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New little Sherlock Holmes illustration that has no sort of period accuracy at all.

Just two dudes working on cases and writing by candlelight.

#sherlock #sherlock holmes #john watson #illustration #baker street #my art #johnlock #work in progress

Mine

Prompt idea by: @fightclubendingscene

Tag: @superwholockbooknerd526

Thanking for @fightclubendingscene inspired me to write this as my first BBC sherlock x reader ^^

Tag: Jealous Sherlock, feelings, female reader

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The first time you worked with Sherlock at 221B Baker Street, you fell for him at first sight. His intelligence was captivating, his mind a fascinating labyrinth of insights and analyses that seemed almost otherworldly. You were struck by how quickly he could piece together clues, revealing connections that others would overlook. There was a stoicism about him, a cool detachment that often made you wonder if he was, in some ways, more machine than man.

Yet, deep down, you sensed there was more to him—a complexity of emotions that he kept hidden beneath his sharp exterior. The way he approached each case was both brilliant and bewildering, making it hard to reconcile the thought that he might lack feelings altogether. You knew he was no machine; there was something profoundly human beneath his enigmatic façade that drew you in and made your feelings race each time you witnessed his brilliance in action.

As time passes, your feelings for him deepen, evolving into something more profound and complex. You find yourself constantly grappling with the notion that Sherlock Holmes, famously devoted to his work and often emotionally detached from others, might not reciprocate those feelings.

However, some moments ignite hope within you. In those fleeting seconds when your eyes meet, an unspoken connection lingers in the air before you both inevitably look away, your cheeks flushing with a mix of confusion and longing.

Then there are the rare instances when Sherlock expresses his sentiments through actions rather than words—small gestures that, at first, seemed insignificant but now stand out in sharp relief. The way he remembers your favorite coffee or the specific foods you love speaks volumes about his attention to you. These thoughtful details, once overlooked, now fill you with a sense of warmth and possibility, suggesting that beneath his stoic exterior, there may indeed be more to him than meets the eye.

John mentioned that he had never seen Sherlock behave in such a way before. It’s interesting to note that he has known the detective far longer than you have, which makes his insight all the more significant. Encouragingly, John believes that one day, both you and Sherlock will have the courage to reveal your feelings for each other.

Although he often feels like a third wheel, acting as a somewhat reluctant wingman in his friends' romantic escapades, he remains optimistic.

Until that fateful day when Irene Adler appeared at Baker Street, you found yourself returning the apartment after a trip to the market, the scent of fresh produce mingling with the cool, crisp air of a late autumn afternoon. As you stepped through the door, her captivating presence immediately drew your attention. She looked up from her poised position near the fireplace, her expression transforming into a warm, gentle smile that held a hint of seduction.

You placed the bags of groceries on the kitchen table, the clatter of jars and the rustle of paper momentarily breaking the spell of her gaze. In the background, you could hear Sherlock Holmes pausing mid-experiment, the unmistakable sound of vials clinking together fading into silence as he became aware of your arrival.

The atmosphere in the room shifted, filled with unspoken tension, as the two of you—one the immensely logical detective and the other a woman of enigmatic charm—interacted in a space that felt charged with possibility.

"Well, she's quite the adorable one! I had no idea you brought such a charming woman with you," Irene purred playfully. She stood up gracefully, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she gently tugged you toward her, drawing you both into the warm glow of the fireplace. The flickering flames danced around you, casting a soft, golden light that made the moment feel even more intimate.

Her eyes flickered momentarily over your shoulders, where she caught sight of Sherlock Holmes. His jaw was set tightly, and his hands were clasped firmly behind his back. He moved his knuckles in small, restless circles, betraying the turmoil brewing beneath his composed exterior. It was clear that he was grappling with a mix of jealousy and confusion, particularly regarding Irene's audacity in pulling you toward her.

John burst into the room, his breath still quick from a brisk walk along Baker Street. He paused mid-step, momentarily immobilized by the scene playing out before him. His eyes darted from Sherlock to Irene and then back to Sherlock as if trying to piece together the unfolding drama.

"‘Aren’t you a pretty little thing?’ Irene chuckled softly, her eyes sparkling with interest as she leaned in closer. Her fingers brushed against your cheeks, the gentle caress sending a warm flutter through you. With a playful smile, she let her other hand rest on your chest, feeling the steady rhythm of your heart thundering beneath her touch.

At that moment, Sherlock unexpectedly tugged you closer, his firm grip pulling your back snugly against his chest. The suddenness of it caught John off guard, and he couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the sight. It was a rare display of possessiveness from Sherlock, a side of him that John had never witnessed before.

His sharp gaze was locked onto Irene, filled with an intensity that seemed to burn right through her as if he was silently staking a claim on what he believed to be his. The air was charged with tension, and you could feel the heat radiating from him, an unfamiliar blend of protectiveness and desire that left you both exhilarated and slightly breathless.

"That's quite enough for today, Irene," Sherlock said, his voice steady and calm, though a slight tremor. Irene, ever perceptive, couldn’t help but notice the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he spoke your name with a softness that seemed at odds with his internal struggle. "We have a case to attend to," he added, steering the conversation to business. "Is urgent."

"You don—" John starts yet Sherlock gave him a angry glare.

"Case?" Irene chuckled, she stepped closer, the playful tension in the air thickening. Suddenly, without warning, Sherlock wrapped his arms around you,it caught you off guard. You could feel the warmth of his embrace enveloping you, a stark contrast to Irene's playful challenge.

With a swift motion, she grabbed your wrist, gently yet insistently tugging you toward her, as if trying to reclaim your attention from Sherlock. It felt like a whimsical tug-of-war, both of them vying for your focus. "You don’t have a case today, Sherlock," Irene teased, a smirk on her lips, her tone light but daring. "You never said you have a case today."

"We have now," Sherlock said, his voice low and laced with tension as he clenched his jaw. He tightened his hold around you, pulling you closer to him, as he took a determined step back, forcing you to stumble slightly along with him. "Good day, Irene." he added, his tone firm and unyielding, as he slid his other arm securely beneath yours, guiding you toward the door with an unmistakable urgency.

As he led you away, his eyes flicked back to Irene, a storm of anger and jealousy swirling within their depths. The silent message was clear—he was claiming you as his own. Mine. The intensity of his gaze spoke volumes, a silent declaration that you belonged to him, and he would not easily let go. His footsteps echoed down the staircase, each thud resonating like the petulant stomp of a child denied.

In a nearby corner, John rubbed his weary face with both hands, disbelief etched across his features. He hadn't expected this turn of events at all. The way Sherlock tightened his hold on you, the possessive aura emanating from him, was unmistakable—he had finally revealed the passion that simmered just beneath the surface.