you-know-you-are-a-sherlock

Expectant - Request

Requested by anon:  could you do a Reader x Sherlock where she finds out she’s expecting and Sherlock has no idea how to react for awhile? Thank you :-)
Also, another anon requested for a fluffy one with Sherlock so…

Summary: (Y/N) is acting strange, and Sherlock notices. She ends up confessing the truth and… He struggles to find the words.

Pairing: Sherlock x reader

Warnings: Bit of angst (not really) because of Sherlock’s reaction. Also, fluffy.

Word count: 2,807

A/N: My Sherlock feels are rising like the fenix rises from the ashes, THANKS! This is fluffy and cheesy and I love it, hope you do too. Remember feedback is highly appreciated.

Enjoy!

Originally posted by xthismeanswar

London had never been quieter. Not a single criminal dared to show up in the past week – or at least not one Sherlock cared about.

With his fiddle in hand and a melody on his head, Sherlock played for hours and hours throughout the morning. His feet with move along the music as he followed his girlfriend around the flat, making sure to keep his eyes on her at every moment.

(Y/N) was tiding it up a little since neither Sherlock nor John would do it.

“You know you don’t have to do that.” Sherlock spoke as he waltzed his way closer to her.

“I know, I just… Need to kill time, I guess.” Sherlock tilted his head.

“Anxiety?” She shook her head.

“Maybe I’m just bored.” Sherlock smiled warmly at her.

“I knew I wasn’t the only one getting bored here.” He said.

“Bored? You?” (Y/N) let out a fake laugh, “As far as I can tell you’re having a blast with your instrument.”

Sherlock didn’t reply with words but rather changing the tune to a faster one.

“Show off.” She hissed jokingly and moved to his room, where she picked up the dirty clothes and dusted the furniture.

Sherlock couldn’t help but to notice something strange in her. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it because it was such a slight change in her – and a good kind of change – that deducing it would take him hours. And that’s why he was following her.

She was resplendent yet she looked tired. “Why are you tired?”

(Y/N) looked up at him; she had been dragged out of her thoughts. “Sorry?”

“Why are you tired?” Sherlock repeated, “Last night we did… We did sleep late but we always do.”

“Maybe it’s all this cleaning.” (Y/N) suggested.

“You’ve followed me on cases that could get anyone tired after five minutes without even flinching, it’s not the cleaning.” Sherlock observed. He stopped playing and stood still, following her every move.

“Maybe I’m getting old.” Sherlock lifted an eyebrow.

“Impossible.” He stated, “If you were getting old I would be too and I’m feeling great.”

“We are getting old.” She emphasized, “With each second that passes.”

Sherlock sighed heavily and continued to play. (Y/N) excused herself and left to the bathroom. It was the fifth time she went and it wasn’t even close to mid-day.

Sherlock stopped playing once again and walked back to the living room where John was sitting and reading a newspaper.

“There’s something off about her.” Sherlock whispered without even looking at his friend but rather keeping his ice blue eyes glued to the bathroom door.

Watson, who knew exactly what was going on, shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly and changed the page. He had been pretending to read the whole morning, for he knew it would be impossible for him not to react.

“You’ve read this newspaper three times already.” Sherlock observed.

“I like to re-read… Make sure everything sticks to my mind.” John replied.

“Guess that’s a method that works for common minds.” John couldn’t help but to roll his eyes, “But honestly, John, can’t you see? There’s something off about her.”

“She’s your girlfriend, Sherlock, not mine.” John beamed.

“She’s your friend, and you’re a doctor.” John sighed and scratched the corner of his eyes.

“She’s not sick.”

“How can you tell?” John inquired, “Did you check her body temperature? Her blood pressure? Her…”

“She’s fine!” John assured. Sherlock, of course, didn’t buy it and waited patiently for her to get out.

Keep reading

Imagine: Sherlock calling you beautiful. Sort of.

“Do you know John thought you were pretty when he first saw you?” Sherlock said randomly. 

“He thought?” you asked “Doesn’t he think that anymore?”

“He’s got Mary now”

“It doesn’t mean he needs to stop thinking I’m pretty. I’m gorgeous, you know?” you said jokingly.

“I know” Sherlock stared at you.

“Sorry, what did you just say?”

Sherlock looked away.

“Beauty is a social construc-” he started saying but you interrupted him.

“Oh, shut up!” You giggled. “Oh my God! That’s the closest thing to a compliment you’ve ever given me. Oww Sherly.” You were laughing now. 

“Don’t call me that.” 

Sherlock was trying to hide a smile.

Gif not mine.

Originally posted by zombiqueen1967

Experiment #2 - Request

Originally requested by @newts-fan-caseSo could you do a Sherlock x Reader were she is riding his face? (Lol I’m a sinner but I ain’t sorry) like for an experiment ‘cause Sherlock thinks a person can’t get aroused just by giving pleasure to someone else, but he is wrong and yeah ;)
& Anon:  Hi! Can I request a smut one shot with Sherlock where he wants to try have the reader sit on his face and eat her out and she’s shy & a bit self conscious with her body and he makes sure he makes her see Stars (with a little fkuff)? Thank you!
Requested by anon:  The “Experiment” was awesome! Can we have a part 2? Pleeeeeaaaaseeee
& a shit load of other people.

This is Sequel Friday first winner.

Pairing: Sherlock x reader.

Word count: 2,886

Warnings: Smut (unprotected), un-edited, secuel (yup, it’s a warning)

A/N: Amazing way to wrap an amazing week. Thank you to everyone who voted!

Enjoy!

|PART 1|

After Sherlock’s little “experiment”, his relationship with (Y/N) turned somewhat odd. They would continue to work together and act professional during the cases, but the tension between them was too much.

He had showed her a side that not a single human thought existed, or at least didn’t want to see. He had been patient with her, loving even, making sure to make her feel comfortable at all costs, complimenting her, being gentle and respecting her limits… Definitely thing a real gentleman does, but not the kind of traits one would expect from Sherlock Holmes.

Then there was also the fact that John was sensing some change of vibes in 221B. Of course, he figured it had something to do with Sherlock’s usual arse behaviour, but it was weird to see (Y/N) affected by it.

Sherlock was sitting on his seat, Watson was on his and (Y/N) was between them on the “victim’s chair”. Watson had a stern, determined look on his eyes and Sherlock was calm as usual, thinking that John was too dumb to have figured anything about him and (Y/N).

“What is going on?” John asked carefully.

Keep reading

Damian Wayne/ Robin X Reader- Murder Kitten

After this post, there will only be 2 requests left!! Yay!!!!!  Also, this was requested by @abigailredgrave, who requests some pretty awesome stuff!!! I hope you guys enjoy this and have a nice day!!!!  If I am counting this right, THIS IS MY ONE HUNDREDTH FANFIC!!!! YYYAAYYY!!!

Warning: Swearing 

Keep reading

The Scene™️️
  • Sherlock: Molly, please, without asking why, just say these words.
  • Molly: What words?
  • Sherlock: I.Love.You.
  • Molly: Leave me alone.
  • Sherlock: Molly, no, please, no! Don't hang up! Do not hang up!
  • Molly: Why are you doing this to me?! Why are you making fun of me?!
  • Sherlock: Please, I swear, you just have to listen to me. Molly, this is for a case. It's... it's a sort of experiment.
  • Molly: I'm not an experiment, Sherlock.
  • Sherlock: No, I know you're not an experiment, you're my friend. We're friends, but, please, just say those words for me.
  • Molly: Please don't do this. Just... just... don't do it.
  • Sherlock: It's very important. I can't say why. But I promise you, it is.
  • Molly: I can't say that, I can't... I can't say that to you.
  • Sherlock: Of course you can. Why can't you?
  • Molly: You know why.
  • Sherlock: No, I don't know why.
  • Molly: Of course you do.
  • Sherlock: Please, just say it.
  • Molly: I can't. Not to you.
  • Sherlock: Why?
  • Molly: Because... because it's true.
  • Because... it's true, Sherlock. It's always been true.
  • Sherlock: Well, if it's true, just say it anyway.
  • Molly: You bastard.
  • Sherlock: Say it anyway.
  • Molly: You say it. Go on. You say it first.
  • Sherlock: What?
  • Molly: Say it. Say it like you mean it.
  • Sherlock: I... I love you.
  • I love you.
  • Molly?
  • Molly please!
  • Molly: I love you.

Sherlock knows that there are different kinds of kisses.

There are goodnight kisses.
When he was a child, his mother gave him a kiss every evening. Always on the forehead. They were soft and affectional. It was their ritual.

There are dog kisses.
Redbeard gave him a lot. They were wet and a bit too much dog, but Sherlock never pushed him away. He always just giggled and Redbeard smiled his happy dog smile at him.

There are surprise kisses.
One time, when he was a teenager, Sherlock visited a nightclub. He knew that all of his classmates were going there, and that going out was considered a … normal habit for normal teens, so he wanted to try it out. It was part of his long search for a way to fit in.
It wasn’t a very pleasant experience. It was too loud. There were too many people. He was overhelmed.
When he left, and breathed in the chill night air, relieved, a boy he didn’t know came to him and asked if everything was okay. Sherlock nodded. The boy smiled brightly. He seemed to be a bit drunk. Suddenly, without any warning, he leaned forward and kissed Sherlock on the mouth. It was sloppy and strange. Sherlock was too surprised to do anything. In the next moment, the boy withdrew and walked away, giggling.
Sherlock stared after him. He was completely frozen. He didn’t know how he should interpret this experience, but he knew that he would never go to a club again.

There are wanted kisses.
Sherlock met Victor Trevor at university.
At this point, he knew that he was gay, and he asked himself a lot what it would be like to have a boyfriend. To be in love. To be loved. To cuddle. To have sex.
But he never really had the courage to date someone. He was too insecure.
But one day, Victor Trevor asked him out.
Sherlock was surprised, and first he was not sure if Victor meant it seriously. Victor was attractive and popular. Why would he want to hang out with Sherlock?
But when they sat in a cafe, drinking milkshakes, Victor smiled at him and said, “Do you know that you are beautiful?”
Sherlock blushed, and suddenly he very much wanted to kiss Victor.
And they did. They kissed in front of the cafe and it was great.

There are also unwanted kisses.
It was Victor, who discovered the cocain.
It helped him to stay awake longer. To be more attentive. He believed that it would help him to get better grades …
He was thrilled, and after some hesitance, Sherlock tried it too.
He was surprised, how much the cocain helped him focus.
And very quickly, he couldn’t do without them … Neither of them could.
First, it was bliss.
But slowly, it became a mixture of desperation and regret.

One day, Victor left and never came back.
He just disappeared.
Sherlock wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
He never thought that Victor was his souldmate or anything. It was love, but it was a kind of fragile and changeable love.
He gave up searching for Victor after a while.
And was suddenly alone again.

One day, when he realized that he didn’t have enough money for the drugs anymore, he begged his dealer to give him something on credit.
The other man just laughed and shook his head.
“I don’t do that,” he said. “Not that. But … we could make a deal, pretty boy.”
And suddenly, he leaned forward and gave Sherlock a sloppy kiss on the mouth. It reeked of cigarrettes and cheap vodka.
Sherlock shoved the man away and left quickly.
He wouldn’t do that, he swore to himself. Never.

But it was just another kind of self betrayal.

None of the kisses he received in his past is comparable to the one he shares with John Watson years later.

They kiss each other in the pale moonlight in Sherlock’s room.
They’re standing in front of the window and the curtains are open.
John’s lips are warm and soft.
John’s hands are in his hair.
John is everywhere.
The kiss is slow and it seems to last an eternity.
The kiss is salvation.
It’s the end of their pain and their hiding.
It’s the end of Sherlock’s search for someone who can see him for who he really is.

John-kisses are made of love.


Just a little something.

Corrected by @bakerstreet-irregular <3

Requested by thestrawberryblondehobbitbatch:  Sherlock x reader. Jim kipnaps Sherlocks wife. He finds you weeks later. Weak from lack of food and water. Once at the hospital the doctor finds ‘Did You Miss Me?’ Cut into her back

(gif note mine but writing is)

Where is she?

“Where is she?” Sherlock shouts as he worryingly paces around 221B Baker Street. John stood nervously watching. On the table Sherlock’s laptop was open. He was currently having a group video chat with his brother Mycroft Holmes who works in the British government and Greg Lestrade, inspector at Scotland Yard.

“Where is (Y/N)?” Sherlock yells whilst picking up a book and throwing it across the room. The book had knocked some items off of the mantelpiece. Sherlock walked over to them and picks up a shiny rectangle. It was a photograph of Sherlock in a black suit hugging you in your white wedding dress. The happiest day in both of your lives. Gazing at it lovingly, Sherlock gently strokes the frame before putting it back ontop of the mantlepiece.

“We have our best people on it.” said Greg.
“The case is our top priority.” added Mycroft. Angrily Sherlock slams down his laptop lid, ending the chat. “Idiots” he mumbled as he walked back over to the photograph.
“They’re trying their best.” John says, trying to reassure him.
“I need her John… I. Need. Her.” Sherlock pleas as he starts to stroke your face in the picture.

You had been missing for a week now. It was so simple, you went to the shop but never returned home. There were no leads, your mobile was uncontactable, you had completely vanished. No contact from you or your captor. Sherlock had no idea who had abducted you and it was tearing him apart. You were his other half, a half that he didnt knew he needed before. He often described you as more powerful than any drug and more interesting than any case.
Permanently glued to his chair, he barely ate or slept. Only having the minimum amount, so he was always ready if he heard any news. John and Mrs Hudson took it in turns to watch over him.

John had walked into the room after making some toast. Sherlock was still in his chair, one of your dressing gowns draped over him. Placing a slice of toast next to Sherlock, John sat in his chair. Sherlock nuzzled the dressing gown whilst he was twisting his wedding ring around his finger. From what John could tell, Sherlock was in his mind palace.
Suddenly Sherlock’s mobile phone vibrated on the table, making him jump. The screen illuminated with the words ‘1 new message from unknown number’. “Finally” Sherlock mumbled as he grabbed the phone. He hesitated before opening the message, mentally preparing himself for what it might be.

Sherlock’s eyes widened in shock. It was a photograph showing your face and neck. Tears streaming down your face. Your watery eyes were framed by black rings of fatigue under them. You were clearly in distress. Bruises made from fingertips were on your neck, suggesting that a restraining hand had previously been there. A man’s lips were kissing your neck. Unfortunately the photograph only showed the very edge of them, making their owner difficult to discover. Under the photograph was a caption which read 'Thank you for the gift Sherlock. She is too delicious to resist!’

Tears filled Sherlock’s eyes as he stared at the image. “She looks different.” he whispered. John walked over to look at the message. Placing a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder he said “It could just be the camera angle.”
Sherlock’s eyes interrogated the photograph. “No, that’s not it. Something is wrong with her face. It’s… It’s thinner.” he said trying to keep his voice steady and attempting to suppress his quickly growing anger.

For the next week Sherlock frantically ran around London, trying to figure out your location. He took his mobile to Lestrade in an attempt to track the number that sent the message. Sherlock knew that it would not work but he had to try anyway. Using the photograph he analysed the background but there was too little information to go on. He was running around in circles and he knew it. Despite his desperate efforts, you were unobtainable. Slowly, it was breaking him.

Sherlock laid on the sofa in 221B. John had tried his best to keep him positive but it had been weeks now. All Sherlock would say is “How can I be a consulting detective if I can’t even find my wife… I miss her so much.”
Sherlock’s mobile buzzed with another new message from an unknown number. He turned around and sat up on the sofa. His eyes filled with tears, he had been silently crying again.

The message was another photograph. It was of your hand being held by a man’s hand. He could spot your hand instantly especially because of your engagement and wedding rings. The man’s hand looked strangely familiar but Sherlock could not think of whose it was at that moment. A caption read 'I think we have really bonded’ this was then followed by a list of numbers.

John sat next to him on the sofa, looking over his shoulder at the message. Mrs Hudson also stared in from the kitchen as she made cups of tea for the three of them. “Coordinates” Sherlock said whilst looking at the numbers. Suddenly something happened that Sherlock did not expect. His phone rang. His mobile illuminated with 'unknown number calling’
With a trembling hand he answered it and put it on speaker phone. His eyes widened as he heard the sound of your voice.

“Hello my love. He knows that you have figured out the numbers.” your voice was shakey and weak. “Sherlock, he says that he is going to leave you a message… What is that? Why do you have that? No please, no!” you let out a blood curdiling scream. John could see Sherlock’s heart breaking. He was in agony.

Almost instantly Sherlock stood up. “We. Go. Now!” Sherlock growled as he put on his coat and taking a bag from the side. John hurriedly did the same as they both ran out the door and hailed a cab.

Following the coordinates, the taxi pulled up outside an abandoned office building. As they stepped in they could see long corridors filled with offices, all of them looking identical. John had the bag on his back and a gun in his hand. “Look at the walls. I should have known it would have been here.” Sherlock said.
“We couldn’t have gotten here any sooner.” John reassuringly replied.
In one of the offices at the other side of the corridor. Sherlock could see a figure slumped on the floor.

“Sher…lock” you said though your voice was no louder that a whisper. Slowly lifting your head, a smile spread across your face as you saw your husband. You would be crying with joy if you weren’t so dehydrated. Sherlock ran towards you and knelt down besides you. He gently hugged you and planted kisses all over your face before tenderly kissing your lips. It was as if you both couldn’t quite believe that you were finally reunited. Both of you were completely overwhelmed.
Looking at your dramatically thinner body, John rang for an ambulance.

Reaching into the bag and pulling out a bottle, Sherlock pours some water into your mouth. It was what you had been craving for weeks. You welcomed the feeling as a drop slipped out of your mouth, washing over your dry lips. John kept guard in case your captor was still around as Sherlock placed a cube of chocolate on your tongue. “I’ve missed you so much.” you whispered as Sherlock stroked your cheek.
“Are you talking about me or the chocolate?” Sherlock said which made you giggle. He savoured the sound of you laughter as a happy tear ran down his cheek.

Holding your hands he helped you as you shakily stood up. Your black form hugging dress now looked baggy as it hung off of your body. You started to walk but your legs buckled. You would have fallen on to the floor but Sherlock had caught you by placing a supportive hand on your back. This made you whimper in pain.
You shook your head. You felt like you didn’t want to be touched, especially there. Thoughts of you captor filled your mind and you shuddered in fear.

Without warning Sherlock scoops you up and starts to carry you. He was slightly alarmed by how much lighter you felt in his arms. You could start to hear sirens in the distance. Laying your head against Sherlock’s chest, you closed your eyes as you listened to the relaxing sound of his steady heartbeat.

You woke up in a white hospital bed. Sherlock was sat on a chair next to you holding your hand. His eyes staring at you. A smile crept onto his face as he watched your eyes open. He stood up and leaned over you, gently placing a kiss in your forehead before sitting back down again. You mouthed the words 'I love you’ which made his smile bigger.

You looked around the room. “John’s working on a few of the leads I have. Your captor seemed familiar but I just can’t quite put my finger on who it is yet.” Sherlock said with disappointment in his eyes.

“I see that I have come in at the right time.” said a doctor as he walked into the room. “(Y/N) as you know you are severely dehydrated and malnourished. I have given you some quick working syrups to help build your strength up. As long as you rest for the next few weeks, you will feel better in no time. You have also lost a lot of blood. I found something very strange when I examined you - ”
You cut him off as Sherlock looked at you with a confused expression.
“Please can I tell him… In private?” you ask with a look of shame on your face. The doctor nodded as he left the room.

“Sherlock…” your words trailed off as tears filled your eyes.
“What is it?” Sherlock asked lovingly as his hands cupped your face.
“You know how you said that my captor seemed familiar to you. Firstly, you know him. Sherlock it’s difficult. I hate him, you hate him. I can’t even say his name. The message he said that he was going to leave you… Well…” you say shakily.

Getting up and out of the bed, you stood in front of Sherlock. Turning around so you now faced the wall, you pulled your hospital gown up. Sherlock’s heart sank as his fists clenched in anger.

Carved deeply into your back were the words 'Did You Miss Me?’

“Moriarty” Sherlock growled through gritted teeth.

The Holmes - Request

Requested by anon:  I have a request: could you do a one shot in the episode when Sherlock parents come to visit him and when you come back from work you meet them but they think you’re dating him but you’re just friends and they invite you to dinner.

Summary: Everything from above.

Pairing: Sherlock x reader.

Word count: 2,344

Warnings: None.

A/N: I couldn’t help my self and made it extra fluffy.

Enjoy!

Originally posted by avengers-of-mirkwood

221B was loud that afternoon. The clients – whoever they were – had talked about a lottery ticket for almost thirty minutes straight. (Y/N) was impressed that Sherlock hadn’t shut them up and kicked them out already.

“Is he sick?” (Y/N) whispered to Mrs. Hudson. They were huddled outside her flat’s door listening.

“Uh… I think you should go up and figure it out.” The old woman suggested and sneaked into her flat without leaving any time to argue.

Mrs. Hudson had always shipped John and Sherlock, that until (Y/N) appeared and so her ship changed. “Unbelievable what Twitter can do to a woman like Mrs. Hudson” Watson had said, but he was inertly please because he also liked Sherlock and (Y/N) as a couple.

The girl fixed her clothes and got upstairs confidently and ready to pretend she hadn’t heard the whole conversation. She opened the door slowly.

“Did you find the lottery ticket?” Sherlock asked. He looked bored, but he wasn’t acting like usual. Instead, he was sitting at his seat while the two clients – an old couple – sat at the leather couch.

“Yes, turns out he had it on his back pocket.” The lady giggled, “So we had time to…”

“(Y/N)!” Sherlock cheered as he saw the girl appear behind the door. He jumped out of his seat and rushed over to her. “Kill me.” He mouthed jokingly. (Y/N) chuckled in silence and Sherlock winked at her. The old lady cleared her throat, capturing Sherlock’s attention back.

“Am I interrupting, Mr. Holmes?” (Y/N) inquired, using her professional voice tone.

“Not at all, my dear.” Sherlock said, “They were about to leave, right mum?”

“Mum?” (Y/N) gasped.

“Yes, sorry.” Sherlock dragged her to the leather couch as the couple got up. “Mum, Dad, this is (Y/N).” Sherlock introduced them, “(Y/N) these are my parents.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” (Y/N) smiled warmly.

“The pleasure is ours.” Mrs. Holmes said. She had a strange look on her face, and same look was shared by her husband. Both of them alternating their gaze between Sherlock and (Y/N).

“You came, you talked non-stop, you met (Y/N), and now you leave.” Sherlock urged to say, “Tell Mycroft I say hi.”

“But Sher…” His mom tried to argue, but Sherlock was already pushing them out. His mother stopped right before she stepped on the hallway and Sherlock couldn’t help but to stop pushing them due to the authoritarian look on her face. “Dinner, at eight today.” She said.

“I’m working on a case.” Sherlock argued.

“The victim is already dead, however we are not.” Mrs. Holmes snapped back, “Dinner at eight today.” She repeated and then looked at (Y/N). “Bring her.”

“But…”

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes, you better be there with her or else…” She threatened.

“Yes, mum.” Sherlock nodded.

“Good boy.” She palmed his cheek and then left. Sherlock stood still, frozen in place until (Y/N) walked closer to him.

“I’m afraid you have to come as well… She can be scary when she’s mad.” He mumbled. (Y/N) giggled, guiding him to his seat.

“It’s fine; I’d love her to answer some questions for me.” Sherlock chuckled, finally relaxing from his sudden terror.

“There’s a list, she knows it by memory.” He commented.

“A list about common questions about you and Mycroft?” She inquired.

“Oh no, just a list of me.” Sherlock explained, “Mycroft’s got a whole file… She still doesn’t memorize it.” (Y/N) laughed loudly and Sherlock soon followed her.

Keep reading

  • *early morning*
  • Sherlock: *playing the violin*
  • Rosamund: *eating cereal; grimacing* Uncle Sherlock?
  • Sherlock: *concentrating* Mmm?
  • Rosamund: Are you in love?
  • Sherlock: *glances at her* Why do you ask?
  • Rosamund: *shrugs* you keep playing icky love songs and stuff.
  • Sherlock: *offended* I am not!
  • Rosamund: *raises an eyebrow* What was that called?
  • Sherlock: ...
  • Sherlock: *mutters* Ode to Joy *irritated* don't you have school?
  • Rosamund: *rolls her eyes; stands* Alright, alright, I'm going *picks up her bag; knocks on Sherlock's bedroom door* see you later, Aunt Molly.
  • Molly: *muffled* Yeah, g-goodbye, Rosie.
  • Sherlock: ...
  • Rosamund: *smug* Bye-bye, Uncle Sherlock *grins as she leaves the flat*

How Do We Fall in Love?

Pairing: SherlockxReader/MoriartyxReader (Idek, man.)

Warnings: Mentions of sex, gun threats, mentions of criminal past (it is the Sherlock fandom, this should be no surprise). Maybe light cursing, I don’t remember.

A/N: I AM SO SORRY MY LOVELIES. I’ve been SUPER busy, and just haven’t had time to post anything. I am so so so sorry.

Originally posted by enola-holmes-sherlock

________________________________________

Sherlock’s heart sped so fast, he could hear the fear coursing through his veins. A screeching so loud, he swore everyone within a four kilometer radius could hear. The words repeated over and over, what appeared to be a simple little comment on his blog became an omen of everything that could’ve possibly gone wrong.

Lovely girl you’ve got,
But can she stand her own flames?
Fires can be very dangerous…
~JMx

He’d replied eight times over, attempting to get more clues. His head was spinning, trying to solve the clue at the bottom of the recent picture of you and him. Something John had posted on Sherlock’s blog in his place, and it may’ve given you you away to Moriarty.
The name sent chills down his spine. What used to be a fun challenge had turned into his own personal hell.

And now the devil had the woman who mattered most to him, and all the clues in the world couldn’t help him, because his mind refused to process. John, Mycroft, Lestrade- everyone was trying to help, but to no true avail. Moriarty still had you…

Then a call came in- no, less of a call, more of a clue, one so simple, even George could figure it out. But before anyone else could evaluate it, Sherlock had sneaked off, hurrying to the same place he’d faced the Black Lotus General- only to be met with another clue, this time leading to an abandoned flat on the outskirts of London. He huffed as he climbed the stairs, feeling like his lungs may burst at any moment from the over use, but he could still see the image of your glittering eyes burned into his mind.

—-

Jim tilted your head towards him as you both waited, away from the window that you could see your “knight in shining armor” come to “rescue you”. His thumb grazed along your jaw, lifting until his eyes burned into yours.

“Problem, my little desert rose?” He purred, eyes dead save for a twinkle of insanity, and a smirk so dangerous it could kill you without a touch.

“None, sir.” You answered appropriately, but the way he grabbed your wrist immediately told you that your little lie hadn’t gone unnoticed. Your eyes snapped shut at the immediate, but bearable pain. Despite his cold exterior, you both knew Jim would never actually hurt you, but his threats were never to be taken lightly.

Just because he wouldn’t hurt you, didn’t mean he would have any problem leaving you for the dogs…

“I just- is it necessary that I be here, sir?” You kept it polite as possible, allowing your eyes to open again, being met with a quizzical stare. That’s right, you thought, he doesn’t understand complex emotions… You stared back, trying to hide what you could behind a blank mask. From this short distance, you could feel his breath fanning over your lips, like it’d done many times before. Though, usually, it came with a sleepless night, and marks left for the next day, claiming what was his.

“Remind me, pet,” Great, now he was upset, “Why’re we here?” He took a step forward despite there being no room, forcing you to move back, and repeatedly did so, until your back hit the wall of your old flat.

“To bring down Sherlock Holmes.” You muttered shakily, feeling very contrasting emotions from his close proximity, the combination making you dizzy and nauseous. Your hand hit the wall with a gathered force of his anger and something underlying that wasn’t quite as clear.

“Now, wouldn’t we want him to see his little sweet, sweet love betraying him, pet?” He hissed out each word, face inches from yours as his plan ricocheted in your head.

“I put you onto the playing field to make Sherlock Holmes fall for the girl of his dreams- not the other way around.” Your breath hitched in your throat, head shaking as much as possible. You didn’t know what you felt for Sherlock, or perhaps it was simply nothing, and you just felt the need to protect the one person who’d ever cared for you- but you definitely would overlook it for your life.

“It’s not like that- Jim, you know me, and it’s not like that. I know the plan, and-” He already seemed to be calming some, though his eyes still showed rage inside, “I would never betray you like that.” Sadly, it was true. Jim had protected you when you made the biggest mistake of your life- from both the government and any criminal organizations out to kill you. Six years, and he’d given you everything you could ever need, at the simple cost of working for him. He never had you do much, and never pushed you into anything you were uncomfortable with, and hey- the door was always open, if you’d ever do choose death over him.

But that’s the thing about Jim Moriarty. He is death, in his own sense, just in much prettier packaging. He twists your mind, until nothing exists but him, and he always gets what he wants, and always makes it seem like that’s what you wanted, all along. And you’d caught on to the game early on- never cared to stop it, but then again, if you did, then you’d be boring like everyone else.

He smirked the slightest bit, fingers brushing against your cheek like rose petals in the wind, “Oh, my little desert blossom…” he leaned closer like he would kiss you, “I’ll believe it when I see it. Choose Holmes, and you’ve only got yourself to blame for your untimely demise.” He said it the same way he would words of endearment, the sickly feeling seeping into you, but his tone drawing you closer.

“You’re a double edged sword, you know that?” You muttered, somewhat wishing you could betray James- even the slightest bit. You couldn’t care less about your protection. It’s just that your sense of loyalty rested with the consulting criminal, and you could never give that up. His lips brushed against yours just as the door opened downstairs, and you fought down the temptation to tell Sherlock to just stay put.

But as Jim’s lips fully encased yours, not a sound left your mouth. Footsteps echoed up the stairs, and still, you were engulfed by the madman. Infatuated.

The door to the old flat building was kicked open, the ancient lock flying off the door. You heard the gun before you saw it..

Click, “Let. Her. Go.” He demanded, as if you hadn’t just been kissing the criminal a second ago. Your eyes went wide as Jim pulled away, smirking with a demented glint in his eyes. The same one that sliced down into your very core, ripping anyone in its path to shreds.

“Oh, Sherlock… tsk… tsk… tsk…” The gun stayed trained on Jim, and every second ticked down, ringing in your ears. You looked between the two, staying next to the wall, unsure if you were even allowed to say anything, or if it’d mess up Jim’s plan. Jim circled around Sherlock, the gun lowering slightly the moment he was away from you. Soon he was in front of you, again, eyes lit up with knowing that Sherlock was absolutely clueless. Jim held his hand out to you, more of an offering than a demand. Cocky bastard. He knew you’d choose him.

“Let’s let our fair blossom decide, hm?” You wished you could say you even considered choosing Sherlock for a split second, but then again, that’d be pointless. The moment you left Jim’s side, you’d be dead… Your hand reached out for Jim’s, not a hesitation in the motion.

“Y/n, I know who you are.” Sherlock said flatly, your head snapping to him, hand drawing back. Jim’s eyes went black at the reaction, oh so tempted to just snatch your hand.

“I can help you- protect you. You don’t need him!” Sherlock insisted, stepping closer, and offering out his hand. His eyes sparkled with desperation, genuinely wanting you to come with him. He didn’t want to beat Moriarty, or use you for his own agendas. He just wanted to protect you… and that was enough. Your hand shook, uncertainty spreading through you. You had never left Jim’s side- never questioned him. You’d let him use you until you ran dry, because… that’s all you’d ever known. But here was Sherlock… and he genuinely cared for you..

Could he protect you? Could he, really?

The Woman I Used To Know


Summary: What if Sherlock discovers that you, his fiancé, turn out to be an assassin?

Request:

Can u do a story where greg (or sherlock, take your pick) are on a case and the reader is the murderer (lots of thrill and stuff) also, love all of your story, keep it up :)

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader

Title: ‘The Woman I Used to Know’

Content: Angst / Thriller

Warning: If you haven’t seen the third season of Sherlock, please do NOT read this one-shot. (Unless spoilers don’t bother you.)

Word count: 1.903

A/N: Alright. I picked Sherlock because I knew he was going to make justice to the plot. Firstly, I have to thank the nice fellow for requesting this idea; I loved writing this one-shot. Secondly, this scene gets me all the time (the one where Mary tells John the truth at 221b - ‘His Last Vow’.) I cannot stop pressing the repeat button, tears all over my face. Thirdly, I’m thinking about a second part but first you tell me what do you think about it, would you?

The Woman I Used to Know

The Woman I Used to Know: The Morstan Sisters

The Woman I Used to Know: Magnussen

The Woman I Used to Know: You’re Safe Now

The Woman I Used to Know: The Truth


*gif not mine


Once he fell to the floor, you aimed Vladik Melnikoff, a Russian trained assassin who was hired by an old friend of yours, with your gun. “Who are you, Vladik Melnikoff and what do you want?” You asked him but he didn’t reply. “Ok. How about this? Your boss; I want their name,” you asked. Angrily, you lifted your foot and put it onto his hurt arm. The man cried out in pain. “Don’t be shy. Say it. Tell me their name,” you gave him a second chance as you pressed your lips. “A name!” you shouted with rage since the hired assassin didn’t answer your question but by then, he was dead. Blood was surrounding him.

Suddenly, you heard someone walking towards you. You closed your eyes tightly as you cursed under your breath. “I’ve thought torturing people was not your thing,” a man with a deep voice said. It was him. How did he find you? Your breath was heavier and your heart was beating faster than usual. “Would you mind to turn around…” he asked with no expression on his face and his eyes on your back. “Y/N?” He called; you pressed your lips and swallowed afraid. How would he react? Would he call the police and arrest you? Would he protect you?

You took a deep breath, threw the gun and turned around to face your soon-to-be husband and his best friend. As John folded his arms, Sherlock marched over to you but before looking at you he knelt down to pick up the gun. He grabbed it, uncharged it and shoved the bullets into his right coat pocket. You let out an anguished sigh. When your eyes met you could see anger in his. “Baker Street. Now,” he muttered and then turned around to walk away, you followed him. You drew in a sharp breath, apparently fighting off tears.

During the journey to Baker Street, no one said a word. You glanced at Sherlock but he was too upset to look at you so he kept looking through the window. John tried not to turn your gaze at you either. They were both extremely mad at you.

A few minutes later, the cab pulled up at Baker Street. Sherlock opened the door of the living room and walked in, you followed him up the stairs and John was behind you. Once inside the flat, John slammed the door loud enough to scare you.

You walked slowly towards the dining table as you took off your coat. You placed it on the table. Sherlock stood by the fireplace and John leaned his back against the wall by the door. The detective’s eyes were on you and his arms were folded.

“Ooh Ooh,” Mr. Hudson hurried towards Sherlock and put her right hand on his shoulder. You and the doctor turned your gazes to her. “Sherlock, John,” she greeted. John gave her a tight smile. “Y/N!” She looked at you worried. “What’s going on? I heard someone screaming downstairs as I was cleaning this mess of yours, Sherlock Holmes,” she asked and scolded, a worried look on her face.

“Don’t get me wrong, Mrs. Hudson but your presence is hard to take right now,” Sherlock said coldly as he glared at you.

“Sherlock,” you muttered but John cut you off.

He looked at you, “Good. I mean, first Mary…now, you.” He exclaimed and put both hands on his hips.

“Who do you work for?” The sociopath asked with a quiet and serious voice.

“I don’t work for anyone, Sherlock,” you answered looking at him shyly.

“You’re an assassin; you must work for someone,” he snapped with an unreadable face.

You got closer to him. “I’m telling you the truth. I don’t work for anyone,” you replied raising your voice shaking.

“So why did you do this?” he asked you. Sherlock had a small fixed humourless smile on his face as his eyes remained locked on you.

“I-I-I did it for my own sake,” you confessed as you hesitated. “People like him…” you stopped and sighed knowing that this was going to make him freak out.

“Who?” he asked and frowned, his anger still present.

“Sherlock…” you muttered.

Who do you work for?!” he shouted at you furiously. His eyes met yours as you pulled back.

Mrs. Hudson jumped terrified and scuttled to the kitchen. “Oh, the neighbours!” She cried.

The army doctor, who saw the detective breathing heavily tried to calm him down. “Sherlock, slow down.”

“No, John,” he shouted as he glared at you. “I want to know who you work for,” he asked lowering his voice.

“If I’d tell you, you would leave me and never return back,” you said as you tried to hold back your tears. “And I swear you, that it would break my heart into pieces.”

“I don’t mind what the consequences will be,” he stated firmly. “I’m just asking you a single question. Just one, Y/N. Who do you work for?“ He asked once more, his voice and his face were full of barely-controlled anger.

“I don’t work for anyone. I am on my own. He was following me with the purpose of killing me,” you replied calmly. “I have been hiding from Moriarty and that implied killing the ones who were tracking me, that’s all. That’s all I have done, just protect myself.”

“Sorry, but what did you do to deserve Moriarty’s hate?”

Sherlock looked at his friend over his shoulder with exasperation. “John, shut up,” he asked and then turned his gaze back to you. “Why?” He stared at you upset, though he blinked repeatedly. “Why me? Why did you choose me, huh? Why didn’t you pick the first man you could have stumbled with down the street? “

“Because I never knew he was going to play with you. Because I love you, and I always did,” you confessed trying to hold back the tears. “I never thought that I would fall in love with a sociopath who played with the devil itself.”

“People have died.”

“And I still can’t fall sleep without thinking about my actions before,” your voice broke yet you stood still. “That’s why I’ll have to carry a cross for the rest of my life,” you said. “So if you truly love me, just kill me.“

“Don’t be absurd,” he heaved a sigh and paused. “I’m taking the case,” he accepted without being asked.

“What case?” You asked perplexed.

Yours,” he looked at you right in the eyes seriously.

John took two steps forwards. “Seriously? You’re going to do that again?”

“John, I told you to shut up,” turned towards him furiously.

You dried a tear that had fallen down on your cheek. “How’s that gonna look, Sherlock? A detective with a criminal?”

“I don’t care how’s that going to look, I’m doing it because Moriarty played with you,” he replied with an angry whisper, leaning towards you while pointing down to the fireplace. “You’re not my fiancé, you’re a client now,” He turned briefly towards John, gave him a nod and then looked back to you. John picked up one chair and put it down facing the two armchairs of theirs. Slowly Sherlock walked towards his leather armchair and sat down, and then John joined him. “Sit down,” he emphasised both words. He tilted his head to the chair and you obeyed.

Before you could said a word John looked at you and cleared his throat. “What do you know so far?” You asked Sherlock, who was looking at the fireplace. The detective didn’t say a word. “I know you, Sherlock. The fact that I’m an assassin and a smart woman doesn’t mean that you’re not better than me.”

“I never said that.”

“Then, what do you know so far?” You asked him loudly and he turned his gaze to you.

Sherlock scanned you and made some deductions based on what he had seen an hour ago. “Judging by the way you type when you’re texting, I presume you know how to use the Morse code. Your shooting skills, they are better than mine – unfortunately – so you must be also a sniper. I assume that you worked for someone for a couple of years, then you quitted. Liar; shame on you,” he spoke quietly and sighed; then he continued. “It was blackmail,” he stopped for a second to smirk, you and John paying attention. “You had information that he wanted back, so he tracked you. You’ve been undercover at least for six years so they could not find you. But when you heard he died and that the web was finished you returned to your ‘normal’ life – if you can call it like that. It seems that you’ve never heard about me, apparently; but who knows? Have I missed anything?”

“You know me well,” you said and gave him a small smirk as you were proud of him.

John froze for a moment. “So, you just wanted to protect yourself from Moriarty?” he pointed at you with his pen. “Then why did you kill these two people?” He showed you the files of the last two cases they couldn’t solve since you were the murderer and they had never suspected you. “I don’t understand,” John shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. Sherlock glanced at him and then turned his gaze away to think.

“Because she saved our lives, John.”

John and you looked at him. You felt proud but John…John was shocked. “How? Why would she save our lives? I mean you’re involved in these two cases, Y/N,” he finger pointed at you.

“Because if she wouldn’t have killed them, they would kill us. Knowing that we’re her weaknesses they tracked us and planned our deaths.”

“Oh, Jeez,” John ran a hand all over his face and then looked at you.

Sherlock had his eyes fixed on the nowhere as he tried to think. “But the question is ‘why me’?” he muttered and then looked at you. “Why did you fall in love with me? Why did I fall in love with you?” he asked you as he gestured with his hands.

“Like you said a year ago, I’m addicted to a certain lifestyle and that I’m abnormally attracted to dangerous situations and people,” John randomly said. “Well, so are you, Sherlock,” he finished.

“But she was not supposed to be like that,” his eyes fixed on his friend as he breathed rapidly and deeply.

“Mary wasn’t either; but I still love her,” he assured calmly.

“She is a murderer!” he pointed at you, his voice a little stronger. Your heart broke at the moment he called you like that. Tears fell down o your cheeks.

John looked down to his notebook for several seconds and then turned his gaze up directly into Sherlock’s eyes. “But you chose her, anyway,” he simply said the truth.

“You may not love me now, but he’s right,” you said with your voice full of suppressed of tears. “You did let me enter your life because you wanted to.”

“I’m taking the case,” he just said without looking neither to you nor John. He stood up on his feet and walked away.

“Sherlock…” John said as you both watched him march over to the doorway. “Where are you going?” He asked but his friend ignored him. “Great, I think someone will have to put off the wedding,” he shook his head, stood up and headed to the kitchen to make some tea leaving you there alone.

You lowered your gaze down and looked at your hands. They were cold. You glanced at your engagement ring and then started playing with it. You turned your gaze up and took it off. It was the most beautiful thing that could represent the love between you and the detective. You smiled but then closed your eyes, pressed your lips and heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry,” you sadly whispered, took the ring and put it into one of Sherlock’s drawers.

You sighed, rose from the chair, took your things and without bothering John you walked out the flat to go back home.

Listener - Request

Requested by anon:  Being Sherlocks first girlfriend and him only listening to you during one of his boredom cravings? Thank you so much!

Summary: Reader realizes Sherlock doesn’t listen to her unless his bored, which makes her feel a bit down and Sherlock notices.

Pairing: Sherlock x reader

Word count: 1,505

Warnings: Nope.

A/N: It’s been a while since I write in the “you…” format (whatever it is called) so I’m curious as to what reaction you’ll have.

Enjoy!

Originally posted by silent-micka

Sherlock Holmes, the most famous high-functioning sociopath and your boyfriend.

He was a lot of things, but a good boyfriend wasn’t one of them. For instance, his high ego about his intellect made it hard for him to give you a decent compliment which resulted in: “Your… shirt looks nice, although that colour doesn’t really fit you”, “Your un-used mind amuses me” and “I’d rather keep you at home than out on a case, you might ruin it… And I also want you to be safe, although no one is really safe. Bye!”

However, you were enamoured with him. His aureate language and his multiple talents had you head over heels, without mentioning those small but highly appreciated moments in which he would actually show affection to you.

It was weird, and nobody understood how you could date a man like him, but that’s exactly what love does: it turns you into a stupid person. Sherlock would remark that as constantly as possible, making sure to add a “maybe that’s why my IQ is becoming lower… because of you” Which was as romantic as he’d get.

You’d find yourself brooding about him when he and John were on a case. He had had a few love affairs in the past, nothing to worry about, and they had proven to everyone that Sherlock Holmes could actually feel; after all you were his first girlfriend. However, there was still something off about your relationship. An effervescent feeling, down your gut, that begged you to re-think.

But what was it?

It took you a while to find out, but once you reached the denouement, you couldn’t help but to feel a tad bit down. Sherlock wouldn’t listen to you unless he was bored, and yes, he didn’t truly listen to anybody else but him and sometimes Watson, but you weren’t just anybody.

“You’re upset.” He observed, although he hadn’t moved his gaze from the book he was reading. You looked back at him, sitting in his seat, crossed legs and tilted head. He was like a fine piece of art, and yet, your broken heart made you focus on the conversation.

“I’m just tired.” You muttered and gave your back to him once more, pretending to be rearranging the books at the nearest shelve.

“Tired?” Sherlock chuckled, “If you were tired you’d be yawning, or at least looking sleepy. You’re not tired.”

“Well, you’re the expert.” You sighed and walked over to sit in front of him. “Tell me, Mr. Holmes, what do I have?”

“I think that’s a question you should answer to.” Sherlock commented, putting the book down.

“Are you telling me the great consultant detective can’t deduct his girlfriend’s thoughts?” You provoked him, “The first time we met, you said I was clear as water to you. So tell me, what do I have?”

Keep reading

ll-again  asked:

Omg will you do 'scandalous ankles'? Can they be Sherlock's? I will die.

Aaaand we’re back to the Victorian era! So when I first got this one my thought was, oh this is definitely gonna be cute and silly. Well…it seems that all I know how to do with these historical prompts is to get feelsy and romantic lol. Hope you don’t mind! :D (and I also hope you don’t mind that the focus on the actual ankles is pretty minimal lol)

Taken from these prompts- https://writingwife-83.tumblr.com/post/162989401123/historical-story-prompts (prompts are closed)


“Good heavens!” Molly exclaimed as Sherlock burst through the door.

“Yes yes,” he sighed. “I realize my socks and shoes are missing. There are perils of chasing a criminal through the streets of London. Now, where is Mrs. Hudson?”

“She went out. Was there something you needed?” Molly asked, standing from her chair and doing her best not to stare at the amusingly bare feet of Mr- her fiancé, she reminded herself. It was awfully easy to forget sometimes, seeing as he hardly treated her as his bride to be. Though it would be hard to forget in two more days, seeing as then they would actually be getting married.

“Nothing,” he huffed. “Just looking for tea.”

Molly stood there for a moment, hesitating. But Lord knows she needed to try and put at least a little crack in the walls that seemed to surround this man.

“Why don’t you sit? I’ll make some tea.”

Martha Hudson’s had been kind enough to take Molly in upon the death of her father, who happened to be the older landlady’s younger brother. She was kind and hospitable, making Molly feel comfortable and welcome. And naturally Molly was soon introduced to her aunts tenant.

Sherlock Holmes had Molly head over heels within the first day. And he seemed pleased with her too, in his own way. They got on swimmingly; their mutual love of science and medicine creating an instant connection. But their innocent friendship was quickly noticed by the rest of the Holmes family, and it wasn’t long before Sherlock’s parents and brother thought up and orchestrated a rather surprising arrangement.

A few silent minutes of preparation later and Molly set the tea down at the table.

“Are they cold?”

Sherlock frowned. “Pardon?”

“Forgive me,” she laughed while handing him a cup. “I mean your feet.”

“Ah, that,” he acknowledged, glancing down. “A bit, I suppose.”

Molly convinced him that they should move to the chairs by Mrs. Hudson’s fireplace so he could warm his tired and cold feet. He seemed to settle in and relax after that, sipping his tea after divesting himself of his coat and suit jacket.

“So…two days then?”

He looked at her over the edge of his cup, still for a moment before quietly responding in agreement.

“Two days, yes.” He cleared his throat. “You’ll no doubt miss living here once having to move upstairs to what Mrs. Watson calls my ‘scruffy old flat.’”

“It’ll be our scruffy old flat…and it won’t bother me,” Molly replied with a soft smile, though that faded a second later. “Though, perhaps I’ll be the bother to you.”

“No!” Sherlock responded, more forcefully than Molly would have expected, which he clearly registered.

The tired looking detective sighed, set his tea down, and shut his eyes for a moment before looking at her again. “Miss Hooper, please forgive me but I cannot pretend to know what it is I am doing…with you. I have always considered myself married to my profession, and it has been a rather easy relationship. But you are…”

Molly watched him with baited breath, unsure of what he would say next.

“You are so much more,” he murmured. “The idea of being a husband to you is not repulsive to me, it is simply unfamiliar. It is unlike anything I’ve undertaken before and I fear that if I am not careful I could…fail you. And if I have been distant during our engagement this past month, it is only because of that fear.”

Molly would swear later that it was the forceful beating of her heart which propelled her out of her own chair and into the lap of her fiancé. She’d never so much as held his hand in affection before, but somehow this seemed as natural as drawing her next breath.

As she sat across his legs, she caught his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his, silencing any possible question forming in his mouth. And then she felt the delicious pressure of his hands around her waist as his lips and tongue responded instinctively in just the way she’d hoped. She melted into him for a few moments before pulling away and resting her forehead against his.

“Never be afraid you’ll fail me,” she whispered. “To be sure, we shall both be trying our best to learn something new. But along the way I cannot help but believe we shall also be having a truly marvelous time!”

His half lidded eyes smiled back at her. “Yes, I’m beginning to see that.”

Molly blushed a little. “I suppose you know now what you do to me, Sherlock Holmes…see that you use your power responsibly,” she teased.

“Am I allowed to use this sort of power anytime I need coddling after coming home barefoot?” He punctuated the statement with a kiss to her nose.

“Oh, especially then!” Molly agreed with a giggle and then sighed contentedly, leaning into him again.

“Well…it seems that I now only have one more pressing concern,” Sherlock murmured low.

“Yes?”

Sherlock let out a little huff of frustration while clinging to her affectionately.

“Must our wedding be two whole days away?!”

emotional-context  asked:

Sherlolly: 68 (for the Drabble Thingy 😊)

68. “He’s four years old!!”


“Deaded!”

Victor Holmes crouched down to scrutinize the murdered corpse of one Emilio Abbott, both fists clinging tightly to the too large deerstalker sitting atop his hazelnut curls. A few feet away stood his proud father, consulting detective Sherlock Holmes, and uncomfortable looking uncle, John Watson.

“This is wrong…” John was saying as Victor scampered about happily, pointing out anything and everything he found interesting.

“I know,” Sherlock smiled beside him, clearly not paying any attention to his freind’s concerns. He only had eyes for his boy, “he’s doing brilliantly, isn’t he?”

“She’s going to kill you, you know that, right?”

Sherlock scoffed, “she trusts me.”

“He’s four years old, Sherlock!”

“Relax,” he said casually with a roll of his eyes, “I’m right here. There’s nothing dangerous, he’s just-”

“Mummy!”

Both men turned to see Victor making a beeline for the taxi that had pulled up, his arms spread wide. Molly Holmes, fresh from her day of maternity shopping with her excited mother-in-law, scooped her son into her arms awkwardly and rested him against her hip; she was wearing what Victor called her ‘Daddy did something bad’ face.

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes!” Every word she spoke she took a step closer to her infuriating husband; at least he had the decency to look a little guilty, whether it was genuine or not. Before she could truly unleash her anger, he interrupted.

“How did you even find out?”

“You put it on Twitter!” Molly hissed, fishing out her phone to show the latest post on his Twitter profile: take your kids to work day #work experience #lookoutworld #holmespart2.

Sherlock swallowed; damn his enthusiasm, “ah.”

“We talked about this! You don’t bring Victor on cases without me.”

John, who’d spent most of the time looking rather smug, looked up instantly in shock in time to see Sherlock nodding in agreement, apologies and promises streaming from his mouth.

“I know, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. You were out and it just came up-”

“What?!”

The Holmes’ ignored him and Molly merely fluffed her son’s hair and replaced him on the ground, pulling a pair of gloves from her pocket.

“Come on, then,” Molly smiled, pressing a gently kiss on her husband’s lips before kneeling, as far as her protruding stomach would allow her, anyway, beside the body,“fill me in.”

What?!

6 Sarcastic Guys’ Conversation.

6 SARCASTIC GUYS’ CONVERSATION (SEVERAL FANDOMS CROSSOVER): Fanfic? (because I wanted to write this ever since I saw a post similar to this)

Who’s in the house?

-  House

-  Jack Sparrow

-  Tony Stark

-  Sherlock

-  Dean Winchester

-  …?

What do they have in common?

(You don’t have to know all of the characters)

Narcissism, sarcasm, some are genius’, most are experts in their work, all of them have drinking/drug dependencies, most have childhood issues and are secretly full of angst, etc.

Summary: This is just them, trapped in a room together, with no idea how they got there or how to get out. There may be more characters to come…

Warnings: Not much, a bit of swearing.

Comments are well appreciated (nice comments, helpful comments etc.)

Part 1

Jack: Now, the real question remains: Where is the rum?

House glared at him.

House: That’s not the real question, dumbass. I wanna know what the hell we’re doing here.

Tony: Maybe it’s a house party.

Sherlock is bent down by the door, his nose alarmingly close to the floor.

Tony: Ok, curly, what’re you doing now?

Sherlock looks up frowning, realising he’s being addressed.

Sherlock: I’m checking to see what substances there are in order to determine where we are, which is a lot more than any of you lot are doing.

Tony: *huffs* Well, excuse me, princess-

House: There’s no way of getting out of here.

House is sat by the window, and everyone looks up to him. He motions to the window with his cane.

House: These windows are fake. That door is impenetrable, the walls are made with considerable strength, as we’ve found out, and none of us geniuses have any idea why we’re here, where we are, how we got here, or who sent us here.

Everyone was quiet.

Jack: Well, I for one, am not a genius – just to clarify.

Sherlock sighs and sits up against the wall.

Tony: Find anything?

Sherlock: No. There’s no evidence, no substances, no clues – just nothing.

He looked sullenly ahead.

Tony: Well, my Iron Man suit should be here anytime now.

Sherlock: It’s not going to work…

Tony screwed his eyes at him.

Tony: Well, I don’t think your ‘sniffing around’ is exactly doing to much to solve this problem either-

Jack: Ok, ok, ladies, lets settle down, shall we? Look, we only have each other in this neat room of ours, and if we start fighting, it all goes downhill from there, and frankly, I think we’d all know who would be the only one standing after that.

Jack smiled smugly to himself.

House sighs and mutters something like ‘imbecile’.

Jack: What was that now?

Sherlock looked over as House sighs, and rubs his leg with his hand, his cane to the side.

Tony: What happened to you?

House looks up and replies sarcastically: I tripped.

Tony: Well don’t get your knickers in a twist, Doc, I was only asking.

Sherlock: He got shot.

House looked over to him.

House: How the hell do you know that?

Jack: Oh, God, don’t ask him for an explanation, I’m beggin’ you.

Sherlock: Well, it’s clear from the way he holds his leg that he’s in obvious pain-

Jack: Here we go..

Sherlock, ignoring the interruption: and he’s used to it according to the heavy bags under his eyes from sleepless nights, and he’s bitter, a sign of long-lasting pain, so why wouldn’t you do something about it? Well, it’s obvious he’s tried drugs-

House: Shut the hell up.

Sherlock: – takes one to know one – but they didn’t work out, did they? Got too dependent on them, so now you just have to take the pain – and by yourself – I mean, it’s obvious that you’re lonely.

House stands up with his cane: I said SHUT UP!

He went over to Sherlock and squared up to him.

Tony and Jack looked at each other wide-eyed.

House: You think you’re some big genius, who can just figure everyone out by one look-

Sherlock: Well, yea, pretty much-

But suddenly there was a big BANG as the door came flying inwards.
They all shielded themselves as the door was smashed down and smoke covered them, some of them coughing, as Sherlock quickly walking over the new body that was now on the floor, coughed through the smoke and went through the door, just to see another door a few feet behind it.

Sherlock: Dammit.

House looked around.

House: Everyone alright?
Jack: Just dandy

House grimaced as he put his cane down and knelt to the man on the floor, turning him onto his back so they could see him, Tony kneeling next to him.

Tony: You know him?

House: Nope.

House leant down to check the man’s breathing, when suddenly he snapped up and looked around frantically, his golden necklace swaying across his chest.

Man: What the hell – oh, son of a bitch.

He held onto his head, wincing slightly and cursed to himself.

House: What’s your name? Do you know how you got here?

Sherlock and Jack crowded round to listen.

Man: Name’s Dean Winchester. And I have no clue, man.

Imagine…. Entering 221b Baker Street just to realize Sherlock is having a bad day.

“Having a bad day?” You asked as you placed the grocery you were carrying on the kitchen counter.

“How did you know?”

You looked at Sherlock slouching in his chair, his arms dangling from the sides with a very bored expression on his face. You looked away from him taking out the groceries from their bags as a small smile formed on your face, “Oh, just a lucky guess.”

Riddles

Summary: Sherlock has a new case and the murderer left some clues at the crime scene, which are notes written in Latin. After a long research, he finally finds you, an English Literature teacher who knows Latin as well. You agree to work with him on the case, but what can happen when you put two brilliant people in a library alone?

Request:

Heyy! Would you please write a Sherlockxreader where the reader is able to speak many different languages and Sherlock didn’t know? Maybe the reader teaches him a bit and he learns really quickly so he says something really cute so they who never admitted their feelings end up with their first kiss? idk, it’s stupid i know. hope you have a nice day💕

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader

Title: ‘Riddles’

Content: Fluff

Warning: Mild swearing

Word count: 2.067

A/N: I really don’t know what to say about this one. I started with the idea to base it on ‘The National Treasure’ but then I gave up on it and started from the top again. If someone of you knows Latin and spots a mistake just message me and I’ll correct it. Hope you like it.

*gif not mine

Masterlist // Requests // Prompts


Drumming his fingers on the desk he was sitting at the bottom of the lecture theatre, his eyes danced every time she uttered a word. He mouthed them with the purpose of saving them in his ‘hardware’. Words in Latin seemed not to be Sherlock’s forte but Mycroft’s, yet the detective didn’t want to resort to his annoying brother to learn it.

Sherlock had a case and the murderer left clues, which were good news. Alas, they were in Latin, a language that neither him nor John knew. They tried to contact somebody from the British Library but nobody agreed to help them. Nobody wanted to get involved with dangerous situations and murders. That was why the army doctor had to do some research to find who could help them; actually who could help Sherlock from avoiding Mycroft.

English Literature teacher at the Imperial College of London, yet you fell for Latin first. You had classes from ten in the morning to five in the afternoon and to be honest, it was exhausting. Anyway, you loved it. Books, poems, songs, sonnets, and all that jazz.

The bell rang, that meant the classes were finished for that day. You sighed in relief. “Don’t forget, the analysis of ‘1984’. The final exam date is approaching. Start studying otherwise you’ll be sitting in front of me again, next year,” you reminded as you saw your students rushing. When you saw the last student slam the door you shut your eyes and then turned to your desk to take your belongings.

The detective gradually stood up on his feet and began walking down the steps while observing the huge lecture theatre.

“George Orwell would feel proud of you, Miss Y/S,” he said as he came into the view. You jumped scared letting all the sheets of paper and books fall to the floor. Rapidly, you knelt down to pick them, Sherlock hurried to help you. Your eyes met for a second. He cleared his throat and apologized as returned you the rest of the papers. “I’m sorry, forgive me,” he said. “Sherlock Holmes,” he raised his hand, you looked at it and finally shook hands with him.

“I’m sorry, but you know, I must dash. I have to go home,” you explained, put yourself together and walked over to the door.

“How’s your Latin, Miss Y/S?” he asked and you stopped right two steps before the door. You bit your lip, thinking why someone like him was concerned about your Latin.

With your belongings in your hands, you turned around and looked at the tall man. “Look, I’m seriously not interested in your offer,” you claimed.

He left shoved both hands into his pockets and glanced up to the ceiling. “A brilliant woman like you, shouldn’t reject this opportunity,” he shrugged and a muscle in your jaw twitched. “You’re not here because you want to be a teacher. You’re here because you love this,” you both looked all around you. The gigantic shelves full of books you’ve once read, they were so meaningful for you. You loved it, he was right. “And I suppose that your outfit is not to your liking too. You surely like using jeans rather than beige skirts and a t-shirt instead of a sophisticated blouse,” he added with a slight nod. “Not even mentioning…” he lowered his gaze to your shoes, “your high heels.”

You gave him a small friendly look. “Ok, stop. What do you need from me, Mr. Holmes?”

“You,” he said as he played with his gloves. You quickly turned around, you chocked.

“Me?!” You exclaimed and he nodded.

He shoved his hands into his coat pocket and reached out a sheet of paper with words in Latin. “Do these words sound familiar to you?”

Sherlock handed out it to you and while reading it you narrowed your eyes as if you were trying to decipher the sentences.

“Si stadio currunt et hominem transire secundum ubi es?” you read under your breath. You looked up at the detective. “This is more than a clue, sir. This is like…” you returned it to him and shook your head.

Sherlock frowned. “Like what? What is this?” he asked you politely.

“It’s a riddle,” you affirmed; Sherlock’s eyes lit. “If you are running a race and you pass the person in second, what place are you in?” you translated and tried to find an answer with him but there seemed not to be.

You scanned him. He leaned against one of the desks, folded his hands and his eyes were bumping up and down.

“Second place!” He blurted out. “Second place, that’s it. We’re running out of time,” he stated as he rushed towards the door.

“We?” You asked, a confused look drew on your face.

He nodded. “Yes, I need your help.”

“But I’m just an English Literature teacher!” you explained waving your hands around the air.

He opened the door and glanced at you. “Well, today’s your day. Carpe diem. Come on, there’s no time,” you smiled.

Once in the corridor you followed him not knowing where you were going to. “What are you planning?”

“Library,” he said in a monotonous voice, self-confident.

“You mean the College’s library? You want to work there?”

He turned to you while walking. “Silence helps. You’re a fond reader, you know that.”


You and Sherlock spent hours at the library trying to decipher the other two riddles the murderer left at the crime scene. It was making Sherlock get a bit nervous.

Both of you were sitting on the floor, one in front of the other, surrounded by books and papers but no answers. Sherlock closed the book angrily and heaved a long and deep sigh. You glanced at him placing the book you were reading on your laps.

You hummed for a second trying to find a topic of conversation. “Are you ok?” you asked, and that was all you found. He gradually raised his head and turned his gaze to you. “I know, I know. You thought I was going to be faster but to be fair it’s been ages since…”

“Oh, please. You’ve been reading in Latin today, you’ve been explaining the etymology of the words ‘love’ and ‘hate’ today. I’ve been listening to you, you know,” he said and massaged his temples in frustration.

“Hey, it’s going to be ok,” you jumped and he frowned.

Sherlock took another book and checked the index. “How can this be ok?” He muttered back.

“Mr. Holmes-“

“Sherlock, please,” he corrected you as he kept reading the small pages.

You stopped reading for a second and leaned your head against the wall. “Ehm…right, Sherlock,” you muttered. “What do you when you are not working?” The detective looked at you in suspicion; it was just the hungry curiosity of yours. “Do you watch movies? Go for a walk? Read? Visit your family? Visit your girlfriend?”

Sherlock instantly frowned. “Girlfriend?” he asked surprised. “No, I’m afraid I don’t have a girlfriend. It’s not in my plans either,” he clarified and you nodded slightly. “By the way, do you have a boyfriend?”

“No, why? Don’t need one either,” you quoted making him chuckle. “What about your family? I know Mycroft Holmes, is he related to you?”

He choked. “Related? He’s my bloody annoying brother,” he sighed deeply and you chuckled. “What?”

“Nothing,” you replied with a smile. You pointed at one of the pieces of paper. “So, shall I?” He waved a hand in agreement. You took the second riddle and read it out loud, though Sherlock didn’t understand it. “Who makes it, has no need of it. Who buys it, has no use for it. Who uses it can neither see nor feel it,” you told him.

“Who uses it can neither see nor feel it,” he repeated and ran a hand through his hair. “Neither see nor feel it.”

“Who makes it…who buys it…” you muttered now watching Sherlock pacing along the library hall. “Got it, Sherlock!”

Sherlock turned to you, his hands shaking and his breath unsteady. “What – What is it?”

“A coffin,” you replied with tightly smile. Thrilled, Sherlock took the last piece of paper written in Latin and rushed to the nearest table he could find. “Wait!” You shouted as you stood on your feet. Turning to the shelves you looked for the Latin dictionary and took it. You ran carefully towards him with it in your hands. “This will-“

Your voice trailed off when you clumsily stumbled with a heavy book that you’d let on the floor earlier. Suddenly your chest landed on his and your lips smashed. Trying to recover your balance, you pulled back with your cheeks now turning red.

“I-I-I’m sorry,” you stammered as you shook your head. You couldn’t believe what had happened, something like this had never happened to you. “I’m so, so sorry, Sherlock. I was just-“

He interrupted you, again. “No,” he breathed. “It’s alright,” he said slowly as if he enjoyed it.  You could feel your heart speed-racing, you just wanted to run and hide from him. The sociopath turned to the table, digested the situation and then looked at you. “I need your help,” he implored.

You gasped and began gesturing with your hands. “Are you going to avoid the fact that we’ve just-“

“Yes,” he stated firmly. “Now, are you going to stay standing there like a teacher would or are you going to help me to decipher what does this arse want?”

Without saying a word, you stood next to him observing the last piece in Latin. Your fingers ran through the pages of the dictionary searching for the right words. Translating was not area, but challenges were.

“Ok, jerk. What do you want to mean with this?” You said with burgeoning excitement. Sherlock tried to read it but you chuckled while he did so he gave up on it. He asked you to do it instead. Once you did, you took some time to translate it. “What occurs once in every minute, twice in every moment, yet never in a thousand years?” You spoke and turned your gaze up at him. It was not hard at all to guess it, you both knew the answer.

“The letter ‘M’,” you both muttered simultaneously.

“Oh, God, Sherlock! This is amazing!” You said in excitement knowing that this could lead to the solution of all the problems.

“Moriarty,” he muttered as he turned around and his face went straight.

You glanced at him and frowned. “Sorry, who?”

Wrapped in a sudden intensity of reflection, he didn’t respond. You turned around and leaned against the table. He began pacing back and forth while thinking what could Moriarty do next. “Think, think,” he said to himself.

“Sherlock, what’s up?” You questioned willing to help.

“What would you do if a psychopath, who turns out to be a consulting criminal, would leave this three messages?” He gestured with his hands trying to make you understand that what was happening was not a joke.

“I don’t know, Sherlock,” you hesitated. “I don’t know,” you shrugged.

“Second place,” he said while walking.

“A coffin,” you added, narrowing your eyes and tapping your feet with your heels.

“And obviously,” he sighed, “the ‘M’ of Moriarty.”

Time was passing by and you had no answers. Running out of patience, Sherlock kicked a chair. Gasping for air, you jumped and landed on the table again.

“God!” He kicked another chair with anger and screamed out loud.

“Sherlock!” You yelled, he kept cursing under his breath. “Sherlock!” You shouted once more.

“I’m an idiot!” He yelled at the top of his lungs. “The only thing I’m certain about is that Moriarty is playing games with me,” his frantic voice trailed off and looked at you, “and that I have you,” he said with a soothing voice.

You softly chuckled with your head hanging low. “Do you really think a woman like me; wearing a blouse, a skirt and high heels is smart enough to solve a crime with you?”

Sherlock pulled a face as if he disagreed with you. “Come on; you can do better than that! You’re not a teacher, are you?”

“Hell no,” you replied convinced that you were more than that.

Then I politely ask you to help me,” he said.

You gave him a smirk. “It would be a pleasure, Mr. Holmes,” you shot him a wide grin.