Sherlock Holmes X Reader - Blog Posts

i am DECEASED but now the question is , which one of ur henry boys would do this (and preferably drag it to something more 🥵) , Henry or Sherlock or August !!!!!!!

(the link isn't porn dw)

Oh!!!! You are speaking my brat language. I love denying kisses >:D

And ...

It's not often that Sherlock displays affection. It's not that he doesn't yearn for you. It's just that he likes to maintain a certain persona, pretending that these frivolous games are beneath him.

So imagine his surprise and ire when he leans to kiss you, and you turn your face away to deny him the sweetness of his lips. He sulks, unapproving of your behaviour and tries again with his fingers lightly caressing your cheek.

But before his lips meet yours, you sway to the other side and then quickly step away and attempt an escape. You hardly make it to the door when the hook of his cane locks around your waist.

With a yank, he hauls you back to him, and before you can even whimper, you are flushed against his chest with his arm wrapped securely against the small of your back.

"Don't deny me," he warns darkly and, with his knuckle below your chin, tilts your head up so he can finally devour your mouth.

Geralt is voracious.

And while he can be patient and soft, he is still a wolf, one that doesn't appreciate being denied of his prey.

As you sway your head and avert your gaze, he immediately snarls. You don't get to do it twice. Before you can even step back, his hand is locked around your jaw, and he is shoving you against a tree bark with his body fully pressed into yours.

His mouth ghosts upon your lips, he hums and you can taste ale and danger on his hot breath.

"Mine," he simply growls and then kisses you with the utmost vigour.

Any thought about denying him dies as his tongue penetrates your mouth.

Sneak peak into the latest chapter of my wip

Hopefully, I'll edit and post it soon

Hi y'all, here's my YuuMori fic if anyone wants to check it out. Aight, I'm out ✌️

I want to write for Clark Kent (Henry Cavill) and possibly Walter Marshall, August Walker and Sherlock Holmes too. If anyone has any ideas they want to share then feel free to do so. Need more inspiration.

FINALS ARE OFFICIALLY OVER IM SO HAPPY IM FINALLY GET SOME SLEEPPPP 💤🧸🎞️‼️😍😇🥺🥺😎🤒😎 and i js re-download tumblr after finals are done AND I MISS READING FANFIC SM 😭😭😭😭

Cutting it close

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Summary: A new case leads you and Sherlock to investigate an 'abandoned' track on the London underground.

Word Count: 1,685

Warnings: none

a/n: just a little scenario I had in my head whilst rewatching the show :)

“This seems like a really bad idea,” you said with hesitancy. It was a phrase you found yourself often saying. Being in situations that were both morally and legally questionable was something you'd grown well accustomed to since taking up the adventure of being Sherlock Holmes' partner.

But even this was above what you were used to.

The tunnel was dark and a damp, musty smell hung so thickly in the air you could taste it in the back of your throat. The London underground was a prime destination during cases; although you were usually in a train, not scouring the tracks for clues.

“No trains have run on this track in years. It's perfectly safe.” Sherlock's answer was brief as he leapt down onto the tracks, standing between two rods of metal. You watched on with apprehension.

Sherlock didn't say anything, he didn't have to. In an odd, instinctual sort of way he simply knew you'd follow him. It was a mark of the undying loyalty you had towards him, and him you, that still succeed in making Sherlock's head spin. He was yet to grow used to having someone trust him so wholly.

You spared a glance down both ends of the tunnel before, with a sigh, following suit. Sherlock tossed you a flashlight, and you kept it trained at the ground before you so that you didn't trip as you walked.

Bottles littered the ground between the tracks and large, colourful slogans of graffiti-covered almost every inch of the wall. You questioned who in their right mind would willingly venture to such a place before you reminded yourself that you were in fact one of said people.

A rat scurried across your feet as it crossed the tracks.

“You know, when you said you had something planned for tonight I was thinking more along the lines of a booked table at a restaurant, or the cinema, maybe tickets to the theatre.”

“When have you ever known me to be so dull.” There was a smile in Sherlock's voice. And despite what the part of your brain still tuned into normality may have been telling you, you were honestly quite glad this was how you were spending your Friday evening. Life with Sherlock was nothing if not excitingly unpredictable.

As you both continued to venture down the track, the true enormity of the underground began to set in. It was a hidden warren of long and winding tunnels right beneath the bustling city above. It would be easy to hide just about anything down there, like throwing a needle into a haystack.

Which was precisely what Sherlock believed his current suspect to be doing. A rouge banker stealing millions of sterling and hiding his hoard in the unused tunnels of the underground like some sort of criminally inclined dragon.

Although Sherlock's theory was completely plausible, the further you progressed into the tunnel the more you doubted anyone would ever set foot there willingly.

As you passed a segment of graffiti of a very interesting depiction of a certain politician, your shoe chipped a small peddle and you heard a faint buzz as it met the track. You stopped.

Failing to notice how Sherlock continued on in front of you, you eyed the track suspiciously. You reached out your hand and placed it beside the rail, panic striking when you felt the stinging buzz of electricity kiss your skin.

“Sherlock, I thought you said this tunnel was abandoned.”

“It is, hasn't been used since the eighties.” Sherlock's response was nonchalant but the anxiety that tinged your tone caused him to stop and turn to you. “Why?”

“The track is live.”

Sherlock's brows creased as his gaze shifted between you and the rail. His lips parted to contradict you, his hours of research making him confident in his knowledge that the tunnel was no longer active.

A sudden, ear-splitting blare sounded from the opposite end of the tunnel before he got the chance. The tracks began to shake violently beside you and the squealing of fast-moving wheels against metal resounded off the walls. You clambered to your feet just as two blinding headlights came into view.

Despite the fear that engulfed you, the first almost instinctual thing you felt compelled to do was to scold Sherlock for mistaking the clearly in use tunnel for being abandoned. But you swallowed your pride.

The train's horn sounded again and you only barely heard Sherlock's command to run.

The wide gaps in the tracks, as well as the rails on either side of you, each coursing with hundreds of volts of electricity, made running no easy task. But the sound of the fast-approaching train spurred you on.

It was steadily growing closer, evident by the nearing sound of its wheels biting into the rails and the growing form of its headlights on the wall in front of you. You began to stumble and lose your footing as you ran and Sherlock wasted no time in grabbing hold of you and pushing you in front of him. He yelled something over your shoulder but the sound of the train swallowed up his words before they could reach you.

As the adrenaline began to fizzle out, you felt your vision blur. Although you didn't dare to spare a glance back, you were certain the train was seconds away. Part of you was still holding out for Sherlock to put a miraculous plan into action and save the day, just as he always did. But even Sherlock Holmes couldn't outrun a speeding train.

Your legs were growing weary, the muscles burning and threatening to give way. You could feel yourself slowing down despite how much you willed your body to keep moving. You hoped that maybe the driver had noticed you both, that he'd slammed on the breaks and that the giant hunk of steel and metal would grind to a halt before it reached you. However, the train did not slow.

The horn blared one last time and knowing the chase was over, you screwed your eyes shut.

You felt it slam into your back and you couldn't help but focus on how surprisingly soft it was for the impact of a train. A tight, secure band wrapped around your waist and just as fear gave way to confusion you were yanked off the tracks.

Sherlock had acted fast, and with not a moment to waste. He pulled you from the train's path and stuffed you into the tight alcove carved into the tunnel's wall. Sherlock was suddenly very glad he'd taken the time to memorize all the small refuges carved into the sides of the London underground's tunnels for maintenance workers.

You were pressed flush against Sherlock, his chest cushioning your front whilst the chipped bricks of the wall bit into your back. His arms engulfed you and moments later the train sped past. The side of the locomotive was mere inches from your face, a coloured blur kicking up dust and rocks as it went. The space was so dismal that one wrongly placed step to the left would land you back in its path.

The trains speed was so great you could feel the rhythmatic click of the wheels on the tracks echo in your chest.

Sherlock's hold on you was iron, his arms remaining around you as if he feared the strength of the train would sweep you out of his hold. Your hands, which had been pressed up against his chest in the haste, grabbed fistfuls of his coat. You clung to him like a young child to its mother and Sherlock to you like ivy to oak.

You kept your eyes shut. And after what felt like an eternity the last carriage passed. The tracks stilled as the train drew further away and the buzzing of electric currents soon died down.

You both stayed as you were. Your breaths came hard and fast and you gulped in air in hopes of sating the burning in your lungs. You didn't realize you were still holding onto Sherlock until he lifted his head from where he'd buried into your shoulder.

His hands loosened against your back but didn't fall away entirely. You both stood there like fools, clinging to each other until–

“I could have sworn it said this tunnel was abandoned.”

“Sherlock.” You breathed his name as a warning and he took the hint, promptly shutting up.

Your fingers, still trembling, unfurled from Sherlock's coat. You let your head fall against the wall as your breathing evened out. Although your heart continued to beat like a drum in your ears. Sherlock's hands remained on either side of your head, pressed firmly to the red bricks as he tried to steady his weak knees.

You both stood chest to chest, his eyes cloaked by the tunnel's heavy darkness and his breath warm against your cheek. Then you both started to laugh.

The utter ridiculousness of the situation merged with the adrenaline from having outrun a train left your chest feeling light. Despite standing in the London underground, surrounded by grime and dirt, you felt somewhat content next to Holmes, as if standing by his side, inches from disaster, was where you were meant to be.

A tender smile had settled on Sherlock's lips and he watched you softly as if he wanted to say something. But whatever it is he wanted to tell you, he decided against it. Perhaps because he felt you already knew.

He adjusted his coat before stepping back onto the track, now mindful of the live rails. Then he offered you his hand.

You would have been surprised by the chivalry if it weren't for the fact that Sherlock was very gentlemanly when he wanted to be.

“We should hurry. Unless we want to catch the next train,” he somewhat joked. His voice was slightly hoarse from the strenuous running. He waited till you were by his side and then, much to your delight, tightened his gloved hand around your own.

“You must admit, darling,” he said, voice light with humour. “This is far more interesting than the theatre.”

sherlock tag list: @miraclesoflove @ilovefanfictions @mylovelysnowflake @quentawewe @bakerstreethound @andreasworlsboring101 @doozywoozy @leftperfectionmoon @xxinvisiblexx @the-worst-critic @the-queer-dungeoneer @jellyfishbeansontoast @simp-for-scamanders @starryeddie @themorningsunshine @bebana-7913 @lilythemadqueen @allieberries @xhz17x @kealohilani-tepise

Sherlock being Sherlock

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Summary: Sherlock undermines Y/N’s intelligence while helping out on a case.

Warnings: none

First attempt at writing for Sherlock hope you guys enjoy! 😊

MASTERLIST

---

"Shut up would you darling. You're about as sharp as a sack full of soup when it comes to these things-"

"Sherlock-"

"And sadly I don't have the time nor patience to draw a picture using crayons to explain it to you. So make yourself useful by leaving!" Sherlock knocked all the scattered books and papers that littered his desk in frustration, they weren't making any progress in the case they were working and they had hoped that the teacher could be of use but she also hit a block.

"Sherlock! Y/N you don't have to go, he didn’t mean that." John wanted to smack his friend upside his head for speaking to the one woman that meant something to him like she's some piece of garbage.

"He does." Turning on her heels, she grabbed her bag and headed out the door and down the steps, John briefly glared at Sherlock as he chased after her.

"Y/N wait!" She looked over at him as she slipped on her coat to leave. John paused on the second step trying to come up with the right things to say to get her to not walk out the door and quite potentially Sherlock's life.

"He's an ass and says things that shouldn't be said-"

"Like implying that my IQ level is in the bloody trenches, yeah I gathered that."

"He's just Sherlock being Sherlock."

"No, that's Sherlock being an outright twit that doesn't have a filter." Before he could squeeze another word out, Y/N stormed out the door slamming it shut behind her.

"You're wasting time John, she’s of no use to us with our case. We have so much to-" John turned to look at the curly haired man that stood on the landing.

"What the hell was that?! You didn’t have to call her an idiot like that for goodness sake Sherlock, she's an incredible woman. A woman that loves and cares for you, might I add and you're self destruction is surely going to push her away."

"Oh so what?" John rolled his eyes as he stomped his way back up the stairs to their shared flat.

"You are going to apologise and fix this with her because everyone knows that there isn’t going to be another woman to put up with you and your brash behaviour. I don't even know how she's put up with you for nine months." Sherlock hung his head low, his words finally catching up to him. He knows that he did have to rectify his mistake of yelling at her and making her out to be an idiot when in fact, she's remarkably intelligent.

"I'm serious Sherlock, as soon as we wrap this up you are going to fix this."

"No, nope I need to go after her right now."

"No, if you go after her that's only going to end badly for your face."

---

The rain was pouring down on all of London at eight forty-five at night and Sherlock's pace quickened in the direction of Y/N's home. He shook off the heavy water off of his coat as he took shelter beneath the awning over her front door.

Y/N placed her bookmark in the current novel she was reading and set it off to the side. The doorbell rung again and this time she willed herself from under her blanket and off the couch to go answer the door. It's raining cats and dogs outside so whoever was at her door had to have a good reason to be.

"Hello- oh, it's you."

"Hello, may I?" As much as she would rather not let him into her home it was cold and wet outside and by the looks of it, he had walked here in the pouring rain; and she didn't want him to catch a cold. She headed back up the stairs to her flat leaving Sherlock to let himself in and remove his coat as well as his shoes.

"Why are you here, Holmes? My level of intelligence is miniscule compared to yours and I'm sure you'd rather be in the company of someone that shares your level of competence." Sherlock watched quietly as she fastened her robe to her body to cover up herself. Y/N was still angry at him for earlier and he knew that. He stood in the middle of her living space, dripping water onto her hardwood flooring.

"You know where your clothes are go change, your creating a puddle." Y/N put the kettle on to make tea for the both of them, not like he deserved anything other than a proper slap across the face. While he was changing he tried to formulate the right way to handle this without shoving his foot in his mouth.

"Could we sit down dear?"

"Nope, I'm good right where I am in the kitchen, you could stay all the way over there."

"Don't want me close to you?"

"Unless you want to be bashed in the head with this kettle I think it's best if you stay far away from me." Sherlock brushed off her bluff, closing the distance between them with his long strides. Crossing her arms over her chest, she stared into the pair of blue eyes she's grown to love as he stood mere centimeters away from her.

"I'm sorry."

"For what exactly?"

"For losing my temper, yelling and for saying something I didn't mean. I didn't mean it when I called you useless or made a comment on your intellect, it was the spur of the moment. I was frustrated and I took it out on you when you were only trying to help." Sherlock brushed his knuckles against her cheek and she instinctively leaned into his touch bringing a smile to his face.

"I get that you were frustrated but that isn't a valid excuse Sherlock. You called me darling and a useless idiot in the same breath."

"I know darling and I promise it'll never happen again. Allow me to make it up to you." The towering man kissed the crown of her head, cheek and bridge of her nose making her heart flutter at his affection.

"You've got your work cut out for you Mr. Holmes because I'm not going to make it easy for you and your astonishing brilliance."

"I do love a challenge."

"I know." Sherlock finally pressed his lips against hers in a gentle kiss which was cut short by her kneeling him in the groin. He grunted in pain and stumbled back, holding his crotch in pain. Y/N smiled watching as he doubled over still groaning in agony.

"I deserved that."

---

Honestly don't know if I'll keep writing for Sherlock but we'll see.

Honorary tags:

@sketch-and-write-lover @blackcat420

breath of fresh air | sherlock holmes

pairing: sherlock holmes x fem!reader

summary: you overhear some mean things being said about you and it gets you thinking about your importance to sherlock and why he keeps you around. (based off this request by @little-gallaxy.)

warnings: slight bullying, hurt/comfort, crying, soft!sherlock

word count: 2.6k

a/n: haven’t written for sherlock in a hot minute so i hope y’all enjoy this one!

you had stopped by scotland yard that morning to drop off some freshly-baked muffins, packed neatly in a cloth-lined basket, that you had prepared earlier as a little treat for the detectives in an effort to cheer them up after a particularly gruesome case. you had insisted on not being given any further details once sherlock had mentioned something akin to ‘a frankensteinian dismemberment and re-stitching of three separate victims.’ at that point, you had heard more than enough and expected nightmares to greet you that same night. you shivered at the thought now, unable to fathom how someone could be so brutal.

you shook off the memory as you continued down the long hallway. the building was familiar to you and you had grown somewhat fond of the detectives and other personnel, especially the older gentleman up front who manned the reception area and doubled as a security guard. he always greeted you so warmly and offered a new joke each time you stepped foot onto the premises. you had prepared a joke for him this morning for a change, having searched through countless internet browsers the previous evening in the hopes of finding a joke he hadn’t heard. he had laughed heartily, a deep, throaty chuckle that echoed throughout the entryway. you both knew the joke was ridiculous, but it was nice to see him indulge you.

lestrade had always been kind to you as well… at least as kind as he could be. he was gruff and a bit rough around the edges, but for the most part, he made an effort and that’s what mattered most to you. the others, however, donovan and anderson, in particular, never really seemed to enjoy your company whenever you stopped by to ‘help.’ it really wasn’t much help at all, of course, as you were well aware that you weren’t the most knowledgeable of this sort of field, but it was nice to get out of your flat and experience a change of scenery.

sherlock, for some odd reason, had been more than pleasant around you, which was incredibly strange considering the rumors you had heard about him from the others: that he was cold, emotionless, machine-like, sociopathic, and generally just… off. you hadn’t encountered any of those characteristics from him, in fact, he was rather kind and often kept you close by, insisting that you never strayed too far from him. you weren’t entirely sure why, but it certainly felt nice to be wanted.  

wicker basket in hand, you approached lestrade’s office, where everyone was no doubt gathered to debrief; however, before you could make your presence known, you heard whispered chattering through the crack beneath the door.

“she’s totally useless and she’s always bloody crying!” you heard someone whisper harshly, donovan, it sounded like. “she can’t even step foot into the autopsy room without shaking like a stray dog.”

another voice piped in, “honestly, greg. what’s the point in her coming ‘round every day? why the hell does sherlock drag her here? she’s always in the way and you know just as well as i that she doesn’t do anything,” anderson said.

“she’s like his pet or something, it’s repulsive. have you ever seen that lunatic even so much as tolerate being in the same room as a moron for longer than a minute? and now he’s bringing her ‘round like she’s his shadow or something.”

you did not cry all the time, you thought to yourself, though your eyes were starting to blur with the warning of tears. their comments hurt, knowing that they thought so negatively about you. you had no idea they hated you this much. they weren’t always the most welcoming bunch you’d ever come across, but still, this was pure disgust and hatred for your very being, your entire personality and presence in general. why did sherlock keep you around, you thought to yourself. truly? you couldn’t offer any assistance in crime-fighting or case-solving. so, why?

as the conversation continued, you had hoped lestrade would pipe in to come to your defense, or to at least put an end to the defamation of your character. but no, he didn’t utter a word, just chortling now and then at each new insult. that, more than anything, stung the most.

having heard enough, you left the basket of muffins at the edge of the door and walked back down the winding hallway and out the door, back to 221b baker street.

you brushed past mrs. hudson in the doorway, still managing to offer a smile and polite greeting like you usually did, and made your way up the stairs and let yourself inside sherlock’s flat.

you found that he wasn’t there—he wasn’t pacing back and forth or standing in front of the window playing his violin, nor was he concocting an experiment of any kind in the kitchen, so you assumed he was in his bedroom getting dressed. something you knew about the famous detective that nobody else had the privilege of knowing was that the man spent an absurd amount of time fixing his hair each morning. while it usually looked carelessly tousled or ruffled from the wind, it was definitely done on purpose.

you briefly recalled how you had come across him standing in front of the mirror adjusting his curls through a crack in the doorway and clapped a hand over your mouth to conceal your laughter, but he had still heard you, of course, swinging open the bathroom door and pointing a finger at you with a firm ‘speak of this to no one.’ you had mimed zipping your lips sealed and agreed that you would never tell a single soul that the famous sherlock holmes obsessed over his hair every morning.

presently, you sat yourself on the sofa as you waited for him to come out into the living room. you grabbed a nearby pillow, fingers fiddling with the loose stitching as you thought back to the conversation from earlier. their comments still stung and you wished you hadn’t taken them so personally, but how could you not? knowing that the people you more or less ‘worked with’ hated you and thought you were a mindless idiot that tagged along like a lost sheep definitely hurt.

you startle slightly when john emerges from the entryway, his approaching form having escaped your notice.

“y/n,” he greeted, breathing heavily as if he had just run over here. you noticed the tray of to-go cups in his hand, so he must have gone out for a quick coffee run. “i didn’t know you were stopping by today.”

“do you know if sherlock is here?”

“he’s been locked in his room all morning. mrs. hudson mentioned that he was having a slow start today. i got a text from him that just said ‘need coffee –SH.’ who does he think i am, his bloody butler?” the doctor huffed in irritation as he marched further inside the flat and into the messy kitchen before setting down the tray.

“c-could you get him for me?” you hated how unsteady your voice sounded. it was obvious you had been crying and it just fueled your embarrassment further.

he peered over at you, finally noticing your distressed state. “of course. yes, of course. just a moment,” he said quickly before snaking down the hallway to sherlock’s bedroom.

before he could even lift his hand to knock, you heard the door swing open and the tall form that was so characteristically sherlock briskly approach you, indicating to john that the situation was handled and that the doctor was free to depart from the flat.

“darling,” he said softly before kneeling to meet you at eye level, and that was all it took for you to burst out into full-on tears, shoulders shaking as sobs wracked your body. he tsked softly, sympathetically, “come here, my darling girl,” and pulled you forward until you were close enough for him to wrap his arms around you, running his slender fingers up and down your back in soothing, repetitive motions. “talk to me,” he whispered.

you shook your head back and forth against his shoulder, not quite ready to speak yet. tears soaked through sherlock’s suit jacket and you felt guilty for ruining the material. you started to lean back, to at least save the fabric from further damage, but sherlock placed a hand on the back of your head, keeping you steady against him.

“but your jacket—”

“i don’t care about the damn jacket, i care about you. i know i’m good, but i haven’t quite mastered mind-reading just yet,” he mused. “tell me what’s wrong, y/n.”

“this is so stupid. i’m stupid.”

“you’re not stupid.”

“of course i am, especially compared to you…”

“well, not everyone can be as smart as me.”

you pulled back and shot him a look, unimpressed.

he realized how insensitive his comment was. it certainly wasn’t his intention to offend you, not now, not ever. it was just him stating a fact, thoughtlessly listing off things he knew to be true, but it obviously wasn’t the time nor the place. “sorry,” he said with a wince, and he did sound genuinely apologetic. “why do you say that? what happened today?”

you shrugged.

“in case it’s escaped your notice, my dear,” sherlock began, “i can always tell when you’re lying or hiding something from me. so it’s best if you just come right out with it.”

sighing, you began your retelling of the day’s earlier events. “i overheard the others at the yard today and it got me thinking… i mean, they’re totally right.”

“right about what, darling?”

you fiddle with the buttons of his suit jacket, popping them in and out of their respective holes as you spoke. “why do you keep me around, sherlock? i’m completely useless and i always get in the way, and i have absolutely nothing to offer when it comes to solving your special cases.”

he brushed your hair away from your face and tilted your chin up to look at him. “you keep me sane—human. i need you in my life to maintain some sense of normalcy. i get so caught up in cases and going on the run that i forget to breathe sometimes. you help me do that.” he gently stroked your cheek. “you’re my breath of fresh air.”

“so you keep me around for… emotional support?”

he laughed lightly. “if you wish to put it that way, sure. but you are so much more than that, more than words could ever put into perspective. it’s awfully dull around here without you. plus,” he continued, “you make the best blueberry muffins i’ve ever tasted.”

you burst out into laughter, tears drying as sherlock calmed your nerves and spoke from the heart. for a man who didn’t seem to have much humanity, at least, from an outsider’s perspective, he certainly had a way with words and knew how to comfort you in just the way you needed.

“scoot over,” he told you before he plopped himself onto the sofa, tugging you onto his lap and holding you against his chest, your head resting comfortably in the crook of his neck. he gently rocked you back and forth, and the motion was so comforting, you could have wept—but you had done enough crying for one day, instead, you smiled softly at sherlock’s gentleness with you. “you’re all right, i’ve got you,” he spoke into your ear, your hair brushing against your cheek by his whispered breath. he smelled vaguely of cigarette smoke, petrichor, and cinnamon—so characteristically sherlock.

you heard a knock on the open door behind you followed by a familiar voice. “holmes,” lestrade announced, “you never came ‘round earlier. we need your help with—” but before he could finish his statement, you felt sherlock’s grip tighten around you as his head shifted back and forth against your shoulder. “not now,” he said, voice deep and rough as it vibrated in your chest where you two were connected.

“but—”

“get out.” the quiet rage in his voice left no room for argument, and quickly thereafter, you heard the fading echo of footsteps descend down the stairs.  

“sherlock—” you began.

“i’m sorry for what they said about you.”

you shifted slightly in his lap. “it’s fine, i’m already over it.”

he laughed humorlessly. “darling, i know you better than anyone. you’re not over it yet, and that’s expected, hell, i encourage it. they had no right to ridicule you like that, to criticize you for who you are. i’m going to speak with them about it.” his tone changed and you practically felt his infuriation at the situation ruminating just beneath the surface. “in fact, i’ll head over there right now—" he started to stand up but you placed a firm hand on his chest, stopping any further movement.

“it’s all right, sherlock. there’s no need for you to go down there to defend my honor,” you laughed at how ridiculous the situation was becoming, already moving past the offensive words that were spoken about you earlier in the day. give it to sherlock to make you feel better, no matter how big or small the issue was. “i’m perfectly fine now, thanks to you.”

sherlock settled back down, though you could feel the tension radiating off him. “if you insist,” he acquiesced. “but just say the word, and i’ll go—”

“sherlock, really,” you said, humor lacing your tone.

“fine,” he said with a sigh before adjusting you more firmly onto his lap. “what would you like to do today? i’ve taken the day off, it’s just you and me.”

you pondered for a moment, mentally checking off activities you could do with sherlock with him completely at your mercy for one day. coming to a decision, you hopped off his lap and tugged his hand, dragging him into the kitchen. you then slipped away and rummaged through the cupboards until you came across one of mrs. hudson’s old aprons. you giggled to yourself as you approached sherlock, his lanky form standing uncomfortably in the middle of the kitchen with his arms hanging by his sides. “oh no,” he said, backing away at your outstretched hands.

“oh yes,” you replied, tackling him with the apron and tying the strings around his slim waist. “you and i are going to do some baking today. come on.”

the man groaned but secretly, he was just happy to see you smiling again. if him joining you in the kitchen, covered in flour and raw eggs, was what it took for you to cheer up after the day you’d had, then so be it. he would open up a damned bake sale with you if that’s what would make you happiest.

he watched as you pulled down ingredients and mixing bowls from the cupboards, frowning when you couldn’t find everything you needed. “you really need to go to the store more often, sherlock. this is embarrassing for you… no brown sugar? no baking powder?” you threw up your hands in exasperation. “i’ll just go see if mrs. hudson has some. you,” you said, pointing at him, “start cracking three eggs in a bowl while i’m gone.” you weaved through the living room and out onto the landing, but before descending the stairs, he heard you shout, “and make sure there are no egg shells!”

sherlock laughed into the empty kitchen as he did as you instructed, already eagerly awaiting your return so he could throw flour in your hair and eat raw cookie dough with you. you were his breath of fresh air, indeed.

The Bet- Sherlock Holmes x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff

A/N: Welcome to another episode of sounded better in my head, but idk

20 pounds

20 pounds and dinner 

20 pounds dinner and ice cream 

Deal. 

Deal. Y/n L/n grinned, shoving her phone into her pocket, entering Scotland yard.

"Hello I'm Agent y/n y/l, I'll be joining in on the case." she called out as she entered the detective inspector’s cabin, the DI sweetly smiled at her, nodding and handing her the file.

"May I ask why?" y/n turned to look at a lanky man with dark curls, along with a man who seemed rather apologetic of his friend’s behavior. 

"One of the victims is Interpol's person of interest, so let's get this over with and be on our merry way." she faked a smile towards him. 

“Sherlock behave.” his friend warned, lending a hand towards her “Dr. John Watson.”

“Pleased to meet you.” she shook his hand.

“That's my partner Sherlock Holmes, we’re consultants of sorts.” he explained with a lopsided smile.

“Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt for you to help me out.” she nodded, holding up the file.

“You’re not from here are you y/n?” John asked as they sat in her temporary office, crime scene images sprawled across the floor. 

“I’m from London, I just work in France.” she said, earning a hum from Sherlock, the two looked at him just in time to see him look away with the tips of his ears turning red, John’s eyes widened at his friend with a theory. 

“How did you get to know about this case?” y/n asked, handing both the men their coffees, taking a sip of her own. 

“My idiot brother wanted my help in it. And when I solve it I can rub it in his face” Y/n laughed, nudging Sherlock. 

“I’m impressed by your motives for crime fighting.” she giggled, John looking at the two’s absolute obliviousness.

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊* *＊✿❀○❀✿＊* *＊✿❀○❀✿＊* *＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

“Those marks are from a wheelchair.” Sherlock spoke up from his place next to the woman, the trio and Lestrade stood before a board now, with the map of London stuck up. 

“You’re telling me our guy is handicapped?”

“One of them anyways.” y/n and Sherlock spoke in unison, sharing a soft smile with each other. 

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊**＊✿❀○❀✿＊**＊✿❀○❀✿＊**＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

“Here.” Sherlock offered her his coat, once they had walked out from the abandoned warehouse, well abandoned after they arrested the serial killer.

“Thanks.” she whispered, hugging the material close to her body.

“Are you alright?” he asked suddenly, as though he forgot to ask before.

“I am, you?”

“Never been better.” he grinned at her, making heat rush to her cheeks as she looked down with a bashful smile.

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊**＊✿❀○❀✿＊**＊✿❀○❀✿＊**＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

“You like her.” John shut the door to 221b “and for all I know you’re probably in love with her.”

“John I've known her for roughly a week, statistically the average time-”

“Except you don’t usually fall under the statistics do you?”

“I suppose I don’t.” Sherlock smirked, walking to his room.

“If you don’t tell her, so help me god I will!” John threatened, huffing when he heard the door slam close.

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊**＊✿❀○❀✿＊**＊✿❀○❀✿＊**＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

Y/n sighed as she shoved the papers into her bag, clearing her temporary desk, she had just gotten a call from her boss praising her for her good job. Despite how good of a job she did, people died and all she wanted was a dinner and ice cream date. “You truly did a good job y/n.” Mycroft Holmes stood by her desk.

“You should give your brother some credit.” she said, continuing her haphazard packing which she noticed bothered the British government.  

“I’m doing it you stubborn git!” y/n’s head shot up at the noise as she watched John drag in Sherlock who was grumbling “Mycroft.” John greeted before turning to y/n “Sherlock here likes you.” 

“What?” “what?” Both y/n and Mycroft asked in confusion.

“He clearly fancies you and you fancy him, so please go out on a date.” John flailed his arms around, making Sherlock groan and y/n look at him with wide eyes.

“Dr. Watson, Mr. Holmes, I’m sorry to disappoint…but I’m married.” she informed, showing the ring which she wore as a necklace rather than on her hand as a display. Mycroft sighed face palming. 

“Oh.” John blinked at her while the whole room went into an awkward silence “I’m so sorry, I genuinely thought you liked sherlock and I-”

“Oh for the love of god will you two grow up!” Mycroft scolded the woman and the grumbling man. And then, the chaos started

“She was the one who placed the bet!” Sherlock pointed at her.

“Oh my god you’re such a snitch!” She pointed back at him “He was the one who escalated it!”

“She made the deal!”

“You’re a sore loser!”

“You’re so mature.”

“You’re so mature.” she mocked, sticking her tongue out to him. 

“Enough!” the two went silent at Mycroft’s voice “can you two behave like grown married adults for once”

“Ew that’s so boring” the two said in unison, now collectively trying to get on the oldest Holmes’ nerves 

“I’m sorry married?!” John interrupted the family drama.

“I married her.” “I married him.” the two pointed at each other nonchalantly.

“What?!” John was freaking out and now all the three Holmes enjoyed it “when?!”

“5 years ago.” she shrugged.

“before I met you.”

“But people don’t have secret spouses.” 

“Consulting detective.” he pointed at himself “Interpol agent.” he pointed at his wife “works.” 

“I don’t know why I agreed to them getting married.” Mycroft rubbed his face.

“You didn’t.” the two said in unison, glaring at the older Holmes 

“Well, you can pester him with the questions.” she moved forward, leaning up pressing her lips to her husband’s “pick me up at 8 loser.” she said in a sing-song voice.

“He made me!”

“Oops, don't feel like taking the excuse train tonight!” she called back, laughing to herself, faintly hearing the sounds of a confused Watson the annoyed Holmes brothers.