The Bitch Who Stays Up Till 3 To Finish A Wattpad

The thick pages then collided with a loud ‘thump’, and the sound tore him from his thoughts, while also managing to earn a hushed, frightened murmur from him. It was in that moment when you had finally turned to see him, and Sherlock briskly adjusted himself behind his paper once again as to not divulge his examination of your peculiar routine, before you made a sort of low, anxious, mumbling sound, only to rush from the room almost as quickly as you had first entered.

Every Tuesday you went out, every week without fail, at precisely 11 o’clock in the morning. All groceries usually had been bought by then, all chores usually mostly taken care of at that time, so there was never an understandable reason for why you would venture out every week. Sure, you would go out with Sherlock or John if they found themselves in need of any of your expertise on a case, maybe occasionally with Enola if she so wished to explore the city, or even on the off chance you would visit the book store in town, it would never be on a Tuesday, for some reason, Tuesday’s were special. And just as assuredly, every time you’d return, you would come back with a flower or two, quickly enclosing them between the pages of your favorite book, before running off to continue your day.

“Bellis perennis” Sherlock mumbled under his breath as he rolled the stem of the daisy between his thumb and forefinger.

“Have you ever thought that maybe she only wants to escape your insufferable droning for a few hours?” Mycroft spat, rolling his eyes as he continued his attempt to focus on the same sentence he had read at least three times now while trying to entertain his brother’s ramblings.

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow at him as he meticulously placed the flower back in its original place, just as gently placing the book back on the shelf exactly where you had left it. “She’s stayed for this long, I doubt she’s trying to make a getaway now…” He replied, a trace of vague annoyance tangled within his humor.

“Maybe she’s visiting family? Friends? People do that, you know.” Mycroft added dryly, finally closing his book in frustration.

Sherlock tossed around the idea, you were incredibly friendly, almost to a fault on occasion. It wouldn’t surprise him if you had struck a companionship with someone during your weekly outings. But Sherlock and you were close, right? You would tell him about such things, wouldn’t you?

“Or maybe she’s met someone?” He inquired further, Mycroft’s impish, teasing grin was evident in his voice alone.

“Someone?” Sherlock replied, his voice sounding much more unsteady than he had intended.

“You know, a beau, a suitor? With all these flowers…” Mycroft mindlessly drummed his fingers on the cover of his now long-forgotten reading material, this had become much more entertaining for him. “It seems she may have found her very own paramore!” He added enthusiastically, watching Sherlock’s expression with earnest.

The sound that escaped Sherlock’s lips in response could only be labeled as something between an annoyed grumble and a sigh. “Wouldn’t she have told us of this?”

“Why would she?” His brother replied, much too smug for Sherlock’s liking. “We aren’t her family, why would she care to tell us?”

“Because we’re…” Sherlock found himself lost for words, a shocking occurrence indeed, but what was even more stupefying was the slight pang of disappointment that settled in his chest at the thought. “We’re her friends.”

“And what do you suppose that means? We’re family, and I’m sure we’ve a life of secrets kept from each other.”

Sherlock huffed in annoyance, talking with Mycroft could often be compared to holding conversation with a stone wall, though Sherlock was sure that may make for better company. “But, she lives with us.” He added sternly, though he wasn’t quite sure what he was attempting to prove to his brother.

“So do the maids.” Mycroft replied harshly, his eyes squinted, observing Sherlock’s every mannerism, waiting for even the smallest crack in his facade.

Though Sherlock never gave him the satisfaction, opting to stomp off into his room before he allowed another second to pass with Mycrofts’s incessant badgering.

Sherlock supposed it was a bit selfish of him to assume you didn’t lead a life beyond the house, beyond Mycroft and Enola and himself. It wasn’t like you had kept many secrets from him, if you even had any. You were usually so open with him, even without any deduction, it was like you would make it a point to recount your day to him, all while he silently listened. You made even the most mundane tasks about the city seem so lively, you were truly an open book, so why hadn’t you told him about this… Someone?

He settled himself with a huff in a chair situated right by his bedroom window, slowly retrieving his bow from the smooth leather casings. Just as he was about to play though, he found himself interrupted by the faint, muffled sound of your laughter. A soft smile crept onto his lips, and he called your name through the house inquisitively, you had run off so abruptly before and Sherlock found he had felt the slightest bit saddened when you hadn’t stopped to tell him about your day out. The shrill ring of a bicycle bell had him turning once again towards the window, seeing Enola ride off past you as you waved her off. You called something out to her, and though he was no expert lip reader, he was sure it was most likely something along the lines of ‘be safe’ or some other sort of good wishes. You had a way of caring so much that never ceased to astound Sherlock, because truly, what was to happen? Enola was almost too clever for her own good, proving time after time that she was much more than capable on her own, you’ve seen her fight, and win even, yet you still always wished for her safety. Sherlock thought himself competent on his own as well, you were no stranger to his skills, yet every time he found himself venturing out for a case, or even just a night out with John, you still told him, almost requesting of him, ‘be safe.’

Sherlock let out a soft hum, and began to play.

“Must you always be here?” Sherlock grumbled as he spotted Mycroft in the parlor. After a sleepless night, he was in no mood for his teasing.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Mycroft replied, finally tearing his eyes from the paper he had been reading, “You look tired.” He added, a knowing smirk making its way onto his features.

“Couldn’t sleep” Sherlock replied under his breath, grabbing a paper from the coffee table as he sat across from his brother, doing his best to ignore the not-so-quiet snicker that his response had earned.

“Good Morning,” You timidly interrupted, “Tea?”

Sherlock examined the silver tray that you carried. Three, small, floral teacups stacked on each other, with an accompanying teapot and small pitchers for sugar and cream. They had maids, kitchen staff meant for this very thing, yet you were so insistent on always doing this yourself.

“Yes, please” Sherlock smiled, making haste in clearing the coffee table of any spare papers and books so you could place the tray down, all the while, much too aware of Mycroft’s judgmental gaze that was held on him. “Thank you” He muttered, watching you carefully set the tray on the table.

“Sleep well?” You asked, your soft voice still thick with a touch of sleep.

“Very well, thank you” He replied, quickly shooting a glare at Mycroft.

You smiled in response, before stifling a yawn as you gingerly spooned some sugar into your cup.

“Busy day yesterday?” Sherlock added, his gaze glued to your features, waiting for any sign of deceit from you. Instead, he was only met with a wide-eyed, shocked expression, a slight look of panic as you tried to think of a response, you were clearly caught off guard.

You quickly nodded your head as you sipped your tea, “Not very…” You replied, your eyes now fixated on the cup you held in front of you.

Sherlock casually leaned in closer, still studying your face. “You sped off so quickly yesterday, I would’ve thought you were being followed” He chuckled, only earning a hushed ‘hmm’ in amusement from you.

The rest of the morning was spent like that, silently sipping tea surrounded by a comfortable quietness. How Sherlock longed for you to say something, to break him out of his spiraling thoughts, you had a way of calming him that even he was unable to comprehend, but this morning, he found there was no solace in your words, or lack thereof, and your short reply to his question only raised his suspicions.

After a few more moments of silence, you gently set your cup down on the tray once again. “Well, I promised I would help Enola bake today, and I’d rather her not destroy the kitchen before I get there.” You beamed, your tone had returned to normal now, the anxious expression that was written on your face before had now dissipated.

Both brothers nodded in response, Sherlock standing to follow you to the door. You turned to give him a quick smile of farewell as you left, and just as your heels left the foyer, he promptly sealed the double doors behind you.

“Well” Mycroft breathed, casually taking another sip of his tea, “She’s definitely hiding something,”

“I know” Sherlock grumbled in return, he was suddenly filled with a storm of emotions at the notion. Sure, Sherlock had kept his fair share of things from you, but it was never to hurt you, you would always find a way to discover whatever harebrained plot he had concocted in the long run anyhow. You knew him so well, and he thought he knew you just as well, apparently not.

“There’s nothing you can do, Sherlock. She has a life you know? Maybe just leave this one be?”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow in a silent challenge, “You know I can’t do that.”

Mycroft sighed, “I know.”

“Besides, if she truly has found… Someone,” bitterness saturated his tone as he spoke, deriving a self-assured grin from Mycroft. “And since she is my friend,” He emphasized as much as possible, “I wouldn’t want her parading around with some… Idiot.” Sherlock sneered at the very thought. He knew you were quite capable on your own, that he had never doubted, but still in many ways, you were naive. You were no stranger to the occasionally horrid ways of men, you had accompanied him and Mycroft around the city on more than one occasion, and even in the most disreputable parts of town, you still smiled softly at all the passing residents, no matter how battered or grimy, or how any of the men whistled and yelled your way, you would only let out a quiet scoff, turning to Sherlock to roll your eyes before continuing to smile. You really were too precious, and Sherlock would be damned if he allowed for anyone to take advantage of your kindness.

It was Tuesday.

One entire, torturous week had gone by with you still behaving maddeningly normal. Sherlock was almost surprised with his own ability to fight back the urge to just outright question you for seven days, though he still observed you in other ways.

You suppressed what had to be the third yawn in a row as you put away the last of the dishes into the cupboard.

“Still heading out?” Sherlock questioned, scribbling down a quick note in his journal.

You nodded your head eagerly, “Always” You smiled.

Sherlock only responded with a soft ‘hmph’. He found himself again at a loss for words as he watched your kind grin drop into a look of concentration, the sunlight streaming in from the window causing a halo of light to frame your silhouette as you slowly packed a small basket for your trip, were your hands shaking?

Scissors, a book, a sandwich, something wrapped in a small, cotton cloth, your journal. He noted, attempting to not make his snooping at your basket so obvious.

Before you would close the hinged, wicker lid though, he spotted something that glinted in the sunshine. A small, round silver thing with some sort of chain connected to its top. The shutting of the lid startled him, but he was quick to adjust his gaze on you once again, offering a faint, parting smile as you slipped on your gloves before heading out the back door.

Gloves. So clearly, they were of either an upper-middle or higher class upbringing to care for such things as a lady wearing gloves. Sherlock let out a sigh of relief, at least they weren’t one of those brutes in lower Westminster.

He checked again the tallies he had made in his notebook. Six times. Six times you had yawned in a span of what? Thirty minutes? He had known you had been lacking sleep recently from how he heard your soft footsteps around the hallways at odd hours of the night, always coming to an almost-stop once you reached his doorway, only to creep past as slowly as possible. He assumed you were making an attempt as to not wake him, and always, he would use whatever energy he could muster at three in the morning to chuckle softly at your attempts that would very much prove to be useless if you found out he was also just as conscious as you at whatever ungodly hour it happened to be.

Sherlock huffed in frustration, quickly shutting his journal as his brother drifted into the kitchen.

“Anything?” Mycroft questioned.

“Nothing particularly unusual” Sherlock responded, “She has been sleeping less though, but that could be easily explainable.” He added.

“Hmm”

Sherlock didn’t miss the smirk on Mycroft's lips as he thoughtlessly drummed his fingers on the counter top.

“What?” Sherlock was almost afraid to push his brother to speak further, but as of that moment, he hadn’t had any clear ideas as to what, or rather who had been affecting you so much.

“She must be rather infatuated with this individual”

“And why would you think so?”

“Sherlock.” Mycroft raised an eyebrow at him, his tone almost mocking, as if he was shocked that Sherlock hadn’t picked up on the fact sooner. “I refuse to believe that in all of your years, you haven’t had at least some sort of feelings other than disdain for another person?”

Sherlock had experienced fleeting desires before, yes, but they were just that, fleeting. A passing of two ships in the night, a wave hello only to be followed moments later by a farewell. As he thought back on it, other than Mycroft, Enola and John, you were really the only other person that had stuck with him so willingly. “Well, yes” He finally acknowledged.

“Certainly you must know then...”

Sherlock stayed silent.

“The panic when you confronted her about her little rendezvous, the barely sleeping, her excitability... She’s clearly in love!” Mycroft finished, much too enthusiastically for Sherlock’s liking.

Sherlock didn’t know how to feel, you were his friend, absolutely nothing more, he should be excited for you, glad even, once you settled down with this mystery man, he’d maybe finally be able to turn over the spare bedroom you had claimed when you first arrived into another study. The thought should have thrilled him, more space to think, to be alone, but he found he was only met with tangled thoughts of dread and displeasure at the notion. He wasn’t sure that he would even have the heart to alter your room at all if you really did leave. You had taken the banal space and filled it with so much life, piling every corner with small trinkets Enola would bring home for you, some you had even collected on your own, accented by the rapidly deteriorating wooden stool in the corner that threatened to collapse at any moment under the weight of your ever-growing stack of books you continuously claimed you would eventually get around to reading. Sherlock was shocked that such chaos could feel like such a comfort to him, sometimes he would even simply sit on the corner of your bed to think when he found himself commissioned for a particularly difficult case. Was it the room? Sherlock thought, placing oneself in an environment different from one’s usual accommodations has occasionally been found to be very mentally stimulating, he reasoned, or was it just you?

“Perhaps she is…” Sherlock thought out loud, a shadow of melancholy washed over him. If you truly were courting someone, he supposed it wouldn’t be long until you had moved out of the house, it would be most improper of you to be living with other men while you entertained whatever man had had the fortune of attaining your affections.

Sherlock was sure Mycroft had continued to speak, though he found no more importance in anything else he would have to say. As if in a trance, he found himself pulled to the library, thoughtlessly pulling the shimmering cover of the book you treasured so much, only to open it and find the first few pages devoid of your precious flowers. He felt his shoulders slump a little as he continued to flip through the pages, no flowers.

He slipped the novel back into its place, his fingers lingering over the spine that you had touched so many times. It was your favorite. The golden foil that was speckled across the cover and spine had grown just the slightest bit duller from use, the pages worn and slightly stained from countless days of you skimming the pages with messy hands as you cooked.

He wondered if you would take the book once you left, a selfish part of him hoped that you would leave it behind, though you were so fond of it, he doubted you would ever forget it. Maybe, if he hid it away in one of the top cabinets, behind the various flours and sugars in the kitchen, you’d be unable to find it. Sherlock let out a hushed chuckle, he was sure you’d turn the entire house over searching for it, he could imagine your lips drawn into a thin line, hands placed firmly on your hips as you meticulously scanned through the bookshelves. Maybe you’d even call on him for help, asking for him to reach the higher shelves to see if it had somehow miraculously traveled on its own, but all the while, he’d know it was tucked away, safe and sound for him to keep as a reminder of your presence.

“If I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you were as well” Mycroft interrupted

Sherlock responded with a confused ‘Hmm?’ before understanding.

Oh.

But he refused to give his brother the satisfaction of a witty reply, he wasn’t even sure he could come up with one at the moment. Instead, he stormed off into his room, and annoyingly, his brother’s presence followed him, his footsteps almost directly behind his own. Sherlock groaned as he attempted to close his door behind him, only to be stopped as Mycroft’s hand paused it from slamming. Sherlock still continued to ignore him though as he retrieved his violin with stumbling hands, he closed his eyes as he began to play, doing his best to block out Mycroft’s existence entirely.

“How many times must you play that same song?”

Sherlock finally stopped, the bow smacking the side of his thigh as he took a deep breath to steady himself before replying. “Play what, Mycroft?” His voice was strained, clearly holding himself back from saying anything more.

“Beethoven, Sherlock! You’ve been playing that same, lovesick ballad for weeks on end!”

“What do you mean.” Sherlock almost growled.

“Romance Number Two? Sherlock? I mean-”

“I like it”

The soft, enthusiastic chirp had both brother’s whipping their necks to face you.

“It’s my favorite, actually” You smiled, basket still in hand.

“You’re back early” Mycroft added harshly.

“I finished up much quicker than I had imagined” Your eyes were now trained on a particular wooden board in the flooring, shifting your weight back and forth in the doorway.

Why did you seem so nervous?

“Sherlock?”

He finally flicked his eyes up to look at you.

“Could I speak with you for a moment?”

Sherlock felt his throat go dry, a choked “Of course” was all he could manage to say to you, his thoughts too cluttered for any other response.

“I’ll leave you to it, then” Mycroft spat, closing the door swiftly behind him as he left.

Your soft smile faded, and Sherlock’s stomach dropped, no, he refused to let his emotions get the better of him. “You’ve met someone?” He muttered offhand, trying to look as casual as possible as he did.

The same panicked expression from when he had first interrogated you crept on your features again. You furrowed your brows, “What?”

“You’ve met someone.” He repeated, the statement now laced with venom and frustration

“Sherlock, I’ve-”

"The sleeplessness, your anxieties, your leaving every week, I believed we were friends, but it's apparent now you've taken me for a fool."

You inhaled a sharp gasp, your mouth opening in closing as you attempted to conjure a response.

Sherlock watched you with a self-assured smirk, he'd most certainly caught you off guard. “We should have a few boxes for you to put your things in, it would be quite improp-”

“I don’t know wh-”

“It would be best for you to leave as soon as possible." He paused, your chest rose and fell rapidly, the basket handle almost creaking at the force at which you gripped it with, but you didn't look angry with him, you looked in pain, a heartbroken expression written over your features. Sherlock was sure you would look in less agony if someone had stabbed you directly in your chest. He took a deep breath before continuing. "I’m sure Enola would be happy to assist you.” He finally finished, reluctantly raising his gaze to your own. You blinked your eyes furiously, your lip quivered as a single tear left a trail down your cheek.

“Okay.” You whispered

Sherlock had at least thought you would put up more of a fight, some sort of argument, he certainly did not expect you to fold so easily at his words.

“I, uh...” You breathed, shakily retrieving something from your basket, “I came to give this to you.” You slowly shuffled over to him, your fingertips quickly ghosting over his own as he took the cloth from you.

He gently uncovered the object, a pocket watch, the silver thing he had seen hidden away in your basket before you had left. He examined the engraved metal in his hand with a soft smile, he was filled with a burgeoning feeling of guilt at his previous words. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so harsh with you, it was your life after all? Who was he to tell you how to live it and who you lived it with?

“It- It opens...” You stammered, gesturing to his hand.

Sherlock carefully unclasped the pendant, and his eyes grew wide, it wasn’t a pocket watch at all, he met your eyes again, alternating his gaze between you and your gift as he processed it. A locket, just as shimmering on the inside as it was on the outside. The soft petals of the preserved daisy flowers embedded behind a thin pane of glass.

“I understand if it’s a bit too-”

“No, I-” Sherlock cut himself off, “It’s wonderful, thank you.”

You smiled sadly in response, “I’ve been collecting them for a while, thought I’d finally make something of them…” You added quietly

The despair was evident in your voice, it was now clear to Sherlock how much he had hurt you. “I’m sorry” He stoically replied, “But, um… Thank you” Slipping the gift into his suit pocket.

“I guess I’d better be going then.” You spoke after a beat of silence, quickly turning to leave. Though before you opened the door, you paused, your hand trembling as you grasped the doorknob. “I haven’t though, just so you know.”

“I’m sorry?” Sherlock seemed to be frozen in place, his mind raced as he tried to comprehend what you could be referring to.

“Met anyone. I haven’t.”

Sherlock had to stifle the gasp that threatened to spill from his lips, how could he have been so wrong about this? Mycroft was right, all signs pointed to some new infatuation, but you couldn’t possibly be lying, could you? You were always a terrible liar, it was one of the many things Sherlock had come to adore about you. So what had had you so flustered recently? “Ah…” Was all he could reply with.

“I just wanted you to know.” You sighed, “There’s no one else.”

No one else. The words rang in Sherlock’s ears as he stood dumbfounded behind you. No one else. You weren’t seeing anyone on your weekly escapes, you were only innocently collecting flowers for him.

The realization hit him so powerfully that it threatened to knock him off balance.

You had done it for him.

The sleeplessness, the anxiety, was it all for him as well? There was really only one way to find out.

Before he could give his body permission, he found himself gliding over to you, softly grasping your wrist before you could turn the doorknob. You quickly turned your head to face him, and it seemed you had stopped fighting back the tears that were on the verge of falling moments ago. Sherlock sighed your name, his hand coming up to wipe your cheek, his heart hammering in his chest as you leaned into his touch. “I’m so sorry… I just thought…” He trailed off, he wasn’t even entirely certain what he was thinking, and he scowled himself for being so reckless. Sherlock slowly inched his face closer to your own, giving you time to turn him away if you so pleased.

But you didn’t.

You only stared right back at him, the shadow of a smile gracing your lips.

So he kissed you, his lips gently molding into your own as he did. His other hand made its way around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer against his chest. He held you as if you were the most fragile thing in this world, his lids fluttering closed as you now gripped onto the collar of his jacket.

Sherlock reluctantly pulled away from you, humming softly in amusement as he watched you chase his lips before opening your eyes again.

“Just so you know,” He spoke breathlessly, “There’s never been anyone else either.”

oh goodness, i am yeARNING!!!!! i am absolutely pining for this man right now, very much thanks to my lovely may, and thank you so much for enabling (and beginning) my love for this man with our many Thoughts, you are lovely human and mwauh!!!

i hope you all enjoyed this!! i'm planning on getting back to regularly scheduled loki content very soon!!

A broken engagement.

Sherlock presumes he should be happy -- relieved at least.

But he was … surprised. Painfully so.

Sherlock Holmes, the greatest mind in modern history, has an inability to be surprised. He sees too much, understands every glance and touch. If it intrigues him he will be able to decipher a situation in one glance.

He thinks of it as a gift, one that has proven useful in more ways than one. It had definitely saved his back from many situations. His surprisingly hopelessly romantic little sister (all thanks to a certain young duke) seems to think otherwise.

“Those inquisitive eyes of yours make you incapable of understanding a woman’s heart, dear brother. You’re too logical. It makes you blind.”

A woman’s heart. He had scoffed then. He knew it would be a while before he would try to settle down, or actually find a woman he would find tolerable enough to spend his waking moments with. In fact, he doubts he would’ve found someone who would be willing to deal with his intricacies too.

Yet, if there was one person who would be able to catch him off guard it would be his eccentric fiance.

Logically, it wasn’t that she was as brilliant as he was, as conniving as his older brother Mycroft, nor as sneaky as his little sister Enola. In one glance she was a pretty average but certainly a beautiful woman. A bit simplistic sure but not too doltish either.

However, she just refuses to be predictable, doing things that not even one as smart as Sherlock can foretell. He still isn’t quite sure if he had been underestimating her or she was too daft for Sherlock to apply the logic of his world.

It was arranged -- one that would bring her family honor for marrying the genius of the century Sherlock Holmes and his a proper title that would leverage him some power that would be useful for his … line of work.

When the engagement between the two families had been announced he had expected the brat that was half a decade younger than him to throw a hissy fit -- a noblewoman born with a golden spoon would not want to marry one of lower position with lesser blood.

But she had been agreeable.

Even giddy at the prospect of marrying him.

“I’ve read so much of your work!”

She was bluffing, he was certain. Many women had tried to sneak their way with sweet words only to go mute when he asked them about the details.

“I thought for sure the butler was the murderer,” she pouted. He told her not to feel bad, almost everyone did. “But I did think the way the maid told the police it was murder before there was an investigation was a bit weird. Though a part of me thought maybe she was just her lover.”

That made Sherlock’s brows raise. He had the same observation the first time, it was one of the first clues he had that the woman had not been a simple servant.

He thought maybe she wasn’t so terrible then, at that very moment.

That was until he had learned from the whispers of their social circles that she had been the one to instigate the engagement after all. Probably a whim of hers that was a bit too eagerly given by her doting father.

It left a bad taste in his mouth.

But, truly, you weren't a horrible person, he had observed.

Despite living in high society her entire life she was never one to look down on those beneath her. Her head may be up in the clouds most of the time, a bit too idealistic and naive for his liking, but to her everyone was equal that even a man from a fallen house would be worthy enough to marry into hers.

Even sparing those nosy hags a sharp glare, using her undeniably high status to cut through any whispers and rumors of his own lesser status. Reminding everyone of how he had managed to crawl and sneak himself from a fallen family back into high society -- a feat not achieved by a mere no one.

It made him see her as a powerful ally.

Then she became a friend.

He didn’t have a lot.

Someone who won’t think of his corrections on facts as bragging. A person who won’t purposefully misunderstand him to soothe their own wounded pride.

“You’re brilliant, ‘lock!” she’d grin, eyes always twinkling in pure delight every time he’d prove himself right, even at your own expense. “Absolutely brilliant!”

Someone who won’t think of his painfully practical gifts as a mockery.

“What was it called? Hairclips?” she’d look at them curiously at first, making sure to understand both its intricacies and simplicity until he explains it.

Then she’ll smile -- always smiling at him. “I love it!”

Then … she was gone.

Slipped through his own fingers like sand. As she got crushed by his own betrayal.

It all started with a ghost from his past.

Victoria.

She was an old childhood friend and a teammate when he was still starting in his sleuthing skills. His hobby pissed off a lot of important people so it was a nice help to have someone to watch his back.

He thought his young fiance would be livid, turning into a vile woman from jealousy like so many women he has seen.

But she tolerated them and their relationship as best as she could.

“'lock?”

He turned, surprised to see his fiance in her sleeping ware and a thin coat over it. Despite her many quirks, she wasn’t one to dress inappropriately in front of others much less in front of him. So he was quick to close the front door and protect her decency as best as he could.

“Are you …” she turned to look at him, and for the first time she wasn’t smiling like she always does, Sherlock saw the insecurity in her eyes.

“Is she coming with you?”

The jealousy was slowly eating her up from the inside.

And … it made him smile.

Almost relieved.

It was confusing but he didn’t have time to figure it out. Time was ticking, and he had to catch the burning wick before it imploded.

And Mycroft’s screams from the carriage outside were getting vexing.

Knowing what he knew now, he should’ve stayed in that goddamn house and let everything else explode into chaos.

He should’ve stayed with you.

“Darling,” It was his endearment for her. Cause she was such a darling to be with. But now, he simply meant it. She was his darling, his darling fiancee, his darling friend. “You wouldn’t have to worry about my fidelity.”

“I --” she yelped, shaking her head as if embarrassed at the thoughts in her head. “... I knew that.”

“Look at me,” he leaned down, gently pushing her chin up to make her look up at him. “When I come back, let’s talk about the wedding, hmm? I’m still not quite convinced about the bouquet arrangement that the damned florist from hell picked.”

That seemed to perk her up and he couldn’t help but smile with her.

“So wait for me, okay?”

He should’ve known that the fates wouldn’t be that kind.

That they wouldn’t wait.

It wasn’t until he was knee-deep in uncovering secrets that he realized they had pulled a fast one on him. That their target to keep his mouth shut would not be his own life but his Achilles heel.

His darling.

“You don’t want to do this, Mikhael!” Mycroft, Sherlock’s older brother tried his best to use his veiled threats to convince the rat to put down the gun aimed shakily at his sobbing fiance and a Victoria that tried to hide her behind her own back, hands spread out with only a few feet between the two of them.

“Mikhael put it down. It’s over.”

Sherlock was frozen a few feet from the two ladies, fearful that a single misstep would cost him a friend.

He didn’t have a lot.

“I’m not falling down alone.”

“No!”

He must’ve gone insane, or it must’ve been his instinct to protect his old partner in crime.

But to this day he could never wipe the betrayal in your eyes as he grabbed Victoria away from the bullet’s line of sight instead of you. The two of them falling to the ground just in time for the great Sherlock Holmes to finally realize his great mistake as he lay sprawled out on the floor.

Looking up just to catch your tearful eyes, a hundred different emotions running through it.

Mycroft, bless him, managed to pull you down by your feet but he had been just a split second too late, the bullet piercing on your left arm instead of your chest. But Sherlock had a feeling his betrayal hurt deeper than any bullet could burrow on your skin.

He had a feeling the bullet might as well have pierced your bruised heart.

Especially as you laid there with tears in your eyes, but failed to let out a single scream.

Sherlock had never been good with emotions.

It was one of his few flaws -- could never read when a person is getting offended or if his corrections have started to embarrass them. Could read their minds but not their sentiments.

Just like now when you surprised him once more as he stared at you in the hospital bed with a bouquet of flowers he had spent too much time thinking about gripped in his hand. Narcissus for forgiveness, and bright purple hyacinth for regret.

“I’m fine, really!” you smiled, but it wasn’t the one he was used to. Head flinching to the side, suddenly uncomfortable. It had the same curve, your eyes still crinkling the same but you still looked so sad.

A deep sadness, one that rooted from somewhere he could never reach. One he could never heal -- not with his too careful, logical, cold touches.

But what does he know? He was never good with emotions.

“I … I have no excuse,” he started, trying to apologize but you just shook your head.

“You will never have to give me one,” you looked at him like you understood but still he had a feeling you didn’t have the same train of thoughts running in your heads. He almost feels you pulling away, your train trudging away into a place he couldn’t follow. Your roads diverging, seemingly never to meet again.

It sent shivers up his spine, his hand twitching as if desperate to reach out to you. That despite all logic of reality, his heart screams of the feeling of you suddenly disappearing right in front of his very eyes.

“Darling …”

You flinched. A normal man would miss it but not him. Maybe his gift truly was a curse.

“I’m --”

“Visiting time is over, dearie.”

The old nurse was apologetic at having to cut short the reunion of the two lovers but it was the rules.

“I’ll come to visit tomorrow,” Sherlock walked to your side to place the flower on your lap.

“You don’t have to.”

“I’ll come,” he insisted, reaching out to touch a stray hair on your face as he always does but you turned, looking down on the flowers on your lap and pressing on its fragile petals.

Sherlock could’ve almost felt your connection snap.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, my darling.”

You flinched, taking a breath before looking up at him, smiling.

You still looked so fucking sad.

“Goodbye, 'lock.”

“Sherlock.”

The familiar voice broke him out of his reverie as he paced the steps back to his carriage.

“Victoria.”

He tries not to be bitter, tries to be rational, and not blame his old friend for the grave he had dug himself in. But it was difficult not to grind his jaw when he was barely out of the hospital he had unintentionally put his fiance in.

“I never thanked you,” she approached him slowly, like a wild animal she was trying to befriend.

“Don’t.”

He doesn’t want to be thanked, doesn’t even want to be reminded of what he’s done -- or did not do. Yet here she stood, the greatest piece of evidence of his mistake.

“We need to talk,” she sighed, blocking his way and effectively halting his steps.

“Victoria, I’m tired --”

“You do not belong here.”

You froze on your step, just about to go to the ensuite bathroom when an eerily familiar voice sneaked into your room from the front window overlooking the entrance of the hospital.

“Here?”

This time, you knew before looking down outside the hospital walls just who exactly the other voice is.

“Yes, here,” the fiery woman with her fiery hair stomped the ground she stood on. Eyes blazing in passion and determination you had never had on your own. “Here in this stuffy place with your stuffy clothes that make you look like a circus fool trying to make pleasantries with people you don’t even like.”

Gritting your teeth, you felt like a nosy child, listening to personal conversations that just chipped away at every piece of your tattered heart.

“Well, don’t you know me quite well.”

“I do.”

She answered.

“I do know you,” Victoria reached out, hand gripping the one that wasn’t holding his cane. “And I know I could make you happy.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened, frozen on his feet. He wasn’t a fool. He knew of those affections behind her eyes, it was all too familiar with him. But as the years passed he had appreciated her friendship and companionship way too much, pushing and pushing it until it just disappeared.

He had hoped the years had done the same for her.

He was a fool.

The silence was all too thick but Victoria knew pushing a man like Sherlock for an answer would lead to pointless nothing, “My uncle in America, he wants me to work for him. And … they have an opening for a lead detective and a President’s assassination to solve.”

That piqued his interest.

An American president was assassinated?

This is exactly why he needs more connections. One that would give him priceless information so he doesn’t have to keep chasing tails. But … a position as a head detective would also do that for him.

Logically, remaining engaged to you would only chain him down.

Yet, his chest constricts, each breath made his lungs throb.

“Sherlock,” he led his eyes back into her eyes. Their history flashed before his very eyes, good ones, but the last one had him nearly crushing the cane you gave him in his hand.

The look in your eyes as the bullet pierced you -- the resignation, the lack of shock.

Like you knew he would run.

“You can always run away with me.”

Foxgloves for confusion.

White Poppies for the one who gives him peace.

And a pink ribbon because he knew it was your favorite color to tie it all together.

However, just as he finished the last bow for the flower he was gonna bring you tomorrow, the door opened, his servant bowed letting him know of who exactly waited for him, unannounced, in the tea room.

“Sir,” his voice was shaky, and Sherlock knew exactly why. “We have a guest.”

The duke has always been a fair man, it was one of the reasons he always had a certain fondness for this sponsor of his.

But even he knew his glare was meant to cut.

“Mr. Holmes,” he eyed the love seat on his right to let him know where exactly he wants him to sit. He had been prepared for this, knowing your doting father would have his head.

The silence that filled the glamorous room was almost too much.

It wasn’t until the duke called his name again that he realized he had been so full of shame that he failed to be polite and look your father in the eyes.

“You know, when my daughter shoved a newspaper to my face, droning on and on about the brilliant detective that was putting the Queen’s men to shame, I thought nothing about it.”

He felt his heart drop at the nonchalant revelation.

What?

He hadn’t heard of this version of the story yet All that was said to him was a certain duke had been fond of him ever since he had disrespected his nemesis that had once been the Queen’s head of security and that’s why he decided to sponsor him.

“And even when she begged me to support you, saying how you needed all the help you could get, I thought it was nothing short of an infatuation. So I did what any respectable father should do and tried to buy my way into her happiness, getting her to be your fiance was easy enough,” he let out a small bitter laugh as if recalling the memories. “But you could not imagine her rage when I told her of what I did. Nearly dragging me back all the way to your home to take it back. Screaming about how she did not want to trap a man like you who was clearly meant to fly.”

Sherlock was flabbergasted. It was well-known throughout the social circles that you were the one who had ”trapped” the man into an engagement. You had always laughed it off, teasing him for falling for your charms.

But …. you didn’t want to marry him?

He had thought all this time that this silly little engagement had been all your doing.

“But then you accepted,” the duke gritted his teeth. “And you gave her hope.”

He did. He remembered nonchalantly accepting it, simply thinking of the arrangement as a necessity -- a thing he has to suffer for if it meant getting to what he wants in the end.

But it seemed you knew. You knew all along he had no love for you -- barely tolerating his fiancee who he treated like a fool when all she had ever wanted was to be the one to walk beside the lonely path he had created for himself.

“I know a rational man like you is probably wondering what an old man like me aims to achieve by coming here,” he didn’t, but Sherlock already knew of his effect on people, his dead glare that offended the most rational of minds, always making them think that he was looking down on them.

Except you.

“Oh, I didn’t know that.”

“Did I use the hairclips right, Lock?”

“I think people always hate people who they think are better than them. And you are better than the lot of them so don’t bother with it and let other people lick their own pride. I like you just the way you are.”

The Duke leaned back, slumping on the arm of the couch while rubbing his forehead.

“I guess I’m making a case for my daughter,” he pursed his lips as if he was disgusted that he would even have to, especially to a man who would benefit more from the arrangement than his daughter ever would. “To show you that the woman you failed to protect had never failed you behind your back.”

“Sir --”

“I am not done!” he slammed his hand on the arm of the chair. Even someone like Sherlock would know unbridled rage when he saw one. “I did not just come here just to rip you a new one.”

Pulling out a plain envelope with a certain scent that had been all too familiar for him. The letters that had been his constant companion in the long months he would have to leave the country.

“The engagement is broken.”

He was fairly sure this was the first time he felt horror.

True horror.

An unexplainable chill that crawls up from behind him, snickering, mocking.

The consequences of his continuous mistakes finally piled up on him one by one until he felt like his chest would burst. His blood turning so cold yet his skin couldn’t help but sweat. His brain, for once, finally failed him as he grabbed the fragile piece of paper without uttering a single word.

It would seem this was something he could no longer fix.

“I know someone as brilliant as you would have a life full of adventures. One brighter than the next,” the duke stood up, slamming the teacup impolitely on the glass table. Sherlock could only focus on the crack that ran on the base. “But I hope you don’t wake up one day, tired and worn, sitting at the top with no one to call home. Too focused on the adventures you didn’t take that you never realized the treasure at the end of the trail had been something you once had all along.”

The old duke walked towards to door, sparing the young man one last glance – satisfied in the sickest way as a father should when he saw the look on his face. But then he felt sad, wondering what would happen to this lonely soul now that his daughter had given up on him.

“Well, son,” he sighed. “Now, you can fly.”

The country air has done you some good.

It’s been a long month but the throbbing in your heart has finally ceased even if just for a little bit.

Your late mother always told you to let bad things flow through you as you go through life – to not ignore it, nor suppress it but to let yourself feel it as it passes then let it go.

The problem now is you didn’t want to let go, because all the memories that did nothing but hurt you were all you had left of him.

“My lady.”

You turned your face away from the view of the balcony of your room to look at your polite maid by the door.

“We have a guest.”

Was your father visiting?

He had explicitly told you to take all the time you need in your countryside home. The humiliation of your broken engagement you would’ve been able to take but everywhere you went was nothing but a painful reminder of the man who had betrayed your heart and thus you had to leave.

Every nook where he had dragged you in when the crowds gets overwhelming to every store he bought the intricate gifts he would offer you on the daily made you wilt.

Your father was all too willing to get you out of that place.

“Dad?”

Yet what stood in the middle of your waiting lounge was the sturdy body and mop of curly brown hair that had chased you from the shadows of England to the edge of your wildest dreams.

“Not quite, darling.”

A breath you didn’t know you left you.

“Sherlock.”

It was him. You turned to the small mirror hanging by the wall to as if to check if he was real yet his reflection stood the same way he did. Maybe it was the months of the distance between you two or the longing you have been trying to supress for months but looking at him now he seemed taller. A bit less confident but his eyes didn’t hold the same blankness that was nearly constant except in the few moments you managed to make him chuckle. He seemed finally sure of something, not the lost man that always had wandering eyes for bigger brighter things.

“What are you doing here?”

His eyes were as bright as the last time you had truly looked at it. Though now, it wasn’t as sharp as he let his gaze run to you, it makes you uncomfortable.

“I’ve come to deliver a letter.”

You frowned.

The last you had heard of him was that he was on a boat to American soil. What the hell is he doing in your self-imposed exile with a freakishly ominous letter.

“Is it … bad news?” you waried. He grimaced.

“I hope not.”

That did nothing for your worries. Sighing you took a couple of steps, holding your breath in hopes his scent won’t go into your system after you had vigorously flushed it out of your memory but it wafted in your nose the same.

You clenched your jaw to stop a shudder.

Flipping the letter, you found nothing to indicate that it had come from your father. Instead, in his print was a small header that let you know exactly what the rest of the official letter would contain.

A letter of proposal.

You steeled yourself to not look up in the mesmerizing eyes that threatens to bore holes on the top of your head.

“What the hell.”

“Language.”

Despite yourself, you glared up at him, your proximity forcing you to crane your neck but he just chuckled, nervously.

“Sherlock, what is this?”

He sighed. He didn’t break eye contact as he gently took your hands, guiding you to sit in the plush sofa while he kneeled down on one knee in front of you.

“Darling.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Unfortunately, my darling, I can’t,” he smiled, one of those rare ones you once used to steal from him. “After all, you are my darling, are you not? It would be silly of me to call you otherwise.”

“Stop with the games, Sherlock!”

That seemed to take him off guard, horrified when he finally saw the tears in your eyes.

“I am not one of your people of interest that you can trick with your confusing words! I did my dues! I gave you the freedom to make you happy! Was it not enough? What would be enough?! Because I’m –” you bit your lip to stop a wobble. “I’m empty now. I have nothing left of me to give you.”

“My darling.”

You looked at him to throw him another glare when the knives behind your eyes wavered at the grief in his. An unfamiliar emotion you never once saw in him.

“Forgive me,” for once in your life, you realized, you were looking down on him. He continued to surprise you when he rested his head on your knee. “You loved a fool.”

“Sherlock …”

“But I’m begging you,” he was determined, now confidently grabbing your hand as he leaned in closer. “I’m begging you to marry this fool – make me yours.”

You could feel your jaw falling in shock.

“Wha –,” you blinked. “What about Victoria?”

He shook his head, “That ship had long passed.”

“But you deserve – you were supposed to –”

“No,” he tightened his grip on your shaky hands. “I adore you with all my being but even you cannot dictate what I am meant to do. Because I am a selfish man who had always done whatever I want.”

“I’m even more confused, did I not give you what you had wanted?”

He calmed your shaking faith down with a simple kiss on the palm of your hands. Looked at you as if he had ran through this situation a million times in his head, his answer study and sure like those times everything clicks in a case and he finally found his truth.

“In all my complexities I have realized one thing because of you,” he explained, a soft smile on his face that had you letting out a breath. “I am, after all, a simple man. Just like any other man I had looked down upon for turning into fools for a woman. That I am one of those men who will uproot their entire life and throw away all their vocations if just for a spare glance from the woman they love.”

He chuckled when you gaped at him as if he too couldn’t believe what he was saying.

“And for all my ambitions, my greatest one is that I want to be loved by you most of all.”

You didn’t realize you had forgotten to blink throughout his declaration of love until you felt a warm tear getting wiped away from your cheek.

“Sherlock …”

“So I come as a simple man, a second son from a fallen family, with no prospects other than the fact that I will assure you a life full of glory and happiness,” his free hand was suddenly holding a beautiful olive box that opened to show the family ring that was passed down from one wife of each generation. “To let me be the fool who will love you the most out of them all.”

“Papa!”

Sherlock’s conversation with the mayor was cut short, his only warning was the familiar hue of his daughter’s bouncing hair before he was nearly tackled to the ground.

“Allianah! You’re father was talking to the guest!”

His daughter pouted at his wife’s reprimands.

“Sorry, Mr. Guest.”

Both men chuckled, Sherlock pressing a kiss on her chubby cheeks. “Excuse me.”

The old man only nodded fondly. He had been familiar of Sherlock Holmes when he was a bit younger, so it was a pleasant surprise to see him become a doting family man no one could’ve seen coming.

“Darling, I told you to rest,” your husband softly scolded. Even though it was a party to celebrate his latest success as your father’s partner on your daily business and saving London by foiling the plans of wannabe bioterrorists on his spare time, he had still forbidden you in breaking the bedrest your doctor had ordered you to take after finding out you were probably carrying twins this time. “Let’s get you and the little ones upstairs, hmm?”

“I’m fine, lock,” a pout too similar to the ones his daughter gave him not a minute ago would’ve made him offer the world up to you on a platter, but this was one of the rare times he stood his ground.

“I know you are, my darling,” he cooed, but still placed a supporting arm on your back as he guided you up the stairs and into the master’s bedroom. “But humor me and my worries, don’t you?”

Once the three of you were on the second floor of your home he turned to his bouncing, energetic daughter.

“Yannah, sweetheart, why don’t you go to your bedroom, I'll tuck you in in a bit.”

Ever the daddy’s girl, your daughter nodded once then bounded her way out of your bedroom and onto the other side of the estate being chased by her maids.

“That was easy,” you raised a brow, letting yourself be led to the master’s bedroom, the dying light from the sunset outside drowned it in gentle orange hues. Despite your initial protests, you sighed in relief as you melted in your marital bed.

Carrying a Holmes' inside you was getting bad for your back.

“I guess I just know my way around Holmes women.”

That made you giggle, reaching up your hands to cup his face and press small kisses around them. He took the opportunity to tuck the blanket tighter around your body.

“Try not to give me a heart attack and stay here for the rest of the night, hmm?”

You nodded, pressing one last kiss to his lips “do you have to go back down, lock?”

It was lonely, having to be confined in your room all the time. The moment he had found out about your pregnancy he had taken the first ship off the foreign country he was in, his heart almost failing when he saw his heavily pregnant wife walking around the city with his daughter like she wasn’t carrying life inside her.

Which is exactly why you had tried to hide it from him as much as possible. In hindsight, it was foolish to do so considering who you were married to. It led to you and him being visited by a doctor he had trusted that broke the news to the two of you of the possibility of twins.

You had never seen the outside of your estate ever since.

Thankfully, your husband has banned work from entering your home either, dedicating his time solely to making sure you were well taken care of throughout the entire pregnancy.

Sometimes, when he has a dull moment for himself it makes him laugh.

Oh, what would his self from 5 years ago think if he saw him now.

He’d like to see his face if he knew that the giddy woman who got on the end of his every last nerve would one day carry his name, his children, and his happiness in her soft little hands.

That she would one day be the one to give him everything he had been searching for his entire life.

“‘Lock? Pretty please?”

That every adventure he had thought would brighten his life would dull in comparison to the colors of her eyes as she pleaded for him to abandon their guests like heathens and spend the rest of his days with her.

He pretended to think about it until your pleading eyes got bigger making him smile fondly at his wife. “Alright, I'm sure Mycroft can handle entertaining our guests till the night.”

In the ballroom, Mycroft felt a shiver run up his spine.

With you in his arms, he lets his mind wander.

He thinks his past self would think he did alright.

I know this is not stepdaddy but I promise that is coming soon! This has been sitting in my WIP's for so long i just had to finish it before finals end me. I hope you like it!!

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬:

𝖋𝖗𝖊𝖊 𝖋𝖆𝖑𝖑|𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧: 𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧’𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬. 𝐄𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧. (𝐇𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐲 𝐂𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫). 𝐨𝐧𝐞|𝐭𝐰𝐨|𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞|𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫|𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞|𝐬𝐢𝐱|𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧|

𝖆𝖚𝖗𝖔𝖗𝖗𝖆|𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐨, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐮𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫. 𝐨𝐧𝐞|𝐭𝐰𝐨|𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞|

𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬:

𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖑 𝖎 𝖒𝖊𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚| 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐲𝗼𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝗺𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝗼 𝗺𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖏𝖓𝖌 𝖆 𝖇𝖗𝖔𝖐𝖊𝖓 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙| 𝐚 𝐥𝗼𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝗼𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝗼𝐮 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝗼𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐠ri𝐥𝐲 𝗼𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐲.

𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖐𝖉𝖍𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖗| 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐨 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧.

𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖑𝖊 𝖘𝖊𝖈𝖗𝖊𝖙| 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝖆𝖓 𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖑𝖞 𝖈𝖍𝖗𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖒𝖆𝖘 𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖊𝖓𝖙| 𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭.

𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖐𝖋𝖚𝖑| 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐦.

𝖇𝖎𝖌 𝖇𝖗𝖆𝖙| 𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐲'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡.

𝖍𝖚𝖓𝖌𝖗𝖞| 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐲!𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧.

𝖙𝖎𝖕𝖘𝖞| 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐩𝐬𝐲. 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐧𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡.

𝖎𝖘𝖘𝖚𝖊𝖘| 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞. 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐲, 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭.

𝖓𝖊𝖆𝖗 𝖒𝖎𝖘𝖘| 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐲.

𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖊𝖙𝖈𝖍| 𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞.

𝖚𝖓𝖊𝖝𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖉| 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐲.

𝖇𝖆𝖇𝖞 𝖘𝖆𝖞 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖑𝖊𝖙 𝖒𝖊 𝖌𝖔| 𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩. (𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

𝕷𝖔𝖐𝖎: 𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐲'𝐬 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬.

𝖋𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖘 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖇𝖊𝖓𝖊𝖋𝖎𝖙𝖘: 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐲'𝐬 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐛𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐲

𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫:

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬:

𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: 𝐀𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐫, 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐠 𝐊𝐚𝐥. 𝐀 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬, 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭. "𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠." 𝐇𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞. 𝐨𝐧𝐞|𝐭𝐰𝐨|𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞|

𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖓𝖊𝖗 𝖎𝖓 𝖈𝖗𝖎𝖒𝖊 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬:

𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖘: 𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭.

𝖒𝖎𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖉 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊: 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐀𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐀𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭.

𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐭:

𝖜𝖎𝖉𝖊 𝖊𝖞𝖊𝖘: 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞.

𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐚:

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬:

𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖊𝖑𝖛𝖊𝖘: 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞. 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐲, 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬. 𝐨𝐧𝐞|𝐭𝐰𝐨|

One Shots / Drabbles

Henry Cavill Masterlist

Captain Syverson Masterlist

Walter Marshall Masterlist

August Walker Masterlist

Geralt of Rivia Masterlist

Sherlock Holmes Masterlist

Other

(Asks/Headcanon)

Why are Men on Motorcycles so Hot?

Detective Grumpypants Fav Television Shows

My Perfect Day With Captain Syverson (smut/fluff)

Henry's characters finding out you got a tattoo Headcanon

Flat Pack Headcanon

Homemade Gifts Headcanon

Captain Syverson Breeding Kink Headcanon

Erectile Disfunction Headcanon: (with @henryobsessed)

Consensual Non-Consent Headcanon

Playlists

The Captain's Sexy Time Playlist: Captain Syverson

Detective Grumpypants Playlist: Walter Marshall

Solo's Sexy Swinging Songs Playlist: Napoleon Solo

Mike's Hellishly Hot Hits Playlist: Mike Hellraiser

Moodboards

Walter WIP

Gifs

Henry Cavill interview at Witchercon

Henry Cavill Muscletech teaser

Henry Cavill 2015 Jameson Empire Awards Captain Syverson vibes

Henry Cavill 2015 Jameson Empire Awards red carpet

Henry Cavill 2015 CinemaCon MTV interview

Henry Cavill Jersey RFC, 2015 Siam Cup post match celebrations

Stories by ScaryRabbit:

Bitten: Zombie King Zeus x Female Reader

Original Characters:

Her Heavy Cross (Complete)

Parts Masterlist

Liam (OMC) x Lana (OFC)

Random Stuff

Gifs

The Princess Bride

The Wild One

Army of the Dead: Set 1 Set 2 Set 3

Australian Stuff

Gifs

The Castle

Housos