‘Sherlock’ if it followed Pilot Sherlock and Pilot John:
They have their first kiss after the late night Chinese
They sleep together within the first week (Both knew what was between them was special, so they didn’t want to jump right into bed. But they waited as long as they could)
John still starts his blog, and Sherlock is protrayed only slightly more romantic than it is in the original show.
Sherlock introduces John as his ‘friend’, but John corrects him by saying ‘boyfriend’
Sarah still flirts with John, but John nicely works in that he has a boyfriend
John and Sherlock attend the circus together
The black lotus kidnaps a random stranger as insentive for ‘Sherlock Holmes’ (really John) to give them the pin.
They go home after saving the day, to have energetic sex
John goes up to the spare room instead of going to Sarah’s after Sherlock shoots the wall
John immediately runs down the stairs after the explosion to make sure Sherlock’s alright.
John still acts jealous of Moriarty’s, but Sherlock assures him that he’s being ridiculous to think Sherlock would want anyone but him.
Sherlock knows immediately that John’s not Moriarty, but instead semi-panics at the sight of John in a bomb vest.
John makes joke that it’s not really the right time for Sherlock to be ripping his clothes off in a darkened swimming pool as “anyone could walk in.” Sherlock tells him that they’ll just have to save that for when they get home.
Pretty much the same, only Sherlock looks at Irene like she’s an idiot to think he has eye for anyone but John.
It also ends almost as soon as the phone arrives at Christmas because John says “Maybe she’s a little like me and my pin, try S-H-E-R.”
When Irene’s captured, Sherlock tells John they should probably save her since it would be a shame to lose such a worthy adversary.
John tells him to be careful.
They obviously share a bed, and there’s nothing to it.
John answers the question as to whether or not his one is a snorer.
John thinks Sherlock’s being ridiculous when he suggests John try to wine and dine Dr. Mortimer
They make up that night instead of the next morning, but Sherlock still calls him a conductor of light.
Upon leaving Kitty Riley's flat, Sherlock tells John not to believe anything he sees in the next 24 hours, no matter how real it looks. And tells him to give him a week.
One week post fall, John gets a summoned by Mycroft, and Sherlock is waiting to tell him everything
Both understand it would be too obvious if both disappear/die, so John reluctantly agrees to let Sherlock go on his own. But John remains an active participant on the other side, acting as Sherlock’s handler while playing the part of the grieving boyfriend.
Every few months, they meet up at a safe house in a secure location.
John takes a job at a new surgery, where one of the nurses tries almost non-stop to get his attention and move on from his “dead” boyfriend. It doesn’t work.
John goes to pull Sherlock from Siberia, but doesn’t wait as long as Mycroft did, so Sherlock was only held for one day.
John still goes into the bonfire, but Sherlock gets the skip code, and still saves him.
It’s John and Sherlock’s wedding.
They still get the Mayfly Man case since Sherlock insists that he and John serve as each other’s best man, regardless of the fact that they’re marrying each other.
They still save Sholto, and John and Sholto get closure from their “almost relationship.”
Only have to deal with Lady Smallwood’s problem
They figure out some other way of taking down CAM without committing treason or killing him
Sherlock and John fight an assassin thinking they’re going to find the pearl only to find a flash drive with some random letters on them.
The assassin escapes, Mycroft informs them the letters had to do with an elite mercenary team, and it’s none of their concern
A nurse from John’s old surgery disappears, but they don’t know or care
They treat Mrs. Hudson to dinner.
Smith eventually slips up, and John and Sherlock catch his scent and take him down.
Never happens. Sherlock’s only ever had one sibling, and that’s Mycroft.
Feel free to add your own thoughts/headcanons/ideas!
Requested by anon: I
would like to request a Sherlock x reader where he has been drugged and how
he’s really cute and a little dirty towards her in front of John. Haha like
while “high”. Just super fluffy and cute and maybe a little smutty/implied
smut/ a little dirty haha. I get if you’re too busy or don’t feel like writing
it, no problem. Love you. & anon: I have a request for you (if youre still taking..?) so sherlock
and john gets drunk and sherlock starts hitting on (and gets kissy and touchy)
on reader which has been her girlfriend for months xD
Pairing: Sherlock x reader.
Word count: 2,026
Warnings: Just like in “The sign of three” this things gives a lot of twists.
A/N: Drunk Sherlock and Watson are my fave, I loved this so much!
Sherlock and John weren’t the kind of men to get drunk
every week, however and because of the stress they had been put through in
their last case, they decided to go to the bar together.
At first it was just beer and talking
and complaining, but then, someone recognized Sherlock and decided to put a
little something on his beer which, added up to what he had already drunk,
ended up turning him into a dizzy, slurry mess.
John was drunk as well, but for a
different reason: he had mixed tequila with beer.
They walked – stumbled – their way back
to Baker Street. It wasn’t even ten o’clock when that happened, so both (Y/N)
and Mrs. Hudson were up and sharing a cup of tea while the boys came back,
doing all kinds of strange noises as they walked in that called both women’s
“What are you two doing here?” Mrs.
Hudson asked as she and (Y/N) walked out to the stair case where John and
Sherlock were laying. (Y/N) couldn’t help but to laugh at the image and the
sound of her laughter caught Sherlock’s attention.
“(Y/N)!” He cheered drunkenly, “AREN’T
YOU THE MOST BEAUTIFUL BEING ON EARTH?”
“Wow, someone’s loud tonight.” She joked
and Sherlock walked to her and held her tightly against his chest.
“You are sooooo beautiful!” He slurred,
“And so hot, would you be my girlfriend?”
“I am already your girlfriend, Sherlock.” (Y/N) spoke
clamly, unable to contain the giggle that left her lips.
“I’m such a lucky man I’m jealous of myself …”
Sherlock cupped her face and started kissing her passionately, like never
before. (Y/N) tried to pull away but Sherlock’s grip was tight and it wasn’t
until he needed air that he let go off her.
“You’re so drunk!” She giggled.
“And you’re stunning.” Sherlock mumbled,
“Delightful, splendid, a Greek muse right in front of me! DATING ME!”
“Sherlock Holmes is a poet when he’s
drunk, what are the chances!” Watson spoke from behind, right before he bursted
in a dry laughter. Mrs. Hudson laughed with him and then both women dragged
Okay imagine John and Sherlock are still pining for each other but John is living at 221b again with a child that might or might not be biologically his. He gives his three year old daughter a kiss and she asks “why did you kiss me?” and John says “Because I love you and I wanted to show you” and then she says “Then why don’t you ever kiss Sherlock?”
And John starts sweating as she starts throwing a tantrum that will only end if he kisses Sherlock.
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.
“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.
“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.
The Lost Special: The One Way to Tie Up Every Loose Thread
In the last month this corner of the Sherlock fandom has thrown out a multitude of ideas for a narrative that could potentially resolve every last inconsistency in Sherlock series 4. Not knowing it, this community has debated different readings – all perfectly valid with only minor holes in logic – but have missed how they might all fit together into an intricate puzzle, each reading validating the other.
I have found one way to connect every loose thread.
Topics resolved include:
– EMP Theory vs “TFP as John’s TAB”: why both readings are meant to be exposed to the viewer (but we just found them too early) – Benedict’s insanely long monologue they mentioned him having in Series 4. – How another episode would only be comprised of a few new scenes – Mary’s character development drifting far from her original plotline – Moffat’s Doctor Who narrative that includes Toby Jones as a Dream Lord and what that means for Amy in “Amy’s Choice” and Sherlock in The Lost Special. – How POVs intertwine in TFP, and how TPLOSH inspired the way The Lost Special would end. – The entire bizarre nature of Series 4 – Breaking the 4th Wall – The focus in The Six Thatchers on “The Duplicate Man”, “Twins”, “Two places at once”, and “Dead AND alive”. – Three Garridebs – Benedict claiming “Love conquers all” while Steven Moffat facepalms.
So if you want to know the one way this could all work, check out the rest of this post. But hear me out until the end, suspend your disbelief until you’ve finished, because regardless of whether or not you believe we’re getting The Lost Special, this reading which combines everything we’ve talked about for the last year is definitely arguable and until something else gets proposed, it is the one I’m sticking with til the bitter end.
The point isn’t that John is thrown a rope despite being chained to the bottom of the well. The point isn’t that they managed to leap to safety from an exploding flat. The point isn’t that Mycroft, previously referred to as the ice man, is terrified and repulsed to the point of vomitting. The point isn’t that we never saw the contents of John’s letter. The point isn’t that the timeline for Eurus meeting Moriarty doesn’t actually make sense within the previously established narrative. The point isn’t that a kid went missing and no adult authority thought to check in the nearby well. The point isn’t that John’s hair grew seemingly overnight. The point isn’t Sherlock failing to notice missing glass. The point isn’t that John strong moral principle Watson could have an affair and beat his best friend to a pulp. The point isn’t that we never found out who the “mutual friend” was. The point isn’t that there was a dog bowl. The point isn’t that paper somehow survived the flat going up in flames.
The point is that all these things happened together. There isn’t just one singular thing to look at and go “that’s why series 4 sucked”, it’s all of these inconsistencies put together. I just keep seeing people say things like “omg obviously we didn’t need to see John getting unchained to know that it happened” and “would people get over the fucking letter, it wasn’t important what it said its just about the drama” and I’m like that’s totally valid if we were just looking at any one (or even a couple) of these things happening throughout this series. But we’re not. All of these things happened. Yes people are making a big deal out of little things, but it’s because when you actually add up the amount of little things…well turns out that list isn’t actually that little.
This series displayed some truly lazy writing, and not on a small scale.
A/N: SOMEONE reminded me of Sherlock using the riding crop week ago and I realized I had not thought of it enough, or even enjoyed it enough. So let’s dig into it, shall we? Also I might be writing about Molly a bit too harshly on this one, but I really like her character, so don’t think I’m trying to bully her.
Warnings: smut, so much smut, riding crop, bondage, it ended up with dom!sherlock I think that’s the riding crop’s fault, some swearing.
”Oh, you’re here with that again.” Molly Hooper gasped at the sight of the riding crop in Sherlock’s hand. She had not expected to see him with it ever again. Her fingers fiddled the files she held so dearly against her chest, nervously taking in uneven breaths, her eyes wide and a warm smile creeping it’s way on her thin pink lips. Those brown beaming eyes fixing on the man’s face in front of her, trying to get an answer to an unsaid question that was right at the tip of her tongue and since she got none, deciding to make herself heard she squeaked out, ”Another experiment?”
Sherlock’s expressionless face was still blank, his pale skin almost shining under the bright white lights that shone from the lamps above them in the hallway down stairs in St. Bartholomew’s hospital at the morgue section. He faked a smile, trying his best to seem sincere, but the curve on his lips disappearing as fast as it appeared after he answered to Molly’s presumption by, ”Yes, obviously.” He then gazed over Molly’s shoulder to the door she had just exited, her spot where she examined the bodies brought in for crime consulting. ”Is your room free for use?” The smile reappearing on his face, eyes shining as he sweetly pointed towards the door.
Molly too gazed over her shoulder, dumbfounded by Sherlock’s straight forward demeanor, her pony tail swishing while following her head’s movement back and forth. She sharply turned back to Sherlock and looked disappointingly doubtful. In these occasions Sherlock would need to give Molly numerous compliments to get her bend to his will, usually two or three would do it, and he still had some laying about in the deeps of his mind. He didn’t usually settle for being told no, but even as easy as Molly was he hated to go through the trouble. Then again he didn’t need to feel bad. He was in a relationship, she knew it too. He could point out a nice thing or two about her appearance without feeling guilt.
”Well, I actually just cleared the hall and was about to get home…” Molly muttered biting down on her lower lip. She was still staring right back as Sherlock with her big eyes, much like a puppy. As Sherlock stared back at her she tried to find something, anything, to fix her eyes on so she wouldn’t feel uncomfortable by the silence that took over the hallway the both had blocked. Her fingers drummed the surface of the file on her arms and before Sherlock got to test his new compliment on Molly she sighed, ”I could stay for an hour longer.”
Sherlock genuinely smiled, thanked Molly and followed after her as she turned on her heels and headed back to her spot, keeping the door open for Sherlock as he followed close behind. He was a step away from Molly, but he was careful enough not to step on her heels, keeping the distance long enough to avoid doing so. He instructed Molly what he needed, a body, in what position and age, which actually at this point were all unnecessary to him, but to keep with his habits he went by it anyway. He picked an older woman, not over fifty years old, chubby, about a day old corpse.
When you entered the hospital after receiving a message from Sherlock, where he suggested you to meet him at the morgue before going to Baker Street, you took the elevator to the down floors. He rather would company you on your way to his flat than have you wait him there for fifteen to sixty minutes when you could wait for him hear, right next to him.
You knew he was there for an experiment, but you hadn’t been informed which kind, but it wasn’t the first time. He didn’t much go with explaining everything and every part of his work to you, only when he saw fit. You exited the elevator, turned down the hall, through a door and saw Molly Hooper standing close to a window. She was flinching at the sight ahead of her that you were unable to witness. This made your imagination run wild. If Sherlock was cutting a corpse to pieces, scaring Molly you would let him hear from it for sure.
You and Molly were rather good friends, though you didn’t see each other that often. You had known her longer than Sherlock and back then, when you finally met the man Molly had been daydreaming about, constantly talking about him, you felt really bad for finding him charming, sexy and interesting. You wanted to know him better, you could point out just how unique person he was by first standing and that intrigued you. Sherlock, back then, didn’t much try to approach you and actually acted very cold toward you, but as time passed he did become interested in you. The truth was that he had found you just as interesting as you had found him, but, incapable of handling feelings and emotions he tried to push you away. But when Sherlock did tell you how he felt you fought back, for Molly. You didn’t want to be that friend that steals boyfriend or a crush, though Sherlock and Molly had never dated. Time went by and Molly realized how much Sherlock cared for you, she insisted you to let him take you out and you did. Now you had been dating for almost a year with the detective and it didn’t bother Molly, she still did fancy Sherlock, yes, but would never do anything, or try anything because she knew you and him were together.
You approached Molly with long strides, your hands sway on either side of you, your shoes hitting the floor and the sound echoing loudly, but it wasn’t enough to bring Molly back from her trance. Only until you were right beside her, already talking, she jumped realizing you were there. She was holding a file in her arms, her white long jacket almost burying her form under, her hands barely showing as she held the file high, the top touching her chin. You took a stand next to her after you had greeted her and asked her, ”What’s he doing?” Molly simply nodded towards the window.
You turned to look through the glass and what you saw almost stopped your heart, the breath you took getting stuck in your throat. The reflection of your boyfriend on the other side moved fast, mirroring his movements as he kept whipping the pale lifeless body, hair falling on his face, sweat drops lining on his forehead. He was so concentrated on what he was doing that he hadn’t even noticed you, much like Molly just now. You and she stood there in silence for a minute, admiring Sherlock in his tight purple dress shirt, black jacket and trousers that hugged his body perfectly, not too tight to bother his doings.
Your eyes were captivated by the show. You pressed your thighs together, trying to evade the wetness that increased between your legs from growing, your cheeks turning pink. You could hear your own breathing, deep and long breaths. You felt ashamed that you were standing by your good friend when your boyfriend was right there, making you feel like this. The whip was drawn back then coming down in a fast swish, the end of the crop must likely echoing in the other room. Sherlock’s hair pulled back when he straightened his back, readying for another spank, then falling over his eyes when his head lowered. It took all of your efforts to move your gaze away from Sherlock and to finally concentrate on Molly, to try and be polite like a normal human being should.
”How have you been, Molly?” You asked and even if you had tried to sound as friendly and natural it didn’t show. You ended up reminding of your shy demeanor where you had only just met the woman in front of you and this was the first time talking to her which was not true. She was your closest friend. You had seen Molly repeatedly just last month. Of course these days always Sherlock being precent. ”I haven’t seen you in a while.” You gave her a warm smile to which she answered with one of her own. You started a conversation that was irrelevant to Sherlock’s on going spanking in the next room, and you kept up with it for about ten minutes. You were talking about work and Molly’s life. She had met someone who she considered worthy of her time and you cheered her to go for it, just like she had done with you on Sherlock. After those ten minutes she looked at her phone screen to see the clock and gasped. She had two missed calls and she was late from seeing this mysterious man of hers.
You put your hands comfortingly on her shoulders, promised her you and Sherlock would finish things in here while she went to change so she could clean up after Sherlock and get to her man. Molly thanked you and rushed to change, typing on her phone and then as she went to enter through a door she lifted her phone over her ear to call. You turned back to Sherlock who still kept spanking and couldn’t but freeze for another minute. He lifted his gaze, took couple of uncontrolled steps and flinched, or so it looked like, as he saw you there instead of Molly. He smirked and nodded his head, out of breath he was, to which you answered by a wave of your hand and mouthing ’Hi’ to him. He beckoned you to company him on the other side of the glass and you did as you were asked.
”Hello, Sherlock.” You smiled, closing the door behind you. The soft click heard by you both, your hand lingering on the handle while you stood near the entrance. Sherlock smirked at you and your weariness, a chuckle leaving his lips, his hands gripping the riding crop, eyes fixed on it, but not concentrated by the object. He spun on his heels, his eyes were gleaming by now, at the sight of you, and he was greatly humored by something. He tilted his head and asked, ”Did you enjoy the show?”
”Molly needs to leave soon so better finish up what you’re doing.” You informed in an ordering tone trying to change the subject, but still held a playful smile on your lips. You walked right beside Sherlock, the room was probably a degree or two warmer than on the other side. Your steps were short, but fast enough as you approached him, not letting him grow impatient while he already waited to embrace you. He held his left hand stretched inviting you for a side hug and as you reached his arm he pulled you to his side, kissing your right temple. The riding crop was still in his right hand, his fingers gripping on it, holding it on his side and the tip of it brushing close the floor.
”I’m almost ready.” He said and his left hand’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, then a smirk spread on his lips. ”So you did enjoy the show?” That bastard just checked your pulse, you realized. ”Someone’s exited.” He stated and you looked up at his bright shining eyes and a smile he tried to keep away from spreading on his lips. His hair looked more black than dark brown in the dim light in the room you were in and it shadowed his whole face, strands of hair hanging loosely over his face. You wanted to hit him, but Sherlock pulled you closer, your hands pressed on either side of your body making it impossible for you to inform him of your opinion. You settle for a frown which wasn’t as effective as a fist to his shoulder would’ve been.
He laughed at your expression, you reminded him of an unhappy child and he rubbed your left arm with his that was still wrapped around you. He leaned closer, his breath tickling your skin, lips brushing your ear, ”There. Finished.” It came out in a choked chuckled he had tried to hide, but failed. You suspected he really even cared you had caught him finding the situation humorous, then again you didn’t even know what the situation was in the first place, so you gave him a suspicious grin, your body leaning inches away from him to your left to get a better look at him.
”You didn’t even do anything.” You pin pointed, eyebrows low and eyes slightly narrowed but not scowling, amusement clear on your features but still doubtful. You could see Sherlock smile wickedly at your statement, his head turning towards the window to see had Molly already come back but fortunately was met with a sight of an empty hallway. He laughed and pulled you close again, whispering to your ear, ”Tell me, how long had you been watching?” You answered with, ”Ten minutes or so.” Of course you weren’t hundred percent sure. Sherlock nodded in agreement and looked away again. He had had hard time looking straight back at you for some reason and you kept trying to catch his attention, but failed.
”Guess that’s enough.” Sherlock admitted to himself. He pulled away from the hug and started to get ready to leave, he took his jacket near the doorway, from a hanger as well as his scarf. He didn’t give you any answers from there on. You met Molly before exiting the hospital then headed to hail for a cab. Sherlock opened the door for you, he was smiling constantly and in very good mood. He sat right beside you in the cab, closer than usually and what he did through the whole ride gave away what he was up to. His hand was on your thigh, caressing and massaging the surface of your pants, inching higher and higher. You couldn’t stop smiling. So this was one of those days then. His eagerness surprised you, that you had to admit.
When you finally got to Baker Street, Sherlock paid the ride, rushing to open the door to his flat for you and when you went inside, he shut the door with a loud bang. You were taking your coat off when Sherlock took a stand right behind you, his front pressed firmly against your back. His breath lingered on your shoulders and you could hear him panting. He was so deliciously needy for you by now that you couldn’t help but tease him a little.
”Leave your coat and shoes, get upstairs to my bedroom and start stripping.” He growled in your ear. You knew he would get impatient in a second, but you wanted this. He had made you go through his show, now he had to go through yours. The coat you were wearing had now fallen off your shoulders, hanging on your elbows when you gazed at Sherlock over your shoulder, peeking at him sexily, biting your lower lip and asked, ”Do you want me completely naked or in my underwear?” You teased, pulling your hair back so he could see you better. He sucked air in his lungs, his eyes narrowing when he hissed, ”Everything on the floor. And don’t make me wait for another second, or I will have to punish you.” You tried to keep the chuckle in. Oh you would enjoy this.
”Are we in a hurry?” You purred, now fully facing him, on your tip toes. Your hands found their way on his shoulders, your lips touching his chin as you went to whisper, ”Are you too eager you can’t wait any longer?” That was when Sherlock snapped. He growled, lifting the riding crop to his mouth and bit on it, lowered his shoulders, his coat falling on the floor, he ripped his scarf off around his neck, that too on the floor in a blink and then he hooked his hands behind your thighs, pulling you to him, lifting you up. Your chest was pressed against his, your hands now behind his back, legs around his hips as he started to carry you upstairs. You giggled at his sudden dominance.
Sherlock carried you straight to his room, kicking the ajar door open with his foot and threw you on the bed, closing the door just as loudly as the front door. He gave you a wild, lustful look, taking the crop from his mouth and ordered you, ”Clothes off. Now.” And you did as he asked. You took your time though, giving him a show you slid your pants down with slow motion, your shirt pulled over your head, your hips swinging while you stripped. You could see the bulge in Sherlock’s pants. You bit your lip again, now taking the top that had been under your long sleeved shirt, lifting it to shield your eyes and while you were at it, Sherlock approached you fast, pulling the cloth off you and throwing it somewhere in his room. You unclasped your bra, taking it off while Sherlock went down on you. You heard him moan as he took a whiff. ”So wet for me already.” He moaned, taking your knickers, ”Just as I suspected.” then pushing you back down on his bed.
His room was dark, the only light came from through the thin and light curtains, but it wasn’t much. Then again you didn’t really care was it day light or moon light in which you fucked, just that you could see his face. You crawled back on the bed, Sherlock taking a step closer, he hungrily studied your now naked body. You lifted your head and dared to ask, ”Aren’t you going to take yours off?” That made Sherlock smile. It was one of those dominant smiles that gave you the answer. This was going to take time. You were in for a good and long play, wether you liked it or not, and Sherlock would make sure you would suffer. This wasn’t going to be one of those fair fights, but a foreplay with Sherlock was never fair. He would make sure to torture you with a long teasing. ”I don’t need to take mine off.” He chuckled. That cocky bastard.
”Shame, I would love to help.” You smirked. You made a risky move, lifting your leg up in the air, your toes touching the bulge in his pants and rubbing the fabric that shielded his cock. You looked at Sherlock daringly, about to inch closer to unbuckle his belt when he shoved your leg away with a grunt. He took a hold of your ankles, pulled at them so you were laying on your back, towering over you and whispered with a low, threatening tone, ”One more move and I will tie you to the bed, darling.” This sent a shiver down your spine, your folds pulsing. You gave out a shaky breath, not able to contain yourself. You didn’t know was that what you wanted, for Sherlock to tie you down or to just go with what he had planned already? He was already warning you and you knew he could be very ruthless towards you in bed, but you also knew when you were challenged you couldn’t back up.
You kneed his groin fast but softly enough to not hurt him. His back arched and he moaned out loud in your ear. You moved your leg, your knee rubbing his bulge. You couldn’t continue it longer than five seconds before Sherlock pulled away from you. You sat up, half disappointed how long he lasted but half amused by his angered expression. He took fast long steps, took a pair of hang cuffs from his locker and turned to you. You playfully whined and pouted. ”Aw, come now Sherlock. I was just returning the favor.” You pulled your hands behind your back as if that would stop him from cuffing you to the bed and like you had suspected, it didn’t.
”On your stomach, woman.” He ordered coldly. You knit your brows together. You knew you were in for trouble as he addressed you by ’woman’ and you felt hesitant on turning your back to him. This resulted Sherlock rolling his eyes at you, he walked over to you, took you by the shoulders and turned you over. His hands were awfully forceful and powerful and you couldn’t fight him nor did you want to. You were in a state where every move he made, every touch he gave you made you tingle. His fingers wrapped around your left wrist, cuffed it and pulled it around one of the headboards iron bars. Then he took a hold of your right wrist, securing it with the other and got up from the bed. You looked at Sherlock over your shoulder, he admired your exposed body and you could tell that you disobeying, ending you cuffed to the bed had only turned him on even more.
He took the riding crop from the floor where he had dropped it when he had helped you strip, eyeing the object dangerously interested in it. He let his fingers caress the crop, taking his time admiring the item. Your breathing started to quicken. You had never done this before and were honestly nervous by now. You knew you could deal with pain, but you had never experienced it while sex, not like this. You had to admit that you had found it hot when he had whipped the dead body back in the hospital, secretly wanted him to use it on you, but now that you were there, laying naked on your stomach ready for a beating you couldn’t help but worry.
”This is going to serve as your punishment, for starters.” Sherlock informed, his eyes now back on you. ”But only for starters as I am aware this will also turn you on even more, so do not think I am being nice to you.” He warned with a low voice. He then lifted the crop and swished it through the air, the tip hitting you hard on your left butt cheek. You chocked out a sound that was a mix of yelp, gasp and shriek. The touch of the crop was so sudden and the pain so fast like a big elastic band hitting your rear you couldn’t make out sound louder than the snap itself that echoed from the spank.
”Now, count out with me.” Sherlock instructed coldly and showed no remorse which only exited you more. ”When you are unable to feel the blows only then I will stop. That was one.” He waited, but you said nothing. He huffed in irritation, then hit you again with the crop, hearing you gasp. ”One!” He yelled and you repeated his words shortly. ”Good girl.” Sherlock cooed, pleased at your cooperation and you felt the words sink in. You were getting wet by his hits, but him dressing you like that, so dominantly made you lose your mind.
You had reached to five when Sherlock stopped. He let his hand caress your red, sensitive behind with his tender fingers. You had never imagined that the sensation that came from being hit repeatedly and then caressed could feel this good, it really felt like a reward more than a punishment. Your body shook under his touch, anticipating to get a real reward from your dominant boyfriend, but your movements back fired. Sherlock mused, ”I see you can still feel my touch.” You whined when he withdrew his hand from you and gripped the crop. He held it high, over his head and calmly said, ”Keep counting with me, love.” And he brought it down hard. Thankfully it took him only six more spanks to find you silent, not responding and he stopped. He sat beside you and started caressing your behind.
You were out of breath, your ass tingling and cheeks wet from tears. You had to admit you had liked the spanking, the crop would definitely need to stay around, but you intended that next time it would be drawn on his skin, not yours. You relaxed as much as you could on the bed, the soft blankets underneath you caressing your skin nicely, warm from your body heath. You nuzzled your head to the pillows, moaned while Sherlock treated your stinging arse.
”Spread your legs for me.” Sherlock ordered after a while of silence and this time, without any nasty remarks or witty comebacks you did as he said. You couldn’t see, but you heard from his voice that he was smirking. ”Someone has learned their lesson.” This sent a spark through you and you instantly wanted to show him just how submissive you had become, it was in your nature to keep fighting and resisting. ”Good girl.” Sherlock purred and that made all the thoughts of resistance fade. You were a slave to that word. Oh how much you loved hearing him say it.
Sherlock got closer to the between of your legs, he took the riding crop out again, holding it loosely in his hand. You reacted to his movements and went to close your legs, but Sherlock stopped you. He took a hold of your calves and kept them in place with an iron like grip. ”Don’t close them.” He warned. You forced your legs to relax and let him do what he was about to. You jumped on the bed when he brought the tip of the crop up your wet slit, gathering some of your juices to it to examine how wet you were. You heard him groan, pleased by your wetness. He then threw the crop away, it ended up on the floor far away from the bed. You smiled, thinking finally you could get you release.
Sherlock reached over your body, his breath tickling your neck and he placed his lips on your bare skin, kissing you softly. He went down your spine, his hands on both side of your waist. He lingered at your lower back, his breath warm against you, kissing and licking your skin, worshipping you. You were breathing loudly, ready for him to take, to give you your release, but Sherlock was far from that. He went back up, his lips guiding him, back to your shoulders and to your neck. His curly hair ghosted on your cheek, his hands cupping your breasts. Oh how you had needed that. He massaged your nipples with his fingers, making sure to keep you moaning.
”Please.” You moaned in between deep breaths. ”Please, Sherlock.” You gasped. Sherlock grinned. You were already begging, how sad. ”Sherlock, I can’t take this anymore, I need you.” Your voice grew louder and louder, but Sherlock kept his pace steady, horribly slow. You didn’t want him to treat you this way, not now when he had started so dominantly, turning to your gentle lover that took his time to give all your body parts equally the same amount of love. His voice surprised you. It was nothing like what his actions gave out. He almost growled in your ear, ”You think you have learned your lesson?” He asked. You were baffled. What lesson? If he didn’t mean you disobeying his orders then you had no idea what he was talking about. ”When I give you an order, I expect you to follow it. No questions asked.” Good, so you were on the same page. You nodded your head, then moaned, ”I’ll be good. I’m a good girl. I’ll do what ever you say.” An evil grin spread on Sherlock’s lips. ”That is what I am counting on.” He gave you a last kiss, then pulled away. You heard him get off the bed, starting to strip. You were about to turn on your back when Sherlock snapped, ”I didn’t tell you to move. Don’t make me punish you again, love.”
You waited as he agonizingly slowly undressed himself, he could see you twitch on the bed, your eyes taking in every new naked part of him as he pulled the clothes off. ”How does it feel?” He asked. ”To have to wait for me?” You frowned. So this was payback time? ”It’s killing me.” You whispered truthfully. Sherlock hummed in agreement. ”Good.” He stated, now finally fully naked, his wonderful cock rock hard, pointing towards you. He walked closer, you moved on the bed but not changing your position. ”Now on your fours.” He said.
”Aren’t you going to uncut me?” You asked truly surprised. You longed to touch him. You longed to turn over and kiss him, bury your finger in his hair and pull him close. You heard Sherlock chuckle. ”You didn’t really think I was done with your punishment, did you?” Your eyes flew open. He knew how much you hated to be bound to the bed when he did give you your release. So this was it. This was one of his punishments. And you had thought it had been the riding crop. Stupid you.
”I did mention knowing you would get aroused by the riding crop before. This is your real punishment. You have been a very bad girl and I think your release will be rewarding enough. No need to untie you, maybe now my naughty girl will learn.” He purred and you cursed, but just inside of your head. You knew now that you had crossed a line. Why did you have to tease him so?
”Please, Sherlock, I promise I’ll be good from now on! Just please, untie me!” You pleaded as Sherlock positioned himself behind you. He put his hands on your ass that was now in the air, your legs slightly spread. ”No. You need to become more obedient and if I am to back away from my methods you will never learn. Now, embrace your reward, love. Next time I even might let you lay on your back.” And he thrusted in. You moaned louder than expected, your hands pulling the cuffs. You were sure you would have awful bruises on your wrists by the morning.
Sherlock pulled out slowly, then thrusted back in, his nails digging deep into your flesh as he pounded into you in a way that made you scream from pleasure. He was rough with you, his right hand finding it’s way in your hair and grasping it, pulling your head back as he thrusted. It didn’t take you long to come, and Sherlock came right after you, pulling out and spreading his cum over your holes and running down your thighs. You tried to even your breathing, your head hit the pillows, Sherlock retreating from you and laying next to you, opening the cuffs for you so you could lay down next to him.
Sherlock pulled you to his embrace, hugged you and kissed you. You snuggled close to him, both of you sweaty and still out of breath. Sherlock was first to talk, ”I hope I didn’t hurt you too much.” He whispered. You shook your head. ”No, just the right amount.” You admitted. ”I really didn’t intend to be so ruthless.” Sherlock told you, but he didn’t sound so sincere as he had intended. ”It’s alright, as long as you let me use the crop next time.” You chuckled, your eyes starting to close. Sherlock laughed at that and said, ”Didn’t I tell you that next time, it will be you, once again cuffed to the bed on your back?”
”You were serious?” You asked, your eyes opening. Your boyfriend laughed at your puzzled expression. ”Of course I was serious. Your punishment is far from over.” He explained and kissed the top of your head. ”You fucking sociopath.” You sighed.
tbh i definitely do have a bit of fondness for falling a bit accidentally into kisses, like john just putting on his coat and grabbing his shopping list off the counter and saying all right i’ll be back in a bit, try not to spill that on the lino, would you, and sherlock looking up from his experiment, wait where are you going? and john says just the shops, I won’t be long, and leans in and gives sherlock a quick peck on the mouth and heads out. and then two or three minutes later he walks back in and is like, did i? and sherlock is still sitting there all pink-cheeked and flustered and he goes, um, yes? and john purses his lips a bit in thought and nods and says well. is that? and sherlock says, very quickly and a bit embarrassed, yes, i think so.
so john comes back in and slides both his hands along sherlock’s jaw and studies his face, his wide, uncertain eyes, the flush on his cheekbones, the tiny, breathless part of his lips, and then john leans in and kisses sherlock properly, carefully, kisses him softly but surely, and sherlock leans into it and hums in pleased surprised and they just stay there a moment, reveling in it, the smell of each other, the feel of each other, the thrum of their heartbeats fast but in sync, until finally they each pull away and smile bashfully, and then john says all right well, and sherlock says yes, the shop, and they blush and john rubs a hand along the back of his neck and heads out again and then sherlock calls after him oh john? pick up some wine, too, don’t you think? and john reappears in the doorway and gives him a crooked grin, yeah, wine, okay, and takes off, and neither of them stops smiling for an hour.
I just want to point out something to those of us who haven’t waited years between episodes of Sherlock. The time between Episode 3 and Episode 4 was two years, meaning fans had to wait TWO YEARS to find out what happened to Sherlock and John at the pool with Moriarty. There was a massive cliffhanger and then fans WAITED and then it turned out to be nothing of importance. What a let down! Oh but wait! That’s exactly what happened between episodes 6 and 7. Sherlock fell, but he survived somehow, and then fans waited TWO YEARS to find out how, but it didn’t matter how because the massive cliffhanger was nothing of importance. AND THEN they DID IT AGAIN between episodes 9, 10, and 11, spanning THREE YEARS and the Moriarty’s return massive cliffhanger turned out to be NOTHING.
“Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson called from downstairs. “It’s
Sherlock hurried down the stairs as quickly as he could.
“Ah, (y/n). Finally. John and Mary are preparing dinner upstairs and I’ll be
heading out for a bit.”
“Sherlock!” You said, exasperated. “You promised you’d stay.
Even if you had a case. It’s Christmas for Christ’s sake.”
“I hate Christmas.” He said with a sneer. “It brings about
carolers and holiday cheer.”
“Oh, Sherlock. Promise me you’ll still come home for dinner
“Food is for the weak and I told everyone not to get me
anything. I also did not get anything for anyone else…” He said trailing off.
“Fine. I promise I’ll be home for dinner and presents.” He
said rolling his eyes. “Even if I don’t eat and I don’t have presents.”
“Good boy.” You said smiling brightly. You bounced into the
building away from the cold, chilling air of London. Sherlock moved past you
and into the freezing air.
“I’m not a boy (y/n). I’m a man. A very smart one at that.” He
said quickly, as if in a rush, which to be honest he probably was. He then
briskly walked away. Mrs. Hudson gave you a sad smile.
“Sorry about him dear. That’s Sherlock though. Always
dashing about. Anyhow, might you come up for a spot of tea? John and Mary’s
food smells so delicious.”
You smiled kindly at her, “Of course, Mrs. Hudson. Thank
“Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock’s loud voice rang from downstairs.
“I’m back for Christmas dinner.” He said in a disgusted tone you could tell he
wasn’t really trying to hide. He walked upstairs quickly, taking the steps two
at a time. He walked past you hastily, using his coat to conceal something that
he was carrying. “Mrs. Hudson, John, (y/n) don’t wait up. I’ll be in my room
wrapping things up. I’ll be back in a wink.” He said winking at you. You
blushed profusely. Trying to cover it up, you said, “Shall we start eating?”
“Of course.” John said with a happy smile.
“Mary, the pie looks delicious.” You said to her.
“Oh, I didn’t make it. John did. He’s a great baker.” She
said bragging slightly about her wonderful husband.
“Well then John, it looks simply divine.” You said excited
to dig in to the wonderful looking food.
Time Skip – After Dinner
“Oh, the meal was so scrumptious.” Mrs. Hudson commented, a
little bit sleepy from the meal.
“It was.” You said, a
bit sleepy yourself. “It was too bad Sherlock didn’t eat anything.” You said
clearing the last of the plates from the table. As if on cue Sherlock emerged
from his room.
“Time for presents.” He said lazily, as if bored with the
whole affair and idea of Christmas. Little did you know, inside he was having a
silent panic attack. He secretly slipped something under the tree.
“Ok.” You said giddily, smiling like a child. “I’m excited
to see what you got me Mr. Holmes.” You said nudging him in the side.
“Nothing.” He responded. “I told you earlier that I didn’t
get anyone anything.”
You looked down, slightly saddened by this sentence. Your
Christmas cheer was being ruined by Sherlock.
“You know you don’t have to be such a spoilsport.”
“I actually do.”
“The idea of buying people presents gives some people
anxiety. Anxiety about not getting the right thing. In fact, it is
scientifically proven that people have more stress around the holidays.” He
said with a completely straight face.
“Really Sherlock? You don’t buy people presents because
you’re afraid you’ll get the wrong thing?”
“That is what I said, yes.” He said rolling his eyes.
“Sherlock… We’re your friends. We’ll be happy with anything
you give us.”
“Really?” He said raising an eyebrow. “Last Christmas John
said he loved my gift. He lied. I read his body language. He was not at all
pleased with my gift. I was given a mental talent for reading people and it is
a blessing and a curse. Let me ask you something, (y/n). Do you sometimes wish
I were a normal person? That I’m unable to read people like a book?”
Without missing a heartbeat, you answered his question
honestly, “No. You are perfect. If you weren’t the way you were you would never
have met me. You never would have been ‘The Great Sherlock Holmes’, and I never
would have come to you with my case.”
He clasped his hands together, thinking deeply. “Hmm… You’re
“As I always am.” You said.
“Not always.” He corrected quickly.
You laughed. John and Mary came out of the kitchen. “What’s
so funny?” John asked.
“Nothing, nothing.” You said. “Let’s go. I can’t possibly
wait any longer. I can feel the presents calling to me.”
“Presents don’t talk.” Sherlock mentioned quietly.
“They do in my mind palace.” You said, teasing him.
He sighed tiredly, “Let’s just get on with the presents.”
John cleared his throat. “Ok then. Let’s see, first
present.” He picked up a box with green wrapping. He said out loud, “For Mary
and John, from (y/n).” You smiled as they unwrapped it together. They pulled
out a small onesie.
“It’s for the baby.” You said smiling brightly. “Do you guys
Mary turned to you. “Oh, (y/n). We love it!” She came over
to hug you.
John said, “Thank you (y/n). It’s a wonderful gift.”
You picked the next box. “For Sherlock, from John and Mary.”
You smiled at the couple as you unwrapped the present for Sherlock. You pulled
out a hat. You laughed. Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked at the hat in
disgust. You smiled at Mary, “Thanks guys.” You looked at John and mouthed,
“I’ll make him wear it.” The next present was for Mrs. Hudson, from John and
Mary. It was a nice pink shawl. John and Mary had given you a nice coat that
matched Sherlock’s. The presents from John and Mary were all wonderful. Next,
it was your turn to give everyone presents. You had already given John and Mary
their present so you gave Mrs. Hudson hers. Sher pulled out a blouse, a skirt,
and a pair of heels all matching the same royal blue color. “Thank you, dear.” She
said smiling at you.
“Of course, Mrs. Hudson.” You said, matching her smile. Then
you handed Sherlock his present. He opened it and was surprised to see a brand
new blue scarf.
“Thank you very much, (y/n).” He said looking over at you.
You smiled at him, “Anything for you, Sherlock.”
Mrs. Hudson seemed to be ready to bounce out of her seat.
Sher quickly handed everyone their presents. Your gift was a nice jumper. “Mrs.
Hudson, did you knit this all by yourself?” You inquired.
“Yes I did.” She said quite proudly. Sherlock’s was a fancy
“Mrs. Hudson, where did you get this?” He asked.
“Oh, it was from a real fancy shop. I know you have a lot of
suits, but this one just seemed to pop to me. It would look perfect on you. I
mean you have all black suits; you never wear blue. I thought it would look
real nice on you.”
“Thank you. I like it.” He said cautiously, as if his words
might offend her. Everyone looked around. There were no more presents to be
opened. Everyone looked expectantly at Sherlock. They didn’t seem surprised,
however. They soon all packed up and left, save for Mrs. Hudson, who had gone
upstairs. You started to clean up the trash on the ground from the presents.
Sherlock watched you carefully, studying you. You had finished clearing all of
the wrapping paper from around the tree when a little twinkle from under the
tree caught your eye. You reached a hand under the tree and felt a box. You
pulled it out. It was a small box covered with shiny silver wrapping paper.
Carefully you turned it over, ‘To my dear (y/n), from your Sherlock,’ it said
in fancy writing on the wrapping paper. You turned to Sherlock and he gave you
a smile. “I didn’t want you to open it in front of everyone.” He said smirking
at your surprised face.
“Here, I thought you were a pompous jackass who was too good
to get anyone anything.” You commented, joking lightly. Sherlock only rolled
“Open it.” He said. “Before I change my mind and return it.”
“Now I know what you meant when you said you were in your
room, ‘wrapping things up’. You meant it literally, that you actually were
‘wrapping something up’. Gosh, you are clever.”
“I know.” He said, sarcastically. “Now open it.”
You excitedly ripped off the wrapping paper. Inside was a
black square velvet box. You gasped in surprise. It was from Tiffany’s. You
traced your fingers along the velvet on the outside of the box. “What is it?”
You asked Sherlock, looking over at him. He only smiled mysteriously.
“Open it and see.”
You opened the box to see the diamond necklace you had been
drooling over for a long time every time you passed the window of Tiffany’s.
“Sherlock! You didn’t have to get me this.”
“I actually did. Did you think I wouldn’t notice how every
day when we walked past the store you looked longingly and lovingly at this
necklace. I read John, I can read you too.”
“Sherlock! This is just too much. I-I” You were at a loss
for words. You looked down at the box and noticed there was another, much
smaller, box inside. You picked it up. “Sherlock… What’s this?”
He stayed silent. So you took the box carefully in your
hands and opened it up. Inside was a beautiful diamond ring. You gasped. “Oh
my. Oh my gosh.” You looked up at Sherlock. He smiled mysteriously.
“I see no need to get on one knee and all so I’ll just say
it. Will you (y/n) (y/l/n) the most beautiful and clever and kind and funny
person I have ever met and also my favorite human being in this entire wretched
world, agree to be my wife?”
“Yes, Sherlock. Yes of course I’ll be your wife.” You stood
up to hug him and as you hugged you noticed a small green plant hanging on top
of Sherlock’s head. You smiled. As you pulled apart from the hug you pecked
Sherlock on the lips.
“What was that for?” He questioned.
“Tradition.” You responded with a smirk.
“I hate tradition.”
“Is there anything you don’t hate?”
“I don’t hate you.”
You smiled softly. “Hey, don’t get soft on me now Mr.
It took twenty minutes to lull Rosie back into a sound sleep. She was drowsy from the medicine, which helped, but she was clearly still feeling the effects of the fever, and the first couple of times John tried to lay her back down she woke back up with a miserable cry. Honestly, John thought as he held her close and walked her around the room, she might as well be Sherlock’s daughter if her appalling timing was anything to go by.
He was torn between feeling grateful and regretful at her interruption. He had still been able to feel Sherlock’s warmth clinging to him as he’d climbed the stairs to get her, but it had dissipated more and more every second like steam rising from the surface of a pond on a cold day, lovely and impossible to hold on to. But maybe it was better this way; maybe they needed a few moments to cool off, to map out this new territory before they lost themselves in it.
He sighed and pressed his lips to Rosie’s head, hushing her with soothing words. She turned her head into his shoulder, sniffling, and let her eyes close, one fist clutching at the worn collar of his t-shirt. Music drifted up through the floorboards, the delicate notes of Sherlock’s violin wending their way through the flat.
John smiled; he recognized the tune. He didn’t know the name of it, but it was what Sherlock always played when Rosie couldn’t sleep. He’d been meaning to ask if it was one of Sherlock’s own compositions because it resembled a lullaby, but it wasn’t one John had ever heard before. The thought alone made John ache to return downstairs and finish what they’d started.
Rosie’s breathing slowly evened out, deep and steady, as Sherlock’s music drifted around them, and John gently lowered her back down into her crib; she sighed and curled up around her blanket but didn’t wake. John held onto the edge of the crib and watched her a moment longer, strangely nervous all of a sudden. Which was ridiculous, he thought, since he knew that the only thing awaiting him downstairs was what he’d always wanted.
But perhaps that was just it. He and Sherlock had never been able to get to this place before; there had always been something standing between them, death and marriage and chaos keeping them apart. And now that he was here, now that this new life was his to take…he was afraid he wouldn’t know how to keep it.
He shut his eyes, breathing in and out, attempting to calm the rapid beating of his heart. When he was sure he wasn’t going to lose it, he pushed away from Rosie’s crib and took the stairs with slow, even steps.