sherlock holmes fan fiction

“What made you like this?” – The Sherlock fics that have influenced my writing the most

Electric Pink Hand Grenade by beautifulfiction was the first Sherlock fic I fell in love with. It is medical H&C in perfectly refined form and I doubt I there is a single author in this fandom frequenting such a genre who hasn’t on some level been influenced by this early classic. It also taught me about the power of a brilliant title. The Road of Bones probably owes quite a bit to this, as does The Desperate And The Shirtless. Hell, probably all my fics are its disciples in some way.

Raison d'être by AmphigoricSymphony & DemonicSymphony was probably the second Sherlock fic I fell in love with. Nail-bitingly suspenseful, medically accurate and somehow, so desperately romantic. It set the bar very high in many respects and I remember thinking: ‘this is what you have to aim at, if you’re going to do this properly’.

Master And Hound by 2bee has long been my gold standard for the beauty of fathomless pining.

Mind the Gap by sweetcupncakes has (hopefully) stayed with me with its razor-sharp Sherlock characterisation. 

White Tulip by withoutawish is sort of my bible for depicting Sherlock’s hard drug habit in relation to the events of S3 in particular. From Here No Lines Are Drawn is my attempt at that. This story is also a shining example of how to formulate a brilliant story summary.

Seeds by thesardine is a poignant, subtle and quirky depiction of depression that was a big influence on Paying The Piper.

In terms of dealing with ASD, I can’t really name any single stories but I must mention two prolific authors who have given me wonderful insight into the subject matter: whitchry9 and 7-PercentSolution.

and… last but most certainly not least:

Shadow Child by Kourion. Do not mention this fic to me unless you want a detailed lecture on its brilliance. Devastating, unflinching, shocking, frighteningly insightful, complex and yet relentlessly hopeful even at its bleakest hours, this defies both genre classification and explanation. In terms of how great an impact a story has had on me, this one is miles above others. There are countless lines and scenes in this that haunt my steps as a writer.

Warm Enough

So excited I had a few moments to bang this out for you today!
Enjoy! xoxo-Sarah

Request: Could you do a Sherlock × reader, where you don’t wear enough layers for some reason, and your get really cold, and Sherlock notices?

It was cold down by the water’s edge, colder than you’d anticipated. Although, even if someone had told you how chilly you would be, it’s not like Sherlock or John gave you much of a chance to dress for the elements. They were both up and dashing out of the flat as soon as they’d gotten Lestrade’s call, leaving you time only to grab your car keys and throw on a light jacket as you hurried after them.

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Holmes in the Kitchen

The idea of Sherlock Holmes cooking or baking always fills me with dread. He has not the patience for it, which… but let me illustrate my point with a story of my first experience of Holmes in the kitchen.

“Do you know Watson, I believe that Mrs. Hudson has quite surpassed herself,” my companion remarked as he brushed cake crumbs from his clothes.

It is an unusual occurance for Holmes to compliment our housekeeper in such a manner. I looked up with interest. “Has she?”

“Yes indeed. I have never had such a dry, tasteless cake! See for yourself.”

I was about to respond when the sitting room door opened.

“Mr. Holmes,” our housekeeper entered and stood before us with her hands on her hips. “If you wish to make a complaint-”

“Indeed I do,” he interrupted. “This cake is as dry as a bone and quite lacking in flavour. I believe that even I could do better.”

I laughed at this ridiculous last remark, for the very idea Holmes cooking left a great deal to be desired.

Mrs. Hudson turned her icy glare upon me. “You think so, do you? Very well gentlemen, we shall see what you are capable of. Down to my kitchen with you.”

We each exchanged an expression of disbelief. Surely she was not serious!

She was serious. She chased the servants from the kitchen and gave orders that she was not to be disturbed before handing my companion an apron apiece.

“Have either of you baked a cake before?” she enquired with a glare.

I shook my head and turned to Holmes, who was busy turning his apron over in his hands with distaste.

“Then we shall bake something simple. We shall need eggs, flour and sugar first of all.”

Needless to say, we made rather a mess. Holmes is no better at cracking eggs than he is at boiling them and he was not interested in using the scales to measure the ingredients.

“There is no need for scales,” he announced airily with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Years of practice with my chemistry set has left me perfectly capable of measuring these ingredients with my eyes.”

I refrained from reminding him that he has on occasion misjudged the quantities of some of his chemicals, often resulting in explosions.

When we were finished, the kitchen looked like a war zone. There was egg on the floor and flour everywhere (even in Holmes’ hair, though I am not quite sure how he achieved that).

“Well,” my companion said as he tossed aside his apron, “I believe we have completed our task Mrs. Hudson. If you would excuse us…”

Our housekeeper barred our retreat as Holmes made his way towards it. “Oh no you don’t! You have made a terrible mess, which you can now put to rights, and you have a cake to keep from burning.”

I started to sweep up the flour without a word of objection, feeling that the mess was probably my fault as I had allowed my companion to take charge. “Could you wipe up the egg that you dropped, Holmes?”

He frowned at me and hopped up onto the counter beside the sink, as it was the only surface not covered with flour. “Certainly not!”

“Then keep an eye on that cake. Please.”

“Mr. Holmes!” Mrs. Hudson had returned from the larder with cream and jam. “Get down from there at once! You are not to sit upon surfaces that are meant for preparing food.”

Holmes jumped down and was presented with a dustpan.

“Help the doctor with the sweeping, if you please. I shall pick up the egg that you smashed on my nice, clean floor.”

Holmes crouched before me and held the pan steady while I swept the flour into it.

After much complaining and sneezing from my companion, the flour had all been disposed of and the kitchen was clean again.

“Thank you gentlemen,” our housekeeper acknowledged as we washed our hands. “The cake should be ready now.”

The cake was a horrible mess! It was too wet due to the lack of accurate measurements and there were pieces of eggshell in it. Holmes’ argument was that it was rather good for a first attempt, but he was always careful not to insult Mrs. Hudson’s culinary efforts after that.

Pod Fic Rec Days

Because seriously, our lovely, amazingly brilliant and talented podficcers need an extra post. And no, I still don’t care about what date it is. We’re an international fandom :D Johnlock in all its glory :)

Something old aka Victorian Times

“Undiscovered Country” read by Ricky Pulsifer and The Dragongirl (explicit, 2 hours): Culverton Smith’s poison box fells the wrong victim. Story written by Katie Forsythe.

“Sentiment to Paper” (explicit, 50 minutes) read by Ricky Pulsifer: No fewer than three times by the winter of 1883 had I heard Sherlock Holmes disparage the ways of lovers and their irrational tendencies toward writing letters. With this often and loudly-expressed opinion in mind, I was very surprised indeed to find a stack of unsent, unsealed letters in a drawer in his desk. [written by @mistyzeo]

Some BBC-ish Johnlock

“The Edinburgh Problem” (explicit, more than 12 hours) read by @lockedinjohnlock-podfics: “A nice holiday, just a bit more…murdery. ” John said drily.“Yes! The best kind of holiday!” Sherlock beamed. “So we won’t get bored!” After he separates from Mary, John returns to Baker Street. Following a request for help from Sherlock’s cousin Violet, the detective and his blogger take a trip to Edinburgh. John discovers more about the Holmes family and Sherlock than he bargained for, but tries not to run screaming. (AKA the one season 4 never happend)[written by @snorklepie]

Two Two One Bravo Baker (explicit, more than 12 hours) read by @aranel-parmadil: Captain John Watson of 40 Commando, the Royal Marines, is assigned to protect and assist Sherlock Holmes as he investigates what appears to be a simple war atrocity in Afghanistan. An intense attraction ignites between the two men as they uncover a conspiracy that threatens everything they’ve ever known, but Sherlock is as much hunted as hunter, and everyone close to him is in deadly danger. Can he solve the case in time to save himself and John? (Aka the one before the canon). [written by abundantlyqueer]

“Sugar me Sweet” (mature, 20 minutes) read by @consultingsmartarse: “Let’s get started, shall we?” Sherlock says as he sheds his coat. A black, diaphanous shirt hangs loose on his shoulders, clings tight to his abdomen. A pair of studded, leather trousers like a second skin. They complement the curve of his plump arse and emphasize the length of his outrageously long legs. Powerful thighs. Muscular calves and…John’s not entirely sure how Sherlock got himself in them, but he’s not complaining. On the contrary. A bit distracted by the idea of him removing them, honestly. Peeling them off, and he’d have to go slow. May even need a little help. (AKA different first meeting) [written by penumbra]

Something different aka Alternative Universe for the win

“The Star-crossed series” (14 parts, rated from teen to explicit, more than 12 hours) read by @aranel-parmadil: Richard, Duke of Gloucester, is 29 years old and needs a break from snide whispers before he just stabs someone. But in his place of sanctuary is a beautiful stranger -Khan Noonien Singh, victim of a time surge after an experiment goes wrong. At first it seems they’ll fight, but then other kinds of duelling seem more appealing.But these two men are making bad choices, and their fates are written in the stars. Will their souls ever learn to make better choices? How long will it take them to find each other again, and what will they have to learn before they do? [written by 221b_hound; art work by @missmuffin221]

“Mise en place” (mature, more than 12 hours) read by @consultingsmartarse: John Watson had no intentions of taking over the family business, but when he returns from Afghanistan, battered and bruised, and discovers that his sister Harry has run their restaurant into the ground, he doesn’t have much choice. There’s only one thing that can save the Empire from closing for good – the celebrity star of the BBC series Restaurant Reconstructed, Chef Sherlock Holmes. [written by @azriona]

“Working on the Edges” (mature, 7 hours) read by @consultingsmartarse and @aranel-parmadil: No matter where you put Sherlock and John, they click. Including the Winter Olympics. [written by @earlgreytea68; art work by @anotherwellkeptsecret]

“Northwest Passage” (explicit, more than 12 hours) read by @lockedinjohnlock-podfics: Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn’t truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes. [written by @kryptaria; art work by kacaso]

I know its inappropriate to bring up fanfiction to stars, especially smut, but I wonder if they know how much time and effort fanfiction writers put into it. How much work it takes to match their writing styles with professional writers to get the characters just right. To create entire scenarios with these characters, sometimes as detailed as the shows/movies themselves, without getting paid or credit for it at all? To do all of this as a hobby, on top of jobs or school. I wonder sometimes if they understand?

The Two Sherlocks

For the World’s Most Patient Anon:  What if Sherlock is captured by Eurus (?) and the reader must solve her puzzle in order to save him - with whatever little she’s learned from being with him. She must decide who is the real Sherlock in a room with two; shoot one or die all together.

Thank you so much to this amazing Anon for this amazing idea and for holding me to task. I strayed a bit from the request, so I hope you don’t mind! And thank you to the gorgeous and talented @igottomuchfreetimeonmyhands who dropped everything to help me finish it! 

Without further ado, I give you my first story in months: THE TWO SHERLOCKS

Keep reading


It is not easy to best Sherlock Holmes, as he is so very masterful and quick-witted. Sometimes, however, I have found an area in which he has little to no knowledge or skill.

We had just completed a case with Lestrade. It was a day or two after Boxing Day and the Christmas decorations were still in evidence throughout his welcoming home. He showed us into the parlor and offered us each a warming drink.

We had scarcely taken our seats when the sound of little feet approached the parlour door in great haste.

“Daddy! Daddy!” a small boy ran in with a ball tucked under his arm. “Can we go to the park now? You promised! You said we could as soon as you got home.”

Lestrade gave us a look that pleaded for sympathy and then took to one knee in order to look his son in the eye whilst giving his answer.

“Now, Tim, let me just tend to my guests and then we’ll go to the park. All right?”

Tim looked far from happy but he nodded. “Yes, Daddy,” said he with quiet obedience. He then turned to leave the room.

“Come over here, Tim,” Holmes instructed with a small smile and a flick of his long fingers. “Come and sit by the fire, with me.”

The boy did so rather shyly.

My companion slipped a hand inside his pocket for a moment and then crouched so that he was at eye level with the young child. “How old are you, Tim?”

“I’m six.”

“Mr. Holmes,” his father prompted.

“I’m six, Mr. Holmes,” he repeated with polite obedience.

Holmes allowed his smile to broaden. “Would you like sixpence?”

“Now, Holmes,” Lestrade began in protest.

He held up a hand for silence, still smiling at the young boy. “You seem to have something in your ear, Tim. Might I take a look. Ah! I thought that it was…”

To Tim’s astonishment he snatched something and held it up. It was a shiny six penny piece.

“Was that really inside my ear?” the boy asked as my friend handed it to him.

“Indeed it was, so it would be wrong of me to take it from you,” said he with another smile. “Now then, Tim, where is it that you wish to go to?”

The child smiled at my companion as if he were an old friend. “To the park, Mr. Holmes. Daddy said that he’d show me how to play football.”

Holmes pointed toward me. “Doctor Watson is good at sports. He used to play rugby for Blackheath, he has told me.”

How I wished at that moment that I had never mentioned it! All the same, I admitted that although I had once been strong and able, I was no longer the man I had been.

“Come now, Doctor,” Lestrade said with a smile. “I’m sure you and Mr. Holmes would be more than a match for me and my son!”

Holmes suddenly seemed less than enthusiastic about football and I suspected that he had intended for me to somehow entertain the child while he and Lestrade talked in peace. He did not back down however, and the four of us made our way to the park.

Lestrade chose a patch of grass upon which (he said) he had played football with his brother and friends as a boy and pointed out some trees that served as goal posts. The game then commenced.

I did not make a good sporting companion. I was already stiff and cold after the case and my leg and shoulder made kicking, running and stopping goals almost impossible. Holmes was fast and appeared to be almost everywhere at once and yet the ball still seemed to be everywhere that he was not.

Lestrade had not forgotten how to kick a ball and his son, though young and still without a strong kicking action, was not without some skill. They beat us soundly.

Holmes at last had to admit defeat and held up a hand to indicate that he had had enough as he leant wearily on the trunk of one of our goal posts. He was quite out of breath.

“I think we’ve won, Tim,” Lestrade announced, swinging his son up onto his shoulders. “Come on, let’s get back inside. Would you and Doctor Watson like to stay for tea, Mr. Holmes? Mrs. Lestrade will lay on a good spread for us.”

We returned to the inspector’s home to be greeted with the smell of tea, cakes and mince pies.

The meal was a pleasant affair, but Holmes was rather put out when our host boasted to his wife that he and their son had “finally found something that Holmes can be beaten at” and insisted that it was only because we were both so weary after the recent case.

It was of course quite true, but Lestrade was also quite right when he snorted and replied with the indignant words “And how do you think I feel?”


I know I’m sort of drowning all my things in an uninterrupted flow of other posts so here is my masterlist, I’ll try to update it regularly (assuming I don’t forget to), so that it won’t be as much of a mess to navigate through my blog and searched for my inserts and bla-bla-bla, you see the point :)

Sherlock x reader

Mind palace


A voice in the darkness

Happy birthday mister Holmes

Midnight cuddling


I love you

Stag night

I don’t want to die

Sherlock Vday challenge

Day 1 (Sherlock x reader)

Day 2 (Mycroft x reader)

Day 3 (Sherlock x reader)

Day 4 (Sherlock x reader)

Day 6 (ACD/Victorian!Sherlock x reader)

Day 9 (Sherlock x reader)

Day 10 (Sherlock x reader)

Day 11 (Sherlock x reader)

Day 12 and 13 (Mycroft x reader)

Day 14 (Sherlock x reader)

The mysterious case of Y/L/N (Sherlock x reader)

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Death Note

Jealousy (L x reader)

Last Call

I also am Mod Nagito on @fuyuhikoismybabygansta, if anyone is interested

So yeah, that’s it, just tell me if there’s a problem with any of the links :)

Fandom Fic Rec Days

(Somewhere it is still Feb, 12th, shhh)

(Johnlock in the BBC Sherlock universe)

Something new

A Study in Spherification by @mistyzeo (explicit, 58k): John Watson has been out of work for eighteen months after his last restaurant, Fifth Northumberland, burned to the ground in a kitchen accident. He’s more than ready for a new project, but who wants to open a restaurant with a washed up celebrity chef who can’t even hold a knife anymore?

Proper Manners by @servicerevolver (explicit, 40k): Sherlock Holmes is a charming—if somewhat eccentric—nobleman who often spends time with John, an apothecary’s son. When John is offered employment at King William’s castle, however, he fears he will have to say goodbye to Sherlock. But in the end, they might actually become closer than before.

Flesh and Blood and Bone and Heart by @silentauroriamthereal (explicit, 59k): As John takes Sherlock back to Baker Street rather than seeing him off to his mission in Serbia, Sherlock decides to reveal how very human he is, after all, and the fall-out will have enormous consequences for them both… 

A Slice of Sumatra by @blueink3 (teen, 5k): What happened while Mary was away searching for Ajay? Sherlock must have expected her to run - they did trace the memory stick, after all. He didn’t, however, expect John to show up on his doorstep in the aftermath. Then again, the army doctor always has been the wild card. (Set between “The Lying Detecive” and “The Final Problem”)

A Land so Wild and Savage by @doctornerdington (teen, 82k): In 1845, the HMS Erebus under the command of Captain James Sholto departed England on a voyage of discovery to find a Northwest Passage through the perilous arctic waters separating the Atlantic and Pacific oceans. It was never heard from again. Five years later, Captain John Watson of the Investigator sets sail to recover the Erebus and determine the fate of Sholto and his men. Naturalist Sherlock Holmes takes a berth on a scientific mission to catalogue arctic fauna. What they find could strike a killing blow at the very heart of the British Empire.

Something old

How the mouth changes it shape by @havingbeenbreathedout (explicit, 132k): 1955. Under the placid veneer of suburban playparks and middle-class conformity churns a hidden London: femmes and butches dancing close in basement bars; clandestine love between women. To Sherlock Holmes, struggling private detective and mistress of disguise, it’s a realm she renounced years before. To Johnnie Watson, daredevil ambulance driver turned auto mechanic, it’s become a little too familiar. But when someone is murdered in the washroom of the city’s most notorious lesbian club, the investigation will lead both women to reconsider their assumptions about themselves, each other, and the world in which they live.

Love or What You Will by @miss-frankenstein (teen, 32k): John is an English professor who specializes in War and Post-War Literature and Sherlock is the brilliant yet impossible Ph.D. student assigned to be his TA because no one in the Chemistry Department is willing to put up with him. And - somewhere between Waugh and Plath, e-mails and takeaway, novels and villanelles - they fall in love. 

Lightning and Sea Glass by @221b-carefulwhatyouwishfor (explicit, 18k): The mad Professor Moriarty and his reluctant assistant John Watson have reanimated the dead – and the results are beautiful. At least John thinks so. When Moriarty rejects his creation, John disappears with the creature to protect it, sealing their fates together. (Loosely inspired by Mary Shelley’s “Frankenstein”)

Mise en Place [PodFic by @consultingsmartarse] by @azriona: John Watson had no intentions of taking over the family business, but when he returns from Afghanistan, battered and bruised, and discovers that his sister Harry has run their restaurant into the ground, he doesn’t have much choice. There’s only one thing that can save the Empire from closing for good – the celebrity star of the BBC series Restaurant Reconstructed, Chef Sherlock Holmes. 

Emperor Tales of the Frozen South by @conversationswithjohnlock (mature, 153k): At the bottom of the world, two intrepid explorers make their way in the harshest of environments. An important journey must be taken, and prophecies fulfilled, but not before family meddling, political interference, and self-doubt threaten to alter the future of an entire species.If you know me at all, you know that this had to be done.

AKA my bookmark: When I was a young girl, one of my very first books I was able to read on my own, was a story about a young penguin growing up and having great adventures. CWB ’s amazing, adorable fanfiction made me remember my own childhood experience and lead me to search for this particular book so my girl can read it in the future. It is not a story to read, it is a story to cherish.

And something which will be a Fandom Classic:

Engima by @khorazir (mature, +160k in 15 chapters): It’s the autumn of 1941, war is raging in Europe, German U-boats are raiding Allied convoys in the Atlantic, the Luftwaffe is bombing English cities, and the cryptographers at Bletchley Park are working feverishly to decode their enemies’ encrypted communications. One should consider this challenge and distraction enough for capricious codebreaker Sherlock Holmes. But the true enigmas are yet waiting to be deciphered: an unbreakable code, a strange murder, and the appearance of Surgeon Captain John H. Watson of the Royal Navy.

“You’re not hurt, Watson? For God’s sake, say that you are not hurt!” It was worth a wound—it was worth many wounds—to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking.

- The Adventure of The Three Garridebs (1924)

That was Conan Doyle’s version. Now, it’s my turn.

Chapter 1 out now at Archive of our Own.

(background photographs taken on location in Iceland by yours truly)

@recentlyfolded, @alexaprilgarden, @lockedinjohnlock-podfics, @folkyfaery, @readfanfictionforever, @johnlockficrecommendations, @ghyllwyne, @consultingsmartarse, @fuckyeahallthefic, @alexxphoenix42, @johnlock-fic-recs, @shadowfireflame, @johnlock-ficrec, @cecilia-gf, @vitruvianwatson, @silentauroriamthereal@yourdailydoseofjohnlock, @fanficfavesshm, @homeofjohnlockfanfiction, @readingsherlockfanfiction, @anotherwellkeptsecret, @disaronnus, @kestrelwing64, @johnwatso, @7-percent, @addignisherlock, @geometry4, @ravenmorganleigh, @shiplocks-of-love, @simpleanddestructivechemistry, @ijustreallylovedaredevil, @iamsherlockedee, @junkenmetel, @scatterbrain-ly, @kimbiablue, @sincerely-chaos, @anyawen, @swissmissficrecs, @nashyara, @consultinghoneybee, @consulting–defective, @dixiebell, @quietasasleepingarmy, @miwahni, @atikiology, @kinklock, @watsonshoneybee


Stolen Secrets (Multi-Chapter on AO3)  Sherlock x Reader

Meet My Wife (Multi-Chapter on AO3) Sherock x Reader

You Smell Nice  Sherlock x Reader

Now What?  Sherlock x Reader

         Part One    Part Two

Wedding Day Sherlock x Reader

A Week Early Sherlock x Reader

         Part One    Part Two    Part Three

Tell It Like It Is  Sherlock x Reader

Don’t You Dare Say “I’m Sorry”  Sherlock x Reader 

Making Time  Sherlock x Reader

Alone Again Sherlock x Reader

Jealous? Sherlock x Reader

Warm Enough Sherlock x Reader

The Christmas Party  Sherlock x Reader

Emergency Fluff (Aka Shower Then Bed) Sherlock x Reader

Kidnapped Sherlock x Reader

Baby Fever Sherlock x Reader

Emergency Contact Sherlock x Reader - Co-Authored with @Readerislandwrites

The Two Sherlocks Sherlock x Reader

Blind Love Sherlock x Reader

Breaking Benedict (Multi-Chapter On Wattpad) Benedict x OFC

Valentine’s Day Challenge Submissions:

Day 1 Sherlock x reader
Day 3 Sherlock x Molly 
Day 4 Sherlock x Reader 
Day 5 - Sherlock x Reader 
Day 6 - Sherlock x Reader
Day 8- Mycroft x Reader 
Day 9 - Sherlock x Reader
Day 11 - Sherlock x Reader 
Day 12 - Sherlock

Wrong Address?

I awoke with a start at the sound of a fist hammering upon our front door to find that I had fallen asleep, over a book in my armchair, as I waited for my companion to return.

With a groan I picked my bag from off of the floor inside the sitting room door and made my way downstairs while Mrs. Hudson answered the front door below.

McPherson hurried into the hall and gazed up at me as I reached the foot of the stairs.

“I am glad to find you still up, Doctor,” said he, hurriedly. “It’s Mr. Holmes; he’s had a bad knock to his head. I found him wandering the street all bloody and confused… He couldn’t remember where he lived.”

Mrs. Hudson clapped a hand to her mouth with a little cry of shock and dismay.

“I am sure that Holmes will be all right,” I soothed our housekeeper gently. “He has a strong constitution and head injuries are often more alarming in appearance than symptoms. Now, I suggest that you try to sleep for the time being; I may need your assistance when we return.”

I myself feared for my companion terribly, but it would have done no good to have Mrs. Hudson in a state of hysterics.

As I knew that she would, our housekeeper quickly recovered herself and returned to her quarters at the top of the house.

“He looked awful,” McPherson told me fearfully, once we were underway. “His face was all pale and he was swaying around as if he’d just stepped off a ship. If it was anyone else, I might have thought he was drunk.”

“Where is he now?” I asked, hoping that I was somehow resembling a calm and professional doctor.

“I took him to Inspector Lestrade’s home. I thought that was probably for the best, since it was nearer than Baker Street.”

“I think that that was very wise of you.”

At least Holmes was not out in the cold, damp street. There was a sulfurous fog rolling in off the Thames – a pea-souper – and the temperature was sinking steadily lower.

I was prepared, I thought, for any eventuality. I was proven wrong, for the scene that awaited me was not one for which I was ready. When Holmes set eyes upon me, he flinched and backed away.

“I am your friend, Holmes,” I reminded him gently.

“You are nothing of the kind!” he responded in a state of near-panic. “You are a doctor!”

The word ‘doctor’ he spat at me as if it were the most dreadful word that ever existed. His manner did hurt, but I simply reminded myself that he was not in his right mind and set aside my bag.

“I am only a doctor when my services are required,” I attempted to reassure him. “I am not in practice. I want only to help.”

Holmes gripped Lestrade’s arm tightly. “I neither trust nor like doctors! They are evil!”

Lestrade gestured for me to keep back and seated my friend upon his sofa. “Doctor Watson is a good man; he is not going to hurt you,” he glanced in my direction for a moment. “Take a look at him – at the man, not the doctor – and draw your own conclusions.”

I stood nervously while my companion analysed me carefully.

“You are an army doctor,” he said eventually. “You were injured and sent home.”


He gazed at me for a long moment and then grunted. “If I have to trust a doctor, I suppose that it should be you; you have an honest face.”

I was upset that the fellow still did not know me, but it was a relief to be permitted to tend to him. I soon discovered that he had more than one injury.

“My God, Holmes! Even your throat is bruised! Who did this to you?”

He shrugged and winced. “I am not sure whether I knew them or no, but I do recall seeing them off. At least two of them, anyway… there must have been a third because – ow!” he flinched as I cleaned some abrasions to his knuckles. “The third hit me from behind as his companions ran away.”

“I wish I’d been passing at the time,” McPherson muttered. Lestrade and I seconded his sentiment; we all three would very much have liked to get our hands on those ruffians.

Once I was convinced that my friend was well enough to travel, McPherson found us a cab and Lestrade helped me in getting Holmes inside it.

“You’d best get yourself off home, Constable,” Lestrade said in a tone not lacking warmth. “Your shift finished more than two hours ago; your wife must be beside herself.”

“Thank you, sir, but I’m sure she’ll understand when I explain. The missus is fond of Mr. Holmes, sir.”

I nodded and clapped him gratefully upon the shoulder before scrambling inside the cab and seating myself at my friend’s side.

I would have liked to have rested a hand upon Holmes’ shoulder or to hold his hand so as to reassure him, but the fellow was still disorientated and confused. He still did not know me.

When the cab pulled up outside of 221B Baker Street, it was clear that the house was no more familiar to him than I was.

“This cannot be my address!” he exclaimed with a whistle. “I could never afford it!”

“We share the rent,” I informed him.

He gaped at me. “Do we really?”

The sitting room was unfamiliar to him, though his pipe rack and Persian slipper were not. His violin also brought a gleam of recognition to his eyes and he immediately began to play. At first the notes were jarring and discordant and obviously expressed his own emotions. This went on for some time and Lestrade left us in what he called peace. Then, quite unexpectedly, my companion played one of my favourite pieces followed by a rendition of his own which he has often performed for me while I have been too ill or in pain to manage to sleep.

As the final notes faded away, my friend blinked his grey eyes in a sleepy manner and then permitted them to meet my gaze.

He smiled. “Watson.”

With a sigh of relief I approached him and wrapped an arm about his shoulders, being mindful of his many cuts and bruises. I was very glad to have my dear friend back.

You May Have A Replacement, Sherlock

Sherlock One Shot

Characters: [GENDER NEUTRAL] Reader x Sherlock Holmes + Greg Lestrade & John Watson

Warnings: none

Request: “One-shot based on “Imagine meeting Sherlock and suprising him sine it’s you who deduces him first”, please?” - anonymous

Word Count: 811

A/N: original gif imagine is here [x] !! sorry this one is a little short !

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The Monster Slug
  • Prompt: you have a phobia of spun like insects and Sherlock comes to your rescue when one appears in the flat.
  • Pairing: Sherlock x Reader
  • A/N: Hey guys! Sorry I haven't really been active. I'm on vacation! So I made this in some of my down time. This is different from how I usually write but if y'all like this too, I'll do more! This was a request by an anon that took me way too long to get to! Forgive me! I hope you like it!
  • ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
  • Sherlock: John, did you bring back that blood sample?
  • John: What? I thought you put it in your pocket!
  • Sherlock: No. I handed it to you.
  • John: No, you didn't give me any blood samples.
  • Sherlock: I'm most certain I did.
  • John: No, you did not! Check your pockets.
  • Sherlock: It's here. I could have sworn--
  • John: That was Y/N! It sounds like it came from the flat! Sherlock! WHERE ARE YOU GOING! YOU NEED A PLAN YOU CANT JUST RUN- oh my god I'm going to kill him.
  • Sherlock: y/n? *whisper*
  • Sherlock: What's wrong? Did someone break in? Are they still here?
  • Sherlock: Help you? Why are you on the table? And .... is that a toilet sponge?
  • You: Don't judge me! Help me! It's mooovvinggg!!
  • Sherlock: What is?
  • You: It's behind you on the WALL!!! ITS MOVING OH MY GOD!!!
  • Sherlock: Ok, calm down now. I'm here. I'll take care of it ok.
  • You: **nods frantically**
  • Sherlock: In here John.
  • John: WHAT'S WRONG?!
  • Sherlock: Can you be so kind as to take this slug out from y/n's flat, please.
  • John: A slug?! You nearly gave me a heart attack y/n! I thought something ba-
  • Sherlock: NOW JOHN!
  • John: Oh. I got it.
  • Sherlock: Alright now. I'm going to help you down, ok? I'm right here for you.
  • You: **nod**
  • Sherlock: Come lay down on the bed. Deep breaths, okay? I'm going to look around to see if any more are in here. No! Don't get scared. Just checking. I'm sure there's no more, but I want to stay safe, ok?
  • You: Ok
  • Sherlock: Good. Now give me a second.
  • You: S-Sherlock. I'm not like this.
  • Sherlock: I know.
  • You: Just slugs and bugs in general rub me the wrong way.
  • Sherlock: I know.
  • You: they're just so ... scary. I know I'm freaking out bu-
  • Sherlock: I know. Y/n, you are one of the most strong and powerful people I know. You don't need to justify this. Everyone has a fear. It's natural. You do not get to be ashamed about this. You understand me?
  • You: **nods**
  • Sherlock: Good. Now can you smile for me? You need some color back in your cheeks. Your room looks clean. It probably got in by sticking onto something and being brought in here. You're fine now. I'll be in the kitchen, if you need-
  • You: Can you stay with me? Just for a little. You know to help me can down.
  • Sherlock: Are you sure?
  • You: Yes. I could use a little company. You don't need to lay down or anything. Just sit with me a little.
  • Sherlock: you know what? The case today got me a little tired. I could use a moment to rest.
  • You: If you're okay with it. I know you get busy. It'd just be for a little bit.
  • Sherlock: I'm more than okay with it. Come over here. I need a pillow to cuddle with and there aren't any pillows on here.
  • You: I tried to throw them at the slug. I don't know. Maybe it could kill it.
  • Sherlock: I'm not questioning it.
  • You: Who knew Sherlock would be into cuddling.
  • Sherlock: Only with you.
Silent Suffering

It had been a long and difficult case. I had been able to spare Watson much of the strain by leaving him at home when I could afford to, but that had meant that I had had to work tirelessly with little food and no sleep. It was no hardship; I am accustomed to such treatment during cases.

I do not remember the walk from Scotland Yard to Baker Street, but I do recall that I was shivering so violently when I reached the house that it was difficult to unlock the front door. I somehow climbed the stairs and managed to reach the settee. I must have fallen asleep upon it.

When I awoke, my head was aching. This is quite normal; it often does following a long case. Watson had wrapped a rug about me while I had been in slumber but still I felt chilled. This is also not unusual. I pulled the rug about my shoulders and sat up with a sniffle.

“Oh, you are awake,” my companion smiled at me as he approached the settee and then sat himself at my side. “Are you all right?”

I nodded and sniffed again. “Merely fagged, old fellow. It was a long case.”

“Indeed it was. Is there anything that I can do for you? You are rather pale, even for you.”

“No. I am all right. Sleep is all that I need.”

“And food, I should think.”

I did not feel hungry; I was much too worn. “Later.”


“Later Watson! Leave me!”

The fellow shook his head sadly and did indeed leave me alone, allowing me to return to a horizontal position and submit myself to Morpheus once more.

When I next awoke I had a further two rugs covering me and it was dark. Despite all the sleep, my head still ached, as did the rest of me. I realised that I had a raging thirst and poured myself a brandy, partly for my hot and dry throat and partly to rid myself of the chills that I still felt. I wondered whether I was still only done up or if I had caught something while I was working feverishly at that case. I hoped that it was the former and not the latter, as I had not been sharing rooms with the doctor for long enough to feel that I knew him well and I had no desire to be tended to by him under such circumstances.

It was as I was drinking my second glass of brandy that I realised that I was alone. I then noticed a note left wedged in the frame of our mirror above the mantelpiece. I plucked it from between wood and glass and read the familiar doctors’ scrawl of my Boswell. He had gone out to do some shopping and would be back in time for tea.

By the time Watson returned I knew that I was unwell. My throat burned with a fire that no amount of water, to which I had resorted, could extingish and my head and eyes were hurting me to the point of spots in my vision and nausea. I would have taken to my bed so as to be out of the way, had I been able to move myself at all. As it was, I was still stretched upon the settee when he found me.

“Holmes! Are you all right?” he is a kindly chap, my Boswell. He forgot his boxes and the aches in his wounded leg and shoulder from the cold and rushed to my side. “What is it? What is wrong?”

Had I known the fellow better, I might have told him. As it was, we had not been lodging together for long and it is not in a gentleman’s code to complain in any case. Besides, I do not like to be poked and prodded and he is a doctor.

My friend took my silence as reluctance to admit that I had done wrong. He frowned. “Have you over-indulged in cocaine or morphine?”

I cannot blame the fellow for making such a presumption. Both morphine and cocaine can cause symptoms rather like those of la grippe and my nose was indeed becoming runny. I shrugged and sniffed, which only served to worsen the pain in my head. I moaned in spite of myself.

“I have no sympathy for you,” he informed me with annoyance. “Take yourself off to your room so that I do not have to look at you.”

His words hurt me rather more than I would have expected. I attribute that to the illness; I have never expected and rarely received sympathy and I am sure that I would normally have remained indifferent.

“Go to bed,” Watson repeated as if he were talking to a fellow that was either very deaf or obtuse when I did not even attempt to move.


“Then I shall do my wrapping in my bedroom. Get some sleep.”

Exhausted as I was, I obeyed.

When I next awoke, I appeared to be in the middle of a coughing fit. I ached from the top of my head to the tips of my toes and I was shaking with cold.

“Here,” my Boswell helped me to drink some water and then pressed a hand to my forehead. “Oh! You are fevered! That is not from cocaine; it raises the temperate as it does its work, not as it wears off.”

He proceeded to feel my glands. That seemed to tell him all that he needed to know.

“You have not taken anything at all, have you?”


“Then why the deuce did you permit me to think that you had?” he demanded with poorly-contained annoyance. “I would never have shouted at you, had I only known. Nor would I have left you.”

I shrugged.

“Well, at least I know now. The first thing to do is to bring that fever down and to make you comfortable. Then I shall see to your other complaints.”

I did not enjoy his tending to me in the slightest, but I did appreciate the chap’s kindness and concern. I was surprised to learn just how much my new friend felt for me, for his level of care went above and beyond that of a doctor’s duties. I was truly very touched.

I still do not like to complain or allow anyone to know when I am vulnerable in any way, but I have learnt to trust my Watson as a doctor as well as a friend and that in itself is a vast improvement.

Dragons and Giants

“I’m ready for my story, Uncle Mycroft.”

“What story?”

“Daddy and Papa always tell me a story before bed.”

“What sort of story?”

“Stories about them.”

“About your daddy and your papa?”

“Yeah. Mostly they’re funny, but once they told me a spooky story about the Old Fat Piecroft who likes to eat little children. You can tell me a spooky story if you want, ‘cause I’m brave, just like Daddy and Papa.”

“I see. Well then, Rosie, I’ll tell you a story about how brave your daddy and your papa are.”

“Oh, good!”

“One day, your daddy and your papa were reading a book together.

‘The people in this book are brave,’ said Papa. ‘They fight dragons and giants, and they are never afraid.’

‘I wonder if we are brave,’ said Daddy.

Daddy and Papa looked into a mirror.

‘We look brave,’ said Papa.

‘Yes, but are we?’ asked Daddy.

‘We can go to the park to look for dragons and giants,’ said Papa. ‘That should tell us if we are brave.’”

“Daddy and Papa take me to the park, but I’ve never seen dragons or giants there. Mostly we see ducks.”

“Well, your daddy and your papa went to the park, looking for dragons and giants.

A duck waddled up to them.

‘Quack quack!’ said the duck, and it tried to bite your papa’s toes.

Papa and Daddy jumped away.

Papa was shaking. ‘I am not afraid!’ he cried.

They walked a little further. A goose came up to them.

‘Honk, honk!’ said the goose, and it tried to bite your daddy’s leg.

Daddy and Papa jumped away.

Daddy was trembling. ‘I am not afraid!’ he shouted.

They walked a little further. A swan charged up to them with its wings spread wide.

‘HISS, HISS!’ said the swan, and it tried to bite your papa’s hand.

Papa and Daddy jumped away.

‘We are not afraid!’ they screamed at the same time.

Then they ran through the park very fast. They ran past the place where they saw the goose. They ran past the place where they saw the duck. They ran all the way back to Baker Street.

‘I am glad to have a brave friend like you,’ Papa said to Daddy. He jumped into the bed and pulled the covers over his head.

‘And I am happy to know a brave person like you,’ Daddy said to Papa. He jumped into the closet and shut the door.

Papa stayed in the bed, and Daddy stayed in the closet. They stayed there for a long time, just feeling very brave together.”

This story is Mycroft’s revenge for the way he was portrayed in Shivers. Curious about what the Old Fat Piecroft looks like? @iwantthatbelstaffanditsoccupant has provided a delightful illustration.

For more Frog and Toad inspired fluff, check out the rest of my Bedtime Stories with Sherlock and John

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Here’s  a few Johnlock fics that I’ve read recently that I highly recommend.

As always, please take heed of fic ratings and always read the tags. Enjoy xx

Ghost Stories - SwissMiss (Mature)

Sherlock’s parents think he and John are a couple. They might be onto something.

W.A.T.S.O.N - nondeducible (General Audiences)

Sherlock has been called a cold, calculating and heartless machine throughout his adult life. It’s only fitting that he finds his first true friend in an Artificial Intelligence.

The Dilemma of the Watson Bedroom - jemariel (Teen and Up)

Sherlock hates the name Rosamund. John wanted to call her Katherine. Sherlock thinks it suits her. Meanwhile, he and John are orbiting ever closer together. Sherlock tries not to wonder how long he will have them here, all three of them together in 221B. (Spoiler alert: it’s forever.)

To Keep Quiet - Salambo06 (Explicit)

Four days. In the end, that’s all it takes for Sherlock to accept the fact that there is a chance John might be feeling just as desperate for more as he is.

Still, it doesn’t change the fact that they need to talk. Sherlock counts it down to four conversations in total, at least. He’s certain John is just as aware of this fact as he is, but still, Sherlock finds himself unable to think of any plan of action.

Guilty Secrets - Ellipsical (Explicit)

John has a prostate exam and discovers something surprising about himself. Experimentation follows. Sherlock wants to help. They’re in love. You know the drill.

A Brand of Gold - aquabelacqua (Mature)

What am I doing? he wondered. The answer came back at once:

He sank deeper into the pillows, let the mist and blur of the wine settle around him, let it shore up his nerves and dim the warning signals that flashed dully in the back of his mind. He let the rest of the disappointment about Lucy and his strange accommodations and about the weekend as a whole fade into obscurity. He let the vital, missing piece snap into place as surely and as cleanly as if it had always been there.

He was flirting with Sherlock Holmes.

Oui - Salambo06 (General Audiences)

John is ready to spend Valentine’s Day alone when he comes back to an empty flat.
But then, notes in French start to appear all over the flat.

Blind Love

A/N: Thanks to @centerhabit​ for requesting this! I am so happy with how it turned out despite the fact that I’ve been so busy these past few weeks I was only able to chip away on this little by little. It hasn’t been beta’d so please excuse any typos, I am so very tired. 

 centerhabit said: Would u mind making a Sherlock X reader where she’s blind and he thinks she doesn’t know who he is when they’re on a date. When she tells him the truth that she knew he was Sherlock Holmes all along he’s surprised. She kept her knowing his identity a secret tho bc he didn’t want to take her case but it was only bc it brought bad memories for him??? But they still live happily ever after??? Hope that’s ok!

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