in this moment sherlock hates himself even more than he normally does

(the start of a kent/swoops fic… let me know if you’d read more?)

As far as roommates went, Swoops was pretty great.

He was quiet and he clean and he didn’t complain about how often Kent went out and got wasted after games, so yeah.

He was great.

Of course, that didn’t change the fact that, after the Aces lost to the Habs in the first game Kent ever played against them and the Zimmermann’s didn’t bother to show up, Kent didn’t want to be around anybody at all because, really.

He wasn’t an idiot.

Obviously the Zimmermann’s cared about Jack more than him, and obviously this whole thing has been harder on them than it’s been on him, and obviously they didn’t actually owe Kent anything, but there’d also been a time when they were sort of like parents to him and it hadn’t really been all that long ago, so yeah.

Maybe Kent had been holding out a little bit of hope that Bob and Alicia would show up at the game and say they were proud of him, and tell him that they didn’t blame him for everything, and just let him know that Jack was doing alright, but that hadn’t happened and Kent was crushed.

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Done with your bullshit // Sherlock x Reader

Words // 1100 (be proud of me okay this is long)

Warnings // None, I suppose mentions of drug abuse

Summary // After knowing him for 10+ years you’ve gotten sick of Sherlock’s bullshit (Set during The Lying Detective)

A/N // I’m thinking about writing both more Headcanons and Hamilton but I’m not sure yet, I’m trying to write more Sherlock if you want it.

Originally posted by darlingtonsubstitution

“Hello dear,’’ Mrs. Hudson greeted you and you smiled but didn’t say anything back. You took a deep breath, it had been a week since you last visited Sherlock as you had finally gotten fed up with all his bullshit then, which was a surprise to both him and yourself as you had been with him through a lot of bullshit, more than you should’ve really put up with.

You had met Sherlock in University, you were studying [favourite subject] and once day you were working in the library on a project when you met him, he was rude and basically the exactly same he was now. It was funny though to think back, at first you weren’t really interested in Sherlock but he seemed rather interested in you which is why he did something rather close to stalking but you eventually forgave him for that. It was specially funny back then to see him as now he had fully embraced his height and was comfortable with it but when you had met him he was the ‘awkward tall’ and didn’t seem to really fit in his body which didn’t help with his less than lacking people skills.

You had truly been through all his bullshit, the two of you become somewhat good friends through University which made Mycroft force himself to inspect you and had a somewhat experience like John had, Mycroft was impressed with all your knowledge of your subject and a few others that related to it and deemed you somewhat worthy, you could hold an intelligent conversation with him which was more than most people could which is why he left you alone from then on.

A few years after you two had finished University you had discovered about Sherlock’s drug abuse and that wasn’t something you took lightly, there was a moment where you two had a non-existent friend-ship but eventually he apologized and didn’t necessarily promise you to stop, he promised you to only use it in extreme cases when he had to deal with boredom and you hesitantly agreed to that, knowing that he got bored easily but also that he recently had been solving a few cases for Scotland Yard

You were happy when he met John and found it very nice to know he was normal and he was surprised Sherlock was able to maintain a normal person as his friend for so long. John was able to vent with you about all the things Sherlock did which you had experienced before and it was nice for him and for you to talk to someone who’s able to relate.

You were shocked when the news hit you that Sherlock had killed himself but then Mycroft had appeared at your door, explaining the situation. Sherlock wasn’t dead but Moriarity was, you didn’t really know Moriarity at all. When he came onto the scene Sherlock was extremely careful with you and made sure to keep you at more of a distance so he wouldn’t use you, you understood it when he explained it. It was extremely hard though, you tried to drop subtle hints to John that Sherlock was alive but it was hopeless. You tried to give him the best support you could and were relieved when he started to move on with Mary because he was getting his life back on track rather than dwelling on the past. He made a very active effort to stay in touch which was nice.

You sighed, you did really put up with all the bullshit there was going on but then you had gotten sick of it, what happened to Mary was horrible and very sad and you were also consumed with grief, she had become a good friend of yours, and you understood John but you just couldn’t get around how he blamed it on Sherlock. He didn’t seem to remember how the years were when Sherlock was supposedly dead which made you rather angry with John but it was worse with Sherlock.

You opened the door and was surprised at Sherlock who was on the couch, his eyes shut, and Wiggins who was sitting behind a laptop. You didn’t like Wiggins but you didn’t necessarily hate him, he was okay but it was just the drugs part that made you almost hate him.

“He’s actually sleeping?’’ You said, almost amused.

“Sort of, passed out, I had to drag him up here. Mrs. Hudson seems to terrified to come in here.’’ He replied and you nodded. Within a few seconds he was gone. You looked at the different pictures which were pinned into the wall, it were just a few above the couch of someone you had seen on the telly but you couldn’t quite remember his name, he was someone important or something like that.

“What are you doing here?’’ Sherlock asked as you were towering over him, your eyes still on the pictures. “Who is he?’’ You asked and Sherlock grunted.

“Culverton Smith, serial killer.’’ He replied once he got up, you gave him a look. “Any evidence?’’

“Just know it.’’ He replied and you laughed. “Of course you do.’’

He smiled for a second and then asked: “What are you doing here?’’

“Well, dunno. I still don’t know whether to apologize or be angry with you after last week,’’ You said and started to walk over to the other side of the room, casting a curious glance at the knife stabbed in something. “I’ve been through so much stupid bullshit with you, drug abuse, you pretending to be dead, stalking me at uni, remember that?’’ You said with a small chukle and he nodded.

“You need to stop this because I’m sick of all this bullshit. I’ve been through enough for ten life times, with both you and your lovely brother who thinks it’s appropriate to stalk someone if they meet you,’’ Sherlock smiled. “There are plenty of people who care for you, even go as far to love you.’’ You said with a tired sigh.

“Like who?’’ He countered.

“Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft, John and no don’t you dare comment because he does, basically all the people who you solved the murder of a friend or relative are thankful to you for god’s sake! Even me.’’ You said, frustration was obvious

“You love me?’’ He said, almost in disbelief.

“Oh shut up you’re supposedly the great consulting detective, too smart to use the tile of private detective. Of course I do, seems everyone who meets you is slightly charmer or scared away.’’

“I’m sorry.’’ And that’s where it all started.

anonymous asked:

Um...hi I love your page, do you know any Courting fics for sterek or johnlock.

Hi anon!!! I love you for loving my page!!!

And, as a matter of fact, I think I may have a few up my sleeve. :)


We Grew A Little And Knew A Lot by noxlunate | E | 16k

“So, you do like me though?”

“No, I hate you and I’ve spent a ton of time and money trying to make you happy for no reason at all.” Derek deadpans and Stiles can’t help it, he smiles blindingly at Derek and leans in, smashing their mouths together.

Or an A/B/O fic that’s totally mostly floof

Sweeter Than Honey by the_painless_moustache | E | 9k

Stiles is probably the worst omega ever, which drives every one of his friends insane. Except for, surprisingly, Derek.

Courting Nerves by ohhitsanna | TauA | 4k

Stiles just rolled his eyes, smiling hugely. “Sure big guy, whatever you want.” Derek’s heart was beating so fast he was seriously worried it might explode. Stiles actually wanted Derek to court him, was this a dream? “Whoa there, Derek.” Stiles eyes were wide with fear staring down at his leg. Oh God did he have a boner? Now was not the time for that!

or the one where Derek Courts Stiles

Freebies by Saucery | TauA | 1k

Stiles can’t figure out why people keep dropping, spilling or breaking things in his presence. And offering him free stuff. Like, what the heck?

Summer Contest by kits_lightning | E | 19k

The moment Derek stepped into the fighting ring and faced Stiles he remembered why he was doing all of this.

The omega gawked at him and barely paid attention to the other competitors Talia was mentioning and Derek smiled at the thought of having all of his attention. Stiles blushed from the tips of his ears to his neck and began to run his fingers through his hair while looking away.

Derek began to wonder how far down that blush traveled when he shook his head and tried to focus on the imminent battle. He caught the last of what his mother was saying. “—have a good fight and good luck.” More clapping and the horn that signaled the beginning of the fight sounded.

Smell Your Intentions by redeyedwrath | TauA | 6k

“The worst thing about suddenly turning into a werewolf is Stiles’ asshole of an Alpha”

Or, in which Stiles gets bitten instead of Scott and he can’t figure out what the hell that smell is

Romancing The Sourwolf. (Or, Stiles Stilinski’s 100% Foolproof Guide To Getting Your Man.) by lucyinthesoupwithcroutons | TauA | 18k

The 15 year plan for Lydia was clearly the wrong way to go; Stiles won’t be making the same mistake with Derek. He decides to do his homework this time.

Burning Glances (Turning Heads) by Yiichi | NR | 28k

Stiles is a lower-class tailor, who has always dreamed of attending the fabled, annual Hale ball. His good friend, Lord McCall, somehow managed to procure an extra invite.

Stiles doesn’t expect anything of the evening. He certainly doesn’t expect to capture the gaze of a dark, mysterious stranger wearing a wolf mask.

Chocolate & Pomegranates by Dexterous_Sinistrous | TauA | 10k

Derek has been an Omega for what feels like centuries. He is constantly hounded by Alphas and Betas who can’t control their hormones. He’s thankful for Laura defending his honor, but there is one person he’s always dreamed of giving himself to.

Too bad Derek is certain Stiles doesn’t know he exists.

Rare Books and Special Collections by KuriKuri | E | 15k

Derek Hale hates libraries.

Unfortunately, not all books can be ordered on Amazon.

(Or: in which Derek is a grumpy omega writer, and Stiles is an annoyingly attractive alpha special collections librarian.)

5 ways cosmo can help you win your man by stilinskisparkles | TauA | 6k

where derek never had to work to get a date, he always had someone pursue him or ask him out. but when derek sees stiles, he waits and thinks stiles will stroll up and ask him out. everyone of his past relationships started that way, until stiles doesn’t. and derek is left with the horrifying possibility that he will have to make the first move and dare he think of it, flirt? and attempt small talk. and it turns out, he’s really bad at it. maybe he even tries cosmo tips and calls his sisters, both of whom are like 100% trolling him

His Words Were Pearls by Saucery | TauA | 2k

Stiles gets a proposal. Derek doesn’t punctuate like normal people.

Knot If You Don’t Knock by jsea, marguerite_26 | E | 14k

Stiles never expects to present as an omega – that’s something that happens to people like Greenberg, not him. He is so wrong.

His life only gets stranger when Derek Hale mistakenly bursts through the door of his exam room during a doctor’s appointment. What happens next is a complicated series of events, including freshly baked cookies, book-carrying and surprise heats.

Of Glasses And Lacrosse Sticks by charlesdk | TauA | 7k

“Okay, how ‘bout this? One date, just one date, and if you still don’t believe I’m genuinely interested in you, then I’ll leave you alone for good. How does that sound?”

Derek hesitated for another moment, before he sighed and said, “Fine. One date.”

The Smell of Happiness by Chef_Geekier | TauA | 2k

Derek likes it when Stiles smells like him. He goes to increasingly bizarre lengths to to make this happen. Stiles doesn’t get it - until he does.

What do you mean scent marking? by mistress_of_mythology | TauA | 11k

Stiles doesn’t notice it at first.

Why would he, when he was busy trying to take down a psychotic geriatric with a God complex?

When he finally does notice it, it’s not even him who figures it out, and Derek was no where to be found.

Five times someone points out that Stiles smells heavily of Derek and Stiles can’t figure out why the alpha is scent marking him and the one time he got a clue and got the guy.

Worth the Wait by Dexterous_Sinistrous | E | 13k

Stiles always had a thing for Derek, but then again, so did everyone else. Stiles just wanted to be seen as different, which was why he waited.

But maybe he waited a little too long.


How to Flirt (With Pictures) by Yesilian | TauA | 7k 

Sherlock needs to learn how to flirt and who better to test it on than John?
A 5+1 in flirting.

The Six Steps of Courtship by emptycel | E | 28k | omg, pls read this *heart eyes*

Sherlock doesn’t hold any love for his omega status. However, that doesn’t stop him from going undercover and joining on online dating site to try and find the person responsible for a string of vicious omega homicides.

It should have been easy, open and shut.

He just didn’t expect to meet an alpha named John Watson.

And enter the six steps of courtship.

The Measure of a Gentleman by i_ship_an_armada | E | 67k | AO3 acc required

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a partner.
Less universally acknowledged is that a single man in possession of very little in the way of fortune may be in want of a partner as well, but John Watson had little time or energy to devote to his own wants or needs…
Enter one Mr Holmes…

Paper Hearts by testosterone_tea | TauA | 4k

Sherlock is the loner kid that has no friends, and is certain that his interest in popular rugby player John Watson is unrequited. One day, he starts getting hearts in his locker from a mysterious admirer and has to decide whether or not he wants to find out who fancies him.

Sooooo, I had more Courting ones for Sterek than I did Johnlock, but that’s mostly because most of the Johnlock I read is soulmate AU… oops. :) Anyway, hope I was able to help, anon!! <3

@tremendousdetectivetheorist and a bunch of other guys gave such lovely feedback on my angst vs fluff question yesterday. So while I’m editing the next chapters for both categories, I hope you’ll enjoy this little piece of silliness and fluff I wrote a couple of months ago.

John Watson was nothing if not a creature of habit, that much I had learned in the initial weeks of our acquaintance. He preferred mealtimes at regular intervals, enjoyed a pipe and a brandy after a particularly trying day and liked to engage with his writing in the evening only. He had great respect for holidays and special occasions and took offense if others treated them with carelessness that bordered on indifference.

Keep reading

Live and Let Live: How to Read Sherlock’s "Gay Jokes”

I want to take a moment to talk about something that has made a lot of fans uncomfortable with Sherlock.

Over and over on the show, John is shown insisting that he isn’t gay and/or isn’t in a romantic relationship with Sherlock.  And when this motif comes up, it tends to feel like a gag or a joke.  But what exactly are these repeated protestations really telling us?  

When we refer to these bits as “gay jokes”, it sounds like we mean “humor at the expense of gay people”.  This kind of humor has been accepted and unremarked upon on TV shows for decades – a character walks in with a limp wrist and a lisp, and the audience (or more likely, the laugh track) laughs, because gay people are (supposedly) inherently weird and funny.  

In my reading, that’s not what’s going on with Sherlock. 

Keep reading

Sherlolly ficlet

So, I’ve read far too much Jane Eyre and Sherlolly Regency fics lately and this was the result. The scene that came to mind whilst writing this was from Pride and Prejudice, when Darcy first proposes to Lizzy.
It’s not much and probably a bit naff, but I still enjoyed writing it.

“Miss Hooper,”
Molly looked up from her pen and parchment, to see the maid’s face and left hand peering round the corner of the doorway. “Yes?” She queried, with a small smile.
“Pardon me, Ma'am,” the maid began apologetically. “But there’s a gentleman here to see you.”
“Oh?” The sentence puzzled Molly, as she hadn’t expected any visitors that day.
“A Mr Holmes, Ma'am,” the maid clarified.
“O-oh.” Molly felt her spirits droop a little, but, almost immediately after, her curiosity began to pique. What did he want? Their last encounter several weeks ago hadn’t exactly ended well, what with his meticulous, yet cruel assessment of the reasoning behind her recently ceased engagement and she certainly had never expected to find him calling at her residence.
Realising her delay in replying, Molly shook off the puzzlement and addressed the maid yet again.
“Thank you. Let him in.”
“Very good, Ma'am.”
The maid shuffled off and Molly had a few precious moments of preparation (not that it would do any good), before the maid returned, followed closely by the tall and imposing presence of Mr Sherlock Holmes.
At his entrance, Molly stood and gave a small curtsey, before returning to full height and doing her very best to look the man square in the eye.
“Good afternoon, Mr Holmes,” she said, forcing her voice to remain neutral. She hated the way his presence often made her feel, like she was a specimen being examined. What made it was worse was that, even after all that had been said and done, the mere sight of him still sent her pulse haywire.
“Miss Hooper,” he replied, in his deep, unmistakable baritone, stopping in the centre of the room, his hat held in both hands at waist height.
For a short while, the room settled into uncomfortable silence, with neither of the two present sure how to start conversation. Sherlock’s pale eyes roamed the room, taking in every minute detail and, after a moment of study, Molly realised that something was off about his posture. He normally held himself in a proud, aloof manner, but there was a hint of awkwardness to it now, that seemed as alien to his character, as if he had skipped gaily into the room. She wondered again at his purpose for visiting.
“Shall I, um, send for some tea?” she asked, desperate to move things along.
Sherlock’s attention seemed to be elsewhere, as it took him a moment to respond. “Hmm? Oh, no, thank you, Miss Hooper.”
‘Well, that is the end of that’ thought Molly.
Suddenly, Sherlock’s position shifted and he stepped to the right, in order to place his hat upon the small table resting by the wall, before returning to his previous position.
“I wish to speak with you, if I may, Miss Hooper. Please, be seated.”
The request was given politely enough and, frankly, Molly was too intrigued to be obstinate, so, without comment, she complied. Seeing this, Sherlock then began to move, which resulted in a pacing motion, back and forth of the room, his fingers steepled beneath his nose, the two forefingers pressed against pursed lips. This continued for a few minutes and Molly was feeling her patience subside.
“Mr Ho-”
“Miss Hooper, I am not a sentimental man,” Sherlock declared, suddenly, halting her sentence. “In fact, I abhor the notion of it. Sentiment turns perfectly functioning, intelligent people into little more than fools, clouding their judgement and reasoning, leading them to folly. I have always sought to separate myself from any such hindrance, from…'feelings’.”
The way he spoke the last word, it was as if he had tasted a piece of rotten fruit and wished to expel the taste from his mouth immediately. Molly could not comprehend where on Earth this monologue was going, but manners decreed she listen to the end. Unless, of course, he reverted back to the social oafishness she found so unlikeable, in which case he would be removed from her home at once.
“I am not telling you this out of a need for trivial conversation,” the dark haired, often disagreeable visitor continued. He was still pacing, but had taken a step closer, now and Molly was unsure how she felt about the decrease in distance. “I need you to know, to understand exactly what I am saying to you. All that has mattered to me is the work. It is all that can occupy my mind and keep it from falling into disrepair. Sentiment has no place up here-” He tapped his right temple quickly. “It only distracts, hides detail, skews the world into something devoid of sense. I have seen what it does to those around me and I have no desire to join the simpering masses.”
Molly was losing patience and had no interest in being reminded yet again of the world’s inferiority to the great Mr Sherlock Holmes. Ready to stand and dismiss the arrogant man, her thoughts and actions were immobilised by Sherlock’s sudden stillness and change in manner and voice.
“And yet, I find myself ensnared by the very emotions I have, up until now, so readily dismissed. I have tried in vain to ignore them, to reason away the sentiment. But, nothing has sufficed. Not the insistence that they aren’t there, or the hope that you would show no reciprocation. I cannot even claim the noble trait of wishing to keep you from such a disagreeable match, because, however terribly unsuited to matrimony I may believe myself to be, I cannot do my intended the disservice of denying her own intelligence, and sound sense of reasoning, by removing the choice from her completely.”
Sherlock’s voice had steadily grown quieter as he spoke, his eyes downcast, the aloof facade slipping, until the mask of superiority was removed completely, to reveal a person Molly Hooper had only met once before, back when he had been at the very edge, with nobody else to turn to. The mask had slipped then, too and the vulnerable, frightened young man residing beneath had been revealed. It was such a contrast to the face presented to the outside world, that, were it not for the identical features decorating both faces, she would never have believed them to be one and the same.
Sherlock had taken another step closer and his eyes were locked with hers, the icy blue boring into deep brown with an intensity Molly found hard to endure. The hesitance returned and he seemed to have trouble releasing his next words, but when he did, they were quiet and heavy with the very feelings he had just professed to detest.
“I cannot ignore it any longer and that is why I must tell you,” a deep, bracing breath was inhaled, before the sentence was completed. “I love you, Molly Hooper.”
Stunned silence followed, in which the gentleman was unable to meet the gaze of the subject of his confession. For her part, the young woman couldn’t process what she had just heard and it took a ridiculous amount of time for the words to even reach her ears.
A weight appeared to have been lifted from Sherlock’s shoulders, because his nervousness fell away and his posture returned to normal-rod-straight and aloof-as he reached for his hat, obviously preparing to leave. All emotion had been spent, it seemed.
“Obviously, you will want to think about what I have said,” he still avoided her gaze, staring at the carpet. “Therefore, I will impose no longer. Good day, Miss Hooper.”
And, with that, he was gone.

Good Boy

There are voices, and for a second John thinks that someone is up there. A client, he thinks, but there’s something weirdly familiar about the rumbly baritone coming from 221B. It sounds like Sherlock except…

“Who’s a good boy? Who is such a clever boy?”

“I am! I am a good boy!”

John stops, three stairs from the landing, and wonders if he’s gone mad. The door into the sitting room is closed and all he can make out through the textured glass is a vague silhouette in motion.

 “Such a clever, good boy!”

 “Clever and good!”

Sherlock’s voice is high and soothing, the exaggerated tone one takes with small children and animals. Except that the second voice, the one replying, certainly sounds human, but it too is weirdly pitched, oddly whistling and not quite right to be a child. And besides, the idea of Sherlock actually speaking to some random child in their flat is too bizarre to contemplate. Roleplay then? He debates turning back around. If Sherlock is up to something with someone…

But no. Surely if Sherlock was into that sort of thing he would have told John. Surely he would have figured out a way to coerce John into playing out whatever fantasies he had even if John was in any way unwilling.

That would only really leave animals (Sherlock can be slightly stupid about the occasional reptile). However, that still leaves the mystery of the second voice. John’s never known a lizard to talk back.

That leads him back to some kind of roleplay. Could their sex life have really have been failing that badly without him even noticing? Maybe Sherlock just didn’t know how to tell him. Maybe this was his strange Sherlock way of going about it, letting John know without having to let John know, prefacing any kind of personal exposure with as much reciprocal hurt as possible because that was the way Sherlock’s brain sometimes worked.

It’s clear, John thinks as he stands three steps from his flat and contemplates his life choices, that he really is as stupid as Sherlock thinks he is because he honestly can’t think of anything else that would take all the facts into logical account. But he hopes he’s wrong. He really, really hopes. So he braces himself and goes forward. But he does make sure to walk softly.

Slipping quietly in through the open kitchen door he considers peering around the corner first to prepare himself, but something about pulling the bandage off quickly makes him stiffen his spine and simply step out. He’s ready for this, he thinks. He’s ready for anything. There is nothing about… whatever this is that will surprise him.

“Sherlock? What—”

Sherlock actually jumps. John thinks this is the first time he’s ever actually startled the man. “John! Oh. Um.”

“Sherlock. What.”

“It’s for an experiment,” Sherlock says quickly but his face is a bright crimson more normally seen on John (usually because of something Sherlock’s said or done) and he is clearly nervous, his eyes shifting from John to the large cage on the table in which there is…yes. A bird. A parrot possibly. John has no idea.

“Sherlock. No.”

This is the wrong thing to say. He can see Sherlock bridling, every instinct he has automatically ready to do the exact opposite of what anyone else says just because.

“He’s a Psittacus, John. And I already said, it’s for an experiment.”

“It’s a parrot, Sherlock, and what possible experiment could you be doing that you need one?”

Sherlock somehow manages to look both shifty and defensive. “A Psittacus, John. African grey parrot since you’re clearly having trouble with long words again.”

“What experiment, Sherlock?”

Sherlock glares at him before his eyes shift guiltily away again. “It’s highly technical and you wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh my God. You named it, didn’t you?”

“Don’t be stupid, John. This bird is twenty years old, his previous owner has already given him a name.”

“Previous owner?”

“His name is John.”

“Oh my God.”

“Well. Long John Silver.”

“And you couldn’t call it Silver or even Long instead?”

Sherlock looks at him contemptuously. “Don’t be ridiculous, John. How would it look if we told people we had a parrot named Long?”

“Probably better than if you told people you had a parrot named John! Jesus bloody Christ I can’t believe I’m having this conversation.”

“John mustn’t swear!” the parrot suddenly says.

John glares at it. Then glares at Sherlock.

“It is not staying.“



“It’s called John, John.”

“I’m a good boy! So clever!”

“That’s not actually a reason, Sherlock!”

“Sherlock loves John! John loves Sherlock!”

“Oh my God.”


“John is a good boy!”

“I hate you.”

“John loves Sherlock!”

“Can’t you shut it up!”

“John, hush,” Sherlock says sternly at the parrot in the cage. It clacks its beak at him defiantly but goes quiet. “You said I needed a hobby,” he says to John.

John stares at him. “This is not a hobby, Sherlock, it’s a life. An actual living thing!”

“I’m good at living things.”

“Only when it’s interesting!”

“Don’t be stupid. I’m with you, aren’t I?”

“I hate you.”

“John loves Sherlock!”

“Oh my God.”

“Please, John?”

John stares at him. Stares at the bird which is staring back.

“We’re calling it Silver.”


John glares at him.





“I love you.”

“I hate you.”

“John loves Sherlock!”

“Oh my God.”

* * * * *

John shouldn’t be surprised when he and Sherlock wake up the next day to find Mycroft in their flat, but John still sighs and rolls his eyes and very pointedly doesn’t make him a cup of tea.

Not that Mycroft notices. He’s leaning over the cage, peering at the bird, who is peering back.

“Fascinating,” Mycroft says, pretending to be blissfully unaware of Sherlock who has picked up the newspaper and is now aggressively reading it in his chair and doing a terrible job of pretending that Mycroft isn’t there either. “Psittacus erithacus I believe.”

“It’s a bloody parrot,” John mutters.

“John mustn’t swear!”

“Yes, that’s what I said,” Mycroft says. “Does it have a name?”



John and Sherlock both glare at each other.

Mycroft looks between them for a moment and raises a delicate eyebrow. “I see.”

John wisely ignores this. Sherlock, less wisely, snorts and Mycroft’s other eyebrow goes up.

“John, remind me to talk to Mrs Hudson about changing the locks again,” Sherlock snaps.

“Mrs Hudson change the locks!”

“I meant later, John, but thank you.”

“John, is it?” Mycroft says and John actually sees that narrow lip twitch and he makes a mental note to hide Billy the skull again. Possibly in the Thames. “Fascinating.”

“Bloody hell,” John sighs.

“John mustn’t swear!”

“Yes, bloody thank you,” John snaps.

“John mustn’t swear! John loves Sherlock!”

There is the smallest sound from Mycroft and if it were anyone else in the world John would have called it a snicker.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” John sighs.

“Fuck! Fuck Sherlock! Yes! Yes! Oh fuck yes Sherlock!”

The sudden stillness in the flat is deafening.

“Fuck yes! Yes Sherlock! Harder Sherlock! Fuck me harder Sherlock! Fuck! Fuck!”


“John! Hush!”

“Oh dear.”

“Harder Sherlock harder! Fuck yes Sherlock harder!”

“Oh my God no.”

“John! Hush! I said hush you idiot parrot!”

“Fascinating,” Mycroft mutters and his eyebrows are both as high as they can go and John wants to kill him but also Sherlock and he wonders what the chances are of getting away with it.

“Harder fuck me harder! I love your cock Sherlock! Sherlock cock! Shercock! Shercock!”

Sherlock is frantically waving his arms at the cage and the delighted bird inside and John swears the stupid thing is laughing as it clacks it beak and yells “Shercock!” at the top of its range.

“What a very enlightening visit,” Mycroft says and he’s hurriedly backing out of the room. His face is a bright red and as John watches him he very nearly trips on the edge of the rug before shutting the door behind him with a bang.

The second Mycroft disappears the parrot falls silent. John and Sherlock are frozen in a tableau as they listen with slightly horrified looks on their faces as the outside door bangs shut and moment later Mrs Hudson’s voice floats up to them, “Don’t think I didn’t hear that, Sherlock Holmes! And don’t think I’m coming up there again until you teach that bird some manners!” And then the sound of her door firmly shutting reaches them and everything goes silent.

John and Sherlock look at each other, then look at the bird. The bird looks back.

“Tea,” John manages to say even though he has an almost full cup in his hand.

And as he turns around to stumble slightly dazedly to the kitchen, he swears he hears Sherlock’s voice, a soft whispering coo: “Good boy, John. Such a good boy.”


Sherlock’s Downfall: Failure to Understand Bisexuality

I’ll start this meta off with something obvious - Sherlock is a gay man.  He is absolutely 100% homosexual. Sherlock is not bisexual, he has never felt sexual attraction to a woman in his life, ever. 

There.  Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way….

Sherlock does not understand how anyone could be bisexual.  He sees sexuality in the harsh binary.  This keeps him from fully understanding John’s interest and motivation when it comes to their relationship.  His lack of understanding bisexuality also is his biggest weakness in dealing with Moriarty. Here’s another claim I will make - please read the rest of my argument before objecting - Moriarty is not gay. Moriarty is bisexual.  Sherlock believes Moriarty to be gay because he doesn’t understand that bisexuality is a possibility.  

Here are my reasons I believe Moriarty is coded as bisexual:
*Moriarty claims he was “playing gay” to get Sherlock’s attention
*Moriarty seductively asks the female guard to slip her hand in his pocket at the trial and seems to sexually enjoy the power he has at that moment
*Richard Brook was having a seemingly normal domestic relationship with Kitty Riley in TRF

Sure, he could be gay and pretending this whole time, but the “playing gay” really sells me.  I don’t believe the writers would have a character lie about their sexuality.  Just like John claims he’s “not gay” - which is true - they never have him say “I’m not attracted to men”.  They do not mislead.  Taking this into consideration, I see Moriarty as a bisexual man playing on Sherlock’s weaknesses in order to beat him. 

When we first see Jim, Sherlock calls him out for being gay.  John gets upset at that because John sees him as bisexual.  Jim is dating Molly and uses some product on his hair (like John) but just happens to find Sherlock attractive.  That doesn’t make him gay.  Sherlock doesn’t understand that anyone could like both men and women so when he sees Jim he automatically assumes Jim is gay but hiding behind Molly.  It’s the common “bisexual men aren’t a thing, they’re gay but can’t admit it” hurtful stereotype that Sherlock believes - and this notion is what will break him in the end.  He has to overcome this falsity in order to be with John and to know Moriarty’s next move.  

Moriarty used Kitty to hurt Sherlock.  Moriarty used Molly to hurt Sherlock.  I am positive Moriarty has used either Mary or Janine in a similar fashion before TRF in order to ensure his hatred for Sherlock lives on even after he dies.  Love is a far more viscious motivator, after all.  But this, this is what Sherlock always fails to see: the women in Moriarty’s life have been, and always will be, his biggest obstacles.  Moriarty’s bisexuality will ruin him if he doesn’t allow himself to see the patterns.  

And as for John, Sherlock still doesn’t know John is bisexual.  Sherlock knows that “it’s always two of us” and that John will have him sexually, but whether or not he knows John’s true sexuality is still up in the air.  Sherlock spent the first series assuming John to be straight - I mean, he heard John say enough times that he’s not gay and he’s dated a bunch of women.  Sherlock thinks he’s the only one starting to develop feelings. But then the pool happens.  Sherlock starts smoking again and becomes obsessed with John.  Sherlock thinks John is gay, but hiding.  Sherlock sees John flirt with Irene and he looses all ability to speak.  Could Sherlock have gotten it wrong? Is John not gay?  Later he hears John say he’s not gay but that he does love Sherlock more than a straight man would.  This sends him reeling out of control on his emotional rollercoaster.  He’s thinking “So what is it, John?!?! Are you gay?!?! Are you straight!?!?! GOD I NEED TO KNOW. I HATE NOT KNOWING.” Sherlock is still on edge in THOB and it cumulates into a fearful blizzard of nerves, he tells John for the first time he’s felt doubt.  That he can’t trust his own senses.  He’s so shaken from this whole emotional wreck of a situation that he pushes John away, sends him a woman to woo, then asks about his sexual exploits with her the next morning. Sherlock, the man uncomfortable with sex, ask John if he got any that night.  Sherlock HAS to know if John is sexually interested in women or not. John quits dating, doesn’t meet women, and gives his full attention to Sherlock.  Sherlock sees John as gay but hiding, afraid of what other people think of him. So once Sherlock dies and comes back, he’s ready to pick up where he left off and start his romance with John where it left off.  But John is involved with a woman.  And Sherlock did not see that coming.

Sherlock doesn’t understand why John won’t just leave Mary and come home to him - Sherlock thinks John is gay and still hiding. “Why would anyone go through all that trouble?” - “Why indeed, John?” (TEH).  Sherlock still has no idea why John is faking being straight.  That’s because John isn’t faking anything.  Sherlock waits patiently for John to leave Mary but he never does.  Sherlock found out that he was John’s “best friend”.  Sherlock has to admit that he was wrong again, that John isn’t gay and isn’t capable of feeling things like that for him. Sherlock willingly takes what he can get and assumes the role of gay-best-friend / wedding planner. He loves John so much that he’s willing to do whatever it takes to be near him. Drunk Sherlock saunters through the Mayfly Man’s flat trying to look for clues but all he’s thinking about is John’s sexual preference. “Wood? Egg?” - pink light, blue light - “What is John interested in sexually? Sholto? Me? Women?”.  Sherlock gives away his own sexual preference and ends up in jail before being able to figure anything out. At the wedding he tries to figure it out again. He sees Sholto the way he sees himself - Pining.  John admires Sholto but Sherlock sees it as just that - hero worship.  That’s all John is capable of when it comes to men like Sherlock.  The final nail in the coffin for Sherlock is deducing Mary’s pregnancy.  That is the moment Sherlock knows John isn’t capable of loving him - he sexually reproduced with a woman.  This is why Sherlock is crushed here.  Years of deducing and hoping that John is interested in men has come to this.  Sherlock was wrong.

Sherlock kills for Mary because there’s no use in telling John how he feels.  Sherlock shakes hands with John on the Tarmac without telling him he loves him because there’s no point.  Sherlock needs John to forgive Mary because there’s no way John would pick Sherlock anyways.  John has been straight this whole time.  John could never love Sherlock.

This is Sherlock’s greatest weakness.  This is what Moriarty uses against him and what keeps him from John.  Sherlock will have to admit to himself that it is biologically possible for a man to be sexually attracted to both men and women in order to be with John and to finally conquer Moriarty.  

Title: Strike Three - You’re Out

Prompt: Dean decides not to tell you the truth, and Sammy agrees.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: none

Words: 1645

A/N: Last part to Three  Strikes.

Strike One | Strike Two

It was quiet. And that was saying something considering you lived with two boys. Though, you were happy it was silent. The quiet wrapped around you like a warm, silk scarf and you were smiling like an idiot when you walked into the library. Yet, the only thing you could do is pull out your cellphone and begin typing in the familiar number of Dean.

He didn’t answer.

When you tried Sam, he didn’t answer either.

But the note on the fridge gave you enough to know that all they did was go to the grocery store. You had a good few minutes of you time.

Dean and Sam
The car ride to the store was quiet. If it weren’t for the familiar roar of the Impala’s engine, Dean would have felt uncomfortable sitting next to his younger brother, who had yet to say something to him since your birthday, which seemed like ages ago to him, but with Sam’s constant reminder, it truly was only two weeks ago.

When Dean went to turn the radio on, Sam interfered by letting out a curt no. His hand went back to the steering wheel.

“All I want to know is why.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement, and Dean released a sigh as Sam looked at him. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Two times.” Sam shook his head. “Two times you disappointed Y/N. Two times you cheated on her on an important day. Two times with the same girl.”

“How do you know it was the same girl?”


Dean scoffed. “Alright, Sherlock. You caught me red handed. What? Do you want to throw me behind bars? Or maybe confess to you that yes, it was a mistake to do that and, yes, I promised you that I was going to tell her everything, but I didn’t. What is it, Sammy? What do you want me to do?”

“She’s counting on you, Dean,” Sam whispered. “What if you try for a third time and she catches you? She puts two and two together. Three strikes, you’re out, Dean.”

“She’s not going to catch me.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I’m not doing it again.” It was serious, and seeing the straight face Dean had on, Sam knew he was telling the truth.

“But why did you do it in the first place?”

Dean sighed, his grip on the steering wheel tightening to the point where you could practically see the bones of his knuckles. “I don’t deserve Y/N. We don’t deserve anything remotely close to Y/N. The way she treats us, the way we’ve always wanted somebody to treat us. She takes care of us like a mother and…” He trailed off with a single shake of his head. “She deserves so much better than just a couple of boys who seems to have knack for danger.”


“You know it’s right, Sammy,” Dean snapped. “Lucifer, Metatron, Michael, Crowley, Lilith, Alastair, hell, even Castiel for a moment or two. Do you need me to keep going?”

“No, I-”

“And I am so scared, Sam. I am terrified that she is going to be the one caught in the crosshairs. I fear for her life and she has no idea what she’s getting herself into.”

“She does, Dean,” Sam assured. “She knew it the second she signed on. You act like Y/N’s new to this whole hunting life when she’s really not. Dean, she’s been hunting before she even heard of us. She was raised into hunting, like you and I.”

“Yes, Sam, hunting normal things like demons and vampires and wendigos, but not Lucifer himself, or asshole angels like Metatron.” Dean sighed. “I thought that I could go through with it. Cheat on her and tell her, she’d leave, but I… Sam, just looking her in the eye makes me happier than I ever could be and it’s obvious that she feels the same way. I…I couldn’t take that away from her.”

Sam looked away from his brother, out the window and into the sunny sky to his right. He knew Dean was right, what he did was wrong, but it was for your own safety. Yet, like Dean, he couldn’t bring himself to tell you. But not telling you, and keeping it from you, was worse.

He was on a tightrope, and he felt like he was going to fall off.

It was almost dinner, Sam and Dean have yet to return, but you didn’t mind. You enjoyed the peace, catching up on your favorite TV shows and actually enjoyed reading a book that has nothing to do with hunting. You took the advantage of the rare moment that both Sam and Dean are out.

Now that dinner was close, you decided to do something special for the brothers. After all, they took you in when you needed it, and they became the family you needed more than ever.

You cooked both Sam and Dean’s favorite and laid it out over the table in the library. A homemade meal, something none of you had in awhile. Now, all you had to do was wait.

As you just sat down, there was a loud, impatient knocking on the Bunker door. Which was odd, considered Sam and Dean had a key and nobody knew where this place was located. Out of curiosity, you went to go answer the door.

You were greeted with a blonde, her hair pulled into a sloppy ponytail, her brown eyes looking at you, and a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie told you that she must have rushed out of her house to be here. But why was the question you were asking yourself.

“Who are you?” You asked the question at the same time, but neither of you answered it. You looked at her skeptically, feeling an odd emotion bubbling in the pit of your stomach. Anger? No, you’ve felt anger before and that’s not it. Pity? Maybe, but there’s no reason to be feeling pity seeing some type of mustang sitting in the front of the Bunker, normally where the Impala is. The feeling in your stomach was an unsolved mystery to you.

And you hated unsolved mysteries.

“Brittany.” She stuck out her hand and you accepted it, your grip stronger than hers.


“Is Dean here?”

Dean? “What? Why?”

“I have to tell him something and he isn’t answering his cellphone.” She looked at you.

“How did you know where to find him?”

“I, uh…” She cleared her throat. “I followed him here.”

For some reason, it didn’t surprise you. “Well, come on in.” You moved to the side to let her enter. You wanted to hear what she has to say to Dean.

Dean and Sam
It was around 10:00 by the time Dean pulled the Impala in front of the Bunker with Sam, the mustang leaving both confusion on their faces.

And then Dean’s eyes landed on the license plate, BRTTNY. He felt horror flood through him.

Dean was the first one in the Bunker, Sam walking behind him - he noticed the duffel bag near the stairs, Dean didn’t - and they walked into the library to see the food on the table with someone that wasn’t you sitting near it. Sam looked at the girl, his brow furrowing in confusion and anger.

“Who are-”

“Glad you’re back!” you called from the kitchen, walking into the library to greet Sam and Dean with a smile. “Sit down, have a bite. The food may be a bit cold, but it’s still good. I would know since I spent hours working on it for you two.”

Both brothers could hear the change in your usual soft, quiet tone, but neither of them could place what it was. Neither of them moved either.

“Oh, and Brittany, here, as some news for you, Dean.” You turned to Brittany. “Why don’t you tell him what it is, sweetheart. I’m sure he’d be absolutely thrilled to hear what it is.” You turned back to Dean.

Brittany stood up and stepped towards Dean - now an arm’s length away - and smiled at him. “I’m pregnant.”

You let out a single, unamused laugh as Dean’s face fell into shock. “Isn’t that something, Dean?” You clapped your hands and stepped out from the doorway. “Great, isn’t it? Well, I mean…” You sighed and placed your hands on your hips. “Brittany has been telling me all about it, isn’t that right, Brittany?”

Brittany looked at you in confusion, obviously having no idea what’s happening. Sam figured you haven’t been completely honest with her.

“She told me that you met her on Valentine’s Day and that was the first time you did the, oh, you know.” You waved a hand in the air before crossing your arms over your chest. “And then, two weeks ago, you two met again and did the same thing.”

Dean was speechless.

Sam was speechless.

Brittany finally caught on. “You two are…”

“Yup,” you answered.

“And he…”


She scoffed and sent a hand right across Dean’s face, the slapping sound making the smile on your face turn into an amused one, but only briefly.

Your eyes trailed Brittany’s form as she stormed out.

“Y/N, I-”

“Pregnant.” You couldn’t stop yourself, the sarcastic facade was breaking away. Your eyes glossed over with unshed tears, your voice breaking in one single word, you couldn’t even keep your arms crossed over your chest for much longer, finally letting them fall limp to your sides. “You…You told me that you… that you just forgot, Dean.” Uber cracking. You were breaking.

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” He stepped forward, but you stepped backwards, practically flinching.

“If your plan was to damage me, job well done, Dean.” You couldn’t look him in the eye, everybody in the room noticed it. “The mornings I wake up to an empty bed, that was completely intended. You forgetting a planned dinner, that was intended. You coincidentally being out on my birthday, that was intended.” You looked at his face. “Well thought out plan, Dean. You managed to push me away so far that I don’t…” Your voice caught in your throat. You couldn’t even look in Sam’s direction as you tried your best to finish your planned sentence. “I don’t plan on coming back.”

“Y/N-” But it was too late.

You walked towards him, but only to get by him towards the stairs where your packed duffel bag sat, pushing him away with all your strength when he tried to stop you. Picking up your bag, you made your way out the Bunker.

Sam turned towards his older brother, tears falling from his eyes. “Well done, Dean,” Sam said. “Strike three, you’re out.” And he walked away.

Dean remained in place, looking at the spot where he last seen you before the Bunker door made it impossible to see you anymore, tears forming under his eyes.

You were gone.

And you kept your word; you never came back.


Strike Four

hanna0110  asked:

Prompt: Teen!lock. Sherlolly first kiss or going to prom toghether P.S I love your blog <333

Thank you sweetie! :) I could´t decide so I went ahead and did both. This is my first teen!lock fic so I hope it turned out okay :) <3

This was the day. He was going to ask her. Sherlock looked in the mirror before rushing out the door. His curly hair was in a frenzy, just how he liked it and his Belstaff made him look tall. He smiled at his reflection. Not bad. He turned up his collar and ran to catch the bus.

Despite him waking up half an hour later than he should have, he made it on time. The bus ride was as tedious as ever. He sat alone, deducing his fellow classmates as they talked and joked with their friends.

 Was in a fight last night. Still high. Nervous about test.

He worked his way systematically through the entire bus. 

Idiot. New dog. Parents have been fighting.Molly. 

His mind stopped for a moment to appreciate the look of her. Beautiful hair pulled back in a ponytail, big brown eyes, and her figure.. He caught himself staring. There was something different about this girl. She wasn’t like the other girls or boys for that matter. She didn’t gossip or spend hours talking on the phone with her girlfriends, she was quiet and subtle. Her mind was one even he admired. And she was beautiful, everything about her was perfect. Different.

“What are you lookin’ at?”

The boy sitting beside Molly shouted at him, Dick. His real name was Bruce, but in his mind he went by the name Dick. 

Sherlock quickly altered his gaze to look out the window, blushing furiously. Molly put a hand on Dicks shoulder, shooting him a glare. He immediately obeyed her and turned around. Dick wasn’t her boyfriend, he wasn’t even sure if they were friends. He was just always sitting next to her and following her wherever she went. He really fancied Molly, that much was evident, but Sherlock could easily see that the feeling was far from mutual, that made him feel a little better.

This wasn’t a good start to his day, especially since he was seeing her later. Molly was his lab partner. Her skill in chemistry went beyond even him. He loved watching her work, she was so concentrated. She would always talk while she worked too, sometimes Sherlock would spend the entire period just listening, listening to her talk. Her clever deductions always managed to send shivers down his spine.

Sherlock was going to ask her to prom, that was the plan. He would ask her about her day and she would answer. And he would steer the conversation towards the school event and she would reveal if she had a date. Then he would ask, just a plain “Will you go to the prom with me?” According to his research, taking a girl to the prom was the way to spark her interest, at least according to the movies and certain musicals he had seen.

The first period went quickly, though he could barely concentrate. He watched his teacher absentmindedly as he lectured on what he could guess was some war. 

Sherlock was thinking of every alternative and option. What if he couldn’t get her to reveal her maybe prom date? What if she simply said no, what would he say then? He had never done this before. He thought of the limited experience he had with girls. It was terrible that he should have to have his first try on the most important and perfect girl in the world. He really couldn’t mess this up. 

The sound of the horrible bell awoke him from his thoughts and he rose from his desk abruptly. He marched out of the classroom and straight to the chemistry lab. He had a slight hope that he might get a chance to talk to her before class started. Maybe if she said no, he would be spared the humiliation of being rejected in front of an audience. But of course, she wasn’t.

After a few minutes, the other students started piling into the room. Dick and his friends, or pricks as Sherlock preferred, entered first. They were yelling about something and hitting each other playfully. Idiots. Dick came over to his table, his loyal posse following  close behind. Every bully needs his audience. 

“Hey freak, you wanna cut that hair any time soon? I thought you were a girl the other day. And that collar….don’t get me started on the collar” Dick laughed mockingly and ruffled Sherlock´s hair. 

Sherlock kept his face straight, his expression unfazed and cold as stone. He was praying they would go away before Molly came in, he didn’t care about their bullying as long as they went to their desks in time. But they stood there, sniggering and teasing him.

And so Molly came in. He bent his head down in shame, feeling tears suddenly pressing on. I don’t want you to see me like this, weak and defenceless. Nothing but prey to a few idiots.

He bravely kept his head up, he was at least not going to make himself more pitiful than he already was. He knew he was superior to every one of them, but it´s hard living in a world were cleverness means nothing and power everything. 

Molly walked over to their table and the little crowd of people cleared up. She wasn’t popular, but people sure respected that petite girl. Molly smiled at him and sat down in her chair. Her smile was sweet, he was relieved to not have gotten one of those poor pity smiles that people gave him too often. He managed a shy smile back.

They both sat quietly as the teacher explained the experiment they were going to perform. 

When the teacher was done blabbering about things Sherlock already knew, they began their work. They didn´t talk much at first, they just worked together, immensely concentrated. Finally, Sherlock spoke up:

“I hear you´re on the prom comity.”

“I am, yeah.”

“Is it fun? I mean, will you have much time to dance or will you just be managing?”

He poured the blue liquid into the test tube and stirred it gently.

“Depends if I can get myself a date or not,” She joked.

Well that was easy. He stopped and straightened his posture. 

“Ehm, Molly?”


“Will you go to prom with me?”

She put down her pipette and turned her attention towards him. Sherlock was biting his lip subconsciously. He suddenly regretted asking. Who was he to ask her? Why did he think that he was worthy of this utterly perfect woman?

“I´d love too.” A slight blush coloured her cheeks and she smiled warmly.

She giggled at his relieved expression. 

“Aaaand you´ll pick me up at….?”

“Six.” Sherlock quickly responded.

And that ended their conversation, both of them were too embarrassed to talk for the rest of the class.

A week later, Sherlock was driving to pick her up. He found her small house in a little, hidden away street. 

Before exiting his dad´s car, he straightened his tie and blazer. He ruffled his hair slightly and looked into the tiny car mirror. He frowned at his reflection. He looked okay, he thought, but next to her he would look like a toad.

He jumped out of the car and went to ring the bell. The sound rang through the tiny stone house and he could soon hear footsteps on the other side of the door. 

Molly´s mother opened the door. 

“Oh, you must be Sherlock! Come in, come in.” The hearty women opened the door wide. He nodded and entered their home. What he assumed must be her father, rolled into the hall in his wheelchair.

Neuropathy, paralysed from the waist down, possibly fatal.

His kind eyes sparkled as he caught eye of his daughters date for the evening. He smiled at him warmly and introduced himself.

“Thomas.” He reached out his hand.


“Oh yeah that´s right, Sherlock. I´ve heard a lot about you. That´s a peculiar name; Sherlock.” The middle aged man looked at him thoughtfully. 

Sherlock liked him. There was something about him, something that made him different. He reminded him of Molly. He smiled. Mycroft, his brother, had nicknamed the worlds inhabitants goldfish, but these people were no goldfish. 

The two men turned their heads to look at Molly as she came out of her room. Thomas beamed at his daughter proudly and Sherlock could feel and involuntary smile spreading across his face.

She was dressed in a moderate-length deep red dress and her high heels clanked against the wooden floor. She smiled, seeing Sherlock. She didn´t wear makeup normally and he used to loath girls who did, but Sherlock couldn´t help but admire the enhanced beauty of her face, especially her stunning brown eyes. 

First she gave her father a quick kiss on the cheeks before grabbing ahold of Sherlock´s arm. His arm felt numb under her gentle touch and he blushed slightly.

They bid goodbye to her parents and he escorted her to their school prom.

Sherlock had really prepared for this moment, he had learned how to dance and everything. After they had drunk they’re mandatory punch, he guided her out on the dance floor. He placed his hand on her hip and positioned Molly´s hand on his shoulder. Then he began manoeuvring them expertly across the floor. His elegant strides and perfect leading made even the inexperienced Molly look graceful.

“You’re really good at that.”

Her doe eyes shone brightly in the dim light. He realised how cliche this moment was. That was another thing he hated, cliches, but right now he didn´t care. He was happy and what made him enjoy it even more was the fact that Dick was scowling at him from across the room. 

“Thanks.” He breathed.

The urge to kiss her rose like a tidal wave and he noticed himself slowing down, his swing slowing to a waltz. His attention focused on her.

“Do you want to go out into the hall?” Molly asked murmured.


They scurried out of the crowded gymnasium. He was nervous, he´d never kissed a girl and he certainly hand´t expected to do it tonight. But he had absolutely no intention of backing out. He pulled her close and went for it. 

Her lips felt soft against his. Her mouth opened slightly and she started kissing him more daringly. He quivered at the sensation.

She pulled away, wondering why he wasn´t kissing her back. Truth is, he had been too stunned and too absorbed in the moment to think about anything other than her lips. 

Being robbed of this, he kissed her again, this time actually participating. His hands moved from her hips and up to her hair and a moan escaped Molly´s lips.

He was kissing Molly Hooper!

Another Swap!lock piece, though this one should be considered as separate from my previous Swap!lock story. This one is my take on the pool scene from “The Great Game” (because I apparently have a need to rewrite all my favourite scenes with Molly as the consulting detective instead of Sherlock. Blame it on my eternal love for her).

When she entered, the pool was quiet. Unnervingly quiet, but Molly Hooper was not one to give away her feelings easily. Slowly, she stepped forward with her hands behind her back, the missile plans in one hand and a gun in the other. She gazed around, but saw nothing out of the ordinary; a fact which only served to make her all the more alert. There was always something.

“I’ve bought you a little ‘getting to know you’ present,” she said clearly as she held up the missile plans. It pleased her to note that she hadn’t shown any trace of fear in her voice.

Yet nothing happened. There was just silence.

Keep reading

Fic recs

Before you read, please heed the tags for trigger warnings. Many of these contain topics pertaining to mental health issues and they’re heavy on angst


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“You must never apologize for how you feel, Sherlock,” he whispers, and the way he says Sherlock, the way the syllables form almost lovingly on his tongue, the reverence in his tone, all lead Sherlock to a single, inescapable conclusion: Watson loves him.

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Sherlock finally makes the decision to end his life. John helps with the fallout.

Cherish Me by orphan_account
He wishes it were still black. His closed eyes only mimic the feeling of nothingness. In the dark there had been no bed beneath his body, no ground beneath his feet. There had been no body at all, he thinks foggily. No real substance, nothing to catch him because there was nothing to be caught.

The Great Escape by Castiel_For_King
Sherlock’s mind has ruptured…and he didn’t even notice until it was spilling it’s contents like a broken jello mold. The lines between what he thought was real and what he wished was real start to unravel and Sherlock finds himself trapped in the clutches of his own broken mind, with no way to escape.Luckily, he has his conductor of light to lead him out of the darkness.

My Heart Holds On To You by wtsnhlms
Post-Reichenbach.Sherlock is at the end of his hunt to take down Moriarty’s outlying criminal network. John is at the end of his wits.

Shadow Child by Kourion
What the hell does it matter if my words upset him, when he’s so obviously out of control? “I think you know what this is. I think you know that you have an eating disorder. And I think you are scared.” Sherlock blinks at me, his throat still swallowing. He has a wild look in his eyes that I don’t like, so I push back against my chair, stand up, and go towards him.

The Brain Without A Heart by angstlover
John. It’s been more than a month since we last spoke. I’m sorry for everything I did. SH

Twisted And Decayed by corruptedpov
After Sherlock discovers a secret John and Mycroft have been hiding from him for years, he’s left devastated. He’s lost everything, and nothing will ever be the same. Old school friend Victor Trevor steps in to help him, but will Sherlock ever trust someone again? 

Echoes by corruptedpov
Sherlock comes back from his two years away, expecting to continue life like nothing happened with John. But he comes home to find it’s not that simple. John hates him for his betrayal, he’s suffering from PTSD, and nothing is the same. Sherlock just wants everything to go back to normal, but can it when he’s alienated his best friend from himself and can barely hold it together?

Tissues - a Sherlolly minific for Zora

So I haven’t written anything in a while but the mojo was flowing when I saw that zoraarian was having a bit of a down day. She posted about tissues and that became this little drabble. Hope it cheers you up, love! - CG


Molly was walking down the hall from the morgue to her office when she heard the first signs. The distinctive sounds of someone sniffling. Working in a hospital, it wasn’t unusual to hear the sounds of sickness so she didn’t think much of it and continued on her way.

Thirty minutes later she left her office, clipboard in hand, to begin work in the lab. She’d taken several samples that morning that needed to be completed by the end of the day. Her plan was to set them running before popping upstairs to the caf for lunch. Pushing open the lab door, she heard the sniffling again and now had a name for the source, Sherlock Holmes.

He sat in his usual place, scribbling notes while examining a series of petri dishes. Apparently today was the day to record another set of results from his three week study of bacteria growth in old blood. But she also noticed a box of tissues near at hand and a bin by the foot of his stool already half full of crumpled tissues.

“Feeling poorly?” she asked.


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“Shadows I Live With”

Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2016
Day 2 Monday Mar. 07 - Canon Compliant/The Sherlock Special/TAB


“Hello, I’m Mrs. Hudson. Mr. Holmes’ landlady,” The attractive older woman with kind eyes said, as she greeted Molly and Holmes at the foyer of two hundred twenty-one B Baker street.  Molly stood straighter as she took off her bowler hat and prepared to respond in her lower, harsher octave.  She detested every moment that she had to pretend to be a man.  She dreamed of the day when women would never have to resort to such horrible deception to live a fulfilled life.

“Mrs. Hudson, this is Doctor Hooper, Scotland Yard’s Pathologist. He will be sequestered with us, for extra protection, while I solve his case.”

Molly knew the moment Holmes “told” her that she would be staying with him for the duration of the investigation, that she was in for a lot of trouble.  How was she going to live side by side with the infamous detective and not give up her secret?

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tykobrian  asked:

Mary can’t have John leave. Is it really because of some possessive love or because if John leaves, she fails her mission and Moriarty’d kill her? She was assigned as John’s wife to keep the boys apart. And also Mary’s a psychopath. These two things are making me not buy the love theory. I always pictured people like Mary and Moriarty to be the casual sex type. ‘Cause would someone like Mary really fall for "boring ordinary" John who’d never understand/accept/appreciate the real her?

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1. Hot Cocoa

Sherlock wouldn’t have noticed if it weren’t for John’s excitement. »Sherlock, look!«

The detective looked up from the petri dishes in which he’d just mixed various acids and was now observing the reaction as a suspect’s alibi depended on in. He looked at John who was beaming at him. »What’s so exciting?« he asked casually.

»It’s snowing!” John grinned. »We haven’t had snow in years.«


»So? This is something special!« John answered exasperatedly.

Sherlock sighed and looked out of the window. John was right. Little snowflakes were falling from the sky. Sherlock watched them for a few seconds, then he rolled his eyes. It looked more like rain than snow if you asked him, but of course John surely wouldn’t agree with him.

»Everything about Christmas is something special to you. I’m not a child anymore and neither are you. For God’s sake, John,« he said, pretty irritated. »Since I’ve seen your winter wonderland now, can I please get back to work?«

John lifted his hands, capitulating. »Sorry I interrupted your oh so important experiment,« he sighed and grabbed his coat.

»It’s for our case!«

»Your case, I’m certain you can solve it on your own.«

»John!« Sherlock called after him, but John had already dashed downstairs and let the front door snap shut. The detective groaned and went back to his experiment, though he couldn’t focus anymore. What was so spectacular about a few snowflakes (that weren’t even real snowflakes)? It was just water that froze to ice crystals (well, not quite) because of the cold weather. Why would John throw a tantrum because Sherlock wasn’t interested in this natural phenomenon, as John would probably call it?

Sherlock hissed when he accidentally touched one of the acidic substances with his glove, removing it immediately. This was brilliant. John wasn’t even here and he wound him up so much he couldn’t even finish the experiment and wrap up the case. All because of the damn snow. This was another reason to hate it, he thought and went back to the chemicals in front of him.

What was he supposed to do once John came back? Apologise? Act as if nothing happened? It was not exactly setting the world on fire, was it?

It was frustrating. John made his way back into his mind no matter how hard he tried not to let him.

Sherlock couldn’t remember what he did to keep himself occupied and not completely go mad because of their little argument. Was it even that little? John was angry after all and that made him stay out for hours. At some point Sherlock started to worry. He knew John usually leaves the flat when they argue because he’s aware he’d only make it worse if he stayed. It wasn’t running away from their problems, it was a good thing perhaps. They were both known to be very stubborn when it came to the question of who was right. So John leaving before things escalated was the best solution available.

It still made Sherlock feel embittered. He didn’t mean to upset John. All he wanted was to solve the case! And in that moment, the chemical reaction he was about to witness was more important than–

Sherlock ran a hand through his hair. It was no use now. He couldn’t go back in time; he couldn’t take the words back that he didn’t even want to say. John meant so much to him. So much more than he could ever let on or even admit or voice.

His anger originally directed at John now turned into guilt. He was angry with himself for being to utterly thick. Christmas was coming up, something John enjoyed and waited for all year. Sherlock was well aware of the fact that at about the same time last year John had to go through the worst part of his life and live with someone he had feared and fallen out of love of. Especially now, Sherlock should provide a little understanding and empathy. If he only knew how to do things right, just once. Just this time.

In the moment he reached for his phone to ask John if he would come back, he heard the front door open. He held his breath when John climbed the 17th step of the staircase. He sincerely hoped he would enter the kitchen and they would apologise and their argument would be over, but soon he heard John ascend the rest of the stairs as he walked up to his room. Sherlock let out a frustrated groan. If it weren’t for the concentrated acids in the petri dishes, he would sweep everything off the table.

When he heard the door of John’s room click shut, he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He decided to clean up the mess he left on the kitchen table and took his time with it. He was going to apologise because that’s what one does, isn’t it? But not right away. John surely wanted some alone time and Sherlock couldn’t blame him. Of course, he was difficult to be with and even though John knew that, Sherlock mentally punched himself for not being a bit nicer to the very best man who has ever walked into his life.

Hesitating, Sherlock took two steaming mugs upstairs to John’s room. He knocked at the door carefully with his elbow so he didn’t spill anything. »John?« he asked quietly.

»What do you want?« came the still slightly irritated and downcast answer.

Sherlock opened the door with some difficulty and pushed it open. John sat on the bed, looking up at him. »I thought you might like some …,« the detective cleared his throat.

John sighed and took the mug from him. There were marshmallows on top of the foam. He smiled softly. Being angry at his flatmate was quite hard when he tried so hard to apologise without actually saying sorry.

Sherlock suddenly felt like an idiot. Why did he bring his own mug? John surely didn’t want to spend too much time with him right now despite everything. He cleared his throat once more. »I’ll – be downstairs then.«

»Why did you take two mugs up here then? Don’t you want to stay?« John asked softly. Why did he have to be so gentle with him? Wasn’t he upset anymore?

»I …«

»Sit down, you idiot.« John’s voice was so full of kindness. Sherlock could tell it was real. How did he always do this?

He didn’t have much time to give it another thought as John budged over and made room for him on the bed.

Sherlock sat down slowly, still a bit confused as to why John would ask him to stay. Sitting cross-legged next to his friend he voiced the thought he didn’t mean to actually say out lout. »Surely this isn’t what normal flatmates do–« Why did this have to slip out now?! Keep yourself together!!

»Who says we’re normal?« John asked in return and sipped at the hot cocoa.

Sherlock had to resist the urge to lean forward and kiss John’s milk moustache away. Was he just being silly now or was he purposely trying to be provocative?

Sherlock would never know so he didn’t go into it any further. Instead he looked down into his mug with a blush and was instantly relieved it was so dark in the room.

They drank their hot cocoa in comfortable silence. Nothing was left of the anger and the despair. Maybe this was the magic Christmas brought along?

Sherlock didn’t remember how he ended up snuggled up against John’s pillow, but it probably didn’t matter either. He fell asleep with John watching him with an affectionate smile while outside the snowflakes kept falling.

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I thought I’d give the 25 days of ficmas a go. I won’t write the ficlets in the order given because they’re supposed to be coherent in some way or another. I hope you enjoy it :)