𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: It is finally Y/N's turn to walk down the aisle. Sherlock can't keep his eyes off of her. She is certain that the man waiting at the alter is the one she will spend the rest of her life with. Is he?
wedding fluff and angst
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Sherlock stood at the alter, hands clasped behind his back. To the wedding guests, his sharp stance would suggest ease. In truth, each deep breath he chased was laboured and unsure.
She was a vision in white. Precious in deep sheets of ivory.
Sherlock had never seen such perfection.
Y/N took measured steps down the aisle in time to the music's pace. A few steps further and the bride would become somebody's wife.
Sherlock promised himself he would not cry today. Not one tear, he swore. He was better than that. Still, as Y/N drew closer, step by step, he wasn't certain he could keep a dry eye.
He considered turning away or focusing on the flower arrangements set behind her shoulder. Anything to keep the strain in his chest at bay.
It was in that moment of deliberation that Y/N chose to wink at him. A small gesture, hardly visible behind her veil but even so, he caught it.
Propping his shoulders back, he chose to keep looking. Better to face the music than miss a flutter of her lashes or the quiver of her lip when she smiled.
Though his throat felt constricted and his chest heaved for breath, Sherlock Holmes could not turn away from the bride.
He registered John shoot him a grin from the left. He wasn't sure that he returned it.
"She's beautiful," John said in a hushed tone.
"She's beautiful," Sherlock repeated.
Three years earlier, Sherlock had met Y/N for the first time. Since then, she had stumbled through the flat each day, always with a shy smile and a soft spoken, "hello".
He loved her from the start.
Their highs and lows, they would experience together. When she threw her head back in laugher, teeth gleaming at something her lover said, Sherlock would see it. He often revealed his experiments to her, if only to see the wonder shine in her eyes.
Even after every lover's spat, Sherlock would wrap his arms around her and swear that things would look brighter in time.
He was right. By God, he was right. He had to be, for now, she stood just steps away from him, at the alter, incandescently happy in her wedding gown.
A slow tear trailed down Sherlock's cheek.
Y/N finally reached him and there was silence in the cathedral when the music at last, had died.
"You're crying," she said.
Sherlock choked out a laugh that hurt his head. "I'm not," he replied. He tightened his lips together to ease the line of worry that had suddenly appeared on Y/N's brow.
"You're beautiful," he whispered. Closing his eyes, Sherlock shifted her veil aside. His hand trembled as he pushed it just far enough to kiss her cheek.
Though he gave her the softest of kisses, he felt a sharp stab in his heart, as arduous as the touch of his lips on her skin was brief.
He dropped her veil again and opened his eyes. "Every happiness," he said to her. His gaze steeled into her own. He hoped she wouldn't understand but she did.
Y/N nodded and her veil rustled. "Every happiness," she said back to him.
Sherlock clenched his jaw and feigned a smile for the wedding guests that stared from the pews. Then, he took Y/N's hand in his own and walked with her for three final steps.
John waited beside the priest.
Sherlock presented the groom with his bride and took his position as best man.
He was good at that, after all; standing on the outside, looking in. It's how he captured so many of his friends' most private moments in the small space of 221B.
Throughout the ceremony, the words, "every happiness" rang in Sherlock's mind.
When John and Y/N shared their first kiss as man and wife, Sherlock clapped along with the others but still, "every happiness" lingered at the tip of his tongue.
He simply couldn't manage to add the words, "I wish you..." at the start.
Things would be brighter in time, he told himself.
He knew it was a lie but for now, he clapped.
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I'm crying. I have reposted this thing like, 10 times. Last time, I swear. omg. please work. If you'd like to be tagged, let me know.
“On behalf of our crew, we thank you again for choosing to fly with BWA Airlines. Please stay seated until the seat belt sign has been turned off. We will begin exiting the plane soon.” The speakers above chimed.
Immediately, chatter filled up the air. People were anxious to get off the plane. In all honesty, they had just endured an eight-hour international flight. Ching. The glow from the seatbelt sign flashed off, signaling for people to stand up and stretch their legs. Y/N would have taken the opportunity to stretch her legs, but she was seated next to the window towards the back of the plane. She didn’t think she would be standing up any time soon. Instead, Y/N occupied herself with the view outside of her window.
The sky was an opaque gray. Numerous dark clouds of the same hue covered the warm light of the sun, stopping it from gracing its presence. It was raining. A typical forecast for London in September. But it wasn’t a gentle rain; the rain that tickled your skin as it fell from the sky. No, it was the rain that soaks you to the bone the minute you step outside– real rain. The best kind of rain. Y/N found the rain to be peaceful. Maybe it was the smell that came with the rain as it made the earth anew. Maybe it was the unpredictable yet consistent pattern of the pitter-patter as the water came in contact with the soil. Y/N enjoyed the view of the rain. She let her gaze flip out of focus as she watched the ripples in the puddles. Each wave moved farther away from the center.
“Pardon me, miss.” A cheery flight attendant chirped. The flight attendant’s eyes had dark circles underneath them, yet they held the most pleasant expression. “If you can exit the plane now, we need to prepare for the next flight.”
Y/N tore her eyes away from the view and quickly apologized. Her cheeks burned red out of embarrassment as she hurriedly stood up, snatched her luggage from the overhead compartment, and exited the plane. She was glad that the plane was docked at the main section of the airport, so she didn’t have to trudge through the rain. Any other day she would have been overjoyed to be soaked to the bone, but not today. Y/N wanted to look somewhat presentable when she reunited with her aunt, Mrs. Hudson.
Martha Louise Hudson wasn't Y/N’s aunt by blood, but she was her grandmother’s best friend. Those two were peas in a pod. After Y/N’s grandmother had suddenly passed away from a heart attack, Mrs. Hudson took it upon herself to occupy the vacant role.
“No child should grow up without a grandparent. They need someone to spoil them rotten,” Mrs. Hudson would say.
Despite her family’s abrupt decision to move to the United States, Mrs. Hudson continued filling that role. Occasionally, she would send postcards and presents for birthdays and Christmas detailing her adventures in London. The latest of which was a postcard describing a vacant apartment she was looking to rent. With the prospect of seeing Mrs. Hudson again, with the additional benefits of living in the United Kingdom, Y/N packed up her life and moved back across the ocean.
Baggage claim for flight AQ178. Baggage...It wasn’t hard to miss. All Y/N had to do was peer across the vast sea of people to where the crowd stood. They were all huddled around the baggage carousel. All of them dismissed the advice to stay behind the yellow and black striped line unless they were retrieving their baggage. One by one, they retrieved their bags as they moved down the line.
Eventually, after many turns of the metallic carousel, Y/N’s bags came into view. She crossed the line and grabbed the large suitcases. It was strange to think that all her worldly possessions fit into two suitcases. The cases were covered in dust and grime from the journey despite them being brand-new. Y/N counted each suitcase, a notion in the back of her mind told her something was missing. An unholy screech rang out above the crowd. A sound that could only come from the jaws of a tiny demon–her tiny demon. Y/N winced in embarrassment as she slipped out a small sheet of paper from her pocket. The screeching continued, dragging the attention of innocent travelers. Her cheeks began to flash red as she approached a desk.
Behind the desk there stood a poor young man who was made the unfortunate victim. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and his brows were raised impossibly high. In his shaking hands, he held a crate at arm's length, as if the brown cat inside would bust down the door and steal his soul.
Y/N reached the desk, and coughed, “He’s mine.” She pointed towards the cat who stilled at the sound of her voice.
The man gulped, nodding, and asked to see her ticket to confirm ownership. She quickly presented it to him. His eyes quickly glanced over it. Then he sighed in relief and threw the crate into her hands.
Y/N carefully peered into the crate and was met with the wide golden eyes of Bjørn. The cat stood still as his golden eyes processed what was in front of him. They narrowed slightly and he began to meow again. He was no longer screeching like a demon but singing like an angelic child for his mother had arrived. Y/N whispered words of assurance to the cat, praising him for being the best boy on the flight. He purred under her sweet words.
Y/N’s pocket buzzed, and she carefully set Bjørn’s crate down. Her eyes quickly glanced outside to discover the rain had lightened up. Remembering someone had messaged her, she pulled out her phone and began to read.
Y/N raised her brow at the message. She was puzzled as to why Mrs. Hudson had sent the description of “kind”. As she read the text over, the cogs in her mind began to turn. Y/N tried to conjure up an image of what a kind British man named John, who happened to be a friend of her Auntie's, looked like.
Picking up Bjørn’s crate, she lugged her bags toward the exit. She passed by people entering and leaving the airport. Some people ran into the arms of their loved ones and others jumped into taxis that took them to their next destination.
Her feet began to slow finally coming to a stop. She turned her head, looking around the crowd. She bit her lip, and a dazed look filled her face. A low drone crept up to her. Y/N’s eyes were immediately dragged down to the taxi in front of her. With a creak, the passenger’s window rolled down.
“Hel’o there, how can I help you today?” inquired the taxi driver. The man wore a white and beige flat cap. He was an older-looking fellow who wore glasses. He flashed Y/N a smile that made her stomach fill with unease.
“Oh no thank you” she quickly replied, stepping away from the car window and closer to the booming crowd outside of the airport.
“American, eh? I’ll be able to take you where you need to go. No problem. You can trust me,” He insisted. With his hand aged with time, he took off his cap and brushed through his wispy white hair. His smile grew bigger as he faked a charming expression.
“No thanks,” answered Y/N. The alarms in her head were howling at her. “I am waiting for someone, you see, to come to pick me up.” Taking a big step back, she sank into the crowd behind her. A woman wearing all pink brushed her shoulder against Y/N. Y/N’s eyes winced at the explosion of color. Everything about this woman was pink: pink phone, pink suitcase, pink overcoat.
“Are you taking this cab?” distractedly asked the woman as she stuffed her baggage into the cab.
“No,” replied Y/N. She wanted to warn the woman in pink, but before she could, the taxi had pulled away from the pickup station and was on its way to who knows where. A buzzing feeling came from the back pocket of her trousers. Pulling her phone out she saw another message from her aunt.
________
Auntie M
I just realized I should probably give you John’s number.
Y/N
- That would actually be great.
Auntie M
Sending it to you right now. I’ll be making a nice dinner to warm you up after all that rain.
Also, your apartment is all set up and waiting for you. :)
Y/N
- Great, that sounds perfect. Thanks, Auntie M
____________
As she waited for John’s number, Y/N thought it would be best to head back inside and find a place to sit. Hearing the ding of her phone and a number pop up she mumbled, “Remind me to thank Auntie M for that…”
An Irish voice popped up next to her, and Y/N’s gaze rose from the screen of her phone to meet dark and mysterious chocolate eyes. “Remember to thank your aunt for that” he chuckled.
Y/N couldn’t help but smile. Her eyes scanned the man up and down. He had an edgy and cool air to him. With his smirk, he oozed confidence. There was something about him that intrigued her. He had brown hair that was well-groomed and wore a nicely tailored suit. He reciprocated Y/N’s smile and even more of his charm showed through. “The name is Jim, '' introduced the man. He extended his hand for her to shake.
Y/N couldn’t help but let a giggle escape her lips as she firmly shook Jim’s hand. His grip was warm and strong. “Y/N, and thank you for the reminder, Jim.”
“Anytime.” He replied, making himself comfortable in the open seat next to her. They settled into a pleasant silence. The only sounds that occupied their ears were the wheels of rolling luggage and the light chatter of the other travellers and guests of the airport.
“Work, family, or friends?” inquired Jim, his head tilting slightly to the right to look at Y/N.
“Sorry?”
“What are you here for?” Jim clarified.
“I guess you could say work and a bit of family,” answered Y/N. She began to secretly pick at her fingers, a stim, and nervous habit of hers. Jim cocked one of his eyebrows up with curiosity. “I'm moving back to my roots.”
“From London?” Jim questioned, furthering the conversation.
Y/N paused before answering. The encounter with the taxi driver was still fresh in her memory. She sighed and her shoulder’s relaxed. It wouldn’t hurt to have a friendly conversation, she thought.
“Yeah.” She replied. “I was born here but after a few years my parents and I moved to the U.S.” She shrugged, “and now I’m back.”
“And now you’re back,” Jim repeated softly. There was a minute shift in his expression into something Y/N couldn’t decipher. By the time she noticed it, it was gone; leaving Y/N to wonder if she had imagined it. “Well, London is delighted to have you back,” Jim winked. Then he readjusted his seating position as he straightened his black suit jacket.
“Well, I have to leave. Business to attend to” smiled Jim, “I bid you adieu”. Standing up from the seat next to her, he gave her one more smile. His eyes lingered on her figure. Without another word, he took a few steps, disappearing into the crowd of people.
She sat back in her seat, the image of Jim in her mind. Her thoughts trailed from Jim to her aunt and then…Shit! Y/N realized she did not text John’s number. Immediately pulling out her phone, she sent a quick text. A little gray bubble appeared, and he responded by saying he was there at the airport with a taxi outside. Raising from her seat, she, once again, made her way out of the airport. Y/N searched the crowd, her eyes looking for a man that fit the vague description her aunt had given her.
Just then a young man with kind dark eyes, the shade of morning coffee, and blonde hair approached her. He was wearing a beige knit sweater. Hand knitted...looks like Auntie’s knitting...is this… but her thought was interrupted by his voice. “Are you Y/N? Mrs. Hudson’s niece?” he inquired.
“Yes, that’s me, are you John?” replied Y/N.
“Yep, John. John Watson. Can I help you with your bags?” politely asked John.
A wave of relief fell over Y/N, “Yes, thank you, John.”
John reached for two bags of luggage and began directing Y/N to where the cab was. “It’s no problem really, just doing a favour for Mrs. Hudson” he explained, turning his gaze back to Y/N to smile at her. It was strange to think about how there could be so many different types of smiles. John’s smile was different from Jim’s confident grin, and the eerie smirk of that taxi driver. John’s smile was kind, caring, and calm. It reminded Y/N of the smile etched onto a Teddy bear’s face.
John carefully placed Y/N’s luggage in the trunk. Afterward, he held the door open for Y/N to enter the back seat. John sat down after her, closing the door behind him. “221 B Baker Street” instructed John. The driver nodded and drove off, the station growing smaller and smaller behind them.
After a few moments of silence, John peered at the crate on Y/N’s lap. “You have a cat,” stated John with a questioning tone to his voice.
“Yes, his name is Bjørn.” Bjørn happily meowed in response to his name.
“Didn’t know Mrs. Hudson allowed pets in the apartment,” replied John. He lowered his head to get a good look at Bjørn’s yellow eyes. He smiled at the cat which was reciprocated by a purr.
“Oh, I think he likes you!” Y/N beamed.
John raised his brows flattered by the obvious complement of the cat. He cautiously reached a hand out to pet Bjørn through the crate, his eyes glancing up at Y/N. She nodded and he proceeded to pet the cat. Bjørn’s purrs rumbled the cage as he brushed his neck eagerly against John’s fingers.
“Bjørn, you attention whore,” laughed Y/N. She watched as John’s eyes widened at the cat’s affection. It was as if he was a child who’d been handed an ice cream cone on a hot summer’s day.
“I’m sure Mrs. Hudson would approve of you getting a pet for your flat,” stated Y/N. Her eyes reflected John’s adoration for the cat.
“Oh god no!” Exclaimed John withdrawing his hand from Bjørn. “My flat mate is enough of an animal as it is.” He chuckled. “I don’t need another one.” His voice turned quieter towards the end, creating an awkward air between the two in the back of the cab.
“...You have a flat mate?” Y/N asked.
“Yeah.” Responded John.
Y/N awkwardly nodded her head and then moved her gaze to the window.
By now, the sky was the textbook definition of gray. The dark rain cloud from before had fled, leaving the sky empty and barren. Everything seemed dulled by the gray tint the sky cast down. Even the brightly colored leaves and the shimmering lights of the city seemed to fall victim to the solemness.
Eventually, the cab began to decrease in speed as it approached 221 B Baker Street, slowly coming to a halt.
“We’re here” stated John as he paid for the cab before exiting onto Baker Street. He then made his way around the car to Y/N’s side and opened the door for her. He eagerly took Bjørn’s crate from her hands.
Y/N stepped onto the black pavement of Baker Street and took a moment to process her new environment. Then she made her way to the trunk of the cab to retrieve her luggage. John had taken the liberty of placing Bjørn inside 221 and let Mrs. Hudson know that they had arrived back from the airport. He then walked back outside to help Y/N with her luggage. Mrs. Hudson followed suit to greet her grandniece.
“N/N, welcome home!” exclaimed Mrs. Hudson as she made her way to Y/N. Y/N turned toward her aunt. She had a gleeful smile on her face as she reunited with her aunt. Mrs. Hudson opened her arms wide beckoning Y/N in for a hug. As soon as her niece was in arms reach, Mrs. Hudson yanked the young woman into her arms and gave her a tight squeeze. She slightly rocked Y/N back and forth. A large smile erupted on Mrs. Hudson’s face, and she became overjoyed. “Let’s have a look at you, shall we?” she said, pulling away from the hug to place her hands on Y/N’s face and tugging at her cheeks. “My you have grown up to be so beautiful! Just like your mum!”
“Thanks, auntie” sheepishly replied Y/N. Her cheeks turned pink from all the attention she was receiving.
“Oh, it’s so good to have you home. We have some catching up to do!” cheered Mrs. Hudson as she led the way inside 221.
John was patiently waiting by the bottom of the stairs inside the building. Her eyes ran up the steps which Y/N assumed, led up to John’s apartment. “Need anything else Y/N?” inquired John, giving a cheerful smile.
“No, I don’t need anything else.” Y/N gratefully replied. “But if you want to take Bjørn out of his carrier and meet him properly, you are more than welcome to.”
John’s eyes widened with delight as he crouched down toward the crate. With a twang, he released the cat from its confines. Bjørn paraded around. His brown furry head was held high as explored his new kingdom. He then noticed John beside him, quickly bringing head to butt against John’s leg.
A loud creaking came from the upstairs flat, scaring Bjørn. He dashed from John’s side toward his mother. She picked him up and cradled him in her arms. His tail swished around as his golden eyes narrowed in the direction of the noise. Distaste eminent in his tiny figure.
John took that as his cue to leave. “Alright then, welcome to London.” He said before making his way up the stairs to his apartment.
A sigh escaped Mrs. Hudson's lips, “I’m so glad that you’ve moved in. At least, I’ll have a bit more normalcy with you here.” She moved her gaze upstairs to where muffled voices were coming from. Y/N could make out two voices. One belonged to John and the other to, who she assumed was, his flatmate. The flatmate’s voice was baritone and clear.
“Well dear, dinner will be ready soon. Why don’t you go on into your new apartment and get settled? I got it all checked out and even got rid of Sherlock's mold experiment.”
Y/N widened her eyes and opened her mouth to ask but was drowned out by her aunt's continued explanation.
“I had to replace the wallpaper, but I think you’ll like the paint I chose,” explained Mrs. Hudson. “I’ll come and get you when dinner’s done.” She then grabbed a pair of keys out of her pocket and handed them to Y/N. “This key is for entering the building,” she pointed to the brass key and then moved her finger towards a thin black key that looked quite old, “and this key is to your apartment.” Then she patted Y/N’s back sending her in the direction of her new apartment.
The apartment was located on the same floor as Mrs. Hudson’s apartment. Just underneath John’s apartment. The walls were covered in beautiful dark green paint. The curtains looked a bit worn around the edges, but overall, it was cozy. Mrs. Hudson had allowed Y/N to decorate and improve the apartment to her liking, which is something she was very grateful for. But first, she needed time to unpack everything. She placed Bjørn down once the door had been closed. The brown cat immediately gave a big stretch and yawned. Bjørn then looked up towards Y/N as if he was saying he would be exploring now and took off. Chuckling, Y/N brought her luggage to her room and began the time-consuming process of unpacking.
It wasn’t long before Mrs. Hudson entered her niece’s apartment to notify her that dinner was ready. When the elderly lady entered, she was met with open boxes scattered everywhere and loud music playing from the Y/N’s phone.
“Y/N, dear…” grabbing Y/N’s attention, “dinner is ready”.
Moving towards the phone, Y/N let the music die down. “I’ll be there in a minute, just let me finish unpacking this one thing.”
“Of course, dear” replied Mrs. Hudson. “Oh!” Mrs. Hudson chuckled as Bjørn rubbed up against her. “What a good boy.” She reached down to pet the cat. Standing up she brushed her hands off and made her way back out the door, slowly and carefully closing it behind her.
Y/N placed the last book on the shelf and smacked her hands together in a wiping motion. “Right then, dinner.” She carefully stepped over the numerous cardboard boxes lying around the apartment. Eventually, she reached her door. Bjørn’s head peaked up in interest as the knob of the door turned. “No, Bjørn. I’ll be back”. The cat seemed to acknowledge her statement and jumped on the couch. After a few customary circles, he was satisfied and collapsed down to the soft surface.
Upon closing the door, Y/N heard two pairs of footsteps making their way down the stairs. She stood still listening to them.
“No John, I do not intend on greeting the new neighbor.” There was that baritone voice again. John’s flat mate.
“Come on Sherlock. She’s Mrs. Hudson’s niece, at least do it for her.” pleaded John.
The footsteps had ceased, and a deafening silence had filled the air. “For the last time, John. I do not intend to meet this new neighbor. I guarantee you that she will have moved out by the end of the week. As most of the other tenants of 221 do.” Then a tall man wearing a long black trench coat appeared and then quickly disappeared as he slammed the door to Baker Street.
“For heaven’s sake, Sherlock,” yelled John as he followed his flat mate out the door.
Y/N huffed in anger, as she made her way to her aunt’s flat. I don’t want to meet you too, Sherlock, she thought. Y/N didn’t even have to knock on the door for Mrs. Hudson to state that she could come in. “Door’s open, come on in”.
Mrs. Hudson was finishing placing the dishware on the table. “Sounds like you just missed John and Sherlock” chimed Mrs. Hudson.
“And a good thing too,” muttered Y/N, causing Mrs. Hudson to ask her to repeat, “Oh nothing.”
“Alright then. Let’s not let dinner get cold,” Mrs. Hudson said as she motioned to the seats signaling Y/N to sit down for dinner.
They chatted amongst themselves. Y/N relayed all the latest detail of her life to her surrogate grandmother: who she was friends with, her job, past relationships, how her family was, the whole lot. As they shared the meal, Y/N felt her bond with Mrs. Hudson restore as if she never moved away in the first place.
Now, it was Y/N’s turn to ask a question. “Who is John’s flat mate?,” Y/N pondered.
“That’ll be Sherlock.” Mrs. Hudson crinkled her eyes and nose with fondness. “He’s a consulting detective.”
“A consulting detective? Never heard of it,” Y/N mentioned.
“Consults on difficult criminal cases. He helps Scotland Yard solves crimes and murders. He’s the one who got my husband the death sentence” explained Mrs. Hudson. Her eyes widened at the statement. “Any tea, Y/N?”
Glancing up from the now empty plate, Y/N replied, “Oh, no thanks”.
Mrs. Hudson then nodded her head and continued to talk about Sherlock, bringing a hand to her heart. She talked about all the strange people who came to visit him. Often relaying stories that would make Y/N raise her brows in concern. Mrs. Hudson’s face contorted as she mentioned his strange and disturbing experiments, one of which was the mold that used to occupy Y/N’s flat. Switching back to her cheerful smile, she began proudly explaining Sherlock’s gift of being able to tell almost everything about a person.
Y/N’s head began pounding as it filled up with all the compliments her aunt had to say about Sherlock. She chuckled trying to hide a wince from the pain in her head. Y/N placed down her fork and knife and leaned in slightly toward her aunt. “Auntie M, thank you for dinner, but…” she trailed off. “I’m feeling tired, and I think that the jet lag is getting to me.”
Looking up in concern, Mrs. Hudson rose from her seat, “Of course, N/N.” She gave Y/N a soft smile and headed towards the door, opening it to let her niece out. “Goodnight, sleep well.” She reached out a hand to pat her niece’s shoulder.
“Goodnight” replied Y/N.
As Mrs. Hudson closed the door, Y/N brought a hand to her temple massaging it. It was still pounding. She trudged to her flat and opened it. With little effort, she crawled into bed. Bjørn hopped up next to her. He snuggled up close purring loudly as she lazily pet him. Her hand slowly fell limp on top of Bjørn’s brown fur. His deep purrs slowly guided his owner gently to sleep.
𝓓𝓪𝔂 14 - Solving A Case || BBC Sherlock Holmes x fem!reader
Masterlist
Summary: Sherlock insists that you visit him, but his motives are rather unclear.
Warnings: some undressing
Word count: ~ 800
Authors: Cass & Fenrir
A/N: the prompt for today is: Undressing
"Good morning, Mrs. Hudson!" You shouted before going straight to Sherlock's apartment.
A completely unknown reason prompted him to contact you, asking you to go to his house immediately.
Sherlock walked down the front hall and glared at you, cocking his one eyebrow up, as soon as he heard your sweet tone echoing off the walls. "You're running late, Y/N."
As you tried to remove your scarf, you nodded. "I know, I am so sorry, it wasn't my fault..."
"You say it wasn't your fault?" He inquired.
"Of course it wasn't. They fixed a sidewalk on the way from my flat, so traffic was a little chaotic," you said finally as you removed your coat and scarf.
His frown had been replaced by a smile on his lips. "Don't worry, I'm aware of it, and I calculated that you might be late. Let us not waste any more time. Please follow me."
After throwing your stuff on the couch, you followed him quickly with an eye roll. "We were going to meet later anyway, so what's the big deal?"
Sherlock looked at you as soon as the door to his office closed behind you and said, "Undress."
Not sure if you heard it right, you blinked and looked around awkwardly. "Excuse me? What?”
"You heard me. Undress, Y/N," he repeated, looking at you.
As you took off your shoes, a look of confusion still appeared on your face. "Like, you want me to take off everything?"
Sherlock cocked his eyebrow at you. "Did I tell you to take your shoes off? I told you to undress."
"I wouldn't take off my skinny jeans with shoes on," you rolled your eyes and then smiled.
It hit you then - there was no doubt your dear boyfriend was eagerly awaiting tonight's date. Revealing your bra, you slowly took off your shirt. It was only a matter of time before your pants followed, revealing matching bottoms. "Sherlock, you might have told me earlier that you cannot wait to see me that much."
He walked to you and traced his fingers along the stripe of your bra, humming to himself. He put hands on your shoulders and slowly turned you around to take a look at your bun.
There was something odd about this, but Sherlock was always odd, so you didn't pay much attention, but when you didn't reach any good conclusions, you started to wonder. "Sherlock? What are we doing exactly?”
"I'm undressing you," he told you simply, pushing his hands beneath the straps of your bra, tugging them down your shoulders, cupping your breasts after.
You gasped and bit your lips, smiling at him. "Well, I can see that. You want to take stuff slowly today?"
"Maybe," his response was brief.
Playing with your bottom lip, you nodded, staying quiet, enjoying his touch.
Soon, his hands moved from your breasts down your body, through the stomach, until they reached your thong.
As his hand reached lower, you let out another soft gasp that filled you with goosebumps.
Sherlock's hand played with your thong, and soon he pushed the material down your legs, slowly and constantly, humming at the softest of your skin under his calloused fingers.
When you stepped out of the panties, you realized you were fully naked in front of him. Like every time, it made you blush. "Sherlock, stop playing with me."
He put hands to your shoulders and slowly caressed down them; his touches soft and delicate like a summer rain. "Good, good, very well." Soon, he turned you around and took one more glance over your curvy hips and fully breasts and thighs.
As you stared at the door in front of you, you were confused. Usually, Sherlock took things slow and unexpectedly, but this was getting silly.
Suddenly, he sent you a warm smile. "Ok, I'm done, you can get dressed, if you want, of course."
"What?" You asked quietly, looking at him. "Excuse me? What do you mean you are done?”
"I am solving a mysterious case. The deceased woman was your size and I had to check something. Thank you for helping me get the clue that the killer had to be left-handed."
"Wouldn't it have been easier to go touch the actual body instead of dragging me all the way here?" You asked.
"Why touch some random, cold Noddy when I have you in my reach, my beautiful?" Sherlock walked back to you and kissed your cheek.
"Well, it seems like your hobby," you grumbled, annoyed by the kiss. "But maybe you could take a little break?"
His eyebrow went up slowly and a cocky grin appeared on his lips. As Sherlock started unbuttoning his plain shirt, he nodded. "I like this idea, Y/N."
I just got this prompt idea for Sherlock and reader... Might be just silly so I'm going to ramble about it.
Reader is quiet, she is nice, she does talk with workmates, but she is rather selected introverted, she is mostly an invisible gurl. One day she ends up involve in a murder. All clues lead to her somehow, but she is innocent, Sherlock is confused because they all point to her but that would be way too easy and he can read her easily, but he cannot say he is on her side because she is a big suspect! Even John thinks she did it. And slowly Sherlock starts falling for her and that's when he feels betrayed by his brain because his feelings are getting in the way and he starts believing she is the killer. He is mean to her, he breaks her heart and one day, all pieces fall into place that's when he realizes she is a victim. She even starts believing she did it. Maybe Moriarty is behind it.
"Ok (Y/N), You ready to go visit Sherlock?" mommy asked. I nodded excitedly. I always loved to hang out with my big brother. I preferred the chaos of London rather than the cottage in the middle of nowhere.
I grabbed Mom's hand, with my small (f/C) suitcase following behind me. I got into the car that my other big brother Mycroft ordered to pick me up. my parents promised that once I turned 6 I could go to London all by myself to visit Sherl.
It took hours and three naps in the back seat to get to London. I stared out the window in awe at all of the cars. we stopped at the familiar door that I dreamed of. I quickly got out of the car and ran up to the door.
as I was about to place my small hand on the nob, the door swung open to show my brother.
"Sherlock!" I smiled.
"Ah there's the best sister in the whole world!" he picked me up making me drop my case. he hugged me tight while my arms wrapped around his neck.
"Sherlock?" I saw a man standing at the bottom of the stairs.
"John grab her bag and take it upstairs," Sherlock spoke, he loosened his hug on me, just to plop me on his shoulders once he stepped out of the doorway. John grabbed my bag and quickly ran up the stairs. then back down.
"Sherlock we can't take a child on a child on the case." the man spoke when he closed the door behind him.
"Oh John, she is the case." he smiled. I lifted my chin off of sherlock's fluffy hair.
"And I'm not a child," I spoke in the stern voice Mycroft always talked to me in.
"That she is not, john. she's hungry." Sherlock started walking down the very much noisy Bakerstreet.
"Well, then where are we going?" john speed-walked to keep up with my brother, making me laugh a little into the dark brown curls.
"Wherever the big girl wants." Sherlock simply responded.
"Anywhere exciting!" I shouted, a giant smile covering my face.
Warnings: Foodplay (use of chocolate syrup & strawberries), swearing, some strawberry!sherlock (sub boy), & yes, smut (18+)
Summary: It’s Valentine’s Day and you decide to try out a sweet new experiment with Sherlock, which in turn ends in passion play.
All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound
Word Count: 1,919
A/N: Confession time. I had this slated to be posted on Valentine’s Day but time got away from me & I’ve been struggling so much to write these days, but that’s alright. I’m just so happy to show you guys this little self indulgent work of mine...I couldn’t help the strawberries, yeah? Okay good hehe. Please keep in mind that Strawberry!Sherlock encompasses the gentle more human side of Sherlock one one really sees, but for those special few. As always, I do my best to remain in character as to maintain the integrity of Benedict’s Sherlock. Don’t worry, though, he’s still quite a bit dom towards the end here and I sincerely hope you enjoy! As always the biggest shoutout to @pandaqueen7799 for everything (:
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“What are you doing?”
“Just an experiment,” you chuckled as you shook the bottle of chocolate sauce not breaking eye contact with Sherlock as you took a step closer to him. Your lips brushed against his as you sat in his lap. “You like those, don’t you?”
He gulped, eyes inquisitive as a sly smirk grew across your face. “Of course.”
“Good, don’t move. I’ll be back in a minute.” You chuckled to yourself. “Though, you best be waiting for me on the bed in ten minutes.”
A few moments later you smile, balancing the tray in your hands expertly as you pushed open the door with your foot. “Knock knock. Look at that such a good boy for me.”
“You can’t even see me.”
“I know what your groaning sounds like and you’ve started without me. I still will be needing a lot of whipped cream for later. You better not let it go to waste. Would be a tragedy, wouldn’t it Sherlock?”
His eyes grew wide. He could hear the rapid incline of the beating of your heart, pupils dilating as they bore into his skull and he was in utter awe. It took all his willpower not to reach out and touch you, even if your hands were full.
“Well look at you, my good boy all ready for me,” you set the tray on the side table nearest you, plucking up a strawberry and smirking as he not so discreetly licked his lips, head falling back against the headboard.
“Please,” he murmured, leaning back further on his elbows, mouth-watering as you bit down on the sumptuous chocolate covered strawberry.
You shook your head, smirking as you discarded the stem, making way to straddle Sherlock. You hovered over him for a moment, his body desperate fighting to arch into your touch. His gaze bore into you, chest rising and falling steadily, yet increasing as you reached over him, grazing your lips just a touch against his, pulling back mercilessly as you smiled producing a bottle of chocolate sauce from behind your back.
His limbs began to hum as he inhaled. All he could sense was you, moaning softly as you bit into the righteously sinful fruit, evoking such pleasure and need he had held himself too high and mighty above. And yet, he was a human, nothing like a machine, the inner workings of his mind willing to combust, his heart open and willing to restart because of you.
He watched you slowly, expertly discard the crisp white shirt he’d worn earlier that morning, swallowing a swear as he smirked in satisfaction, smug to have some effect on you. Your need was apparent enough, cheeks flushed, breaths slow and steady increasing with each button released from its hold.
“You look…” he gulped as he felt something cold and wet fall across the planes of his chest.
You cooed. “It’s alright, Sherlock. Look at me…”
Tilting up his chin, you didn’t hesitate to press a chaste kiss to his lips, offering up your index finger and placed it softly across the seam of his lips, nodding in reassurance.
With little hesitation he swirled his tongue across your finger, the hint of chocolate and strawberry juices oh so faint sent his senses blazing. Too long he’d been hiding in the dark, senses all but muted by death and crime. For now, he let himself be undone enjoying the pleasures of life oh so fleeting.
“Berry?” You offered him a soft smile of reassurance before ever so slowly gliding up the berry across the chocolate trail smeared in an almost perfect line down his chest, just shy of the waistband of his pants.
“Please.”
He shut his mouth at your pointed look, resisting the urge to swallow as you bit into the fleshy fruit again, piercing its softness with your teeth glistening in juice.
“No then, what to do with this mess.” You brought your warm tongue to his chest, licking softly, deliberately, making sure he felt every inch of your ministrations and appreciation of him, how you relished this rare moment with him, bending the seemingly heartless detective to your will.
You were his one in a million and he couldn’t believe you were here in front of him bringing him to ruin with nothing but your tongue. He knew his needs were becoming apparent by the minute and he foolishly hoped it escaped your notice but he knew from the second drop you bestowed upon his chest that he was a goner and you would have your way with him the rest of the night.
Again, slowly this time you increase your pace, relishing the moans and whimpers you drew from the man before you.
“Consider this a very late Valentine’s present, Sherlock. Oh fuck, my precious boy.”
Sherlock licked his lips, trying in vain to hide the ever growing effect you were having on him.
“You're going to be good for me now, aren’t you, Sherl?”
He only hissed in response, inhaling a few short breaths as you sucked a mark onto his chest, licking and nipping, swirling your tongue through the remaining chocolate that still glistened upon his chest.
Ever so slowly you reached for another berry, bringing it up to the soft light illuminating the room, humming in satisfaction. “Only the best for my boy,” you beamed.
Sherlock could only stare as your eyes darkened, you above him inspecting the sinful fruit making him more delirious by the moment, his brain whirling faster than the speed of light. He felt as if he were going to combust if he didn’t have a taste. Of you, or the berry for that matter.
He arched off the bed, slightly, watching your mouth quirk before you brought the fruit down back to his chest, guiding it up to the remaining sliver of chocolate. Your eyes narrowed in feline delight and Sherlock though he tried to deny it, couldn’t. He swore his heartbeat was thundering so that you could hear it a mile away, but all logic aside, he was consumed by the aching need for more of you, your touch, and a taste of the righteous sinfulness above him.
And you delivered, swiping the berry up his chest, covering what you could, biting your lip at Sherlock’s delirious gaze, full of awe and hunger, and desire. Pressing your left hand to his chest, you eased him back against the headboard, bringing the covered fruit with you in your other hand and lifted it mere centimeters from his lips.
“It’s alright. Have a taste, Sherlock.” You drug your free hand from where it was pressed upon his chest up into his curls, tugging them back as he bit into the fruit, your lips meeting his neck as he groaned. You pressed yourself further onto him, relishing in the feeling of him as his tongue swirled around the berry before devouring the rest of it, nearly nipping your fingers that held the stem.
“Easy there, now.”
He licked his lips, meeting your eyes blown wide in bliss. “Please.”
You smirked, reaching down to grasp him in his pants, gleeful to find he was already perfectly aching for you as well.
“You’re catastrophic to me so, good for me Sherlock.”
He squirmed in response, breaths faltering as you tossed away the empty stem, dragging the hand gripping his curls up to his wrist, pinning it gently before stroking his clothed length. You dared to press a kiss into his neck, savoring his response as he eagerly pressed into you, your palm heating with his warmth.
You smirked, applying more pressure against him to allow him some relief and friction as you made way to kiss his neck, swiping your tongue over each mark, making sure to leave ample amounts across his collarbone. Wiggling free from your grasp, his hands found your hips gripping tightly panting softly against your lips.
“I need you,” he gazed up at you with pleading eyes, causing your heart to falter and smile at him, giving way to his need as his lips met yours, pulling you under him in a matter of moments, his pupils dilated, yet his confidence back, an almost ghost of a smirk forming on his lips.
“S-sherlock,” you stammered at the sudden switch of demeanor, all playfulness and awe stripped away, dissolving into nothing more but utter confidence, precision, and flaming desire as his eyes snapped, boring into your with a fire that lighted your core.
His lips against your warm skin was an answer enough as it sent shock waves through your system, lighting you up from the inside as he drug his tongue across the seam of your lips.
“Do you have any idea how cruel that was?”
“Awe is the poor baby sad he couldn’t maintain his composure?” You smirked, wrapping your arms around his neck before slamming into his kiss in an act of your own desperation and need, your hands raking through and grasping handful after handful of his soft mass of curls.
He groaned, causing your grip around his waist to tighten as he moved his long deft fingers down your back, sending a multitude of shivers down your spine, inching trailing ever so slowly down to the waistband of your pants while his lips refused to leave any inch of your body untraced. It had been too long since he’d claimed you, marked you as his own, seen your body and felt your need. He wanted so desperately to prove something, anything to you that you and you alone were enough for him.
Sensing him falter and slowing in his movements, you squirmed. “Please, Sherlock. I...I need you now.”
He moved into you slowly, pressing the tip gently inside you, sensing your movements and reception of him as he finally sheathed himself completely inside you. There, you felt whole again, the missing piece fitting together in one perfect chorused moan.
Your hands trailed down to his chest, mildly sticky from the syrup you’d glazed on earlier. Utterly and endlessly spent, he smiled down at you, his length throbbing, still pulsing inside you, eyes delighting in watching you come undone for him alone, as you arched into him and his touch as he worked your sensitive bud with his index and forefinger, sending you off into oblivion seeing stars. He found the crook of your neck and, pressing a gentle kiss to your neck, his hot breath sending your pleasure unfolding further tenfold as he whispered a quiet command, or plea, rather. “Let go for me,” he murmured, so softly you thought you’d imagined the whispered caress.
You choked back a sob at how gentle yet demanding he was, shuddering and pulled him closer, stroking his back as you dared to move against him, feeling him deep inside you, bringing up your other to tangle in his hair, tugging gently. “Only for you, Sherlock.”
You met his piercing smoldering gaze with your own, arching into him as you lost yourself in the pleasure of him. He followed soon after, crashing into your lips, swallowing your moans as you felt his whole body relax, falling against you and wrapping his arms around you, too afraid to let go.
“My boy,” you murmured in his ear as he panted struggling to catch his breath.
“Always.” was his response before continuing to stroke his hands down across your back, sending what remaining sparks flying as you gasped and continued whimpering and pleading his name to the stars.
******
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