three weeks of sherlock

stephanniesissues  asked:

Heeey, just thought of something for your Friends!lolly, remember that scene where Ross tells Rachel that he keeps count? Of how many times they did it? Well it doesn't need to be exactly like that, but Sherlock would totally know with his super brain and all! Thanks 🤗

good idea (I tend to avoid converting the ross/rachel break-up episodes and focus on chandler/monica). I’ll try and make it work…


*a hotel*

Receptionist: *hands over the key; smiles* You two are going to love the room.
Sherlock: *snatches key* Thank you.
Molly: *frowns; takes key* No, we’ll, um, be needing two rooms. We’re not together.
Receptionist: Oh, okay *retrieves another key; chuckles* something didn’t quite add up there.
Sherlock: *stops at the lift; walks back to the desk* What is that supposed to mean?
Molly: *awkward* Sherlock-
Receptionist: *shrugs* Well, you…*nods at Molly* her. I mean, she’s very… *smirks* you know. And you’re like…you know.
Sherlock: *scowls* Not that it’s any of your business but we did go out.
Receptionist: *skeptical* Really? You two?
Sherlock: *adamant* Yes! *elbows Molly* tell him.
Molly: *bored* I’d really like to have a shower and get something to eat before the case.
Sherlock: Tell him quickly.
Molly: *snaps* Fine *to the Receptionist* we went out. Let’s go *tugs Sherlock’s arm*
Sherlock: *shouts as he’s being pulled away* Not only did we go out, we did it two hundred and ninety eight times!
Molly: *frantically pressing the lift button; embarrassed* Oh, my God, Sherlock. You kept count? *whispers* You are such a loser! *pulls him inside the lift*
Sherlock: *smug* A lost you did it with *calls through the closing doors* TWO HUNDRED AND NINETY EIGHT TIMES!
Receptionist: *shakes his head; notices the second key still on the desk, sighs* Two hundred and ninety nine…

it takes three weeks before john buys sherlock flowers for the first time. he notices them, placed in a vase on the table, when he wakes up from a twelve hours sleep after a long case, john already up and gone, and sherlock sits at the kitchen table and stares at the red carnations, bright lilacs and pale tulips for a small eternity, his mind coming alive as the seconds ticks by, declaration of love, first love, love, love, love, and soon he can’t just remain sitting there because john loves him, and john bought him flowers and john isn’t here to kiss his flushed cheeks or calm his pounding heart, and so, with his head spinning and breaths coming shorter and shorter, sherlock all but grabs his coat and leaves the flowers behind, knowing he’ll have days to admire yet another undeniable proof of John’s love, right there on their kitchen table.

Do You Understand Now?

Pairing : Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Summary : Imagine being Sherlock’s girlfriend and you’re the head of forensics. Anderson tries to win you over, but never understands why you turn him down.

You walked into you lab and there was a large vase of flowers on the desk. You rolled your eyes as you picked up the card. They were from Anderson. You groaned as you read the card that had some poem he had written for you.

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STARBRIGHT PT. 1

“Pack your bags,” Sherlock said casually one night at Angelo’s.

John paused, fork halfway to his mouth. The spaghetti unwound itself from the prongs and fell to the plate with a thick plop! “Pardon?”

“You heard me.”

Rosie was gnawing at her grilled cheese, eyes wide as they flickered between the both. While she had just graduated from needing a booster, she was still short enough that her shoulders only just breached table level. John set the fork down and took a sip of water, mind racing over what could possibly possess Sherlock to want John and Rosie to move out.

“I did, yes, but I think I need a bit more to go off of,” he said carefully.

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anonymous asked:

Greetings! Could you please write some Sherlock x reader? I really like your writing and I really need a fix of good Sherlock fics before I die of boredom. Thanks in advance!

*drabble

this is prob crack woops i’m tired

“You can’t hide from me!”

Sherlock shut the door in your face.

John chuckled nervously. “Was that really necessary?”

“Did you want to hear that incessant prattling for another hour?” Sherlock replied, sounding not at the least interested. “Because I don’t.”

You had been on their case ever since you were witness to Sherlock solving a crime over three weeks ago. His perfect deductions, the way his mind worked - everything about him boggled you. Sherlock had never met anyone like you before. Instead of recoiling and cursing him for his blunt, rude behaviour like everyone else - besides John of course - you butted against everything he claimed, searching for your own answers with a fiery zeal that would burn him if he came too close. You were strange, and unpredictable, and -

The door shook as you pounded at it with your fist.

- very persistent.

“She’s been trying to have an audience with you for almost a whole month now,” John said, trying to sympathize with the odd individual on the other side of the door. “Surely she would have given up by now if it were not something important?”

“You and I both know what she’ll say, it’s the same every time. Why should I bother?”

John pursed his lips, narrowing his eyes at his flat mate. “Sherlock.”

Sherlock squinted back, knowing where this was headed. “No.”

“How about having some human compassion? Are you really that cold? I didn’t know my friend was this kind of man.”

“I don’t care.”

“Do you really?”

Sherlock growled before twisting back around and heading to the living room without a word. John smiled at his victory, opening the door.

“Hello! I’m sorry for the dela-”

You zoomed past him and up the stairs, leaving him stunned.

“You!”

Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Tell me how you did it,” You couldn’t keep still, pointing a shaky finger at him in anger.

“I’ve already told you,” Sherlock pinned you with a blank stare, the disdain dripping from his tone so thick you could taste it. “You just refuse to believe me.”

“No human being could see that much about a person in that little amount of time!” Your eye twitched. “Deductions? A mind palace?? Don’t think me a fool. It must have been some sort of trick, so I demand that you quit lying.”

This set Sherlock off.

“Lie?” He sniffed, his hand gripping the side of his thinking seat and losing his calm aura. “I do not need to stoop to that level. If you want a show right here right now, I will give you one.”

“Sherlock,” John said through gritted teeth, clamping his hands down on the shoulders of the man as if to physically keep him down. His expression comically changed as he offered you a soft look of understanding. “I’m incredibly sorry for my friend here, but we really do have nothing to offer you than the truth we’ve already given you.”

You appraised him. “Thank you sir, but don’t worry about me. It’s not your fault he’s a fake.”

Sherlock stiffened, and you swore you could hear a pin drop.

John let him go limply without any request, sighing and taking a seat at the table. He shook his head. “You’ve gone and done it now.”

What?

“Three hours.”

“Excuse me?”

“No, four actually. That’s how long ago you stepped into the restaurant about five blocks from now.” Sherlock trapped you in his gaze and you found yourself unable to glance away. “You ate seafood with a side choice of wine accompanied by some type of milky dessert - ice-cream? No, ice-cream cake, clever.”

“How did you-?” You looked at your clothes for any stains but found none and was stunned into silence. He continued anyway.

“You don’t live here? No, that’s not it…you’ve lived here for about the last five years. You went on vacation recently though - somewhere sunny - where you hurt yourself, tripped, and now walk with a slight limp. But that’s fine, because you had a couple series of childhood dancing lessons, and know how to work with your feet.” He wasn’t stopping, in fact his energy grew with each word he uttered. You know understood John’s reluctance to let him do this. To let this…beast go.

His unnatural eyes swept over your form once more, stripping you down to your very soul and leaving you shivering.

“All this time you’ve been attempting to get into my own head and prove me wrong. Pathetic. The reason is weak: that is, you’ve spent your entire life with no one ever believing you but yourself.” 

John paled, just as your fist trembled. He cleared his throat. “Sherlock, I think that’s enough.”

“In fact,” Sherlock ignored him. ”the only reason you’ve been this persistent is because you are tired of your own silence, and you are pushing your own self doubts onto me, hoping it’ll relieve the stress of your own depressing thoughts about your self value.”

There was silence, yet again.

Sherlock slunk back into his chair and rose an eyebrow, unimpressed.

You didn’t move.

John’s jaw shifted underneath tense, tightly drawn skin as he bit his lip, watching your still figure. “Y/N? I’m so, so sorry-”

“That was amazing,” You spoke softly.

The two males stared.

“Incredible!” You shouted, and chaos immediately sprung back in, breaking the motionless air as you dove at the world’s only consulting detective.

He dodged, and you crashed into the floor.

“How did you do that?!! Can you teach me your secrets?!” Any irritation in your eyes was now completely gone and it was like you were a different person, staring at him like he was god on earth.

For the first time, Sherlock could not make sense of what was in front of him.

“Are you not repulsed??”

“Of course not!! You’re absolutely stunning!!! And the way you delivered it all oh my god - you need not ask of course but I am now your faithful companion who will work dutifully at your side-”

“John get her away from me-”

You dove again but this time captured your target, sending him, you, and the chair toppling to the ground. 

John blinked, then went into the kitchen to make tea.

[MasterList]

Stradivari (An Adlock x Eurus Fanfiction)

(I get waaaaay too crazy when I write fics, and switching from Irene, Eurus, and Sherlock’s characterisation here is an internal experience on its own. This is exhausting to write tbh. Should I make a blog post about it? Gaaaaaah, whatever. On to the fic!)

The wind howls intimately against the crashing waves as the helicopter touched the cold cement of the building. Sherlock turned up the collar of his coat to hide his neck from the chilling breeze, entering the confines of Sherrinford to provide company for his sister. 

It was devastating just to think that he had promised her home and yet she’s still locked up like nothing’s changed. But if there is one thing he has gotten into terms with through the years, it’s that home is not a place, but it is a sanctuary found in the arms of the people you hold dear. 

His eyebrows furrowed as soon as he heard the echoing tune from her chambers, the familiarity of the curve of the notes making him sigh. 

With her back to him, she played the theme he wrote for The Woman, her head slowly swaying to the solemnity of the music. She paused for a moment, recognising that he had entered the room, and continued playing until the edge of the last note she had heard from him when she asked him to play once before. 

“Can you teach me the rest?” Eurus said calmly, putting the violin down to her side and turning to face her brother. 

Sherlock squinted at her, trying to guard his expression. “You told me we’re playing Chopin on my next visit.”

Eurus tilted her head slightly, raising an eyebrow at her brother. “That’s way too easy. No story. No excitement. I want to know more about this.”

Taking his own violin in hand, he started to tune the strings, eyes avoiding his sister’s. 

“We both know where this is going. Just tell me and save us both the agony.” her voice had a sing-song tone to it, drawing near the glass to look at her brother closely. 

“I’ve written it a long time ago.” Sherlock muttered, plucking some of the strings. 

Eurus’ stare was boring deep into him, and he could tell that she was studying him closely. 

“Oh, I’m not interested in when. I want to know why you changed the way you play it.” 

Sherlock put down the violin to meet his sister’s eyes, reading into her knowing expression. “Did I?”

Eurus smiled. “Oh, yes. I can tell. The way your fingers caress the strings… The absolutism in every stroke of the bow… When you wrote it, it was meant to show grief, frustration… confusion.”

The older Holmes remained stoic, still waiting for his sister to conclude her own amused inquiry. 

Her eyes turned to look at his fingers against the bow, a smile creeping up her face. “Now it’s full of passion,desire, longing… How long was it then when you last slept with her before we met for the first time? A week ago? More like two… three days?”

Sherlock looked at her pointedly, sensing a challenge in his sister’s voice. He figured there was no point in arguing. “Just out of a quiver of a note?”

Eurus smiled, looking pleased with herself. “That… and the cuffmarks on your left wrist that day. I’m quite surprised Mycroft didn’t notice.”

The detective gave an amused smile. “Oh, he did. He just got caught up with everything that he failed to make a fuss about it.”

There’s a slight relief that came with the sight of Eurus’ eyes twinkling with glee, and he could already tell she wasn’t giving up the matter at hand. It was not the best idea to have her be curious of Irene Adler, but it was already a lost cause. Needless to say that even if he didn’t want to admit, Eurus somehow made it easier to talk about The Woman. 

He saw his sister walk over to her bed to reach for her violin once more, looking at him expectantly as she claimed the form to play. 

“From the beginning, then.” Sherlock commanded, holding his bow to start the melody.


With Mycroft’s request, his next visit dawned earlier, much to Eurus’ demand. 

“I can’t play it right.” the younger Holmes snapped upon the arrival of her brother. 

Sherlock studied the tense movements of his sister, amused at her rampage. “Mycroft tells me you’ve memorised the piece entirely.”

“It wasn’t complicated, Sherlock, but what I can’t accept is why it doesn’t sound right. With you it was easy to read everything into the music, hardly a difficult deduction, really, as you are already well aware… but even if I try to channel the intricacies of the emotions you weaved into playing, it doesn’t work. As I’ve said before, what’s the point if the piece being beautiful and right isn’t the same thing?” 

There was spite in her voice, as if she was given a problem she cannot solve and the situation was foreign. Sherlock could recognise the same tone, similar to a tantrum, as he was also prone to such when he finds himself blind on a case. 

Still, how does a mind surpassing Newton unable to come into terms with a mere violin piece? 


Breathing heavily after playing Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, Sherlock could not hide his surprise upon seeing how quickly Eurus had recovered from the extraneous piece, her fingers curving once more to start what happened to be a screeching mess of notes. 

“What is it now?” he tried to hide the annoyance in his voice, but failed evidently. 

Eurus looked livid, playing an earsplitting tune that caused a violin string to snap. Sherlock looked at her, bewildered at her actions, to which her expression turned blank. 

“I would need another violin.” she said in a deadpan voice. 

Sherlock took it as a dismissal and turned to take his leave when his sister called once more, still in the same chilling voice, with another request. 

“And on your next visit, bring her.”


Eurus was not accepting any visitors unless her request was merited. 

“Oh for God’s sake! Have we really gotten to the point where family affairs and petty arguments involve bringing in national criminals in an institutionalised facility, who, by the way, are supposed to be officially dead?” Mycroft sighed, rubbing his temples in exasperation.

John couldn’t help but snort at the statement. “And this is new because…?”

Mycroft glared at the doctor, to which Sherlock laughed. The eldest Holmes darted back to look at his brother, a sour smile in his face. 

“You think this is funny, Sherlock? Who thought it was a clever idea to confuse our dear sister with matters of the heart?” Mycroft hissed. 

“You’re blaming me?” Sherlock spat back, rolling his eyes at Mycroft as if the suggestion was preposterous. 

John scoffed. “I can’t believe I’m saying this but Mycroft does have a point. You fed her this obsession, mate.”

Mycroft scorned. “Sentiment is not something she’s very familiar with, dear brother. She sees romance and love on a spectrum that is to be analysed logically — something you claim to be unfamiliar with but we all see the obvious. I believe — and hope in the heaves above — that she will come into a conclusion once she meets Irene Adler.”


The helicopter ride to Sherrinford was silent. 

Sherlock could feel Irene’s eyes trained on him curiously, but with only the information that Eurus wants to meet her, he couldn’t blame the burning look she was giving him.

“This will be interesting.” Irene mused, sliding the coat off her back before entering the room where the youngest Holmes resided. “Should I expect her to be worst than you?”

“You’ll know when you meet her.” Sherlock simply said as he followed her in. 

They saw Eurus sitting on her bed, expectant upon their arrival. Sherlock saw that his sister’s eyes were quick to scan Irene’s gait, expression turning from unreadable to purely amused.

“You exceeded my expectations.” she said bluntly, completely ignoring her brother, eyes only focused on The Woman. 

Irene gave her most intrepid smile, meeting the other woman’s challenging gaze with a spark from her own. “And that is?”

“I know you will be easy on the eyes, but I didn’t expect you would… sting.” Eurus simply replied. 

Sherlock studied the two of them, eyes piercing towards each other. It was like watching a dance on flames, and he was sure that if someone was going to get scorched, it would most likely be him. 

“I take that as a compliment. You’re not so bad yourself.” Irene addressed Eurus with a slight nod, causing the latter to narrow her eyes. 

Walking closer to the glass and still not acknowledging her brother, Eurus asked Irene to draw nearer. Sherlock wanted to protest but clearly they are lost in their own game, and he remained where he stood. 

“When you walked in, I thought the song made less sense, but seeing how my brother has been hovering nervously at the corner since you entered, I go back to where I stand.” Eurus affirmed haughtily. 

Irene grinned. “He pretends to be distant than he really is, but he’s easy to read. But I’m sure you already know that.”

Eurus looked amused. For the first time since her visitors arrived, she turned to her brother, and as quick as a whip, her voice was demanding. 

“Play it.” 

Sherlock looked affronted. “Why does it matter that much?” 

“Because I want to know why I’m wrong. I don’t like being wrong.” she said, deadpan, reaching for her violin as well.

Irene was watching in full interest, a smile playing on her lips as Sherlock rolled his eyes, giving in to the request. 

He sighed, fingers slightly trembling. He realised that he only played the piece for Irene once, a couple of years ago, the courage supplied by slight intoxication.

Taking his bow, he started, as accompanied by his sister. Halfway, he realised she stopped and left him to finish on his own, eyes fully focused on his movements, mirroring Irene’s own steady gaze. 

Lingering on the last note, Sherlock gave the bow one last stroke, before ending completely. 

Gathering his composure and trying to ignore the heat rising up his neck upon meeting Irene’s eyes, he turned to his sister. 

“Well?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant. 

Eurus pursed her lips slightly, before giving him a nod. “Interesting… I need to rest. You may leave.”

Irene raised her eyebrows in amusement, walking towards Sherlock. “Pleasure to meet you.” 

Instead of replying, the youngest Holmes took her violin in hand and started to play Paganini Caprice No. 1 with brevity.

“Until my next visit, Eurus.” Sherlock breathed before heading out. 

To his surprise, Eurus abruptly stopped in the middle of playing, sniping a remark at both him and Irene before she continued to play as if nothing happened. 

“Judging by the tension, I suggest you take the third room three corridors from here. I assure you it’ll be free from disturbance. ‘Til next time, Sherlock, Ms. Adler.”


“You didn’t take my advice. Was it easier to have sex in your flat? I assume the landlady wasn’t very happy about the creaking floors.” Eurus stated bluntly after finishing another piece from Bach. 

Sherlock let out a sigh, expecting his sister’s comments were long overdue ever since he arrived. 

“So, Eurus, what was your experiment about?” he asked, also curious about the conclusions her sister drew from the brief encounter with Irene. 

He saw her studying him, as if he was nothing more than a specimen for her to dissect. “I won’t play it anymore. Only you can play it. You make it beautiful. I can only play it right.”

“I thought you believe the two has to be the same thing?” Sherlock mused. 

“You proved me wrong. It was a song only you can play because you play it for her. I can’t play it because I don’t see her like you see her, and clearly romance or whatever is it you have with her is not something I’m akin to. But for all graciousness, and as I am fond of you, dear brother, then I would not butcher the song you obviously hold so dear.” 

Eurus recited the words as if it was a monologue she was merely reading, but Sherlock figured it was as sincere as she could get. 

“I… ah… thank you.” was all he managed to say. 

“Oh, but one last thing Sherlock.” Eurus noted.

Sherlock’s brow furrowed, wondering what could it possibly be at this point. 

“I’d like Irene to be my Christmas present. 5 minutes of unsupervised conversation would do.”

Sherlock Valentine’s Day Challenge Day #14

I kinda put a lot on this… so, with all my heart for all Adlock fans.
Thanks to @fireloom for her help in this ^_^

Prompt day #14: “Happy Valentine’s Day, Sherlock Holmes.


“Wake up!” Nero says in a playful tone. “Get up.” The boy tries to open his father’s eyes. Sherlock rolls on the bed to avoid the intrusion of his son. This action only causes to Nero burst into laughter. “Get up! I want breakfast! Can we make pancakes? We make pancakes when mom is here,” Nero asks with excitement. Sherlock slowly rolls back to face the boy.

“We made pancakes only once, when your mother left. But, I think we can manage and make for breakfast today anyway,” Answers Sherlock with a sleepy voice, barely opening his eyes.

“When in mommy coming back?” The boy asks, eagerness in his small voice.

“Tomorrow,” Sherlock states bluntly.

“Will we have pancakes then?” Sherlock laughs at the question.

“Yes, Nero. We can also have pancakes tomorrow.” The boy cheers and jumps on the bed. Sherlock gets up lazily. “Come on, breakfast first and then…”

“To tend to the bees!” Yells Nero happily.


“Sherlock! Help me! There’s a bee trapped in my jumper!” Nero cries, running to his father. With gently hands, Sherlock untangles the bee from Nero’s jumper and lets it fly away. Nero thanks his father and runs away to keep playing with his dog Titus.

His son is still too young to have any real interest in caring for the bees. Sherlock understands. At the age of six Nero only wants to puzzle and play with Titus, a gift from his aunt Eurus.

A faint noise of a car parking in the front of the house startles Sherlock. Leaving his current activities, he goes to the front yard, followed closely by Nero. A black car just parked. Mycroft step out of the passenger side door and walks towards Sherlock. He inspects his brother’s attitude and knows something is out of place. Sherlock invites him in.

“Go play outside with Titus, Nero.” The boy complains, but does as he is told at Sherlock’s insistence.

“Brother-”

“I’ll go straight to the point,” Mycroft interrupts. “I don’t like to be the bearer of bad news, but I prefer you hear it from me than from anybody else.” He avoids eye contact on purpose. Sherlock’s heart begins to race with the thought of the imminent bad news coming, yet, he maintains a calm stance. Sherlock hints Mycroft to continue.

“It’s about Adler. The Woman.”

“To the point, Mycroft.” Sherlock is getting eager.

“She is missing.” Mycroft pauses to study his brother’s features, unreadable. “The mission didn’t go as well as planned. There was a shooting. When my agents made it to the location, everyone had already disappeared. No signs of spies, shooters or Irene Adler.”

Sherlock shut his eyes and turns around, not wanting to face his brother. The Woman is smart, her tells himself, she’ll be fine. Despite his thoughts, he can’t help his accelerating heart rate.  Mycroft speech, on the other hand, has a failure that Sherlock can see through.

“When did this happened?” Sherlock asks with an incredulous tone. Mycroft hesitates.

“Eighteen hours ago. My agents haven’t been able to locate her.” This time, Sherlock’s breath catches in his throat. He is disconcert and can’t help to show it. “But rest assure, brother dear, my agents will-”

“The same agents that didn’t make it to the shooting on time?” Interrupts Sherlock, visibly upset now. Mycroft goes silent and Sherlock begins to pace in the room.

“Don’t you, by any means, brother, think of going after her,” Mycroft warns.

“Of course not, Mycroft!” Shouts Sherlock. “I can’t leave Nero alone. It is the incompetence of your so called spies that troubles me.” Sherlock sighs and wanders pointlessly around the room until he find Mycroft’s eyes. “You better find her, Mycroft.”

Mycroft nods and with solemn attitude, hands him a packet of cigarettes. “Stay focused, Sherlock. For your son.” With a final nod, Mycroft leaves.

Once the door shuts, Sherlock drops on the couch and hides his face in his hands. He is trembling, panting and sweating. He takes a deep breath and tries to calm down. The cigarettes held tightly in his hand.After so many years of playing their game, they finally had a family, a place to call home. Sherlock does not want to lose that. Home lose its meaning without her. The room spins around him, he can’t remember the last time he felt so much despair. Nero’s voice takes him out of his thoughts.

“What happened?” Asks the boy shyly.

“Hey buddy, come here,” Sherlock calls gently, inviting Nero to sit next to him.

“Is it about mommy?” The boy continues as he sits beside his father.

“Yes, it is,” Sherlock keeps a peaceful tone. “Something arose and… she is not coming home tomorrow.”

“When then?”

“Soon,” Reassures Sherlock. “Not tomorrow, but soon.” Nero nods.

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archiveofourown.org
While you were sleeping - thepurplewombat - Sherlock (TV) [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

Six months after the last time they stood together in 221B, John brings Sherlock home. It’s not at all as he had imagined it. He had thought that he’d help Sherlock up the stairs, Sherlock bitching all the way. He thought Sherlock would lie on the couch and whinge for John to bring him tea and his phone and his laptop, and he would have to stop Sherlock from trying to do too much too soon, and he thought that maybe, finally, someday, they’d have the opportunity to say all the things they’ve never had the guts to say before.

Basically, he thought Sherlock would wake up.

But Sherlock hasn’t woken up, and every day he doesn’t wake up the odds of him ever doing so go down. Sherlock would have been able to tell John by exactly how much those odds fall every day, but Sherlock’s not here so John will just…carry on.

221B looks a bit different now. Mycroft’s people have been through, converting Sherlock’s bedroom into something suitable for the long-term care of coma patients. The bed is new; high enough that John won’t kill his back doing all the million and one things Sherlock will need done, and adjustable. With the alterations comes Miss Natasha, a stunning redhead with the faintest trace of a Russian accent, who will be acting as Sherlock’s carer when – if - John eventually goes back to the clinic. She moves into 221C and immediately charms Mrs Hudson, tells her to call her Nat, and chatters to her in Russian when they think John can’t hear them. Mycroft said she was ‘on loan’ but didn’t say where from, and John doesn’t ask. She moves like Mary did when she thought he wasn’t looking, so he thinks assassin, but she came from Mycroft, so…bodyguard?

Nat teaches John how to do Sherlock’s exercises. He has to be turned every few hours, and his muscles and joints have to be worked. Nat won’t let John do the more personal tasks for Sherlock, and when he argues she asks him if he really thinks Sherlock would want him to see him like this? John gives up, and lets her deal with the intimate details.

Mycroft comes by once a week and John leaves the two of them alone. John doesn’t know what Mycroft talks about to Sherlock, and doesn’t ask, but once as he leaves John can swear he sees the remains of tears on Mycroft’s face. Mummy and Father visit less often, Molly almost every day. Lestrade mainly comes around to bitch at Sherlock to wake up, because the Met’s solve rate is going down the cacky without him. Some nights John comes down and Mrs Hudson is asleep in the chair by Sherlock’s bed, her knitting limp in her hands.

John shaves Sherlock’s face every morning and his head once a week. He doesn’t like the way Sherlock looks naked without his curls, but John can’t keep the curls as clean as Sherlock did, and Sherlock absolutely despised having his hair dirty. He sets a reminder on his phone to have someone come by to do Sherlock’s nails, and phones Sherlock’s favourite place himself. The owner comes herself – owed him a favour, naturally. She doesn’t mention money and neither does John, and she cries as she files and clips and scours and massages and anoints Sherlock’s hands and feet. She leaves behind a bottle of hand lotion that smells like Sherlock, and John uses it when he massages Sherlock’s limbs to keep the blood flowing. She comes back two weeks later without John having phoned, and just like that it’s a routine.

John spends his days by Sherlock’s bedside, reading to him from technical manuals and women’s mags and – occasionally, and maybe in the hope that it will make him wake up if only to tell John to shut up – novels. He reads Austen to Sherlock with a sense of malicious glee, and secretly thinks that Darcy reminds him a bit of someone he knows. He tells Sherlock that, just to be annoying.

***

Three months later, Mycroft shows up at the door with a baby. John’s baby.

“My people tracked Mary down in Mexico,” he says as John stares in awe at the tiny person in his arms. “She’s yours. Had you thought about baby names?”

John blinks at him for a long time before the question really sinks in.

“Is Sherlock really a girl’s name?” he blurts, and Mycroft snorts in laughter. John’s never really seen Mycroft laugh like that before, and it piles another layer of surreality on top of…well, everything. The neatness of the flat, the faint beeping of the heart monitor from the open door to Sherlock’s room. Mycroft, undone enough to laugh.

“No, but Sherlock did once say that if he were a girl, he would want to be called Violet.”

And that’s how Violet Wilhelmina Watson gets her name.

Mycroft’s people arrive with nappies and bottles and clothes and a cot and all the million and one other things that John never thought to need, after Mary disappeared between Baker Street and Bart’s six months ago. Violet is six months old when she comes to Baker Street, with her mother’s big eyes and the Watson nose. Poor tyke.

John sits in his armchair next to Sherlock’s bed to feed her her first bottle, and tells Sherlock what she looks like.

“She’s so beautiful, Sherlock, you can’t even imagine how beautiful she is,” and John’s heart is so full that it spills over from his eyes, tears dripping on Violet’s sleeping face.

Keep reading

The Sordid Coat Romance

@8minutehooper said: Congrats!! Well…since you specifically mentioned Mycroft’s brolly… how about Molly being jealous of Sherlock’s coat? Kind of a twisted version of CoatLock (cause we know Sherlock loves the thing!) :) I don’t know, I stink at prompts, so I’ll be happy for anything you feel like doing.


This was excellent prompts, I don’t know what you’re talking about. So… you said ‘jealous of’, and I might have read that as 'madly in love with’. >.> Molly is kind of a madwoman in this and I don’t care because I love it. Also Jim was feeling left out so there is bonus sort of Molliarty because we don’t want to piss off Jim.

Keep reading

missing you ♛ sherlock

So I think I’d consider this a bit more of a drabble so…

Request made by: @thestrawberryblondehobbitbatch

  • Characters: Sherlock/Reader
  • Genre: fluff, angst
  • Warnings: none
  • Prompt: “Please come home, I miss you”

Keep reading

archiveofourown.org
Linger - queenoftrivia - Sherlock (TV) [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Sherlock (TV)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Additional Tags: Lingerie, Sherlock in Lingerie, romantic bath, theyre both sentimental romantics i hate them, Fluff, Smut, Fluff and Smut, switchlock, Top John, Bottom John, toplock, bottomlock, Flashbacks, (to like three weeks before), Lingerie!lock, Comeplay, John Talks Dirty, kind of, Sherlock Talks Dirty, that’s more accurate, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Anal Fingering, Fingering, Implied Sexual Content, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Sexual Content, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied shower sex, Neck Kissing, Sherlock’s neck
Summary:

Sherlock decides to surprise John after a somewhat stressful day at work.


UHM SO I FORGOT ABOUT THIS FIC FOR ME AND I JUST READ IT AND Y’ALL SHOULD GO DO THAT RIGHT NOW. It’s so soft and sweet and hot and thank you so much for it, Queenoftrivia!!!!

A Sisterly Chat

AN: This was just a silly idea based on a concept that probably has already been written about before but I wanted to give it a try. I hope you enjoy it. Ask box is open for prompts.

We have a situation – MH

Busy – SH

This is serious Sherlock! – MH

So is this – SH

I know you are microwaving marshmallows with Rosamund Watson to see if they explode. They don’t. Now will you listen? – MH

Actually, Brother Mine, they do explode if you spear them with metal skewers and put them in the microwave. – SH

An eye-roll emoji? Seriously Sherlock? Grow up. This is important – MH

Fine. What? – SH

Eurus has escaped. - MH

Keep reading

Hello Detective (Chapter 18)

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5   Part 6   Part 7   Part 8   Part 9   Part 10   Part 11   Part 12   Part 13   Part 14   Part 15   Part 16   Part 17   Part 18   Part 19   Part 20   Part 21   Part 22   Part 23   Part 24   Part 25   Part 26  Part 27  Part 28  Part 29  Part 30  Part 31  Part 32  Part 33  Part 34   Part 35   Part 36   Part 37   Part 38  Part 39   Part 40     Part 41   Part 42   Part 43   Part 44   Part 45   Part 46   Part 47   Part 48   Part 49   Part 50  Part 51  Part 52  Part 53   Part 54  Part 55   Part 56  Part 57 Part 58 Part 59 Part 60 Part 61

You hadn’t seen Sherlock in about three weeks. You had been so caught up at work, since there were no big cases your whole department was drowning in paperwork that you all had been putting off. You had Friday off and you almost forgot about the lunch you had planned with Mycroft. He had picked the restaurant and sent a car to pick you up. You weren’t sure what he wanted to meet about but you were curious. You decided on professional look: blazer, top, tight slacks, and heels.

You heard the car pull up as you were making your way down the stairs. You hadn’t seen Mrs. Astor all morning, she must have been off at the store. The driver knocked on the door and you answered.

“Y/N Gregson?” He asked.

“That would be me.” You smiled. He opened the car door for you as you locked up your flat. You thanked him and sat down in the back of the sleek black car.

Soon you were at the restaurant and you stepped out of the car. Outside was Mycroft leaning on his umbrella. He smiled when he saw you.

“Hello Y/N, it’s nice to see you.” Mycroft greeted.

“Hello Mycroft, thanks for inviting me.”

We walked into the restaurant which was packed, mostly with businessmen. There was a line waiting, the two of you walked up to the host.

“Normal table Mr. Holmes?” He asked, as you skipped the line. Mycroft nodded.

“Thank you Scott.” Mycroft said as you were seated at a table.

“How’s work been?” He asked.

“Kind of hectic. We’re backed up with paperwork we’ve been putting off.” You answered. He nodded.

“You know, I still don’t know what you do exactly.” You stated.

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about today. I believe you are overqualified for the job you currently have. I think you’d be a better fit with me.” Mycroft said. You were surprised.

“And what exactly would that be.” You asked.

“You know I occupy a minor position in the British government.” He began.

“Sherlock said you are the British government.” You smiled.

“Well, specifically I run MI5, MI6, and the Secret Service. Among other smaller projects.” He said calmly.

“Wow. I wasn’t expecting that.” You said, taken aback.

“Will you consider it?” He asked.

“To be honest, I don’t think I’m ready for something like that. I’ve barely been here six months.” You said, still in shock.

“I understand, if you ever change your mind the offer still stands.” He said kindly.

After a while you two were done eating and Mycroft had bought your meal. While you were waiting for the bill Mycroft asked a favor of you.

“Anything.” you said.

“Will you check on Sherlock. I’m sure you haven’t seen him in a while with work. If you haven’t had any big cases I’m sure he hasn’t either. I’m worried about what he does when he gets bored. He just got back from Minsk and that case turned out to be nothing.” He said.

“What exactly do you mean?” You asked him.

“I want you to check his arm.” Mycroft said, a serious tone in his voice. Your mouth formed an ‘O’ shape when you realized what he was referring to.

“You think he’s been taking…” you looked down, not able to finish the sentence.

“Exactly.” He said.

“And what if I do find something?” you asked.

“Distract him. Find him a case, anything. Keep him busy.” Mycroft said.

“Alright.”

As Mycroft walked you back to the car you said to him, “You’re a good brother Mycroft. He’s lucky to have you.”

“If only he would see it that way sometimes.” Mycroft smiled. He opened the door for you, “Keep in mind my offer.”

“I will, thank you again.”

“Back home Ms. Gregson?” The driver asked.

“No, actually can you take me to 221 Baker Street?” You asked and the driver nodded.

When you arrived at Sherlock’s flat you thanked the driver and stepped out of the car. You heard gunshots inside and you quickly rushed up the steps to the front door. You opened it, surprised it was unlocked and rushed up the stairs. You nearly ran into John on his way out. He was clearly in a bad mood and you weren’t about to push it. You knocked on Sherlock’s open door and he turned to face you. He was in pajamas and his blue robe. He was standing near the window.

“You here to tell me the earth goes round the sun too?” He asked, clearly in a bad mood also. He must have gotten in a fight with John about his blog, everyone at work was talking about it. Donovan took it as an opportunity to make fun of Sherlock even more so than she usually does.

“Um, no. I was just passing by and I heard gunshots. What did the wall ever do to you?” You asked, seeing the holes in it.

“I was bored. And I know you’re lying. You were with Mycroft, I can smell his cologne on you. I’m going to assume that either you two had lunch and he told you to check on me.” Sherlock began.

“Or?” You asked.

“Or you two are sleeping together and I really don’t want to picture that.” Sherlock said. You laughed.

“No, we’re definitely not. He just gets worried about you.” You said, Sherlock rolled his eyes and sat down on the couch. You moved and sat down next to him.

“So, I heard you just got back from Belarus.” you said.

“Yep, open and shut domestic murder. Not worth my time.” He said, disappointed.

“Shame, seems like you need a case.” You said.

“Desperately.” He said. You began to inch your hand closer to his arm, ready to pull up his sleeve to see if Mycroft had been correct but he moved his arm, running his hand through his hair and laying back onto the couch.

This was going to be tougher than you thought. Even if you did grab him fast enough, he processes things so fast that he would stop you before you got the sleeve up. You were going to have to distract him, do something that you knew would fluster Sherlock Holmes and give you a chance to see what you needed. Suddenly a plan popped in your head and a smirk grew on your face.

“I’ve missed you.” You said seductively. He turned to look at you as you moved to straddle him. As planned, you placed your hands on the side of his face and placed your lips on his. He clearly was taken aback, as expected.

He kissed you back and you used this chance to run your hand up his arm, exposing the area riddled with needle marks. You removed your lips from his and glanced down to see if it was true.

You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose, still straddling Sherlock. You shook your head and he realized what you were looking at. You got off of him, stood up, and began to walk towards the door when he stopped you, grabbing your hand.

“Y/N…” He began.

“Why?” You cut him off.

“Without the work, without a case, my brain rots. I need something, anything…” Sherlock began, he was still holding your hand. He was cut off by a huge explosion, chattering the windows, and forcing the two of you to the floor. On the way down you hit your head on the coffee table, knocking you out cold.

7

4/? Johnlock + Song Lyrics

Never imagined we’d end like this

Your name, forever the name on my lips

[x]