i mean sherlock and a sofa

i do love the idea of john and sherlock memeing on their old misunderstandings ages later when they’re really settled into their relationship. like sherlock will just walk into the room like “hey mate” and john tackles him to the sofa and tickles him and kisses his neck in revenge. or john taking sherlock on a date and going “so…you have a boyfriend?” or sherlock will be like “hey john so im texting our client back but just fyi it does NOT mean im in love with her” and john is like HSJFKFKFKFK I SWEAR

Sherlock x Reader

|| Requested by: Anon :: Reader is very affectionate and Sherlock likes it but is very embarrassed. ||

It was something he’d never wanted to happen because he’d always been so double- minded about the concept of this particular thing that when it had actually occurred​, he’d freaked out.

The Sherlock Holmes had freaked out.

“Listen, honey, I’ve got to get these papers signed, I’ll be back in half an hour,” Y/N said, as she reached for her boyfriend’s cheek. Only, he backed away, much to her dismay.

“What’s wrong?” Y/N asked, her forehead scrunching up in confusion.

“Nothing, dear.”

Y/N put on her coat and then quickly pecked Sherlock’s cheek before he could back away again.

The sleuth cast her a small smile and bid her goodbye through gritted teeth.
As soon as Y/N left through the door, Sherlock plopped onto his armchair, sighing loudly.

Relationships. They freaked him out. He didn’t understand at first that he was, in fact, in love with Y/N. When John confronted him and made him understand that this was the case he felt afraid. He spent a few weeks researching about this and found that the symptoms matched - yes he’d fallen for her. He’d gone and asked her out when John insisted and he was internally happy that John made him do so.

She was so very sweet, always so understanding of him and giving him his space when needed. There was only one thing- and it wasn’t even a problem- but Y/N loved to show how much she liked him. She was very affectionate, almost constantly cuddling up to him, kissing him or caressing his cheeks. This was very new to him and for some reason, embarrassed him.
He felt his cheeks flush everytime she touched him, especially in public. The knowing glances that people threw at him made him feel uncomfortable.
And that wasn’t the problem. The real issue here was that he loved the way she made him feel by just her touch and yet he was so embarrassed because of it. That she could do this to him by just being so close to him. He loved it and hated it.

“Hey,” Y/N said softly, as she entered the apartment.

Sherlock blinked himself out of his thoughts and asked, “Didn't​ you leave five minutes ago?”

Y/N took off her coat and sat down next to him. “So happy to see me? But no, babe, I left 30 minutes ago.”


Y/N moved closer to him, leaning in to kiss him but he scooted to a side.

“Okay, what is the matter, Sherlock?” Y/N asked, obviously extremely furious at his behavior.

“What?” the detective asked, but he knew she’d settle for nothing but the truth.

“Why are you so uncomfortable around me? If … you don’t like me, just say it. There’s no point trying to avoid me like this,” she breathed.

Sherlock’s eyes widened.

“Oh no. Y/N. It isn’t that.”

“Then what is it? I’m not very intriguing anymore?”

“Sherlock? Are you not comfortable when I touch you?”

Sherlock looked up at Y/N. She was so upset. He didn’t like what he saw.

“No. I- I do like that you’re affectionate..it’s just-”

“Just what?”

And so he told her. Everything he’d been thinking while she was gone. He knew he was ranting stupidly but she was so upset-

“You’re so stupid for a detective,” Y/N said, patting his dark curls.


“You don’t have to be embarrassed, love. I like you and I like to show it and it’s okay that it makes you feel good. There isn’t anything to be ashamed of. Do you want me to stop all together?”

“No. Not quite so. The way you put it..it is a trivial matter.”

“Exactly. Don’t overthink. Just be, Sherlock,” Y/N said, putting an arm around him and settling her head into the nape of his neck.

He flushed again but didn’t flinch much this time and kissed the top of her head, pulling her closer. She was right, if he liked it..why was he ashamed?

She looked at him and kissed him softly, caressing his cheek, before settling against his chest as he moved to lay down on the sofa.

“See? It feels good.” “Yes.”

Just like that they fell asleep, pressed against each other.


“And so the lovers are slumbering,” John muttered, glancing at Y/N and Sherlock who lay curled up against each other.

“Shh John. You’ll wake them up,” Mrs. Hudson whispered as she took John’s phone out of his hand.

“..What..are you doing?”

Mrs. Hudson giggled, as she pointed the phone at the couple and clicked away. “Who’s to think I’d see Sherlock like this one day? I mean I’ve seen him covered in blood but this is just bizarre!”

A/N: I felt so good, writing this. Hope you liked it! It’s good to be back.

Title: Sleep With Me

Pairing: Sherlolly

Word Count: 1880

Rating: K/G

Summary: When Sherlock offered the sleepy pathologist his bed he really hadn’t intended on joining her…

[On Ao3] [On FF.Net]

An amused smirk twitched at one corner of Sherlock’s lips as he watched Molly fail in her attempt to stifle a yawn.

“Why don’t you just stop fighting it and go to sleep?”

“’m fine,” Molly mumbled around another uncontainable yawn.

“I’m not Rosie, you know,” Sherlock snapped mildly. “I’m not an infant. You do not have to keep an eye on me every second.”

Molly caught her bottom lip between her teeth, either in contemplation or to bite back a retort, Sherlock wasn’t entirely sure.

“Well, maybe… Maybe I will just kip here for a bit.” She put aside the book she had been reading and stretched out on the sofa, wriggling around for a moment to find a comfortable position.

“You can use my bed,” Sherlock offered, distractedly plucking at the strings of his violin. “You’ll be much more comfortable.”

Molly’s head popped up, her eyes slightly wide. “W-what about you?”

Sherlock huffed. “I highly doubt I will be doing any sleeping tonight.”

“Oh. Then maybe I should stay up and keep you company,” Molly purposed, looking unsure about leaving Sherlock on his own even if she would just be in the next room.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sherlock dismissed. “There’s no need for the both of us to lose sleep. Especially when you’re tired and I’m not. I’ll be fine.”

Molly sighed. “Okay. If you’re certain.”

“I am.”

Molly hauled herself up from the sofa and crossed the room. “Don’t hesitate to wake me if you feel any urges.”

Sherlock arched his brows at her.

“Oh you know what I mean,” Molly huffed, rolling her eyes, trying to appear exasperated, but the touch of pink tinting the tips of her ears gave away her embarrassment.

Sherlock smiled. “Yes. Will do, Molly. Goodnight.”

Molly sighed. “Night, Sherlock.”

Keep reading

A Dog's Life

‘I feel ill around her, almost dizzy, and when she touched my arm in passing it was like I had been burned. I can’t stop thinking about her. Wondering what she is doing, if she’s thinking of me, what it would be like to hold her hand or even kiss her.’

Blackbeard cocked his head and studied his pensive human. ‘Sherlock’ is what the other bipedals called him. Or ‘Git’. Blackbeard wasn’t sure which was the right appellation.

He loved His Human, though, whatever his name, and promised to be his Protector ever since His Human rescued him from the Bad Men.

And today something was tormenting His Human. He had not moved in hours and was wearing his Serious Face.

‘I suppose it was inevitable.’

Blackbeard whined sympathetically and rested his snout on His Human’s leg. Sherlock looked down at him and sighed with a smile, rubbing the spot behind Blackbeard’s ear that never failed to make his tail thump happily.

‘I’m in love, old boy.’

Blackbeard blinked up at him.

Well, this was an interesting development.


A few days later, Blackbeard was in the middle of his afternoon doze when the downstairs door opened.

The Biscuit Lady was fighting with the air monster downstairs and Sherlock was staring into the large metal contraption at the food altar.

Blackbeard lifted his head and perked up his ear as he sniffed the air.

Soft footsteps. And the overwhelming scent of Doggie biscuits.


Blackbeard jumped to his paws and barked excitedly as his second favourite bipedal hurried the last few steps into his home and greeted him with a hug and ruffle.

‘Oh, hello there handsome,’ Molly gushed. Blackbeard basked in her attention, his tongue lolling out in happiness. He could almost taste the biscuits she’d stashed in her bag.

‘Who’s been a good boy?’ She teased with a smile.

Me, I’ve been a good boy! He preened when she agreed enthusiastically.

‘Ah, Molly,’ Sherlock interrupted them, to Blackbeard’s disappointment. 'I wasn’t expecting you today.’

Molly stood up and Blackbeard sat back on his haunches, sighing now that he was no longer the center of attention.

But then he breathed in and forgot all about his disappointment. There was a strange scent coming from Sherlock. Blackbeard cocked his head and looked His Human over carefully. If he didn’t know better, he would say Sherlock was attracted to Molly.

Blackbeard tilted his head up to look at Molly.

Then back to Sherlock.

He took another sniff and a second scent, similar, hit his nose. But this time, it was coming from Molly.

I’m in love, old boy

Oh. Ooooh. Blackbeard’s heartbeat quickened in excitement and he jumped to all four paws as his tail whipped back and forth in a blur. His Human loved Molly! And Molly loved His Human! 

Oh, oh, this was the best day! She would live here and take Blackbeard for walks in the park with Sherlock, she would cuddle with him and bake him those pant-worthy biscuits every day and call him a ‘good boy’ and, and, and so much more! Blackbeard could barely contain his excitement.

‘-and three fingers. I tried to wrangle an extra liver, but I’m already pushing Stamford’s understanding. Maybe next month?’ 

Molly held out a cooler. One sniff and Blackbeard knew it was one of the Experiments that he would avoid at all costs. One unfortunate incident during his first week at Baker Street and he’d learned a hard lesson to avoid the coolers and their contents. 

‘That’s more than I expected, thank you.’ 

‘Just make sure they don’t end up in Blackbeard’s bowl,’ she giggled. 

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. ‘I rather think he learned his lesson.’

Yes, I did. Blackbeard shook his head and hacked in remembrance. Molly laughed and scratched his ear.

‘Poor boy.’

He looked up at her pitifully, hoping for more attention. But she was already walking into the kitchen. Sherlock followed her and watched as she deposited the cooler on the counter.

Blackbeard padded along with a whine. Sherlock absentmindedly patted his head, but didn’t take his eyes from Molly.

‘I, er, I was about to take Blackbeard out for a walk.’ 

His ears perked up at the word and he began panting again. A walk?! Yes, please. Oh, please please please!

Sherlock felt around the table for Blackbeard’s leash. With an awkward smile, he asked, ‘Care to join us?’

‘I would love to!’ Molly eagerly accepted. 


It was hopeless. Blackbeard shuffled along beside his Human Idiots as they walked back toward Baker Street. They had spent the majority of the walk to and through the park in silence, each looking at the other when the other wasn’t looking.

'I had a lovely time,’ Molly said when they stopped outside of Baker Street. She was looking at Sherlock balefully. Blackbeard glared at His Human. For a brilliant man, the Git was being remarkable stupid. If that lovely Shepherd mix from down the street ever looked at Blackbeard the way Molly was looking at Sherlock, they would be expecting a litter by now.

But instead of seeing what was right in front of him, Sherlock looked away toward the street. 'Yes. We should… do it again?’

Molly smiled, her eyes dimming in disappointment. 'Sure. I’d like that.

Sherlock cleared his throat and nodded. 'Good. That would be…good.’

And then they just stood there! Blackbeard looked from one to the other. Then back again.

Oh for the love of doggie kibble! Having had enough of their moony-eyed shyness, Blackbeard sprang to his paws and started running around them. 

‘Whoa, boy!’ Sherlock called out in surprise as his arm was yanked by the leash and he fell forward right into Molly, who yelped in surprise when the leash wrapped around the backs of her legs and she stumbled forward, bracing herself on Sherlock’s chest. 

‘Blackbeard, stop that! Sit!’ 

For once, Blackbeard ignored his Human’s orders and ducked under his leash and ran around them again.

‘Blackbeard, halt!’ Sherlock commanded loudly, just as Blackbeard reached the end of the leash slack.

Panting and excited, he sat on his haunches and watched delightedly as Sherlock struggled to untangle them, his face turning bright red and trying to avoid looking at Molly. A rather difficult feat, considering they were tied front to front. 

But Molly didn’t move. She was watching Sherlock flush and stammer and avoid her gaze entirely. And for a bipedal, she was also remarkably bright but rather blind to some obvious things. Like Sherlock’s feelings. But Blackbeard watched with smug satisfaction as she saw Sherlock and finally, finally realised what she had missed all along. Without a moment’s hesitation, she reached up to pull his face toward hers. Their lips met awkwardly, as Sherlock blinked in surprise. He seemed to be struggling to understand what was happening. But then, with a great sigh of relief, he closed his eyes and kissed her back.

Blackbeard laid down in the shade and smiled to himself. Yes, this was the beginning of something beautiful.


Six Months Later

'Are you sure? I mean, I would love to, honestly,’ Molly was saying as Blackbeard woke up from his afternoon nap. He indulged in a deep stretch before he padded over to his Humans who were sitting on his bed. Well, they called it a sofa. But that was neither here nor there. He nudged his way past Sherlock’s legs and sat down between them, resting his snout on the cushion.

Molly gave him a good scratch behind the ears and his tail thumped against the wood floors. Yes, this was the best life. Molly was here almost every day and Blackbeard was in doggie biscuit heaven. She would take him for a walk in the mornings if she stayed over or stop by for a nice, long ear scratching when Biscuit Lady was watching him while Sherlock was away.

'But I’m not sure how Blackbeard would take it. I don’t want to intrude.’

Sherlock scowled. 'Don’t be ridiculous. I love you and you wouldn’t be intruding. I want you here.’

Blackbeard whined. Sherlock’s tone was very sharp. He didn’t like it when Sherlock was angry.

Molly sighed, but then she smiled. 'I love you, too, you sentimental git.’ She leaned her head on his shoulder. 'And I’d love to move in.’

'Good,’ Sherlock declared and kissed her head. 'And just think, this will be our regular afternoons. You know, unless you’re on duty or I have a case.’

Molly sighed contendly. 'Sounds just about perfect.’

Sherlock patted his lap for Blackbeard to join them. Excitedly, Blackbeard laid across their laps and settled down for a nice long petting. He rested his nose on Sherlock’s leg and let out a happy snort. This was the life. Molly would soon be here every morning for walks and every evening for couch cuddles and he would die happily of consuming too many of her delectable doggie treats.

Blackbeard barely paid attention to their conversation, lost in the bliss of having his ears scratched and that one spot on his back he always had trouble reaching, as visions of doggie biscuits danced around his head.

That is, until Molly said, 'Toby will love having the run of the back garden. My current landlord doesn’t allow cats outdoors.’

Blackbeard’s eyes flew open.


cj-holmes  asked:

Headcanon: For a long time John can't get Rosie to sleep so Sherlock plays violin or talks to her about science and Rosie just passes right out. For months Sherlock's voice or his violin is the only thing she'll fall sleep to.

After the first week Sherlock begins to worry.

It had begun innocently enough. Rosie hadn’t wanted to go to sleep; she had fussed and fussed, even going so far as to kick John in the stomach when he attempted to pick her up. Sherlock had seen that John was about at the end of his rope, so he did the first thing he could think of and picked up his violin and began to play. He figured if she was anything like her father then the music would calm her. And he was right.

The problem arose when it became something he had to do every night after that. For an entire week Rosie refused to cooperate at bedtime until Sherlock played her a song. And Sherlock began to worry that John was upset about this, upset about the fact that he couldn’t calm his own daughter down.

He broaches the subject late one night after John has come back downstairs from putting Rosie to bed. John sinks down onto the sofa and rubs tiredly at his face.

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock says before he can convince himself not to. He’s still standing by the window, fiddling with his violin.

John looks up, confused. “What for?”

“I never intended to…become so necessary,” Sherlock says. “To Rosie, I mean.” John still looks confused, so Sherlock sighs. “To her bedtime routine. I believe I’ve …inadvertently interrupted it. I apologize.”

John just stares at him for a long moment, and then he smiles softly and holds out his hand. “C'mere, you git.”

Sherlock frowns, but he sets his violin down and goes to John, allowing him to pull him down onto the sofa. John wastes no time, climbing into Sherlock’s Lap so that he’s straddling him, and holds his face in his hands, his eyes serious as he looks at him.

“Sherlock, you don’t ever have to apologize for helping out with Rosie, do you understand?” he asks. “I appreciate anything and everything you do for her. And for me.”

Sherlock licks his lips, his hands smoothing up and down John’s thighs. “But I thought you might be feeling…neglected.”

John leans forward to kiss him, soft and gentle. “Rosie loving you doesn’t mean she loves me any less. Or that I love you any less. Got it?”

Sherlock presses in for another kiss, longer this time, deeper. “Are you sure? Because. You know…if you are feeling neglected…I’m sure I could think of something to help…”

John grins and slips his hands up under Sherlock’s shirt, making him shiver. “Oh yeah?”

“Mmhmm,” Sherlock says. “Want me to show you how I’d help?”

John smirks. “Please.”

bkst-tutu1b  asked:

20 & 21 please, if you are still taking drabble prompts? No pressure,I can wait if it's *years* (which i actually did after i read the "road...") Also, i have difficulty deciding which of your story is my fav. The road, of course, but the recent drabble fest is giving me a tough time! Thank you for sharing your work. :)

Thank you <3  

“D..did you just make that noise?” / “He’s a bad kisser.”

“He’s a bad kisser.”

Molly made a face over her mug.

“Just repeating what she said,” Mary said, sipping her own (decaffeinated) tea.

“She really said that, after everything she told the tabloids and whoever else would listen?” The that slag was heavily implied.

Keep reading

Nothing Greater than the love of a Good Doctor

“So, you kissed her?” said John his face wide with shock.

“Yes.” Replied Sherlock, cocking his head in his friends’ direction.

“You. Sherlock Holmes, kissed someone…. And it wasn’t a game” John sat down on the sofa his head spinning.

“Yes.” Replied Sherlock, his brow creasing in frustration. “I don’t understand how you could think it was a game. I was perfectly honest in my regard for Molly, I thought you knew that.”

“Well, yes, of course I knew that. But still! Sherlock Bloody Holmes snogged Molly Hooper.” Said John, grinning like the cat who got the cream.

Sherlock returned his grin. “Yes, I did.”

“So, what happens now?” he asked.

Holmes ran his fingers through his hair, pushing the wiry curls from his face. “I have absolutely no idea.” He confessed.

John let out a laugh. “The great Sherlock Holmes! The man who knows everything, doesn’t know what to do.”

“You know perfectly well that I don’t know everything, and so do all the stupid readers of your little blog for that matter.” He replied scowling. “I have never professed to knowing everything, certain information by necessity has needed to be deleted. Arbitrary facts that have no bearing on anything, celebrities-“

“The fact that the earth revolves around the sun.” John interjected.

“Exactly!” Replied Sherlock. “Entirely useless information.”

“Well, you faked a relationship with Janine for a whole month, you wouldn’t have been able to do that if you were completely clueless.” Said John.

Sherlock waved his hand in frustration. “That doesn’t count, that was only ever a means to an end.”

John raised an eyebrow in comment to his friends’ insensitivity. “Ignoring the fact that you are a total prick, isn’t it basically the same thing? I mean, you fooled me.”

The consulting detective threw himself down on the sofa next to his friend. “That was all about Janine, I deduced exactly what was necessary to retain her affections and responded appropriately. My wants and needs never factored in to it.”

The shorter man nodded. “So basically, you catfished her.”

“What?” asked Sherlock, it irritated him to no end when his friends used nonsense words. “Look it doesn’t matter what happened with Janine, that was never intended to last. This is real and I…” He trailed off.

“You want it to last.” John finished.

Sherlock gave him a weak smile. “Ridiculous, isn’t it? But if my past is any indication that might prove difficult.”

John cast his mind back on the five difficult years of friendship he had shared with the detective of Baker Street. Sure, there had been good times. But there had also been severed heads in a fridge that never held anything remotely edible. Days where he had to call in sick to work because he’d been up all night on a case. The constant experiments that Sherlock would do to him, like that time he lost a whole Wednesday after his friend had made him tea…

“Yeah, I see your point.” Replied John.

Sherlock lowered his head into his hands and mumbled. “I will inevitably ruin this, won’t I?”

“No.” said John sternly, clapping the man’s back. “You’ve got me to help remind you when you forget that other people are in fact, people.”

“So then Doctor Watson, what do you recommend?”

“Well, what happened after you kissed her?” He asked.

“She left.” He replied.

John screwed up his face in confusion. “Did she say anything?”

“She just sort of blinked at me smiling for a while, and then she said goodbye and left.” he replied

"Good, that’s good.” Said John. Suddenly a scary thought crossed his mind.

“What?” Asked Sherlock, he watched as John’s face slackened. “Did I do something wrong?”

“God, Sherlock.” The man winced. “I really don’t want to have this conversation.”

“What conversation? Why? What did I do?” He felt a knot tighten in his stomach… could he have ruined it already?

“You haven’t done anything yet, but it’s something that you will be expected to do… at some point.” John couldn’t think of a time he was more uncomfortable.

Sherlock let his gaze wander as he tried to ascertain what he would need to do with Molly at some point. Get engaged? He didn’t care about such things but he assumed that she would want to eventually… that wouldn’t be so bad, it wouldn’t change anything really, isn’t that what John had always said about his marriage? His attention snapped back to the present as he heard his friend sigh.

“Okay.” Said John red-faced. He chewed on his words for a time, trying to find the right way to say something important, and uncomfortable. “Sherlo- um mate, have you ever…. been with anyone before?” Asked John, as he stared at a spot on the wall somewhere near Sherlock’s left earlobe. “Janine? The Woman maybe?”

Realization dawned on Sherlock. “You’re referring to sex?”

John held out his hands in front of himself in surrender. “Look, I know you probably don’t want to talk about this, and I definitely don’t want to talk about it, but you do realize that it’s a part of every fulfilling relationship right?”

“And we’re having quite a lot of sex!”

Molly’s voice rang through his head like a bullet. “Right.” He said blankly.

“Have you ever… actually had sex Sherlock?”

“There have been occasions… yes.” Replied Sherlock cautiously. John raised his eyebrow. “okay, once, at university…Mycroft would stop calling me a virgin." 

"And it was with a woman?” John pressed. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes at him. “Yes.”

“Sorry, but with you, I had to ask.” He replied apologetically.

The taller man sighed. “John you know I have always accepted your covert homosexual tendencies, however, I do not share-”

“For the LAST TIME! I am not gay!” John shouted before remembering the infant sleeping one room away. “I am not gay, I have never been gay. I was married for Christs sake.” He whispered.

Sherlock smirked. “Had you going though." 

"Oh you asshole.” Said John shaking his head.

“Funny, that’s what Molly said before I kissed her.” Said Sherlock.

“I can’t imagine why.” He replied crossly.

“I’m sorry.” Said Sherlock still grinning.

“Yeah well, you can’t help being a cock. And just so you know, girls don’t really like the stuff in porn, so don’t use them as instructional videos." 

"Really?” Said Sherlock. “I should apologize to the girl from uni then.”

“Oh god.” Exclaimed John bringing his palm to his head.

“Relax John, I will cross that bridge with Molly when we get to it, I’m sure she knows what she likes. After all, she is more experienced than I am.”

“The Pope is more experienced than you.” He exclaimed

Sherlock continued. “And we are both frank enough to express any desires we each have. I once recall Molly telling me-" 

"No! No, no. I am done with this conversation now, I don’t want to think about that… ever!” John proclaimed, waving his hands as if he could physically deflect Sherlock’s words. 

“As much as I have enjoyed the awkward conversation about my sex life, I fail to see how this is helpful.” Said Sherlock.

“Okay, listen. Molly knows who you are, what your like, so you don’t need to change for her.” John started.

“I know.” Replied Sherlock, a slight smile playing over his lips.

“If only give you one piece of advice, it’s this.” He took a deep breath. “Don’t lie to her… I mean it Sherlock, don’t ever lie to her, don’t deceive her, and don’t ignore her. You’re not sheltering her when you do, you’re not saving her. I mean hell, you’ve loved her for god knows how long now and lied to her about it, look how that turned out. Just be honest with her, don’t retreat into your head when times get tough, open your mouth and share it with her. The lies nearly tore Mary and I apart and I don’t want that for you, and I don’t want that for her.”

Sherlock stared solemnly at his friend. “Thank you, John. I honestly don’t think I could do this without you.”

“Yeah alright, piss off, would you? Go and be with your girlfriend.” Said John with a smile.

“Oh girlfriend…. no that won’t do, that’s far too trivial to describe Molly don’t you think?” Replied Sherlock staring off into space again.

“If you start writing poetry, in checking your arms for needles.” Warned John.

Sherlock smiled and clapped his friend on the back. “Who needs drugs when you have the real thing?”

making ends meet

No violins, no candlelight. No trauma, fight or danger. No long conversations or emotional upheavals. No ardent words or fleeting touches.

It just … happened …. on a sunny Tuesday afternoon while paying bills.

Joan sat on the library sofa, laptop perched on her crossed legs. “We can’t keep this up. If we, and by we, I mean you, continue spending like this, we are going to end up in our eighties huddled in the dark, burning our furniture for warmth.”

From the floor where he sat sorting notes, Sherlock looked up slightly amused at the scenario. “Come Watson, it can’t be as bad as all that.”

“Two hundred fifty one dollars for mealworms, six hundred seventy three dollars and forty nine cents for a one hour rental of a Komodo dragon…” she looked up from her laptop. “I didn’t know you could rent lizards. It would have come in handy on the Roberts case.”

“Hmm, yes,” he scrambled up from the floor and joined her on the couch.  "I recently found a herpetologist with a splendid array of specimens. Of course, the research must be done on site under his supervision. Quite a decent sort of chap.“ His face registered his excitement. "You should come with me next time.”

Joan rolled her eyes in amusement, “You are missing the point. We need to spend less or at least spend more wisely …”

“Alright,” he slumped back onto the sofa realizing she would not be derailed. “I will spend less on lizards and worms, if you will scale back on your shoe purchases.” Sherlock looked at her cheekily, waiting for the indignant reply.

She didn’t take the bait. “It’s a deal.  I’ll start shopping at Target and you at Petsmart.” Joan side-eyed a crooked smile at him.

They sat in silence for a bit as she reviewed the spreadsheet and entered more data.

“Is that how you see our future? Two wizened old souls, cuddling for warmth?”

She noted the verb change. “Yup. Wouldn’t be all that bad, would it?” Joan turned and looked at him.

“No, I suppose not. Research shows that human contact, hugging, cuddling and the like, besides physical warmth, provides a myriad of health benefits, cardiovascular …”

She scrolled down the page. “No! Sherlock! Two thousand dollars on an old door?”

Sherlock sat up and squinted at the screen. “Oh, that … that’s the door from the hotel room of that 1933 murder case I’ve been working on. I believe it has answers to yield.”

Joan shook her head, closed the cover on the laptop and set it aside.  She sighed and sat back, “I give up.”

“The door is solid oak. It shall burn quite nicely when the time comes.” He blinked at her with mock sincerity. She stared at him blankly. He tilted his head and extended an arm, “Fancy a cuddle?”

The look on his face made her smile. Joan leaned in and rested her head on his shoulder as his arm went around her shoulders.

“We are doomed!” She threw an arm around his waist.

“Yes, but we are doomed together,” he countered.

She tightened her hold on him.  "We are going to end up being that strange old couple that people laugh at aren’t we.“

"No. I won’t ever let anyone laugh at you.” He said the words with such sincerity that she looked up at him and, after a brief pause, kissed him.


Keep The Quiet Out 

(331D Victoria Road, Cambridge, Part I)

There is a boy in her flat.

 Molly Hooper looks at the key in her right hand, wondering if it has somehow permitted her entry to the wrong apartment, then looks at the crumbled piece of paper between her left thumb and index finger.

331D Victoria Road, Cambridge, it reads.

Surely this can’t be it? The university assured her that her off-campus student flat was girls-only. Yet here this boy is: lying on a worn-down sofa, his hands folded under his chin and eyes closed.

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anonymous asked:

Hi, could I have 31 & 35 a SherlockxReader please :)

Of course my dear! I’m really sorry it took me so long, I just had to take a little break from the requests and other stuff… but now I’m baaaaack!

I also listened to fragile by kygo & labrinth while writing this, maybe that’s the reason it’s so sad. 

Sorry guys.

Prompts here

Warnings: Mentions of Drug use, Language

Something was off.

You sensed it the minute you had re-entered 221b Baker street for the first time in two months.

Technically, you had sworn to yourself that you wouldn’t crawl back to him, not after all the things he’d said to you in your last big fight.

But a text message from John Watson changed everything.

It had been less than a sentence but still enough to make clear to you that this was a serious situation.

You have to help him.

John wouldn’t text you if it weren’t an actual emergency.

So there you were, standing in front of the living room’s door and thinking about just leaving.

You didn’t owe Sherlock Holmes the smallest thing.

Still, you opened the door.

“Just place the tea over there Hudders.”

His dark voice sent chills down your spine, just the way it had done when you had met Sherlock for the very first time.

You wanted to do something, anything, but the mere idea of being in the same room as him again petrified you.

“What are you still standing there? Go away. I’m thinking.”

You cleared your throat.

“Uh- I’m not Mrs Hudson.”

The detective turned around on the sofa so quickly that he almost fell to the floor.

You almost did, too, when you saw his face.

His eyes were bloodshot, his hair a greasy mess and he had a beard.

If Sherlock Holmes didn’t find the time to shave, shit was going down.

Back when you had still lived with him in Baker Street he’d always needed way more time in the bathroom than you.


He whispered, his eyes widening in… disbelief?

You already felt the tears stinging in your eyes.

Oh how you hated the power this man still had over you.

“What are you doing here?”

He tried to stand up, rocketed back and forth for a second and let himself fall onto the sofa again.

“I’m not here voluntarily, if that’s what you’re asking. John asked me to come.”

His whole expression changed from hopeful to bitter.

“Of course he did.”

A short silence fell between the two of you, a silence that was so full of unspoken words that it hurt.

“But you still came.”

You crossed your arms in front of your chest.

“Please don’t ask me why. I wouldn’t have an answer.”

“Oh, just say it already (Y/N).”

“Say what?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and answered in a high pitched, mocking voice.

“Sherlock, stop taking drugs! Sherlock, stop doing this to yourself! Bla, bla.”

Within in seconds, your sadness was replaced by burning anger.

You stormed up in front of him and looked into his usually so bright eyes with your best ‘I-swear-to-god-I’m-gonna-kill-you’-look.

“No Sherlock, stop doing this to me!

Apparently, your anger had only been temporary, because now, the tears were back,

“Because every time I try to help you, you just push me away! I don’t deserve to be hurt, okay? I don’t deserve to be treated like shit whenever you don’t happen to need me. I’m trying my best to endure your escapades but you make loving you so fucking hard.”

Your voice had broken at these last words, all the bottled up emotions from the last weeks finding their way out of you.

“You’re a good guy, Sherlock, but you’re clinging on to this idea of this emotionless version of yourself that doesn’t need friends so hard that you cease to see the really important things. You pushed John away and now you’re doing it with me, too. You’re losing the best thing that’s ever happened to you. If you’re still guessing what that could be, let me give you an answer you ass hole: It’s me!”

You pointed at yourself while sobbing helplessly.

This love was going to kill you one day.

All of your survival instincts were telling you to run, finally, your self-defence mode was kicking in.

So you turned around to go and never come back again, this time for real.

But a tiny whisper caused you to stop in your tracks.

“I’m sorry.”

You pressed your eyes shut, everything in your head screaming ‘No! No! No!’

“I am so sorry that I am… the way I am. But please, don’t leave me now. I can’t see you go another time. It would be the signature under my death sentence.”

You took a deep, shaky breath.

And turned around.

“I don’t really seem to be able to let you go, do I?”

Sherlock laughed, a laugh that almost brought back the life into his drug-intoxicated face.

“That’s probably because of my compelling charm.”

You couldn’t help but let out a low chuckle, too.

“I hate you.”

He looked up to you through his dark, long lashes.

“I know.”

You stared at each other for a moment, both knowing that there was a great change to come in the next very minutes.

“Alright, posh boy. There will be rules. Don’t you ever dare to take me for granted. The first insult, the first mean thing- and I’m gone. Is that clear?”

He nodded like a school boy who had just been lectured.

“Good. And now make some space for me on that sofa. I fucking missed cuddling with you.”

Originally posted by whenisayrunrun

Chapter 30 of ‘Domestic Bliss Must Suit You’ is up!

Hey, I was finally feeling well enough to write lol I hate being sick.

The gender is revealed…ENJOY!

Eighteen weeks pregnant. It had been six weeks since Christmas and Molly had an appointment during her lunch break. Sherlock had just arrived at Bart’s to attend the appointment with her. Today they would find out the gender of their baby.

There they were, Molly’s growing belly having the cold gel squeezed onto it. Sherlock held her hand and gave her a dazzling smile that lit up the room. She was happy to see him so excited over their unborn child.

“It won’t be long before you start to feel your baby’s movements,” the doctor smiled as she proceeded to find out the gender. “Ah, here we are…oh my goodness, congratulations! You’re having twins!” The doctor scanned her stomach as Molly and Sherlock looked up at the screen. His lips were pressed into her hair as they looked on.

“Wait twins?” Molly questioned with a laugh. Tears were welling up in her eyes. Sherlock had lifted his head, shocked at the reveal.

“Oh yes, one boy and one girl; fraternal,” the doctor told them with a smile. “I know this is a bit of a surprise but it’s not unheard of to not find out until you’re this far along.” The doctor slipped out to give them a moment after wiping the gel off of Molly’s stomach.

“It’s never twins,” Molly teased her husband, eliciting a chuckle from him.

“In this case, it is,” Sherlock grinned. He took in the sight of Molly, a healthy glow emanating from her. She’s so beautiful, he thought.

“I can just imagine tiny versions of ourselves running around,” Molly giggled through her tears.

“Mm, hopefully they take more after you,” Sherlock told her.

“They’ll take after both of us,” Molly smiled. “Two more Holmes in London.”

“Lestrade may retire,” Sherlock laughed.

“I really want chips,” Molly spoke randomly, her craving becoming more demanding.

“I’ll take you to the shop on Marylebone Road for lunch,” Sherlock offered, kissing her cheek.

“Extra potions? You’re too sweet,” Molly told him.

Keep reading

a short story by moi (part one)


Sirius and Remus sat on the baby blue sofa, their hands intertwined and shaking. Marlene comes out of the kitchen, carrying a little tray laden with three mugs of tea. She sets the tray down on the little wooden coffee table and passes Remus and Sirius their individual orders of tea, before taking her own mug and sitting back in her favourite armchair.

“So what’s up?” she asked, taking a sip of her tea. “You both look really nervous.”

Remus looked at Sirius, who wordlessly told him to tell Marlene. Remus opened his mouth to speak, but all that escaped past his pink lips was an excited gasp. He turned to Sirius desperately, who rolled his eyes and looked at Marlene.

“We wanted to come and tell you that … erm … we … uh … Remus?” Sirius anxiously turned back to Remus, too full of happiness to say anything more.

“Oh for goodness sake, WE’RE GETTING MARRIED.”

There was a moment of total silence, and then an ear-shattering squeal of joy from Marlene. “Oh my - what?! CONGRATULATIONS! I’m so happy for you two! Oh! When - what - how - wow!”

Sirius laughed and got up to hug Marlene, who had leapt up off her seat. Remus stood up and was pulled into a tight hug after Sirius had finally been let go. They sat down again, and Sirius took Remus’s hand in his own. Remus’s right hand, Marlene now noticed, had a ring on his finger. It was silver and looked old, with a single diamond studded into it. It was beautiful.

“Oh, I’m so happy for you two!” she squealed again. “Who proposed? When?”

“I did,” Sirius said proudly. “It was at lunch with James, Harry and Lily. I jokingly asked Remus to pay for all of our food, including Harry’s knickerbocker glory, and Remus, being the lovely little fluff-puff he is, kindly accepted just as we ordered dessert-”

“Ooh, did you hide the ring in the cake?” Marlene clasped her hands together.

“What? No! How tacky do you think I am?” Sirius stuck his tongue out in disgust as Remus and Marlene cracked up at his response. “We ate dessert, then when the bill came, I handed it to Remus-”

“Grinning uncontrollably.” Remus added. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay, babe,” Sirius smiled. “Anyway, I gave him the bill. He opened it, saw the ring inside, and nearly dropped it! Bless his heart, he looked at me really seriously and his cheeks were getting redder by the second. I got down on one knee, and he burst into tears.”

“Oi! You did too!” Remus hit Sirius on the arm softly.

“I didn’t bawl like you did. A few tears leaked from my eyes.” Sirius mumbled.

“I didn’t bawl either! I was crying of happiness!” Remus retorted cheerily, tears running down his rosy cheeks. “It was the greatest moment of my life.”

“Well, it sounds wonderful.” Marlene beamed at them. “I can’t express how happy I am for you two.”

“Thank you.” Sirius replied. “I put a lot of effort into thinking how I could propose to him. I didn’t want to be clichéd, but I didn’t want to be too spontaneous.”

“I thought it perfect.” Remus admitted quietly. Sirius looked at him and squeezed his hand.

“So that’s one thing.” Remus grinned toothily at Marlene, who gaped at him in confusion. “The second thing is really difficult for us to ask.”

“You’ve done so much for us, Marley,” Sirius started. “We’re so happy to have you in our lives. But there is one last thing that we’d really love for you to do for us. But it is such a big thing to ask, so of course we’ll understand if you say no.”

Marlene stared at them. The happy smile had been wiped from her face, and anxiety was bubbling inside her throat. “What is it?”

“Would you surrogate for us, please?” Sirius asked earnestly. Marlene took a second to respond. Her expression was neither shock nor disgust: it was blank. Even Remus, who was the champion at reading anyone and everyone’s expressions, couldn’t make out what Marlene’s face was saying. After a minute or two of absolute silence and suspense, she looked at the couple unsurely.

“Are you two absolutely sure that this is something that you want?”

“We’ve been thinking about for like, two months now.”

“But that was before you were engaged! How were you so sure that you wanted a baby before you knew that you were going to spend the rest of your lives together?”

“We’ve thought about it. It’s something we want. Something we really want. And we want you to be the mother, if that’s okay with you…”

“Remus, are you sure you want me-”

“Marlene, I could not think of a person better fit to be the biological mother of my child.” Remus said kindly, warming Marlene’s heart.

“Well, I love you both very much, and…” she trailed off nervously, wanting to take a few moments to consider everything. Was she really ready to carry a baby around for nine months and then give it up? Then again, it would be the baby of two of her greatest friends, who were incapable of having children on their own, so it would be a decent thing to do.

Remus and Sirius mumbled to each other on the sofa opposite Marlene, who was deep in thought. They waited patiently for her to come to a decision, and readied themselves for whatever the outcome.

“Yes.” Marlene said quietly.

Remus and Sirius did a double-take. “What?”

“Yes.” Marlene repeated. “I’ll surrogate for you.”

Remus and Sirius leaped up off the sofa, squealing with delight. They first hugged and kissed each other excitedly, then launched themselves over the coffee table to hug and thank Marlene. The rest of the evening was spent discussing baby names, nursery ideas and wedding plans over Indian take-away and Sherlock.


Part 2 to be released soon.

(when i say short story i mean it hasnt got a million chapters. i know this wasnt as concise as some may have thought, but hopefully you all enjoyed it anyway!)

The coffin scene (I almost died)

The coffin scene almost killed me. Like, I couldn’t breathe, my heart was racing, and had get a tight grip on the sofa because the tension was making me dizzy.

But it was everything I could have ever asked for.

Sherlock in panic. Sherlock begging. Sherlock willing to do anything (even hurt her) to keep her safe. And it isn’t until the second ‘I love you’ that he realises that he has to keep her safe, because until that point he hadn’t realised how much she means for him. He needs her to live, she is in his blood as much as he is in hers. He CAN’T afford to lose her. In the second I love you he realises that he loves her (doesn’t have to be romantically, but still. HE LOVES HER)

And when Eurus says there aren’t any explosives at her flat, he loses his shit. Because he has hurted her. He cares a lot for her and hates being the cause of her pain.

He destroys the coffin, enraged (how fucking strong do you have to be to be able to do that?) He has been really close to losing her, and he has hurted her very deeply. Also, I think he’s somehow sending a message: As long as he lives, he is not going to allow ANYONE, to touch her, he will destroy ANYTHING that threatens to put Molly in that coffin.

Some may say he’s manipulating her he doesn’t mean it. I’ve seen his face, I’ve seen him trembling, sweating (100/10) He was scared because he was going to lose her. The first may sound  awkward and artificial. But the second…

He said it

and he meant it.

I know we talk a lot about Sherlock flopping around and lying on top of John and being lazy and clingy and such (which he would) but let’s talk about John for a minute. John, coming home from the clinic to find Sherlock on the sofa and just climbing onto the sofa and lying down on top of him.

John, slipping into Sherlock’s chair while he’s sitting there without warning and just wrapping himself around the other, anchoring him there in place.

John snaking his arms and legs around Sherlock’s long, lanky figure in the morning when he tries to get up and Sherlock protesting in what’s supposed to be a serious tone because ‘I mean it, John, I have to go to the bathroom’ and 'I need to pee’ and John maneuvering the both of them so that he’s pinning Sherlock down underneath him, tickling him in between kisses until sherlock is breathless and saying “stop, stop it” with a slight lisp, chuckling low and genuinely pleased from the back of his throat with giggles mixed in while john just grins at him and kisses him and basically just the both of them being happy and in love. You know. The Usual.

It happens at a crime scene.

Sherlock is bent double, crouched over the body of the killer’s most recent victim. It’s a lady, late forties, dressed sloppily, grease stained clothes littered with patchwork and holes from a hard life. Bruises and swelling around the carteriod artery make it obvious that she died from oxygen deprivation, strangulation. What was peculiar was the set of lacerations across her back, from the back of her neck to the back of her pelvis, blood seeping through the material of the shirt to stain the white fabric red.

Sherlock has his magnifying glass out, peering fiercely at the abundance of unidentifiable spots dotting her shirt.

“Sherlock.” John’s found a letter, luxurious envelope, embossed with an official looking insignia.

“Sherlock!” Brows furrowed, Sherlock continues to study the stains, probably cataloging the origins and compositions of the blemishes across her shirt.

“Sherlock!” Sherlock remains unresponsive, still taking in the scene in front of him.

Huffing in annoyance, John heads over, already used to this side of Sherlock. Deathly focused on the task at hand, tuning out any outside input he considers a distraction. A smile lifts the edges of John’s lips, exasperation written in the creases of John’s brow, as John leans down to speak to Sherlock.

“Hey Sherlock I found-”

John is met with silence, and straightens up again, sighing. Sherlock was brilliant, but why did he always have to be so difficult.

Standing with hands resting on his hips, John’s lips curled with mischief, shuffling closer, only to poke one finger sharply below Sherlock’s ribs.

What John didn’t expect, was such a visceral reaction from Sherlock.

Sherlock yelped, head whipping around to fix a glare at John’s laughing figure. Sherlock had dropped his magnifying glass onto the floor, expensive glass now useless due to the multitude of lines stretching across the instrument.

“S-Sherlock,” John choked out, still chuckling to himself, “are you ticklish?”

Sherlock stood stiffly, only pausing to pocket the ruined magnifying glass, a faint blush stark against pale cheeks. Sherlock’s eyes flickered over to rest on John’s shaking figure, muscles taut as Sherlock wrapped his Belstaff tighter around himself, walking swiftly away and towards the main road.

John hurried along, hands stuffed deep into his pockets, a soft smile playing across his features.


Nestled in the warmth of the taxi and speeding across London back to Baker Street, John let his eyes roam over Sherlock’s lean figure. Sherlock, who had always been cold, untouchable, and had walls so high John would never be able to see over them, was ticklish.

It was an entirely new thing to accept, but personally, John thought it was adorable.


“Sherlock”, John was almost at his wits end, this was the fifth bullet Sherlock had put into their fridge.

Sherlock whirled around, heading back into the living room, before dropping heavily onto the sofa, staring sullenly ahead.

“Come on Sherlock, we need that fridge, you of all people should know that,” John fumed, fists clenching sporadically.

“Bloody hell even you use that fridge!” John stopped in front of Sherlock, glaring down at the impassive detective.

“I was bored John.” Sherlock states, emotionless, still staring straight ahead, unmoving.

“Bored are you?” John bites out, blue eyes hard and unflinching, before memories of a yelping Sherlock invades his mind.

John lets his features melt into a blank slate, hoping to mask the sense of childish anticipation building in his gut.

As John leans down, inching into Sherlock’s personal space, suspicion makes itself evident in Sherlock’s verdigris eyes, tracking John’s every movement. Sherlock thinks for a moment, teeth worrying a pleasingly full lower lip, before his eyes widened, flickering up to meet the warm blues of John’s eyes. John can tell the moment Sherlock realises what he’s about to do, nothing escapes Sherlock, not really, but this time, Sherlock is a second too late to stop John from launching himself at Sherlock, bowling him over with his fingers relentlessly attacking Sherlock’s sides.

An unwilling yelp escapes Sherlock, before a series of maniacal giggles bubble out of Sherlock’s throat, accompanied by the frantic twisting of Sherlock’s body, writhing in a valiant attempt to rid himself of John’s hold. As of now, an ear splitting grin has covered John’s features, elation welling up deep inside his gut from the laughing, relaxed image of Sherlock before his eyes.

Soon, Sherlock is tired out, lying loose limbed and pliant across the length of the sofa, head lolling back to accentuate the curve of a pale throat. John is seated across of him, nursing a cup of tea, both men still panting from the exhilaration that they felt not even minutes ago.

Sherlock’s head swivels around to pierce John with his gaze, eyes somehow still cold and passive, but imperceptibly warmer than before.

“That was mean.”

Silence hangs in the living room for a few moments, before John bursts out laughing, the happy, joyous sound ringing loudly in the previously silent room.

“I was mean? Sherlock, you put five bullets into the fridge!” John lets his eyes wander, and they rest on his cup of tea, steaming on the coffee table for a fraction of a second, before snapping back up to Sherlock’s horizontal figure on the sofa.

“What did I say? I was bored John.”

“Go get that parcel by the door Sherlock,” John calls, ignoring Sherlock’s dramatised groan.

“John,” Sherlock’s voice travels over from the doorway, suspiciously thick, “did you get me a-”

“Yeah I did,” John revels in the quiet surprise and muted happiness flickering on Sherlock’s face, “figured since I caused you to break yours the last time that I should get you a new one.”

Sherlock bounds towards his room, coming out with a few sheafs of paper and jumping onto the sofa, causing the tea on the table to shake precariously as he leans back against the armrest of the sofa.

John sighs exasperatedly, but his hands are gentle when he gets up to smooth back the sweat matted curls off Sherlock’s forehead.


Sherlock is just about dead on his feet.

“That’s enough.” John cuts Lestrade off, herding a stumbling Sherlock towards the main road with gentle hands and soothing whispers. Lestrade protests weakly, saying something about having to take their statements and witness accounts and-

“We’ll do it tomorrow.”

Sherlock is John’s first priority. Always has been.

John’s insides feel generically warm and mushy as he takes in the sight of a mussed, vulnerable Sherlock. Throwing out an arm to flag a taxi, John slips his other arm around Sherlock’s waist, pulling the lean detective snug into his side, sliding him into the taxi with surprising tenderness.

Sherlock slumps into the seats, verdigris eyes glazed with exhaustion, eyelids fluttering lightly as a fine-boned hand comes up to grasp at John’s sleeve. John’s heart clenches achingly at the sight of a worn-out Sherlock, clutching feebly at John’s jacket, and as John climbs into the taxi, Sherlock tugs at John’s sleeve, pulling John close.

A sound of discomfort escapes Sherlock, as he attempts to curl his entire body into John’s shoulder, head butting placidly against the underside of John’s chin. John smiles, eyes warm and mouth soft, as he wraps an arm around Sherlock, palm coming to rest at the nape of his neck, fingers sorting through the curls he finds there.

Sherlock mumbles something unintelligible, jostling them both in an attempt to coil himself closer to the source of warmth. John is surprised by how protective he feels of this brash, coarse detective in this very moment, wishing for nothing more than to stay in this moment forever as he leans down to press his cheek against Sherlock’s riot of curls as his fingers stroke his love into the skin behind Sherlock’s ear.

Too soon, the ride to Baker Street is over and Sherlock is definitely fully asleep on John’s shoulder, snoring gently and hands clenching erratically in John’s jacket.

“Sherlock,” John shakes the flaked out detective, stifling a snort at the dismal sound that Sherlock makes, a cross between a dissatisfied grunt and a wet snuffle, “we’re here.”

Sherlock gives no indication that John’s even said anything, so John flashes an apologetic look at the cabbie, before leaning down and hissing sharply at Sherlock to wake up!

Sherlock moans under his breath, long limbs taking the chance to curl more firmly around John. In a moment of distraught motion, John pokes Sherlock in the ribs, trying to wake him up.

Sherlock jolts awake, the top of his head colliding painfully with the soft underside of John’s jaw as he straightens up, fumbling with his scarf as he almost trips over the sidewalk in his haste to exit the taxi.

John climbs out after him, catching ahold of the end of Sherlock’s jacket, and tugging Sherlock around so that they stand face to face in front of 221B Baker Street.

John looks up to see the quiet curiosity reflecting in Sherlock’s eyes and chuckles to himself before lacing his hands behind Sherlock’s neck, pulling the startled detective down so he can smile straight at him, before placing a chaste kiss on the corner of Sherlock’s mouth, meeting Sherlock’s gaze with the ever present question of is this okay?

Coupled with a decisive nod, Sherlock swoops down to capture John’s mouth with his own, tracing the seam of his mouth with infinitesimal care, suckling softly on John’s lower lip as John arches into Sherlock, pressing upwards in an attempt to feel more of the soft, wet heat when Sherlock breaks away, panting slightly, a smile curving his features.

Dropping one last, quick kiss on John’s lips, Sherlock pulls away, unlocking the door to 221B.

Sherlock turns back, running an appraising eye over John’s still flushed cheeks, rumpled jacket, and mussed hair, grinning as he holds out a hand for John to take.

“We’re home.”

some tags ( let me know if you ever want to be tagged in my crappy works + if you want me to stop tagging you ) :
@softjlc ; @thejohnlocker ; @shag-me-senseless-watson ; @johnlockshire ; @b221 ; @gentleholmes
^ i’m hoping to add a little perk & fluff into our lives since the end of tfp so i hope this helps !!!! i love everyone

jessicashrimp  asked:

Prompt: sherlock gets really angry at molly because he realises he's in love with her and so he kicks her out of his flat. She's confused and upset. Ends in sherlolly! Please please please :)))

Thank you, ucanthavemypizza, for your prompt and thank you for waiting for it! I hope it isn’t too long and haphazard. I kind of got carried away haha. And for some reason, my mind kept going back to a line that IA had said to SH, just at the very end of ASiB. I’m sure you’ll all spot it in no time. :) Hope everyone enjoys this. x



“And that’s…..that then,” said Molly, a spark of glee in her voice as she watched the final drop of acid fall into the conical flask, marking the end of the titration experiment she and Sherlock had been working on in the kitchen.
“Good.” was all Sherlock said. He quietly made note of the results as he sat sullenly by the kitchen table.
“You don’t look very happy about the results…” Molly remarked, as she unclamped the burette for cleaning.
“I don’t believe my mood is necessary for the experiment, Molly,” came his reply.

Keep reading

The Detective and Mr. Bentley

Author: C. Ford

Characters: Sherlock x Reader, John x Mary

Summary: You have been training under Sherlock and you got pissed at him because he doesn’t seem to trust you enough to work on actual cases. You decided to unwind and Mr. Bentley was more than happy to help.

Themes: Mild angst. Mild Smut. Mild violence. Mild everything.

Word Count: 1900+

“Please give me a shot! We both know I can do this! I’ve been working for you for a long time!” You shouted at Sherlock.

“Then listen to the man you work for!” He yelled at you with his rich baritone voice, anger evident in it. “You. Are not. Working. This case.” He emphasized.

“I can’t believe this…” You looked at him in disbelief. “You know what? FINE.” You added as you throw your hands in the air. Grabbing your coat, you dashed out of 221B. You decided to go to John and Mary’s place, which is where you normally go when Sherlock is being unbearable. Which is a lot.

Keep reading

Holmes and Watson and various states of undress

The Man With The Twisted Lip, 1889

He took off his coat and waistcoat, put on a large blue dressing-gown, and then wandered about the room collecting pillows from his bed and cushions from the sofa and armchairs. With these he constructed a sort of Eastern divan, upon which he perched himself cross-legged, with an ounce of shag tobacco and a box of matches laid out in front of him. 

In the dim light of the lamp I saw him sitting there, an old briar pipe between his lips, his eyes fixed vacantly upon the corner of the ceiling, the blue smoke curling up from him, silent, motionless, with the light shining upon his strong-set aquiline features. 

So he sat as I dropped off to sleep, and so he sat when a sudden ejaculation caused me to wake up, and I found the summer sun shining into the apartment. The pipe was still between his lips, the smoke still curled upward, and the room was full of a dense tobacco haze, but nothing remained of the heap of shag which I had seen upon the previous night.

Awake, Watson?” he asked.


Game for a morning drive?”


Then dress.”

So they undressed while they were in that room together and it says that they also spent the whole night together and – I will stop right here.

The Speckled Band, 1883

I rapidly threw on my clothes and was ready in a few minutes to accompany my friend down to the sitting-room.

Which means that Holmes was in the room while Watson took off his nightclothes and dressed in his normal attire. And Watson throws this in off-hand like he was perfectly comfortable with and used to it.

The Blue Carbuncle, 1890

I had called upon my friend Sherlock Holmes upon the second morning after Christmas, with the intention of wishing him the compliments of the season. He was lounging upon the sofa in a purple dressing-gown, a pipe-rack within his reach upon the right, and a pile of crumpled morning papers, evidently newly studied, near at hand.

I know this is not significant but just imagine this, please…

And here comes the scene:

The Illustrious Client, 1902

Both Holmes and I had a weakness for the Turkish bath. It was over a smoke in the pleasant lassitude of the drying-room that I have found him less reticent and more human than anywhere else. On the upper floor of the Northumberland Avenue establishment there is an isolated corner where two couches lie side by side, and it was on these that we lay upon September 3, 1902, the day when my narrative begins. I had asked him whether anything was stirring, and for answer he had shot his long, thin, nervous arm out of the sheets which enveloped him and had drawn an envelope from the inside pocket of the coat which hung beside him.

There is a picture for what this would have looked like:


Nothing to add to that.  

Let us keep in mind that this is Victorian England. Beautiful.

one-amber-owl  asked:

A hc I totally love: Molly and Sherlock's son having a secret crush on Girl Watson. When Mary and Molly find this out, they are pretty ok with it and try some matchmaking... While John and Sherlock's reaction... uh-oh. You can imagine it haha ;-D

“Oh bloody hell, no.” John said trying to wrap his head around what his wife had just told him. 

“Why not? It seemed kinda cute!” His wife replied as she took a sip of her tea with a smile plastered on her face. She didn’t quite understand what the big fuss was about as she watched her husband pace the room with his hands rested on his hips. “You mean, Hamish likes—” 

“Elizabeth, yes.”

“I need to sit down.”

“You should, we’re eating.” 

Molly sat on the countertop as she popped one strawberry after another inside her mouth, something that they had to buy a lot lately since she’s gotten pregnant with their second child, while she rambled on about her day with Mary.

“Molly, I’d appreciate it if you sat on the sofa instead, I don’t want you falling.” Sherlock said, not looking up from the microscope with the cultures that were currently capturing his attention. 

“Anyways,” she rolled her eyes, ignoring him as she continued to sway her legs a bit. “So Mary and I thought that Hamish might be having a little crush on your goddaughter” 

This caught his attention. Looking up, Sherlock stared at her like she’s grown two heads. 

“Mhmmm!” Molly nodded with glee. 

“I don’t think—”

“Oh please, Sherlock. You can practically deduce by the way he tried to compliment Elizabeth with a deduction! He certainly takes after you. 

“I need to sit down.”

Counter’s free.” She said with a grin as she propped herself down, sticking her tongue out in a teasing manner, 

I know, I know. It’s not a prompt but I couldn’t help myself. T.T

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