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Liter forgot my phone could do this. Pure joy here. Like just living it up.

#get to know Bee #me #thebeethathums #animoji #IM A SHARK GUYS #LIKE WHAT #ITS STUPID #AND I LOVE IT #personal

AH! For your follower appreciation could I get something for Bruce Banner with the mood: Elated? Love you as always Tea~

My sweet Bee, ilysm, and I hope you like what I came up with! Bruce definitely needs some more love. Seeing as how Thanos and all that jazz was a stupid ass decision, I’ve elected to ignore it and bring Hulk/Banner back safely from Sakaar/Asgard. Slight flangst, but hopefully this captured ‘elated’ well enough! <3

You and Dr. Banner were working tirelessly in the lab. You weren’t really a scientist, despite being brilliant, you were just there for moral support.

Bruce rubbed his temples, sighing as he looked over his formulas again. He was trying to make another suppressant for the Other Guy. Ever since Sakaar, and subsequently the detour to Asgard, Hulk was giving him trouble. He would either come out at the most inconvenient times, or he would refuse to comply when the moment really called for the Hulk. It was driving Bruce crazy.

You mulled over his research so far, reading but not really processing - you were bored, and hungry. Bruce needed to stop thinking so much, it was only causing him more turmoil, causing Hulk to have spastic outbursts.

“I have a solution,” you pipe up from your spot atop the table.

#tea answers #tea loves her followers #thebeethathums #bruce banner #The Hulk #bruce banner x reader #hulk x reader #sorta

Observers - 80

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Warnings: Slightly suggestive situations and reader feels

After pushing Sherlock down in John’s chair, you went into the kitchen and pulled open the freezer as you shouted, “Sherlock, is there anything temperature sensitive in the freezer that you care about?” “No,” he called back before doing a bit of a double take, “Wait- Why?” You emerged with what looked to be a bag containing a frozen lung, a wet towel, and the first aid kit as you sighed, “Because I can’t exactly tell what’s what” He hummed in acknowledgment as you straddled his lap and pulled his hand away from his face, “Alright. Let me see.” “If you can’t tell the difference between a frozen lung and a bag of peas, it’s safe to reason that you looking at my nose is rather pointless.”

He chuckled softly as you stroked his cheekbones and then hissed when you gently pressed your fingers on either side of his nose, “Your nose is definitely broken but not out of place. Which is good.” “Obviously.” “Don’t get smart with me when I’m trying to help you, Sherlock,” you huffed, rolling your eyes as you started to wipe away the blood with the towel. There was a period of silence as he let you clean his face and then splint his nose, trying your best to make it as painless as possible through the blur, before lightly pressing the lung over it. You shifted to get up but he grabbed your hand, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist, mumbling, “Thank you.” Sighing as you set the lung aside for a moment, you bent to press a quick chaste kiss to his lips before resting your forehead on his, “I’m sorry my brother broke your nose. If it’s any consolation, I meant what I said… last night was fantastic.” “You have done nothing to warrant an apology, (F/n), but yes- that does ease my pain a bit,” he thrummed as his lips curled up deviously, catching yours again for something a little less chaste as he pulled your hips against him and pressed your core against his. Pulling away from the kiss, you let out a soft giggle and traced your thumb over his Cupid’s bow, “Easy there, genius. Let’s not upset John any more than we already have.” He simply smirked and did it again but this time slid his hands down back of the boxers to cup your cheeks and you involuntarily melted into him with a squeak that turned into a soft moan. You internally cursed him and gave in a little by nuzzling into his neck before resisting his advances with a chuckle, pulling away from his chest as you shook your head, “Look at you… Acting like a horny teen. Give me those naughty hands.” You pulled his hands from you and pressed the lung into one, moving it onto his nose again before murmuring, “There. That should keep the pesky things appropriately busy for a while.” He pouted slightly as you slipped off his lap to stretch your arms over your head with a yawn, immediately yelping and throwing them back down to clutch at your shoulder in pain. Sherlock tilted his head down to look at you worriedly and John appeared just in time to see it happen, frowning at you as he scolded, “That’s why you need to wear the sling, (F/n).” John seemed to have calmed considerably but Sherlock smartly slipped away to put on some clothes, leaving the two of you alone to figure things out before John had to leave. Your brother did want to talk with you but wasn’t sure how to approach it, shuffling uncomfortably while you sighed and rolled your shoulder with a grimace before catching your blurry reflection in the mirror above the fireplace. He watched your eyes go wide as you pulled at the collar of the shirt you were wearing to get a better look at all the purple splotches covering your skin, hesitantly venturing, “You okay, (F/n)?” “I just want to live my life without pain for one minute- is that too much to ask?” you grumbled, pulling your eyes away from the mirror to glare at the floor before adding, “Clearly the universe hates me.” “The universe doesn’t hate you, Squeak,” he countered as you flopped down on the couch and curled up to face the back of it. “Then why do these things keep happening to me?” you huffed dolefully and John just sort of floundered, not having expected the conversation to go in this direction on top of not having an answer to give you. When he didn’t respond you continued, curling further into yourself, “Maybe I deserve it.” “No,” he snapped firmly, “You could never deserve this, (F/n). Not ever.” “But I did run... I was stupid to think I could just slip away and start over without some sort of consequence- without some sort of punishment.” He plopped down on the couch to almost roughly pull you up and take your face in his hands, “Stop it. Punishment implies that you did something wrong and you didn’t.” You looked down towards his lap unsurely and he determinedly demanded, “Look at me.” When your eyes lifted to meet his, he repeated, “You did nothing wrong, (F/n). You had every right to leave and he had no right to do this to you. Sometimes bad things happen to good people- that’s all. You didn’t and don’t deserve any of this. Say it.” You blinked at him a couple of times, chewing at your lip, and then took a deep breath, “I didn’t deserve this.” “Good,” he praised, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he added, “Thoughts like that shouldn’t even cross your mind, Squeak… when they do you come talk to me, alright?” “Ok, Johnny,” you sighed and he demanded, “Promise me.” A small grin lit up your face as you chuckled, “I promise, John.” Letting his hands fall, he opened his mouth to broach the subject of you and Sherlock being intimate when Sherlock burst into the room, hurriedly buttoning his shirt with a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. He paused to remove it, announcing through the toothpaste, “Case. Go put some clothes on.” You hopped up happily but John caught your arm, glaring at Sherlock, “She still can’t see fully, Sherlock. You can’t take her.” “I’m not staying home alone again. I can see well enough and either way, I’m going outside today. Wouldn’t you prefer it to be with someone?” you countered, raising an eyebrow at your brother. A number of things ran through John’s head as he considered that, the first and foremost being a sense of relief that you and Sherlock wouldn’t be left alone in the flat to your own devices. Beyond that it got complicated, you could either be left alone at home- giving you the opportunity to leave the flat on your own and get into some sort of trouble- or you could go with Sherlock which was rather like you being alone since he was already in full focus case mode. John came to a decision, letting out a heavy sigh, “Fine but I’m coming with you.” “What? Why?” you wondered, furrowing your brow at him as Sherlock pointed out, “You have a shift at the clinic.” “I’ll call in. I don’t want you getting left behind if he starts to run off... among other things,” he offered, shooting a glare at Sherlock at the last part. The consulting detective didn’t seem to notice or care, pointing to you with his toothbrush to give the muffled exclamation, “Clothes. Now,” before turning on his heel to go back to the bathroom. You grabbed your duffle from next to the door where Mycroft had left it the day before and kicked Sherlock out of the bathroom to make yourself look presentable as he protested, “I’ve already seen you naked, (F/n).” “Say that again and that will be the last time you do. Now get out,” you snapped in annoyance, pushing him out and shutting the door in his face. John almost felt bad for Sherlock as he pulled a face at the door- almost- before letting out a satisfied chuckle at his flatmate’s misfortune. If Sherlock wanted to learn about being in a relationship then he had to experience all the less then desirable parts as well, he mused in his mind, and the detective looked slightly confused as he paced back into the main room to grab his coat and scarf. When Sherlock stalked out a moment later John sighed, calling out to you before heading after him to make sure he didn’t leave prematurely, “Squeak, he’s out the door and down the stairs already! Hurry it up!” Much like the first case you’d gone on with them, you tumbled down the stairs less than a minute later, trying to pull your shoes on while struggling with your sling. You lost your balance and went careening into the wall at the bend just as you got your first shoe over your heel, hopping down the last set of stairs while you tried to do the same with other and grumbled, “I have got to stop trying to put my shoes on while going down the stairs. I just fixed that wall from the last time…” Finally reaching John as Sherlock split out the door to call a cab, you caught his arm with the hand in the sling for balance and stuck your tongue out as you concentrated on getting your heel into your shoe with the other. “Are you alri-“ John started before you loudly exclaimed, “GOT IT!” and skipped off out the door as you called over your shoulder, “Don’t just stand there, John! Keep up!” He rolled his eyes and shook his head as he took off at a jog to get into the cab before it pulled away from the curb, gently pushing you to the other side so you didn't have a chance to sit next to Sherlock.

Observers - 79

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Warnings: nonsexual nakedness and angry John

A/N: Sorry it’s been a hot minute guys. My sister has been home for two weeks and she is demanding so most of my time has been catering to her :/

Time seemed to pass slowly, if at all, while you both filled the room the sound of panting, Sherlock cradling you close to his chest while your limp forms slowly came down from the soaring heights of your respective peaks. Once you trusted your voice enough to speak, you pressed a kiss to his collarbone, “Where in heaven’s name did you learn to do all of that?”

“I used John’s computer to do some research,” he dead-panned and you let out a tired laugh, “He has got to come up with a better password.”

Something disturbed your peaceful sleep in the early morning and you tried to pinpoint what it was with a bleary groan, more asleep than awake. It took you a moment but you found the source of your annoyance and heavy-handedly patted Sherlock’s head, “Sherly?” He groaned and nuzzled into your breast as the arm at your waist and the leg he’d thrown over yours at some point in the night tightened around you, pressing his body closer to you in his sleep clinging. You sighed and tried again, refusing to wake up more than you absolutely had to, “Sherlock, love, s’too bright.” The grown man hugging you like a koala on a tree let out a comically childlike whine but still flopped out of bed to close the blinds against the morning sun, his sleep riddled mind working only enough to finish the task and return to you. He crawled back under the covers, wrapping around you from behind when he found you’d rolled to your side, and buried his nose into your hair with a satisfied sigh. Both of you slipped back to sleep for a few minutes before your subconscious poked at you and you stirred again, letting out a whimper of complaint as the waking world started to bear down on you. That whimper snapped Sherlock awake since, after the incident on the couch, he had set his brain on high alert for any such noises from you that indicated you might be in pain. He lifted his arm from you, thinking maybe he was pressing against your healing ribs, and you immediately reached out for it to return as you mumbled, “Don’t go.” He returned his arm quite happily, pulling you back into his chest as he dipped his head to press a kiss to your shoulder, “What’s wrong?” You sighed unhappily, slurring, “Dunno… brain’s insisting there’s a reason to be awake.” Sherlock smirked, suggestively nipping the side of your neck as he gave your breast a cheeky squeeze, and you giggled softly, completely aware of what he was implying, “S’not that, Sherlock.” You could feel his disappointment and lazily added, “I’mma need a shower… Once John’s left for the clinic…” You trailed off tiredly but Sherlock got the gist, grinning drowsily into your hair- for once he couldn’t wait until John was out of the flat and too busy to pay attention to him. It would be his first shift since you’d been hurt and he would no doubt have his hands full, meaning less time for him to wonder what you and Sherlock were doing at home without him. With the assurance that he’d get more time to experiment with the varying ways of expressing physical attraction with you, he nuzzled into your hair and tried to help you figure out what your brain wanted so you both could get back to sleep. It took only seconds for him to come up with something, suddenly going rigid behind you as he asked, “What was it that woke you before?” “The sun. It was too bright,” you responded simply with a soft yawn. There was a moment of quiet as Sherlock waited for it to click in your head and then you shot up, quickly rubbing your eyes before turning to blink at him. A wide grin spread across your face as you threw your arms around his neck and let out a squeal, “I can see you!” He patted your back awkwardly until you moved away, grabbed his cheeks to pull him into a kiss, and then rolled out of the bed as he asked, “How well?” You didn’t pause in your task, which he realized was a quest for clothes when you yanked on his boxers after stepping on them, but still enthusiastically responded, “It’s blurry but I can make out shapes and colors and… what does it matter? I can see!” You gave a little twirl as you exclaimed the last bit, nearly losing your footing, and he couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched you pull on his shirt and hurriedly button it incorrectly, making the whole thing lopsided. It wasn’t until you stumbled out the door that his face set in a frown and he called, “Where are you going?” You popped your head back in, “To tell Johnny, of course. Keep up, Sherlock.” You bounded lightly up the stairs, throwing open the door to your brother’s room and pouncing on him before he had a chance to figure out what was going on. He blinked up at you confusedly from his position pinned beneath you, eyes still glazed over with sleep, “Squeak? What’s going on?” You grinned at him, “I can see you.” His eyes slid closed and he shoved you off so he could roll away from you as he mumbled, “Of course you can, (F/n), go back to bed.” You quirked an eyebrow, waiting for the inevitable, and seconds later he bolted up, “You can see me?!” “That is what I just said, Johnny,” you teased and he took your face in his hands, “That’s fantastic! How well? Is it clear?” His eyes dashed between yours as you offered, “It’s a bit blurry but I can make out shapes and colors, kinda like when you get something in your eye and it waters up.” You smiled when he smiled and he let out a relieved huff, “That’s good, Squeak. Really good.” You threw yourself at him in a hug, pushing him down on the bed with the force of it, and he chuckled softly, hugging you back as you mumbled into him, “It’s so good to see you, Johnny.” “I can imagine,” he laughed, petting your hair, and you pulled back to give him a playful slap on the arm. He gave a chuckled groan as he clutched his arm in mock injury and then looked up at you, noticing your choice of attire and narrowing his eyes, “What are you-Is that Sherlock’s shirt?” You glanced down, finally realizing that it was probably a mistake to put on Sherlock’s clothes instead of your own, and then sheepishly offered, “No?” John pursed his lips, “Why are you wearing- wait a minute… are those his pants too?” Rolling off of him and the bed, you made a beeline for the door as you rushed, “It’s not a big deal, John, I just grabbed the nearest clothes when I got up and they happened to be his. It’s nothing to get upset ov-“ “And just what were you wearing before?” he demanded warily and you floundered as you realized your mistake, unable to come up with an acceptable answer. He gasped, “Bloody… You weren’t wearing anything, were you?!” All you could do was let out an embarrassed chuckle as you rubbed the back of your neck and John was out of bed in flash, growling, “I’m going to kill him. I’m going to bloody kill him, chop him into little bits, and keep them in the bloody freezer.” You started in with some protests but it was no use, he was already storming down the stairs bellowing, “SHERLOCK!” Just as you stumbled into John, who'd stopped in the doorway, Sherlock walked out of the kitchen, groggily nursing a cup of tea in only his trousers from the night before as he responded to the call, “John.” His completely nonchalant attitude threw your brother for a bit of a loop, making him lose his stride slightly as he demanded, “Why was my sister naked in your bed?” “We had sex,” Sherlock answered flatly and John turned a shade of red you didn’t know existed while you tried in vain to stop yourself from laughing. You let out a snort and John spun to face you, his blur of a face looking really unamused and entirely livid, but you offered, “Oh come on, Johnny, you walked right into that one.” “It is not funny, (F/n)! He defiled you!” he snapped and then spun to face Sherlock again, his voice rising to a yell, “You defiled her… my baby sister, and while she was blind and injured no less!” Sherlock quirked an eyebrow, “I would hardly call it defiling, John. If anything she defiled me… her skills in the act suggest-“ Before Sherlock could continue that thought, John’s fist met his nose with a sickening crunch as he shrieked, “Don’t talk about her like that!” Acting quickly before John managed to land another blow, you stepped between them, putting a firm hand on your brother’s chest as you growled, “Take a step back, John. I’m pretty sure you just broke his nose.” “He deserves more than that, (F/n). I don’t like this- any of this! He put his hands on you… He’s taking advantage- can’t you see that!” he roared, pushing against your grip to jab his finger at Sherlock, “You’re a dead man.” Despite the blood gushing from his nose, he opened his mouth to respond but before he could get anything out you cut him off, commanding, “Keep your mouth shut before you make it worse,” and then gripped John’s shoulders tightly. He gave you his attention, angrily fidgeting, and you sharply enunciated, “First off, I am as much responsible for what we did as he is. I am an adult, John- it’s not as though it was my first time riding the roller coaster and I definitely enjoyed this go around.” Sherlock got a smug look on his face as John squirmed, both furious and aggressively uncomfortable at the same time, but you still continued, “Second, He is not taking advantage of me. We are in a relationship, as odd and undefined as it is, and I think we can all agree that sleeping together is a part of that. You certainly don’t hear me complaining about all the times you didn’t come back to the flat after a date.” “That’s different!” John seethed and you pursed your lips at him as you demanded in an annoyed tone, “Really? How so?” He floundered before frustratedly yelling, “Because you’re my baby sister and hurt and they aren’t sociopathic, crime-obsessed machines who behave like arrogant arseholes with... with…” “Are you quite finished?” you hummed, raising an eyebrow as he got flustered and trailed off, unable to think of a vicious enough insult to finish his rant. An angry pout settled on his face as he glared at Sherlock over your shoulder but he still nodded and you moved your hands from his shoulders to his cheeks, “I love you, John. You’re my best friend and my big brother- the person I can always count on, but you have to let this go.” “But-“ “No, John. Sherlock and I are having a go at whatever this is and while he’s a bit of a twat and certainly cheeky for good measure- he does treat me well. Better than most of the other men I’ve been with, in fact. If that ever changes- if he ever hurts me in any way- you can do whatever you’d like but barring that, you are just going to have to live with the fact that he and I are involved. In addition, he is your best friend. Once you calm, you’ll be feeling guilty about all this. I know you.” He ground his jaw, looking between the two of you, and then gave a defeated sigh and pushed out a reluctant, “Fine,” before adding in a grumble, “But I still want to kill him.” You sighed, turning him towards his room, “Well you broke his nose, that’s a start… If you wish to continue I suggest you practice your death glare because you will not be doing anything like that again. Now go upstairs and get ready for work while I get him cleaned up.” John resentfully complied and you turned your attention to the consulting detective, who was still clutching his bleeding nose, as you sarcastically sighed, “Well that went well.”

Observers - 1

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Warnings: No real warnings for this chapter but I will warn you that later on there are some very dark themes and lots of blood and injury as well as smut.

A/N: This is a VERY long series. Like.... Could be a book at this point. I’m going to ease into posting it here bit by bit but just be aware. Also SLOW BURN. This series has a Watson sibling reader and the reader has long hair for a specific reason. Please read at your own discretion if either of those bother you.

John bounced on the balls of his feet impatiently. What was taking you so long? The scheduling board said you had arrived over 15 minutes ago and you were usually efficient and quick with moving to your next destination, so where were you? Spying your older brother across the station, you crept up behind him with a mischievous grin and pounced on to his back. “You really need to be more observant, Johnny.” He laughed and yanked you over his shoulder so he could sweep you up into a warm hug. “(F/n), you little brat! I was starting to worry. What took you so long?” You giggled, pulling him to you tightly. “You always worry, you old worry wart. I was just delayed a bit. Ah! It’s so good to see you!” “It’s good to see you too, Squeak.”

He swept you off your feet again and you squealed, “John, put me down this second!” When he wouldn’t, you poked his side lightly, causing him to drop you as he let out an involuntary laugh and batted your hand away. You grinned at him. Growing up with him, you knew exactly where he was ticklish, but he returned you a frown. “What happened to your face?”

You rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly, knowing he was referring to the bruise that was surely spreading across your cheek and jaw by now. “Like I said… I was, umm… delayed.” “(F/n),” he said warningly, stepping forward to get a better look as he leveled you with a demanding older brother glare. You sighed and rushed, “I maaaayyyy… havegottenintoarowwithaguyonthetrain.” John frowned at you, how did you always manage to get into trouble like this? You were like a trouble magnet. You gave him a little grin and tried to reassure him, saying, “It’s not that bad; he only got in one good shot. Besides, he looks a million times worse than I do.” John did not find this as amusing or comforting as you did, giving you a look that said you-are-in-so-much-trouble-you-don’t-even-know. Your eyes went wide all the sudden as your hearing picked up a conversation behind you and you pulled him in front of you so you could hide behind him. A couple of coppers were pulling a badly beaten man from the train. He was yelling something about a quick bitch from hell as he nursed a broken arm and then demanded that they find the whore who broke his nose and put her in jail. The police officers shook their heads, one saying, “If the witnesses on the train are to be believed, which I know they are, she did the public a service. Did you really think you’d get away with kidnapping a child in such a public place?” John spun to look at you, careful to keep you concealed from the man’s wild eyes, and hissed, “You did that? I can’t say I blame you but still... can’t you stay out of trouble?” You grinned as you noticed the pride that was now creeping into his face and gave a slight shrug. “What can I say? Trouble always seems to find me. It’s not like I go looking for it.” He sighed, knowing what you said wasn’t exactly true. “Come on; let’s go put some ice on that.” He took your bag and linked your arm with his, leading the way. -- 221 Baker St. It looked nice enough from your position at the bottom of the front steps; well-located, quaint, quiet, but not too quiet… It could work. You glanced down the street. It wasn’t Montmartre or Paris, but London would do. John rolled his eyes at you when he realized you were still down on the very edge of the sidewalk and not following him through the door. “Well? Are you just going to stare at it or are you going to come inside? I don’t have all day.” You snapped out of it, pouting as you bounded up the front walk to catch up, “Not even for me?” He chuckled, taking your hand and pulling you inside and up the stairs after him, all the way to apartment B. Seeing the door, you tugged at his arm. “Shouldn’t I at least see where I’ll be living before you drag me all over your apartment, Johnny?” He waved a dismissive hand at you, opening the door. “Later. I don’t want you meeting Mrs. Hudson before we take care of that bruise. She’ll think you're some sort of hoodlum – though I’m not entirely convinced you aren’t.” You let out a smooth, melodious laugh as he pulled you into the flat, shoving you down into a chair before he went to get something for your face. You took everything in with a little grin. It was just as John had described to you – the skull on the mantle, the bullet-ridden smiley face on the wall, the mess in the kitchen. You bounced up to look at the collection of books on one of the walls near the window, running your fingers lovingly over spines old and new until you came to one you knew well. You pulled it out, yelling over your shoulder, “John, you twat, I’ve been looking for this everywhere! You might have told me you took it.” There was a deep chuckle from behind you that most definitely was not John’s. You froze, thoughts racing. Roommate. Right. High-functioning sociopath. Often sleeps late. More likely than not is dressed in night clothes. Woken by the noise. Younger than John, from the timber of his laugh. Tall. Standing in the doorway that leads to the bedrooms and bathroom. You remembered the blanket on the couch and smirked. Wrong. Not asleep at all. Thinking. Got up to use the restroom. John came back in carrying a bag of ice and some Advil. “What is it that I took? Oh… Hello Sherlock. I’m sorry. Did we wake you?” Before the man could answer, you turned, saying, “Stop fretting, John. He wasn’t asleep. By the look of it, he was on the couch, probably thinking, and got up to use the loo just before we came in. Also, he’s wondering why I’m here as he’s figured I’m a relative of some sort, but more likely than not wasn’t listening when you told him I’d be moving in downstairs, when you told him I’d be arriving today, or even when you were leaving to pick me up. I’m taking this book.” You walked over and took the ice from John casually before returning to the armchair you knew was his to look over the familiar book. John floundered a little, looking over at Sherlock, unsure of how he’d react. To his surprise, there was a slight smile on the consulting detective’s face. Realizing you’d only taken the ice, he began to scold you. “(F/n), you need to take these. They’ll help bring down the swelling.” You waved a hand. “The swelling will go down on its own. You know I don’t take pills.” Sherlock decided to observe this little interaction for a while longer before saying anything and went to sit on the couch. John sighed. It would do him no good to try and get you to listen and you were right about the swelling going down on its own. He shook his head and went to make tea. Pulling your legs up to sit cross-legged, you smiled as you ran your hands over the smooth, worn leather cover of your prize. You’d bound it yourself when you were young and going through a bookbinding phase. You opened it to flip through its pages, stopping when you came to a particularly interesting drawing you’d done, or to read something that John had written. It had started out blank but was now entirely full of John’s and your own youthful adventures and thoughts, like a shared journal or sketchbook of sorts. Sherlock watched you carefully as you chuckled quietly at some pages and frowned at others before John re-entered, bearing tea. “Oh, that one… sure, take it. It belongs more to you than it does to me anyways.” You took the tea without looking up at him. “Lies. It is just as much yours as it is mine, but I shall take it all the same, as you’ve been hoarding it all this time.” He knelt in front of you, pulling the arm holding the ice away from your face and frowned. “Does your jaw hurt or click? It looks pretty bad. It must have been a good hit for a bruise to appear so quickly.” You pushed him away with your foot, still flipping through the book. “I’m fine. He got in one good swing, but it’s not anything I can’t handle. It’ll heal up in a couple of days.” John gave up, going back to the kitchen while grumbling, “The fact you even know that at all is worrisome.” You rolled your eyes and turned your attention to Sherlock. He expected you to say something – comment on his staring, introduce yourself, or something of the sort – but you didn’t. You simply stared back at him, doing some observing of your own. He was as you thought; tall, slightly younger than John, wearing nightclothes. You took in some new facts as well – the icy blue of his eyes, the dark curls that fell in his face, and his blank expression. He was watching you, trying to read you and deduce as much as he could. Arrogant. Cocky. But underneath was something else… Caring, possibly. You were wondering what he might be deducing from you when he spoke. “I’ve been informed it’s rude to stare.” You kept your gaze on him. “As have I, though I believe that, as you started it, I have every right to reciprocate.” He seemed surprised by your answer and you gave a small smirk before he continued, testing you, “It is also rude to enter the living space of another and not introduce yourself.” You didn’t even flinch, replying, “A host who does not greet or offer an introduction to a guest cannot rightfully expect to receive either in kind.” Silence enveloped the room again as you both went back to staring. It wasn’t as though Sherlock was having trouble reading you, it was simply the fact that he was curious enough for him to stay quiet. He was about to break the silence when you suddenly giggled, “I like you. You’re interesting.” He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing, and then went to the kitchen to make sure John wasn’t messing with his current experiment. As soon as he left, you rummaged through your bag, pulling out a pad of paper and a pen, and began scribbling. It didn’t take you long to finish your task and you tore the page out, slid everything else back in your bag, and laid the paper on the coffee table. You stood, slung your messenger pack over your shoulder, and called, “I’ll be back later, Johnny!” as you darted out the door. Before John could even register what you’d said, you were gone. He sighed and ran a hand over his face, trying to remind himself that you were an adult and could take care of yourself. Sherlock’s eyes locked on the paper you had left and he went to pick it up. It was him – a drawing of him, rather. You’d captured the bullet holes and smiley face on the wall behind him and the wrinkles of the couch, but more importantly, was the way you’d perfectly rendered his face and position as he stared at you. His eyes expressing a slight curiosity within the overwhelming sense of superiority, the corner of his lip turning up ever so slightly, the way his hands were clasped together confidently - you’d put it all down on paper. Underneath it, in loopy handwriting, it said, “A pleasure meeting you, Sherlock Holmes,” and in the corner, in a flurry of elegant swirls, “(F/n) Watson.

Ice Cream

Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Notes: That time of the month. This has a mention of John being the reader’s brother if that bothers you please read at your own discretion.

You shoved a spoonful of chocolate ice cream into your mouth happily, content watching daytime television from John’s chair with your feet pulled up and your tub of ice cream. That is until your boyfriend, Sherlock, emerged from his room and plucked it from your hands, causing you to immediately protest, “Sherlock, give it back!”

“You’ve already eaten half the tub, love. It’s bad for you.”

You let out a pathetic whine, “Johhnn.”

Your brother didn’t even look up from his computer, “Give her back the ice cream, Sherlock.”

“You know as well as I do that that much sugar is not good for a person’s system, she-“

He cut Sherlock off, looking up with an entirely unamused expression, “Just give it back.”

“No.”

Observers - 78

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Warning: 18+ THIS IS A LEMON. Please skip if you are not comfortable, prefer not to read, or are not of age.

A/N: If this isn’t your scene please just skip. There are no important plot points here

Before you could respond to his statement or ask what he meant, he bit down on your neck right where it was most sensitive, making you moan zealously and arch up into him. He swirled the tip of his tongue over the new mark, both teasing and soothing, before moving on to leave a self-designed constellation of nips and bites across your fevered skin. He worked his way down your neck and over your collarbone and shoulders, switching to gentle kisses when he came upon a bruise, and the combination only made you want him more, a desperate heat building between your legs as your heartbeat quickened.