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…

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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Sherlolly Appreciation Week Day 6- First I Love You

Here’s ILY day. Big thanks to @mizjoely for betaing this ficlet and coming up with the title. Bless her! This one’s rated T because, evidently I can’t write a story without using a certain naughty word. Enjoy ~Lil~

-He Always Means It-

“This was really… nice, Sherlock,” Molly says as they pause in front of her building.

He takes her hand, slowly bringing it to his lips. Just before he touches his mouth to her knuckles he looks into her eyes and says, “I love you.”

“Yes, I know,” she replies flatly. “You’ve told me everyday for the last three weeks.”

Warning lights start to flash in Sherlock’s mind. Danger! Danger! He aborts the hand kissing for the moment and takes a step back. “Is something the matter?” he asks tentatively.

Molly sighs and motions to the steps, then takes a seat. Sherlock follows, sitting next to her. “I’m just…” she starts, staring at the office building across the street. Then her head drops, she runs her fingers through her loose hair. “How do I put this?”

“You can be honest with me, Molly, if something’s wrong…”

“This feels unreal,” she interrupts.


“The dinners, the romance, the constant ‘I love yous’. I’m not sure what to make of it all.”

He is stunned and, if he’s honest, he’s also hurt.

Molly is looking at him, big brown eyes searching for… something, but he has no idea what. He was certain that he’d gotten it right. Pamper her, take her out, shower her with affection…love her. Damn

“Say something, Sherlock! Are you faking any of this this?” she demands.

“NO!” is all he can manage.

“I didn’t actually think you were, but…” She looks away, shaking her head. “It’s just not like I imagined. Us.” She motions between the two of them. “This. I thought we’d hang out at your flat, playing with cancerous livers and fooling around. I thought you’d want to keep us secret, not parade me all around London. I never expected you to tell me that you love me every single day.”

It hasn’t been every single day. He’d gotten caught on a case eight days ago, and forgotten to tell her. He told her twice the next day to make up for it. “This isn’t what you want?” he asks in a voice he almost doesn’t recognise.

Molly turns and cups his face. “I love you. But you know that, don’t you?”

He nods.

“And I know you love me. You don’t have to constantly tell me, unless you really want to.”

I do, he thinks.

“I believed it the first time you said it, though I don’t think you had a clue you were saying it,” she says with a knowing smile.

Wait, what? That doesn’t make any…

“And all the romance is sweet, but unnecessary.”

This time he turns, pulling her hands away from his face. “I wanted to make up for how you found out. That awful phone call…”

“That wasn’t the first time you said it, Sherlock.”

“Of course it was.”

She laughs, shaking her head and biting her lip. “You really don’t remember, do you?”

No, no he didn’t.

“Twice. You said it twice before that.”

Bloody hell.

“I had a very interesting voice mail the morning after John’s stag night.” She looks around as if trying to remember something, a wicked smile on her face. “Ah, yes: ‘Molly, Molly Hooper. My Molly. My pathologist. I love you more than a locked room triple murder.’ Then you said something about ash and disconnected.”

He was speechless. But he took a moment to enjoy the fact that she seemed to have memorised the voicemail.

“I chalked it up to drunkenness.” She pauses, studying him. “I didn’t believe it. People say a lot of things when they’re drunk. Doesn’t mean it’s true.”

Unless it is and I’ve loved you for years, he thinks. The realisation had hit him after Sherrinford. After returning to Baker Street he had taken a moment and let himself think about the ramifications of those words. Then he’d realised that he had meant them. He loved her. He hadn’t spent a great deal of time trying to figure out how long he’d loved Molly Hooper, just that he did. The next day he was at her door with a dozen roses, an explanation and what he thought was his first not forced I love you.

“Then there was the hospital…”

That could mean anything. Please don’t let it be when I was high. “What about the hospital, Molly?”

“It was after you were shot. Well, when they rushed you back after you pulled a runner. I was working and John phoned me. I met him in Trauma and he asked me to sit with you after you stabilised. He needed to talk to Mary about something. You’d lost a lot of blood, plus they’d pumped you full of pain meds. You were in and out of consciousness.”

“I have no memory of this.”

“Of course you don’t.”

“What did I say?”

“You thought John was still in the room, you were talking to him,” she explains.


“And you said: ‘Promise me, John.’” Molly’s voice breaks just a little and she clears her throat before continuing. “‘Promise me, John. If I die, tell Molly that I love her. Tell her that…”


“You said that you locked me away for safekeeping. That you put me into a room to watch over your heart. Can you imagine?” she says with glistening eyes and a sweet smile. “I tried not to think about those words, Sherlock. All this time I told myself that you were just high on narcotics and very, very near death. That it meant nothing. Then that phone call…”


“I know. Maybe I shouldn’t have made you say…”

“No,” he stops her. “I’m glad that you did. I don’t remember the others, but I remember that one. The one that made me think. The one that brought us here.” He wonders how he’s become this sappy, romantic fool in such a short amount of time, then he thinks about what Molly just told him. He considers the idea that he’d locked her away in a room in his mind palace, abstract as that may be, and realises that perhaps it’s just another thing he’s pushed away, like his feelings for this woman.

Molly’s hand on his brings him out of his thoughts; he squeezes it and looks at her. “So you want me to tone down the hearts and flowers?”

Her whole face brightens. “A bit. I’d love to just stay in and talk about… well anything or,” Her cheeks turn pink, so pink she’s practically glowing in the street lights. “Or nothing. We could not talk if you like.”

Ah, not talking means snogging or probably, most likely, shagging. “I could be talked into not talking, if you twisted my arm,” he says with what he hopes is a boyish grin. Then he stands, holding out his hand and helps Molly to her feet. They walk toward her door and he’s hoping she plans on inviting him in for a bit of not talking right now. But there’s one more thing. “Molly?”

She’s looking for her keys at the bottom of her large bag. He’ll pull his out in a minute to stop the fruitless search. She looks up and says, “Yes?”

“I’m still allowed to say I love you, right?”

“Of course you are. Just don’t say it because you think you have to.”

That’s fine with him. He’d never once said it because he had to.

Thanks for reading. ~Lil~



So I was re-watching A Scandal in Belgravia, as you do, and I got hooked on one little detail. So, for Molly, I did some research before on Louise Brealey’s body to make sure of her precise height, measurements, weight etc. And it’s very fascinating to me what my mind came up from this point on. Here are my two cents on Sherlock and two females that were shown as his romantic interest; two females the carry the most importance. Or The Woman and The One Who Counted. 

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“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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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.”
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.

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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.


“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.

Keep reading
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

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!!!!

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

Things I am currently in love with ...

…tagged by @down-the-rabbit-hole-wooohoo

Thank you <3!

One song: Robyn - Call your girlfriend
Two Movies: Dr. Strange, The fifth Element
Three Series: Sherlock, Hannibal, Last weeks tonight
Four peopple: mum, the honeypie, @isitandwonder and @my-sun-my-baelish
Five Foods: Potatoes, apples, Brezeln with butter, Grünkohl and Potatoes again bc I fucking love them!

Originally posted by batgirl1010

Six people to tag: @imnova  @benedictgingerbatch00 @misterisaw @odamakilock @laiquilasse and @lockedinjohnlock-podfics

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

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.


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.

Sherlock!AU (RP with @therealnoblesse)

Three weeks, Akira thought sourly. That was the time limit he gave himself before he either killed himself or the cinnamon-haired boy in front of him. His new flatmate.

It wasn’t as if the teen had said or done something to make Akira dislike him, but Akira wasn’t very fond of the idea of sharing his living quarters of the last two weeks with someone, a perfectstarner at that, especially considering that the russet-eyed teen was probably being made to move in with him as an excuse to keep a close eye on him, the problem child on probation for assaulting a politician (let’s forget to mention that said politician was drunk and trying to molest a young woman when Akira had intervened, shall we?), and that was enough to grant him second place in Akira’s shit list. First place was for the blasted politician Akira was there in Tokyo because of to begin with.

Six weeks, he thought then. He kinda owned both Sojiro-san for letting him stay at his second apartment for a significantly lower price (though still high enough that Akira had to start working a few part-time jobs to afford it, what with his parents not giving him money and all) and Nijima-san for helping him both during and after the trial (pretty sure he’d be in juvenile hall, hadn’t it been for her intervention), and they had both been quite adamant about this Akechi boy moving him with him.

Oh well. He’d play along and see where this would go in the end. And in any case, he couldn’t carry around guns, but he was pretty good at handling knives, so he’d be ready if things turned sour.

“My name is Akira Kurusu, I’m a newly-transferred junior at Shujin Academy and I’m currently on probation for preventing a drunk politician from molesting a woman.”



4/? Johnlock + Song Lyrics

Never imagined we’d end like this

Your name, forever the name on my lips