your birthday present. Now we should leave”
“I am. Satisfied. More than you can imagine” the east wind hissed raising her eyebrows grinning “Next time I think I’ll ask for a joined session.”
“Don’t think about that, this was a one-time thing” Sherlock warned her “This will never…”
“Of course brother, of course. Repeat it to yourself another time; maybe it will feel true at some point” Eurus told him smiling, and after that, she stared at the woman “It was… fulfilling to get to know you, Irene, we’ll meet again.”
“Not if I can prevent it” Sherlock insisted once again, but Irene took a step closer fisting him gently as she was moving “Stop it, Sherlock, you are only making this game more enjoyable for her, don’t you see it?” she whispered, then she turned her attention towards Sherlock’s sister “You have proven to be… remarkable, Eurus. It’s been a pleasure” in response to that the beyond Newton genius smiled, almost kindly “Till the next time, Irene” and after that, with Sherlock great relief, they left the cell.

The Woman did not have to wait long before hearing Sherlock’s concerns “Why are you so pale?” he asked worried “What did she do to you?”
“I…”
“I knew this was an awful idea” he continued, angrily. His face seemed as calm as usual, but Irene almost heard a decisive tremor in his voice. He seemed… terrified “Now I’m going to have a talk with Mycroft, this will never ever…”
“Sherlock stop” Irene warned him “Stop.”
“I will not allow…” he continued regardless, but the Woman took his pulse resolute “Let’s go home.”
“Woman…”
“I said let’s go home.” she repeated before entering the helicopter that was waiting for them, and he hesitated for only a moment before following her. Neither of them said a word during the rest of the travel.

“Sit down” she commanded him once they reached Baker Street’s living room “Obey, Mister Holmes” she warned him, again, indicating his chair with her eyes “Sit down.”
He did so, and she sat in front of him, unsure of how to deal with the matter, but he spoke first “Now could you tell me what happened? What did she say to you?”
“I need you to breath, can you?” the Woman told him, and her voice sounded harsher than expected, so she tried again “Can you?”
“Irene…”
“Breath,” she asked one last time, and he stayed silent, waiting for her explanation “Tell me.”
“Eurus said she wants to choose the name”
“What name?” Sherlock asked cluelessly
“The name of our…” Irene started hesitantly, looking for the right word to use, still feeling slightly uncomfortable at the idea that she might be… she was… “Offspring,” she said finally.
“Offspring?” he repeated, unsure of what she meant. Terrified of what it might mean.
“Look” she hissed simply, staring at him, as he was meeting her demanding eyes insistently.  
“I’m looking” he replied lost, looking for clues in her, finding none.
“Deduce it.”
“I never deduce you.”
“Sometimes you do,” the Woman remarked “Sometimes you look” she continued, lowering her eyes on her body “Sometimes you understand.”
“You…” he eventually whispered “Your measurements.”
“Eurus is an era-defying genius beyond Newton, you said it yourself” she answered his unspoken question, and after that, he fell in his mind palace. She was already used to that behaviour from him, from time to time he disappeared for hours, lost in his mind, analysing and reliving anything he needed to solve a case. His eyes were empty, even if he was physically there “Sherlock…?” she tried to call him once but he didn’t respond so she stood up and reached for him sitting on his legs, her arms wrapped around his neck, her head on his shoulder. She fell asleep without even realising she was, it had been a long day after all.  


“Woman…?” a voice called her after ages “Woman…?”
Irene opened her eyes suddenly and looked into Sherlock’s. She tried to understand what was going on, she tried to see what his decision might have been, she tried and what she saw was panic “You don’t need to panic like that” she snorted “It’s ridiculous and pathetic. I am an independent woman; I don’t need you, I don’t need anyone. I can do this on my own, and you don’t have to…”
“Stop this nonsense.” he warned her, pulling her closer “Of course you can do it on your own, but you won’t need to.” he continued caressing her cheek “It’s ok, I think we can do this, Woman. After all raising a child it’s like an experiment, isn’t it?”
“Are you serious?” she asked, almost amused. The simplicity with which he was treating such a serious matter was destabilising her, it was a child they were talking about, not just a random series of chemical elements, it was about a baby, their baby.
“Yes,” he answered smiling shyly in the sweetest possible way, in a way that almost warmed the Woman’s heart “We hardly are what people would define as usual parents, and…” she commented rolling her eyes.
“Your child” he interrupted her “Our child will hardly be an ordinary baby, so I don’t see why are you worrying so much and besides…”

At that moment Sherlock gave her a shy smile, and after that, he pointed to himself, made a gentle fist with both hands, and cross them over his heart, as if he was hugging somebody close and after that, he pointed to her. Irene knew the meaning of that sign, and she couldn’t help a single tear falling from her eye. Obviously she cursed herself for that weakness a second later, but the damage was already done. Sentiment, she thought, disgusted. Why did she even care if he loved her? She was better than that, she didn’t NEED to be loved.

Appreciated, worshipped, admired, yes but… Loved? And from a high functioning sociopath, her instinct should have told her to leave, immediately. Leave everything behind, leave him behind, and yet there she was, allowing a single tear to fall on her cheek, allowing herself to be weak, sensitive, sentimental. She closed her eyes and cursed herself once again.

Why does it matter to me so much?
You know why, she responded herself mentally.

She was feeling like a weak, sentimental, little, usual, useless girl, someone who knew nothing of the world, someone who needed the others to survive, someone that needed HIM to survive.

She hated feeling like that, that’s why she had spent years making herself strong, unbreakable, unassailable, untouchable. Someone incapable of feelings, pain, hurt, love, affection, needs, emotions.

She was capable of living without all of that, she was sure of that at least. She was someone formidable, terrifying and beautiful.

But not sentimental, never sentimental.
And then he had arrived.
Why on earth had she allowed him to undo her as easily as the lacings of her boots?

He had done that to her, it was all his fault, entirely his fault.
He had awakened her interest, intrigued her, unlocked something in her, he had… made her fall, hard, and then he had… made her question everything, he had… made her redefining the surroundings. He had changed her, and she had barely noticed that, he had become the best challenge that had happened to her. He had… enriched her life in a way she had never expected. The clever detective in the funny hat was part of her now, in every possible way.

And it was something that she could not have changed and, that surprised her, she did not want to change. She was his and he was hers, in the more twisted and complicated way they… belonged together.

It would have been foolish and nonsense to hide that, and she knew it.

The sign that came after was from her, her hand took a “Y" shape, and after that, it slid back and forth between him and herself.

She smiled at him, gently and a second after she leant into him, her lips meeting his in a soft, careful, almost chaste kiss, a brush of his lips against each other.

After a while, the woman was not sure whether it had been seconds or hours, a loud voice interrupted them “This is going to be… HILARIOUS”

Obviously both of them recognised that voice immediately, Sherlock’s face became livid and Irene started laughing.
After that, she turned in the direction of the man who had spoken. She turned in his direction and stared at him for some seconds, then the Woman smiled before exclaiming “Shut up, John” then she wrapped her arms around Sherlock tighter than before, appreciating his embarrassment. Showing such a kind of intimacy, even with her, always embarrassed him, made him feel uncomfortable “That’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?“ she whispered "It seems we might consider using your middle name after all” she continued reaching for Sherlock’s face, their noses touching.

She ADORED to cause him embarrassment, and she had every intention to do so for a long, long time.

8

Adlock AU - Poison

“If you’re going to play this game, you’d better make damn sure you’re going to win. Because if you lose, she will feast on your remains and laugh while doing it.”

He huffed a short derisive laugh of his own. “Since when have you been prone to exaggeration. Mycroft?”

His brother fixed him with a level look. There was no trace of humor or hyperbole on Mycroft’s face. “I’m not.”


Everything about her spoke of decadence and darkness, her countenance and carriage carefully designed to inspire fear and awed desire.

And yet as she drew near, her scent whispered to him. Lavender with slight notes of honeysuckle and roses. Soft and tranquil, it spoke to him of mornings and fresh fields in Grasse and flowers picked at dawn…

A sharply melodic contrast to the rigid air of bellicose sensuality she presented, it confused and disarmed him for a moment, which was no doubt her intent. She smiled, and a muscle in his jaw twitched.

“Miss Adler, I presume?”

____________

By SorrowsFlower

Petticoat Tails

By all accounts, Mr. Sherlock Holmes was that wholly scandalous thing… a bohemian. He paid little attention to the rules of polite society, he had a total disregard for propriety, and he kept some of the most salacious of acquaintances. Namely, one Miss Adler. In the eyes of society he was just one misstep away from a scandal. This of course didn’t stop them from coming to him for help, but it did make for juicy gossip.

Sherlock knew all of this, finding it more amusing than anything. He wondered what they would think about his current whereabouts, lounging on the bed of a one Miss Molly Hooper. The daughter of Dr. Stephen Hooper, one of St. Bartholomew’s finest surgeons, she was also fodder for gossip among the ladies of London.

Miss Hooper had taken an interest in her father’s work from a very young age, and Dr. Hooper could deny her nothing. He had taught her all that he knew, paid for private tutors, and supplied her with the very best instruments. Sadly, no one had any use for a woman doctor. That was until Sherlock.

It had been at a crime scene some years before, one that Miss Hooper had mistakenly wandered into. He had been annoyed, not at her, but at the officers that tried to cover the body from the view of a lady. Miss Hooper had simply evaded their efforts and correctly deduced the means of death. He had been… not taken per se… but interested from that moment on. He had pursued her professionally, sending for her when he had need of her expertise. Even after he met Dr. Watson.

In the years since he had met her they had become friends. Her home had become a sort of refuge from the world. He couldn’t recall how many times he had snuck into her rooms while she was away, allowing himself to be comforted by the things in the room. Lately though he had found himself seeking out his refuge while she remained.

Tonight was one of those nights. Miss Hooper sat straight backed at her little writing desk, studiously ignoring him. There had been a dance earlier in the evening, and she had yet to forgive him for his behavior. True, he probably should not have called out her intended the way he had, but the man was truly a bore. He had never understood why she had agreed to the marriage in the first place.

“You should be thanking me, my Dear. He would not have suited you.” He rolled his eyes when she continued to ignore him.

Miss Hooper flipped another page in her book, a little too harshly.

“I suppose you would have been happy being married to that bit of dried toast? You would have been content in your quiet little marriage, with your quiet little husband. That you would have lived happily fetching his slippers and bearing his six children, spending your nights sitting in front of the fire talking of nothing but the weather….”

“That is enough!” Molly stood from her desk and slammed the book down. She fought the tears that threatened to fall. This was not how the night was supposed to go. She laughed to herself, this was not how her life was supposed to go.

“I have never been more embarrassed in my life, Mr. Holmes! You humiliated me in front of all our friends!” She turned her back on him, unwilling to allow him to see the hint of tears at the corners of her eyes.

“Those people were hardly your friends, every single one of them would sell you out at a moment’s notice.” Sherlock shook his head, to think she actually cared about what those people thought. “And, I think you will find that I humiliated Mr. Williamson, and not you.”

Molly grit her teeth, clenched her fists, and turned back around.

“Considering he is my intended, yes, Mr. Holmes, you did indeed humiliate me.”

“Surely you don’t actually plan on going ahead with the wedding?” Sherlock sat up straight, a sudden knot pulling tight in his chest. Mr. Williamson was not a fan of his. In fact the two of them had already had a talk, and it was made quite obvious that Sherlock’s presence in Miss Hooper’s life would not be welcome after the wedding. This was something that was not to be tolerated.

“Of course I do. It may take some talking on both mine and my Father’s part, but I am sure that Thomas will come around.” Molly smoothed down her skirts and headed for the changing screen. Her corset had been digging into her side for the past two hours, but Mr. Holmes’ presence had prevented her from doing anything about it. The thing had become too much of an annoyance though. It wasn’t as though Mr. Holmes and never seen her in her unmentionables before. The man just didn’t seem bothered by it.

“Thomas, what a perfectly boring name.” Sherlock kept his eyes on Miss Hooper as she slipped behind the screen. A thought flitted through his mind, one that made his breath catch. It wasn’t a new thought, but never before had he felt the desire to act upon it.

“A perfectly normal name, quite unlike Sherlock…” Molly gasped when she felt two large hands pressing tightly on either side of her waist. “Mr. Holmes….”

“Don’t… don’t do that.” Sherlock flexed his fingers against her sides and pulled her into his chest. “You never call me Sherlock. I think I would quite like it if you did.”

Molly swallowed hard. She would be lying if she said that this wasn’t something she had dreamed about. She had fallen for the man years ago, but she knew that he would never see her that way. He had no interest in romantic entanglements as he put it. So when Thomas came around, she accepted his courtship. She loved the man, but she was quickly realizing that he was greatly overshadowed by what she felt for the man at her back.

“I’m getting married in a month.” Molly tried to keep her shivering out of her voice, but the pressure at her sides made it clear that she failed.

“No, you won’t.” Sherlock pressed his nose into her hair, his hands slipping from her sides and over her belly. He didn’t still until his hands rested low. “You could never give up this life, and that is just what he wants you to do. He wants you to be his sweet little, dutiful wife. Is that what you want? If it is, I will leave now and you will never have to see me again.”

“What is this, Mr…. Sherlock. Are you asking me to choose between the two of you?” Molly closed her eyes as she felt Sherlock lean down and press his lips to her ear.

“You know he will do the same.” Sherlock felt himself shudder. So long he had held himself in, kept himself from losing control. Something told him to continue would mean the loss of the woman in his arms. He would have to let go of himself, for both of their sakes.

“Sherlock, I….” Her lungs seized up as the man pressed the softest of kisses along her neck. He moved from the edge of her jaw and down to her shoulder, his lips adding the slightest bit more pressure there.

He took a step back, halting her movements when she tried to turn around.

“Don’t move.” His heart lightened when she nodded and stayed facing away from him.

He lightly pressed his hands to the sides of her neck, smoothing them down her shoulders and bringing them to the back of her dress. Slowly he undid each hook and tie, peeling both bodice and skirt from her. Without a word Molly stepped out of the skirt, but remained turned away. His hands slipped around front, his long fingers tracing the bone buttons holding her corset cover together.

Molly’s heart raced in her chest, she should pull away from him. She should cover herself and demand he leave at once. Instead she brought her hands up to his and rested them along the backs of his hands as he slowly undid the cover. He was careful, meticulous, as he pushed each button through. His fingers skimmed along the top swell of her breasts, dipping into her shift to tease her. The buttons and ties freed, the cover was tossed down with her dress.

Sherlock smiled when he noticed the petticoat she had worn. It was the pale yellow one with the hand tatted lace. It had been a favorite of his since he had seen her in it. He always found his attention drawn to her when it would peek out from the bottom of her skirts. He carefully untied the petticoat and allowed it to fall. Just as before she stepped from it without a word.

He had undressed a woman before, but his experience with Miss Adler was different than with Molly. Miss Adler had spent the whole time directing him on what to do, making orders as though he had been her servant. It had been a wonderful evening, but something in it had been lacking. Something he finally understood.

He ran his finger up the ties of the corset, playfully plucking at them and earning a soft chuckle from her. His fingers were deft at undoing the knot and pulling the ties loose. As he had with the cover, he reached around the front and unhooked the busk. Molly let out a heavy breath when the offending garment was tossed aside. He took a moment to look at the woman standing so patiently in front of him. She was a tiny thing without the bulk of her clothing, he felt that one false move could snap her in two.

He lowered himself to the ground, his hands immediately undoing the ties to the smaller petticoat and tossing the garment aside. When the offending thing was gone he slipped his hands inside the slit of her drawers, running his fingers up under the shift and along her thighs. He continued his ministrations until he could feel her trembling, then with a flick he had the drawers around her ankles. He grasped a hold of the shift, and pulled upwards as he stood. By the time he was straight Molly stood in nothing but her stockings, garters, and shoes.

Sherlock didn’t speak as he moved to stand in front of her. He kept his hands in contact with her skin the entire time, moving them from her back to her shoulders, up her neck until he cradled her face. He lowered his head to bring his lips to hers. He didn’t kiss her, simply remained hovering there as she finally spoke.

“Your choice, Molly?” He wouldn’t admit that he was nervous. There was a good chance that she would smack him and tear herself away. He watched her eyes, so wide in the darkness of the room.

“Do you even need to ask?” She lifted a hand to rest against his chest. Her heart skipped at the sight of his smile, it stopped altogether when he fell to his knees. His arms went around to hold her close, his lips pressed tightly against her stomach in an intimate kiss.

There would be scandal, there would be talk. Her father would have to talk to Thomas, and hopefully there would be no scene there. Still, in the end she knew that it would be worth it. She slipped her hands into his perfectly slicked hair and ruffled it. He grumbled a bit at the action, but he would just have to get used to it because she figured she would be doing it a lot from now on.

—————————————-

Author’s Note: Probably should have worked on Language of Flowers, but after a conversation with Idris about my preference of writing sensual scenes instead of smut, and my headcanon that Sherlock loves to watch and help Molly undress, well I had to write this.

Also, I might be a bit stuck on Victorian!Lock at the moment.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Irene tilted her chin mutinously, refusing to dance to the tunes he’s singing in his momentary lapse of judgement - because surely this could not be more than that - a small glitch in his machinery. Slowly she leaned closer, lashes grazing her cheeks as she allowed their noses to almost touch - almost. Summer heat between their torsos, she flicked her eyes to gaze up at him and reminded herself not to be swayed by those gem green rings around dilated pupils. “Mr Holmes,” she whispered breathily, every soft word concealing a bite, “You don’t know what you’re asking for.“

The hand that came to the small of her back surprised her, as did the confidence and certainty in his smirk. "No Miss Adler, I think you’ll find I do.”

The Picnic | {The W Hypothesis } the picnic is going to be over several chapters, because there’s so much material 

I bought me an illusion
An I put it on the wall
I let it fill my head with dreams
And I had to have them all
But oh the taste is never so sweet
As what you’d believe it is
Well I guess it never is
It’s these prejudiced illusions
That pump the blood
To the heart of the biz

2

Today is a very memorable day. Last Thursday, after the x company finale, I posted a photo on my ig and tagged the cast and TORBEN LIKED IT. Okay, that was amazing but he does that when people tag him on ig on twitter. But then today he LIKED A PHOTO OF LARA PULVER I POSTED IN OCTOBER AND THERE WERE 25 OTHER PICTURES BEFORE THAT ONE. And the question is, did he scroll down my instagram???
Does he like Sherlock???
Also this cured my depression for a day and I have no idea how did we deserve him and I’m going to miss seeing him every week in x company so much 😭

anonymous asked:

Would you ship johnlock as well as adlock if you felt personally that the fandom wasn't contagious (as a polyshipper)?

Alright, guys… This is it… I’m coming out….

I’m actually a Johnlocker as well as an Adlocker.

* e x p l o s i o n *

Seriously, though…

In the fandom, even if I love both ships, I’d choose Adlock because most of the Adlockers are being oppressed with their ship. I’m going to stand beside the ship who is being bullied because they need me more than the other.

“A Scandal in Bohemia” was the first story I read about Sherlock Holmes so Adlock… Adlock everywhere and I love it so much and I weep at Adlock.

Watching the show in this new modern era of acceptance, I saw the chemistry between John and Sherlock… and loved it so much.

Then our Queen, Miss Adler, came and of course, I instantly fell back in love with dem Adlock and forever stand my ground for Adlock… and weep at Adlock because huhu Adlock hell… and of course John has Mary now… and they loved each other and they were so perfect and I love Warstan, too, so…

I never let the fandom tell me who to ship. 

I ship what I ship.
(hmm… maybe i should use this as my motto in life now lol)

Fandom doesn’t equal the show to me. Whoever Sherlock is happy with, then I’m happy. I just want Sherlock to be happy.

I only respond to other ships when they blatantly attack me. I am happy to ignore other parts of the ship. Mainly because I don’t want to deal with a heavy frustrating thing that will only make me want to kill someone.