#sherlock reader insert

[strangesthirdeye]

Y/n: *groans in frustration* Fuck me

Sherlock: *lowers his pants*

Y/n: *looks at Sherlock with wide eyes* wow

[renx01]

Out of Sight - Part 17

Summary: Moriarty is your boss. After he helped you out of a precarious situation when you were still a minor, you started working for him. Now, he has a new job for you. Get close to the Holmes brothers to keep an eye on them for him. Pairings: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes/Reader & Jim Moriarty/Reader Fandom: BBC Sherlock Word count: 2126 words

Masterlist AO3

Mycroft ends up taking you to The Ledbury, one of the few restaurants with three Michelin Stars, making it incredibly difficult to get a table; except, of course, if your name is Mycroft Holmes. He had told you that you’d be eating out at a “nice restaurant” and that had indicated that it would be fancier than usual. You hadn’t expected this, however.

A tall man greets the two of you, before taking your coats and leading you to your table. Mycroft, being the gentleman he is, pulls out your chair for you and helps you sit down. He—as always—is wearing a three piece suit, this time one of a dark gray, almost black, wool, combined with a dark red, almost burgundy, tie and pocket square in the same colour. When you walked in you noticed that he’d made it a point to shine his shoes earlier today, as they looked perfect.

‘You look nice.’ His eyes meet yours as he sits down. ‘Thank you.’ He replies, a bit stiffly, as he’s not used to being complimented on his looks. Despite this, he eventually thanks you and tangles his fingers with yours above the table, holding your hand. You, instead of lingering on the topic, decide it’s best to give him his present. Reaching down, you grab the small paper bag you’d taken with you and hand it to him. ‘I didn’t know whether you wanted to do presents, but I saw this when I was in town…’ You say when he reaches into it and takes out the small box. You look at him intently as he opens it, revealing a pair of cufflinks and a matching tie bar. They’re a simple silver colour with a black square at the end of the tie bar and a small black square in one corner of the square cufflinks. He looks down at them, taking them in. ‘I know they’re not exactly the most classic but-’ ‘I like them.’ Mycroft interrupts you. ‘You don’t have to say so just because I got them for you… I still have the receipt, so if you want to exchange them-’ ‘Stop it. I just told you I like them.’ Mycroft stops your rambling and you look down when his gaze meets yours. You can feel the heat creeping up to your cheeks, something you rarely experience, so you go quiet.

When you glance up, you can see he’s taking off the cufflinks he’s wearing. ‘What are you doing?’ Your voice is more quiet than intended. ‘Putting on my present.’ He replies casually, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. Your gaze follows his hands as he puts the new cufflinks through his shirt’s cuffs and puts the tie bar in place. He puts the ones he was wearing before into the box before placing it back into the bag and setting it down next to him. 

‘What do you think?’ He asks. ‘...looks good…’ You say, still a bit flustered that he had just put them on immediately. ‘Well… thank you for this very thoughtful gift, my love.’ He says, reaching across the table to grab your hand before bringing it up to his lips and kissing your knuckles. The heat that had subsided slightly comes back in full force, rushing up your neck and to your cheeks.

‘You’re blushing.’ He observes after a beat of silence. You resist the urge to bury your face in your hands and groan. ‘I fear you’re making it worse.’ You mutter and he lets out a soft laugh.  ‘I was thinking…’ he says, changing the topic swiftly but smoothly, ‘how about we get out of London for a bit until the end of the year? Drive up to the country… spend some time with just the two of us.’ ‘Drive up to the country?’ You sit a little straighter. ‘Yes. I have a cottage near the north of England… we could go together. Stay until the end of the year.’ That would mean just over a week. Just the two of you. Leaving London behind. Would it mean leaving Spike behind too? Even if it’s just for a moment? ‘That… I would like that.’ You quirk a smile as you reply. Mycroft’s gaze softens when you agree. A visible sign that he cares. That he wants you there. Well… Charlie. Not you for you. He wants the version of you that you present to him. The version of you that has been tailored to him like one of his suits.

‘My love.’ His voice pulls you out of your thoughts. ‘We can leave tomorrow if you’d like. We can drive by your place tomorrow morning and start heading up north once you’ve packed your things.’ You smile. ‘Yes, I think that would probably be the best course of action.’ His thumb brushes over your knuckles. ‘I have a present for you too.’ He says before reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulling out a small box as well. When he hands it to you, your fingertips brush past his. You hadn’t quite expected for him to have a present for you as well, and when you slide the top off of the box, your eyes widen. Inside sits a Cartier Trinity bracelet with a black cord. 

‘Mycroft… have you gone mad?’ You look up at him quickly, surprised. Perhaps even shocked. ‘I haven’t.’ He replies calmly. ‘I thought it would suit you.’ Your mouth opens and closes a few times like a fish out of water, and, before you can come up with a witty response, the waiter sets down the starters and pours wine into both of your glasses. He starts explaining something about the food, but you’ve zoned out, staring at the box in your hands.

The feeling of Mycroft’s hand taking the box out of yours takes you out of your thoughts once more. Rather than giving you the opportunity to protest, he moves the bracelet over your hand and onto your wrist before tightening it. ‘There.’ He huffs, grabbing his glass of wine. ‘And don’t you dare protest.’ He says before taking a sip, stopping you just as you’d open your mouth to say something about how ridiculous it is for him to buy you such an expensive gift. ‘Fine.’ You agree, albeit reluctantly.

The dinner passes quite quickly. Despite there being several courses to eat, they’re all quite small. Mycroft seems to be enjoying himself immensely, not just because of the food, but the company as well. He tells you about his family, not just Sherlock, and where he wants to take you to see near his cottage. Apparently, he’s quite fond of walking in his free time. He also asks you about how your training has been going, not just the running but also the kickboxing. You answer him honestly, that you’ve been pretty consistent, though are hoping to pick up some more kickboxing classes in the new year. Work had been interfering the past few weeks, but with things quieting down, it should go just fine. He smiles at that. 

Just as you step outside after dinner, Mycroft’s phone rings. He lets out an annoyed sigh, but pulls out his phone. Looking down at the screen, he realises it’s his brother. ‘I should probably take this.’ He says apologetically. ‘Yeah, of course.’ You close your coat and reach into its pocket to grab a cigarette. Due to recent stress, you’d started smoking more often again. You know you shouldn’t. That it would be better if you didn’t. Yet here you are, lighting one up as Mycroft talks to Sherlock on the phone. From the corner of your eye, you see the man glancing at you and you offer him one. Holding the phone between his ear and shoulder, he accepts it, placing it between his lips. You light it for him and he thanks you by quirking his lips into a small smile, not wanting to alert his brother. So, for the next few minutes, he stands there, talking to his brother whilst smoking. The bag with his cufflinks hangs loosely between the fingers in his other hand, swinging back and forth ever so slightly.

‘Sherlock, please… I would rather not hear about your latest case right now.’ He says. There’s a moment of silence before he says something again, seemingly responding to Sherlock’s words. ‘Go talk to Mrs. Hudson if John has gone after his girlfriend to make things up to her.’ He rolls his eyes and he takes a long drag. You smile slightly at his annoyance. ‘No Sherlock, I don’t care. I’m busy.’ You step a little closer to Mycroft, looping your arm through his and leaning your head against his shoulder as you take another drag. As you let smoke trail from your mouth, you breathe it back in through your nose. You can hear Sherlock’s voice through the phone now, saying something about Mycroft not having any friends so he couldn’t possibly be doing anything that’s remotely of importance. Hearing this, you let out a soft chuckle. Sherlock was clearly still in denial that his brother does, in fact, have a life outside of his work and family (him—cough, cough). 

The car pulls up and he says something to Sherlock before hanging up the phone. ‘Sorry about that.’ He murmurs, putting away his phone and turning to you, pressing a kiss to your temple. His breath is warm against your skin, especially in the cold air of winter. Before you get into the car, you both put out your cigarette with the tip of your shoe. He follows you in, staying closely behind you before taking his seat next to you. Once the door is closed, he instructs his driver to drive you both to his place.

The ride itself is mostly silent. You lean your head against his shoulder and look outside at the buildings you pass by. He, too, looks out of the window, but his hand is on your wrist, his thumb playing with your new bracelet. It’s almost possessive, how he holds your wrist, though it’s not tightly. It’s peaceful. Perhaps too peaceful. But, you suppose you’ll enjoy it for now, even if it’s just momentarily.

The following morning, after sleeping in, Mycroft wakes you around ten. He’d gotten up around eight that morning to take a couple of work calls regarding Egypt, making sure not to wake you so you would have the opportunity to catch some more sleep. He shakes your shoulder slightly, whispering your name.

When you finally do wake, you slowly open your eyes and blink at him. He, seeing you awake, presses a soft kiss to your lips. His hand cups your cheek, his thumb drawing small circles near your temple. ‘Morning, Myc...’ You murmur, still half asleep. ‘Morning, dear.’ He replies. ‘Did you sleep well?’ You nod and close your eyes for a few seconds before opening them again. He’s still there, crouching next to the bed and looking at you. His thumb stills for a moment as he admires you. You lean up and press a soft kiss to his lips. When you part from him, you sit up, letting the sheets pool around your waist. You’re wearing one of his old jumpers that’s quite large on you, as well as some shorts you’d left here last time. ‘Would you like oatmeal again?’ He asks before adding, ‘I have some blueberries and strawberries in the fridge.’ ‘That would be lovely.’ You slowly move your legs over the side of the bed before getting up. Mycroft, who had stood up moments before, offers his hand to you and you accept. 

He holds your hand as he leads you down the stairs and to the kitchen. His grip is firm and warm, reassuring almost. If the circumstances of your relationship had been different, it would have been reassuring. If you hadn’t been the person you are, it would have been different. There’s this impending sense of doom looming over you that you are very much trying to ignore. You know that at one point this all will blow up in one way or another, and yet, you are starting to realise that you don’t want it to. You want to be here, with him, in his presence. You have to admit it now. After weeks—no, months—of denying it to yourself, you have to admit that you like him. Actually like him for him. Not just for the mission you’re trying to complete. Not just because Jim told you to get close. And, as you drive to Baker Street later that morning to go get your things you realise that you are completely and utterly fucked.

Taglist: @h-malacus @thegirlwhosimpstoomuch @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @briars-glenn

If you want to be tagged, please fill out this form or comment on the fic :))

[rainydaydream-gal18]

(BBC Sherlock) Sherlock x Reader: Holiday Cheer

Author's Note:  I struggle publishing Sherlock fics because as a Christian I personally disagree with his statements about God on the show and find it insulting actually. However, I otherwise enjoy the show and enjoy writing fics with his character. 

Just a little blurb about the holidays with the Baker Street boys! Enjoy!

Word Count: 954

You slowly lifted the mug of hot chocolate, pausing to inhale the rich, sweet scent of the beverage and feel the liquid’s warmth waft against your skin.  With a smile, your lips skated over the dollop of whipped cream as you tilted the mug to take a sip.

Mrs. Hudson was known for keeping the flow of cuppas constant at 221b Baker Street, but since the Christmas season had begun, she came walking up the steps with a tray of hot cocoa and an assortment of cookies instead.

The flat was all decorated for the holiday with strings of soft, glowing lights hanging on the wall and wrapped around garlands. Holiday knickknacks decorated the area.  A few Christmas cards had arrived as well, so you and John took turns arranging them nicely on the fireplace mantle as you received them in the mail.

At the moment, you were seated comfortably in one of the living room chairs, eyeing the decorations and occasionally gazing wistfully out the window at the heavy snowfall that covered London streets in a blanket of white.  A lovely Christmas tune on the violin drifted through the flat as Sherlock practiced.  Despite it being an afternoon in, he was fully dressed in a dark blue suit.  John was at the table, typing away on his laptop about a recent case.  It was evident that he was trying to record many details because the click-clack of the keys was rapid and constant.  

Occasionally, he paused to check the notes he had previously jotted down.

You turned your attention back to the fire crackling in the fireplace.

What a scene, you mused to yourself.

You took another sip of the hot chocolate and savored the rich flavor.

John glanced up from his laptop at you.  “That looks good.”

“It is.  Mrs. Hudson really knows what she’s doing.”  You proceeded to pour him a cup, dropping a dollop of whipped cream in with a spoon.  John set his laptop aside and rubbed his hands together in anticipation before you handed the mug over to him.

“Mm.”  He took a sip and nodded in approval.

Sherlock had paused his playing, setting the instrument down to instead gaze out the window in silent observation.  You wondered what was going through that mind of his.  It wasn’t always a mystery.  Sometimes he uttered his musings aloud for anyone nearby to hear his train of thought.  Other times, when he was in the deepest of thoughts, he fell silent.

You always wondered what thoughts could prompt that.  The great Sherlock Holmes loved to hear himself talk.  It gave him some sort of satisfaction to sprinkle in his genius observations into everyday conversation.  More than that, he enjoyed a long spiel to summarize his logic and make a final statement about his conclusion of the solving of a mystery just to observe the shocked and impressed faces of those around him.  You and John both discovered that after working cases with him for as long as you had.

“I was thinking,” John spoke up, setting his mug down on the tray.

Sherlock’s voice sounded as a deep rumble from across the room.  “That’s dangerous.”

John, now used to his roommate’s antics, continued on, ignoring him.  “I was thinking about taking a stroll tonight to see the Christmas lights.  Would you like to come?”

Excitement welled up inside you at the prospect.  London famously had spectacular lights around the holidays.  Whole streets were lit for passers by to see, and they made for lovely walks.

“That sounds like fun,” you replied enthusiastically.  John smiled, and both of you turned to the consulting detective.  “What do you think, Sherlock?  Want to come?”

“I have other matters to attend to,” he said over his shoulder.

“Oh, well, okay then.”  You shrugged, hoping to disguise your disappointment.  “John and I will go.”

“I said I have other matters to attend to.  I did not say I wasn’t going.”

John’s brows furrowed in a look of confusion.  “Okay…?”

Sherlock proceeded to take up his violin again and play another holiday tune.  You stifled a chuckle in frustrated amusement of your friend.  John exchanged glances with you and shrugged.

. . . . . . . . . . . . 

“Oh, how beautiful!” You exclaimed in awe.

The street was very festively lit with strands of lights hung overhead.  You and John were enchanted by the sights while Sherlock walked beside you with his hands stuffed in his coat pockets.  His expression was guarded, though you caught him glancing around.  The great Sherlock Holmes was not impervious to holiday cheer, even if he tried to act like it.

John stopped to look at one fixture in particular, and you turned to Sherlock, who was already inches away.

“What do you think?” you asked, trying to look unphased by the close proximity.  It was difficult enough with any other person, but especially with the detective.  You were very aware of how he could pick up on the smallest details.  He probably already saw your pupils dilate, or noticed some other telling sign of your affection for him.

He tilted his head so that he was face-to-face with you, eyes flickering down to meet your gaze.  His eyes were like ice, but with the twinkling lights shining in them, they didn’t look quite so cold as they regarded you.  “It’s not so bad,” his voice rumbled lowly.

You were frozen in place, lips parted to speak, but with no words coming out.  Neither of you moved for what felt like ages until John spoke up somewhere ahead.  Sherlock took a step back to create a little distance, though he paused so that you could walk beside him before the two of you continued your stroll down the lane.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

The Same Page part 11

Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes & little sister!reader

A/N: guys I know it’s been forever, so sorry, but hey it’s here! Also i know it’s short, I just needed to get something posted

Mycroft was having a hard time trusting his little brother.

“I left her with you for thirty seconds and you—“

“I don’t even know what I did,” Sherlock argued.

“It doesn’t matter what you did,” Mycroft decided. “We have to stop this. Every time I leave her with you, something goes wrong.”

Sherlock was only half listening, but the words hit him hard still. He was already lost in his own thoughts, which were basically saying the same thing as Mycroft.

Sherlock could no longer take care of you. Heck, he could barely even be in the same room as you.

You, who’d always looked up to him. Who’d always picked him over Mycroft for everything, no hesitation. Whose absence Sherlock could feel every time he stepped into 221b Baker Street.

Sherlock didn’t know you anymore. It felt like the part of you that he understood had died with him two years ago.

A cry from your room caught the brothers’ attention.

“She’s probably having another nightmare.” Mycroft sighed. “I want you to wait here.” It wasn’t a question. Mycroft turned his back on his little brother and went to you without looking back to make sure Sherlock didn’t follow.

Sherlock did, but he hung back in your doorway to avoid scaring you again. He could hear Mycroft waking you, and your soft, scared voice confirming Mycroft’s conclusion—you’d been dreaming about Sherlock’s death again.

“You’re awake,” Mycroft promised. “Sherlock’s ok, he’s alive, it was just a dream.”

“I want to see him,” you pleaded. There was a beat of silence, followed by Mycroft’s voice.

“Sherlock. I know you’re out there.”

Sherlock took a deep breath stepped into the room. Somehow, Sherlock knew that you would want more than to see him; you’d want to feel him, to know he was really alive. So he did what you needed—he walked up to you and let you hug him, let you touch his face and hold his hands like you were tying yourself to an anchor to keep from floating away.

Once you’d settled down, Sherlock made a decision.

“Mycroft, can you give us a minute?” At Mycroft’s immediate, visceral concern, Sherlock went on— “I’ll be careful, I swear. Only a minute?”

Mycroft waited for your nod of approval, then stepped out.

“I can’t take you in.” Sherlock wasted no time in getting to the point. “You should…you should stay with Mycroft.” Sherlock could not decipher the look on your face—concern? Confusion? Panic?—and it killed him to know that Mycroft would know. But he didn’t need to know exactly what you were thinking, he just had to make sure you would be ok. “I’m not…he can care for you, better than I can. Do you understand?”

You stayed quiet for an uncomfortable moment.

“Don’t you want me anymore?” Your voice came out in a frightened squeak.

“Hey…” Sherlock cringed, swallowed hard. “It’s not—it’s not that. I’ll come and visit…but you’re better here for now.”

“Ok.” You didn’t meet Sherlock’s eye. “Do you…can you stay now?”

“Of course,” Sherlock promised. He didn’t know what to say at first, so he decided on the first thing that came to his mind. “Do you want to hear about the case I’m working on?”

For the first time since he’d come back to life, Sherlock caught a glimmer of your old self in your eyes as you looked at him.

“I’d love to.”

Taglist:

@navs-bhat @isabellavere @chaoticglitterkitten @peachycupotea @justforrose @severussimp

[j-eryewrites]

I’m on vacation right now in Denmark and I found this gem. Coincidence? I think not. I feel like should I go visit.

Maybe I’ll find our consulting detective and talk some sense into him about Y/N😂

[4baris4]

*sherlock bursts into y/n's apartment*

Sherlock:*holding up his phone*WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SUPPOSED TO MEAN?

y/n:I...have no idea could you be a little more specific?

Sherlock:you just texted me[hey just so you know we are breaking up don't make it awkward by showing up at my door]

Y/n:oh shit that wasn't meant for you

Sherlock:okay good...wait who was...

Y/n:and It is extremely rude of you to show up here after I requested you not to

Sherlock:

[fallingforunrealisticromance]

Hold me - Sherlock x fem!reader

Request: "Can you one with the bbc sherlock x female reader? Maybe one where sherlock is touched starved but doesn't realise it. And then he meets the reader and it's all fluffy at the end please? xx"

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2156

A/N: I'm so sorry i haven't been posting!! I've had a hectic month and not much time to write but i'm getting back to it!! If you have requested something, I'm getting round to them slowly but surely. Thank you all <33

Requests

Prompts

Masterlist

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sherlock never realised how touch starved he was. It was never really something he ever paid any attention to. In his mind, physical affection was yet another unimportant custom most normal people liked to spend their time searching for. He couldn’t be bothered with that. That was, until he met you.

*******************************************************************

“Stop talking Anderson, it lowers the IQ of the entire street.” Sherlock hissed.

You let out a small laugh as Sherlock, slammed the door in his face. John and Lestrade both turned to look at you.

“Sorry. It’s just- well he’s not wrong.” You said, shrugging your shoulders.

“I very rarely am.” Sherlock replied without looking over at you.

You rolled your eyes “Okay, no need to get all cocky Mr detective.”

You walked past him, resting your hand on the shoulder, before quickly taking removing it. “Sorry.”

Sherlocks brow furrowed. “Why are you sorry?”

“I know you don’t like people touching you.” You replied nonchalantly.

Sherlock went to speak but the words died on his tongue. So instead, he opted for a sharp nod before turning his attention back to the dead body in front of him. He had actually rather liked the feeling of your fingers running along his arm, even if it was only for a second. You were right, normally he would hate people touching him. But he found himself wishing that you would do it again, only this time leave your hand there for maybe a while longer.

“Sherlock.” John’s voice snapped the detective from his thoughts.

“Hmm?” He mumbled.

“You found anything? You’ve been crouched there for a few minutes now.”

Sherlock stood up, brushing the dirt from his coat.

“It was her husband. He killed her.” Sherlock relayed to Lestrade before promptly leaving the room.

********************************************************************

“Well. That’s one way to get home.” You said breathlessly as you rested against the wall of 221b.

“Yeah next time we have a case sherlock, can we not chase the killer through London on foot? They have cabs for a reason.” John panted, flopping down on the sofa.

“A cab would have been far too slow Watson.” You answered, smiling at him. “However, I have to agree with him sherlock, less running next time yeah?” You said to the detective who was leaning on his desk.

“Oh I don’t know, I think it adds to the fun.” Sherlock said with a tight-lipped smile.

“Did sherlock Holmes just make a joke?” John asked, staring at you in shock.

“Oh god the bloods rushed to his head” You replied jokingly. Sherlock just scoffed at the pair of you.

“Right, it’s been fun boys but I should probably be off.” You went to take a step forward without noticing your shoelace was undone.

You tripped over, falling forward expecting to crash into the hard floor beneath you. What you weren’t anticipating was sherlock catching you. His arms wrapped around your stomach as your hands clung to his arms. His heartbeat increased rapidly as you rested against him for a moment, trying to regain your footing. You stood up still clutching his arms.

“That’s embarrassing.” You laughed looking down at your shoes, seemingly unaware of sherlocks hands planted firmly just above your hips.

Sherlocks head was spinning. The feeling of your body pressed against him was something he quite enjoyed, even if it was in an awkward position.

You patted sherlocks shoulder.

“Thanks mate, that could’ve been a lot more painful.” To sherlocks disappointment, you moved out of his grasp in order to tie your shoelace.

John furrowed his brow as he noticed the hint of longing held in sherlocks gaze before it quickly faded.

“Yeah. No problem. See you later.” He said before promptly leaving to go to his room.

You watched him leave, rather confused by his rapid exit. “Did he seem a bit off to you?” You asked john.

“Yeah a bit.” He replied honestly.

“Well check up on him, make sure he’s alright yeah?” John nodded at your words. “Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow probably. Bye Watson.” And with that you left the infamous flat.

********************************************************************

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­Since then, sherlock found any excuse he could to have some form of contact with you. Whether it was standing that little bit closer to you in order for his arm to brush yours every so often, or letting you hold his hand if you were ever scared. Your touch provided him with a sense of comfort he never knew he’d needed.

Currently you were sat in your flat, curled up under some blankets on your sofa. There had been a lot of draining cases lately and while you wouldn’t swap your job for anything else – it really took a toll on you. You’d barely slept over the past week and when you had it had been a restless, disturbed night. Your body felt as if it was going to shut down any minute soon and you were honestly hoping it would as it might allow you to finally get a decent rest. However, as this is your life and nothing is ever that simple, your phone began to ring. Reluctantly you pulled your hands out from the bundle of warmth you had created and lifted the phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Y/n hi its Greg.”

You shot up. You loved Greg but he never called for a good reason, something was always wrong. You didn’t have it in you for another case right now, but that was what you were paid for. Your wellbeing would just have to wait.

“What is it this time? Please don’t tell me it’s another murder” You replied.

Lestrade chuckled stiffly. “Er no it’s not a case as such.” He fell quiet.

“Well?” You prompted. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s sherlock. He’s well I don’t really know.” Greg replied.

That did nothing to calm your nerves, if anything it set you more on edge. “

Is john with you?” You asked.

“Uh yeah, I’ll pass you to him.” You heard a small conversation before john’s voice came through the phone.

“Hi y/n”

“What’s wrong with him?” You asked, heart beating rapidly.

You knew he had issues with drugs and if tonight was a bad night, you needed to know. You cared immensely for the detective.

“Well nothing I don’t think. It’s weird, I’m pretty sure he’s gone into his ‘mind palace’ but he just keeps saying your name.” John explained.

You fell silent. Why would sherlock be saying your name in his mind palace? Actually why was he saying your name at all?

“My name?” You repeated.

“Yeah I don’t actually have a clue what’s going on, could you come over?” John asked.

“Um yeah. Yeah I’ll be on my way.” You hung up the phone before scrambling to get off of the sofa. This was really strange, but you just needed to know that he was okay.

After about 20 minutes you found yourself knocking at 221b as you’d done many times in the past, but tonight felt weird. Mrs Hudson opened the door, beaming at you.

“Oh y/n! How lovely to see you” She said pulling you in for a hug.

“Hi Mrs Hudson. I’m here for…well I don’t actually know. John asked me to come.” You explained.

“Yes sherlock’s been acting very strange tonight.” You raised your eyebrows at her. “Stranger than normal my dear. He was getting really worked up about a case earlier and he was doing his normal anticks. You know, pacing, shooting my wall, yelling at john – the normal. But he just went quiet, john said he went to his mind palace whatever that is. Apparently he keeps asking for you.” She explained.

“Yeah john said.” You replied quietly, looking up at the stairs.

“Well you better go up there dear.” She patted your back before returning to her flat.

You took a deep breath before making your way up the stairs. You weren’t sure why you were so nervous, but your hands were shaking tremendously. You pushed the door open, seeing sherlock, sat in his chair with his eyes closed.

“Hi” You said quietly. John and Lestrade greeted you. “So I’m here but what exactly am I meant to do?” You asked looking over at the detective.

“Not a clue. Just talk to him?” John suggested.

You sighed. “okay.” You made your way over to him. “Hi Sherloc-“

But before you could finish your sentence, the detective jumped up from his chair wrapping his arms around your waist. He pulled you into his body, holding you tightly. His head fell to your shoulder, burrowing it in the crook of your neck. That was the last thing you’d expected him to do. You stood wide eyed, your arms hanging either side of you. This was not like sherlock at all, not that you minded his sudden display of affection – but it worried you slightly.

“Hold me. Please.” He whispered, so only you could hear. His breath against your neck sent a shiver down your spine, your heart racing. He sounded so desperate; it almost made you cry.

“Okay.” You said softly as you wrapped your arms around his neck, slowly running your fingers through the base of his curls.

He sighed, and almost melted into your touch as you did so. You could feel his hands clutching your shirt, as if he was trying to calm himself down.

“You’re okay sherlock. I’m here, your safe.” You mumbled softly.

You had no idea what he was feeling right now, but it felt like that’s what he needed to hear. The two of you stayed there for a while, you just allowing Sherlock to do what he needed. John and Lestrade stood behind you, staring at the sight before them in utter shock. After a moment, sherlock pulled his head up to face you without releasing his hold on your waist. Your eyes scanned his own, trying to figure him out. His face was flushed red from having rested on you for so long

“Hello.” He said gently.

You smiled at him, arms still loosely around his neck.

“Hi.” You replied.

Slowly, sherlock reached a hand up to cup your face. His thumb moved gently across your cheek as he looked down at you. You were almost certain your heart was about to explode.

“Why won’t you get out of my head?” He questioned, more to himself than anyone else.

“I’m…sorry?” You offered not entirely sure what to say back.

He smiled at you.

“Don’t be. I’m more than okay with it. It’s just…strange. I’ve never craved another person before. But you.” His voice trailed off as he stared at you like you were the most precious thing to walk the earth. “You are all I think about. All the time. I want to be with you, near you. I want to touch you all the time.”

You were speechless.

“Not even necessarily in a sexual way. But just, feel you. You seem to calm me in a way nothing ever has before.”

You could feel tears threatening to fall. You weren’t sure exactly why, but just the raw emotion sherlock was willing to show you was overwhelming. In the best way possible.

“I’m glad I can help.” You voice was quiet, barely audible, but you knew he’d heard you.

“So can I-“ John’s voice interrupted.

“Get out. The pair of you.” Sherlock snapped, not even looking at them.

You laughed slightly, turning your head to face them. “I’d listen to him lads. I think I’ll be okay.”

Greg looked utterly baffled but didn’t question it.

“You do know I live here?” John said.

“Well go talk to Mrs Hudson?” You suggested, feeling sherlock becoming rather annoyed.

“Go.” He demanded.

With that, they left the flat. Sherlock gently pulled your head to look back at him. His eyes flickered down to your lips ever so slightly.

“I want to try something.” He said softly.

“Okay.” You replied, knowing exactly what he was going to do. He lowered his face to yours until you could feel his breath fanning across your lips.

“Are you sure-“

“Sherlock just kiss me.” You begged.

Without any hesitation, he crashed his lips against yours. He held your face gently as if he was scared, he would lose you while pulling you impossibly closer. His lips were soft as they melted against yours. Your heart was hammering in your chest, you were sure it would break free. Reluctantly, you pulled away to breathe, but Sherlock kept a firm grip on you as he rested his forehead against yours.

“I don’t know what this is.” He spoke softly, not wanting to ruin the moment. “But I do know, I don’t want to be apart from you. Will you stay with me?” He asked, eyes full of hope.

You grinned up at him as you ran your fingers through his hair.

“Until you order me away.” You replied happily, before leaning forward to kiss him once again.

[way2geeky]

Handsome - BBC Sherlock x reader

Warnings - angst, sad, death, drugs, grief, sad Sherlock, drug use.

Sherlock laid on the floor staring at picture of her. Tears raced down his face as he silently sobbed. His body started to get heavy as the world started to fade and memories of her danced in his head. "Hi handsome." A cheeky voice came from the corner. There she stood in her full glory; she was wearing one of his shirts. It swallowed her, she looked too beautiful for him to stand.

He smiled sadly at her, the tears sped up and in a sad grimace "Your dead." She smiled warmly at him and went to sit by him, putting her hands on his chest. She leans in and he closes his eyes relish in the feeling of having her close again. She whispers sweetly in his ear, "and you're high. We all have problems," He laughed lowly looking deeply into her e/c eyes.

"You have been hiding from the world again Sherlock." She mentioned kissing his cheek. "My world is dead." he sourly noted closing his eyes once more. "I'm here, look I'm right here." He shook his head 'no', he traces her features lightly. "No, you're a figment of my drugged-up imagination." She kissed his lips sweetly, he cried into the kiss. The feeling of her was too much, cause even though he sees her. He can't feel her. "Then why do you talk to me?" She inquires innocently,

"Cause you are the only thing I want."

"Sherlock!" John called trudging up the stairs, he looked toward the door and John ran in. He scours the room and settles to his form on the floor. Fear and Pain danced on Johns face. "Sherlock it has been a month! You have to leave your apartment at some point! I know you mourning but she wouldn't want you to do this to yourself." Sherlock looks away back to Y/n who is crying. She leans in once again and whispers, "I love you handsome." Sherlock knows what this means, she is going to go. That is Sherlocks least favorite sentence.

He used to relish it know it means that his heart is going to vanish. Just a reminder that she is gone, and now out of his reach. John ventured around the once familiar apartment, now it's far from its former glory. "Sherlock you have needles in coffee cups." Sherlock stayed on the floor starting to feel numb again. 'The drugs are wearing off.' He thought bitterly. "I was saving those for later." He answers like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "What are these papers? You haven't worked a case in months?" John asks venturing closer, "stop."

"What are these papers?"

"I'm still working on that."

"Shedlock, is this Y/n's case file?" He said looking through them, coming across a picture of her dead body. He didn't answer only looks up at the ceiling picturing her. "Alright, I think that we should get rid of this. All of this. It's not healthy, Sherlock I know this is difficult, but you will be happy we did it in the end."

Sherlock calmy sits up and stumbles over to John, with a deadly glare. Leaning against the table for support, gazing down and seeing the infamous photo he has poured his soul over. "If you even think about touching any of her stuff, I'll kill you." There was a painful silence as he picked up the photo. Tears returning his lip quivers in a staggered gasp. "Sher-"

"Get out John."

"Just listen she wouldn't-" he tried to reason but he only interrupted in a staggered yell. "Stop talking about her! If you knew anything about her, you would know that she wouldn't have killed herself!" He pushes John away from him, away from the table, away from the only fragments he has of her. Sherlock falls to his knees and just stares at the floor. "Go John, please go." He wretched out a final tear slipping, John gathers his coat and leave in a pitiful sigh.

Leaving Sherlock alone holding a picture of the women he worship's dead body in his hands. He takes the pills out of his pocket and pops a large amount. He takes a deep breath and smiles sadly to himself. A sense of relief washes over him, he rolls back on to his back staring up at the ceiling. "Hey handsome."