cabbie-on-the-street

Experiment #2 - Request

Originally requested by @newts-fan-caseSo could you do a Sherlock x Reader were she is riding his face? (Lol I’m a sinner but I ain’t sorry) like for an experiment ‘cause Sherlock thinks a person can’t get aroused just by giving pleasure to someone else, but he is wrong and yeah ;)
& Anon:  Hi! Can I request a smut one shot with Sherlock where he wants to try have the reader sit on his face and eat her out and she’s shy & a bit self conscious with her body and he makes sure he makes her see Stars (with a little fkuff)? Thank you!
Requested by anon:  The “Experiment” was awesome! Can we have a part 2? Pleeeeeaaaaseeee
& a shit load of other people.

This is Sequel Friday first winner.

Pairing: Sherlock x reader.

Word count: 2,886

Warnings: Smut (unprotected), un-edited, secuel (yup, it’s a warning)

A/N: Amazing way to wrap an amazing week. Thank you to everyone who voted!

Enjoy!

|PART 1|

After Sherlock’s little “experiment”, his relationship with (Y/N) turned somewhat odd. They would continue to work together and act professional during the cases, but the tension between them was too much.

He had showed her a side that not a single human thought existed, or at least didn’t want to see. He had been patient with her, loving even, making sure to make her feel comfortable at all costs, complimenting her, being gentle and respecting her limits… Definitely thing a real gentleman does, but not the kind of traits one would expect from Sherlock Holmes.

Then there was also the fact that John was sensing some change of vibes in 221B. Of course, he figured it had something to do with Sherlock’s usual arse behaviour, but it was weird to see (Y/N) affected by it.

Sherlock was sitting on his seat, Watson was on his and (Y/N) was between them on the “victim’s chair”. Watson had a stern, determined look on his eyes and Sherlock was calm as usual, thinking that John was too dumb to have figured anything about him and (Y/N).

“What is going on?” John asked carefully.

Keep reading

First Steps

John.
SH

What is it Sherlock?

Please come home.
SH

Are you and Rosie okay?

Fine. Please come home immediatly.
SH

What’s going on?
Sherlock!

Something’s happening.
Come home now.
SH

Did you burn our house down accidentally?

Just come home!
SH

John dropped the bag of groceries, and practicaly ran out of Tesco.
“Cab!”
“Where to mate?” The cabbie asked.
“Baker street. And hurry up.”
“All right mate, calm down.”

On my way.

Sherlock didn’t answer.
“You better be alive.” John muttered to himself as he impaitently looked out of the window.

Before the cab stopped John was already half out of the car. He threw 20 pounds at the driver.
“Keep the change!” He shouted as he ran upstairs.

“Sherlock! Sherlock are you okay?!”
He opened the door to the living room and found Sherlock sitting on the floor in his dressing gown. However the most surprising thing was Rosie.
She stood up by herself and carefully, very carefully, took small steps towards Sherlock.
“This is her first steps, John.”
Sherlock was sat with his back to John, carefully watching Rosie, being ready to catch her at any second.
Rosie spotted her dad and began laughing. She got too eager to impress and fell down and landed on her butt, still laughing.
“Oh John, you ruined it.”
John laughed and gave Sherlock a kiss on the cheek.
“I saw it. And it probably won’t be the last time she walked. Will it Rosie?” John asked and picked her up.
“She’s growing up so fast,” John said.
“She really is,” Sherlock agreed.
“Our little girl.”
Sherlock smiled and looked away.
“Oh come on, love. She’s OUR daughter. You know that.”
“I do know that.”
John gave him a kiss.
“The best dad she could ever ask for. That I could ever ask for. But now I have to take a trip to Tesco again.”
Sherlock laughed.
“I’ll ask Mrs. Hudson to by some nappies for Rosie while she’s out. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

surprising your boyfriend like

Bitty doesn’t like lying to his boyfriend. It’s not his style. If anything, he’s honest to a fault. It’s not his speed to perpetrate deceptions, much less relish him.

Oh, but this… this is really kind of fun.

When he first tells Jack he’ll be heading home for Christmas, Jack is visibly disappointed. His face falls, and he heaves a sigh before mustering up his stoic face and telling Bitty “I hope you have fun.”

Bitty feigns concern. “Oh, now, what will you do? I know you’re playing on Christmas Eve day, so I suppose you can’t go home to your parents’.”

Jack shakes his head. “I’ll make do. I’m sure someone on the team will have me over.” But the sad glisten in his eyes is almost enough to make Bitty break down and confess right there.

Almost.

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Cabbie on the Street: NHL Sticks and Knobs

So @xiulayallday (Bree), @kpopandlock (Kara), and I were able to exist within 3ft of six EXO members due to a series of glorious coincidences that allowed us to run into Suho immediately upon entering Times Square. Which then led to this…

What follows is a pretty detailed account of the day and it’s a mess, but it’s all written exactly as I remember it and hopefully will allow you to feel exactly what I was feeling in those moments.

Keep reading

Hello Detective Chapter 60 (Sherlock Imagine)

masterlist

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5   Part 6   Part 7   Part 8   Part 9   Part 10   Part 11   Part 12   Part 13   Part 14   Part 15   Part 16   Part 17   Part 18   Part 19   Part 20   Part 21   Part 22   Part 23   Part 24   Part 25   Part 26  Part 27  Part 28  Part 29 Part 30  Part 31  Part 32  Part 33   Part 34   Part 35   Part 36   Part 37   Part 38   Part 39   Part 40      Part 41   Part 42   Part 43   Part 44   Part 45   Part 46   Part 47   Part 48   Part 49  Part 50   Part 51  Part 52   Part 53    Part 54  Part 55   Part 56  Part 57 Part 58 Part 59  Part 60 Part 61

Shoutout to @imboredsueme for correctly guessing and being a brave soul and being right😂.


You handed some cash to the cabbie and made your way into the apartment complex. You checked that you had the right address and knocked on the door. You heard voices from within, and were surprised.

“What? Are you out of your mind?” A familiar voice asked angrily from within.

“I don’t see why not. It’s just as plausible as some of your theories.” An unfamiliar voice responded as the door was opened.

“Y/N?” He asked.

“Hello Philip. Sorry, I didn’t know you had company.” You replied, stepping into the small flat.

“Oh my god. You’re her.” A raven haired girl with a nose ring asked.

“I thought he was lying, but he does know her.” A man on the couch wearing a deerstalker said to the kid next to him.

“Um… What’s this?” You asked, and your eyes drifted to the wall covered in papers and string. On second thought, was this a good idea? You still weren’t sure.

Anderson rubbed his head, not wanting to answer.

“It’s the Empty Hearse club, and you’re Y/N Gregson.” One of the member’s ran up to you, shaking your hand furiously.

“Yes… but,” you turned to the wall again and realized the purpose of the club. Your mouth formed into an ‘O’.

“Let me guess, Philip here formed this club so that like-minded people could meet and discuss theories. Theories on how Sherlock Holmes faked his death.” You said, and the members were all but giddy.

“It’s like I’m living the blog.” One voice muttered.

“Will you deduce me?” Another asked.

“Wait a minute… You said theories on how Sherlock faked his death. You said ‘how’ not ‘if’. You think he’s still out there too.” Anderson said.

“Listen, that’s not why I’m here–” you were cut off.

“Oh My God!” The raven haired woman, Laura, pointed to the television behind you. You whipped around the read the headline ‘BREAKING NEWS: HAT DETECTIVE ALIVE’. Philip’s jaw dropped. Everyone was jumping up in excitement. All of their phones were blowing up.

Laura jumped up and begged for a picture with you. You quickly obliged, and raised an eyebrow to Philip. He shook his head in an apology.

“Ms. Gregson,” the youngest of the group asked and you turned to face him, “did you know the whole time?’

You thought a moment on your reply, with your new job you knew it was best not to answer honestly. You didn’t need the press knowing every detail.

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss the matter. Now, Philip can I steal you for a bit?” You asked, he nodded following you out into the hall.

“Did you know?” He asked, you sighed.

“How ‘bout we go for a walk.” You said, and he followed you out into the street.

“I’m assuming you read the paper.” You stated.

“I do sometimes, Director-General.” He said, and you turned to him with a smile.

“Naturally in my new position I’ll need to surround myself with people I can trust.” You began, your heels clicking on the pavement and your hands buried in your pockets.

“You trust me?” He asked.

“Well the jury’s still out on that one. But you do have a good head on your shoulders. I mean you’re no Sherlock Holmes, but you do trust your instincts. You were willing to search for an answer no matter how unpopular. I’m sure people told you that you were crazy and wrong and wasting your time, but nevertheless you persisted. And you were right.” You spoke.

“So you want me to work for you, because I believed in Sherlock?” He asked, confused.

“I’m putting you on the list of candidates. You’ll have to prove your worth and trust first. But your ability to travel down a path that no one else dare has brought you to my attention. You believed even when I didn’t, Philip. That’s very admirable.” You stated, a professional air about you. You felt powerful, and changed. You liked this feeling.

“Why come to me now?” He asked.

“I’m simply informing you so that you don’t get too worried if more government officials come by here within the next couple months. There will be an extreme vetting process for all candidates so I’m just warning you. I’m also giving you the opportunity to decline the offer.” You answered truthfully.

“Can I think about it?” He asked.

“Absolutely.”  You answered.

“Y/N?” He asked again, “You weren’t working for the National History museum, were you? And Charles Bass wasn’t your colleague?”

“What makes you say that?” You stopped in your tracks, realizing you were back in front of his building.

“Hell of a job upgrade.” He answered, and you smiled.

“He was a colleague, but not at a museum.” You smiled. Anderson really had changed, the old Philip would have taken much longer to fit that one together.

“Mind if I ask where?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Good day, Philip.” you smirked, flagging down a cab.

“Y/N.” He whined, wanting an answer.

“Prove your worth, Philip. You already know the answer.” You said, getting into the cab and closing the door. This was his first test, let’s see how he does.

“Where to ma’am?” The cabbie asked.

“221 Baker Street, please.” You said against your better judgement. You really needed to look into getting your own driver like Mycroft had, maybe you poach Giles from him.

You exited the cab onto Baker Street. You greeted Mrs. Hudson at the door and she was so happy to see you. She told you she would be up with tea in a moment.

You stared up at the stairs, almost nervous to ascend them. You couldn’t remember the last time you did so. It had to be when you found the letter. You sighed and began your way up quietly. Could things really go back to the way they were? Surely things have changed. You have changed, but your one weakness has returned. You couldn’t let him in again that easily.

“An agent gave his life to tell us that.” You heard Mycroft speaking from within the room.

“Perhaps he shouldn’t have done. He was obviously just trying to show off.” Sherlock retorted as you stepped cautiously in the door.

“Something you’re well acquainted with.” You muttered as you looked around the room, taking it all in again. Both men turned to you, surprised. Sherlock wore a smirk on his face, you saw a bruise forming on his busted lip. He looked you up and down, knowing where you had been.

You approached him and sat on the arm of his chair out of habit. He turned to you, surprised by your actions, and you got a more clear look of his face.

“I told you he would hit you.” You said, placing your hand under his chin, examining his wound.

“Yes, well I believe this time I did deserve it.” He answered, and you looked down at the game of Operation sitting between the two brothers. You raised an eyebrow, and stood to examine the wall above the couch.

“None of these markers of yours is behaving in any way suspiciously?” You asked, dragging your finger along the connected lines, examining all the data.

“No Y/N, but you have to trust me. I’ll find the answer. But it will be in an odd phrase in an online blog or in an unexpected trip to the countryside or a misplaced lonely hearts ad.” Sherlock answered and you rolled your eyes. A ‘no’ would have sufficed.

“I’ve given the Prime Minister my personal assurance you’re on the case.” Mycroft said, you nearly forgot he was there.

“The Home Secretary is quite pleased as well.” You mentioned, if Mycroft was going to name drop you would too. A loud buzzing sound from the game caused you to turn around.

“Oh bugger!” Mycroft muttered, placing the plastic heart back into the slot.

“Can’t handle a broken heart. How very telling.” Sherlock retorted.

“Don’t be smart.” He scolded him, and you rolled your eyes. The feud would never end between these two. You were walking around the flat, absent mindedly tidying it up.

“That takes me back. ‘Don’t be smart, Sherlock, I’m the smart one’.” Sherlock said, in a voice that made you crack a smile.

“I am the smart one.” Mycroft argued, clearly a sensitive point.

“I used to think I was an idiot.” Sherlock replied, and you frowned. You couldn’t even imagine what it was like growing up with Mycroft. You were placing dishes in the sink now, attempting to create clear counter space.

“Both of us thought you were an idiot, Sherlock. We had nothing else to go on, until we met other children.” Mycroft answered, laying back in John’s old chair.

“Oh, yes, that was a mistake.” Sherlock answered and you smiled.

“Ghastly. What were they thinking of?” Mycroft replied.

“Probably something about trying to make friends.” Sherlock answered. Compared to Mycroft he was an expert on friends.

“Oh, yes, friends. Of course, you go in for that sort of thing now.” Mycroft criticized Sherlock.

“And you don’t? Ever?” Sherlock asked Mycroft.

“He isn’t capable of having friends. His priorities lie elsewhere, for example, himself.” You fired back from the kitchen. He turned around and gave you a look as if to say ‘when are you going to get over this?’.

Mrs. Hudson entered the room and interrupted what would surely have been another fight between you and Mycroft.

“Yoo hoo!” She announced herself. You reentered the room and helped her with the tea tray.

“Oh I just can’t believe it! Him sitting in his chair again,” She turned to you and smiled, clearing having forgiven him so soon, “Isn’t it wonderful Mr. Holmes?”

“I can barely contain myself.” Mycroft muttered sarcastically.

“Oh, he really can, you know.” Sherlock retorted. Mrs. Hudson laughed as she left the room.

“Let’s play something different.” Sherlock suggested, clapping his hands together.

“We don’t have time for games, Sherlock. London’s terror alert has been raised to critical.” You scolded.

“Very well, back to work.” Mycroft said, leaving Baker Street.

You stood in front of the couch, glancing at the wall once more. Your eyes landed on one picture and you froze.

“Sherlock…” You muttered.

“Hmm?” He asked, now appearing at your side.

“That’s Sebastian Moran.” You pointed to the picture.

“Yeah, he’s Peer of the Realm. Minister for Overseas Development.” He said nonchalantly.

“He was Moriarty’s right hand man. Don’t you remember?” You said quietly, turning to him. His eyes grew wide after a moment of thought.

“Jesus,” he said, placing his head in his hands.

This was bigger than you thought. You sighed and grabbed your coat.

“Keep me updated, let me know if you need anything. I’ll be at the office.” You said, on your way out the door.   

“Wait, Y/N,” He yelled, once you began down the steps. You turned around and he was standing in the doorway, his hands on each side of the frame.

“Will you stay? I work better with you here, and it’s been an age.” He pleaded, those puppy dog eyes killing you.

“How could I refuse?” You sighed with a smile, making your way back up the stairs.


Tag list Hello Detective : @missmotherhen @castielgirl21 @buckybarnesslut  @haeminhee @cherryarchangel @foureyedsiopao @presidentmaggie @batgurl32467 @kumpmk @thegalaxybabyz @smol-flower-kiddo @captain-sherlockomg @unicornlaz @gonnamurderyou @phoebysthename @nattiebug10 @emmtje @evee2001 @dekahg @thecrazyhatwoman @meredith9811 @star-incandescent  @thiscuriouslymiss @icanthandleallthesebooks @suvikamahes98blr @vaultingphilosophy @xsuperwholockruinedme @imboredsueme @calliajewels @changingtimes @alyssaj23

Let me know if you want to be added!

Supernaturally Deduced

From this request: castiel x reader where the boys have to go to London for a case and the reader tags along. And when they get there Sherlock deduces the boys but ignores her. But once Cas shows up he zeroes in on her and ends up outing her feelings for Cas and it’s really awkward so she tries to pretend it didn’t happen, but Cas isn’t having it

*Cas-centric

**Supernatural/Sherlock crossover

______________________________________________________________

“Tell me again why we’re in England?”

Sam shrugged. “I really can’t explain. Chuck said he got word of something that needed our attention here.”

“And who’s the stuck up detective we have to meet with?”

“Sherlock Holmes.”

Dean sighed. “Sounds uptight. Arrogant. Annoying.”

“So… he’s basically you,” you said.

Dean turned and glared at you. He was still a little testy after having been on a plane. And he no doubt was missing Baby, who he’d had to leave back at the bunker.

The cab pulled up to the curb. “Here you go,” the cabbie said. “221 B Baker street.”

“Thanks,” Sam said, handing some currency to the driver. The three of you plopped out of the cab and grabbed your bags from the trunk before stepping to the door.

A short, elderly woman answered. “You must be the Winchesters!” she said. “Sherlock told me he was expecting some guests. You’re here from America, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sam said, giving her a smile. “Is Mr. Holmes in?”

“Of course. Right this way.”

The three of you followed the woman upstairs and into a small apartment. A tall man with dark, curly hair was standing in the corner, violin on his shoulder. A shorter man approached.

“You must be Sam and Dean and Y/N,” he said, holding his hand out. “I’m John. I’m Sherlock’s assistant.”

“Would the three of you like some tea?”

“No, thank you.”

“John?”

“No thanks, Mrs. Hudson.” John turned to the man in the corner. “Sherlock, the Americans are here.”

“I have eyes, John.” The tall man finally turned to face the three of you. He approached slightly, eyes trailing over the boys. (The look of disgust on his face at finding both men taller than he was rather entertaining—no doubt he enjoyed being the tall one, his friend being a good deal shorter than he.)

“Brothers,” he finally said. His eyes turned to Dean. “You’re the elder. Always protecting your brother with everything you have. You feel it’s your duty to do so because your father gave you that command, ingrained it in you at a young age. You dislike authority and try to give off the fighter persona when deep down, you care about things deeply.”

You saw Dean’s hand clench. He hated being analyzed and this guy was good.

Sherlock’s eyes trailed up to Sam. “You worship your brother, as he worshiped your father. You’re constantly trying to prove yourself, to your brother, to your… deceased father, to yourself.” Sherlock’s mouth twitched. “Your heart is almost as big as John’s, in a metaphorical sense, which is something you pride yourself on.”

“Sherlock, be nice to the guests,” John said, slightly weary.

Sherlock gave John a side-eye, then sighed. “Since I am not a fan of small talk, let us move on to discussing this case.”

You watched as Sherlock led the boys into the kitchen. You were slightly hurt that he hadn’t said anything about you. His eyes had ghosted over you as if you weren’t even there.

“Pay no mind to him,” John said, giving you a smile.

“He’s very good at what he does,” you said. “That was basically Sam and Dean in a nutshell.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that. His ego is big enough.”

At that moment, Mrs. Hudson opened the door to the flat again. “Dear, another one has shown up, asking to speak with Sherlock. He says he’s with the other boys.”

You saw Castiel standing behind her. “Oh, yes, he’s with me. With us.”

The woman smiled. “Now, would you like some tea, dearie?”

“No, thank you,” the angel said, giving her a kind smile.

The three of you watched as she bustled down the stairs.

“I apologize for being late,” Cas said, stepping into the apartment.

“It’s okay. We just got here ourselves,” you assured him. “Cas, this is John. He’s Sherlock’s friend.”

Cas nodded to the man. “Where are Dean and Sam?”

“In the kitchen with Sherlock.” You led the angel into the workspace. As soon as the two of you entered, the three men present went silent.

“Um, Cas is here,” you said, for lack of anything better.

“An associate of yours?” Sherlock asked, his eyes trailing over the angel.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “He helps us out occasionally.”

At that moment, Sherlock’s eyes darted to you.

And you suddenly wished to go back to how it was earlier when he barely spared you a glance.

“Is it because of the romantic relationship?”

“What?” Dean asked, extremely confused.

“Hm,” Sherlock said. “So they aren’t open about it yet.”

“Who’s not open about what?”

“Are you really so dense as to not see that she is romantically and sexually interested in this newcomer?” Sherlock asked, his eyes turning back to Dean. “Even I can see that.”

You felt every pair of eyes land on you, including John’s.

“You know what?” you asked, feeling sweat drenching you under your clothes. “I actually do want some of that tea now.” You turned and brushed past John, toward the door.

You ran down the stairs, feet flying faster than your brain could tell them to move. You opened the front door and ran out into the street.

“Y/N.”

You stopped short, hearing Cas’ voice behind you. He quickly appeared beside you.

“I thought you were getting tea.”

“Yeah, I was. I am.”

“From where?”

“Oh, you know. That small café down the street. The hotel. The airport. Back at the bunker.”

Cas’ brow creased slightly. “But surely the lady in the building would be a quicker source for tea.”

You laughed slightly. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Cas studied you as you studied your feet. “Y/N, what the detective said…”

“Pay it no mind, Cas. Really.”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

His question surprised you. “I…”

“Is it not true? Are you not romantically interested in me?”

You opened your mouth, but closed it without saying anything, no doubt looking very much like a fish.

Cas’ lips pursed ever so slightly. “I… I am romantically interested in you. I have been studying you, wondering if you felt the same. I was beginning to think that you did, but if you do not, I will stop all attempts at courting you.”

“You… what?”

Cas’ brow crinkled. “Is that not the proper term?”

“Depends on what you were trying to mean,” you said softly.

“I would like to spend my time with you, present you with small tokens of affection occasionally. The end result being… marriage.”

Your heart was pounding.

“So… is ‘courting’ not the proper term?”

“Most people call it dating nowadays,” you said.

“Oh. Then I would like to date you.”

You felt your lips pulling into a smile.

“Is… is that acceptable?” Cas asked, worry lines appearing on his forehead.

You nodded, your voice escaping you.

Cas’ face lit up with a smile. He reached forward and took your hand in his—you felt his hand shaking ever so slightly.

“What… do we do now?” he asked.

“Let’s go get some tea,” you said with a smile.

Scenes From A Relationship - In The Small Hours

Erm. So, my new followers that I gained after I posted The Heretic…it may (MAY) be news to you that I also write RPF - yeah, I’m one of THOSE. If you aren’t into RPF you can skip this, I promise I take no offense!. A new chapter of Heretic will be coming in hopefully the next week or two. I’m a painfully slow writer.

Anyway. This is another wee ficlet that fits into my “Scenes from a Relationship” series. In this particular ficlet, our leading lady is being plagued by bad dreams and separation anxiety. I apologize for the delay, I’ve been…less than inspired by the fandom as a whole (and life as a whole) lately. But, I made myself sit down tonight and write this to hopefully jumpstart things. Its more fluffy than smutty so some people will be sad about that…but thems the bricks I suppose.

Feedback is loved, appreciated, and encouraged! It can be left here via inbox, on AO3 or on twitter @cricketjames1 - I’m really bad about checking that twitter but now that it’s public knowledge I’ll try to be better about it. 

ANYWAY. Without further adieu….

Scenes From a Relationship - In The Small Hours
Rating: R-ish (more fluffy than smutty).

Keep reading

Sherlock fanfic: A Study in Loss, part 1

It’s getting dark. All I can see of the two headstones are smooth polished faces. I can almost pretend that I don’t know the names that are etched into this stone, and my heart. I reach up and feel the top of the taller grey one. Mary why did you leave me? Is this a trick?

No. I’m being bloody stupid! Of course this isn’t a trick. She isn’t Sherlock, she couldn’t have done this. Damn you Sherlock! Damn you! I’ve knelt here too many times.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and look up. As I see his face my anger melts away. There are dark shadows under his eyes. His cheeks have sunk in, and he’s ghastly pale. He has to try more than once to speak. when the words do come out they’re so hoarse that I’m surprised that I can hear him.

“John, come on, please get in the cab.” he croaks, ”You need to go home. It’s raining. You’re going to catch a cold.”

almost as if to emphasize his point he begins to wheeze and cough. He contracte pneumonia the day before Mary’s death. Since her death he’s barely slept or eaten. He’s the one who got the funeral set up.

“Alright,” I answer, almost as hoarse, “I’ll come in a bit. I need to say goodbye to the baby.” 

Near the end my voice cracked, and the last few words were just above a whisper. Whether he heard me or not he seemed to understand. he nodded and walked over to a small clump of trees nearby. I saw him sway and catch himself on one of the trunks. He then leaned against it with his head down.

Once i was sure he wasn’t listening, I turned to the smaller white headstone. Mary had never even gotten to hold our baby. she had already fainted from loss of blood before they had brought the child back out. I had been clutching her hand when she went. I held on to her lifeless fingers until the doctor called out the time. Only a few moments later a nurse walked in with a small bundle in her arms and called out another time.

Only then did I look up. The nurse was standing there with all the hope I had left laying lifeless in her arms and tears glistening in her eyes. She kept repeating how sorry she was, but at this point I had ceased to be aware of anything but the bundle in her arms, and the love of my life on the bed. I walked over in a daze and took the small bundle in my arms. She was perfect. she could have just been sleeping had it not been for the blue tint in her lips.

That was when it had become real. That was when my lungs lurched with great wrenching sobs. I thought I had known greif before, but this was a whole new level of dispair. I held the lifeless angel close to my chest and made my way over to my now silent wife. 

Had it been my imagination or had her limp fingers already started to become cool and white. I leaned down, placing the baby in her arms, and brushed back her hair. i kissed her forehead for the last time and closed her eyes.

Fresh tears stream down my face now as i brush my fingers across the front of the tiny headstone. Underneath it lay all of mine and Mary’s hopes and dreams. 

Finally, i spoke.

“ Well,” I said, “this is goodbye then. I guess you’re in a better place. Wait no, that’s not true the best place for both of you will always be with me. since you can’t be beside me I’ll carry you two in my heart.” I paused thinking of what to say, “ Don’t worry about me. I won’t be alone. I’ve still got Sherlock. He’s a rubbish flatmate, but a good friend. I have to go now, but I’ll come back soon. Goodnight girls. Rest in peace.”

I stood up, my knees muddy and aching. Sherlock saw me getting up and made his way over. He put a hand on my shoulder and guided me over to a waiting taxi. he opened the door and gestured for me to get in. 

I climbed across and strapped in. sherlock climbed in after me and croaked out, “Baker Street” to the cabby.

“Baker street?” I asked,” I thought you were taking me home?”

“ I am taking you home John, you have more than one. I’m also not leaving you alone on the night of your wifes and daughters funeral.”

I was too tired to argue,”Thanks Sherlock, for-for, everything.”

He just nodded and looked out his window. I saw his adams apple bob and thought it best to just let him be.

I turned to my window and watched the raindrops gather and race down the glass as the lights of london streamed past. I listened to Sherlocks shallow, labored breathing as we made our way through familiar roads back to Baker Street. 

Poison and Wine: A Sherlock x Reader Fanfic

Chapter 17: The Hardest Part

It was remarkably easy, falling back into the pattern. You and Sherlock had gone back to Mary and John’s for a while. You and the detective decided to tell Mary and John straightaway. Mary was ecstatic, but John took a while to come around to the idea. It wasn’t until you and Sherlock played with Alice that John finally accepted it. Alice was walking between you and Sherlock, trying to catch a ball that the pair of you were rolling back and forth on the floor. You were both playfully insulting each other, and Alice was giggling as she tried to catch the ball. Finally, you swept Alice into your arms, tickling her. It was when John saw Sherlock’s smile while looking at you and his daughter that he accepted that you two were together again.

You and Sherlock decided to leave after Alice had torn apart her birthday cake. She was now in dire need of a bath, and then she would be headed to bed. After giving hugs and kisses to the Watsons, you and Sherlock climbed into a cab together. There was a moment of silence when the cabbie asked for the address you two wanted to go.

”.. Do you want to come back to Baker’s Street? Spend the night?” Sherlock asked quietly, blue eyes shining through the headlights coming from behind the cab.

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