summary: sherlock can only fully relax when he’s in your presence so after he comes home from a frustrating case one day, he’s more than happy to be in your arms again. (based off this request by anon.)
a/n: sherlock is pretty ooc here but it’s a nice change every once in a while! feedback is appreciated <3
where are you? -SH
you briefly glance at the short message sherlock sent and type back a quick response: at home, why?
no reply. no text bubbles, nothing.
it wasn’t uncommon for sherlock to be so short or distracted in his texts, but it worried you sometimes when he didn’t respond right away.
your fingers move across the screen with the beginnings of a new message when the door suddenly bursts open, followed by a very grumpy looking sherlock.
he storms into the flat with an exaggerated pout on his pretty pink lips and presses his back against the door after shutting it firmly closed.
you’re currently lying on the sofa and reading a book when the noise causes you to jump slightly, nearly dropping your cell where it had been balancing on your leg. “oh hi, sherlock,” you say sweetly. “you’re back early.”
he doesn’t respond. instead, he simply drags his feet toward you, ridding himself of his coat and scarf along the way, and quickly kicks off his shoes before moving to rest his lanky body on top of you.
you release a gentle ‘oof’ before marking the page and setting your book aside. “what’s wrong, hmm?” one hand caresses his back while the other reaches up to cradle the back of his head, fingers toying with his soft curls.
“people are dreadful,” he groans into your chest.
you giggle as you squeeze him in tighter, kissing the crown of his head and then resting your cheek there. “poor baby,” you coo teasingly.
“i’m serious, y/n,” he sighs, slightly aggravated and perhaps overwhelmed by the day he’d had. “i missed you today. i would’ve much rather stayed here with you.”
your hands still against his back. “really? but what about all the excitement of a new case? the game of it?”
he shakes his head, causing his curls to tickle your chin. “i don’t care. it wasn’t worth it anyway. a complete waste of time.”
you hum in response and sherlock practically purrs at the gentle vibration of it against his cheek. “i’m sorry today didn’t go well,” you sympathize. “but you’re here now and i’ve got you.”
“thank god for that,” he mutters oh so quietly, like he hadn’t intended for you to hear it.
sherlock had never been very fond of physical contact or intimacy, from what you’d heard amongst the others, at least, but he tended to be rather clingy around you, especially after a bad day like today. it brought a smile to your face to be wanted—needed—like this, like you were the only person who could bring him this level of solace and comfort, offering a safe space where he didn’t need to worry about prying eyes or carrying the mantle of the famous consulting detective.
here in this tiny flat with you, he could completely unwind and rest in your arms.
his large hands suddenly move beneath your shirt and along your sides until they position themselves under you to rest just below your shoulder blades, cupping you there with slender fingers.
silence settles about the room aside from sherlock’s soft breaths. you continue playing with his hair, applying gentle pressure as you lovingly massage his scalp and twirl your fingers around each messy curl.
sherlock then adjusts slightly before unexpectedly lifting the hem of your shirt and sliding his head beneath the fabric to rest on your bare chest, feeling the warmth of your skin and beating heart against his cheek.
you peer down at him beneath the collar of your shirt, holding back a laugh. “what are you doing in there?”
“just wanted to feel you,” he mumbles, breath hot on your skin and causing goosebumps to rise in its wake. he presses lazy kisses against your sternum and sighs happily.
sherlock rarely ever got this clingy, only on stressful days when he became overwhelmed by his thoughts and senses. he always turned to you in those moments, taking comfort in your embrace and your soothing words. the man wasn’t usually one for physical contact with anyone, unless it was you. you were different. you were special.
“read to me, please?” he asks quietly, voice muffled from where he is pressed into your chest.
you smile, running your hands up and down his back. “what would you like me to read?“
“anything. whatever you were reading before i came in. just want to hear your voice.”
“all right, darling,” you say quietly. “whatever you want.”
he snuggles further into your chest before a heavy yet contented sigh escapes his lips, and you shiver slightly at the way his long eyelashes brush against your skin.
“love you,” he whispers.
your heart flutters at his sincerity, so sweet and gentle with you. a tender smile pulls at your lips before opening your book to the page you left off on, feeling mutual comfort in sherlock’s presence. “i love you, too,” you reply softly and begin to read aloud to him.
You're sitting next to him, his arm around your waist, holding you close to him while you rest your head on his shoulder or chest. He's reading to you, the low rumble of his voice lulling you to sleep. Once he notices you're sleeping, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, puts the book down and relaxes against the tree, listening to your even breath and the soft quiet little sighs that leave your lips. Sherlock Holmes, a man who never thought he'd be committed to anything else than his work, in this moment, decides he'll propose to you.
🥺🥺 I'm soft for Sherlock
Omg soft!Sherlock. 🥺
I fully intended to attempt Sherlock at some point, where he’s nothing but soft and warm and protective just like this, but now I’m thinking I need you to do it, Lisa. Finish this fic pleaaaase!
Maybe the reader is sick, like Beth from Little Women? Sherlock just wants to give her happiness while he can. 🥺
summary: you overhear some mean things being said about you and it gets you thinking about your importance to sherlock and why he keeps you around. (based off this request by @little-gallaxy.)
a/n: haven’t written for sherlock in a hot minute so i hope y’all enjoy this one!
you had stopped by scotland yard that morning to drop off some freshly-baked muffins, packed neatly in a cloth-lined basket, that you had prepared earlier as a little treat for the detectives in an effort to cheer them up after a particularly gruesome case. you had insisted on not being given any further details once sherlock had mentioned something akin to ‘a frankensteinian dismemberment and re-stitching of three separate victims.’ at that point, you had heard more than enough and expected nightmares to greet you that same night. you shivered at the thought now, unable to fathom how someone could be so brutal.
you shook off the memory as you continued down the long hallway. the building was familiar to you and you had grown somewhat fond of the detectives and other personnel, especially the older gentleman up front who manned the reception area and doubled as a security guard. he always greeted you so warmly and offered a new joke each time you stepped foot onto the premises. you had prepared a joke for him this morning for a change, having searched through countless internet browsers the previous evening in the hopes of finding a joke he hadn’t heard. he had laughed heartily, a deep, throaty chuckle that echoed throughout the entryway. you both knew the joke was ridiculous, but it was nice to see him indulge you.
lestrade had always been kind to you as well… at least as kind as he could be. he was gruff and a bit rough around the edges, but for the most part, he made an effort and that’s what mattered most to you. the others, however, donovan and anderson, in particular, never really seemed to enjoy your company whenever you stopped by to ‘help.’ it really wasn’t much help at all, of course, as you were well aware that you weren’t the most knowledgeable of this sort of field, but it was nice to get out of your flat and experience a change of scenery.
sherlock, for some odd reason, had been more than pleasant around you, which was incredibly strange considering the rumors you had heard about him from the others: that he was cold, emotionless, machine-like, sociopathic, and generally just… off. you hadn’t encountered any of those characteristics from him, in fact, he was rather kind and often kept you close by, insisting that you never strayed too far from him. you weren’t entirely sure why, but it certainly felt nice to be wanted.
wicker basket in hand, you approached lestrade’s office, where everyone was no doubt gathered to debrief; however, before you could make your presence known, you heard whispered chattering through the crack beneath the door.
“she’s totally useless and she’s always bloody crying!” you heard someone whisper harshly, donovan, it sounded like. “she can’t even step foot into the autopsy room without shaking like a stray dog.”
another voice piped in, “honestly, greg. what’s the point in her coming ‘round every day? why the hell does sherlock drag her here? she’s always in the way and you know just as well as i that she doesn’t do anything,” anderson said.
“she’s like his pet or something, it’s repulsive. have you ever seen that lunatic even so much as tolerate being in the same room as a moron for longer than a minute? and now he’s bringing her ‘round like she’s his shadow or something.”
you did not cry all the time, you thought to yourself, though your eyes were starting to blur with the warning of tears. their comments hurt, knowing that they thought so negatively about you. you had no idea they hated you this much. they weren’t always the most welcoming bunch you’d ever come across, but still, this was pure disgust and hatred for your very being, your entire personality and presence in general. why did sherlock keep you around, you thought to yourself. truly? you couldn’t offer any assistance in crime-fighting or case-solving. so, why?
as the conversation continued, you had hoped lestrade would pipe in to come to your defense, or to at least put an end to the defamation of your character. but no, he didn’t utter a word, just chortling now and then at each new insult. that, more than anything, stung the most.
having heard enough, you left the basket of muffins at the edge of the door and walked back down the winding hallway and out the door, back to 221b baker street.
you brushed past mrs. hudson in the doorway, still managing to offer a smile and polite greeting like you usually did, and made your way up the stairs and let yourself inside sherlock’s flat.
you found that he wasn’t there—he wasn’t pacing back and forth or standing in front of the window playing his violin, nor was he concocting an experiment of any kind in the kitchen, so you assumed he was in his bedroom getting dressed. something you knew about the famous detective that nobody else had the privilege of knowing was that the man spent an absurd amount of time fixing his hair each morning. while it usually looked carelessly tousled or ruffled from the wind, it was definitely done on purpose.
you briefly recalled how you had come across him standing in front of the mirror adjusting his curls through a crack in the doorway and clapped a hand over your mouth to conceal your laughter, but he had still heard you, of course, swinging open the bathroom door and pointing a finger at you with a firm ‘speak of this to no one.’ you had mimed zipping your lips sealed and agreed that you would never tell a single soul that the famous sherlock holmes obsessed over his hair every morning.
presently, you sat yourself on the sofa as you waited for him to come out into the living room. you grabbed a nearby pillow, fingers fiddling with the loose stitching as you thought back to the conversation from earlier. their comments still stung and you wished you hadn’t taken them so personally, but how could you not? knowing that the people you more or less ‘worked with’ hated you and thought you were a mindless idiot that tagged along like a lost sheep definitely hurt.
you startle slightly when john emerges from the entryway, his approaching form having escaped your notice.
“y/n,” he greeted, breathing heavily as if he had just run over here. you noticed the tray of to-go cups in his hand, so he must have gone out for a quick coffee run. “i didn’t know you were stopping by today.”
“do you know if sherlock is here?”
“he’s been locked in his room all morning. mrs. hudson mentioned that he was having a slow start today. i got a text from him that just said ‘need coffee –SH.’ who does he think i am, his bloody butler?” the doctor huffed in irritation as he marched further inside the flat and into the messy kitchen before setting down the tray.
“c-could you get him for me?” you hated how unsteady your voice sounded. it was obvious you had been crying and it just fueled your embarrassment further.
he peered over at you, finally noticing your distressed state. “of course. yes, of course. just a moment,” he said quickly before snaking down the hallway to sherlock’s bedroom.
before he could even lift his hand to knock, you heard the door swing open and the tall form that was so characteristically sherlock briskly approach you, indicating to john that the situation was handled and that the doctor was free to depart from the flat.
“darling,” he said softly before kneeling to meet you at eye level, and that was all it took for you to burst out into full-on tears, shoulders shaking as sobs wracked your body. he tsked softly, sympathetically, “come here, my darling girl,” and pulled you forward until you were close enough for him to wrap his arms around you, running his slender fingers up and down your back in soothing, repetitive motions. “talk to me,” he whispered.
you shook your head back and forth against his shoulder, not quite ready to speak yet. tears soaked through sherlock’s suit jacket and you felt guilty for ruining the material. you started to lean back, to at least save the fabric from further damage, but sherlock placed a hand on the back of your head, keeping you steady against him.
“but your jacket—”
“i don’t care about the damn jacket, i care about you. i know i’m good, but i haven’t quite mastered mind-reading just yet,” he mused. “tell me what’s wrong, y/n.”
“this is so stupid. i’m stupid.”
“you’re not stupid.”
“of course i am, especially compared to you…”
“well, not everyone can be as smart as me.”
you pulled back and shot him a look, unimpressed.
he realized how insensitive his comment was. it certainly wasn’t his intention to offend you, not now, not ever. it was just him stating a fact, thoughtlessly listing off things he knew to be true, but it obviously wasn’t the time nor the place. “sorry,” he said with a wince, and he did sound genuinely apologetic. “why do you say that? what happened today?”
you shrugged.
“in case it’s escaped your notice, my dear,” sherlock began, “i can always tell when you’re lying or hiding something from me. so it’s best if you just come right out with it.”
sighing, you began your retelling of the day’s earlier events. “i overheard the others at the yard today and it got me thinking… i mean, they’re totally right.”
“right about what, darling?”
you fiddle with the buttons of his suit jacket, popping them in and out of their respective holes as you spoke. “why do you keep me around, sherlock? i’m completely useless and i always get in the way, and i have absolutely nothing to offer when it comes to solving your special cases.”
he brushed your hair away from your face and tilted your chin up to look at him. “you keep me sane—human. i need you in my life to maintain some sense of normalcy. i get so caught up in cases and going on the run that i forget to breathe sometimes. you help me do that.” he gently stroked your cheek. “you’re my breath of fresh air.”
“so you keep me around for… emotional support?”
he laughed lightly. “if you wish to put it that way, sure. but you are so much more than that, more than words could ever put into perspective. it’s awfully dull around here without you. plus,” he continued, “you make the best blueberry muffins i’ve ever tasted.”
you burst out into laughter, tears drying as sherlock calmed your nerves and spoke from the heart. for a man who didn’t seem to have much humanity, at least, from an outsider’s perspective, he certainly had a way with words and knew how to comfort you in just the way you needed.
“scoot over,” he told you before he plopped himself onto the sofa, tugging you onto his lap and holding you against his chest, your head resting comfortably in the crook of his neck. he gently rocked you back and forth, and the motion was so comforting, you could have wept—but you had done enough crying for one day, instead, you smiled softly at sherlock’s gentleness with you. “you’re all right, i’ve got you,” he spoke into your ear, your hair brushing against your cheek by his whispered breath. he smelled vaguely of cigarette smoke, petrichor, and cinnamon—so characteristically sherlock.
you heard a knock on the open door behind you followed by a familiar voice. “holmes,” lestrade announced, “you never came ‘round earlier. we need your help with—” but before he could finish his statement, you felt sherlock’s grip tighten around you as his head shifted back and forth against your shoulder. “not now,” he said, voice deep and rough as it vibrated in your chest where you two were connected.
“but—”
“get out.” the quiet rage in his voice left no room for argument, and quickly thereafter, you heard the fading echo of footsteps descend down the stairs.
“sherlock—” you began.
“i’m sorry for what they said about you.”
you shifted slightly in his lap. “it’s fine, i’m already over it.”
he laughed humorlessly. “darling, i know you better than anyone. you’re not over it yet, and that’s expected, hell, i encourage it. they had no right to ridicule you like that, to criticize you for who you are. i’m going to speak with them about it.” his tone changed and you practically felt his infuriation at the situation ruminating just beneath the surface. “in fact, i’ll head over there right now—" he started to stand up but you placed a firm hand on his chest, stopping any further movement.
“it’s all right, sherlock. there’s no need for you to go down there to defend my honor,” you laughed at how ridiculous the situation was becoming, already moving past the offensive words that were spoken about you earlier in the day. give it to sherlock to make you feel better, no matter how big or small the issue was. “i’m perfectly fine now, thanks to you.”
sherlock settled back down, though you could feel the tension radiating off him. “if you insist,” he acquiesced. “but just say the word, and i’ll go—”
“sherlock, really,” you said, humor lacing your tone.
“fine,” he said with a sigh before adjusting you more firmly onto his lap. “what would you like to do today? i’ve taken the day off, it’s just you and me.”
you pondered for a moment, mentally checking off activities you could do with sherlock with him completely at your mercy for one day. coming to a decision, you hopped off his lap and tugged his hand, dragging him into the kitchen. you then slipped away and rummaged through the cupboards until you came across one of mrs. hudson’s old aprons. you giggled to yourself as you approached sherlock, his lanky form standing uncomfortably in the middle of the kitchen with his arms hanging by his sides. “oh no,” he said, backing away at your outstretched hands.
“oh yes,” you replied, tackling him with the apron and tying the strings around his slim waist. “you and i are going to do some baking today. come on.”
the man groaned but secretly, he was just happy to see you smiling again. if him joining you in the kitchen, covered in flour and raw eggs, was what it took for you to cheer up after the day you’d had, then so be it. he would open up a damned bake sale with you if that’s what would make you happiest.
he watched as you pulled down ingredients and mixing bowls from the cupboards, frowning when you couldn’t find everything you needed. “you really need to go to the store more often, sherlock. this is embarrassing for you… no brown sugar? no baking powder?” you threw up your hands in exasperation. “i’ll just go see if mrs. hudson has some. you,” you said, pointing at him, “start cracking three eggs in a bowl while i’m gone.” you weaved through the living room and out onto the landing, but before descending the stairs, he heard you shout, “and make sure there are no egg shells!”
sherlock laughed into the empty kitchen as he did as you instructed, already eagerly awaiting your return so he could throw flour in your hair and eat raw cookie dough with you. you were his breath of fresh air, indeed.
