#acd holmes

Holmes: What r u talking about Watson, I literally always want you to come with me

We then have a side quest while Holmes makes his train obsession everyone else’s problem

Srsly Holmes people actually have to walk there

Watson, unbothered, unlike the rest of the staff and passengers: Did you have a good time feeding your fixation, dear?

None of this relates to the plot in any way; I assume it’s fanservice for us neurodivergent folks. Onward to horse country!

Holmes, despite being a literal horse girl, doesn’t appear to like horse people, or at least horse-owner people

Probably because they’re like this guy

He’d make a good live-action Monopoly guy

Watson: Can I commit a murder this time? Please?

Somehow they make it to Horse Central without murdering the Monopoly guy. Horse Central is missing a horse but does have a dead trainer, an angry dog, and a lot of exposition

And deductions for Watson! We get praise and a shoulder pat!

We also get gambler!Watson, although apparently Granada doesn’t go with the dangerously-addicted-to-gambling-Watson headcanon, since apparently Holmes doesn’t know about it?? Really?!?

Anyway.

Watson gets to show off some medical knowledge (presumably a cataract knife was/is a real thing), and Holmes gets to play in the dirt! Favorite activities for everyone!

(And by favorite activities, we mean Holmes getting to watch Watson show off medical knowledge and Watson getting to watch Holmes play in the dirt)

Also, favorite date activities: Dashing around inhospitable environments with detective equipment!

Next up: Our daily dose of unnecessarily intimate exchanges in public!

I have no idea what Watson was supposed to keep guard over. Personally I think Holmes just enjoys activating Soldier!Watson

Ok.

Guys.

GUYS

Are you done yet, guys?

No? Ok.

Why was Watson supposed to linger? No idea.

Seriously this has to be up there with “cockfighting is against the law” in the list of non-platonic moments in this show.

Jeremy Brett knows what he’s doing

Anyway. After Watson lingers, Holmes asks a farm staff person about the sheep and gets pretty excited (to Watson, bc that’s the only opinion he actually cares about) about the answer.

And we’re stuck in a carriage with the Monopoly guy again

Holmes would like to direct his attention…

(He said the thing)

HE SAID THE THING!!!

Also we’re up to three plot-relevant animal species at this point, if you’re counting

You know what’s not plot-relevant? John Watson in his race-day suit. You know who doesn’t care that that’s not plot-relevant? Sherlock Holmes.

Srsly Holmes. The kid with the bucket is the relevant thing here but do you care? Nope. “Here’s Dr. Watson.”

Anyway spoilers!

This is a Scooby-Doo-level plot for real.

Seriously they painted the horse.

Let’s see who’s really under there!

…the murderer???

Holmes supports horses’ rights AND horses’ wrongs

And then it’s back to the house for drinks with Monopoly Guy! Who’s probably still just as irritating a person as he was at the beginning, but at least he respects Holmes now

So we end on a toast. And uhhh don’t use this fic as an example of what Victorian horse-racing was like apparently. Here’s what ACD said about it in his memoirs:

“Sometimes I have got upon dangerous ground where I have taken risks through my own want of knowledge of the correct atmosphere. I have, for example, never been a racing man, and yet I ventured to write "Silver Blaze," in which the mystery depends upon the laws of training and racing. The story is all right, and Holmes may have been at the top of his form, but my ignorance cries aloud to heaven. I read an excellent and very damaging criticism of the story in some sporting paper, written clearly by a man who did know, in which he explained the exact penalties which would have come upon every one concerned if they had acted as I described. Half would have been in jail and the other half warned off the turf for ever.”

But THEN he said:

“However, I have never been nervous about details, and one must be masterful sometimes. When an alarmed Editor wrote to me once: "There is no second line of rails at that point," I answered, "I make one." On the other hand, there are cases where accuracy is essential.”

Not sure what cases he thought accuracy was essential for 😅

Anyway, remember you must be masterful sometimes! It’s what Doyle would want you to do!

At first, it was just these simple, yet very loaded words, but after a few minutes, it had evolved into the wonderfully eloquent "I fucking hate Sherlock Holmes!" , said while throwing crumpled up papers at the portrait of him that sat on your nightstand. Of course he would not be home tonight, when was he ever at home? Last week, he had some urgent case dragging him to Scotland for five days. A month ago , on the day of your wedding anniversary, he was summoned at once by his brother, on a matter of national security, and came back home at four in the morning, collapsing onto the bed straight away. And today? Nowhere to be seen, again.

You look at yourself in the mirror, feeling ridiculous. You were wearing your favourite evening gown, an elegant, fashionable piece that had been tailored to fit your form perfectly. And your favourite colour, too! It had been quite expensive, but your husband had insisted you buy it, regardless of the price, saying he had more than enough funds to spoil you. A pearl choker, matching earrings, white silk gloves, and some discreet makeup around your eyes completed tonight's outfit. But in spite of all this...You thought you looked like a clown, and felt like one, too. It should have been obvious he wouldn't be able to make it on time for your opera date tonight, but you had foolishly believed him this time. Such a shame to waste a lovely outfit for an event that would never take place.

With a disgruntled huff, you sit down on your bed. The chances of Holmes showing up were slim. Sometimes, you wondered if you were truly his wife in this marriage, or a lover , cast aside whenever the true wife — his career — called for him.

You knew the pattern all too well by now. He'd miss one of your dates, because of a case, show up with some apology and an expensive gift, and then repeat it again in the near future. This was how your relationship worked, ever since you got engaged. Holmes didn't ignore you intentionally, but he tended to see himself more as an agent of justice, who just happened to inhabit a human body, rather than a living being with relationships that must be maintained.

"Bloody case..." , you grumble to yourself. "Oh, I shall not be late tonight, dearest, I know we have an outing." , you say, imitating Holmes' voice and the very same words he had told you this morning, kissing your cheek before exiting 221B. The gloves are thrown on the floor, crumpled up. Poor things, really. They were inanimate objects, suffering the wrath of a woman they had never even wronged in the first place. After a deep breath to calm yourself down, you take off your dress as well. No need to wear it for lounging around in the bedroom, was there?

And so, the evening gown gets neatly placed, back inside your wardrobe, symbolising the end of any sort of opera night for the two of you. The mere thought of its price had made you set aside your rage for a moment and carefully strip, so you would not destroy it.

"Does he even realise how ridiculous this marriage is?" , you ask yourself, as you untie your corset and take it off too. Next, you carefully roll off your stockings, still addressing nobody in particular. "He has a whole wife at home, but is too busy crawling around in mud , looking for footprints like some human bloodhound, instead of spending time with me. His loss, really! And mine, too..." , you continue complaining. You lie down on the bed, clad only in your simple chemise now, and bury your face in a pillow. The pillow gets tossed across the room a few seconds later, when you realise it smells like Holmes. Not what you were not looking for at the moment.

"I fucking hate him." , you tell yourself. A weak and pathetic lie, really, considering that you were saying this while slowly moving one hand down your body, with a clear purpose in mind. An age-old remedy for stress and anger, that now had to be performed alone. You close your eyes, trying to get yourself in the mood. Your mind immediately begins thinking of that night, a month ago, when you straddled your husband's lap , right there in the sitting room, and rode him like you had nothing left to lose. The memory of the detective, underneath you, with his eyes closed, head leaning against the back of the armchair as he whimpered in pleasure was enough to get you wet.

Your fingers finally feel slickness between your thighs. Seemed like the moment of recollection did its trick. A soft noise escapes you as you begin circling your needy clit with one finger. Oh, how lovely this would have felt if it was him doing it to you. Whispering in your ear, his breath right against your skin, lips kissing down your throat as he used those long and thin fingers that Watson waxed poetics about for something else than chemistry. A harder press of your fingers onto the bundle of nerves makes your hips shift against the bed, desperate for more friction.

What a shame your beloved Sherlock wasn't here, to fuck you himself, but that didn't have to mean you would not go a step further, just because you were alone. Two fingers slide down, and push inside you. The sensation is enough to make you moan again. You close your eyes, and add another finger, trying to convince your mind to imagine that it's his cock moving in you, the real deal, not your own fingers. What would he even say if he saw you now, touching yourself like the unsatisfied wife you were? If he was in a playful mood, he'd probably take matters into his own hands. He'd tut in that mockingly disapproving way of his, maybe say some dryly amused line while unbuttoning his trousers and making his way towards your spread out form.

So close...you were so close now. Just a few more movements, and you'd be done. Your breathing was getting shallower, breathy pants kept on escaping your lips. A bit more—

The noise of the front door opening downstairs snaps you out of your pleasure-driven haze. Holmes had finally come back home.

You hesitate for a moment. To reach your apartment upstairs, and then your bedroom, he'd need about a minute or so. Add one more minute for him to take off his hat and coat... Plenty of time for you to wipe your fingers on the bedsheets, pull the blankets over your form and pretend you were asleep. But the chances of fooling a man like him were slim. Even if he somehow believed you really were sleeping, the smell from between your thighs would be a clear giveaway of what you were up to , seconds ago.

No. You would not be a coward. Let him see you on the bed, you boldly think to yourself. Let him see how his absence affects you, how much you crave him. In fact, to make him feel even more guilty, you would continue touching yourself as he walked through this very door.

The steps got closer as Holmes, not suspecting a thing, made his way to your apartment. He was holding a bouquet of lilies in one hand, your favourite flower, as a small way of seeking your forgivance for his tardiness. It was worth a try, maybe the flowers would help.

"Dearest, I'm home!" , he called out, peeking his head into the sitting room. Nobody here, it was empty. Perhaps she went to sleep, the detective tells himself. Slowly, he approaches the bedroom door, and presses on the doorknob.

You had heard the door, and him entering the bedroom, but you kept on going. In fact, you even lazily turn your head towards Holmes, smiling innocently at him.

It takes him a moment for his mind to register what is going on in front of him. But once he does, you can see how his expression changes, from the guilt of a husband who has done wrong, to something much more aroused.

"I see you're entertaining yourself quite... thoroughly." , he says, dryly amused, raising an eyebrow. Obviously, still trying to stay unaffected.

"When one's husband isn't home, you learn to adapt." , you respond slightly out of breath, fingers still moving in a steady in and out rhythm. With a needy whine, you finally come.

"Still, I feel quite disappointed, darling. What if I didn't come home now, hmm? I would have missed out on this delicious sight." , Holmes drawls, as he begins loosening his cravat and shrugging off his coat. The flowers are tossed on the dresser, no need for them now.

"Who knows? Maybe you missed out on plenty such scenes. You're always gone because of work. Perhaps I touch myself every day when you are away."

"My insatiable wife. Must you really take matters into your own hands, and not just wait for me?" , he asks, now unbuttoning his shirt.

"Easy for you to speak. With all those cases, you're never bored. You wouldn't care about a lack of intimacy."

"You think so?" , the detective teases, his shirt now off. You could now properly see his pale torso, that lanky, yet attractive body of his, with all those scars he had as reminders of past cases. Without even realising it, you bite your lower lip, a reaction that Holmes does not miss. He flashes you a smug grin as he quickly takes care of his trousers and underwear as well, noticing how your eyes drift to the dark trail of hair on his stomach, leading down. "Do you truly think I don't have needs of my own, darling?"

"If you did, I'm certain you would spend more time with me. Not go on all those cases!" , you quipped , forcing your gaze back on his face.

"Well, it would be terribly inconvenient to cancel an investigation in the middle of everything and come rushing to you, or in you, rather. I do apologise for my absence, but trust me, I often find myself doing the same things as you now when away for long periods."

"Oh, the same things as me? I won't lie, I'm sure you'd do a better job at fingering than myself, with those long fingers..."

"Acting obtuse on purpose, dearest. How low. No, I don't finger myself, I'm afraid. But what I do end up doing is much better, let me assure you."

Fully bare, he walks over to your bed, and grabs your hand, the one still shiny with the proof of your arousal. Slowly, staring right into your eyes with that piercing grey gaze, he lifts them to his mouth and sucks them clean.

He continues, his voice turning into that low purr that always got you a bit aroused: "You know that photograph of yourself you gifted me for my last birthday? The one of you lying on that settee, completely bare, save for the necklace around your throat? That absolutely decadent piece...I carry it with me all the time when I leave for a case. It's tucked inside my cigarette case, but when I'm alone, in a cold inn room... do you know what I do, dearest? I take that photograph out, and stare at it while my other hand is busy being wrapped around my cock. And I keep on going, until my hand aches from all that up-and-down movement."

Your thighs press together as another wave of heat passes through you at the image of Holmes pleasuring himself because of a photograph of you. And the bastard , he knew his story would affect you, judging by the gleam in his eyes. After dragging his tongue one last time against your digits, he finally releases your hand , only to dive right for your lips, your mouths meeting in a passionate kiss. The previous anger and insults directed at him had long vanished from the forefront of your brain.

You close your eyes as Holmes' mouth trails lower. Your throat, then your collarbones, until he finally reached the edge of your chemise. "May I?" , he asks, his voice coming out oddly tender amidst all this.

After seeing your nod, he quickly unbuttons the garment, revealing your whole body to him. Or rather, the one thing that interested him most: your breasts. Without any further reply, he begins kissing along the softness, before his lips finally reach your nipples. The exposure to the air and your arousal had caused them to already harden. Holmes kisses around the bud, before he finally closes his mouth around them and begins sucking. Feeling your hips jerk up involuntarily , he repeats the gesture , now adding a swirl of his tongue.

"Oh , Sherlock..." , you whine, moving one hand to his head to make sure he would stay there.

The noises coming out of your mouth encouraged him. They always did, hearing those whimpers and gasps spurred him on more than anything. He moved his fingers down to your dripping cunt, immediately pushing three inside you.

"Clenching around my fingers, like this...You truly are desperate, darling girl." , he whispers in your ear, while his fingers start a maddening rhythm.

You whine, hips grinding forward in time with each movement of his fingers. If he kept this up , you'd come soon. Though it was clear Holmes actually wanted that to happen.

"Mmh...I'm..."

"Close?"

The moan that escapes your lips is enough confirmation for the detective. He dives his head back to your breasts, determined to get you over the edge quickly. You feel that familiar tension build up between your legs, until it finally explodes, sending pleasant tingles through your entire body.

You barely have time to catch your breath when you feel Holmes' length dragging itself through your folds to get some more lubrification. Impatient man.

"Mmm...I no longer hate you." , you blurt out, mind a bit of a mess from the orgasm. How could you, after all, when he had done this to you?

"Hate me? I doubt you ever did, my dear girl."

What a smug creature. Feeling words were not enough, and to make sure he would stop being so arrogant, you push his head down for another kiss.

"Ready for the next act?" , he teases after pulling away. He aligns his leaking cock with your entrance, making it very obvious what sort of act he was preparing. You might have not gone to the opera, but either way, Holmes would still hear some very pleasant, high-pitched noises tonight. When you nod eagerly, he pushes inside, sheating himself in one move. You can hear his heavy breathing against the crook of your neck as he tries to regain control, before you feel his hips slowly moving in and out.

"Oh, yes...! Faster..." , you whine, unsatisfied with the slow rhythm he was setting. You wrap your legs around his waist and splay your arms across his back, needing to feel him even closer than he already was. You close your eyes. Tonight wasn't the time for some sweet lovemaking, you needed to be thoroughly ravaged.

He makes a noise of disapproval, halfway between a scoff and a grunt and slows down. "Open them. I want to see your eyes." A few kisses pressed around your eyelids follow, which you knew was his way of coaxing you to look at him. This was one of Holmes' many oddities. He always wanted to see your face and your eyes while you made love, even when you were on top. You had no idea if it was so he could read your expressions and see if he was doing things the right way, or because he needed to feel connected to you somehow.

So, you open your eyes, and stare up at him, just as he wanted you to. He smiles down at you, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, before going back to the initial pace.

"That's a good girl... Damn it all, you feel amazing...my beautiful wife..." , Holmes groans, pressing sloppy kisses against your face as he keeps up the thrusts. Cheeks, forehead, nose, wherever he could reach. "I'm glad I was late for our date... I'd much rather fuck you senseless than sit through some opera."

You moan again, both from his words and from the feeling of his cock. When his hips begin pistoning faster, stretching your cunt even more, you dig your nails into his back, scratching at the skin there.

He groans loudly at the feeling. "That's it. Ruin my back, darling...let me feel how much you like it...". With every rake of your nails against his back, his thrusts turned deeper, less tender and more frantic.

"Mmmh...Sherlock...f..."

"Yes, darling? What was that?" , Holmes asks, his grey eyes gleaming with mischief. "I didn't quite catch your last word. F...? Speak properly."

What a prick. Making you try to talk normally while he was stuffing you full like this. "Fa...faster..." , you finally moan out.

"Good girl. Your wish is my command." , he responds playfully, picking up the pace even more.

By now, the iron bedframe was banging against the wall loudly. Poor Mrs. Hudson from downstairs, she could definitely tell what her tenants were getting up to , in case the loud moans of "Faster" or you moaning each other's names weren't telling enough. Thank God you replaced the wooden bed months ago, after a particularly enthusiastic night that resulted in the bedframe breaking. You still remembered the embarrassment you felt when you had to explain to your landlady why an otherwise sturdy piece of furniture broke. Holmes, on the other hand, oh, he wasn't ashamed of this feat. In fact, he had barely suppressed a laugh when you had to deliver the news. But Mrs. Hudson had been kind enough to change your bed, and adapt to the situation by offering a brilliant solution. Now, it was almost impossible for you two to break through such solid iron.

"Yes! Yes! Keep it up...mmh...!!" , you all but scream out in pleasure, too lost in the feeling to care about propriety or your loud volume.

The relentless pace of his thrusts is enough to send you over. With a loud moan of his name , your nails clawing at his back again, you come, the pleasure of the orgasm crashing down on you. He feels the way your walls clench around his cock, the sensation getting him close to coming as well. Almost there, just a few more thrusts... he keeps on fucking you through it, determined to reach his own climax as well. Moments later, the detective buries his face in your neck and spills his seed inside of you, his entire body trembling from how intense the feeling was.

For a few minutes, Holmes just lies like that, still inside you, trying to catch his breath. He slowly lifts his head to see your face. The sight of your blissed-out face makes him smile. You really were the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. He leans down to kiss your forehead, before pulling out and standing up.

You whine at the sudden loss of his body on top of you. It was one of your favourite sensations, almost like a weighted blanket.

"I'll be back soon, darling. I just need to clean us up." , he explains, walking over to the washbasin in the corner of the room. After dipping a cloth in the water, he returns to your side and cleans up between your legs. "Couldn't leave you all sticky, now could I?"

You shake your head silently, content just to watch him take care of you, the way he always did after you two made love. Once satisfied with your cleanliness, he puts the cloth aside and joins you in bed, lifting the blankets over the two of you. You slowly move over him, resting your head on his chest , the mattress dipping slightly from your combined weights.

"I might not hate you, but you are still on thin ice." , you finally say, breaking the silence. "Just because we did all this doesn't mean I'm completely alright with your absences."

"In that case, I suppose I'll have to try harder to obtain your complete forgivance."

"And how will you do that?"

"Oh, it's quite simple, really." , Holmes says lazily. Before you can react, he flips the two of you and laughs at your surprised face when your back hits the mattress. "Ready for round two, darling?"