#elementary x reader

Can I Help You? by @wrecklessimagine Sherlock x reader (0.9k)

Feelings to Embrace by @make-me-imagine Sherlock Holmes x GN!Reader (1.3k)

Hospital Part 1 | Part 2 by @wrecklessimagine Sherlock x reader (2.1k)

Panic Attack Imagine by @prider-parker-imaginations Sherlock Holmes x GN!Reader (0.2k)

Ever since you mentioned to Sherlock that you had gotten him a present, even after his constant begrudging of Christmas, he had been attempting to guess what it was. He never did like surprises nor really the idea of gifts, for fear of feeling indebted to someone else. So the fact that you consistently kept it hidden from him - certain he had tried to find it - and also refused to tell him what it was, annoyed him to no end.

"It's distracting. I have more important things to focus on." He said with a hint of resignation.

"You've never had trouble before ignoring things." You said indifferently, causing him to glance at you for a moment before standing up.

"Well? It is Christmas morning, isn't that when people are supposed to open presents?"

You smiled to yourself as you took a drink of your tea before setting it down. You ran upstairs to retrieve Sherlock's gift that you had hidden in your room since the night before, having had a friend hold onto it before for you.

Sherlock was not doing a very good job at hiding his true emotions. He attempted to convey annoyance and indifference, but you could see beneath the surface, he was excited. Knowing Sherlock as you did, this surprised you, but unlike on many occasion, it was a good type of surprise.

When you arrived back down stairs, Sherlock was looking out the window, as the frost began to disappear from the window panes, revealing the cold streets of New York.

"Here you go Sherlock."

As he spun around, and looked at the wrapped object in your hands, you grew nervous. Sherlock was a hard person to understand on an average day. Understanding him well enough to get him a gift was more than anxiety inducing.

Walking towards you, he slowly took the gift from you, almost hesitating for a moment. You took a breath and told yourself, that even if he did not like it, at least you were kind enough to try.

Sherlock flipped the present over in his hands and glance at you. "A book?"

You rolled your eyes a bit, playfully. "Come on Sherlock, no one likes a guesser, just open it."

You saw the faint hint of a smile play at his lips before tearing the wrapping paper from the bottom. Pulling out the object, he was not surprised to find he was correct in guessing it was a book. Though it is one of the more obvious objects when wrapped.

He was surprised however, at seeing what book it was. His hands brushed across the vintage books cover as he read the cover. It was written in Mandarin, and appeared to be nearly a hundred years old. It was an old book about bees, and beekeeping. As Sherlock looked at the book, he recalled he had told you all about the history of beekeeping, and in particular it's history in China.

He had a few books on bees and beekeeping, but none as old or as informative as this one seemed to be, as he flipped through the pages.

As you watched Sherlock read over the cover and began to flip through the pages, his face seemed to hold a hint of interest, though you were unsure of whether or not he liked it. You found yourself desperate to find something that he would truly appreciate, not only because you were determined too, but because you had feelings for him. Though you were sure they would always be unrequited.

"So...did I do good or bad?"

Sherlock looked up at you, and saw the apprehension on your face. A faint smile appeared as he spoke. He was unsure of how to reply for a moment, but, taking a short breath he spoke fluently. "This is a very thoughtful gift Y/n, and unlike many of the books in my collection. In this case, I would say you did very good." Your eyes lit up at his words, and he saw the anxiety fade away. His own heart beat a bit faster at the sight as he saw how much you truly wished to get him something he would like.

"May I ask, where you got it?" He questioned as he looked back at the book.

"When I went to Chinatown to get some more of that tea you like, I saw it in an old vintage shop. I couldn't not get it." You smiled at him as you spoke, delighted that he seemed to appreciate it.

"I must admit, I was unsure of whether I would appreciate your gift, in some ways I thought you might get me a gag gift of sorts, to put me in my place, as it was."

You shook your head, "Oh, no. I always take Christmas gifts seriously. Well, on most occasions that is."

Sherlock smiled softly, "Well, in that case, I will not feel too brazen to give you this."

You watched as Sherlock stepped toward his chair, and reaching down behind it, pulled out a large box, wrapped in what appeared to be various newspapers.

"I could not find any wrapping paper, so I improvised." He admitted as he looked at the box in his hands.

Your face showed obvious surprise, that, admittingly, gave Sherlock a hint of gratification. He knew it would take you by surprise that he got you something, especially a Christmas present. He had been entertaining the idea of getting you a gift, well before you let it slip that you had gotten him something. Then the idea became a reality as he knew he must. Not because you would expect it, but because you wouldn't.

But more than that, he wished to find some way of showing you, even a little, how much he cared about you, even if you only saw it as a platonic feeling, which had long since not felt himself.

"Sherlock, you didn't have to get me anything." You said as Sherlock held the box out for you.

"Of course I did not." He said a bit rushed, but then gaining his composure he gestured for you to take the box. "I wanted to."

Taking the box carefully from him, you were surprised at how heavy it was. What could he possibly have gotten you? You thought back on the other gifts he had bestowed, or forced upon you. Self defense gadgets, weapons, or various science kits to get you more involved in his cases.

Setting the box down, you ripped the paper away, revealing a rounded carrying case. Your interest piqued as you wondered it it was just some form of luggage. But from beside you Sherlock whispered, with an obvious hint of elation.

You glanced at him as you undid the clips, he rose his brow a bit and nodded. Lifting the lid of the case, you were awe to find a beautiful violin set, containing the instrument itself, a bow, cleaning supplies, and a manual.

You were so surprised at the gift, that you were only able to let out a small sound of astonishment.

Sherlock smiled to himself before speaking softly. "I remember you once mentioning you had an interest in learned."

You looked over at him. "Yeah, I did. But, I didn't think you had heard me."

Sherlock smiled a bit at you. “I always hear you. It may not always seem like it, but I do always listen to you. You are not someone I can ignore, nor do I want to.”

His tone was gentle and held sweetness behind it that almost startled you. And his gaze was soft as he peered at you with an unfamiliar fondness.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you considered his words, and you smiled at him before expressing your gratitude. "Thank you Sherlock, I love it. I promise I'll do it justice."

His smile widened a bit, and he almost chuckled. "I am sure you will. You are quite quick at learning new skills. And, if you do not object, I would be glad to help you begin."

You smiled brightly at him. "I would not object, I would be very happy if you did."

He nodded his head a bit. "Good. We shall soon be playing duets."

You let out a soft laugh, which he returned with a pleased smile. Your gazes were locked in mutual delight, and though neither of you expressed it, you both saw something you hadn't seen before. And it gave you hope, that this Christmas was just the beginning of something much more.

xx End xx

This is my first time writing for Elementary, so I hope you enjoyed it!

You and Sherlock have been together for a few years now. In all those years, sleep was never his priority. He’d get some rest whenever it was really necessary. You were surprised he could even sleep when he decided to. His schedule was non-existent. If you go to sleep a couple hours later or earlier than normal, you always have trouble falling asleep. But then again, Sherlock has always been special.

A few weeks ago his sleeping habits changed. He sleeps every night, most of the time he goes to bed at the same time. Sometimes he’s even asleep hours before you decide to call it a night. There’s regularity in his sleeping habits now. He always makes sure he gets eight hours a night. Honestly, you applaud his new habit, but you can’t understand why.

Sherlock wouldn’t just start sleeping regularly without a reason. He hasn’t told you the reason yet. Prodding doesn’t always help you, but you’ve been patient for weeks. If there’s something going with him you want to know. You should know. Tonight is the night you’ll confront him.

-----

When you get home, the house is quiet. The note on the kitchen table informs you that they’re out wrapping up a case. It might be a while until the get back.

You decide to get ready for bed early. Taking your laptop with you, you make yourself comfortable under the covers and play your favourite movie.

You hear Sherlock and Watson come home, but pay no mind. You’ve noticed that Sherlock turns in as soon as they get home from closing a case, meaning he’d be in your room before you know it.

The door opens and the surprised look tells you he wasn’t expecting you to be in bed already. Pushing past the surprise, he greets you with a quick kiss on the lips before running off to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

When he walks back into the room, your laptop is nowhere to be found and you’re sitting upright, leaning against the headboard. You can see his eyes scanning your body, reading your body language. When his shoulders drop and his face carries a grimace, you know that he knows you want to talk about something serious. He crawls into bed next to you and leans against the headboard as well looking straight ahead.

“I’m guessing you already know what I want to talk about,” you say softly.

“My new sleeping habits,” he answers gruffly.

You sigh. “It’s not that I don’t like you laying next to me every single night, cuddlebug.” You use his nickname in the hopes of deflating some of the tension. “But you’ve always found sleep something trivial and now you have a regular sleeping schedule. I know you which is how I know that there’s a reason. I want to know, Sherlock.”

He casts a quick look your way before taking a deep breath. “It’s PCS, Post-Concussion Syndrome. I went to a doctor a while back. It started with a simple headache that I brushed off at first, but then they became more painful. The uncharacteristically need for sleep is another symptom. It seems that some of my life choices made this happen and Shinwell’s attack was the final straw so it seems.”

You’re silent for a moment gathering your thoughts. “What else… what else contributed? How bad is it?”

His brows furrow together. “The boxing, the drugs and the countless other moments when I put myself in harm’s way. It’s bad at the moment, but I’m getting medication that’s supposed to help with the headaches and other symptoms.”

“Supposed to help? It isn’t working?” you hoarsely ask. The emotions nestling themselves on your voice.

“They’re not doing much, but I’m seeing the doctor tomorrow.”

“Why didn’t you tell me when you found out?” At the beginning your voice is painted with a sliver of anger, but at the end it breaks.

“I suppose I was still processing it myself and did not want to put that burden on you until I came to terms with it myself.”

“You should have told me,” you barely whisper. “We’re supposed to be in this together, Sherlock. Did you think I was just going to accept your new sleeping habits without questioning them?”

“No, you’re too clever for that,” he answers without missing a beat while he takes your hand in his.

Sherlock doesn’t like physical touch that much, it’s the reason why you call him cuddlebug. It means a lot that he’s reaching out like this. You squeeze his hand while you blink away the tears. He is always such a strong force, but now he has PCS. Something that is affecting his day to day life, his work.

“I’m still mad at you, but we should get some sleep right now. Also I’m coming with you tomorrow,” you say the last part sternly before turning off the light.

“Of course, love,” he whispers in the dark.

You both lay down on your respective sides. Just before you’re dozing off, Sherlock’s arms wind around waist and his cold hands land on your stomach.

You squeal: “Cuddlebug, your hands are ice cold!”

He chuckles and says: “That name is misleading, you know. It might give people the wrong idea.”

“Joan, I’m back!” You scream out those words as you enter through the apartment’s entrance, one of your hands holding onto a bunch of flyers and brochures while the other one closes the door behind you. “I got your text. Did Sherlock already leave for his new investigation?”

Silence follows your silence as you walk through the apartment, your feet taking you from the entrance to the living room. You shuffle the brochures in your hand a few times, your eyes trying to find a few specific ones as you walk into the kitchen.

“Hey.” You give out a smile when you notice Joan sitting at the kitchen table, her hands wrapped around a full cup of tea and her eyes staring at emptiness. “Did you hear me come in?”

“Hm.” She barely answers you, her hand bringing the cup of tea to her lips. “I did.”

You look back at the brochures, continuing to shuffle them. “And Sherlock?”

“Left with Marcus an hour ago.”

“Alright.” One of your hand stretches towards the chair next to hers, dragging it so you’ll have enough space to sit down. “I followed your doctor’s advice, and met with a few representatives of organizations that can give you the proper counseling. I took a few of their brochures, but I went through them, and I think two of them could be very good choices. If you wanna check them out and pick one-”

“I don’t need that.” She finally gives you a look, a stern look on her expression. “I told you; I don’t need any help.”

You look up from the brochures and quirk an eyebrow. “Joan, you were kidnapped.”

“And I came out of it without a scratch.” She gives out a hard smile as she repeats the words she heard from one of her doctors. “Remember?”

You give out a sigh, putting the brochures down on the table.

“Joan.” You reach out to take one of her hands in yours, forcing her to look into your eyes. “You’re used to be a doctor, right?”

She squints her eyes at you, confused. “Yes, and?”

“So let’s say your friend got kidnapped.” She gives out a sigh of frustration as soon as she hears those words come out of your mouth, but your hands secure her in place and push her to listen to you. “Says she’s fine, but she has a hard time leaving the apartment, avoids her friends and family, and...” You point at her with your chin. “She’s constantly on edge and annoyed by others. Now, do you think those are symptoms of...?”

You make a point to not finish your sentence, which is enough to make Joan sigh once more. “They’re stress reactions.”

“Right.” You give out a proud grin, gently shaking her hand from left to right. “And what would you recommend...?”

“Be in a safe and secure environment...” She tils her head back and forth, clearly not wanting to answer your question. “Connect with loved ones... take time to adjust back into family and work...”

“Now, let’s say your friend’s already doing that.” You slowly approach your upper body to hers, forcing her to look into your eyes. “What else could she do?”

She stares intently into your eyes, a glint of annoyance in hers. “Get resources and information about how to seek counseling.”

“Which is why I got the brochures.” You gently pat her hand before you let go, grabbing the few fliers you left on the table and showcasing them to your friend. “So... will you please take a look at them?”

She gives out a groan, her hands reaching to get the flyers. “You’re a really sweet but annoying friend, you know?”

“I know.” You give out a large grin, your eyes saddening with worry a few seconds later. “Joan, you know I’m here for you, right?”

She looks up from the brochures to look into your eyes, a small silence settling between the two of you. A few seconds pass before her lips form a genuine smile, and thus, despite the tiredness in her eyes.

“Where is Jamie?” Watson asked you calmly from across the interrogation table. Behind the mirror was Sherlock, who had been ejected from the interrogation for nearly hurting you. If you’d been returned to Jamie with bruises, Sherlock wouldn’t be safe. Jamie had no qualms about hurting him anymore, she had promised you that much. Joan was another story, Jamie would never lay a finger on Joan Watson, not until you proved yourself a more fascinating toy. 

“I’ll tell you what I told that British brat, I don’t know,” you answered Joan’s question. You were lying, but also technically you weren’t. Jamie had left your apartment in Manhattan for the penthouse in the Bronx or the country house in New Jersey. Either way, she wasn’t in the apartment the police were wrecking. “Why don’t you let me have my call and we check up on her?” 

“Y/n, without Jamie, it’s all on you. You’d let yourself be thrown in prison for her crimes?” Joan asked you. “You’ve already lied to us about your relationship with Jamie Moriarty. Help us now and maybe we’ll work out a deal for you.” 

“Have you ever been in love Dr. Watson?” you asked as you looked up at the woman interrogating you. “Because I am undoubtedly in love with Jamie. We’ve been in love for years, even before Sherlock had come into her life. The hard part about being in love with someone with Jamie’s infliction is that she can’t possibly love you, not truly. I fascinate her, but so do you, as did your partner once.” 

“What is the point of you telling me this?” Joan asked and just before you could answer, Sherlock came back into the room. “Sherlock, leave.” 

“My point is that she’s consuming. She’s consumed me, as she consumed him, and as she has begun to consume you. Get out while you still can, distance yourself from us. Let me go,” you offered. Watson and Sherlock argued in the corner and they released you. You went back to the apartment and caught a plane to Louisiana, where Jamie was waiting for you. 

“This place is awful,” Jamie complained. The heat was best described as blistering and Jamie was dressed up in a dark red three piece suit. It didn’t help that the woman was also sitting in nearly direct sunlight. “I swear it will not be this hot when we’re burning in Hell. Did you lose them?” 

“Back quite a ways. Come on, we’ve got a flight to catch back to England,” you told her. Jamie smiled and the two of you met a pilot waiting to take you out of the country. Sherlock and Watson’s detectives were still looking for you in the Northeast, so you had a clean break to leave. 

“Did you mean all those things you said earlier?” Jamie asked you, referring to the tape of the police interrogation she had heard. It did not surprise you that Jamie knew what you’d said, but it did surprise you that she hadn’t brought it up earlier. There was a hint of something sad in her voice that you’d never heard before and you didn’t like it one bit. 

“What things?” you asked her. You’d been honest with the detectives in regards to how you felt about Jamie and how you believed that she felt about you. It had worked to get your release, even if they’d only done it to try and capture you and Jamie together later. 

*******

    “Y/n?” Sherlock called out of no where.

    Looking up at him, you answered, “Yes?”

    He was peering down at his and your connected hands, puzzled. Sherlock raised them to examine them further. “When did I start doing this?”

    “A few days ago,” you responded, almost impartially. “It seemed to comfort you, so I didn’t say anything about it.”

    Sherlock nodded, returned you interlaced hands to their previous place at your sides, and continued about his day.

*******

“Hey, Sherlock, it’s me.” Joan takes a look at her rear-view mirror as she speaks into her phone, her eyes squinting as she takes in the sight of the building behind her. “I’m just calling to tell you that (Y/N) and I are at the company. She should be able to take a look at the notes we need without letting anyone know she was there.”

She frowns when she notices you running out of the company’s front door, a look of panic on your face as you grasp tightly onto a large bag. Her eyes widen when she sees a few security guards following after you, realization hitting her as soon as you scream out the words, ‘start the car!’ on your way to her.

“Um… something came up, I’ll call you later.” She rapidly ends her voicemail and start the engine of the car, anxiety rising inside her veins. “What did she do in there?”

“I’m here!” You open the door of the passenger seat and throw yourself, your voice coming out in a hurry as you stare back at the security guards coming in closer. “Go, go, go!”

Joan doesn’t waste a second before she presses her foot against the accelerator, already driving the car out of its parking spot to get out of there. You give out a laugh of relief as soon as the company is out of view, your head hitting the back of your seat just as you give out a sigh. Joan gives you a side look, her anxiety not decreasing in the slightest.

“What the hell happened in there?”

You give out a proud smile despite your loud breathing, your head slightly turning towards her as you get something out of the bag. “Got your files, of course.”

Her expression falters to one of frustration as she realizes what you’ve done, a groan escaping her lips soon after. “This was not part of the plan. You were supposed to take pictures of them and send them to us!”

“But this is more fun, isn’t it?” A light appears in your eyes, not even bothered by Joan’s argument. “I thought you and Sherlock would enjoy these more than some blurry pictures.”

She just shakes your head at your words and stay silent, her mind focusing on getting both of you safe back home. A hint of a smile forms on her lips a few minutes later, already imagining the look on Sherlock’s face when he learns how you deviated from the original plan.