sherlock-femslash

but if sherlock went to hogwarts, you bet he and mcgonagall had the biggest love/hate relationship

she sets him detention at least three times a week because he says things like “you’re a waste of oxygen” to some first year that makes him drop his books on accident in the corridor or because he almost blows up her classroom when he gets bored and he starts casting dangerous, explosive spells when he finishes his work

regardless of all this, she does everything and anything to advance him to a fifth year transfiguration class because he keeps whinging about how bloody easy this third year work is and that he’s not an idiot and his brain cells are decreasing in numbers as he hears this kid next to him trying to complete the task he finished a half hour ago

and sometimes sherlock just creeps down from the ravenclaw tower at like three in the fucking morning just to knock at her door and wave around evidence, because hah! i fucking told you there was a flaw in this technique! and mcgo knows she should give him detention for being out past curfew but she’s just too busy trying to hide her pride and fussing over the fact that he hasn’t slept for the last two days

and because mcgonagall bumped sherlock up to fifth year transfig, he gets seated at the back of her class with gryffindor team captain john watson, who mcgonagall is fond of, too, but not nearly as much as she’s fond of sherlock

and she knows he and sherlock will get along and she needs sherlock to befriend someone responsible like john watson, someone that will tell him to slow down when he’s racing ahead far too fast for even his brain to handle, someone to nag at him to eat a proper meal every once in a while and chide him to sleep somewhat regularly. and she’s just concerned for sherlock because for the three years he’s been there, he’s never seemed to have made any proper friends, and he’s been going through this entire “i’m a high functioning sociopath” phase (it’s NOT a phase, professor! it’s who i am!)

and john and sherlock get along wonderfully, and soon it’s almost as if they’re one person. mcgonagall is pleased when she finds out they’ve become inseparable and even more so when the news starts to spread like wildfire: john watson and sherlock holmes are dating

and everyone claims that mycroft holmes was their favourite, when they’re all a tad older and mycroft’s minister for magic and sherlock’s a consulting auror and john his partner in crime and an excellent healer, but mcgonagall is firm with her preference for sherlock holmes, ever since that arrogant boy sat down in her class and challenged her knowledge of her own subject

and years later, she’s the very first person sherlock puts on the guest list for his and john’s wedding, because god knows how much she’s done for him


just mcgonagall loving a kid as much as she loved the marauders, and that kid driving her mad and that kid being sherlock holmes dammit

9

femslash aesthetics ♥ hermione x ginny

every second i’m with her, it hurts less. that sounds an awful lot like love. it could be. you’re not scared anymore? she makes me brave.

The relations between us in those latter days were peculiar. He was a man of habits, narrow and concentrated habits, and I had become one of them. As an institution I was like the violin, the shag tobacco, the old black pipe, the index books, and others perhaps less excusable. When it was a case of active work and a comrade was needed upon whose nerve he could place some reliance, my role was obvious. But apart from this I had uses. I was a whetstone for his mind. I stimulated him. He liked to think aloud in my presence. His remarks could hardly be said to be made to me–many of them would have been as appropriately addressed to his bedstead–but none the less, having formed the habit, it had become in some way helpful that I should register and interject. If I irritated him by a certain methodical slowness in my mentality, that irritation served only to make his own flame-like intuitions and impressions flash up the more vividly and swiftly. Such was my humble role in our alliance.
— 

John Watson.  Adventure of the Creeping Man

Sometimes I just read this paragraph and it kills me. Too much. Just too much. Just before this paragraph is the ever famous line.

Come at once if convenient—if inconvenient come all the same. — S. H.

9

And heeeeree’s the whole batch. I’m thinking of doing a few manga pages of a scene from the show (I know I really shouldn’t start another project lmao but oh well) so these studies should hopefully be good practice.

Also it’s so hard to find a Panin ref that’s actually smiling holy shit this guy is like in mad resting face 24/7

Guess which one I had the most fun with :P

anonymous asked:

I love swaplock where Sherlock is the one with the crush and Molly is oblivious, but everything else is the same. :) May I humbly request?

“Any luck?”

Sherlock looked up, startled. “What?”

“With the flowers,” John nodded to the bouquet on Molly’s desk. “You bought them, didn’t you?”

Sherlock scowled, shoving his hands in his coat pockets. “Not according to her.”

“What’s that mean?” John asked, amused. 

“Means she didn’t read the card, obviously.” 

“Why not take her to lunch or something?”

“Because, John, she’s not that sort of…ugh.” Sherlock stalked off, glowering. He waited until John had caught up with him. “She doesn’t take hints very well.”

“Well, knowing you, you didn’t put the card in the flowers,” John said.  

“I…had it written out…”  

“Okay, but still missing the point.”

“Well…she should know by now nobody buys her flowers, she could have seen me walk in with them!” Sherlock blustered.  

“Okay,” John nodded, humoring him. “How?”  

“Well…when…through security feeds!” Sherlock tried.  

“Mm, right, and when does she have time to hack the security feeds, on her lunch hour?” John shook his head. “Sherlock, just ask her out.”  

“Ask who what?”  

Both men turned with a start.  

“Uh…” Sherlock flicked a nervous glance to John, then back at Molly.  

“Sherlock is taking you to lunch,” John said. “That’s nice of you, Sherlock, well I’m going back home, let me know if anything comes up!” he slapped his friend on the back, waved goodbye to Molly and jogged off. 

“So…lunch?” Molly asked, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. 

Sherlock followed the curve of her fingers, distracted. Blinking quickly, he shrugged. “Yes! No…I…had thought dinner…instead.”

“Okay,” Molly shrugged. “For what though?”

“To…thank you,” he decided, mentally berating himself. “You’re quite singular, Molly Hooper.” 

Ah, better. 

“Sounds like fun!” she smiled brightly. “I’ve got loads to do, so lunch wouldn’t have worked out anyway, I’ll see you tonight, seven-ish?”

“Yes, I’ll pick you up-“

“Oh no it’ll be faster if I meet you, what’s the address?”

A plan quickly formulated in his mind. “You know Angelo’s restaurant?”

“I do, love it there.”

“Yes I know,” he murmured. 

“What?”

“I said ‘Oh good’,” he answered quickly, flustered. “Yes. Angelo’s. Seven-fifteen.”

“Right. Okay!” she jotted down the time and place on the notebook she carried.

“See you then!”

Sherlock would have been lying if he said he’d nearly ducked his head to kiss her cheek, but she was past him before he could complete the motion. Well, there would be time for kissing later…he hoped. 


Sherlock Holmes was, for lack of a better word, utterly besotted. Molly Hooper, for whatever reason, either had no idea, or no interest. He felt rather sick to his stomach, the idea of her rejecting him, and thus ending their friendship. Perhaps she was oblivious, it was entirely possible, after all, it wasn’t as if he’d been clear from the start how he’d have liked their relationship to go. Well, he could and would clear all that up tonight. 


Later that evening, around seven-ish
Molly ran a hand through her still slightly-damp hair. The windy evening had mostly dried it, but she was all-too-aware she looked rather wind-blown as she stepped through the doors to Angelo’s restaurant. 

“Sherlock Holmes’ party,” she murmured, breathless, trying to comb down her hair. 

“Yes of course Miss Hooper, this way,” she was about to thank the hostess when she looked up, and suddenly wished she’d put on a nicer dress. Not that she was improperly dressed, but it was just an plain black sheath dress, one that allowed her to move freely while she worked. 


Looking around the restaurant, Molly couldn’t help but stare.
“Where um…where is everyone?” she asked.

“The restaurant is yours for the evening,” the host pulled aside the curtain to the outer patio. There was a single table, candles and paper lanterns decorated the patio. Wine was being chilled and a bouquet of heady peonies and roses decorated the table. “Enjoy.”

Molly couldn’t speak, still staring at the grand gesture that was spread before her. This was not a friendly dinner to say ‘thank-you’, and she felt quite foolish suddenly, for not having seen Sherlock’s attempted advances before. It all made sense! His spending time in the lab even if he had no cases or experiments, his assistance on her caseloads, the mysterious bouquet of flowers that showed up twice a month… 

Sherlock appeared, muttering to himself as he wrestled with a champagne bottle, clearly trying to get the cork out. He was dressed quite nicely in an rich aubergine button-down, and one of his nicer suites (though to be fair, all of his suits were nice).

“Oh…” Molly finally spoke.  

The cork finally popped out with a terrific ‘crack!’, just as he realized she was standing there. He cursed under his breath as the champagne foamed over, he grabbed the cloth from the handle of the bucket, wrapping it around the neck. 

She couldn’t move, or else she’d have helped him. Rooted to her spot, she again took in the beautiful sight. A lovely reserved restaurant for two, candles and flowers and champagne…and Sherlock, trying his hardest to appear blasé about half a bottle of wine foaming over his hand. 

“Molly,” he tried. 

“You meant me…” she finally managed, and he met her gaze. 

He quirked a smile, nodding. “Yes. All this time I’ve been making rather a poor show of trying to tell you but-“

“No, I’m just dense sometimes, you were lovely, and I’m sorry if I misunderstood,” she shook her head quickly. “I just…I never expected,” she gestured to their surroundings, then to herself. “I never expected anyone to do this for me and I’m…” she blushed, smiling at her feet for a moment. “I’m overwhelmed, if I’m quite honest,” she laughed, nervous, but she dared a step forward. 

“So…you’ll stay?” he too, moved nearer. 

Shy again, she nodded, pushing her hair behind her ears. “I’m sorry I’m not properly dressed,” she gestured to herself. “If I’d have known I-I’ve got a really beautiful dress at home, it’s dark green and velvet and not just an old work sheath.”

“You look lovely,” he said, quite honestly, and held her chair for her. “I’m just glad you came.”

“I’ll always come when you need me to, Sherlock,” Molly replied. “If I seem surprised it’s because…I guess I never expected someone like you to want someone like me.” 

He looked at her as if she had two heads. “I find that hard to believe, considering your brilliance, your fascinating line of work, to say nothing of your physical features,” the waiter stood by the doorway, and Sherlock noticed. “I could go on,” he said. “But there is the waiter with the menu, but I would like to discuss what our future would be, should we continue this relationship on a more intimate level.” 

“I’d like that,” she nodded, flushing, eyes shining at him.