Sherlock (BBC) characters being on the receiving end of (physical) affection.
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Includes characters in order: Sherlock, John, Mycroft, Moriarty, Molly, Irene.
warnings: none
contents: romantic?, fluff, gn! reader, (mild) implementation of my own headcanons, set in a time period where you are close with the characters already
A/N: Hello to all the still-existing Sherlock fans! (Incase y'all haven't been fully wiped out by the meteor) This is my first ever work revolving it and I'm glad to be able to have published. A little fretful about it, haha. But enjoy!
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SHERLOCK HOLMES
Our first individual is a peculiar one indeed!
Anything involving his curls would likely have him respond blankly, he won't voice out discomfort depending on the setting but he will ask you what you want from him (moment of confusion). Through this, You may learn that he neglects it on most occasions. You'll find that it's.. quite tangled. I mean, You can't solve cases while doing meticulous haircare rituals at the same time now can you?
Body parts such as his hands are a hit or miss, it really does vary on the circumstances and includes hugging, snuggling up to him, etc. For the most part, Sherlock voices dislike of touches because it displays him being vulnerable, implying that his guard is down. But catch him in a certain mood and you'll find him leaning into your affections.
His neck is an erogenous zone weakspot overall. Only touch it if you wish for a visceral reaction. (like a yelp) How fun!
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JOHN WATSON
For a former soldier who has served in a ruthless war, this guy is a sweetheart.
Oh? You want to hold his hand? Sure! You want to hug him? He will pull you in for the most loving bear hug you've ever had the fortune of experiencing. You're not the only one who has fun! He'll suprise you too either with quick cheek kisses or hand holding.
In short, John is down for anything so long as it's saved for appropiate situations and/or settings (Unlike Sherlock who struggles to read the room). If you want to go beyond just those actions, you might want to behave first until the two of you get home.
What? I'm talking about spooning and the like! Get your mind out of the gutter. >:(
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MYCROFT HOLMES
(I do not find enough gifs of this glorious man!)
Following in the footsteps of his brother, Mycroft is neutral. He doesn't reciprocrate. He watches you cling to him with a 'hmph' before making an attempt to brush you off (gently).
But.
Deep down.
He is internally screaming.
You don't take down the carefully-constructed, well-woven facade of his especially with just one hug. Or do you? Well, Mycroft has been lonely more than he likes to let on. The daily company of British government figures and work does little if not nothing to soothe. Even with his efforts of doing menial tasks at home, the yearning doesn't stop nagging from the back of his mind.
The hug did something to him so keep going. Maybe he'll budge and let you inches nearer than the distance you would always maintain. This even raises the possibility of holding hands with the great and stoic Mycroft Holmes.
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JIM MORIARTY
Oh now you're just being adorable! Grabbing at him like that... But just so you know, If it were anyone else then they would've been found (spare the gruesome details) out of this world.
Moriarty doesn't mind. Not at all. Seeing someone get so forward with him is a breath of fresh air from the meek, shrunken figures he's used to seeing.
He took that moment as his Go-sign, now he'll be trying to get you to sit in his lap every chance he can get. You're his extra boost of focus, right next to boredom and raging hatred. And in this close proximity, he can say to you his snarky remarks and puns about his targets. (And you have to like it)
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MOLLY HOOPER
(she's so cutee)
Molly can't believe it, atleast for herself. She can't recall the last time anyone has this been interested in her enough to perform such acts.
Needless to say, she's into it and is over the moon. She'll be returning your affections back to you in no time! She merely needed that little push into confidence.
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IRENE ADLER
This woman here knows all about touching, alright.
The problem being, she's not used to genuine relationships outside the bedroom. So gentle caresses and cheek kisses ironically fluster her to an extent. But she'll catch up, as she learns quickly.
So, she does a bit of toying; Irene would wear a new color of lipstick everyday, and everytime, she leaves a kiss mark on different parts of your body. Good luck trying to get rid of the ones on more visible areas, or don't. She may or may not give you another.
Sherlock: She is fiercely loyal. Bribery won't work, threats are useless. There's no way to get close to her.
John: So we're at a dead end.
Y/N: I'll do it. I have a plan.
Sherlock: Oh, you have a plan, do you? And what masterpiece of subtlety have you concocted this time?
Y/N: I'm going to steal her dog.
John: You're going to what? You can't just steal someone's dog!
Y/N: I'm not going to keep it. I'll steal it, then 'find' it a few days later and return it to her. She'll be overjoyed, grateful, she'll trust me and then she'll tell me things.
Sherlock: That is... the most emotionally manipulative, and frankly brilliant plan I have heard in a while. Come along, John, we have a dog to steal.
summery: 3 times Sherlock lied about being your boyfriend and the time he made it real
warnings: i think none but there are spoilers on the show if you haven't watched it yet
genre: fluff
p.s: i added some scenes and changed some dialogues in some parts.
number one: during 'the blind banker'
you were a detective. you went on cases with Sherlock and John. now you had to go into Eddie Van Coon's apartment.
"they are new to the apartment aren't they?" you said.
Sherlock smirked: "yes, they are"
"how are you so sure?" John asked
Sherlock points at the name on the doorbell.
"maybe they changed it." John said.
"no one would do that" you said and Sherlock rang.
"hello?" a woman's voice said some moments later
"ummm, hello miss, we are your downstairs neighbors. i don't know if you know us." Sherlock said
"uh, umm, no. we are new" the woman said.
"well, me and my girlfriend forgot our key's in our apartment" Sherlock said wrapping one arm around you and you rose an eyebrow but quickly played along.
"oh, do you want me to open the door for you?" the woman asked
"yeah, ummm, could we come from your balcony?" Sherlock asked.
"the balcony?!" the woman said surprised and Sherlock nodded.
after she left you came out of his arms.
"your girlfriend?" you asked with a raised eyebrow and John chuckled.
"oh, please. it had to be believable." he said.
"uh-huh" you said
number 2: during 'a scandal in Belgravia'
"punch me in the face" Sherlock said
"punch you?" John said
"yes, punch me in the face. didn't you hear me?"
"i always hear 'punch me in the face' when you talk but it's usually subtext" John says
"yeah" you agreed and then, without another word you punched Sherlock in the face.
"i always wanted to do that" you joke
"ouch" Sherlock says "ok..." he starts but gets cut of by another punch by John.
"you are right! i think i did too" John says chuckling making Sherlock roll his eyes.
after forcing Kate, Irene's assistant to open the door you entered the house.
"who is the beautiful lady?" Kate asked with a fake smile
"oh, i..." you started but Sherlock cut you off
"she is my girlfriend" he says
"oh" Kate's fake smile fades and she walks to the room asking you to follow.
"i literally just punched you in the face" you whispered
"i asked you to" he says and you tried to hide your smile
number three: during 'the hounds of Baskerville'(i added this scene)
"hi" Sherlock says sitting next to a random costumer at the bar.
"hello, what's the problem?" the man said
"well, me and my girlfriend are here for vacation and we heard whispers about a huge dog in this town. in the woods." he says
"we made a bet. i said there is no such a thing and he disagrees" you played along
"so, you are here more often right? we wanted to know which one of us will win" Sherlock said placing a hand around your shoulders to make it look more realistic.
"oh, oh, this is way more than a dog. it's a monster. you should believe in it." the man says and then he turns to look at you "of course i don't want to scare a pretty woman like you"
you rolled your eyes and Sherlock glared at him and left before he could finish.
"ok, thank you for your help." he says trying to act unbothered.
"wow, you don't have to be so overprotective" the man say making you smirk and Sherlock roll his eyes.
number four: the real confession
"y\n?" Sherlock says walking to the room.
"yes?"
"i wanted to ask you something" he takes a deep breath.
"ok, what is it?"
"will you....can you....oh god!"
"Sher, just say it. its okay."
"ummm.....willyoubemygirlfriend"
"i'm sorry?" you raise an eyebrow
"oh god" he takes another deep breath "look, i'm not usually this nervous about anything but this really means to me and it has been on my mind for months....will you, be my girlfriend?" he finally says
"what?" you chuckle making him look more worried than he already is "you were nervous to ask me to act like your girlfriend? i have done that a lot of time. i'm actually starting to think it is real" you joke.
"what is it this time? a serial killer or another guy with mental health issues? maybe another naked woman?" you continue
"no....i....i mean be my actual girlfriend" he corrects
"what?" now you were really confused
"you see, all this time, when i acted like you were my girlfriend or acted jealous, it was because i liked the thought of that."
he waited for you to answer but when you didn't he continued.
"will you?" he said "be my girlfriend"
"this isn't a test to see how sentimental i am?" you asked half-jokingly
Sherlock chuckled "no" he said.
"then yes, Sherlock Holmes. yes, i will be your girlfriend"
My Sweet Little Sister (Sherlock x sister!Reader) platonic
3. Here Comes The Big Bro
Masterlist
feel free treat me kaffein
Hands trembling picking your nails remembering Mummy and Daddy's faces when you decided to stay with one of your brothers.
Surprised and delighted that you finally out from your shell, though they.. worried
Deeply worried about your sudden lack socialization and timidness what if staying with one of them you get worse not that your parents distrust their son, but when you are still a mere child.. you’re a cheerful, bright, and social butterfly child
All before that after that accident..and that one person
Placing your palm against your pounding chest you sigh staring down at your lap.
Alas, it was the past... and you want to change for the better, after all you can't always be like this for the rest of your life.
‘I can do this...for mummy and daddy..for my brothers’ glance to the car window staring at your reflection
‘and most of all for myself’
.
.
Busy unpacking your stuff in a spare room next to Sherlock, John lean forward from his chair as he ask Sherlock about you to satisfy his curiousity
“she rather...different..from you” his eyes still on the hallway that connect with your room
“Mmhm” Sherlock hummed lying down on the sofa with a cookie you made in his mouth, even though you told him to share it with John he shrugged it off and snogged it to himself when you went off to your newly room.
“how come you didn't tell me about her?” turns his head toward Sherlock furrowing his eyebrow
“you never ask” Sherlock just shrugs.
“Right..fine” huffed the doctor leaning back in his chair, the detective flicked his eyes to John.
“you interested in her?” there’s a glint of protective in Sherlock's voice, and this goes noticed by John.
“well.. I think she’s…unique consider you both siblings” he took his word carefully.
The intense stare Sherlock gave him, made John hesitantly look away from him
“What?” John asks
“That's it?” the detective asks as if he is offended
“Well I..do think she’s beautiful…that’s it” Narrowing his eyebrow Sherlock sat up from his lying form
“you not…fancy her ..are you?” John just shrugged off the intense glare Sherlock gave him, must he admit you interested him though he will not answer it considering your brother giving him such animosity right now
“..why you’re asking?” asked John, Sherlock huffed as he lay again on the sofa
“nothing..just curious”
“I hope whatever you have for my sister remains platonic Doctor Watson” John snaps his head at the oldest Holmes looming in the doorway with his faithful umbrella in his hand
Ah..somehow he isn’t surprised by the Iceman's arrival
“You're not invited” Sherlock sat up from his lying form snatching the final piece of cookie from the coffee table across him, John sighed in disappointment..the smell of your cookies is deeply inviting…
“I'm here merely just for my sister, where is she?”
“not here” Sherlock shoved the cookie into his mouth
“Oh come now brother dear lies doesn’t fit you, the cookie is evidence enough that she is here”
Before any quarrel between siblings happens a light footstep coming from behind the eldest Holmes
“Mikey?”John's eyebrow raised, his ear couldn’t believe what he heard
The…hell you call Mycroft?..?
“Sister..” beamed at his sight you rush to the Holmes first born engulf him in a hug, John's eyes almost pop out as if he couldn’t believe what he saw a sincere and genuine smile on Mycroft's face.
“I'm sorry I couldn’t visit you lately” he looked down at you.
“it's okay I do enjoy the gift you send me it’s all lovely Mikey “
“glad to hear it dear sister” Caressing your hair, softly gasp you realese him gazing up at him
“I have something for you Mike” rushed back to your room, the ice man's genuine smile dropped when you left, snap his head to John
“I suggest what you saw and heard earlier would be not out from this room Doctor Watson” Mycroft straightening his coat furrowed his eyebrow at John
“And do please close your mouth”
John obediently closed his mouth just how big is your influence on these sociopath brother
your steps getting closer to Mycroft
“I made you something” Holding out a medium bag of cookies Mycroft could smell the sweet scent from it, he remembered the little you always loved to bake something sometimes with your mother, sometimes you make it yourself.
Sometimes it came out bad… sometimes it came out perfect, but mostly it came out perfect a perk being Holmes you remember almost all of the recipe.
He is glad that you still find love in baking even after that day…
But then again he is still on his strict diet, he could almost sense Sherlock's smirk he knows..that his brother is on a diet..
“This is”
“Cookies..I..made it myself” You flashed him a shy smile, Mycroft almost grimacing how could he refuse his adorable little sister?! For you always the sincere and the supportive one?
“Thank you…”
…
You still look up at him with glimmering eyes of yours, expecting him to eat it and tell it how it is..just like when you are younger begging them of how it tastes.
“if don’t want it give that to me”
Mycroft glares at Sherlock covering his cookies away from him
“didn’t you already…” you trailed off
“It's not enough sis” Shaking your head in disapproval, then you sheepishly glance at John fidgeting your finger.
“I.. I hope the cookies are to your liking..doctor Watson..” both Sherlock and Mycroft stare at him.
“or..um..did Sherlock not share it with you?” John immediately answered it
“Nope not at all” Narrowing your eyebrow you throw glare at Sherlock who look away from you
Mycroft huffed amused at his brother getting scolded by his younger sister, undoing the white ribbon he opened the purple bag
The smell of Vanilla and cinnamon coming out from it, ahh..this smell is so nostalgic damn his diet damn Sherlock damn all those goldf-
“I don’t use much sugar in it knowing you are probably on a diet..”
Mycroft glances at you thankful for your understanding
“Thank you, sister..I deeply appreciate it” he took a bite of it showing his sincere smile at you
That hopeful smile on your face..he will always say it is good even if it burnt
“It delightful as always sister” you shyly chuckle beaming at the praise
A ring from Sherlock snaps John's gaze from both siblings
“Ah! Right on time got a case to solve! Come along John, you too sister!”
“Me too?” you point at yourself.
“why of course I may need some of your…input” taking his coat and yours from the coat hanger
Mycroft knows that is not the reason he could just solve the case without your help.. he merely wanted to show off to his sister, grabbing your wrist he dragged you along ignoring your yelp, and said your rushed farewell to Mycroft as John hopped off from his chair rushed to get his jacket tailing after you and Sherlock.
“Take care of her Sherlock!!” Mycroft shook his head just like old times swiftly taking out his phone ‘The Sun is on its way’
Sherlock has a new neighbour. She’s, admittedly, very cute.
a/n : I’ve been reading too much mangas of this trope. So here is my horniest abomination. He’s 40. Reader is 28. Placeholder name used.I wrote this to fill in time while i edit my Brain Drain Drafts. I’ve been trying to consistently upload or else I would completely lose the motivation to do so 😭 and can’t you blame an ovulating girl. There’s no smut of this man, so I’m taking things into my OWN hands.
one, two, three
CHAPTER ONE
SHERLOCK HOLMES has a new neighbor.
He has exactly three lines, written under her name—a little subheading— in his journal.
1) Mrs Hudson calls her Pea-pod.
2) Peapod loves peas. Grows peas in pots on her window sill. (Loves them ‘mushy’. And salted.)
3) Peapod is Cute (underlined, suggesting confusion.)
4) Assesment pending: peapod’s view on marriage with me.
Fourth existed on the page for precisely three seconds before a horrifying kind of realization dawned, and the sentence were violently scored through with ink, the pen nib nearly tearing the sheet into shreds. The page was then torn from the journal’s bindings. Yet did not meet its end in the hearth but instead underwent a peculiar secret migration—folded into a tight, guilty square and tucked into a clean black sock.
For an unexplainable reason, the sock was never where he last left it.
“Holmes?” One evening, Watson found the inconspicuous wool under his armchair. He had been leaning down to grab his fallen pen when he spotted the strange thing. It made a crinkly sound when he snagged it. He held it up to his face. “Is this your sock, mate?”
Holmes launched himself across the room.
“Christ, man! If you wanted it you could’ve just asked!”
Cute.
This startling realization did not amount from a simple observation—not of her face (objectively lovely, though, he resisted such juvenile classification) nor her manners, however endearing, or her character.
He was not a complete degenerate.
Cute did not imply a reduction of her qualities as a woman or the shrinkage of her intelligence to the size of a waddling hamster. It was a sensation that wholly unsettled him—made him long for the Heimlich maneuver to purge out the constrictions from his throat.
What bigger rock couldn’t he swallow since he had met her?
Whenever she appeared, his heart would swell to the size of a perfectly baked loaf. He was never quite sure whether to cry or have the wildly irrational impulse to tuck her into his coat pocket for safekeeping. Just for himself. He was not a man of sappy sentiment—and as sappy as trees go, he’d never cared for other birds nesting on his branches. (And he was certainly not jealous.)
Now, uncomfortable feelings aside, a brief recollection of the events for context.
Around a month ago, during the heat of summer that smothered London like a thick, humid blanket, she had moved to 221C. The floor directly above his own. He was already aware that a new tenant was moving inside; Mrs Hudson informed him before hand, either as a courtesy or warning, he wasn’t certain—perhaps both, or a pre-emotive admonition noot to ‘conveniently’ blow up the third floor despite his protests of such incapability.
She believed otherwise.
Their first meeting occurred the next day—after a case that was, more or less, a trifle and a waste of an entire morning.
Man found dead in his bedroom. No killer. No prints. The solution, once Holmes knelt on the parquet was immediately obvious. It was an ironic, tragic parody of the Creation Of Adam: the body on the floor was prone, arm outstretched, flat on his stomach, an index finger curling out desperately towards a heavy cabinet. And beneath it, amidst the shadows, there it was. The source of desperation: an EpiPen kicked just out of reach during a fatal seizure.
Lestrade had called him at first light and Holmes had went, donning his coat and fedora. The dead man was a former associate of Moriarty. So, the assumptions were there.
“Even the devil’s men,” Holmes remarked, puffing on his cigarette, “could not cheat something as banal as an anaphylaxis. How quaint.”
He returned to Baker Street in a considerable foul humor. Ascending the seventeen steps, he was lost in contempt for the universe's cruel sense of humor. He had been lounging these days, coiled taut like a jack-in-box unused on days’ end, with no one to startle. He needed to expel this excess energy, needed to channel it through a proper medium.
So consumed by his thoughts, he did not register where he was walking—
Something solid and warm collided with his chest and a secondary object clattered to the floor—a phone, by the looks of it.
“Oh!” The exclamation was soft and startled.
His focus snapped to attention.
Before him stood a woman. A young woman, rather, her cheeks puffed, eyes squeezed shut in pain as she rubbed her (mittened? Mitten hands? At this swelter?) on the sore spot on her forehead.
Young. Twenty five. Recently graduated. Art student. Painter, by the looks of it. Cobalt blue near nails. Palms smudged yellow. Phone screen, wallpaper, mother. Father missing. Either absent or deceased. Keys, 221C. Flat above.
Snap out of it, you fool.
“Oh, dear…” His mouth worked for a moment and he bent down, to pick up the fallen phone. “I’m dreadfully sorry,” he managed, giving it to her. “Are you quite alright?”
She continued rubbing the spot for a moment—reminiscent of a small, furry creature grooming itself—and opened one eye, “I’m okay, sir.” She smiled wryly and took the extended phone, “ Just that I should know better where to walk and look. Real rude of me. Sorry about that.”
“No, no, no dear. It’s me, actually. I was rather lost in my senses.”
“Senses! Ha!” Her eyes crinkled, “If it makes you feel any better, I was on my phone,” she wagged the device at him,”So I’ve got no excuses at all.”
“It seems that have none, either. I was quite out of it.”
“Guess that makes us two, huh?”
“I suppose it does,” He found his gaze drifting back to her forehead and raised his hand towards her head. “May I?”
“Oh, it’s fine. All fine,” she waved him off with a flap of her hand, “ Just a bump. A teeny one. It’ll smoothen out in a few days tops. Aloe Vera and ice pack to go.”
“Are you sure you don’t need medical attention? It looks quite…pronounced.”
Also what part of his body did she bump? His sternum wasn’t, to his knowledge, not reinforced steel.
“Perhaps my friend can have a look. He’s a doctor,” He added, the offer tumbling out against his better judgment, “or should he be unavailable, I could…have a look myself.”
Idiot. You absolute fool. An old man, a complete stranger even, inviting a young woman into his flat under the pretext of injury. A minor one. He’s lost all grip on his senses.
“No really! it’s fine,” she assured him, her bright smile undimmed, “And it’s real rude of me not to introduce myself. I'm a pea-pod, by the way. Everyone calls me that. I’m your new neighbour. Floor above you.”
He felt he could breathe. Well, good, it would be terribly awkward if she did accept his offer. He wouldn’t know what to do with himself, “Well, Peapod. I trust you’ve had a good morning?”
“Uh-huh, i’ve just settled in.”
“Yesterday, I’m assuming.”
Her face brightened with awe, “Right you are! Hauled up the boxes all by myself, you see.”
He frowned, “That’s quite a lot for a young lady. Did you have any help?”
“Oh, don’t be so posh,” She mused, “I’m an only child. Mama taught me that being alone is better than waiting for a big bad man to do it for you.”
Ah, absent father. He did not say.
“Sherlock Holmes.” He offered his hand after a moment.
She clasped it with both of her mittened ones with a soft gasp, “Oh I knew it! I knew you were someone important!”
He was both amused and curious. “Goodness. What possibly could give that away?”
“Not by deductions, I’m terrible at that. Real terrible. But I’ve got a few guesses right by the way you talk. Walk. Your handsome black coat, scarf and all. And your fedora too.”
With a playful flick of her index and thumb, she tilted the brim of his fedora up to reveal more of his face. “There! Handsome face! Don’t go about hiding it, now. Makes you look professional and serious. It’s not hard to guess you’re someone special.”
His cheeks flushed, “Oh, please, don’t flatter me.”
“I’m not buttering up your toast, mister.” She wagged her finger, “You’re that super famous detective. The one who went viral for jumping off a cliff, right? What was that? The Reck and stack?”
“Reichenbach,” He winced, “My dramatics, entirely. We all have our moments, dear.”
She laughed. A sweet sound that puffed her cheeks again and crinkled her eyes, “Well! it’s not everyday you fake your death on live television and the entire internet mourns for you. Actually, what were you thinking?”
“Not by a lot…”
“I’m sure we’ve got our own problems. But it’s real nice meeting you sir,” she looked up to him, earnestly, “I’m baking some matcha biscuits tomorrow. So don’t go fake-offing yourself because you’ve got a new friend, okay? This friend thinks it would be a real shame if you were to be an internet martyr. So tell mister whatever-it-is that’s bothering you to shove a stick up his bum and sod off.”
A startled laugh escaped him. “I’ll be sure to relay him that.”
The finger wagged again. “I mean it, mister. Really mean it.”
He tipped his head forward. “I can see that you do.”
“Well, good.” Her little nose wiggled defiantly, “Because I’m a few cards short of a deck myself I’m a whiz at whack-a-mole in the arcade but never win. Doesn’t mean I’m not entirely good, you see. I’ve got the strength. Just not the brains.”
“Of course.”
With a final, endearing grin she waved and off she skipped. “See you later, mister!”
She was gone up the steps to 221C, leaving him to stand with a profoundly stupid smile on his dumb face.
“Well, I’ll be.” he muttered.
The next time occasion presented itself several days later, when she had gone around, made good on her promise, and distributed her white chocolate chip matcha cookies to everyone. Mrs Hudson had been announcing it all morning, door to door, priming the air with anticipation.
When the knock came, Watson, the ever golden gentleman, stood up, beginning to rise with a grunt. “Must be Peapod. Holmes, I’ll get—“
He didn’t finish.
Holmes got there first, crossing the room with several quick strides, arriving at the door and presenting John with his back as if to bar. Sherlock had one hand on the doorknob, the other laid politely on Watson’s chest, gently pushing him back a step. The good doctor didn’t seem offended, if anything, he appeared concerned.
“You alright, Sherlock?”
“Quite alright,” Holmes said, unnaturally smooth, “I’ve got this. You don’t have to bother yourself.”
“Oh.” Watson blinked, “Right. Well. Make sure you tell her my thanks. And get a handful, too if the darling lets you. Mary would like some.”
“Of course..” And with that he slipped out into the hall, closing the door softly behind.
He immediately was aware Watson would press his ear against the door, a habit he himself cultivated out of the once, honest doctor. A double edged sword, apparently.
“Ah, Peapod.” Holmes said airily, as if he hadn’t been tracking her footsteps all morning.
Peapod stood there with a tray held out, on it littered a small hillock of cookies and dotted with white chocolate chips. Her hair stuck out in all the lovely places, a particularly charming porcupine on his doorstep, cheeks smudged with flour, eyes wide and soft, head tilted back as she greeted him.
“Oh, mister!” She beamed. That nose gave a familiar, happy wiggle, “Real sorry about bothering you, by the way. I’ve made too much and thought maybe everyone could get a taste. I hope it’s not too sweet?”
“Let’s have a look” He leaned down and inhaled, “And what are these, precisely?” He asked, though he knew perfectly well.
“Chocolate chip matcha cookies.” She puffed out proudly.
She looked utterly and delightfully rumpled, donning a well-loved apron that he deduced was once a bright green, now maturing into a sage, brownish tint, fraying at the edges. It was also likely the same apron she used to paint, given the streaks of yellow and red on the fabric, faded after persistent washing.
“You quite like green don’t you?” He mused.
“It’s my favorite color, sir.”
“Why so?”
She shuffled on her foot for a moment, her forehead creasing into a thoughtful frown, “They’re the color of grasshoppers, that’s why.”
That’s why? She didn’t sound so convincing. He pressed on, amused, “Because you like grasshoppers?”
“Truth be told, they frighten me a good deal, sir.” She said, utterly serious, “When they do their little hops I’d get the jumps in me. My sister says a giant like me shouldn't be too scared of a tiny thing. But I can’t help it, my heart would pound a mile a minute too quickly and I’d panic.”
“I agree,” He laughed heartily, "It's the small ones that we have to look for. Agile and very snippy.”
“See! You get it!” She chirped, “They’re real nice to look at when they’re friendly, though.”
He held out a hand towards the tray. “May i?”
“Of course! Take as much as you like!”
He plucked out one between his index and thumb. It was still fairly warm, the heat pulsing gently against his skin. He took a bite, the cookies crunching satisfyingly against his molars. It was a perfect alchemy of bitterness, tea, and sweetness.
“You can take five. Or, six to even out the tray.” She peered to the side, past him towards his closed door, “You said your friend is a doctor. He’s in there, yes?”
“Don’t mind him,” He patted the crumbs off his palms, “he’s busy snoring.” He was not. “Terribly deep in sleep.” He was also not. “Tired from a day's work, you see.” Also not. “From that charming practice of his.” John was on vacation.
“That’s nice! What does he do?”
“General physician.” Sherlock gestured to the tray, eager to cut the questioning about Watson short, “but that’s irrelevant. How many more doors will you have to go through?”
“Oh, plenty ‘till these run out. I wasn’t thinking of feeding the entire town. I mean, I want to but that’d be hard on myself. I’ve only got a pair of hands, so far.”
“Well, that settles it.” He laid his hand on her shoulders and steered her towards the hall, “Come along now. I’ll help a lady out. It’s not quite safe for you to be doing these alone, especially after evening.”
“It’s really fine, mister.” She began but he was particularly insistent.
She relented, happy that the supposed eccentric, prone to explosions, neighbour was kind.
“But the cookies for the good doctor?” She asked.
Holmes waved her off with a dismissive hand. “He’s a strong man. He can wait a good few minutes.”
Holmes returned precisely four hours later.
The door to the flat opened and Sherlock emerged, dusting off the residue of matcha crumbs from his waist coat. He was humming as strode to the living room, clearly in good spirits.
Watson peered over the rim of his newspapers (that he the moment the door clicked open, drew up close to his face).
“So.” John began.
“So?” Holmes went to his desk, unnecessarily fixing his already perfectly bundled documents, dusting off not-so-dusty books and taking a look at files he already had taken a look at, mind clearly elsewhere.
“Thought you got kidnapped, by now.” He continued, turning a page, rustling the newspaper.
“Don’t be absurd.” He said impatiently, “Four hours is a perfectly reasonable amount of time gone.”
”In your terms, it either means dead, you’ve got a case and you’re on the scent— or you’ve been slimed.”
“Slimed?” His nose wrinkled, “Abhorrent terminology. Do not ever use that within the vicinity of my presence, ever.”
“Alright, alright.” Watson shrugged, “Just saying, four hours. Long time. In a span of those minutes, it’s probably easy to get lost in someone’s pretty eyes…someone’s lovely smile…”
Holmes lips curled in annoyance and he whirled around, an accusing finger to the utterly smug doctor that no longer hid his amusement. “See here, Watson’s I do not take insinuations lightly.”
”Look, I never said it was something bad.” He grinned wider, “Doesn’t hurt to say you—“
”Enough!” He snapped, albeit the justification came out weak, and he stormed into his bedroom, “I’ve enough of…sentimental… mongrels…!”
The door slammed shut with a click. And inside he could hear the colorful grumbling of the irritated detective. Watson, utterly unrepentant, pulled up the phone he had been hiding under his lap.
hiii!!! I am so glad to see you’re back :)). Just wanted to send a req for sherlock (bbc) x reader where the reader is the eldest holmes brother. Just a scene / one shot where John finds out Sherlock has ANOTHER mysterious sibling who will be visiting. The siblings reunite.. bonus points if they’re somehow engaged to Moriarty 👁️.
again, really excited to see you’re back. I love your writing sm and am relieved to see you feel comfortable enough to start again on here <3
author's note: I'm so happy to be back—thank you so much! <3
The Family Affair
John sat in his armchair, watching Sherlock shuffle through the mess of papers spread across the table. The detective had been unusually restless all morning, muttering to himself, his fingers drumming against every surface they encountered.
“Alright, Sherlock,” John finally said, setting his mug of tea on the table. “What’s going on? You’ve been twitchy since breakfast, and that’s saying something.”
Sherlock stopped in mid-step, his back to John. He didn’t turn around immediately but instead adjusted his collar and smoothed his shirt cuffs, the movements slow and deliberate.
“I have a guest arriving shortly,” Sherlock said finally, his tone clipped.
“A guest?” John raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you have guests?”
Sherlock’s head tilted slightly, and he half-turned, enough for John to see the shadow of a smirk on his face. “Not just any guest. My brother is visiting.”
John blinked. “Your brother? You mean Mycroft?”
Sherlock scoffed, as though the suggestion was preposterous. “No, John, not Mycroft. The other one.”
John froze mid-reach for his tea. “The other one?” he repeated slowly. “You have another brother?”
“Yes,” Sherlock said simply, as though this were a fact so obvious it needn’t be explained.
John stared at him, mouth agape. “You have another brother, and you’re only just mentioning this now?”
Sherlock turned fully, leaning against the table with his arms crossed, his face alight with amusement. “Eldest sibling, actually. And quite a bit more… elusive than Mycroft.”
“Elusive,” John repeated, still trying to process. “Let me guess, they work in the same shadowy government circles as Mycroft, but with an extra layer of top-secret nonsense?”
Sherlock didn’t answer, which was answer enough.
John pinched the bridge of his nose. “Right. So this other sibling of yours, who I’ve somehow never heard of, is just popping in for tea, are they?”
“Not tea, no.” Sherlock glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “But they should be arriving any minute.”
Before John could ask the dozens of questions now swirling in his head, there was a sharp knock at the door.
Sherlock straightened, his smirk transforming into something harder to read. “That’ll be them now.”
John watched as Sherlock strode to the door with more purpose than usual. The detective pulled it open, and John’s curiosity peaked as a tall figure stepped into the flat.
“Sherlock,” you greeted coolly, brushing off the chill from your coat. Your voice had the same crispness as your younger brothers’, but with an edge that suggested you had no patience for their dramatics.
“Y/N,” Sherlock replied, his tone softer than John expected.
Your gaze flicked over Sherlock’s shoulder, landing on John. “And you must be the infamous Dr. Watson,” you said, offering a polite but distant smile.
“Er, yeah, that’s me,” John replied, standing and extending a hand.
You glanced at it for a beat too long before taking it briefly. “Pleasure.”
The tension in the room was thick, but it wasn’t awkward. It felt more like something unspoken was hanging in the air, something only you and Sherlock understood.
“Did Mycroft put you up to this?” Sherlock asked, his sharp eyes studying you.
“Hardly,” you said with a dry laugh. “I’m here for my own reasons. Though I’m sure he’ll have something to say about it.”
John watched the exchange like a spectator at a tennis match, completely out of his depth. “I’m sorry, but can someone explain what’s going on here? Who exactly are you?”
You turned to John fully, folding your hands neatly in front of you. “I’m Y/N Holmes, the eldest of the three. I’ve been abroad for… a while.”
“Abroad?” John echoed. “Doing what, exactly?”
“That,” you said with a pointed look, “is classified.”
“Of course it is,” John muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Now that introductions are out of the way,” Sherlock cut in, his voice carrying a sudden sharpness, “why are you here, Y/N? You don’t make social calls.”
Your smile didn’t reach your eyes. “You’re right. I don’t.”
Before you could say more, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out, your movements measured, and glanced at the screen. For the briefest moment, your expression softened—just a fraction—but it was enough. A sharp sigh escaped your lips as you silenced the device and slid it back into your pocket.
John, still trying to keep up, had caught the name flashing across the screen. “Moriarty?” he blurted out. “Why do you have his number?”
Sherlock’s eyes were already locked on you, his mind visibly racing through the possibilities. He leaned forward slightly, scrutinizing every microexpression you failed to conceal.
“Why indeed?” Sherlock asked, his tone biting, his gaze narrowing like a predator closing in on its prey.
You gave nothing away, merely raising an eyebrow at him. “It’s not what you think,” you said evenly, though you knew it would do little to deter him.
“Not what I think?” Sherlock’s voice turned cold as he began pacing, gesturing sharply as he spoke. “You have Moriarty’s number saved. You sigh when you see his name. There’s a ring on your left hand—a subtle design, yes, but new. You’re more meticulous than Mycroft when it comes to appearances; you wouldn’t wear something like that without reason. And the way you pocketed the phone just now, guarded but not defensive, suggests familiarity. Intimacy, even. I’m not wrong, am I?”
John blinked, looking between you and Sherlock. “Hang on. Are you saying—”
“You’re engaged to him,” Sherlock hissed, venom lacing every word.
John’s head snapped back as if he’d been slapped. “Wait—what? You’re engaged to Moriarty? That Moriarty?”
You didn’t flinch under their combined scrutiny. “I told you, Sherlock. I have my reasons. You don’t have to like them.”
“Like them?” Sherlock’s voice rose. “You’re marrying the man who tried to kill me!”
“Sherlock.” Your tone was firm, but there was a warning in it. “This isn’t up for debate.”
John looked between the two of you, feeling as though he’d wandered into the middle of a play where half the script was missing. “Right. Well. This is going to be fun.”
