Hello all!
Just a little sherlock one shot that was cooking up in my head! God I love that man!! I promise We'll get back to the regularly scheduled program soon! I PROMISE!!!
Summary: Sherlock is busy with work, and you try your best to stay out of his way but you can be quite fussy when you want his attention.
Warnings: Cursing. Sex MDNI, P in V sex. Fingering, Multiple Orgasms. Creampie. Unprotected sex. dirty talk. Sherlock being painfully handsome! Soft Dom sherlock
Entranced, yes that was the word. I was fully entranced just watching from the doorway. The bright morning sun streams through the window of the study, casting a warm glow around him as he works. His features are almost angelic, of course; truly, he was anything but. The thought causes a soft giggle to escape my lips.
“If you were trying to be discreet, you’ve blown your cover,” he says, his voice low, smooth, and calm. There’s an ever-present smirk on his face. Throughout the whole interaction, he never once looks up from his desk. Another giggle escaped me, and I took a few steps into the study.
“Not sneaking, simply admiring.” I smile. “You’ve been working at this one for quite some time,” I tell him. I walk over to his desk, standing behind him, my hands gently resting on his large shoulders. His smirk grows wider, and he hums softly. I feel myself gasp as the detective captures one of my hands from his shoulders and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to my palm.
“Yes,” He says, his voice steady and strong. “And still much more work to do. I don’t want to keep you cooped up in here watching me go mad. It’s a beautiful day, darling. Why don’t you go take in some of that lovely sunshine we’ve been blessed with, and I’ll work on finishing up here.” I bite my lip, my eyebrow raised in question, but I hold back my protest. Sherlock is a busy man. I’ve always known that. He never blatantly tries to ignore me or keep me otherwise occupied. So I nod, giving him a soft smile. I lean in, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
“Okay, my love, please try not to go too crazy, will you?” I giggle. The request earns me a chuckle, and he looks up briefly to meet my gaze as I move to leave his study.
“I shall do my best, my darling.” He says before turning back to his work, leaving me alone again with my thoughts. As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right; as always, I shouldn’t waste away in this flat waiting for him to finish his work.
So I do head out to town for a while. I walk the streets of downtown London in the warm spring air, breathing life into me. I stop at the market to see what fresh flowers they’ve got. Baker Street could certainly use a touch of color, and I know Sherlock won’t mind. After picking out a few bunches, my basket full of florals, herbs, and a few baked goods, I make my way back to the flat. It’s late afternoon now. I busy myself arranging the flowers in vases and putting away my other goods.
I still haven’t heard a sound from Sherlock. Peeking my head into his study, I see he’s still right where I left him. I sighed and shook my head. With nothing better to do I join him in his study. I scan his shelves for something to read, it’s been one of our favorite ways to spend quiet time together lately. Lying together in the garden, reading our respective stories. I look over at him again; still lost in his work, he’s probably barely even noticed my presence. Finding a story that is a particular favorite of mine I curl up on the chaise and open the book.
This may not have been nearly as good an idea as I’d thought. Since I woke this morning, I’ve been craving Sherlock's affections. Sitting so close now, only to be ignored and left unnoticed, has only annoyed me. I let out a huff, sitting up and looking over at his desk… nothing. I sigh and turn back to my book. I lie back, settling in again, struggling to get comfortable. Another hour passes. Or at least it feels like an hour. I suppose I can’t be sure. And I feel as if I’m going to go insane. I let out a groan of frustration.
“Not enjoying the story?” He asked, a smirk on his lips. He’s far too smart to believe that is the source of my plight. I pull back from my book far enough for him to see me roll my eyes, and he chuckles. “I do so love watching you squirm.” He says with a dark glint in his eye. And finally, he lays down his pen and slams his book shut. I raise an eyebrow at him, not daring to speak a word, but my eyes are full of challenge.
“I was hoping to spend a nice relaxing evening with you, my darling,” he teases. “But seem’s you needs an attitude adjustment.” He’s standing behind me, his breath hot on my ear as he purrs. “Am I going to have to fuck it out of you darling? Or are you going to apologize for being so bratty and impatient?” My mouth goes dry, and my body is suddenly on fire.
“S-sherlock.” I gasp. “I- my love, I didn’t intend to … I-” I stutter, trying to find the words, but it seems all competent thoughts have left me. This is just how he wants me. This is exactly what I meant, Sherlock is no angel. He likes to play dirty. Make me flustered and shy and needy. He won’t stop until I’m begging. Nothing gives him more pleasure than making me tell him all the dirty things I’d love him to do to me. All it takes is a look, and he has me melting. And as annoyed with him as I am for turning me into a brainless, incompetent, desperate woman. He knows this is exactly what I’ve been needing all day.
He chuckles and steps around the sofa, standing in front of me. He takes the book from my hands, tossing it to the side. He leans over me, a primal look in his eye as his knee gently parts my thighs and he hovers over me on the sofa.
“What didn’t you intend to do, my love? Hmm? Did you not intend to huff and pout for my attention? Is that it?” He smirks, nipping playfully at my ear as he chuckles darkly. “You just forgot your words, didn’t you darling, just forgot how to ask properly. It’s alright, my sweet. I’ll remind you.” He purrs his lips trailing down my jaw and neck as his tongue traces my collar bone.
“I’m sorry, my love.” I pant, my chest heaving. Instinctively, I tilt my head back to allow him better access. He lets out a feral growl, and his hands squeeze my hips possessively as he starts to explore my body with his touch.
“Oh, I know you are my sweet. And I’m going to give you the attention you so badly need.” He smirks, his hands slide under my skirt gripping my thighs, a low growl escaping him as he kisses my neck. I let out a soft needy moan my body arching into his my thighs naturally spreading to make room for him. He chuckles his breath tickling my skin where he’s biting at my collarbone.
“Still so impatient; you haven’t learned your lesson, have you my darling?” he cradles my face in his hands, kissing me passionately. His tongue explored my mouth as we kissed. When he pulls back, he grabs my wrist, nearly dragging me off the chaise. Before I can begin to fall, he catches me, holding me against his chest. “Now what should I do with you?” He purrs. I look up at him, my eyes blown wide with lust and desire.
“Sherlock, please,” I begged, my voice weak and pathetic. He lets out a low growl that I can feel deep in his chest. He grabs me around the waist, picking me up he holds me tightly with one arm as the other sweeps the papers from his desk. He sets me down and steps between my parted thighs.
“Please what, my love? Hmm? Ask for what you want darling.” He teases his hand, slowly creeping up my thigh again. his fingers graze the fabric of my panties, and my breath hitches.
“I-I can’t.” I blush, biting my lip. Sherlock chuckles his other hand gripping my chin to make me look at him.
“Yes, you can, sweetheart. You’ve had those filthy little desires playing in your head all day. And I want to hear every detail,” he growls. My breath catches in my throat as I hold his gaze.
“T-touch me,” I beg and grab his wrist, pressing his fingers more firmly against my core. “Here, please,” I whine. Sherlock lets out another low growl, capturing my lips in a searing kiss as he starts to slowly rub me through my panties. I whimper and arch into his body.
“So wet already. You’re such a needy little thing, aren’t you?” He smirks, and finally, he slips his fingers beneath the fabric of my panties, pushing two inside me, curling them as he starts to pump them in and out. I let out a desperate mewl, my hips moving, grinding on his hand. He moves his thumb to rub circles on my clit. He smirks as he watches my face contort with pleasure. “That’s it, my love. So beautiful when you’re like this. So desprate for my affection. He adds a third finger and pumps them faster, curling them just right so I’m seeing starts. My hands come up to clutch his shirt, my thighs shaking and head falling back, letting out a needy moan. My walls clamp around his fingers gushing on his hand.
“Oh sherlock!” I whimper, panting as I come down from my orgasm.
“That was beautiful sweetheart,” He smiles, kissing me tenderly. “We’re far from done. You know that, don’t you?” he teases. I giggle, nodding shyly. Without further preamble, he tears open my blouse, his eyes raking over me hungrily. He tears off his own shirt, tossing it aside, and cups my face, kissing me passionately. He gently pushes me back, laying me back on the desk, his lips trailing down my body. He stops when he gets to my breasts squeezing them softly and leaning down to capture my nipple in his mouth sucking and flicking with his tongue. I moan loudly, my back arching, pushing my breast further against his mouth.
He groans sucking soflty and then swithing to give attention to the other breasts. He shoves up my skirt, bunching it around my waist, and then fumbles with his zipper.
“I can’t wait be inside you,” He moans. I gasp as I feel the thick head of his cock brush through my folds
“My love, please, I need to feel you filling me. Make me whole.” I beg. With a feral growl, he surges forward, sheathing himself inside my tight heat. He lets out a groan, giving me only a moment to adjust before he sets a punishing pace.
“Fuck,” He moans. “You’re so tight, so perfect, darling. Is this what you needed, my sweet? To be filled and taken. Reminded who you belong to?” I nod and let out a breathy moan. He pulls my leg up around his hip and drives into me deeper. The angle allows him to hit that perfect spot deep within me. My eyes roll back, and I feel myself climbing to my high.
“My perfect girl,” sherlock praises his as he brings his thumb between us to rub my clit. My body shakes beneath him as he captures my lips in another searing kiss.” Thats it, my love. Let go,” he coos. “Let me feel all your pent up desire and love as you cum for me.” he encourages. I feel my pussy spasming on his cock and he growls “Good girl,” With those words I tumble over the edge my toes curling my head falling back gushing on his cock as my body trembles with pleasure.
“Sherlock!” I cry out as my orgasm crashes over me and he fucks me through it. I feel his hips start to falter and he takes my hand pinning my wrists to the desk as he fucks me, his breathing ragged as he lets out a string of incoheart praises.
“Yes,.. fuck.. You’re perfect, my love. Gonna fill you with my seed… such a good girl for me. Take it all, darling.” He growls in my ear, his body going stiff as he releases inside me. His hips jerk softly as he works himself through his orgasm.
We stayed like that for a moment, our bodies connected and whole. With a soft groan, Sherlock stands and slowly pulls out of me. He takes my hand, helping me sit up on the desk. He cups my face and peppers it with kisses, pulling back and searching my face for any sign of discomfort. “Are you alright, my love?” He asked, his voice soft and tender. I nod a satisfied smile on my lips.
“Yes darling, I’m perfect.” I giggle. “I am sorry for being such a brat when I’m being needy.” I blush, ducking my head to tuck myself against his chest. Sherlock chuckles.
“I know you are, my sweet. the truth is.” He says with a slight smirk in his voice. “I quite enjoy it, I was finished with my work hours ago. But I do so enjoy watching you squirm.” He winks.
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The soft light of the morning crept through the curtains, gently illuminating the room. It was their first morning as husband and wife, and the quiet calm of the world outside felt distant compared to the whirlwind of emotions they had both just experienced. Sherlock Holmes lay beside you, his dark curls mussed from a night of passionate sleep, a slight frown on his face even in his rest.
You shifted, the warmth of his skin against yours making your heart skip. His sharp features softened in the quiet of the morning, and for the first time in a long while, Sherlock seemed... content. At peace.
His eyes fluttered open, the hazel irises focusing on you as you smiled at him. His lips parted, but for a moment, neither of you spoke, simply enjoying the comfort of being near each other in this intimate, vulnerable space.
"I should make breakfast," Sherlock muttered, more to himself than to you, but the words reached your ears.
You blinked, surprised. Sherlock Holmes, the famous detective, who solved the most intricate of mysteries, was suggesting something as mundane as making breakfast?
"I'm quite good at it," he added, a slight smirk tugging at his lips, his voice almost playful. "I've done it a few times... in between solving cases."
You laughed softly, propping yourself up on your elbow to look at him. "You don't have to, Sherlock. I can do it."
But he shook his head, eyes lighting up with an intensity that reminded you of his dedication to his work. "No. Today, I want to do something for you. Something... normal. I can make a proper breakfast."
Before you could protest further, Sherlock slipped out of bed with surprising agility for someone so deeply in thought most of the time. He moved toward the door of your bedroom, still naked, the bare skin of his back showing the smooth, muscular lines of his body. There was something charming about his disheveled state—untamed, yet undeniably handsome.
"Don't move," he said, glancing back at you, and his tone carried a warmth that sent a flutter to your chest.
You smiled softly, watching as he disappeared into the kitchen, the quiet sound of his footsteps echoing in the hall.
You rolled over, resting your cheek against the soft pillow, your mind racing with thoughts of the morning, of the vows exchanged just hours before. In all the chaos of your wedding, you hadn't expected such tenderness from Sherlock—an intellectual who often kept his emotions guarded behind layers of logic and wit.
Minutes passed, and you could hear the faint clinking of pots and pans from the kitchen. Sherlock's voice echoed faintly, speaking to himself as he tried to figure out the correct way to prepare the eggs. A sense of warmth filled the room, and it wasn't just from the sunlight creeping in.
Finally, after what felt like a small eternity of curiosity, Sherlock returned to the room, holding a tray with a simple but thoughtful breakfast: scrambled eggs, toast, and a steaming cup of tea—perfectly brewed.
"You look pleased with yourself," you said, raising an eyebrow playfully as you sat up to take the tray from him.
Sherlock merely smiled, his eyes glinting with a hint of pride. "I did something right for once."
You chuckled, taking a sip of the tea and then feeding him a bite of the scrambled eggs. "I'm impressed," you said, genuinely. "This is delicious."
Sherlock's smile deepened, and he sat beside you on the bed, his body once again close to yours, this time with no case to solve or the world to chase. Just the two of you, in this quiet moment, as newlyweds.
"All I wanted was to do something... nice for you," he admitted, his voice softer now.
You reached out, your fingers grazing his cheek, and pulled him into a kiss. "You've done more than enough, Sherlock. This... this is perfect."
As you both settled in for a lazy breakfast together, the day ahead didn't seem so pressing. Sherlock Holmes, the genius detective, had found something better than solving cases: something simpler, quieter, and full of love.
Chapter Summary: Sherlock fulfils his husbandry duty and desires to play some more with your weak resolve.
Pairing: Sherlock Homes x wife!reader
Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Period Sex, Blowjob, Bondage, Pet Names, Fingering, Forced Orgasm, Forced Pubic shave, Humiliation.
Word Count: 9k
Author Notes: This chapter involves description of period blood and sex, please be warned!!
You had no choice. Not really...he was your husband and you were his wife. His threat of infidelity brought a great fear to your mental strength than your threat to murder him without a solid plan.
Oh how you hated him for this. You despised him with every sense. You weren’t sure how you’d be able to forgive him.
You knew he wasn’t a good or kind or even gentle husband, but a husband is meant to be faithful. And if humiliating yourself to pleasuring him with your mouth kept him straying in sin; by god you would obey.
You crept closer to him and slowly lowered yourself on one knee, then the next. Your eyes could not leave his face. A sick and twisted smile spread over his rosy cheeks.
In his palm was his half hard cock. His large hand made it appear smaller. The memory of its violent entrance had not been forgotten however.
It stared you back in the face. The pink head peaked up and out of his pale skin. His thumb rubbed over the pink head.
You felt cold and strange in comparison to your usual jitters. You fluttered your eyes closed. Your hands sat in your lap on your thighs.
‘He just wanted a kiss. I can kiss it...’
You leant forward and puckered your lips. His skin was feverishly warm. You pulled back fast and blinked up at him with wet eyes.
He chuckled meanly and touched your damp cheek in his other hand before moving his fingers under your jaw and guiding you closer to his cock.
“Lick the top with the tip of your tongue.”
Your lips trembled nervously. You weren’t sure if this was worth it. The thudding of your chest made you forget what he had asked.
Visions of the lewd novel in his chest flashed in your mind.
“P-pardon?”
His thumb pressed against your mouth, forcing its way past your lips and teeth. You knew better than to bite him. You weren’t an animal...you didn’t want a repeat of the night before where you had bitten his tongue.
“Stick out,” he pulled your tongue out with his thumb, “this little tongue.”
He pulled you closer by the chin and held his cock upwards.
“Lick.”
You whined softly and batted your eyes. Did you have the guts to do this? To truly perform fellatio? You didn’t really have the choice. You had to do this.
He let you go and waited patiently. He undid his cuffs and rolled the shirt off his shoulders.
“Are you so dim witted?” he gruffly asked, his fingers grabbed at your jaw after you took too long,
“Need I repeat myself once more?”
You shuddered and shook your head side to side. It was just so scary. Why did you have to have such a cruel husband!?
“No,” you licked your chapped lips, “I am sorry Mr Holmes.”
His eyes widened, his face softened but his lips smirked, “So polite, little lamb...”
Your lower half tingles with delight at the warmth of his sudden praise...
‘Little lamb, how do I despise it...yet feel warmth within?’
You pushed your face closer. You stuck out your tongue again and this time, glided it over his hot red tip. The gleam of your saliva and his desire shone in the soft candle light of a kerosene lamp on his bedside table.
You tucked your nose quickly back to your chest. You flushed.
Fluttering his eyes, Sherlock clenched the covers. His gasp on his breath was a sound of pain you originally believed.
“Again,” he said clearing his throat, “Come now, I grow tiresome to your reluctance.”
You wanted to spit at him. He knew you didn’t want to do this and yet still made you do it. You licked him again. His hand clapped on the back of your neck, forcing you closer and blocking you from pulling away.
You fell into him slightly, forced to need to grab his pant covered knee and thigh. Your fingers squeezed his trousers to stabilise your balance on your knees.
You looked back up into his eyes. Perhaps it was easier to look him in the eye instead of looking at the brutal beast between his thighs.
You opened your mouth and licked his cock little by little...his thumb pushed up your nose, opening your mouth wider. He pushed his cock into your mouth. His eyes were glued on you. He appeared relaxed.
His skin lacked any flavour. It was like licking your palm...but after a while there was a hint of salt in the taste buds.
You kept your mouth open, you kept your tongue out as he moved his hips in and out. His hand pushed you down and pinched you back up.
Your eyes remained only on him. He was grunting and sighing. A twinge of triumph tickled your heart. You were pleasing him! He would not want to seek out the unsavoury company of whores or any other woman overall.
He paused and leant down. He grabbed at your wrist and picked up his hand and rested your fingers around his length of his cock.
Your blinked and stared at the placement.
“Squeeze, and rub me up to the tip, down to the sack.” You nodded, his cock still rested on your tongue.
He chuckled and rested back on his hands. He waited for you to take over.
This was it. This is what would bring him pleasure. You cupped his shaft and moved the way you were instructed. You did it at a pace where he appear to struggle how to breathe. His words were nothingness under his breath.
He looked to the ceiling and moaned.
The skin was hot and twitched under your finger tips.
He let out a choking groan. The back of your mouth felt that harsh slapping squirt of his release.
You pulled back in horror. Your bottom slid across the rug. You weren’t sure what it was really. In fact you feared he had the audacity to piss in your mouth. You spat on the floor and coughed.
“Ugh!”
He cackled at the mortified look you had written over your sweet face.
He sighed and chewed his bottom lip. He slowly clapped his hands.
“Well done... Forgive me, I had intended to finish myself over your sweet breasts, little lamb.”
He cocked his head to the side and hummed, “Take off my shoes.” He lifted his foot to your direction.
You thought he was entirely despicable! You wiped your mouth with a growing glare. It didn’t go unnoticed by him, in fact, he took glee in your narrowing look..
“You wish to be a wife? Act as a wife. You want my loyalty? Well, you must be my whore...and whores suckle their johns cream with pretty smiles on their painted faces. Wives help their husbands undress from long days of work.”
You felt...weak and disgusting. You felt like an idiot. In your grumpy defeat you crawled back to him and began to unlace his shoes. In the corner of your eye you saw his hand reach back to his front and touch his thick meat. The looser the laces, you lifted your hands and rocked his heel out of his shoe.
Demurely you sat both his shoes aside. His socks smelt of his sweat and the filth of London street ways. You gagged and pinched the wool socks away from his calves and flung them from his toes.
A cramp waved through you and forced a grimacing groan out of your quiet misery.
Sherlock stopped laughing, his smugness dissipated. His face fell. He tucked his cock away with an annoyed sigh.
His hands unexpectedly tucked beneath your armpits and lifted you off the floor. He pushed you lightly onto his mattress onto your front. You felt your breath hitching, worrying what he would do to you. It wouldn’t be right for him to have sex with you during your menses.
He palmed his giant hand over your bottom. Hoisting your night dress up your thighs and over your back. He slapped one cheek lightly and chuckled at your cry and hiss. He grabbed your shoulder and held you down slightly. Your fingers gripped the covers of his top blanket. You had washed and changed this set. They smelt of a sweet lemon citrus.
His lips touched your bare shoulders. His hot breath tingled in your ear.
You flushed and squeezed your eyes shut. God it felt strange and ticklish.
“Look at this perfect little arse,” he admired, groping at the flesh, “Plump and ripe for a needed disciplining. Your grandparents let you get away with far too much.”
He slapped you harder. A scream bellied from you. Your spine curled up and you desperately reached back to scratch his bare arms.
“Stop it! Or I will bite you again!” you shouted.
The detective smacked his lip and hummed, “Ah that reminds me, thankyou little lamb.”
In two fingers he held in front of your eyes his cravat. He stuffed the material deep into your mouth and slapped you swiftly when you tried nipping his hand. Tears poured like boiling water.
He tied the rest of the fabric tightly behind your head. You violently shook your head and fought against him, you tried pushing away only to be shoved down by his strong hands.
He rolled you into your back and used your nightgown to tie your wrists together, over your hands. Your claws were contained from clawing his eyeballs out.
The bonds were pushed above your head. He attached a loose part of the arm of your clothes to the headpost.
He smacked your thighs apart hard. You shrieked behind the gag.
He tore the sanitary apron away and tossed it across the room. You turn your nose into your arm, too embarrassed to look at your husband who played with your body.
You twitched and tried to kick at Sherlock as his hand tickled down your side and between your thighs. The wicked man smirked as he watched your pleading eyes water. He pushed two fingers inside your red hot messed cavern. You felt ill. This was an abomination! He fingered you and held your upper body down, watching you like a hawk as you struggled.
His digits within you flexed and curled. You felt them touch along the top of your walls while his thumb rubbed down into your forbidden button. You whined and shook your head. He removed his hand all together. You clenched your legs back together.
“Oh my, Mrs Holmes,” he purred, glancing down, “You secret slut...this isn’t blood,” he held his fingers up to the light, “Why...this is arousal...”
His lips curled, flashing those pearly white gnashers.
Your eyes widened with horror. You were humiliated. Surely it wasn’t possible that you could be enjoying this? Why did he have to be so handsome. Why did your fear mix in with attraction so easily.
With the clear gleaming on his hand, with little pink streaks, he kissed your cheek and pinched
your nipples.
You shook your head and whimpered. Your legs were buzzing at the pain inflicted increased a desperate certain warmth within you.
“My was that a moan? Interesting,” he whispered cheekily.
“and if I...do this...” he asked as he shoved his hand back onto your snatch, rubbing in fine circles ontop of your clit. Your hips lifted and your thighs trembled. Your toes curled hard and your head rolled back. God it felt delicious and evil.
Amongst your lustful whines, Sherlock chortled happily, “How perfect you might be dear wife...I had no little hope for this morning, but now,” his nose shoved into your ear, “...oh you’ve just gone and damned yourself for good.”
He tugged at your pubic mane lightly, it didn’t matter, it made you squeal and howl in pain.
Your husband sat up and left the bed. Your arms were still bound above your head. You lifted your knees protectively to your chest.
“All this hair...” He tutted, “it shall not do.”
You heard him wonder across his bedroom. Out of his personal drawers he found a straight razor. He also brought forth the basin of water he had near the door way. With a cloth napkin and tiny sliver of soap, he returned and forced your legs down on to the bed. He knelt on your spread ankles and lathered your nether curls.
It was when the soap started to foam that you realised what he was intending to do. It was impossible to word the begging but he knew...you knew he knew what you were pleading out.
You knew how sharp a razor could be. What if he mutilated you!?
He glided the cold metal over your wet sensitive skin.
He licked his bottom lip as he scrapped away your mass of pubic hair.
“Hold still wife or I will cut you,” he scolded sarcastically as he went through the white bubbles.
Cleaning the razor in the water before returning it back between your thighs he hummed, “I am displeased you didn’t confer with me about the states of my accounts before deciding to pay them all off yourself. That dowry was meant for dresses, and necessary accessories such as calling cards...” he tapped the razor on the basin bowl, “now we must both rely on Mycroft and my cases for wages...stupid girl.”
The way he stared into your eyes as he held the blade up to the light...was he threatening you...was this...a warning.
You squeezed your eyes shut and took a deep shuddering breath. Tied to his bed and at his whim you were significantly helpless.
His hands took the towel and wiped your cunt clean of the hairs and soap still left behind. He whistled dramatically and smirked.
“My, my, what a pretty pussy you have.” He mused as he tossed the razor into the basin and moved the water bowl under the bed, out of the way.
His middle finger pushed inside. You gasped. The stretching intrusion took you off your guard.
“So tight still. I might need to train you to take me.”
He tore it back out and touched your naked clit lightly.
You gasped and choked behind the cravat. With deep moans, you wept pathetically.
“Oh look at that reaction,” he cooed condescendingly, he caressed the skin with his knuckle, “and all I’m doing is touching your clit. So sensitive.”
He licked his bottom lip and smirked, he pulled his hand back and slapped his palm across your labia. You squeal as the hot fiery pain rose up under your skin and spread out a dark shade with the rushing of your blood.
“Splendid responses to the nerves,” Sherlock noted before running the stinging flesh, you whined and turned your face into your arm.
“Bit sore I gather?” The man mocked, “Poor Lamb. All mine and bloody for sacrifice.”
A horrid in taking sound came from him. He spat on his fingers and pushed the wetted digits against your labia, dragging them down before sliding in home.
“There we are, squeezing so tightly around my finger, feels filling?”
He paused and listened to your heavy breathing behind the man made gag he had over your mouth. Listening to your ragged gasps and wheezes made his cock stir. You were so innocent and confused, he could see through your prudish and proper demeanour so easily. He fingered you until you were on the brink of insanity. Your eyes were becoming hazy, strained and almost crossed.
He thought it incredible...a true virgin. Not some pretender whore that his friend Miss Adler supplied. You were the authentic innocent.
“Now that you are properly tied up and without risk to harm me,” he whispered wetly, “-And decently groomed... I will complete our union.” He removed his fingers slowly out of you.
You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. You needed to compose yourself. You wanted to pretend you were back home with your grandparents. You imagined yourself in the gardens with your cousins playing balls. Oh back then life was a struggle but comparing to this...it was truly childsplay.
You yearned for your girlhood once more before you felt him move off the bed a moment only to shove your thighs wider apart and sit the head of his cock on top of your naked hairless lips.
Here the devil had come to steal all girlhood for good and inflict the agonising curse of
womanhood.
He entered slowly. Clearly he had learnt from yesterday that this task would only be accomplished with patience.
Indeed yesterday would’ve been considered a consummated marriage...so why he cared so much to refer to this as a completion of union alluded you.
You whimpered softly and peaked through your wet lashes to see his invasive entrance breaking into you.
To say you were full was placing it lightly. This man stole all possible space inside. He left no pocket of air as he pushed along and settled within.
His hands were tightly holding each ankle apart.
You now understood why he touched you with his hands before...your slickness welcomed and slid him deeper into you.
“Oh, my poor little lamb, taking in her masters thick cock so bravely,” he praised and then laughed as you struggled against your own nightgown binded to the headboard, “unable to nip or kick back at him.”
You grew silent in defeat. You submitted to the chance of zero hopelessness. Your legs fell limply.
He released your ankles.
You were plagued in your own paralysis.
You felt like he was pausing before pushing more inside. He was huge. There’s not many you could compare it too as a recently deflowered woman but you were confident his size must’ve been abnormal. Even he winced every so often at the tight squeeze.
When his pelvic bone pressed against your cunt, he sighed, “There...truly man and wife...at last...” A small scoff was heard.
You said something behind the gag that caught his ear. It was too muffled.
He pulled the gag harshly down your chin.
“What was that?”
You narrowed your eyes at him and huffed stubbornly, “Hu-husband and wife. Not man and wife.”
You wanted to remind him exactly who he was doing this to and why he could do it...because you allowed it.
“Correct you are, my darling,” he let a laugh escape him before he moved back, “Now if I just pull and twist my hips like this.”
He re-entered and this time he put his thumb on your clit as he went inside. Your eyes blew wide and you began to babble.
“Oh oh oh! Wh-what wait, please!” You started to moan and whine.
Your husband cackled proudly, “It feels good doesn’t it?”
You foolishly nodded in truth. Something sparked a flame that flooded your insides.
He did it again and again. He repeated and rubbed down into you. The filling of his member rubbing against all parts of your inner skin made you clench and groan.
You felt increasingly needful to collect the same high feeling he had delivered on you before. You were climbing an imaginary hill. The urge to release your bladder made your eyes widen.
Desperation took you into the most needful begging, “N-no! I need to use a bedpan please
Sherlock, please, I am going to make a mess! Stop! I’ll do anything.”
Your little gasps and desperate moans spurred your husband on.
His hips were making a fast speeding pace that made you dig your knees into his sides.
You wanted him to stop. You were scared of pissing over him, especially in his bed.
“I want you to let go,” he moaned and shoved his nose against yours. His breath entered your mouth as he raggedy groaned, “Release, trust me...it will feel good.”
You didn’t trust him. You didn’t know what he meant. How could this behaviour be acceptable.
“No, no, no, no, ugh, ugh, stah-, Sher-, ugh, pl-please!”
He slammed himself harder and licked at your chest, “Such a pretty beggar, dear lord, I predicted you to be a homely creature, I have been proven wrong. In this light, you are rare gem of the seas of Venus. Oh sweet lamb, give me your release.”
You couldn’t hold yourself in containment any longer. You let your lower half go. You clenched hard down onto him.
You found your spine curl and your mouth wordlessly wailing.
“Breathe dead, breathe,” you heard Sherlock call above your silent choking before unleashing a brutalising scream. It was like taking your first breath, being reborn.
When the air released, your chest burned. You gasped and cried out as some mighty string was torn within and drowned you in a flooding dam of pleasure.
Sherlock followed your desirable agony and let his mind go. His grunting was feral and full of need.
Your muscles released and you cried with the feeling of warm melted gold ran through you.
You weakly called out, “Sherlock...”
His hot lips kissed against your sweaty skin. He kissed your neck up to your chin and cheek and engulfed your own mouth in a sloppy sensation of saliva and soft lips.
When your eyes focused and found a semblance of sane sight, you beheld a pleased man. You felt his fingers touching along your arms and wrists.
“I am going to untie you, hush you are safe...”
You shut your eyes. The last tears to come derived from pleasure and a overwhelming sense of joy that was foreign to you. You trembled, still drinking in the vibrations of your body.
You were stuck in a blanket of bodily pleasure. You had never been so relaxed and warm in your entire life.
You enjoyed what he had done and you didn’t know why especially since you heavily disliked your own husband.
Was this what Mrs Hudson referred to? Screaming followed by smiles?
‘Oh’, you thought, ‘never again will a woman have what I just claimed. This is mine and always shall be.’
“I...need...um...I...words...I...you’ve...I can’t think...I am spent,” you mumbled dumbly.
A part of you wanted to thank him and have him leave you alone to wallow in sleep. Another wanted him to do it all again.
“Pretty Lamb,” he cooed in your ear as your hands limply fell to the mattress, “I am going to carry you now.”
He had tucked himself away and scooped his hands under your legs. He moved your arms around his shoulders and pushed you to sit up before clamping his arm beneath your back. His nose tucked into your neck where he left another kiss.
Carefully he lifted you off his bed and stepped out into the dining parlour where he turned and took you to your room beside his.
He pulled the blankets and sheets away before sliding you down beneath them.
He pulled the cover up to your chin and you whimpered, “I...am sore.”
His hard face softened, he pressed his lips to your cheek and asked, “You are?”
You nodded your head, “I...feel...light...tired.”
He left your side to shut your door. The light disappeared completely. Only the moon that casted light over his face helped you see as he faced you again. He wondered over and invaded your bed space.
He climbed in along side you. The wood creaked with his added weight. You were slightly alarmed he was coming into your bed and not returning back to his room.
You were drowsy and moaned.
“Sleep, in my arms,” He said as you weakly tried rolling away.
You turned back and stared at the shadows of his face. His eyes were black with only small specks of the light reflecting.
His skin was sticky and hot... But tonight it was cold and windy...you needed him...he wanted you...you succeeded.
In the darkness, you decided to reclaim some small pride...you pushed your face up and kissed his lip. Breathing him in you could finally smell him and taste him. Chalk, blood, and tobacco.
You shut your eyes and imagined the joy of your grandmother if you could tell her how you finally became the wife of Sherlock Holmes before the rites of Godly flesh.
He was silent and still. He said nothing. Did nothing.
When you pulled back from the kids he rested his head softly back on the pillows with a light hum. His fingers tickled up your naked back, holding you close. You rubbed your cheek into his bicep and listened to his heart beat and breathing until you passed into the dreamlands of sleep.
You dreamt of your father and mother. Two people who never married, but at some point were in love. You never had the chance to see them together in happiness.
They were well dressed and strolling in the park pushing a perambulator. And as you followed them it had not struck you that this was a dream. Inside the baby carriage was nothing at all...it was odd.
Yet your parents smiled and both leant in to kiss each other....their hands both held wedding bands.
If you had never been born, you suddenly thought, would they have been able to marry and be happy?
Your mother as she loved upon your father shoved the perambulator away. It rolled fast down the path and you followed it for a moment before hearing a terrible wail of a baby inside. A baby that wasn’t in the carriage before suddenly appeared, pulling back a blanket that covered it.
You chased after the carriage as it sped up and went down a hill. Your heart ached with terror. You struggled to keep up and reached out your hand to the handle bar. It was rolling just out of your reach!
You sobbed as the carriage crashed into Tree and fell to its side. Out rolled...a bleating lamb...the creature rose up on its four wiggly legs and bleated again. It’s long wagging tail flickered around anxiously.
You landed on your knees before the lamb and kept crying. Not even you knew the reason for your tears. You held the small animal to your torso, checking it over for any broken limbs. The baby sheep was fine.
A tap on your head made you look up and standing above you was a dark faceless shadow of a man. The shadow sucked you in and you screamed at the darkness before waking up.
Above you was a face you did know...your husband’s. His eyes danced around your features. His lips curled into a smirk, “Good morning Mrs Holmes, how did you sleep?”
You blinked and peered up at him warily before slowly you sat up and away from him. His hand touched your shoulder, your hand grabbed his wrist.
What was he doing in your bed? Why were you nude!? Ah the revaluations if the previous evening re-established back into your memory. He had fully fucked you. He had claimed you...and in your drunken sleepy state, you kissed him. You flushed.
“I slept fine...” you lied, “Please let me up,” you glanced between him, the door of the bedroom and your wardrobe, “I need to start my day.”
You swallowed hard as you looked over his broad chest.
“Nonsense,” Sherlock stated before dragging you closer to him by your waist, his hands were huge and warm, it would be too much to say even comforting.
“We have plenty of time before Mrs Hudson climbs up the stairs.” His lips touched your jaw and peppered down your neck..
“Mr Holmes...please,” you cleared your throat as your hand pushed his chest to force a pause. You flushed with embarrassment. He noticed very quickly at your strained tone.
“Oh...I see...you recall the events of last night...your self deduction?”
His hands under the blanket slid downward to your thighs. He touched the soft shaved skin of your pubis. You felt twice as sensitive...
“H-humiliated, st-stupid and angry,” you shuddered.
You had let him hurt you again...and yet this time it came to a pleasant conclusion. You were disgusted in yourself for obeying him so quickly, so willingly I’m regards to giving him fellatio.
His fingers pressed your clit and he smiled at your gasp.
“And now?”
You gulped and turned your face into the pillows away from his eyes.
It was hard to deny how much you enjoyed the jumping buzz in your lower belly.
His laugh was crude to your ears, “See how easy it is to feel that sweet entrapment?” He rubbed his hand between your legs and marvelled at your heightened reaction, “My goodness look at you, your cunt is pulsing against me, hot and hard in my palm.”
Your breath hitched and your hips accidentally rolled into his touch. Your body craved the addictive buzz. Your thighs parted for him...he accepted the invitation and moved a finger inside while he ground his palm against your bundle of nerves.
“Oh, are you going to release again?” he whispered proudly.
He chuckled at your shaking head. Your pathetic attempts to mentally deny it. You were close by how tightly you fluttered around just his lone finger. Your knees shook and clamped together. His finger continued jerking in and out.
“Oh ride the sweet death, come to be me, come, come, come to me little lamb.”
His mouth ducked down to your nude chest. He licked across your nipples and suckled them into his cheeks loudly.
Your hand grabbed the blankets and his wrist. You rolled your head back and sighed as whatever that spell was took over you.
“Did you know,” he smacked his lips across your breasts, before tonguing a single nipple, “you’ve the most delicious teats?”
You groaned and blushed. You were trying to catch your own breath.
He pressed his cock against your leg before taking your hand and forcing you to hold him.
“Touch me, hold it and slide your hand up and down like a silk pole.”
You did as he asked while he kissed your mouth openly. Your eyes fluttered shut and jerked him off until you felt a wetness glide down your hands, he moaned.
This is the kindest he has ever been to you presently.
You pulled your hand away and up to the light of the morning. Your eyes widened at the white goop stuck on your fingers and back of your hand.
“Wha-what is this?”
He chuckled and kissed your cheek proclaiming, “My seed.” Seed...to make children...but it was so...
“Its...liquid,” you disagreed, “and wet and sticky...it’s like mucus.”
He raced his fingers along your hip and patiently explained, “When drained inside of you,” his hand touched your lower belly, “it goes up and impregnates. But you are still bleeding so it washes out and won’t catch in your womb.”
You blinked and let your dirty hand fall back on the top of the covers.
“Oh...”
You felt him sit up and you mirrored him. You slid out of the bed as his warmth left you. Watching him pull his trousers properly back up over his hips and waist made you fluster from the sight of his bare arse.
It was such a plump bottom.
He pulled away your blanket, unveiling your nude self to the cold morning.
He turned around and brought back your water basin and a cloth. He soaked the material in and pressed the wet cloth to your thighs.
“Stay still,” he said softly, “I’m just washing you.”
You paused before you spread your legs for him and awkwardly nodded, “Thankyou...husband.”
Surely you could’ve cleaned yourself. You hissed as he scrubbed the dry blood and release from you thighs. The cold water on your hot dirty skin was soothing.
You stood out of your bed finally and hurried to your dresser to find either some padding tubes or a sanitary apron.
Your rolled the bandage up quickly and turned away from Sherlock as you inserted the material.
You felt...strange doing this in front of him. A part of him you were sure might be repulsed at the sight.
Except he had his back turned to you, he was washing himself in the basin while he asked, “How did you find the carnal pleasure?”
You froze and felt your mouth dry up. Had he forgotten that he had tied you up?!
It was hard to meet his eyes. You wrapped your arms around yourself. Your husband turned to you.
You felt the need to cover your privates with your hands.
“Strange, it...felt correct...but...wrong...” you cleared your throat, “forbidden, despite our vows.”
He smiled and nodded to the bed while he passed you to your wardrobe and investigated the contents, “Many young ladies new to it have expressed the same condolences...that is sex. That is coitus. That is what husband and wife do. To make babies, and to feel pleasure.”
Your nose wrinkled. Sherlock was significantly older than you. You trusted this wisdom. He was clearly an experienced man from the prices spent at Mayfair.
“Why did it hurt so much the first time?” you asked.
No one had prepared or explained why having sex with your husband would hurt. He was so brutal the first day. And last night it hurt but not as much...
He sighed and pulled out dark navy blouse and a skirt to match. You felt the urge to correct his choice as he held them up. It was an outfit for outside outings. You weren’t meant to leave the home during this delicate time.
He asked over his shoulder, “Have you ever ridden horses?”
“I have,” you answered honestly.
“Side saddle?” His left brow raised.
“Sometimes,” you pursed your lips and watched him lay out your clothes on your bed, “It was easier for balance when riding as men do.”
He nodded and went to collect a pair of your boots, “And that hurt your thighs the first time?”
“First few ride like that yes,” you agreed, huffing impatiently, “Where is this conversation leading?”
He pulled you closer by pinching your hip. He pushed a chemise over your head. Your eyes widened, this wasn’t his role...to help you dress. It was your responsibility and Mrs Hudson if you were inclined to ask for her assistance.
“How did the pain go away?” he asked.
You rolled your eyes and answered the obvious explanation, “Because my body accommodated and my muscles for the riding evolved to accept the saddled position.”
He passed you a pair of open crotch bloomers. You pulled the material over your legs and tied the strings to your waist over the corset.
He smiled and pinched your chin, “The same is said for sex. The more you practice, the better it will be for you and...your health.”
You flushed and turned your face away from him...you felt foolish with the way his eyes ran over your bare body. He turned you around and helped pull a corset over your head and began fighting the strings in the back.
“I...it hurt and felt good...I felt...suffocated...I thought I saw a bright light,” you grunted as he tugged.
Your husband shut his eyes and with a smile he hummed pleasingly, “La petite mort.” “The Little death?” You gasped.
He flicked his eyes open. He sounded amused, “ah you know French little lamb?”
“of course I do,” you scoffed lightly, “any self respectable lady must learn French.”
Not his sister, “I suppose so.”
He pulled more of the ties closer. The corset grew taunt and supportive of your chest. His fingers tugged down further.
“Why did you go to Scotland yard yesterday?” You asked him as he finished tying the laces together.
“And who did you have a fight with?”
You tapped your face with a soft finger. He passed you a hose suspender belt. You clipped the hooks behind your back while the belt sat on your waist.
“There’s now a bruise under your chin that I most certainly did not cause Mr Holmes...” A part of you wished you had. He would’ve deserved it from you. He rubbed the dark spot and smirked.
Your husband sat on your bed and plucked your stockings. He pat his thigh and opened the stockings up. You lifted your leg and rested it on his thigh. You clenched the wooden canopy pole to steady your balance.
You were embarrassed. At this angle he would be able to see your cunt stuffed with the white fluff soaking up your menstruation.
He showed no care or disgust. He slid the soft cotton up your leg and kissed your knee cheekily.
He clipped your stocking to the suspension strings.
“I inquired upon the Pennicott case,” he claimed,” his thumb rubbed dangerously over your thigh...
God, you felt a spark at the touch.
“I thought you said it was obvious,” you stuttered, “He ran out from his wife.”
“I did, and...I rethought it,” he admitted, he slid the other stocking up your other leg, “Pennicott is a Baron and a owner of many warehouse factories. His wife comes from a well off family too and she is pregnant last heard, baby number six now. Why would he disappear off the face of the earth?...”
He stood up straight and forced your arms above your head before he slid a petticoat across your waist.
“A lover?”
He smiled as he tied the strings at your waist and shook his head, “No, men like Pennicott would just keep their arm candy and refer to them as a niece of a distant cousin. And if he was attached so lovingly, he would just move to another country but to completely eradicate and leave all his finances? To leave his wife in her state? It makes not much sense. He was making a fine quarter profit! So why is he missing?”
He passed you the blouse and skirt.
“Well,” You pulled the skirt over your arms and buttoned the buttons up to our neck “Perhaps he’s been kidnapped, for ransom?”
Sherlock hummed, “Maybe Watson, but I do wonder still.” You blinked...
“Pardon?” you gawked.
He raised his brows to your exclamation.
“You called me Watson.”
“Oh dear god,” he chuckled and passed you your skirt, “it’s already happening.”
You slid on the final layer and wrinkled your nose at him, “What is happening?” Sherlock stood up from the bed and clapped his hands.
“Come with me,” he softly begged, “Today I will be visiting his wife. The Baroness. I am investigating the case.”
Your eyes fluttered. Your thoughts couldn’t keep up. You sputtered as you tried to find sensibility. “Sherlock, it is our honeymoon and I am bleeding,” you whispered, “It is improper. I need to conduct laundry. Both our bedding must be soaked in...” you cleared your throat, “the blood.” He winked at you and pulled you close to his nude chest by your covered waist.
“Isn’t it marvelous that we have a housekeeper for such things?”
You narrowed your eyes... “A housekeeper is not a maid and I would not subject Mrs Hudson to cleaning that. She has told me herself that linens is not of her department.”
The tall man bent down and offered, “Mrs Hudson will clean the laundry, trust me..”
Despite his assurance, It wasn’t right for you to be out and about in public like this.
“And what would I be doing,” you tested, “Running after you as you speak to the Baroness?”
“Sitting pretty,” Sherlock stated, “And looking for clues.”
Your eyes sharpened, “Clues?”
Your husband tapped your nose, “Yes, you seem to have a hint of talent in that department. You just don’t know where to deduce the end results for the clues.” You blinked....
With a soft mutter you stated, “I suppose it would allow me more insight to your profession and a chance to bond and learn about each other...”
Before you could continue anymore questions you heard a soft knock on your bedroom door.
“Mrs Hudson,” you both whispered, glancing to one another.
Helplines:
If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.
Synopsis: Your husband has always been protective of you, given his line of work. However, when he offers to teach you the basics of self-defence, it quickly becomes clear that his intentions may not be quite so innocent after all...
Warnings: Mild reference to bodily harm, light smutty behaviour, spoilers for the second film.
A/N: Oh, how I’ve missed Enola Holmes. I loved the books, and the films are just as great in their own way, so expect a bit of spam for the next few weeks - apologies in advance.
Masterlist
“Now, try again-”
“-Sherlock-”
“No. Come on. Focus, darling. Once more, from the beginning. Eyes forward-”
Oh, that was it.
You were going to kill your husband. Slowly… and painfully… It would be the least he deserved, torturing you as he was.
“Call me ‘darling’ one more time, husband,” you warned dangerously, “and see if I don’t shove this sword in your direction.”
Why you agreed to this in the first place was beyond you, given that the day had so far been much more satisfying for him rather than you.
After all, it had been Sherlock’s idea to help teach you the basics of self-defence - throwing a punch, dodging one, along with the fundamentals for using weapons such as a pistol, club, and now a sword (although when he thought you’d be in such a position to use one, you weren’t sure).
Given his profession and the fact that his cases often lead to unplanned consequences, it had seemed a rather sensible idea at the start. His recent run in with the infamous Inspector Grail had rattled him, helpless to protect Enola everyone involved in the case from harm.
Luckily, they had all survived, if not a little worse for wear - most of which was down to your skilled hands, having sewn, cleaned, and bandaged each and every wound they presented you with following the confrontation.
You had seen the pain etched into Sherlock’s face that night, as you had helped wipe the blood from Enola’s head where she had been struck. He may have often denied having emotions, but the brotherly love and concern was all too clear to you as he seemed to blame himself somehow for failing to protect her.
So, now, Sherlock was determined to equip you with the tools you may need should a similar situation ever arise. It made it an easy yes, to agree to his tutelage in the hopes of soothing both his and your concerns. That, and dare you even say it sounded like fun?
Well, fun for you, yes, but evidently even more fun for your husband as it turned out.
Indeed, Sherlock was certainly a ‘hands-on’ kind of teacher and it had become clear early on that his focus was not entirely on developing your skills in combat. You didn’t have to be the detective to notice how his hands kept drifting to places they didn’t belong, or that his eyes seemed to be capitalising on the opportunity to observe your form in tight trousers as you lunged about the room.
And that wasn’t the worst of it - in fact, for the past half an hour, he had been standing behind you, his chest pressed to your back, one of his hands covering yours as it gripped the hilt of the sword - or the foil, as he had informed you.
As for the other, it was rather distracting, pressed against your stomach so as to allow your husband to correct your stance… or so he claimed, as he pulled you closer once again.
“That’s it,” you huffed, trying and failing to ignore the sudden shiver that ran down your spine as he ground against you. “You are certainly having too much fun. Perhaps I should have asked Enola or Edith to be my tutor instead. At least they can be trusted to remain professional.”
He scoffed, not sounding the least bit ashamed at the accusation.
“You wound me, wife,” he murmured, his lips grazing against your cheek, “After all, was it not you who said you didn’t wish to be a ‘maiden in need of rescuing’ should anyone wish you harm?”
“You know that I am neither a maiden, nor in need of rescuing, Mr Holmes.” Turning your head, you were quick to return the favour, letting your lips graze his teasingly. His soft groan was enough of a sign that your efforts appeared to be working.
Two could play this game.
“In fact, the only person I seem to need rescuing from right now is you, and your wandering hands.”
You felt his laughter shaking through him, making it hard not to laugh yourself as he began peppering kisses to your neck.
Clearly your lesson in swordplay would have to wait; it appeared he had a different kind of physical activity planned for you both.
summary: You and Sherlock are in love, Enola is sure of it. But she is forced to watch you tiptoe around the topic for an eternity. So when the opportunity arises, and Sherlock is forced to confront his feelings towards you, she does not hesitate.
a/n: we're diggin' out old old drafts for this one, but I needed a little Sherlock again :)
word count: 4k
warnings: a little arguing, pining, someone gets injured, idiots in love™️ (it's a new genre of mine)
･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ
You sighed as Sherlock moved about his office with hasty determination. He was a strange man. Oblivious, too, time and time again. But that did not matter for you loved him. You loved him and every strange habit he harbored. Whether it was the way in which he arranged his coats on the brass hanger by the door or that godawful pipe he seemed to always have hanging from his lips. He did not even like it - he had told you one time. “’tis just a habit, dear,” it would muffle past the brown bit in his mouth before he would clip it back between his teeth.
But you did not care. And that must have been the very fact telling you just how deeply your heart had already fallen for the famous detective. Not a care in the world, especially not for what other people thought to say the least. Because all you ever thought about upon seeing him was love, warmth, and endearment. Nothing less. Not even a wretched criminal could ever shoot these feelings out of your heart.
Oh well, it did not matter, anyhow. For there was one issue keeping this fairytale from becoming reality. And this issue was that Sherlock Holmes, the brightest man you knew, was blatantly oblivious to the feelings you had harbored in your chest. To be fair, you had never mentioned it to him before. For you were simply terrified of the consequences such a confession would hold. It was one thing to pine over a man who you were lucky enough to be in the same room with, but it would be undeniably humiliating to be rejected by said man as well. So you had chosen not to act on the fiery desire burning within your veins whenever your eyes hushed a glance at him.
As much as that decision was made to protect your heart, it had turned out the circumstances provided the opposite of the desired effect. You were hurting more and more with every day you had to live with the realization that Sherlock Holmes did not love you back. In fact, he loved other women - many of them. And every single one more beautiful than the other. Sometimes you found yourself wondering if they were human at all. Never before had you seen such luscious hair as that of Sibyl or such a beautiful smile as that of Amelia. It was difficult to settle with these gorgeous women having a place in his bed and possibly his heart, but soon, you realized the importance of seeing him happy trumped your own desires. If he was happy, so were you. And if you weren’t the one making him happy, so be it.
You had just come here to see Enola from her home to the city. Stopping by her brother’s apartment had not been on the agenda, at least not yours. But Enola was adamant to have you come when she raced up the stairs to his door. You had gasped when Sherlock had opened, his hair slightly disheveled and the shirt loosely tugged in his trousers. Your heart was pounding - it always happened when you saw him, and you swiftly averted your eyes to hide the flustered look on your face from him.
Now you were standing in his messy home as you listened to Enola convince him to let her help him on a particular case of his - one she had a personal attachment to. Mixed emotions crawled up your spine at the sight of this professional yet intimate space. Not only one room over, Sherlock's bed was mockingly standing beyond the door, messy sheets indicating his prior endeavors, but there was no Sibyl or Amelia in sight. Still, your hands clamped around the silky material of your skirt, wrinkling the fabric harsher with every minute you spend in the deep-colored room. It smelled of musk and tobacco. Two things you had grown to miss whenever they were not surrounding you, but now, it was a shiver too much.
Sherlock stood before you and Enola with his hands on his hips, a look of annoyance and disapproval etched on his features, but nonetheless, a sense of amusement in the edges of his frown. You knew him too well not to notice the slight pride swelling from his chest at his little sister’s determination.
“I believe it is too dangerous for a girl like you to wander the streets, chasing criminals through London, Enola.”
“And I believe that you are an idiot, brother.”
“Perhaps,” your finger lifted in suggestion, stopping Sherlock’s head from tilting in disapproval at his sister’s array just in time. “She can be accompanied in her wandering?”
“And who would this accompany be?”
You knew it was not your place to negotiate, but you cared for Enola too much not to. And even though Sherlock’s stern eyes bore into your frame, you began to talk again: “I could-“
“Oh, dear lord. That is out of question.”
“Why brother? Do you not think Ms. Y/N and I can defend ourselves?”
A short silence lay upon the siblings as you watched the man’s shoulders draw up with a tense jaw. “I said no.”
“You are being irrational.” Enola cried. She was not one to accept defiance easily, you were well aware of it.
“No, you are being irrational. I will not vouch for having two women hurt on a mission to gather intel for my cases.”
“You cannot stop me.”
There was something itching in the glimmer of his eyes when the words left his lips, though you weren’t quite sure what to make of it.
“Enola!” Almost fearfully, Sherlock turned to you, his eyes wandering and desperation conveyed in his stare when you heard the young girl open the door.
“I am sure we can negotiate a way to have both parties satisfied.” Enola halted as you spoke. “I am certain your bother has other tasks that need fulfilling and are less prone to danger. Isn’t that right, Mr. Holmes?”
Sherlock was not entirely satisfied with this turn of events, but his sagging shoulders told you that he accepted the compromise. A sigh eluded from his lungs and Enola turned to the dark-haired man with excited eyes. “I presume, there would be things you could do.”
“Thank you–“
“But,” his eyes turned stern again, “In the office only. No more wandering, is that clear?”
Enola beamed. “Yes.”
❁ ❁ ❁
It was not long after the discussion when you and Enola went about home from the city. Still, however, despite the seemingly fair compromise negotiated just minutes prior, the younger woman sloppily trudged next to you.
“He is an idiot, that is what he is.” Enola stomped past you with a pouty face. It was not ladylike, but luckily, she knew that you were not one to care about that.
You understood Enola’s frustrations, but simultaneously, your heart were to break if anything ever happened to her. So you understood the settled worry in her brother’s words as well. He was a good man. “He is just worried. It means he cares.”
“Well, he could care a little less and let me do my job.” You hid a smirk. Only Enola would be as adamant about saving a boy she had only met days ago. She was just as goodhearted and justice-seeking as Sherlock, and your heart warmed at the similarities the siblings shared.
“It is not your job, Enola.” Sometimes you genuinely admired her fixation, though it mostly converted into trouble, still. Enola had a lot more freedom than you did when you were her age, and you too would have sprung at any chance to go and wander about, seeking adventures and perhaps a little more than that. Which was in turn, why your heart felt torn between the fulfillment of having her seek childhood dreams, and the subtle but strong tug Sherlock Holmes held you with.
“Did you forget what we just found out yesterday? It seems no one cares about him. And if nobody else will do it, I consider it my duty to help.”
“Enola, dear.” You held her shoulders gently. “I understand your worries, but I understand your brother’s as well. I would be just as worried about you if something were to happen, and I do not want to see you hurt, either.”
“But we have to do something!” This was true. It would not be right to leave the boy framed with false accusations when you had the power to change his fate. There was something you could gather - information that may help him be acquitted.
“How about I go?” You silently cursed your good intentions as Enola’s eyes lit up. It was a blessing and a curse. But other than Enola, there would be nobody worrying for you, and in turn a lot less hearts broken if something were to happen - which it surely would not. “You can stay in the study and I will see to it that we may gather more information.”
“Alright, but be careful. And make sure to come back by five. Otherwise, someone will get suspicious.” The girl smiled, but her shoulders shook with excitement.
“What? Do you think I’m stupid?” You teased, awaiting a sassy ‘of course not’ which you returned with a wink.
❁ ❁ ❁
Enola watched the clock next to the window. Seconds, ticking by too fast for her liking. She needed more time - you needed more time. Her brother had given her files to sort and he would be coming back soon. Upon your agreement yesterday, you had gone out to gather information on the woman who accused the boy. But you would be back soon, she told herself.
“Is Ms. Y/N not here with you?” Sherlock’s voice called through the room and his steps approached her steadily.
Enola was stiff. “She is out,” she told him while her fingers counted the pile of files on the desk.
“Out? With who?” He stepped around the polished mahogany, settling in front of her with his hands behind his back. “I didn’t realize she was being courted.”
Oh. Enola’s eyes sparkled with amusement when she obtained a glimmer of jealousy in her brother’s. She had always had her suspicions. And she knew of your being madly in love with her brother, but Sherlock had always been secretive regarding the topic of love.
“She went to shop,” she smiled, averting her eyes. Waiting - no, anticipating a response from him.
“So she is not with anyone.” Sherlock leaned forward with squinted eyes. For a man as good at solving puzzles as he was, he did need an awful lot of confirmation.
Enola finally looked up. “Ugh, you really are an idiot.”
“Would you quit calling me an idiot?” Disapproval swept his features and made a frown settle instead.
“I would, but you won’t quit being an idiot.”
“Whatever do you mean?” It was quite amusing to see him clueless for once. And even though you tried to hide your feelings or the way you responded whenever he was as much as in the same room as you, it did not go past Enola how long your eyes lingered on his frame or the way the sadness overtook your features at the mention of another woman.
“Ms. Y/N is head over heels in love with you. And I do not understand why you refuse to see it, she is not hiding it very well, you see?”
Sherlock stumbled back, his hands seemingly finding their pace over his heart when he repeated her words. “Ms. Y/N? In love with me?”
“And you really call yourself the greatest detective of our time.” Enola shook her head. Still, the thought of the two of you together was one she liked to entertain. And she asked herself just how much you could talk Sherlock into once you were together. He was already caving when you suggested things - the possibilities of Enola getting her way when the both of you finally gave into the pining were endless!
“Oh, hush. I just never thought she would...” Sherlock trailed off, and if Enola was not mistaken, she caught a whisper of pink settle over his cheeks. Could it really be? The great Sherlock Holmes in love? Even better with a woman Enola adored as well?
“This is exactly the problem, brother. You don’t think when it comes to women.” Her mind wandered back to the women you had seen leave his chambers by the break of dawn. And just like then, Enola noticed a familiar sense of sadness wash over her brother’s eyes - the same one you hid from her in these moments.
“Enola...” But his words died on his tongue and Enola thought it wiser to resume her task. Sherlock was aware of his idiocy. For Enola knew just how insignificant all the other women were to him. And she hoped he had realized this fact.
A moment or two passed in which Sherlock paced the room mindlessly. His hands disappeared behind curtains and in bookshelves, until they reached for the pocket watch in his coat and a subtle grumbling eluded his lungs. “She should be back soon, anyhow. Should she not?”
“I suppose, yes.”
“Well, it is quarter past five already. The shop is closed well over an hour now.” Sherlock did not hide the impatience in his tone, now. And Enola felt a wave of success wash over her.
It was difficult to hide her nervousness, though, for she now worried about you as well. But you were fine - she consoled herself. You were tough and intelligent, simply a little late - that was surely it. “She will come soon.”
An unusual tension fell over the room and Enola was certain, her brother had already dismissed her little story. But she would not falter. Her fingers kept cramming through the papers, counting pages she had analyzed and sorted two times by now. Her movements, however, became more frantic, and soon, her heart was pounding in her wrists.
“Enola, what in heavens did you do?” Sherlock urged impatiently, a look cold as a stone set on his face.
“Nothing.” She did not look at him, then he would know instantly - the little lie she told.
“You sent her out to spy didn’t you?”
Why did he keep asking if he already knew the answer? Enola did not speak. She was fairly ashamed, though. She wanted to show her brother just how capable she and you both were. But having you not come back made for a serious difficulty to her plan.
She looked up at him now, just in time to see his shoulders sag and his head tilted up in frustration. “After I told you not to?”
“You only ever forbid me from going!” She cried, suddenly feeling attacked by his irrational outburst.
“I did not want Ms. Y/N out in the streets alone, either.” Sherlock was pacing again, his shoes clicked on the polished wooden floor until the reached the coat hanger by the door, only to gruffly rip the dark cloak from its place.
An accusing finger reached in his direction and a small smirk appeared on his sister’s lips. “So you are in love with her.”
The man frowned and his chestnut locks shook with annoyance. “That is not important right now. We need to find her.”
He did not deny it and Enola Holmes viewed it as a success.
❁ ❁ ❁
Sherlock swept through the streets as fast as his feet could carry him. Never had he thought that he would need to worry about your well-being. Enola’s? Yes, constantly. She did dangerous things all the time. But you were the one with the rational mind, the trait he adored most above all, for it eased his own every so often. It was enough to look out for Enola as much. He loved her and that was what love did: It made for weaknesses. Though Sherlock never wished to not adore you as much as he did, at this moment, it would have spared him trouble.
He passed another alley filled with dubious fellows and willed his thoughts not to stray to dark paces. Normally, he could stay focused. Normally, he was able to separate his feelings from his tasks very well. Normally, he needn’t worry about you, however.
Enola was many steps behind, he could hear her heels clicking in haste in her catching up, but Sherlock would not budge. He would keep on searching, keep on going straight until his sister gave him another direction to follow. She knew where you were after all, and he could not even begin to indulge in the worry-consumed anger this fact fueled him with.
It did not take long for the detective to reach the house of the last suspect he had abandoned in his search for answers. You must have gone there. Enola had been especially furious about his dropping the woman upon questioning, urging her brother to stay on the lead. But Sherlock had already gotten enough information to place her in the entire scheme. Enola did not know this of course - he had never told her. So it was only plausible to send you to spy on said woman. What you had not known, however, was the dangerous affiliates this woman had, and the little to no hesitance of hers to pursue them.
The house lay empty on the street once the siblings reached its steps, no light shining through the glass windows, not the smell of dinner lingering in the air. It was odd, though nothing to be upset over. You had been here, Sherlock knew it. He was disappointed to find out, however, that you were not anymore. Of course, you had realized the danger of the situation and left, but where to?
His head jerked to the left once Enola caught up to him, following the rattling of bins coming from the alley close by, where a faint trail of blood droplets mixed with the rain.
“Bloody hell,” the detective mumbled with every inch it lead him further to your location. And sure enough, beyond the shielding confines of a wooden palette, he spotted your coat pressed into the wall.
A small hiss, and then: nothing when he called your name.
“Ms. Y/N, heavens!” He rushed over once his eyes caught your distraught face behind the wood, your entire hand covered in blood, pressed to your head, where more seemed to have already dried on your scalp.
“Mr. Holmes?” Your voice was weak, your eyes hazy - growing in the confusion the head injury most likely brought to you.
Sherlock's arms reached out to engulf you, a handkerchief quick to be pressed on your head as he knelt beside you and let your body rest against his torso. “Enola, go and get help, immediately!” He commanded with urgency, having the young girl run off with a shocked nod.
His attention traced back to your body, where his eyes focused on your heavy lids and his heart clenched at the sight. You were hurt - seriously hurt - and Sherlock could not shake the feeling of it being his fault. Had he only consulted you in his case, had he talked to Enola, had he been less cowardly and finally admitted to his feelings. This all might have never happened.
“You should not have gone out alone!” He cried as he rocked you back and forth, his arms held you a little tighter, and he was certain that his heart beat through the several layers of clothing separating you.
“You have no right to rule over me.” Your hands pressed against his chest, forcing him to let you pull away from his embrace, and Sherlock instantly missed the warmth holding you had given him. He needed it back - confirming you were fine.
“But I told you not to go!” Big eyes stared up at him, but there was disappointment simmering beneath the sheer gleam of anger.
“Why are you upset? I can do whatever I desire!” It was meant to come out strong, but not even a woman as tough as you were able to hide the weakness taking over your body.
“But you got hurt!” Sherlock was juggling with empty arguments, he knew this much. But there was no right way to express what he wished to pursue with his words. It was all too much and not enough, all the same.
“Mr. Holmes, I can take good care of myself. I have done it my whole life.”
“And you shouldn’t have.” This seemed to have caught you by surprise. For you stopped in your shuffling away and held his gaze equal in confusion and intrigue.
“Whatever do you mean?” You shrieked softly, your breath staggering when he came closer to you.
Sherlock found it incredibly difficult to talk, suddenly. His hands were clammy and that stupid tie around his neck seemed just a tad too tight. Christ, he could not even look at you. He was left staring towards the wet grounds with his hands wringing beneath him.“I- it has come to my attention that I lack perception in some categories.” He hushed a look at you and was not surprised to see utter confusion seeping through your stare.
Sherlock sighed and his shoulders jumped heavily once he mustered up the courage to explain: “I do not wish to see you hurt.”
“Why?” Your eyes were big and wondrous, much like a curious child prying up in awe over what it was to become privy of.
Sherlock tried, he really did, to be steady and informative, but there was no use, for his heart had decided otherwise. “Because... because, I- my heart hurts when I imagine something happening to you.”
“But what about Sybil or Amelia… or Babette?” Every name stung another hole in his heart as your eyes saddened naming the woman he had spent previous nights with in order to get over you. He never loved them, never adored them the way he did you. They were simply a distraction. A petty compromise for the actual being he was sure would never return his affection. Now that he found out the opposite, Sherlock was uncertain about how to act.
“These women... they were just compensation for the one I couldn’t have.” He confessed slowly, his hand reaching for you and finally getting ahold of your chin. “I did not think you would be interested in me.”
“Oh but I am, Sherlock.” Your fingers came to cover his. “I am.” And an unbelievable force of warmth and calmness washed over him. Despite the blood, despite the worry. Despite everything being wrong at this very moment, he was calm. You had this effect on him.
“I know that now. My sister told me.” Sherlock sent a silent prayer to the stars. Had his sister not been as persistent he would have never gotten the opportunity to hold you close - feel you the way he desired.
“She is quite a smart lady isn’t she?” A low chuckle echoed through the darkening alley, though a shy blush crept upon the detective’s cheeks.
“As much as I hate to admit it, she is a good detective.” His thumbs stroked gentle swipes over your skin, a sliver of warmth tasting your body with every movement, and it felt good to have you indulge in his touch. He would have never dreamt of having you this close, having you feel the same feelings he did. And to be perfectly honest, experiencing it, in reality, was a hundred times better than anything he had ever imagined. “God, Y/N. If only I had known earlier.”
“Let us not grieve what is already done. Embrace the possibilities of the future with me.” Your eyes locked with his once again and your aura seemed to pull him even deeper into a trance. Sherlock could not look away. He was captured by every loving emotion radiating off of you. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. But he would keep it guarded in his chest for eternity, even if nobody were to ever ask him about it. It was precious - this moment was worth hundred terrible ones.
“You are right,” he agreed, and then, beyond his control almost, Sherlock pulled you into a warm kiss.
A/N: Hello again everyone, it's been a minute. I couldn't post this part until @lainiespicewrites finished her part. This part was fun and extremely difficult to write, so if it ends up being a dumpster fire, then I'm sorry. Hopefully not. Anyway hope you enjoy it and let me know your thoughts.
Synopsis: After the agreement to work with Sherlock, Olivia was given an address to meet and discuss the plan. Once she arrives, she discovers something about Sherlock that not a lot of people get to see.
“221 Baker’s Street. You didn’t mention that it would be on the second floor Sherlock” I huffed to myself as I made my way up the stairs. The night before Sherlock had briefly explained that I had to meet him at a specific location tomorrow. He said he would give me all the information I needed. When asked why he couldn’t mention it here, he mentioned he wanted to be safe before revealing crucial details about a case.
So here I am, trudging up the stairs.
And I hate every second of it.
But I push through my heavy breathing until I make it to the final step. It wasn’t until I could breathe evenly that I knocked on the door.
A heavy pause lingered in the air before the door creaked open.
“You’re late.” A gruff voice sliced the air. Sherlock stood right in front of me, one hand on the door, the other holding a pipe.
“Sorry. I had a hard time finding this place.” He stepped aside, leaving a glimpse of inside his flat. A silent invitation. “You never mentioned that this place was on the second floor. Those stairs were brutal.”
“One should always have steps, to avoid people stepping on you.” Sherlock merely stated, his eyes tracking my movements as I passed the threshold into his place.
“Umm…I’m not sure I entirely follow. But I’m pretty sure-” I stopped suddenly as my brain caught up with what was happening around me. The hairs on my neck stood up as I felt my breath catch in my throat. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
Everything, even parts of the floor was consumed by documents of varying sizes. Some were folded, some were ripped. There were even some with tea stains. Not one seat, save for one in the middle of the flat, wasn’t covered by some degree.
How can someone live, let alone work, in a place like this?
One of my main pet peeves is cleanliness. It’s been instilled in me ever since I was able to move. My mother always said that a clean house is a clear mind. I tried my best to make my home as clean and decluttered as I could; even when I was at the small cottage.
But to see someone as put together on the outside live in such a state, especially someone like Sherlock Holmes, says something about their mind…
I bit my bottom lip and drew my attention away from the mess and towards the smoke trailing behind Sherlock. It took everything in my power to distract myself
“So…what is it that you need me to do exactly?”
Sherlock had traveled to the other side of the flat, completely avoiding the papers. He puffed on his pipe, his face strained in thought.
“There is a performance at The Reform tonight. It appears to be a central location that the suspect likes to visit. His latest victim had been a showgirl. I need you to go in and see if you can retrieve any belongings of the two victims.” My eyebrows creased together in question.
“Pardon? Two questions. You mentioned ‘latest victim’. There’s more than one victim. Why has it not been mentioned in the newspapers? Two, if I go in, how do we know that their belongings are still there? They could be gone by now.”
“Due to the budget of the showroom and the amount of performers it takes to run a show, the items won’t be touched. The show requires six performers to perform without any hindrance. So far the show has five currently. It will not run unless they have the right number of people to perform all of the acts. The police haven’t connected the string of murders to one suspect yet. They believe that there is no connection and no motive between the two.” So there has been another murder, but it hasn’t been revealed to the public. Why?
It doesn’t make sense. There was only one mention of a death that had claimed to be murder, at least from what I can recall. The only other thing that has been repeatedly mentioned is about a new entertainment business coming to London. It had been on the front page three consecutive times. But the murders and the entertainment show can’t be connected, can they?
“Olivia, have I lost you?” Sherlock’s voice grew in my ears like thunder in a growing storm, shocking me out of my thoughts.
“NO!….no.” I jerked my gaze to meet his. My eyes trailed back to the ground and focused on each paper. It took most of my attention to avoid stepping on any of the documents on the ground. “Please continue.” Sherlock stared at me momentarily, taking a puff of his pipe before continuing.
“I’ll need you to pose as one of the new dancers hired for the show. You will be given access to their belongings. Look for any personal belongings related to the victim, acquire them, and exit before the show begins. Do you have any questions?”
“One question actually, um…if there are five performers and I’m posing as the sixth one, what is stopping the showrunner from putting me in the actual performance?” I felt a slight quiver in my voice when the question left my lips. My nerves felt like they were beginning to light on fire, and my breathing quickened with each passing thought of having to go on a stage.
“Because there is a sixth performer. You are to get in and leave before they arrive. Try not to run into them before you get what you need.”
“Oh…ok, great.” I swallowed hard, feeling my anxiety growing. How am I supposed to know what I’m supposed to grab? I don’t know anything about the victim. What if I take the wrong item? What if I can’t even make it inside? Even if I make it inside, there’s no guarantee that I won’t get caught. If I did then everything would be for naught. I’d end up in jail with no money to get bailed out. I would let the victims’ families down, and let the murderer have another chance to strike. Worst of all, I’d have the greatest detective in the world disappointed in me and regret ever allowing me to work with him.
Keep it together Olivia.
“You look troubled. What is it?” His words sounded far away with the ringing in my ears. I swallowed hard, trying to keep my composure.
“It’s nothing. It’s not pertaining to the case.” My voice felt out of place like it wasn’t me talking. I felt like I wasn’t in my own body. I didn’t want Sherlock to know my doubts about this task. We weren’t as close as I would like to be. And the last thing I want is to show Sherlock how much of a mess I am inside. He’d label me as just another person possessed by their own emotions.
I mean I sort of am but I didn’t want to divulge that with him. It would just add to the list of things he’d be disappointed in.
Stop it
“I don’t want this to affect you when you are out there. So please get it off your chest.” There was a slight tilt to his head, his gaze analyzing me. I could feel him already concluding that I was not cut out for something like this.
“It’s just…” I trailed off. How could I tell him that what I was about to do was crazy? Everything I said when I was back at Edith’s place was completely spur of the moment. At the time I genuinely thought that I would be able to pull something like this off. Having it mere hours away from happening felt like I had been dowsed in ice water.
“Olivia.” Just one word, my name, stilled my thoughts and pulled my attention to Sherlock. His face had less of an edge to it like his demeanor had shifted and began to morph into something else. I don’t know what it was but he almost appeared gentle and patient. It was a complete contrast to what I saw several moments ago. This was not the same Sherlock that had asked for help a fortnight ago.
This made it almost harder to speak.
“Okay, okay It’s just….” I bit my bottom lip, “why is your place so messy?” I blurted out, completely changing the topic. Maybe if I talk about something else I won’t have to show my doubts.
“It’s not messy. Everything is where it needs to be.” Sherlock appeared slightly taken aback by my sudden question.
“Right…that’s not what I’m seeing here. It looks like you’ve just thrown around-”
“You’re changing the topic, Olivia.” Shit…he knew what I was doing. I guess I don’t have a choice…
“Okay fine. I’m just worried about tonight, that’s all.” A long sigh escaped my lips, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t look like showgirl material. I mean LOOK at me.” I stretched out my arms showcasing all the bumps, dips, and curves of my body. “There’s no way I would pass as one, let alone be able to get through the door. People like me are the ones who listen to the music and the cheering outside the building. I don’t want to let the victim's family down, or especially you.” A heavy presence filled the air, choking the silence. Sherlock just stared at me. I don’t know if it was out of shock or if he was reconsidering his decision to bring me into this.
I don’t care anymore. I let my insecurity out and hung it up to dry for him to see.
All he has to do is say the words and I’ll be on my way back to my little damp cottage.
“You know Olivia…” Sherlock cleared his throat, saying, “It’s normal to feel anxious about an uncertain situation.” He paused, taking a moment to place his pipe on a nearby table. “I’m going to give you a piece of advice. Out there, feelings and being emotional poses a risk. It is understandable for you, given the danger you may face. However if you feel like this is too difficult for you, then I won’t force you to do this. I can find other routes to get what I acquire. All you have to do is say the word.”
He’s giving me a choice.
He knows that the situation can be dangerous. He knows that I’m feeling overwhelmed, but isn’t forcing me to commit. There’s still a chance to back out, and yet he’s still giving me the option, however much that hurts him. And if I don’t do this, it’s another chance to be another victim.
I can’t let myself back out.
“No,” I paused, collecting myself. “No, I can do this. I won’t let my emotions get in the way.” A pleased look crossed his face, a small smirk threatening to reveal itself.
“Good. I’ll see you tonight.”
A/N: Thank you to the following people who wanted to see this part happen. Stay tuned for part 3!!
Warnings: slight injuries, let me know if I missed any :)
Pairings: Sherlock Holmes x sister reader
Request: I would love an Enola Holmes Sherlock/sister!reader of some kind. Something comforting, like the reader getting lost on the way home and Sherlock finding her and making sure she gets home safe. I’m a sucker for brother-sister tropes. :D
Requested by: Anon
*not my gif*
Summary: A sudden storm hits, and you can’t find your way home
A/N: I wanted this to be better, but whatever
Please don’t plagiarize my work, you may reblog if you like but I’m asking that you don’t steal my hard work
It wasn’t supposed to rain. The newspapers had specifically stated that the weather would be absolutely perfect with hardly a cloud in the sky for the next week or so.
Worst case scenario, there would be a tiny drizzle at one point, not the torrential downpour that you were currently stumbling your way through.
Sherlock had been hesitant enough to allow you to walk from school back home- and it was only two streets away- so you could only imagine the kind of heart attack he would be having if he were there with you right now.
Despite that fact though, you longed for him to be with you in that moment as you wrapped your arms around yourself to try and preserve body heat that had long since vanished.
Over the last three days, your elder brother had been wrapped up in a case that he was so close to cracking, that he didn’t even have time to walk you home from school.
It wasn’t like he didn’t want to- of course he did- but the authorities were breathing down his neck for this case, hardly even letting the man get a couple mere hours of sleep a night.
It was raining so heavily at this point, that you could hardly see a foot in front of your own face, and the bricks that paved the sidewalk had become so slippery that you had to unravel one of your arms from around you and use it to steady yourself on the side of a nearby building.
Panic began to flood into your body faster than the rain had filled the streets and your breathing began to pick up to an abnormal pace, causing you to try and take deep, gasping breaths that left you sputtering from rain being dragged into your gaping mouth.
You had no idea where you were. You had no idea what was going on. The only sounds that filled your ears were the harsh slapping of rain on brick.
All of your senses were clogged by the rain, rain, rain, rain, rain-
As you continued to try and trek forward in hopes of finding home, your right foot slipped off to the side while all your weight was put into it, causing you to go tumbling to the ground.
Dully, you felt the stinging sensation on your palms from impact with the ground, but quickly huddled up against yourself and lent back against the wall, dropping your head into your lap.
Only two streets away, Sherlock’s attention was diverted from the papers in front of him for the first time in hours by the feel of something wet against his cheek.
His head lifted from his desk and a silent curse left his lips when he realized it was raining and his window had been left open.
He hurried to close it, but froze as soon as it was latched back into place. You hadn’t yet returned from school and you should have at least ten minutes ago.
With slightly panic-filled eyes, he took in the scene of the outside, with vendors' tables blowing every which way and the rain beating down like a merciless drum.
Without wasting another second, he practically flew to the door and hurriedly shrugged on his coat before quickly swiping an umbrella and rushing outside.
As soon as the door opened, he was forced to tighten his grip on the umbrella in fear of it blowing away in the strong winds.
“Y/n?” He began to call in a frenzy.
You were only nine years old and he had been stupid enough to allow you to travel the dangerous streets of London all by yourself because he couldn’t take five minutes out of his day to ensure that you were safe.
“Y/n?” Hardly any people were out in the storm, most having sought out shelter by then, and for the first time in a long time, Sherlock Holmes was truly becoming terrified.
Anything could have happened to you during or even before the storm, and he would hold himself responsible for the rest of his life if that were the case.
“Y/n!”
Your ears perked up at the sound. It seemed so far away, so soft, like the light at the end of a very long tunnel.
For a moment, you had thought you made it up, until it sounded again, “Y/n?”
You were finally able to lift your head from your knees, and there, like a knight in soaked armor, stood your brother, staring down at you with wide eyes as his chest heaved up and down in pants, like he had run a marathon to get to you.
“Sherlock?” You asked shakily, teeth rattling from the cold.
“Oh, Y/n,” He breathed out, immediately crouching down and scooping you up into his arms. He had long since lost the umbrella, or he would have flung it to the side without a care.
Though his shirt was drenched through like yours, his chest somehow still held a warmth that you automatically nestled into as he picked up his pace to get the two of you back home.
When you finally did get back, he kicked the door shut behind him and hurried over to the couch near the fire, gently resting you on there before scrambling around to try and find some blankets to cover you with.
By the time your chills had eventually subsided, your brother was sitting on the table in front of you, eyes worriedly raking over your body over and over again.
“Sherlock-“
“I am so sorry,” He interrupted you. And though you were young, you were taken aback, because your brother never apologized. He would always make up things in a different way, like buying you candy or making you your favorite food, “I never should have let you walk home all by yourself.”
He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead, “I promise, I will never put my cases before your own needs again.”
Without thinking much of it, you threw the blankets aside and leapt towards your brother with outstretched arms, him catching you with ease, “It’s okay,” You whispered into the clothing of his shoulder.
He shook his head stubbornly, pulling away slightly so you could look him in the eyes, “I never meant to do that.”
“I know,” You replied, smiling softly at him.
He smiled back, relaxing slightly when he finally came to terms with the fact that you were no longer in danger, “Come on,” He said, lifting you up and spinning you around a little so that giggles escaped your lips, “Let’s go make some warm food.”
