sherlock-crossing

They’ve come back from a case, Rosie long-asleep in the upstairs bedroom where there’s just enough room for her cot and John’s bed, and Sherlock is ranting.

Stupid,” he spits out, pacing to and fro in the living room, his hands in his hair. “Why was she so stupid? Why kill them in the first place, when she knows she’s the best suspect?”

“Well, she loved him,” John offers, even though he knows Sherlock doesn’t really want his opinion.

Sherlock scoffs.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snaps, not even looking at John. “She didn’t love him.”

“What?” John sits up from where he’s been lazing on his chair. “Of course she did. Listen, I know you like to dismiss ‘sentiment,’ Sherlock, but love makes people do crazy things, so-”

“That,” Sherlock says and his voice is flat and angry at the same time, “was not love. That was possession, that was ownership, it may even have been jealousy, but it was definitely not love.” He infuses the word with such contempt that it makes John flinch, but Sherlock is moving again, glaring at the world as though it had personally offended him. “If she loved him, she’d have let him go. She’d have done everything in her power to make sure that he was happy, even if that meant he was with someone else. She’d have killed - she’d have died herself - if it meant that he would have one millimetre more happiness in his life than otherwise. She would have protected his lover with her life, she’d have done absolutely anything in her power to give him anything he wanted. Instead, she killed them both in a fit of jealous rage, because she never really loved him, she loved owning him. Like a favourite pair of shoes, or a pretty picture.”

John is still trying to absorb that rant when Sherlock crosses the room and slams his bedroom door behind him.

John sits in silence for a few moments before heading to bed.

He wakes up an hour later and John Watson has never actually experienced an epiphany before, never experienced that moment Sherlock is always chasing where all the pieces come together and your brain dissolves into fireworks and you know everything but he’s pretty sure that he just had one.

Before he can even think, he’s downstairs, pushing open Sherlock’s door and standing there like a fool.

Sherlock sits up, sleep-mussed and soft, and says “John, what’s wrong? Is it Watson?”

John licks his lips and tries to speak and…nothing.

Tries again.

“You…you love me,” he manages, and it’s a bare whisper, all he can force past the weight in his chest, of ten years of unsaid words. “Sherlock?”

Sherlock is looking at him with horror in his eyes.

“I-I” Sherlock says, and John interrupts him.

“Please say I’m wrong, Sherlock, please say I’m wrong,” and he’s speaking quickly now, tears running down his face unchecked, and his leg gives out and he finds himself on his knees by Sherlock’s bed, a ragged penitent in old pyjamas, prostrating himself before a saint. “Please say I haven’t been wrong all this time, haven’t wasted all these years, please, Sherlock, please…”

He hides his face in Sherlock’s bed, so that he can’t see Sherlock’s eyes, his beloved face creased in confusion.

“John?” Sherlock asks. “I don’t…I don’t understand.”

But John is sobbing too hard to answer, great heaving sobs, and Sherlock puts a hand on the back of his neck that burns like a brand because of course Sherlock would try to comfort him, even though he doesn’t understand what John is on about, even though John has hurt him so terribly so many times.

“I love you,” John gasps into the bed. Sherlock’s hand stills for a moment and then, cautiously, resumes its smooth comforting stroking.

“John, you’re upset,” he begins, but John cuts him off mid-sentence.

“Years, Sherlock, years,” he gasps. It’s becoming easier to speak, the weight on his chest becoming less with every word. “I’ve loved you for years. Since Angelo’s that first night, I think, since the cabbie, since the first time I saw you sleep-soft in morning light. I loved you in Dartmoor and I loved you at the pool - God, how I loved you in that moment, I would have fallen to my knees and worshipped at your feet for the rest of my life and I would have been content. I loved you on the roof of Bart’s and on the pavement a moment later. I loved you every moment of every day you were gone, and I loved you every time I stood in front of your grave and begged you for one more miracle, and I loved you when I punched your face because it was that or kiss you, and I loved you when you were bleeding out in Magnussen’s office. I loved you on Magnussen’s porch and I loved you on the tarmac, and I loved you in the morgue and in the hospital and in the prison and the well and I’ve loved you every moment since the day I met you, I love you I love you I love you.”

He doesn’t stop so much as run out of breath, chanting those three words - three words he’d never thought he’d be able to say - like prayer, John is a monk and this is his religion now, this is his faith, this only thing he knows for sure.

“John,” Sherlock breathes. “Why didn’t you…”

“I thought,” and John is trying to think of a way to say this right, a way to really explain, “I thought that you didn’t…I didn’t think you didn’t love me, but I thought you wanted me as a friend, just a friend, and so I tried to be the best friend anyone could ever have, but obviously I’m pretty shit at it, but I tried and I hid it, and hid it, and I married Mary because I thought…I thought I’d break apart from missing you and later I thought I’d die from wanting you, and I couldn’t bear to lose you but I was losing you anyway, but the surest way to lose you was to tell you, you didn’t feel the same, you didn’t want the same things, and that’s the best way to kill a friendship, and if friendship was all I could-”

And John shuts up, because Sherlock has slithered out of his bed and fallen to his knees in front of John, and stopped his panicked babbling with his mouth.

When Sherlock finally pulls back, John stares at him, shocked into silence.

“So many years,” Sherlock says, stroking a thumb over John’s lips. “We could have had so many years, John. If only we hadn’t been…”

“Afraid,” John supplies. Sherlock nods, and he’s so close that his nose rubs against John’s when he does, and it’s unbearably intimate. “We could…” And John has to stop for a moment to breathe, to lick his lips and gather his courage in his hands. “We could still have years,” he says. “If I’m not too late. If you still-”

And Sherlock doesn’t say anything with words, but when he kisses John, he writes eloquent poetry in this new language they are building together.

Yes, he says as he licks into John’s mouth

I want, he says, as he sucks a bruise into John’s neck.

I still, he whispers into the curve of John’s ear. I still love you. I will always love you.

So imagine nineteen-year-old Sherlock bringing twenty-two-year old John home for the holidays.  Sherlock would lead John into the kitchen where Mummy is busy cooking a special dinner for Sherlock’s arrival (even though she knows Sherlock will hardly eat any of it), and Papa is reading the paper, and they would both look up, ready to say “Welcome home!” but they’d freeze at the sight of John.  

The sauce in Mummy’s ladle would be dripping onto the floor, and Papa’s paper would sort of wilt, and John would just be standing there, looking confused, and Sherlock would say as tersely as he can, without meeting anyone’s eyes, “Mummy, Papa, this is my…this is John Watson.  He’s come to stay for the holidays.”

And Mummy and Papa would just continue to stare for a few long, painful seconds during which John hisses to Sherlock, “You didn’t even tell them I was coming?!” and Sherlock shrugs, and John just glares at him briefly before smiling sheepishly at the Holmeses and stepping forward some.  "Sorry to barge in on you like this, someone was supposed to tell you I was coming" and he throws another glare over his shoulder at Sherlock, “but he evidently forgot.”  And Sherlock just scowls and crosses his arms.

Mummy Holmes just stares at John for a long moment, still completely thrown, and then she finally shakes herself a little bit and says, “And you’re…a friend?  Of Sherlock’s?”

And John’s lips quirk up into a happier sort of smile, and he says, “Well, boyfriend, actually,” and that’s when Mummy drops the ladle and sauce goes spilling onto the floor, and John is nearly knocked over by the force of her rushing past him and yanking Sherlock into her arms, tears in her eyes, and Sherlock is flailing and trying to push her off–“Mummy, stop it, you’re being ridiculous!”–but she’s got him held tight, and he eventually gives up and just sort of goes limp while she squeezes him and tells him she’s never been happier in her whole life.

John is staring at this spectacle, bewildered, when Papa Holmes comes up to him, hand outstretched and says with a smile, “We’re very pleased to meet you, John.”  And John reaches out to take his hand, but before he can he’s suddenly enveloped in Mummy’s embrace, and he’s sure he’s blushing bright red, and he can see Sherlock over her shoulder, looking ruffled and irritated and achingly adorable.  John pats Mummy’s back awkwardly and says, “So I guess Sherlock doesn’t bring guests home very often…”

2

Requested by anonymous


“(Y/N). Your brothers are here,” Charles said.

“Oh no. Why?” you called back.

“(Y/N), go see them.”

“Why? They haven’t come before? And I’ve been here for three years.”

Sherlock and Mycroft rarely visited you or even interacted with you outside of family holidays. You were so much younger than both of them that when you were born Mycroft was in University and Sherlock was off doing God knows what, God knows where.

Charles shrugged and you snorted.

“Just go,” Charles told you and then left your room.

You contemplated how you should use your powers to scare them. You had the ability to teleport and you could use it to appear behind them and scare them.

You snickered and closed your eyes. Summoning your strength, you visualized the front porch and your brothers standing there facing the door. You grinned and then pushed yourself to teleport behind them.

You appeared behind them seconds later and cleared your throat. Sherlock and Mycroft both jumped and you laughed.

“Brothers,” you greeted.

“(Y/N), it’s good to see you,” Mycroft smiled. You raised an eyebrow and crossed your arms.

Sherlock was giving you a flat stare, but you thought his lips twitched when you glared at Mycroft.

“What do you want?”

“We just wanted to visi-“

“Cut the shit. You haven’t visited me ever and even before that we never talked.”

Mycroft frowned, but you stood your ground. Whatever they wanted it had to be serious, they wouldn’t be here otherwise.

“We need your help,” Sherlock finally relented.

“With what?”

They both hesitated there and you rolled your eyes.

“You’re both geniuses, but dammit you’re idiots. How the hell am I supposed to help with something I don’t even know about because you two don’t trust your own sister?”

Sherlock looked nonplussed at your outburst, but Mycroft seemed a little more hurt at the accusation and you couldn’t tell if he was genuine or just playing it up to make you feel sympathetic.

“We need you to…” Mycroft hesitated.

“What?”

“Go undercover with Moriarty.” Sherlock finished, crossing his arms.

“I’m sorry? You want me to what?”

“Go undercover in Moriarty’s organization and use your powers to gather information.”

“And this is a good plan how? I’m Sherlock’s younger sister. He’ll have to have heard of me.”

Mycroft shrugged at that and you narrowed your eyes.

“What. Did. You. Do?”

“When the car crash happened and your powers were triggered…”

The car crash fifteen years ago that had led to the discovery of your powers of disguise and teleportation had led to you being sent away and you hadn’t seen any of your family since then. You assumed it was because they were ashamed to have a mutant Holmes, but you didn’t really know.

“Mum had you declared dead. Then she sent you here. That’s why we never visited,” Mycroft admitted.

“She… Why? What…”

You clenched your fists and glared at the two men before you. They were six and thirteen years older than you, they could have reached out to you at any time, but they still went along with Mum’s plan to have you dead and missing from the world.

“I’m going now. Please don’t come back.” You tried to speak harshly, but your voice broke on the word please and you looked away.

“(Y/N), we… care about you.”

“No! No you don’t. You need me. You could have come earlier, but you didn’t.”

“Gentlemen, I believe it is time you took your leave,” Charles announced from the doorway. You brushed past your brothers and into the house leaving your family behind.

PT.1

PT.2 |PT.3 | PT.4| PT.5| PT.6 | PT.7| PT.8| PT.9| PT.10| PT.11| PT.12| PT.13

They stood in the center of the flat to take in the damage. Sherlock crossed his arms and kicked his foot at the remains of a book. John, holding Rosie, shifted her to his right and turned to Sherlock. The man was unusually quiet, and only uttered a few words when they entered the flat. The walls were black, the décor was scorched and ruined. Everything that they loved in that flat, everything that made 221B was gone. John jumped when Sherlock moved suddenly. He made his way over to the stand that used to hold his music sheets and set it upright. Sherlock turned to his favorite armchair and his brows furrowed. John watched carefully as his gaze went from his chair, to John’s favorite chair. What he didn’t expect to see was a tear roll down Sherlock’s cheek as he whispered, “It’s all gone now, John.”

John wanted to rush over and embrace him, as Sherlock did when he cried. Sherlock only said a few words, but each word was uttered with such pain that it broke John’s heart to see him so distraught.

“How long will it take to renovate?”

Sherlock wiped a tear away and exhaled. “Knowing Mycroft, he’ll have the top contractors in England come to fix the place up. Even then…everything is…everything is…it’s just gone, John. My chemistry set, my music, my chair. How can they replace that?”

John could only offer a smile at present even though he knew that it didn’t do much to lift his friend’s spirits.

“Don’t think of it as replacement, Sherlock. Think of it more as restoration.”

Sherlock’s eyes met John’s. “Restore, replace, what does it matter anymore? I don’t even have anywhere else to sleep until this flat is fixed.”

John’s mouth hung open. Of course, how could he forget? Where is Sherlock going to be staying during this? He can’t possibly sleep in his bedroom when the flat was in this condition. Did no one think to ask him, or did everybody assume that he knew what to do?

“You could stay with me,” John said without hesitation, “Er…you can stay with us. Rosie and I, until your flat is fixed.”

Sherlock’s lip quivered at John’s suggestion, and for a moment, John thought that he was going to cry again.

“John I…I couldn’t possibly…”

“Nonsense, Sherlock! I invited you after all.”

Sherlock tilted his head as he thought about the proposal. “Well, I suppose I could take the sofa.”

John’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Are you daft? The Great Sherlock Holmes, kip on the sofa? No, you can bunk with me…if you’d like that is.”

Sherlock froze much like the time when he was asked to be best man.

“John, are you asking me to…share a bed with you?”

Rosie let out a noise and John rubbed her back. “Yes…I…uh…it’s the only bed I got. Rosie’s got the other bedroom and the sofa is far from comfortable to sleep…”

Sherlock cut him off mid-sentence by whisking off towards his bedroom. “Just let me grab a few things and we’ll be off.”

John was left in the middle of the living room dumbfounded. He was going to be sharing a bed with Sherlock for who knows how long. The thought alone excited him.

———–

Here it is!  The first part of the ficlet/fic? Anyway, enjoy! 

@sappylock @vitruvianwatson @ireneadlershipsjohnlock @im-batt-mellamy @justsherlythings7 @wellthengameover @bronzedviolets @now–what @johnandsherlocks 

and I think that’s everyone! Please remind me if I forgot, or send me a message if you would like to be tagged for the next parts! 

anonymous asked:

You always have such great fic recs! I have a looong cross-country flight coming up and am looking for some multi-chapter fics to wile away the hours in the flying tin can. Preferences in order of priority: *very* in-character (anything OOC kills it for me), slow burn/first time, not AU (ACD is good tho!) Any rating. Have read all the fandom classics so looking for less-known or newish. For reference two of my favorite ever fics are Quiet Man, & Safe Distance. Thank you Steph! You are the best!!

AHHH Nonny!! Sorry I just saw this, so I hope I’m not too late for your cross-country flight! All I saw was “multi-chapter long” and I put it aside to attach to 2 other asks of similar requests. BUT because this is time-sensitive, I’ll give you a few to tide you over! I’m actually working on a TONNE of fic rec lists:

(essentially I create a new textedit document every time I get a “different” request from others I have) and was going to add this ask to my “long fics” request I received a month or so ago. Okay, so instead, I’ll pull some long fics from my “Fave Fics Ever” List for you that I have so far (I still have 15 more pages of bookmarks to go through, plus all 1000 fics on my FFNet account, so, WHEE. Being meticulous is ridiculous). 

It’s hard to choose, so I limited it to my go-to long fics for you that I have ALREADY sorted on my lists you see in that window above there :D I’ve put them in word count order for you :D


TOP 20 FAVE 40K+ w. FICS || APRIL 2017

Goodness Gives Extras by mydwynter (E, 39,629 w. || Fluff & Angst, Case Fic, Oral / Anal, Humour, First Time, Miscommunication, Snark, Christmas) – Christmas time. ‘Tis the season to settle down with a drink, some food and a present or two, and to enjoy the quiet relaxation of the holiday. Instead, there’s a case that drags them all over, missing presents, disappointed kids, angry parents, and a freak snowfall. On top of that John has to deal with Sherlock, who is being even more of a prat than usual. He really shouldn’t have expected anything different. (okay I’m cheating with the word count on this one but it’s so good!! One of my ALL TIME FAVES)

Right Hand Man by SilentAuror (E, 42,031 w. ||  H/C, Injury, Slow Burn, Infidelity, Mary is Not Nice) – When John’s left arm becomes paralysed after a car accident, Mary asks Sherlock to take him back to Baker Street to recuperate, as she’s about to give birth. Despite the fact that the search for Moriarty is ongoing, Sherlock takes John in and takes responsibility for overseeing his rehabilitation as he adjusts to the loss of his arm. (FAVE FAVE FAVE)

Guidelines by WithLoweredVoices (M, 43,018 w. || Winglock || Angels, Fantasy, Angst, BAMF! John, War) – The Good Soldier, one of the oldest and strongest of the fallen, is offered a bargain: to live as John Watson and to Guide a fledgling archangel so that he will stay on the path of good. Of course, Sherlock Holmes has different ideas about his destiny. Fantasy AU. Warnings for violence, occasional gore, and a whole load of hurt and angst.

The Case of the Vanishing Pants by SwissMiss (E, 44,025 w. || Post-TRF, Case Fic, UST, Homophobia, Friends to Lovers) – Five times John and Sherlock lost their pants in the course of a case.

Left by lifeonmars (M, 45,153 w. || Magical Realism) – John Watson is left-handed. He’s tried not to let it affect his life, but as any Lefty knows, that’s almost impossible.

The Norwood Love Builders by flawedamythyst (T, 47,798 w. || Fake Relationship, Slow Burn, Post TRF Angst) – Sherlock and John go undercover to solve the murder of Joanna Oldacre, but things are complicated by the many feelings John has been repressing in the wake of Sherlock’s faked death and return.

Triage by scullyseviltwin (E, 51,612 w. || Character Injury, Introspection) – Sherlock’s mind goes exceedingly, devastatingly quiet and gray-blank. When he speaks it’s through a thick haze, it’s through molasses, he’s so disconnected from the words that it may as well be the unconscious shooter speaking.

Coventry by standbygo (E, 52,020 w. || Dollhouse AU, First Time/Kiss, BAMF John, Slow Burn, Falling in Love, Case Fic) – “Let me get this straight,” John said, wondering when his life had become a science fiction film. “Some guy orders up a personality, a person, to his specifications, and they program this into a real live person, who has consented to do this, and she goes to this person and acts as his wife, or lawyer, or Royal Marine, or Navy Seal or what have you, and she has all the skills, all the knowledge, everything? Then you say the magic words, and she follows you back to The House, and they erase it all until her next appointment?”

Guilty Secrets by Ellipsical (E, 55,055 w. || Drumsticks, First Time, Love Confession, Self-Sexual-Discovery) – 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.

Wars We Fought, Things We’re Not by blueink3 (M, 55,204 w. || Parentlock, Fluff & Angst, Kidnapping, Whump, Post-TAB, UST, Slow Burn, Couple for a Case) –  Five months after John’s world has fallen apart, Mycroft sends the consulting detective and his doctor on a case that neither is prepared for.

The Progress of Sherlock Holmes by ivyblossom (E, 62,006 w || Sherlock POV, Pining, Angst, Slow Burn, Infidelity, Sherlock Learns About Himself, Happy Ending) – Sherlock struggles with his feelings for John, makes a mistake, and learns just how important he and John are to each other. Non-BBC Mary / John, but it’s a *complicated* relationship.

Perdition’s Flames by i_ship_an_armada (E, 63,435 w., || Treklock AU, Est. Rel, Genetic Engineering, Angst & Fluff, BAMF!John) – Sherlock would do anything to save him. Risk anything. Give anything. His money, his life. His soul. What he does, though, is change both of their destinies forever. Genetic re-engineering is the only option left. It turns out researchers underestimated the life expectancy and potential abilities of genetically re-engineered subjects. The British government and what would eventually become the United Federation of Planets, however, had not. Part 1 of PF Universe

The Green Blade by verityburns (T, 72,929 w. || Casefic, Bromance) – As a serial killer hits the headlines, the police are out of their depth and the next victim is out of time. With faith in Sherlock Holmes at an all time low, this is a case which will push loyalties to the limit…

The Moonlight and the Frost by CaitlinFairchild (E, 77,289 w. || Case Fic, Post-HLV, Self Harm, Virgin Sherlock, First Time, Oral/Anal/Rimming, Romance, Angst, Mary is Not Nice) – John has to somehow rebuild his life in the wake of Mary’s betrayal and Sherlock’s deceptions.

A Case of Identity by jkay1980 (T, 91,009 w. || Fake Relationship, Post-TRF, Case Fic) – John and Sherlock have succeeded in rebuilding their friendship after Sherlock’s fake suicide, but an unusual case puts their relationship to the test. They pretend to be engaged and attend a marriage counseling workshop. Under the pretext of the case, Sherlock turns out to be a master of seduction, and John finally learns he might like Sherlock more than he thought. Slowly, John discovers that he loves Sherlock not only in a friendly, brotherly way, but both men have to fight their own demons before they can think of taking their relationship to a new level… [[I love this fic SO MUCH]]

Shatter the Darkness (Let the Light In) by MojoFlower (E, 109,683 w. || GenieLock, Torture, H/C, Magical Realism) Fairy tales are for those who remember how to dream; not John Watson, broken and hiding from his bleak future in a beige bedsit. But then he discovers a lamp and finds himself in the dangerous riptide of an enigmatic man whose very existence is unbelievable, murder charges against his sister, and the growing pains of feeling alive once more. {{This is a REALLY great story, which tears at your heart consistently}}.

Breakable by MissDavis (E, 117,627 w. || Established, Fluff/Angst, Depression, Paralysis, Happy-ish Ending) – After John is seriously injured, Sherlock struggles to figure out how to help him, keep himself sane, and maybe, just maybe, get their life back to the way it’s supposed to be. Part 1 of Breakable Not Broken

Midnight Blue Serenity by BeautifulFiction (E, 151,907 w. || Friends to Lovers, Gay Bar / For a Case, Drugs, Pining, Case Fic, UST) – When Sherlock infiltrates a club in order to track down a serial killer, his altered appearance is enough to make John question his assumption that Sherlock is beyond his reach. However, is he the only one who appreciates his flatmate’s charms, or is Sherlock at risk of becoming the next victim?

A Fold in the Universe by darkest_bird (E, 152,857 w. || O-John, A-Sherlock || Body Swap, Crossing Universes, DubCon, H/C, Angst, Happy Ending) – Alpha Sherlock and Omega John are in a relationship. Prime Sherlock and Prime John are not. So what happens when a freak fold in the universe switches one John for the other?

Performance In a Leading Role by Mad_Lori  (E, 156,714 w. || Hollywood AU, Coming Out, Show Business) – Sherlock Holmes is an Oscar winner in the midst of a career slump. John Watson is an Everyman actor trapped in the rom-com ghetto. When they are cast as a gay couple in a new independent drama, will they surprise each other? Will their on-screen romance make its way into the real world?

Need someone to numb the pain - Sherlock x reader

Originally posted by gold20

AN: I thought this up and it’s pretty short but I don’t know

Summary: Sherlock is drugged up and alone. You find him and take him home.

Word count: 1, 047

Warnings: Strong language, drugged up Sherlock, not much really

“Where’s the girl?!” Sherlock asks as he bolts up right in his bed. Bill had been sat in Sherlock’s room in fear that Sherlock might choke on his own vomit during the night, and at the request of Mrs Hudson. 

“What girl?” Bill asks, 

“The girl! The girl who brought me home last night!” Sherlock swings his legs over the side of the bed and holds his throbbing head in his hands. He needs another fix.

“Oh, that girl. She left a few hours ago.” Bill tells Sherlock. Sherlock gets up and moves over to the window, searching the street. 

“I need to talk to her…” Sherlock mutters, Bill cocks his eyebrows at the detective. 

“Somebody in love?” Bill teases however Sherlock takes no notice. He was too busy trying to remember the night before. 

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

so we all know Sherlock is a Posh Boy™ with his designer shirts, down to his undies and socks, fancy shampoos and conditioners. And although his self care regime can be a bit off, Sherlock loves facemasks. Ridiculously expensive sheetmasks are a sure thing you'd find in their bathroom, as well as pots of lush masks (which he ordered online so he didn't have to endure the hyper enthusiasm of the staff in store). He never hid it from john, him lounging in his pyjamas with one on as he thinks (pt1)

and even talked him into trying one or two out (pre TRF). And now, now that they have come to realise how in love they are with each other, that they are happy and safe and a family with Rosie, once she’s in bed and there’s no pressing case work or an experiment, the pair can be found reclined together on the sofa or in the bath with their facemask (sometimes they match, sometimes Sherlock insists they need different ones for their individual skin types), trying not to crack the mud but at the same time trying to make each other laugh or smile - john is particularly guilty of ruining Sherlock’s perfectly smooth mask with a thousand smile lines, which Sherlock pretends to be cross about but he can’t stop smiling because of john, his john. Mrs H got quite the fright once when she walked in on her two blue glam glow mud-faced tenants. Molly swaps recommendations with them and sends pictures of her and Greg trying them out at home. Once Rosie began to cry while they had their facemasks still on. She’s not a fan of seeing them with their masks on, it’s a bit scary, but Sherlock has studied that she’s much more receptive to sticky gooey masks that she can get her hands in. Classic Watson, so investigative. Of course after their masks he uses high end moisturiser and a little rose water to keep his skin soft, a regime which john dips into here and there, and Rosie always smells like sweet Lush bath products and lotions after bath time. (Fin).

alsdjaslfjdas this is so cute omg???

anonymous asked:

Can you do one where Moriarty and Sherlock are out in love with you and play games trying to win you over?

Originally posted by sheldedlex

Reader x Sherlock, Reader x Moriarty

You opened your door, watching as Moriarty walked inside.

“Y/N.” He gave you a quick kiss on your cheek. “Did you miss me, love?”

“Jim, what are you doing here?” You closed the door and the two of you walked further into your apartment.

“Oh, you know.” He shrugged his shoulders and took a seat at the kitchen table. “Just wanted to see how my favorite girl is doing.”

“That’s it?” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“That’s it.” He confirmed.

“No games with Sherlock.” You pressed on.

Moriarty placed his hand on his heart and gasped, taken aback.

“Y/N, I would never.” He reassured you and stood up, putting his hands on your shoulders. Slowly, he began to turn you in place as the two of you walked to your living room.

You jumped at the sound of the doorbell.

“I wonder who that could be.” You shrugged Jim’s arms off and shot him a look before opening the door.

“Sherlo-”

Sherlock cut you off, running right past you.

“No, please do come in.” You muttered out loud and shut the door behind you. With a sigh, you joined the two masterminds in your kitchen.

“Jim.” You began.

“Starting now I would never.” He told you. “I didn’t get to finish before.”

“You!” Sherlock pointed at Moriarty. “You tricked me!”

Jim rolled his eyes. “It was just a gaaaame, Sherlock. Calm down, you’re just not good enough.”

“What game?” You asked.

“Sherlock thought he deserved you, so we started a little game.” Jim winked at you.

“No.” You blurted out.

“But I-” Sherlock began but you cut him off.

“No, and sit down, Sherlock.” Leaning across the table, you glared at both of the boys. “No games. The last time you two played you little games, London was destroyed.”

“It’s just a little game, Y/N.” Moriarty told you. “Nothing to worry about.”

“If you play your little game, I will throw you a little funeral.” You told them both. “Got it?”

Jim grabbed your hand and placed a kiss on it. “Criminal looks good on you, Y/N.”

Sherlock stood up and wrapped his arm around your waist. “Y/N is not a criminal.”

Jim shot you a wink and mouthed, ‘pick you up at eight.’

“I saw that! I can see you!” Sherlock said, frantically.

“Oh what, did you deduce it?” Moriarty asked, sarcastically.

“Yes, yes I did.” Sherlock crossed his arms, growing more agitated with his nemesis.

“Yeah well deduce this!” Jim stuck his middle finger up at Sherlock, before walking over to you and placing a kiss on your forehead. “Dress warm, love. I’ll see you soon.”

“Y/N is not going!” Sherlock yelled after Moriarty. “This isn’t over!”

You closed the door behind the two idiots and sat at your kitchen table, wondering what would happen when eight o’clock rolled around.

The Woman - Request

Requested by anon:  Hello, could you do one you and Sherlock are like dating and you go to his flat and Irene Adler is there flirting with him but he picks you over her 😍😍xx thanks love

Summary: (Y/N) enters 221B and instantly notices the smell of another woman’s perfume. She then realizes it’s Irene Adler who is willing to convince Sherlock that she is a better woman for him.

Pairing: Sherlock x reader.

Word count: 1,230

Warnings: Irene’s naked so…

A/N: I can’t say that I despise Irene but I despise Irene. Writing this “battle” was so… Relaxing.

Enjoy!

Originally posted by annieanhworld

At first it was the smell of a perfume that didn’t belong to her. “Probably a client.” She had guessed until she heard the superfluous laughter of The Woman. Irene Adler, the first woman to break Sherlock’s heart. That dominatrix, clever escape artist, a bad woman.

(Y/N) walked gracefully upstairs, trying not to let her weight on the stairs for too much on the steps for it would creak and expose her. She heard her laugh over and over, speaking incomprehensible words softly, seductively at him.

“Sher… Let’s have dinner.” Her smooth voice offered. (Y/N) reached the floor and managed to have a look through the small creak the half-closed door had left.

And although it wasn’t a great view, (Y/N) could see them both. Irene was kneeling in front of Sherlock, who was occupying his usual seat. Her suave hand traced a lingering path on his thighs as her deep eyes stayed connected with his blue ones.

“No.” He replied. A sly smirk was formed on his lips. (Y/N) recognized it as a defying look; the one he gave his enemies and whoever dared to test his abilities. A cocky look that showed nothing more but dominance.

Irene let her head lay softly over one of his legs. “Please, Sher. I missed you.” She flirted, making sure to squirm slightly, trying to get dirty pictures inside his mind without him really noticing.

“I’m not available.” Sherlock replied calmly. Irene lifted her head and examined him before letting out a sassy chuckle.

“We both know that’s a lie.” She whispered seductively, “Let’s have dinner.” She insisted, both of her hands shamelessly caressing his thighs, but stopping right before she got to that one spot she desired the most.

“No.” Sherlock repeated. (Y/N) saw how fingers, tapping the sides of the arm holders of his beloved seat. He was starting to get impatient, but even so his face remained still.

“I’ll stop insisting if you give me one good reason.” She offered. (Y/N) noticed that she was only wearing a robe – Sherlock’s robe – and that she was slowly letting it slide off, teasing him.

Keep reading

You Really Shouldn’t Have (Sherlock x reader) Valentine’s day

A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day Everyone! I know I promised to give you a fanfic spam (it’s coming alright) but I really wanted to give you this one fix on time. This represent my ideal thinking of Valentine’s day and since there ain’t even much of these (usually it’s Sherlock and him only hating on this specific day) so let’s change things up a bit? Hope you enjoy this on some level. I’m a real hater, alright. Sorry for that. 

You were peacefully sitting on your boyfriend’s armchair, the black leather warmed up by your body heat, the day’s newspaper in your hands that you had found on the table. You figured no one in the house had yet to read it, it had been carelessly thrown on the table, the pages slightly of place as it had landed on the wooded furniture. It had been on top of all the other post from today so it was more important than the letters and commercial flies. You found some of the articles interesting as well, but doubted they were the reason Sherlock wanted to read the paper.

When you heard the front door open, John chatting with Sherlock you still didn’t lift your eyes from the paper. You let your eyes wonder over a review of a new restaurant just a ten minutes walk from Baker Street. That of course wasn’t what had drawn you to read.

”Good morning, (Y/n).” John chuckled and you could hear amusement through his voice. You smiled back at him over your paper wishing the same for John as you positioned yourself better on the chair, pulling your legs to you, crossing them.

Sherlock stood next to you and a pink blur came to your view. You turned your head to your left, seeing a huge bouquet of flowers of different kinds on the hand of your boyfriend. ”There.” Sherlock muttered as if he was doing something against his will, something that irked him more than anything in the world. Your gaze climbed up his hand, to meet his face. He moved the flowers closer to you, begging you to take them. You put the paper aside and took the flowers, your brows furrowed at what was going on.

”Thank you?” You more of asked. You looked at the flowers again. There were probably five different shades of pink in them, each darker and lighter than the other. ”What’s this for?” You questioned and looked at John and then Sherlock. The smile on John’s face disappeared by your statement and he looked at you in a way he did when Sherlock said something stupid. Like when he once again proved him how incapable he was of feeling empathy. Sherlock on the other hand rolled his eyes and let an exaggerated sigh like the drama queen he was.

”Even if I hate eventful days and holidays, it does not mean I don’t remember them.” He looked down on you, irritatedly. ”Did you really think I would forget Valentine’s day?” He snapped waving his hands in anger. His hairs moved when he shook his head violently, and you could hear John clear his throat, trying to signal Sherlock he was getting too far.

So that is what it was all about! You let out a long ”oooooh” in realization and laugh, ”It’s Valentine’s day!” You admit to yourself.

Now John and Sherlock were both staring at you as if you had said something wrong. They looked at each other, then their intense stare returning towards you. You got up from the couch, the rug under your bare foot warming your chilly toes. You walk to the kitchen and take one of Sherlock’s measuring glasses, big and tall enough for the bouquet and fill it with warm water.

”I totally forgot.” You laughed by yourself, then going over and giving Sherlock a kiss on the cheek. ”You shouldn’t have.” You chuckled. You started taking his coat and folding it over the backrest of a chair next to the desk behind Sherlock’s seat. ”And I mean it when I say you shouldn’t have.” You assured Sherlock, how dumbfoundedly sat on his chair.

”You forgot Valentine’s day?” John was first to talk from the two men in the room. He couldn’t come up with a girl in his mind who would forget a day as such. He could make a list of men on the other hand that never bothered to pay attention to a day dedicated to appreciating your loved ones and friends.

”I try my best.” You shrugged, standing next to Sherlock’s desk, leaning your butt against the wood to support you. ”I actually hate Valentines day.” You admitted, shamefully smiling. Sherlock looked at you over his shoulder, he was as surprised as John of finding out you were one of the rare girls who didn’t like Valentine’s day.

”You are telling me I bought those flowers for nothing? You wouldn’t had even mentioned the whole Valentine’s day if I wouldn’t have brought it up?” He was bewildered. You nodded after giving it a thought. Then your eyes opened wide. You let your eyes fix on Sherlock and hurried to ask, ”Please tell me the flowers are the only way of celebrating this awful day.”

”Of course it is. And if I would’ve known you dislike this horrible event I wouldn’t have bothered with the flowers.” He turned his head towards John again, you chuckled at your boyfriend. You were now speaking for you and John by saying, ”I honestly thought you would forget this day, or do your best not to bring it up.” You walked by, kissing the top of Sherlock’s head and said, ”I’ll go take a shower.” And you walked to the bathroom.

”You said she would like the flowers!” Sherlock snapped at John who raised his hands up in defense.

”How should’ve I known she doesn’t like Valentine’s day? Every normal girl likes Valentine’s day.” John thought for a second and then said, ”Then again I guess she isn’t normal, she is dating you for example.” Sherlock pulled his head back, slightly offended by his friend’s statement.

John took a seat across from Sherlock, leaning closer and then saying with a low voice, ”This girl is like made for you Sherlock. You have to realize that.” And that Sherlock did, even if it had come to him as a surprise just how well you two fit together, especially after the flower incident. ”And you should cancel that reservation you made at the restaurant.” John reminded.

”Yes, of course.” Sherlock agreed and took his phone out in a hurry.

PT.7

PT.1 | PT.2| PT.3 | PT.4| PT.5 | PT.6 | PT.8| PT.9| PT.10| PT.11| PT.12| PT.13

After the tea was made, and Sherlock’s singing turned to humming, John was sat on the sofa with a dozing baby in his arms thinking about Sherlock. Sherlock was in the kitchen trying his hand at making spaghetti. He told John that cooking is chemistry if you think about it, and he is a graduate chemist. John wanted to tell him that there was more to it, but was too distracted to say anything.

He hadn’t said much to Sherlock after their kiss actually. Was it even a kiss? It was more like a peck on the cheeks, he was caught in the heat of the moment, Sherlock kissed him first. He loved it, he wanted to kiss him again, every time he looked at him, his eyes would linger to those pink lips. They felt like cushions compared to his own. After the kiss, John just felt so warm inside, like a fire has been ignited in his heart. Rosie hiccupped, interrupting his thoughts. He looked down and saw that she could barely keep her eyes open and had half a mind to place her in her crib.

“John!”

Sherlock was staring at him from the kitchen with a frown. “I’ve been calling your name for ages.”

John shrugged. “Sorry, I was miles away.”

“Obviously.”

He watched Sherlock rummage through the cabinets until he found the plates. The sound of Sherlock fixing their plates faded as his mind drifted again. Look at him, he’s so perfect. The way he interacted with Rosie, how he fussed about the kitchen trying to cook a meal for the two of them. The domesticity that they shared in 221B flooded his mind in droves. How could he ever think to remove himself of such bliss? Sherlock walked over to him and opened his mouth to speak before his eyes rested on the now sleeping baby in John’s lap.

“Ah, it appears little Rosie was worn down by our playing. She’s making excellent progress with her…”

John’s eyes honed on those lips yet again. The way they enunciated every syllable of his words, the expressiveness of them. John licked his own in the hopes that he would always remember the taste of them. He wished that he didn’t end it so quickly, he wished that he had more courage, he was a soldier dammit! He’s treated the worst wounds, survived an almost fatal gun wound and yet he couldn’t tell his best friend and flatmate that he loved him. He shook his head when he saw Sherlock’s concerned expression.

“John, were you listening to me?”

“Um, yeah, yeah, of course I was. Dinner’s ready?”

Sherlock’s bottom lip quivered a bit and it made John sad to see. Sherlock held his arms out for the baby and said, “I can put her to bed. You can go to the table.”

John nodded absentmindedly and carefully handed her over to Sherlock who walked lightly to her room. John seated himself at the table and stared at the plate that was already prepared for him. He smiled softly at how clean the plate was beside the food directly in the center. John didn’t care much for presentation but of course his posh boy did. He looked over at Sherlock’s plate and saw that it wasn’t nearly as tended to as his own. He loved that man. Sherlock appeared in the dining room and took his seat. His eyes were fixed on John with an eager smile on his face.

“Do you like it?”

“Like what?”

John cursed himself at the way Sherlock deflated. What was he doing wrong? What was making him unhappy when he was so cheerful a few hours ago? Sherlock sighed and looked down at his plate, twirling his spaghetti on his fork and eating it with a mournful look. John did the same and when he swallowed, he looked up and saw Sherlock with his puppy face. John smiled and said, “This is good, Sherlock!”

“Is it really?”

John dabbed his face with the napkin and nodded. “Of course it is. You know I appreciate my pasta.”

The joke fell flat and they continued to eat their dinner in silence. Sherlock finished before John, the man never took the time to enjoy food like John did. He folded his hands on the table and waited for his tablemate to finish his food. When John took his last bite Sherlock got up and collected both of their plates and walked to the sink without a word. John fidgeted in his chair and watched Sherlock wash their plates. Was he mad at John? Was he tired of living with him? It agitated him to see Sherlock in such pain. John closed his eyes and inhaled. He had to ask him.

“Sherlock, are you alright?”

Sherlock stopped scrubbing and looked up at him with sad, glassy eyes. He just stared at John for a while before he muttered, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

Sherlock looked reluctant to continue. John didn’t want to force the answer out of him, but he didn’t want Sherlock to think he had to suffer in silence. John sighed and said, “Fine, we’ll do things your way. Whenever you want to talk, I’m here, okay?”

Sherlock nodded petulantly.

“I know you are, John.”

John smirked and began to help collect the silverware and soiled napkins, since Sherlock ran off with their plates in a haste. It seemed like an eternity between them. Sherlock took the pots and began washing them, and John walked around him, storing the leftovers of the food, placing the silverware in the sink, and binning the used napkins. He rested his back against the counter next to Sherlock, and crossed his arms. Sherlock scrubbed furiously at the clean plate. John placed a hand on Sherlock’s back.

“I can help dry the plates if you would like.”

Wordlessly, Sherlock handed him a plate and John chuckled as he grabbed the rag to dry it. They stood together, focused on their chores. Sherlock broke the silence by whispering, “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

John nearly dropped the plate he was holding. “What?”

“Earlier today, when I kissed you, it was unwarranted and selfish of me.”

John dropped the rag and turned to face him. Sherlock stopped his scrubbing again, his hands submerged in the water as he stood straight and stared at nothing.

“You clearly seem uncomfortable with me now. You tune me out, you reply in short sentences, and what’s worse…you seem bored.”

“Bored?” John was trying to keep his tone level. Sherlock thought he was bored of him? Uninterested? He surely was a madman.

“Now’s not the time to act daft, John. Contrary to popular belief, I know when I’ve overstayed my welcome. Say the word and I’ll pack my things and leave.”

John heard enough of Sherlock’s self-deprecation. He was an idiot, a complete idiot for letting this man think that he of all people became boring and unloved. “Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s chest started to heave as he began his rant and John saw the glistening of tears in his eyes as he poured his heart out to him. “I should be used to this feeling by now, of rejection. I’ve been rejected so…so many times, John. It hurt, it always hurt but I never thought that you would end being one of the people that reject…”

John grabbed Sherlock’s face and brought him into a crushing kiss. He sighed loudly at finally being able to kiss him again, to be able to show his utter love and devotion to the man by something as simple yet passionate as this. Sherlock closed his eyes, and John could taste the saltiness of Sherlock’s tears as they ran down his face and into their mouths. His chest heaved against John’s and he placed his hands on John’s waist to steady himself from the surprise. John pulled away from him, out of breath but never looking away from Sherlock’s gorgeous eyes.

“Listen to me, I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry that I made you feel like this, like you were alone, that you were anything less than the extraordinary man that I know you are. You are the biggest git to think that I would ever even for one moment lose interest in you. I love you okay? I love you, I love you…” John trailed off and muttered, “I love you” after each kiss he pressed to Sherlock’s wet lips, his salty cheeks, and his forehead.

“You’re so clever, and beautiful, Sherlock I’m utterly besotted, okay? You’re brilliant, and kind, and…Sherlock I don’t think there’s any word in the English language that will ever tell you how dear you are to me.”

Sherlock let out a sob, but he was smiling, he was happy and he was loved and that’s all John could ask for. His face was red and his eyes puffy and swollen from his crying but it was no longer out of pain.

“I only want to hear you say three words, John.” John nearly wept himself at how small and shaky Sherlock’s voice was. He was beautiful when he cried.

“Yes, of course. I love you.”

“No, no.” Sherlock chuckled softly and shook his head as he wiped away the tears. John looked confused at what he wanted. Sherlock took John’s hands off his face and pressed a small, wet kiss to his knuckles.

“I’m a git.”

They both laughed a little louder, and John kissed him again.

—–

Okay so I think, what I want the rest of this to be is just them getting into the habit of learning to be in a relationship with each other and getting used to each other again. 

@sappylock @vitruvianwatson @fortheloveofjawn @justsherlythings7 @now–what @bronzedviolets @aconsultinghobbitinthetardis @deathfrisbee-221b @the-john-to-your-sherlock@johnandsherlocks @willasherlyscottholmes @toooldforthatsh-stuff @random-nexus @the-three-garridebs @akablue24 @worthless-dude @angel-loving-star @beekeepers-in-love @jubalya @im-batt-mellamy @imworkingonit86 @buckynotbuchanan @certaincollectiontravelerlove @teeeffdee @mycroftpotter @purplejayee @funkychickzz @wellthengameover @superspringles @gimmeastartoreachfor @orphengesic-tab @froggie95 @enchanted-captainswan @sirarthurcanondoyle @watsonsanatomy @loveismyrevolution @missmuffin221 @chulia25 @jazziejexbird @ink-in-murder @thegameisgay @usuallynotusual @sspectacularlyignorant @theelephantin221b @justinmymindpalace @masterofhounds @fallingoffbarts @sherlock-totally-loves-john @shayspieterse @loveteaelephants @tealfox-10-24 @cow-mow @vaticancameos-andtea @reallyimpossibleartisan @lets-play-muuurder @deathishauntedbyhumans @sairyn-noc @wholockian16 @221beestings @real-life-reichenbach @ttennis1121 @treacherous-siren @frozenrendezvous @beardchr @deliriouslylazyafternoons @hushwatson @fuck-off-watson @chinike @jael3333 @wilde-grrrl @pepperminotaur @castiel-is-not-a-god @bisexualowl @simpleanddestructivechemistry @daisyfairy1 @miss-phanatic @cj-holmes @escaroles @bleedingverses @morgendaemmerung89 @bvil23 @gobacktobakerstreet @wingedpurplewords @aznaks @johnlock-reality @clueless-kait @katthepotato @heartsherlocked @anglophilean  @johnlockissquishy @there-is-no-inbetween @busybiscute

Annnnnd that’s everyone! Please like/reply/reblog! 

Did you just kiss him? {Isaac Lahey}

Gif is not mine.

Summary: In which Isaac and the reader gets stuck in a room, resulting in Isaac fighting to control himself

Prompts: #54:  “Oh my, the world is about to come to an end.” 

#101:  “Your mouth is open, sound is coming from it. This is never good.”

Pairing: Isaac Lahey x Reader

Warnings: none, I guess

Word Count: 1600+

Requested by i-never-liked-this-apple-much

Request: “Ok so I don’t know if I can combine them but can you do 54 and 101 with Isaac please. Thank you so much!”

Yes, you can combine them! Thank you for requesting, and sorry about the long wait. Hope you like it! ♥♥


You hated Isaac.

He teased you all the time, even in school. You could blame him for your bad grades, because there was no way you could pay attention to class with him always annoying you, poking you and disturbing your concentration.

And wasn’t just that. He had always disagreed with you in front of the pack too, no matter how brilliant your ideas were, or how helpful could you be. In return, you tried to ignore him as much as possible, but somehow he always found a way to disturb you.

That night wasn’t going to be any different. It was Friday, and Scott had texted you to let you know that the pack would meet at his house. That surprised you, because the pack had reunited only a few days ago, but you decided not to question him anyway. If there was going to be another meeting, something important must be going on.

Obviously, Isaac would be there and, considering that you are also part of the pack, there was no escape. You had to go.

Great.

You stood awkwardly in the front door after ringing the doorbell, waiting for someone to invite you to enter, even knowing that the door wasn’t locked. As you waited, you rubbed the palms of your hands together, trying to warm yourself.  

It was a cold day in Beacon Hills, and like everyone else, you were dying for a good cup of hot chocolate. But guess what? Instead of it, you had to stay outside Scott’s house until he wanted to open the door for you.  

When someone finally came to invite you to enter, though, that someone unluckily wasn’t Scott.  

“Eh, look at what I have outside my door”, Isaac teased, keeping the door open for you. “What are you doing here, little wolf?”  

You hated when he called you that, and that was probably why he called you that.

Your mouth is open, sound is coming from it.” You mumbled, rolling your eyes. This is never good.

You didn’t wait for Isaac to answer anything and entered the house, dashing into him on purpose as you passed.  

“So, where’s Scott and everyone?” You asked, sitting down on the sofa.  

Isaac closed the door behind him and sat in the other sofa with a confused expression.  

“Everyone?”

“Yeah,” you replied, annoyed. “Lydia, Stiles, Derek…How we can make a pack reunion without a pack?”  

“There’s no pack reunion,” Isaac guaranteed, smirking. “You know, if you wanted to see me you didn’t had to invent such excuses, Y/N.”

“Keep dreaming,” you laughed sarcastically and stood up. You were going to call Scott later to make him explain himself, that was for sure. “Well, I have nothing to do here anymore, so I’m going home. I hope Scott have a great excuse to make me come all the way here for nothing.”

You walked towards the door, only to notice that it was locked.

You looked at Isaac. “Why you locked this?”

“It’s not locked,” Isaac pointed.

“It is.”

“It’s not.”

“I’m telling you, it’s locked!” You insisted.

Isaac stood up and tried to open the door too, but, like you said, it was locked.

“It is locked,” Isaac observed reflexively.

“Oh, really, Sherlock?” You retorted, crossing your arms. You sighed. “Do you have the key?”

“Scott probably took it,” he explained. “Unless you want to put down the door, we’re locked in here.”

Isaac opened the other door, which lead to the kitchen, but couldn’t pass through it: someone had made a barrier using mountain ash, keeping you both in the living room. It was everywhere, even in the windows. When Isaac noticed it, he started to try to force his way out of the room desperately, and in matter of seconds he was breathing hard as if he was suffering of one of Scott’s asthma attacks. You started to feel concerned.

You didn’t had to be a genius to know who did that, and why.

Concentrating a little, you could smell clearly the scent of the twins. Seriously, that alpha pack was starting to annoy you. A lot.

Trying to think about some kind of plan to get out of this situation, you stared at Isaac’s back as he scratched the wall with his werewolf claws, knowing that if you didn’t do anything, he would destruct everything he could see, including yourself. Warily, you stepped forward and carefully put your hand in his shoulder, waiting for him to look at you, but he never did.

“Isaac?” You then called softly, in a tone you thought you would never use with him. “Isaac, calm down.”

He turned his face to look at you, and you noticed that his eyes were already shinning in yellow before he turned forward again.

Bad sign. Very, very bad sign.

You knew about his father, and how he had been abusive with Isaac, keeping him locked for hours. Was obvious that in some minutes he would lose control because of his trauma, even if Scott’s living room wasn’t that small. The problem wasn’t the size of the room, was the pain of remembering, the bad memories that were probably evading his head, and all you could do was watch while Isaac fought for control. You surely weren’t expecting that what was supposed to be a pack reunion would end this way.

If you wanted to make it out alive, was better think fast. Very fast.

“Go…go away,” Isaac tried to warn you, breathing with difficulty. “You have to go.”

You swallowed hard, taking probably the dumbest decision of your life. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Well, you couldn’t even if you wanted to, so instead you picked up your phone and texted Lydia, quickly explaining what happened and hoping she would see the message. The only chance you and Isaac had was her.

Isaac’s hands balled into fists as he lowered his head, never making eye contact with you.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

His voice was low, fragile, but there was an undeniable truth in every word he said. Your heart stirred as Isaac looked at you over his shoulder, his pain clear in his beautiful blue eyes. He was fighting against himself, his instincts, and it was visible that he was in pain while trying to do it.

And it was all because he didn’t wanted to hurt you.

You knew this situation could end very bad to you; Isaac was, in fact, stronger than you. He had more experience, and he was a man while you were still a girl, naturally smaller than him. You couldn’t expect to win against him in a fight.

“Isaac, look at me.”

He hesitated, breathing with difficulty, but did as you told after a few seconds, his eyes fixed on you as he turned to face you.

His heartbeat drummed in your werewolf ears, as well as your own, but you had to ignore them both to concentrate on the right words to say. You took a small, careful step towards him.

“I know you’re not going to hurt me,” you said, braver than you really felt.

“No, stop…” Isaac adverted quietly, his eyes flashing in yellow, and then back to blue again. “Please.”

You ignored his words, taking another step closer to him.

“You’re strong, Isaac, you’re stronger than this.”

He pressed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to resist the transformation, but you could see that his teeth and claws were starting to appear and that he could not tolerate it for too long.

“Stop,” he begged. “Don’t…”

“It’s okay.”

With another step and your heart beating as fast as possible, you stretched your arms and put one hand in each side of Isaac’s face, making his eyes find yours. His skin was warm under your palms, and his breath was now touching your face softly as he watched your movements with attention, not knowing what you were about to do.

“Y/N…?”

Just breathe, Y/N. Just breathe.

You stared at Isaac’s eyes intensely, keeping eye contact as your face approached his, enough for your noses to touch and for you to smell the nice scent coming from him. You saw a look of curiosity in his eyes just before you closed yours, slowly pressing your lips against his in a soft movement.

His body tensed up for a moment, surprised, but then Isaac’s lips moved against yours without warning, catching you in a slow and intense kiss that brought butterflies into your stomach. His lips were softer than you imagined, moving in sync with yours, clearly wanting to feel you closer. You were both hesitant at first, just barely touching each other, lips moving slowly and carefully as if you were both scared of how the other would react to any advance.

But one thing you had to admit: Isaac was a damn good kisser.

Neither of you wanted to break the kiss, but your bodies unfortunately needed air. You moved just slightly back enough to catch your breath, lips still brushing over his, eyes still closed, and that’s when your conscience hit you good. What you were doing? You were ready to back off, maybe say “I’m sorry” or something like that, because in fact, you had just kissed Isaac Lahey on the lips out of nowhere. But Isaac had other plans; his hands finally found their way to your waist, pulling you closer to him until there was no space between your bodies, his chest against yours, heartbeat against heartbeat. And then he kissed you. 

For real.

Somehow, your hands rested at the back of his neck, caressing the warm skin as the kiss deepened and your mind went blank.This time, there was nothing hesitant in his acts. Isaac kissed you like he meant it, and you found yourself corresponding eagerly.

You were so involved in the kiss that neither of you noticed your surroundings until you heard someone cough, making you pull away from him, alarmed.

As you opened your eyes, you saw Stiles, Lydia and Scott watching you two, amused. Lydia had the biggest smile of all, at the pace that Scott and Stiles just couldn’t believe their eyes. Not that you could have blamed them; you and Isaac were always arguing.

“We…” you began, uncertain of where to start.

But even before you could think about some explanation, Stiles stepped forward, pointing at Isaac’s direction and looking at you with a funny expression.

“Did you just kiss him?” he asked. Oh my, the world is about to come to an end.”


A/N: Sorry about any errors. Part two maybe? 

anonymous asked:

Hi! Idk if you've watched the new season but I was wondering if you could write a Sherlock x reader about the 2nd episode where he's gone off the rails. Absolutely love your writing, thank you!!

Originally posted by consultingeastwind

Reader x Sherlock

You cautiously walked up the stairs to 221B, following the sound of smashing glass.

“Hello?” You asked quietly, knocking on the door. When a cup was hurled in the air, you flinched back.

“Who’s there?” You heard Sherlock shout. “Now who could that be?”

You let out a small scream as Sherlock flung the door open and pulled you inside. “Y/N!”

“Sherlock?” You asked, warily. “What’s going on in here?”

“Life!” He waved the gun in his hands around in the air before shooting it at the yellow spray painted smiley face.

You nodded. “That’s, nice.”

“Now you see,” Sherlock grabbed you by the shoulders and turned your body around. Pictures of two men and one woman hung on the wall. “This one,” He shot the picture. “Is missing, while these two,” Sherlock shot their pictures. “Are supposed to be dead.”

“Then how are the connected?” You asked.

Sherlock let out a bellow of laughter. “That’s just it. That’s the case!”

He walked over to his stereo and turned up the classical music to an ear-splitting volume. Sherlock brought his hands up to his forehead and started spinning in circles. He faced the smiley face once again and shot at it.

“Bullseye!” Sherlock jumped on the couch.

“Sherlock, are you using again?” You asked, unsure of what to do with yourself.

“It’s for a case.” He smiled and grabbed a knife, stabbing it into the mantle of the fireplace.

“Sherlock.” You crossed your arms.

“Ohhhhhh, loosen up a bit, Y/N.” Sherlock lightly pushed you down on the couch and stood in front of you. “Look around. What do you see?”

You looked around the room before responding, “bullet holes.”

“Bullet holes?” Sherlock repeated. “How did they get there?”

“You’re shooting a gun!” You blurted out in disbelief.

“I thought I was shooting out flowers.” Sherlock muttered more to himself than you before clapping. “Right well, three people, one mystery. So the question is, how did they do it?”

“No the question is, how much did you take?” You stood up and grabbed the gun out of his hands.

Sherlock ignored you. “They seem to have nothing in common. How is that possible?”

Slowly, you reached into your pocket and grabbed your phone, calling John. He answered on the third ring.

“John,” You began, “I think you need to come to 221B.”

“Why? What’s wrong? What has Sherlock done this time?” You heard John ask.

“Is that John?” Sherlock asked. “Tell him I say hello and that we’ve got a new case, no questions asked.”

“He’s using again.” You ignored Sherlock. “And he’s off his rocker.”

“How off his rocker?” You heard John take a deep breath.

You looked at the hundreds of pictures on the wall and the dozens of bullet holes. “I think you need to see it for yourself.”

“I’m on my way.” John hung up.

“You didn’t tell him hi.” Sherlock pouted.

“He’s coming to tell you himself.” You told him.

“Can I have my flower shooter back?” Sherlock asked.

“No.” You shook your head and grabbed Sherlock by the arm, sitting him down on the couch. “Now why don’t we sit here and wait for John to get here, yeah?”

“Is he bringing me chips?” Sherlock asked. “I’m hungry.”

“We’ll get you chips in a bit.” You promised Sherlock.

“Alright.” He muttered, lying down and looking up at the pictures on the walls as the two of you waited for John.


Tagged as requested: @marvel-is-my-life2099, @allheart36

Wedding Day

Prompt: How about a Sherlock x Reader where it is the day of their wedding? And Sherlock is really nervous and John and Mary are there to help and loads of fluff? Please and thank you :P

A/N: I hope you like this, it’s late and I am tired!


Sherlock stood in front of a large second story window, looking down at the flurry of activity taking place in the garden. It was a beautiful day and he should have been feeling happy and excited, but the feeling he was currently experiencing could only be described as panic.
“Almost time,” a familiar voice said at the door behind him. He turned to see John standing there, wearing a tuxedo very similar to his own. Only the boutonniere was different. John’s was red, his own was white, which incidentally, was the color of his face.
“Jesus, you look terrible,” John informed him. “Did I look this terrified on my wedding day?”
“This is a mistake, John,” Sherlock said, feeling the perspiration forming under his crisp white collar.
“A mistake? You marrying (Y/N) is a mistake?” John asked, eyes wide.
“No,” he replied, starting to pace the length of the floor. “(Y/N) marrying me is a mistake.”
“I might have to agree with you,” John chuckled. “But, for some reason that girl is crazy about you and seems fairly excited to become your wife.”
“John, be serious,” Sherlock pleaded. “She deserves better, I should spare her, I should…”
“You should stop right now,” John said, his voice firm. “You adore her. She knows it. She brings out your… more human side… It’s a match made in heaven.
Sherlock opened his mouth to respond, but another knock at the door interrupted him. They both turned to see Mary poking her head in.
“Excuse me boys, John, we are having a slight problem with the bride…”
“Problem?” Sherlock demanded, crossing the room in three large strides. “What problem? Is (Y/N) having second thoughts?”
“God, no!” Mary exclaimed. “She’s beside herself with excitement, but, we are having a bit of a wardrobe malfunction. John?”
“Coming,” he said, following his wife out. Before stepping into the hall, he turned back to Sherlock.
“She loves you,” he said pointedly. “You will be a good husband. You will give her a good life. Stop worrying.” Sherlock swallowed hard and nodded as John disappeared into the hall. He followed Mary down the long corridor of the manor house they’d rented for the wedding. (Y/N) and the rest of the bridal party were gathered the master suite on the other side of the house. Mary pushed open the door and John saw (Y/N) standing in front of the mirror with her white gown on, the long zipper down the back pulled about halfway up. (Y/N) looked as panicked as Sherlock had.
“I didn’t gain any weight,” she ground out at John. He held up his hands wordlessly.
“No, you didn’t dear,” Mary said, gently. “The zipper is stuck. I thought John might help give a tug.” John nodded and stepped towards his friend, careful not to step on the folds of her dress. He placed one hand on her hip and grasped the zipper in the other. To (Y/N)’s credit, the dress was loose enough, but the zipper seemed to be stuck on the lining. His strong, steady doctor’s hands gently worked the zipper up, slowly and surely to the top.
“There,” he said, smiling. “All zipped up.”
“Thank you, John,” (Y/N) gushed, turning to admire herself in the mirror. Sherlock was a lucky man, John thought to himself. This woman who had befriended them both had won the other man’s heart and John was unbelievably happy for them both. “How’s Sherlock?” She asked.
“Talking about calling it off,” John informed her. (Y/N) rolled her eyes.
“You handled it?” She laughed.
“I believe so,” John informed her. “Can you girls give us a second?” He said, asking the other girls to leave. Mary nodded and shooed them out, leaving John and (Y/N) alone. “I think you should see him.”
“Isn’t it bad luck and all?” She smiled. John shrugged, “Take me,” she said, gathering up her dress and following him out the back door, around through a back hallway and back up to the room where Sherlock stood waiting, gazing out the window again. She pushed the door open and he turned when he heard the rustling.
“Hi handsome,” she smiled, taking in his long, lean form, looking dashing in a tailored tuxedo.
“What are you doing here?” He murmured, crossing the room to her.
“John said you were going to stand me up?” She teased. She reached up and brushed a curl from his forehead.
“Why do you love me?” He asked, his brow knitting with concern.
“Sherlock,” (Y/N) sighed. “I love you for a million reasons. If you don’t want to get married, we won’t. But I’d sure like to marry you. I got this great dress…”
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, bending to kiss her. “I want to marry you. I just want you to be happy.”
“You make me happy,” she whispered back, pressing her lips to his. “We will be happy. We will fight, we will get irritated. You more than me, probably, but that’s OK because we will still be happy.” Sherlock smiled and kissed her again.
“God I love you,” he sighed.
“Save some of that for the ceremony,” she whispered. “I mean, that is, if you still want to marry me.”
“I do,” he replied and (Y/N) laughed.
“Save that for the ceremony, too,” she said, poking him in the ribs.
“I will,” he said, wrapping his long arms around her.
“Ok so, go wait for me at the end of the aisle, I will be the happy girl in the white dress walking towards you.” She kissed him again, quickly and turned to leave. Sherlock grabbed her elbow gently, stopping her. (Y/N) looked back at him expectantly.
“You always know how to get through to me,” he said, his eyes thanking her, his panic replaced with a nervous excitement.
“And to think you almost didn’t marry me,” she tisked. “Good thing you have a lifetime to make it up to me.”
“Good thing indeed,” Sherlock replied.

Hello. My name is Paige. I play The Sherlockian Game which is a game that’s been around for over 100 years. I attempt to solve puzzles in the BBC Sherlock universe by cross-referencing Victorian literature and modern Holmes adaptations. On Tumblr people who do this are referred to as “conspiracy theorists” – which can mean many things, both good and bad, depending on your perspective.

I also ship Johnlock like it’s my job.

However.

I really like Adlock. It’s what brought me into the online Fandom.

To think one must be a certain kind of fan with very distinct fictional character loyalties in order to play the Sherlockian Game or to be part of TJLC is ridiculous.

What kind of fanfiction you read in your freetime should not negatively affect how people interact with you online.

If you disagree, that’s fine, just don’t let the door hit you on the way out.

Romantic Entanglement

SHERLOCK: As I think I have explained to you many times before, romantic entanglement, while fulfilling for other people …
JOHN: … would complete you as a human being.

This line in TLD hit me so hard. Because, it’s true! Over 4 seasons, we’ve seen Sherlock learn to let friends into his life. We’ve seen him improve his family relationships, particularly with Mycroft. 

But, he’s never really opened himself up to romance. He seemed to have some feelings for the Woman, but as he says, he hardly texts her back. His relationship with Janine was a lie to get access to Magnussen.

To complete his character development arc, to become complete as a human being, this is the last hurdle Sherlock has to cross. He has to open himself up to romance. This line resonates because of its truth. And why plant that idea and then do nothing with it in the narrative?

In my mind, this line helps set up Sherlock’s character arc–and it’s evidence that Sherlock meant it when he admitted his love for Molly Hooper. It takes that idea to a conclusion. We see Sherlock become more complete as a human being. When he finally says, “I love you,” he’s opening himself up to romantic entanglement. He’s admitting he can have those feelings, and he DOES have those feelings. Eurus’s vivisection rips him open and shows his heart… and this new side of him can fill that last gap and complete his character development arc.

Yes, he admits it under duress… but that’s part of the beauty of the scene! At times in the past, he’s taken Molly for granted (although I would argue that changed in season 2). But now he’s faced with the possibility of her death–of losing her forever. He’s absolutely frantic and panicked. I think facing her impending demise, imagining what life would be like without her, makes him realize more than ever how much he cares. You can see in his eyes that her loss would destroy him.

For me, this scene fits best into the narrative if Sherlock does love Molly. He’s cleared that last hurdle and he’s about to become more complete as a human being.

#Socks

“It’s a conspiracy!” Molly huffs.

Sherlock crosses his arms over his chest and grins at her. “Is it, now?”

She glares furiously. “ Yes. It. Is!”

And a pouting, frustrated and, perhaps most importantly very, very drunk, Molly Hooper flops down onto his bed.

Attempts, once again, to pull her socks off, though this would be rather easier if her jeans weren’t already around her thighs.

She huffs impatiently, trying to get a hold of her left foot and when she can’t she makes a little whining noise. Flops back onto her back in defeat and puffs her hair out of her face through pouted lips.

“Sherlock?” she says tremulously.

He bites the inside of his cheek. “Yes, Molly?”

She manages to raise her head just enough to look beseechingly at him. Her big brown eyes are as round and wide as Bambi’s. “Sherlock, can you help me get undressed?” she asks.

She sounds piteous.

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