Sometimes a family is an eccentric detective, an odd doctor who keeps up with him, an energetic child that bites and pickpockets, and their housekeeper, and I think that’s beautiful
Things that I want to see in the second part of Moriarty the Patriot:
Let's start with the one I need the most. Sherlock and Mycroft. Really, I just want to read about them. I want some chapters where they play deductions, some chapters were they talk with each other and, especially, I want some flashbacks. I genuinely need to understand their relationship better, they are my favourite dinamic in the whole manga and I think that a lot of people sleep on them.
Then, obviously, I want some more chapters about Sherly and Liam. I mean, I want to see their domestic life at New York, how William was when Sherlock left to travel around the world and I would pay to see them resolving crimes toghether.
Bond and Ms. Hudson. I think there isn't a lot more to add.
Ah, obviously, another classic: Albert and Mycroft. I don't even care about what they are going to show us about them, I just want to see them.
I WANT TO SEE LIAM AND JOHN, MS. HUDSON OR MYCROFT BONDING. I mean, we have some scenes where Sherlock talks with the Moriartys (even if I wouldn't dislike some others), but we never see Liam talking with Sherlock's family, and I need it.
Louis and Sherlock. I won't elaborate.
Ms. Hudson's reaction at the fact that Sherlock now is a perfect housekeeper.
Mycroft's reaction when he finds out that Sherlock had written to John and Ms. Hudson that he was still alive but didn't say anything to him. (no, seriously, I deeply love Mycroft and Sherlock relationship and I would like them to confront about their problems for once, even if I know it won't happen)
And that's it. Actually I have like 20183 other things that I would love to see, but nothing compares to Mycroft and Sherlock.
I recently started watching the American Sherlock show “Elementary” because I really needed to satisfy my murder mystery craving and this seemed a good fit and I knew going in that it puts twists on characters so it wouldn’t feel like I was re-watching BBC’s version, something else I was expecting was terrible lgbt jokes. I knew the show started in 2011/2 so I was expecting a lot of uncomfortable dialogue, but so far I am presently surprised, now there isn’t much representation, but there is hardly any making fun of the community at all. And then I watch the blizzard episode and then we get the young Ms Hudson played by trans actress Candis Cayne, I thought that alone was great, but then they out loud confirm her character is trans as well but then treat her like a normal human being for the rest of the episode because being trans is only the tiniest part of her identity, her main identity being in a bad relationship and is a skilled and observant cleaner. I checked IMDb and I know she only appear 2 more times, but it was heart warming to see rep like this in the show.
To start off 2023, here's some MoriARTy for you! 🍾🥂 This Time it's James Bonde and Fem. Moran and Fred + Masc. Hudson! I hope you enjoy! Happy 2023! New art next Sunday! :D🫶❤️
Hello! I’m here to deliver more angst with a part two to yesterday’s ask from @lazy-nutella, which I’ll link here! This one isn’t as dark, but we’re still in angsty whump territory. I hope you enjoy it!
Not hearing from Sherlock for 24 hours was common. William knew that the detective was busy and had grown used to waiting. Plus, he was still in Durham–as much as he’d have liked a surprise visit from his most important friend, he never expected them. That’s what made them fun. When the silence reached 48 hours, however, he started to get nervous. Still, he chalked it up to Sherlock being practical–after all, they’d be in the same city the next day. On the third day with no messages or visits from the detective despite William being back in London, the Lord of Crime begins to panic.
He tries to reason with himself that maybe Sherlock got caught up in a particularly difficult case. If that’s true, he probably needs advice, and William should just drop by 221b Baker Street to check. He takes a carriage there, foot bouncing anxiously the whole way. When Ms. Hudson opens the door with a blotchy face and tears in her eyes, his blood runs cold.
“Sherlock has been missing for three days, the bloody idiot. I was just about to send a telegram to see if you knew where he was before we called the Yard, my lord.” William walks past her wordlessly, climbing the stairs to the flat where he’s greeted by a very disheveled John sitting on the couch, head in his hands. “I suppose you have no news either, Doctor Watson?”
He’s proud of himself for schooling the emotion in his voice to one of polite concern instead of allowing the growing fear in him to bleed out. The doctor looks up and shakes his head. “No note, nothing out of the ordinary in the apartment either. Wiggins said one of the Irregulars spotted him leaving the flat, but they didn’t follow. I was out with Mary at the time, and he wasn’t here when I came back. I just thought he’d gone to a bar, I didn’t know he’d…”
His head falls back into his hands, and William crouches in front of the distraught man, still fighting to keep his tone even. “Doctor, I need you to give me all the information you have, no matter how inconsequential. Did he have any visitors, did he seem in a strange mood when he left, had he been working on a particular dangerous case, anything.”
“We’d been between cases at the moment,” William allows himself only a moment of relief at those words–Sherlock had put away enough criminals to have quite the hefty target on his back. Just because he wasn’t an active threat to anyone didn’t mean he was safe from revenge plots. “Wiggins mentioned that Mycroft had stopped by. Apparently, he left in a rather foul mood, and Sherlock left soon after.”
The momentary spark of relief flares into a blaze of barely contained rage. William stands up stiffly, his face a mask of calm. “I see. I’ll do my best to use my connections to start the search for him. Contact the Yard immediately, and tell them what you just told me.”
He doesn’t give John time to argue or ask questions, turning on his heel and stalking out of the apartment. Once outside, he walks down the street until he reaches an alleyway occupied by an old woman, hunched over and huddled in a ragged cloak. “Please inform my brother that I’ll be paying a visit to Mycroft Holmes tonight–I’d prefer he not be present for it, if possible. He’s rather fond of the man, after all.”
The woman pulls back her hood, revealing the spiky black hair and youthful features of Fred Porlock. “Bad news?”
“I’m not sure. However, I expect that this evening’s meeting will be… illuminating.” The young man knows better than to poke at William when he’s in this mood. He simply pulls his hood back up and shuffles out of the alleyway. William gives him time to get a good distance away before beginning the walk to where Mycroft’s office is located. Nobody questions his presence–his brother works there from time to time, and William and Louis have made a point of stopping by to see Albert often enough to establish a sense of normalcy with their visits. He sits on the couch outside of Mycroft’s office, smiling and murmuring pleasantries at the people who pass him. He knows from Albert that Mycroft has a tendency to work late, often staying past when everyone else has gone home for the evening.
That’s why he feels confident enough to press the hidden blade in his walking stick to the director’s neck when the older Holmes brother finally leaves his office. “What did you do to Sherlock?”
All the color drains out of Mycroft’s face as he slowly closes the door behind him, seeming more distressed by the nobleman’s words than the knife being held to his neck. “You mean he wasn’t with you?”
“I’ve been in Durham teaching for the past few days and hadn’t heard from him. When I returned to London, I was told that he’s been missing for three days, and you were his last visitor.” William reluctantly lowers his blade, the genuine panic, surprise, and fear in Mycroft’s face mollifying his suspicions, if only for the moment. The dark haired man sinks to the floor, back against the door and head in his hands. “Oh god.”
“You have information, then.” Mycroft doesn’t bother to look up. “We had an argument about his career. Nothing out of the ordinary. I just don’t want to see him flounder financially once Scotland Yard cases dry up. He’s too proud to allow me pay his rent, so the most I’m able to do is push him to get a more stable job. I thought he’d run off to you to lick his wounds and avoid me.”
William is well acquainted with Sherlock’s perspective on this argument. Since the detective had come into his life, he’d shown up on William’s doorstep on more than one occasion to do exactly what Mycroft had said, making it a logical assumption. “Mr. Holmes, before I made your brother’s acquaintance, where would he go after these arguments?”
“Bars, mostly, if he didn’t have drugs on hand. He’d stay in when he still kept morphine and cocaine in the flat, but Sherly hasn’t done that since Doctor Watson moved in.”
“Never opium dens?”
“If he did, I’m sure I’d be the last person to know. He’s been too clever for anyone I sent to tail him to get any real information.” William’s shoulders sag slightly and he begins to pace, frustrated by the lack of progress. “I assume I can trust you to work from your side to find him?”
“Of course, as much as I can within the confines of my position. You’ll do the same?” The blond scoffs, sheathing his blade and turning back towards the door. “I would like to see someone try to stop me, Mr. Holmes.”
He chooses to walk back to the townhouse, taking the opportunity of the calm, dark streets to collect his though and begin formulating a plan. When William opens the door, he makes a beeline for the letter tray. “Looking for this?”
The burst of relief that courses through him as Louis hands him the telegram is nothing short of euphoric. He scans it quickly, that relief turning to a bittersweet feeling as his initial theory is unfortunately confirmed. “Louis, please inform the others that we’ll be meeting in my study shortly. An issue has arisen that requires our complete attention.”
The youngest Moriarty brother raises an eyebrow. “Is Mr. Holmes really that much of a priority, brother? I’m sure he’ll turn up eventually.”
He seems to immediately regret his words as William’s cool exterior cracks for a moment. “That’s not a risk I’m willing to take.”
That’s how William finds himself trudging between opium dens in the slums of London, accompanied by Sebastian Moran and dressed in some of Louis’s older clothes for safety. The others had fanned out across the city, covering the more respectable establishments. William hoped that one of them would find Sherlock first–opium dens marketed to the nobility were often significantly safer–but he’d taken the area he felt was most likely for the detective to have chosen. It would be furthest away from Mycroft, John, and himself, the three people Sherlock would most want to avoid being discovered by.
As the late night turns into the earliest hours of the morning, the Lord of Crime begins to grow desperate–they’d met with dealers, checked the identities of dozens of drugged civilians, but still hadn’t found any trace of the detective. He enters the next building he’d been directed to, smiling at who he assumes to be the owner. The man doesn’t return the gesture, instead looking him over with suspicion. This isn’t surprising to William–new faces are as likely to be potential customers as they are to be undercover police. “Don’t recognize you lot.”
“I’m searching for a friend who’s gone missing. Would you mind if I took a look around, sir?” His smooth words are accompanied by the clink of coins as Sebastian drops a small purse onto the table between the two men. The owner still looks wary, but he pockets the coins and grunts a vague permission to the request. William walks past many unresponsive clients, trying his best to breathe in as little of the sickly sweet, intoxicating opium smoke as possible. He’s about to give up when he spots a familiar overcoat covering a lump in one of the corners. William’s heart leaps as he rushes over, kneeling down and pulling back the coat. Sherlock Holmes doesn’t respond to the sudden light, dark hair plastered to pale, clammy skin in an unkempt tangle. William checks his pulse, and he’s never been more glad to feel the rhythm of another human’s blood pumping. “Mr. Holmes.”
The dark haired man is still unresponsive, and the lingering panic in the blond’s chest is joined by annoyance. He grabs a fistful of Sherlock’s hair, pulling it away from his face and using it to maneuver his head and upper body upright so he can look at him properly. “Sherlock.”
There’s a slight flutter of his closed eyelids accompanied by a soft groan of pain, and William’s expression softens. He’s really alive. William shifts his hold on Sherlock from a hand in his hair to both hands on his shoulders, supporting his body as the detective’s head falls forward. His next words are in a soft, almost crooning tone, the kind someone might use when waking a sleeping child.“Sherly?”
If the situation weren’t so serious, the fact that that’s what gets Sherlock lift his head, normally brilliant blue eyes appearing dull and unfocused as he opens them to look at William through dilated pupils, would have been amusing to him. The detective reaches out one shaking hand, grabbing loosely onto the nobleman’s jacket. When he speaks, his words are slow and his voice is exhausted and scratchy. “Liam? W’are y’doin’ here?” Fear creeps into his voice for a moment. “‘M I dead?”
William chooses to ignore the slurred speech and ridiculous question as he drags the other man half onto his lap, trapping him in a tight embrace. Sherlock is practically dead weight in his arms, face falling onto William’s shoulder. “No, but you might be when Ms. Hudson gets her hands on you. We’ve been looking everywhere for you, you damned idiot! It’s been three days since any of us heard from you. You’ve had her, John, and Mycroft worried sick!”
“Not you?” The pitifully quiet, disappointed voice that accompanies the question makes his heart twist. His tone loses its scolding edge as he says, “Sherlock Holmes, I would not have gone through every opium den in this godforsaken city past midnight looking for you if I was not out of my mind with worry.”
“M’sorry, Liam. Didn’ wan’ you t’see me like this.” His voice is barely above a mumble as turns his head to the side, uneven breath warming the skin of William’s neck. William doesn’t say anything, just holds Sherlock tighter in response. The detective doesn’t complain, and they sit in silence until he eventually manages to bring his own arms loosely around William’s torso. “S’nice. Y’r warm, Liam. Missed you.”
The sentiment warms his heart, but the nobleman wrinkles his nose as the initial flood of relief wears off enough for him to notice the nauseating odor emanating off Sherlock. “I missed you too, but you smell absolutely awful, Sherly.”
“I know. M’sorry.” William shakes his head, smoothing down the tangle of sweat-dampened, dark hair with one hand as he tries very hard not to breathe in through his nose. “It’s alright. Come on, Sherly, let’s get you out of here so we can clean you up.”
“M’kay.” Sherlock is completely compliant as William helps him into his coat, packs up his needle kit, and waves Sebastian over. The taller man slings the detective over his shoulder with ease, carrying him like a rather sedated sack of potatoes as he follows William out of the establishment.
requested by: no one, but I sincerely hope you like this anyways ✨🌻💛
pairings: Sherlock Holmes x wife!reader, John Watson x reader (platonic), etc.
warnings: none
taglist: @randomfandomimagine, @ruvaakke
REQUESTS ARE CURRENTLY OPEN
“Where are they?” Sherlock frantically asked, as he stormed into your apartment's living room “Tell me, y/n. I need them”.
“I don't know what you're talking about, honey” you responded, not looking up from the newspaper that you were reading. The youngest Holmes turned to look at the room's built-in bookshelf, then started taking the books away and moving them around. “Don't lie to me. You exactly know what I'm talking about. The cigarettes. Give them to me” he sneered “I will take you out to dinner. If you don't speak, I will never give my scarf to you again”.
You held back your laugh, now used to your husband's behaviour. “You're insane” you stated. “You love me” Sherlock remarked, as he kept on searching for the pack of cigarettes. “Not right now, I don't.” you responded “They're bad for your health, Sherlock. If you can't do it for yourself, do it for me.”
“You decided to marry me four years ago, you knew what you were getting into” Sherlock noted, ignoring your words “Say, I give you a cigarette if you tell me where Mrs.Hudson and John put the packs”
“No. You won't corrupt me with just one cigarette, I need— nine hundred thousand pounds, and a pack of wolves to protect my fortune” you remarked.
“Yes, I will give you everything you want. Just tell me where those damned cigarettes are or I will freak out!”
