| While on a case, Sherlock Holmes stumbles upon a new friend. And hopefully your new friend. He brings her home and fluff ensues.
| NOTE: as i've said, the devil works hard, but i work harder. kidding. i made this for my friend cause she loves dogs and i know she love golden retrievers, cause kate bishop has a golden retriever friend. ANYWAY, i hope u enjoy this feel-good piece. comments, hearts, and REBLOGS mean the world to me.
Sherlock and John were crouched down on the floor, taking whatever they could on the corpse that was brutally murdered. The Scotland Yard team were somewhere in the cramped building, buzzing about outside the door. It was like déjà vu; Lestrade was wearing a protective gear, and John too. Said doctor was taking down notes, quietly mumbling to himself. Lestrade was by door, his arms crossed and his face looked quite aged. If the Detective Inspector was going to be honest at all, this new serial murder case ages him every day, as if another year was added to his fortysomething age.
The consulting detective was busy deducing everything from the dead man’s body. Murder wasn’t the word to describe it; it was vicious. There was blood everywhere and Sherlock figured the serial killer’s go-to weapon is an ice pick. His mind was buzzing. High-speed deductions flying through his mind. But his train of thought was broken when he heard a sound.
“Shut up.” he muttered under his breath.
“What? I didn’t say anything.” John replied, looking at him with a puzzled expression.
“What’s that noise?” he asked, suddenly standing up.
“What noise?” Lestrade butted in.
“Tell your men to keep it down, will you Detective Inspector? I can hear something…” he said, now starting to pace about in the room. Lestrade obliged and the murmurs from the other side of the door died down.
It was a very distinct sound. Quite familiar. A sound that resided somewhere in the basement of mind palace. He was sure he heard it before.
He walked around, trying to place where the sound could be coming from. When he stepped on an uneven floorboard, it squeaked and the sound started to become clear. He knelt down and pried of the loose floorboard, and there he saw the most beautiful creature he had laid his eyes on; aside from you of course.
It was a puppy.
His fur was golden and his eyes were dark. But in the little creature’s eyes, he saw fear and excitement shine through. His heart beat sped up and he gulped, not knowing what to do. Should he pick it up? Should he get the team inside and rescue the dog? When the two of them made eye contact, Sherlock decided. He was going to keep him.
“What is it?” John asked, joining him.
“It’s a, uh…” Sherlock was a loss for words.
“Oh that’s adorable. Should we get the rescue team in here?” John asked.
“No!” Sherlock answered defensively and John was taken back.
“Alright take it easy, mate.” Lestrade said, approaching him and patted his back.
Sherlock ducked down and scooped the little golden retriever carefully, nestling it in his coat-clad arms. The little puppy wasn’t aggressive at all, but it was shivering in fear. Sherlock knows it all too well. Suddenly, his memories with his beloved best friend, Redbeard, resurfaced. A dam of emotion started to burst through him as the little puppy scooted closer to him, craving his attention and affection. He masked his excitement, joy, and other emotions he can’t name, with his usual stony expression.
The two men watched the detective, a ‘what the fuck?’ expression painted on their faces.
“Come on, John.” Sherlock said, starting to walk to the exit.
“What? We’re going to leave now?”
“Yes! Come on! I’m getting in the cab with or without you.” he said, the puppy barked and Sherlock smiled.
Sherlock smiled. What the fuck is going on? John thought to himself.
“Sherlock! What about the case?” Greg’s voice boomed.
“I’ll text you details, Gary. I’ll take this little one to the shelter.” he said, his voice trailing off. John sighed and kept up with his friend.
“We’re not going to the shelter.” John said.
“Correct deduction, doctor. No, we’re going home.” Sherlock replied, giving him a small smile and cradling the puppy in his arms.
Excitement was bubbling through Sherlock when he climbed the steps to 221B, the puppy radiating the same energy as him. You weren’t sure if you heard it right. You furrowed your brow as you drank your tea, finishing the last drops. When Sherlock finally stepped in the flat, your eyes were wide as saucers and your mouth was agape. You stood there frozen against the kitchen counter when Sherlock made his way towards you, approaching you with the little golden mass in his arms. He stepped in front of you, held the little puppy in his hands, showing it to you like a little boy showing his new teddy bear. Sherlock’s grin reached his eyes, shining with mirth. He was unmistakably happy with his new friend.
“That’s uh…” you stuttered at a loss for words.
“Y/N, meet my new friend, Callie.” he said, his voice laced with enthusiasm. Callie, the little golden pup agreed with a bark and you flinched.
“Come on, you can hold her.” Sherlock suggested, holding Callie out to you.
“Oh uh, um, uh I’m going to be late, darling…” you said, moving away.
“You’re scared of dogs.” he said and let the Callie down on the ground, letting her toddle around the flat.
“Uh, yes I am.”
“Why?”
“It’s stupid.” you sighed and your eyes started to widen in alarm as Callie made her way towards you.
“Oh please, I’ll be the judge of that.” he rolled his eyes to you and smirked when Callie started to sniff the hem of your trousers.
“When I was little, my friend and I were going to the fields to play when suddenly a dog, a rabid one by the way, attacked my friend and bit her butt.” you explained.
“Oh yeah, that sounds stupid… and made up.” Sherlock chuckled and walked closer to you.
“My friend died.” you firmly said.
“Oh…” Sherlock tried to find the words to reply but nothing came up, only a smirk started to grow on his lips.
“I hate you.” you glared at him.
“No you don’t, you love me.” Sherlock hummed and held your hand.
“I’m not so sure about that right now.” you said and glanced down at the little pup, you gulped.
“Oh come on, Callie’s a good girl, she won’t hurt you. Plus, she can be our little love child…” he said, the last words fading.
“Our what?!” you exclaimed in surprise.
“Never mind that. You’re going to be late, you said?” he said planted a kiss on the corner of your mouth. He abruptly left your space after that.
“Come on, Callie, time for treats.” he said, his voice echoing through the room, Callie followed him and barked.
You watched the scene unfold; Sherlock Holmes, your boyfriend, the consulting detective with the reputation of being a cocky and know it all bastard, play and feed the little puppy like a little boy. It made your heart skip a beat to see him so happy, but there was still fear present in you. You still remember the day you ran back to your house sobbing with your friend next to you, limping and screaming in pain. With one last glance, you left the flat to go to work.
When you arrived from work that night, you saw Sherlock sitting on his seat; his fingers steepled and resting under chin. But you weren’t used to having a little puppy sleeping on his lap. Obviously in his mind palace, you let him be and quietly puttered about the flat. With a cup of tea, you sought comfort in John’s old chair and picked up your book. Every now and then you would glance at the man and his little friend, and every now and then you can’t help the frown that crossed your face.
“Stop glaring at her. It’s not her fault, Y/N.” his voice rumbled.
“I know.” you sighed defeatedly and slumped back. Deciding there’s no point in staying up since you have work early tomorrow morning, you stood up and planted a kiss on your boyfriend’s cheek and bid him goodnight. Sherlock soon followed, curling up next to you. The next morning, you found the Callie by the end of the bed, sleeping soundly.
The weeks passed in a blur. Sherlock was overjoyed with his new furry companion, however you, you were still cautious. You paid Callie little attention and it didn’t bother her that much, it was Sherlock’s attention she loves most. But she still tries. She approaches you, and brings you her treats so you’d overcome your fear.
Speaking of Sherlock’s attention to Callie, it was really obvious that he was taken by the little creature. He was really happy but he hoped that you’d be happy too with Callie, all he wants is for her girls to get along. Which was not going well. You were sitting across him, reading your journal when he broke the silence. He was peering into his microscope when he said, “You know, we both had traumatic experiences with dogs.”
“Oh?” you looked up at him, he certainly got your interest.
“I had one when I was little. Redbeard was his name and he was my best friend.” he said, still staring at the microscope.
“What happened to him?” you asked.
“He disappeared. I think he drowned, I don’t know…” he said, his voice fading.
“Oh Sherlock, I’m sorry.” you said and moved towards him, sitting next to him.
“I just try to remember the good times. There were a lot and I remember them whenever I play or whenever I’m with Callie. And I’m scared sometimes, you know? I’m afraid I might lose her just like I lost Redbeard.” he said, sentiment clear and loud in his voice.
“Maybe that’s what you need. You need to get over your fear, Y/N, and just enjoy her and make new memories with her.” he said and finally looked at you. He gave you kiss on the cheek and stood up. He left with Callie, intending to stay in the park that afternoon.
One day, Sherlock was out with John, solving a case. You were left in the flat with Callie as your companion. You planned the day ahead, starting with breakfast with cleaning your closet next. Breakfast done and kitchen cleaned, Callie followed you around the flat. You entered your shared bedroom with Sherlock with Callie behind you. You opened the closet and set on cleaning it; separating clothes that still fit you and clothes that didn’t. Callie was rolling around the pile of clothes and a laugh escaped your lips, terribly amused by her. You were busying yourself; folding your shirts when something nudged your thigh. You turn to look at Callie, a green beanie hanging off her mouth. You chuckled and grasped it, prying it off her mouth when a bright idea popped into your head. You held it and gently put it on her head. She yipped and barked and started to jump around.
Sherlock was right.
Sherlock was in the middle of explaining the case to Lestrade when his phone beeped. He halted his stream of deductions and opened his phone to see he received a message from you. Alarmed that something must be wrong, he quickly swiped it open only to reveal something unexpected.
When Sherlock arrived that night, his voice boomed through the halls of 221B. “I take it my girls are getting along splendidly?” he said when he saw you and Callie in kitchen. You were sitting on the kitchen bench, working on your laptop, with Callie sleeping on your lap, still wearing the green beanie. You beam up at him in agreement, and he planted a kiss on your head.
“I love you.” he whispered.
“No, you love our love child more.” you giggled.
“True, but I love you the most.” he replied and sat beside you. Sherlock smiled to himself, content and truly happy.
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Summary: quick imagine of him pampering you after a stressful day.
Warnings: none
Walking into the flat you sighed dropping your bags walking straight past Sherlock and flopping into the bed. He knew something was wrong as he followed you sitting down near you patting your back gently.
"Whats wrong dear?" He asked as you groaned into the pillow.
"Come on" he said lifting you up as you sighed letting him drag you around. He filled a nice warm bath up for you with some special tea in it or what ever you were to tired to care. He stripped you of your clothes letting you get in the bath as he massaged shampoo into your head.
"So whats wrong?" He asked he never gave up.
"Stupid boss with stupid people with stupid work" ypi grumbled crossing your arms as he hummed in response his fingers felt so nice gently massaging your head as you began to calm down. He pampered you pretty much all throigh the night. The bath, nice dinner, a movie and cuddles on the couch. You sunk into him feeling your eyes close as you snuggped against his warm tall body. A small smile danced across his lips as he played woth your hair gently as he heard small snores escape from you. He smiled again turning tbe TV off moving to the room and placing you down before joining you in thr bed and hugging you close again.
"Goodnight" he whispered a sleep captured him also.
Contradict my opinion if you please, but in all honesty, the best gifs from the show are the ones from The Lying Detective. There are so many different levels of the emotional spectrum in Benedict and Martin that it’s difficult not to use them.
Requested by Anon: On the way to work one morning in the torrential downpour that is London, you happen to get into a rather bad car crash. It’s not enough to kill you, but it’s enough to make Sherlock go nuts.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
“Hi, this is y/n. If I haven’t answered, I’m solving crimes with the worlds only Consulting Detective who also happens to be my husband. Leave a message!”
Sherlock huffed and pressed his thumb against the pound key. “Y/n, you only left for work twenty minutes ago, and judging by the fact that you haven’t answered, I’d say you’re probably back seat driving the cabbie. You’re worrying me love, pick up the phone please.”
You and Sherlock were newly weds, having been best friends since John moved into 221B several years before. You spent most of your time with the war doctor and the Detective, and before you’d realized it, you were falling in love with Sherlock Holmes.
“I-I don’t know what THIS is!” Sherlock yelled, startling you as he pounded on his heart. “Every time I look at you, my heart goes faster and my head begins to pound! I’m absolutely clueless to the stimulating response my body goes through when you enter a room-”
“You-” You swallowed the lump in your throat and stood on your tiptoes, your lips ghosting over Sherlocks as lightly as you possibly could. He easily sank into your embrace, his fingers tangling in your hair as you leaned backwards to get a better look at his eyes. “You bloody twit, you are in love with me.”
“Oh, Sherlock! Haven’t you looked down the street? There’s a car crash just another mile down the road!” Mrs Hudson chided, throwing open the window shams. The rain had let up enough to visibly see the street, and as Sherlock looked out the window, it only took him a minute to deduce that your cab was indeed one of the two that had wrecked. “Where-Where are you going?!”
“That’s my wives cab! She could be hurt! She could be-” Sherlock halted at the front door of the building, running his hands over his scruff as realization smacked him rather hard in the mouth. “She could be dead.”
Mrs. Hudson snorted indignantly as she passed him his Belstaff. “Your wife is one of the most fiery women I’ve ever met in my life. Plus she was crazy enough to marry you. I can guarantee you she’s not dead-”
But Sherlock was out the door before she could finish her sentence.
For me, just do it for me y/n. Don’t be dead.
***
John Watson had seen you come into the hospital when Mary was having her checkup, insisting that he know how you had obtained your injuries. Your most major problem was a broken leg from the impact of the door, but other then that you mainly had several bruises and lacerations.
“Has Sherlock shown up yet?” Mary questioned, leaning against her husbands arm as they sat in the waiting room. Both of them had demanded to be in your private room once they had reset your leg, but the doctors had only taken you into the OR twenty minutes before, and they were not finished yet. “And here he comes!”
John opened his mouth to respond but was met with a wave of security guards, all shouting commands at one another as they swarmed the nurses station. Had it not been for the dark black curls and scruff, he would have never known it was Sherlock demanding to see his wife. “I’m sorry sir, but patient records and information are confidential. I can’t disclose them to you.”
“Like you can’t! She’s my wife!” Sherlock growled, tilting his head as several of the nurses rallied behind the desk. “You slept with your boss to get you a reputation,” He moved his finger down the line and continued to point out the biggest flaws in the remaining nurses. “You do too much botox to try and please your husband, you’re far too concerned what the woman in radiology thinks, and you’re questioning your sexuality.. My God, please get a life!”
The former war doctor muttered apologies to the nurses as he drug Sherlock towards Mary, whose face became sympathetic as she motioned for him to sit beside her. “Sherlock, we saw her when she came in here. She’s banged up, but she’ll be alright. The worst of it is that she has a broken leg.”
Sherlock laughed in disbelief, pulling his phone from his pocket to show John the five text messages he’d sent you from the moment you walked out the door to the supposed time of the crash.
I love you. - SH
We need something good for dinner. The head might have contaminated the frozen chicken breasts. - SH
You, my love, are secretly wearing the red lingerie underneath your dress aren’t you? Naughty girl. -SH
Can you pick up milk on the way home? Used the rest to make coffee. - SH
P.S. There’s now eyes in said coffee. - SH
“I asked her, I asked her to bring home milk and in return, she gets into a bloody car wreck!” Sherlock exclaimed, his arms falling at his sides as Mary patted his thigh reassuringly. “How stupid is that?”
“Mr and Mrs. Watson, y/n has been moved into recovery.” All three heads shot up as the lead orthopedic surgeon stepped into sight and managed a wide smile. “The bone has been set successfully, so now we’ll cast her up when she’s awake and send her home. Is there someone we can call?”
“ME!” Sherlock deadpanned, waving his hands in front of the doctors face. “I tried to tell your nurses at the station that I’m her husband-” He lifted his gold wedding band to their line of sight and waved it back and forth out of annoyance and disregard. “But no one would believe me!”
“I believe you sir.” The doctor reassured, clasping Sherlock on the shoulder as he led him and the Watsons in the direction of your room. “Any man that’s so possessive over a woman is sure to be in love if not married to her.”
Your eyes were just beginning to flutter open at the sound of voices, the morphine in your system numbing most of the pain from your injuries. “Hello?” You called out weakly. “S-Sherlock?” John squeezed his best friends shoulder and motioned for him to step into your room, giving an encouraging nod.
“Hello love. You nearly drove me nuts by not answering your stupid phone.” He pulled up the chair beside your bed and took your bruised hand in his own, frowning as he ran his fingers over your knuckles. “I thought you were dead.”
“A car crash ending me? That’s the best you can do?” You deadpanned. Your gaze softened as you realized that he was indeed telling the truth- hence why his eyes were glassy and his breathing was eradicated; nearly on the verge of a hysterical breakdown. “Sherlock, I promise I’m fine. Just a broken leg.” You patted the open space beside you and he immediately crawled into it, careful not to dislodge any of your IV’s as his arms wrapped around your thin frame, your head now tucked beneath his chin. “I was backseating the cabbie. He was a terrible driver.”
He chuckled and buried his face in your hair, inhaling the faint scent of vanilla. “I’m not surprised. You tend to do that to all of them.” A shiver ran down your spine as his fingers wrapped around the ties on your hospital gown, ghosting over the flesh of your back. “They took your lingerie off I bought you for our wedding night. I’m quite offended.”
“Yes, because what male doctor throws away scarlet red hot lingerie?” You replied sarcastically. “Check with the personal items. My phone should be in there too.” Mary and John stepped into the room just in time to witness Sherlock carry your face in his own hands ever so gently, his lips pressing against your forehead as he began his search for your personal belongings.
He didn’t even get to leave the room.
“Uh, Sherlock?” Your tone became urgent as your pupils dilated, your focus now on the two people in your doorway. Judging by the way Sherlock regarded them as if he knew them, they weren’t strangers. Not to him anyway. “Who are the people in my doorway? I-I don’t know them. Can they leave?”
“Y/n, this is John Watson.’’ Sherlock said slowly, his expression one of confusion as he set his hand on Johns shoulder. “You met him years ago when he moved into the flat with me. You call him Hedgehog because let’s be honest, he looks like one. And he’s basically your brother. Mary? She’s his wife and she’s carrying their child. A little girl. You’ve been helping with the baby shower-”
“I don’t know you. Either of you. Can you please leave?” Your finger hovered over the call button on the side of the bed, which was sure to alert any nearby nurses or staff. “I can get you into some serious trouble if you don’t go! Leave!”
That smile. The one that always said “I have faith in who you are.”
The endless nights of being locked out of the flat when Sherlock was in his mind palace.
His war stories.
Their wedding day. The first time Sherlock had really, genuinely expressed how he felt about you despite the fact you’d been dating for well over a year.
Everything around you- the hospital room, the sheets on your bed, the rank smell of chloro septic in the air. All of it was just so bleak. The woman had started to cry as Sherlock motioned her and her husband from the room to speak to them about whatever was going on.
You obviously cared about them enough to draw her to tears. But there was the problem.
