#sherlock inserts

Author: Dalila Ship: Sherlock x Reader Word count: 2.931 Request: “Hi! Can you do 22 and 68 with Sherlock, please? 😍” Prompts: 22. “It’s midnight, what do you want?”                   68. “Are you really going to leave without asking me the question you’ve been dying to ask me?”

A single tear escaped your eye as you put the cellphone on the table. Even though the conversation seemed calm, inside your heart there was a war happening. Never before had your sister managed to get on your nerve so easily.

At first you had no idea of what you were going to do. You just sank in your chair, hiding your face in your palms. Trying to calm the hurricane inside your head. So many thoughts racing so fast. You were unable to keep up with your own emotions.

You ever got that feeling when you’re overwhelmed with uncertainty?

Your hands were shaking slightly as you approached the door of your flat. Still not making the decision whether to go somewhere or not. And if you go – where shall it be? Your sister’s words pierced your heart even now.

           Come home, you belong here. With us. Everyone who loves you is here. Why hold a candle for London?

You walked out, facing the evening London sky. As soon as you closed the door behind you, you welcomed the cool air. It flew through your hair, embracing your face in a gentle manner. But instead of picking a direction, you sat on a bench nearby.

           Is there someone who needs you?

Was there someone who needed her in London?

At first you didn’t even intend on staying that long there. You needed practice when it came to being a criminal psychologist. Partnership with Scotland Yard seemed to be the perfect occasion to improve your skills. What you didn’t expect was who you had to work with. Self-centred,  narrow-minded, deceitful hypocrites. The only exception was your boss, Greg, but it wasn’t enough. You were so close to leaving London.

It wasn’t until you met Sherlock when you decided that this place might be worth staying. He may have been arrogant, attention seeking sociopath but he was being honest. Voicing all of his opinions. Sharp, but at the same time good. Perhaps misunderstood…

You often helped him mess with Scotland Yard, getting him all the permissions he needed, trying to make it easier for him to solve his cases. Occasionally you made a small talk, wanting to get to know him. His attitude bothered you a little, but you couldn’t ignore the way your heart pounded every time you saw him.

Without knowing how or why, you ended up on Sherlock’s doorstep. Your body was shaking, only then you realized you didn’t even take your coat. Must have forgotten about it. Your hand reached out to knock on his door, but hesitated just before touching the wood. Was it really a good idea? Was there even any idea behind your actions?

           Is there someone who needs you?

Author: Dalila Ship: Sherlock x Reader Word count: 1.961 Request: “161 and 204 for Sherlock? I love your blog!” Prompts: 161: You braided his hair?                   204: I leave for just a minute and this happens.

     “… and then Michaela decided to get the scissors, can you imagine? I don’t know what the hell was he… Are you even listening to me?” your older brother nudged you gently with his elbow, finally getting you out of your thoughts. It must have been a while since you stopped paying attention to his words.

     “Of course I’m not listening – you’re boring me to death.” You whined, sinking deeper into the couch you were both sitting on. There was nothing to do, nothing interesting enough to talk about. It was just another day in London – dark, cloudy and full of rain.

     You hated that weather.

     “You know, you could be nicer if you only tried.” He told you, raising one of his eyebrows. Your brother was the only family you had left, but it didn’t change the fact he had that ability to be incredibly annoying. His presence often felt too… overwhelming.

     “I could try, but what’s the point?” you asked rhetorically before getting up from the couch. “It wouldn’t be true.” Without any explanation, you began putting your hair up in a ponytail and reached out for your coat.

     “Care to tell where you’re going?” your sibling didn’t even try to convince you to stay. Never in your life could you be persuaded to do something you didn’t want to and he knew that. He just wanted to know what place called for you.

     “The only place which is capable of keeping me entertained.” With a smirk you pulled the phone from your pocket. You could already picture some interesting murder case lied down in front of you, ready to be explored. “Don’t wait up, I might end up staying there for the night.” Only a quick wink was sent your brother’s way before you finally walked out the flat and dialled a taxi service.

     “What destination?”

     “Baker Street.”

     As soon as you entered the door with the number 221, you could hear someone firing a gun. You hesitated on the doorstep, taking in the sound. Three bullets fired, approximately ten seconds between each bullet. Your face lightened up with a smile. It wasn’t a gun fight, but yet another person being bored. Just like you.

     “Hide your gun, I’m coming in!” you shouted three seconds before opening the door to Sherlock’s flat. What you witnessed was a total mess. Files and all sorts of papers scattered around the room. Little pieces of dust dancing in the air. And a curly-haired man in a blue dressing gown lying in his chair, his face turned towards the floor and his gun on the table. “Three gunshots, that means serious boredom, am I right?”

     There was no reply, only Sherlock turning in his chair to face you. You’d known each other only a few months, but somehow you managed to get on his good side. John once told you that Sherlock found your attitude quite unique. Always honest, forthcoming and never taking no for an answer. But there was something more to that. You just refused to stay away. He could push you, but you remained sitting on his couch with your wide smile aimed at him like a gun. Too stubborn for him to fight you.

     “Okay, Mister Mess. Now you’re getting your ass up and going to your room to change. This flat needs to be cleaned right now otherwise you’ll drown in those documents.” You forced him to get off his chair and pushed him towards his room. He was much taller than you so it looked at least ridiculous when he just stood there and refused to go forward. “You’re not making it easier, Holmes.” You chuckled at him, your hands still pressing against his back. You could feel every muscle underneath his skin.

     “I don’t want to get dressed.” His words made him sound like a child to you and you couldn’t help but smile at his attitude.  “There is no case, no murder, no reason to get out. And the weather is…” he pointed at the window with a resigned sigh coming out of his lips. You knew him well enough to know he also hated when it rained. Mostly because it meant no one felt like committing any extraordinary crimes.

     But you needed him to get out of his unhealthy laziness.

     “You never know, Lestrade might come in any minute. So get ready for whatever is to come and I’ll start tidying this place up.” You ruffled his hair before finally getting him to move towards his room. For some reason he found it hard to restrain your orders. Rarely disobeyed you. “And if you won’t come here fully dressed before I’m done, I will personally go and dress you, as if you were a baby.”      “I hate you sometimes.” He scoffed, opening the door to his room.      “You love me, but you’re too ashamed to admit it.” you giggled, before gathering all papers in one place. You also put all the books on the shelves and placed the used cups in the sink. Tending to his mess took you long enough for him to finally come back from the bathroom.      For a moment he just stood there, taking in the way the room changed after your cleaning. “Are you done wrecking my flat?” he got to the couch and rested there with a sigh. You rolled your eyes at him before sitting beside him.      “Not really, but I guess this will do. Now tell me – how shall we get rid of this boredom?” you asked, resting your head on the back. “That’s the reason I came…”      “I know, your brother got too annoying. My theory – talking too much about his new girlfriend. Am I right?” he looked your way, before reaching for his gun.      Before he could grab it, you kicked the table so it was out of his reach. “Yes, you’re right and no – no gun shots. Let’s play history!” your eyes suddenly widened as you shifted on the couch. Sherlock didn’t even have time to reject your idea, because you already got up and searched through his book shelf.  “Come on, it’s been ages since we played. What do you say about… Jack the Stripper?” you raise your eyebrows at the article in your hands.      “I think you mean Jack the Ripper, (Y/N).” he rolled his eyes at you before positioning himself more comfortably on the couch.      “Apparently there was another killer, named after Jack the Ripper. ‘The Stripper’, because he murdered 8 prostitutes. That sounds…”      “Boring! Move on.”

     “How about… the Black Dahlia case?” you asked, hopeful lights glittering in your eyes as you smiled his way. Sherlock was already positioning himself to deny another offer when he looked your way.

     Your smile was too wide, too much hope in your eyes. Sherlock Holmes was considered a master in disappointing people but he just couldn’t find it in himself to disappoint you. “Fine…” he gave in, his fingers meeting under his chin. “This might take a while, you know…”

     “Oh, I know.” You jumped to his side, watching in awe as he entered his mind palace in an attempt to solve this old case. You loved it when he tried to solve things that’d happened before he was even born. How he got lost somewhere inside his own mind, in search for clues scattered all over his memory.

     “I’m wondering, is your mind palace as messy as your flat? Or are you actually capable of keeping something tidy?” you asked, even though you knew he wouldn’t hear you at that moment.

     Suddenly, you grew tired of just staring at him. It took him longer than you expected, so various thoughts appeared in your mind. Until you thought of something that would keep you entertained while Sherlock was busy.

     You tried your best not to pull him out of his thoughts as you positioned yourself behind him. Sherlock didn’t even move as you began shamelessly playing with his hair. You loved the way his dark locks completed his features. But at that moment there was something else you wanted to see. Slowly, you began braiding his locks.  Luckily, he always took his time to get his hair cut, so they were long enough for you to actually braid them. You managed to make 5 braids on his head before you decided that soon he might exit his mind.

     But before he did that you decided to take a photo of your masterpiece. Trying your best not to giggle, you took three photos of him and sent to John and Molly.

     Twenty-five minutes passed before Sherlock moved. At that moment you were already lying on the couch with your legs resting on his, almost asleep.

     “I think I got it.” proud smile was taking over his face as he turned to you. “Were you sleeping?”

     “Almost.” You yawned, trying your best to hide a smile. Your eyes were closed for quite a while, you almost forgot about the braids on his head. Now the view was even funnier. “So how was it done?”

     As he explained the case, you couldn’t bring yourself to actually listen to him. The way his braids were moving was just too much for you to handle. “You’ll tell me the rest in a while, I’m gonna make some tea.” You got up and walked to the kitchen. As you settled the kettle on, you felt your phone vibrating in your pocket, with a text from John.

     You braided his hair?!

     A wide smile began spreading on your features at the thought. At the same moment you heard how Sherlock moved to the window. “(Y/N)!” his angry shout filled the flat, you were sure that Mrs. Hudson could hear him. But you said nothing, only texting John back.

     Hell yes, I did.

     You didn’t even manage to send the message when Sherlock stormed into the kitchen.

     “I leave for just a minute…” he started slowly, building the tension in his words as he always did when frustrated. “I go into my mind palace upon your request… and this happens?” he points at his hair with a deadly glare. At this point you could no longer hold yourself from laughing at him.

     “You gotta admit though, they do look sexy on you.” You mocked him further, turning towards the kettle. But then he grabbed your arm and turned you towards him. Your laughing eyes locked with his as you lifted your chin daringly.

     He didn’t say a word for a while, just piercing you with his eyes. “There are times when you’re driving me mad, woman.” He said, getting dangerously close to your face, his hand still gripping your arm.

     “Because I know you love it.” You granted him a proud grin, only now realizing how close you two were standing. As our smile got thinner, you could almost feel his breath on your cheeks.

     You didn’t understand it. He never got so close to you. But now you stood together in his kitchen, your back meeting the cupboard as Sherlock’s face lowered down towards yours. You couldn’t help but swallow as your heartbeat fastened.

     “You might be right about this one…” he said with a slight smirk before grazing his lips over yours. It wasn’t a kiss but rather a slight touch, like butterfly wings tickling your lips. You looked at his eyes and noticed that he was hesitating. Somehow lost, afraid of moving forward. This was something new to him and he was scared. Of how it may affect him.

     So you decided to help him by making the decision for him. You stood on your toes, your hands resting against his cheeks as you kissed him tenderly. The way you kiss for the first time in your life.

Title: Emergency, code Hamish Author: Dalila Ship: Sherlock x Reader Word count: 2.270 Request: “I have a request! Could you do a oneshot where Reader tells Sherlock she is pregnant but he freaks out because she has been shot in the back previously and has some serious back problems and he's not sure if she'll be able to even carry to full term? Bonus points if there's a scene where he's calling John every five minutes because he has no clue what's going on! Please and thank you! I love your writing so much!”  Summary:  Sherlock and you have been in a relationship for approximately three years. You are still facing the difficulties with your back, but there is something worse for you to face now - telling Sherlock you’re pregnant with his child. Warnings: mention of being shot and panic attacks, abuse of John’s mobile phone

            You sat on your chair with your eyes glued to the book you’d been holding for an hour, unable to actually understand what you are reading. Sentences were meaningless, words were just letters randomly put together. Your mind was a mess, but you were trying your best to keep it together. You had to.

            An invisible knife was pushed somewhere below your ribs and you frowned in pain. The pain was constant - sometimes easy to handle, sometimes unbearable. The inevitable consequence of your meeting with one of the serial killers Sherlock had been tracking.

            He had known that you were the following target for a while, but he needed to get to the killer. What he didn’t expect, was that the man didn’t really care about getting caught. Even though Sherlock was aiming his gun at him, the man didn’t hesitate to put a bullet in your back… It was over five years ago.

            Ever since then, Sherlock was constantly by your side.

            At first, you couldn’t bring yourself to even look at him. The man, who allowed a serial killer near you just to finish one of his cases. But the more time he spent by your side while you were in hospital bed, the more time he helped you through your rehabilitation… at some point you had to begin talking. You were still angry with him, but he remained by your side no matter your snarky comments and accusations.

            Your friendship wasn’t easy at first. It wasn’t easy to like a person, who seemed so emotionless. Words weren’t his strength, he often made you cry. But his actions spoke louder, as he always did everything in his power to make your life easier. Forgiveness came slowly and even after you’d forgiven him, the memory was still alive. You had constant panic attacks and even after the rehabilitation your back was in constant pain. There were times when he didn’t know how to deal with you. Sometimes he just sat in the chair next to you, silent. 

            It took you a while to grow familiar with him. After a year, it felt wrong not to have him beside you. You missed the sound of him breathing, the smell of his cologne and his sociopathic comments. The two of you  had fallen into a comfortable pattern, where you just felt… right with each other. 

            It was love, that neither of you saw coming.

            And now there was something… someone else coming and you needed to tell Sherlock.

            “Anderson’s a bloody fool, he took the most important piece of evidence because he wanted to check it. It took me two days to solve this case only because he took it.” The storm entered the flat, and you knew your time for thinking is over. You put the book on the armchair, waiting for him to walk through the door.

            “I would have solved it in ten minutes if it wasn’t for him.” He walked in to the room, shutting the door behind him. He was frustrated, but not angry. Usually you’d walk up to him, ruffle his hair and distract him from his annoyance with Anderson. But today wasn’t like any other day.

            And he’d noticed it too.

            “What is it?” he asked, piercing you with his bright blue eyes. Before you could say anything, he was right in front of you, kneeling with his eyes narrowed. “You have something important to tell me.”

            Despite the situation being serious, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him. “We both know that I can’t keep anything from you for long.”

            “This is something really serious.” His eyes didn’t leave your face for a moment. “Normally you would have told me by now.” Suddenly, he pulled back with his eyes widening and jaw slightly dropping. “No…” his head started shaking.

            “That’s your reaction, really?” you straightened your back, trying your best not to squirm in pain.

            “What other reaction would you expect?” he continued stepping backwards. “I was supposed to jump out of happiness, or what? This is just wrong…”

            “Sherlock!” your eyes began filling with tears. Oh dear, you knew he would have hard time adjusting to the thought of being a father but… This just made your heart break into a million pieces. “I know it’s hard, but…”

            “But what? There’s no but, (Y/N). If you want to leave me, then just do it. Without playing any games…” he then turned to his room, with an expression of pure hurt on his face.

            “Sherlock, wait!” you laughed at him. “Did you think I want to leave you? You got it all wrong…” you couldn’t help but laugh. Pregnancy brought your emotions to their highest, making it impossible for you to stop laughing. “Why did you think that?”

            For a moment he stood there silent, with his hand still on the doorknob to his room. Probably gathering his thoughts. And when he finally turned back to you, you began standing up from your chair. Immediately, he was by your side, wrapping an arm around your waist to secure you. “You were quite distant lately. I thought it was normal at first, but then… you’ve changed. You look so beautiful. You’re practically glowing. And the fact you wanted to discuss something… The only logical assumption was that you’re leaving me for someone else.”

            “Oh, dear…” you placed your hand tenderly on his cheek with a smile on your face. He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch, breathing out a content sigh. Despite being in a relationship, as John described it, you were still a bit distant with each other. You were an introvert who felt more comfortable keeping away from other people and him being the high-functioning sociopath… “Open your eyes and see it. That’s not the only logical assumption.”

            His eyes suddenly widened with shock, the truth finally becoming visible to him. You swallowed, trying to prepare for any sort of reaction he’d show.

            “You’re…” words stopped somewhere in the middle, leaving Sherlock just standing there. You smiled and rubbed your thumb against his cheekbone, gathering up your courage to finally voice the thoughts that were  running around your mind all day.

            “I’m pregnant.” You whispered, unable to speak any louder than this. You still weren’t used to the thought, but it was the time to face the reality. To embrace everything that came along with it.

            His arms wrapped around you slowly. This sort of tenderness was still new to him but you gladly welcomed it. Your own arms wrapped around his waist, as your cheek rested on his chest. Probably you would just stand there silent for what would seem like ages, if you only hadn’t listened to his heartbeat. Irregular, strong, fastened.

            “You’re scared…” you deduced, pulling away to look at him. His face was still, eyes  widely opened. The fear was evident, as if he didn’t even try to hide it. “Sherlock… it’s going to be okay.”

            Pulled out of his thoughts, he shook his head. Without a word he guided you towards the sofa, making you lie there. He kneeled beside you, holding your hand. For most people it would seem that he was trying to comfort you, but you knew him better than this. It was him who needed to be comforted by you.

            “(Y/N)…” he began speaking, slowly. “How is it going to be okay?”

            He didn’t say anything more than this. But that was enough for you to tell what was happening in his brain. His body, his lips were too slow for his thoughts, which were racing inside of his head. His mind palace was facing an earthquake, his outside losing all focus on the reality. You’ve seen that only once before in your life but you wished he’d never have to go through that again.

            You crossed your legs on the couch and pulled him to you, his body obeying your every move. He was now curled up on the couch, his head resting on your lap as you stroked his black curls. Small droplets of sweat appeared on his forehead. You knew what he was going through, knew exactly what thoughts were now crashing the walls of his mind palace.

            He thought about your spine, your state. Doctors said you’d never fully recover from this. His body was now shaking. You both learned to live with that thought, but now there was someone else involved. His fists were closed so tightly that few of his veins popped out. He was torn, between his baby growing up inside you and your health. Pregnancy meant complications, danger. But he’d never even think of the unimaginable, knowing you also wouldn’t accept it as an option. 

            Sherlock blinked a few times, returning to the real world. The panic was fleeting, but the unbearable fear remained there. But he was back, that was all you needed.

            “I know it’s going to be okay, Sherlock.” You whispered to his ear. He didn’t answer you. “It won’t be easy, it won’t be pretty. But it’s our child we’re talking about. Whatever might come our way… My dear – no matter what, it’ll be worth it.” You placed your palm on either side of his head, making him look at you. He himself looked like a child right now. A child lost somewhere, not knowing where. “As long as you’re with me… Everything’s alright.” Only when one of your tears landed on his cheek, you realized you were crying. 

            His hand went up to your cheek, his thumb erasing other tears from your face. His touch calmed you, stopped your body from shaking. “Remember how I was like after being shot?” the memory made his nerves visibly tense. “I was a mess. I didn’t want to make it. I thought I was too weak, but you were there. Pushing me all the way through it. Even when I thought I hated you… You were my anchor. You gave me a reason to keep fighting for my life. And you… you gave me the life I’d never even dreamed about. We just… have to do it once again. Fight our way through…” your throat was hurting, as the tears once more flew down your face. 

            Both of you remained silent, just relishing in each other’s touch. Reconnecting through silence. You knew he was calming down. No matter what you said, he wouldn’t stop worrying. But the panic was over. At least for now… After around an hour, you fell asleep in your bed with his hand gently stroking your hair.

            Once you were asleep, Sherlock quietly jumped out of bed and rushed to the living room with his phone. He didn’t want to wake you up, but there was someone he needed right now.

            John was almost asleep when he heard his phone vibrating on the bedside table. At first he ignored it, but when the phone vibrated for the fifth time, he knew who was trying to reach him. With a groan, he checked his phone.

            Hamish. – S.H.             John, HAMISH! – S.H.             John Watson, there is an emergency, code Hamish – S.H.             This is not a joke, John. I need you there. – S.H.             JOHN, (Y/N) IS PREGNANT, I NEED HELP! – S.H.

            Smiling contently at himself, John turned off the vibrations on his phone and went back to sleep. He knew it would come to that one day, only he didn’t expect it that particular night. Sherlock would need him the following day, but John wanted to enjoy his (probably last) peaceful sleep.

            ...A few months later…

            “John H. Watson’s private clinic, how can I help you?” John answered the phone, repeating the memorized words automatically. Boredom quickly disappeared from his face, becoming annoyance. “Sherlock, for the last time – you can’t dial the clinic just because (Y/N) wants pickles with chocolate!” he sighed, sinking to his chair.

            “John, this is serious. (Y/N) slept twelve hours today and she’s having another nap. What if she’s growing weak and her back is going to…”

            “No, being tired is normal at this point of the pregnancy, you know that. You memorized every pregnancy book that is out there, stop calling me.” He ended the call, rubbing his forehead with his fingers. He knew that Sherlock would become a mess when faced the perspective of being a father and taking care of (Y/N), but he wasn’t ready for experiencing it.

            The phone rang again.

            “John. H. Watson’s…” he spoke once more, really hoping it wouldn’t be…

            “She said her head is spinning, what if the spine…”

            John didn’t even bother answering this one, cutting the call right away. His friend was just paranoid, and there was no right amount of telling him She’s going to be okay to make his mind ease. Doctor Watson understood his worries about (Y/N)’s health, but Sherlock was being unhealthy himself in his desperation. 

            Five minutes hadn’t passed when the phone rang again.

            This time John didn’t even have time to repeat the memorized sentence. “John, this is (Y/N). I’m sorry to bother you at work, but how many sleeping pills should I add to his coffee, so he can finally go rest?”

            The doctor couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m not sure if there are enough pills in this world to force him to sleep now.”

            At that moment, John’s private phone vibrated.

            I know about the pills, tell her it’s not going to work. – S.H.

Author: Dalila Ship: Sherlock x Reader Word count: 2.801 Request: “I feel like 65. That isn’t even the problem, why would you think any of this was a good idea?” 66. Probably because I’m a dangerous sociopath with a long history of violence. I don’t understand how you keep forgetting that.” go together almost perfectly for Sherlock haha”  Warnings: torture, blood loss

      At first, you weren’t able to hear anything but the pounding in your own head. Your body was numb and you couldn’t tell where on Earth were you. All you knew was that your whole body was aching and your hands were tied. Tied with something hard and cold… were those chains?

      “You woke up just in time, John. I could use a suggestion.” You heard someone over the painful pounding. You wanted to say something, but the only thing that came out of your mouth was a miserable moan. “John, please tell me it’s you…” Sherlock’s voice got louder in your ears as your consciousness returned. 

      “I’m afraid I have to disappoint you…” you whispered, unable to utter anything more than that. The whole situation was horrifying, but you tried to understand what exactly was happening. You were sitting on a cold, wet stone floor with your hands chained to the wall. Your lips were swollen and you could swear there were lots of bruises all over your body. Each one of them hurt like hell

      “(Y/N)?” As you tried to straighten up you felt sharp pain going down your spine. There were no memories of whatever had happened to you, but you had to lie there unconscious for a while. Suddenly you heard the sound of chains moving. Sherlock must have been squirming on the floor, but it was too dark for you to see that.

      “No, it’s… it’s all wrong. You weren’t supposed to be a part of this.” His voice turned somewhat uneasy, you could hear how deeply he was breathing.

      If only you hadn’t been in so much pain, you’d laugh at his words. The two of you had known each other for almost your entire life. You were there ever since his family moved to your neighbourhood, keeping your eyes gazed at the strange boy living next door. The one other children called a freak. 

      All you could see of him was someone, who couldn’t be understood. Someone different. You weren’t close, but throughout the years you witnessed every single change that’d made him who he was that day. Always too afraid to approach him and pull him out of his solitude. 

      It wasn’t until he became the famous Sherlock Holmes that you decided to pay him a visit. You had a case for him, one he didn’t find that interesting. But he accepted it anyway. As he told you, it was for the sake of old familiarity. Ever since then, you were pretty good acquaintances with John Watson, Mrs. Hudson and every other member of their small community. You wanted to take your chance to stay close to this strange boy you’ve known for so long without knowing him. But this situation, this mess you found yourself in – was the inevitable consequence.

      “And… what exactly am I a part of?” you asked weakly, your eyelids becoming heavy once more. You were drained, with dry lips and head still spinning. Probably you didn’t have long before losing your consciousness again.

      “A little conflict with the leader of London’s most known Mafia.” He admitted, sighing deeply. You couldn’t see how he closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall. This wasn’t supposed to be like this, not like this. Not with you chained in the same cell with him.

      “Little conflict?” you scoffed, pulling on your chains so the sound would reach his ears. “Is this what you’re calling little? What the hell have you done, Sherlock?” even you could hear how your voice wavered because of tears. 

      “I tried to get close to the leader of the Mafia through his only daughter. Human error, people never care about important information when people they care about are concerned. Enough pressure guaranteed...”

      “Please tell me you didn’t seduce this poor girl…”

      “I didn’t want to go through such extreme. But otherwise I wouldn’t collect the documents I needed. However, maybe I could have gone without telling her I’d never feel anything for someone as naïve and stupid as her.” His voice was calm, like always. Just like when you were kids…

      “Sherlock!” You heard him being called a freak almost a thousand times. Each time, trying to defend him, telling yourself it’s not true. You stood up for him, often trying to convince his bullies to stop. And yet… maybe they were right.

      “I’m sorry, you weren’t supposed to be a part of this. I never thought they’d take you…”

      “That isn’t even the problem, Sherlock!” you yelled at him, knowing the tears were flowing down your face. You were wrong, all your life you were wrong about him. “Why would you think any of this was a good idea?”

      You heard him sigh deeply. “Probably… because I’m a dangerous sociopath with a long history of violence.” Your body was shaken with sob, the fear and the resignation taking over you. How could this happen to you? You were scared for your life. Dangers were never a part of it. The worst fear you’d even endured was of not finding the right person to be there for you. This amount of stress was just too much to handle… 

      “I don’t understand how you keep forgetting that.” his voice was almost sad. What you didn’t know was that Sherlock was shaken to the core at the thought of you being captured because of him. Since the beginning, he’d known they would come after him. It was something that was supposed to happen. “I know you always had the false picture of me in your head. So desperate in your attempts to deny the truth. You wanted to believe I was someone better.” Even when he heard someone bring another person to his cell, he thought the only person they could get to was John. But John would handle it well, having been the soldier. You on the other hand…

      You were the civil in the middle of a war.

      “Wakey, wakey!” another voice broke your conversation. Suddenly you got blinded from the flashlight pointed right into your eyes. Only now Sherlock could take a look on your bruised face and swollen lips. There was also blood that already thickened. 

      Sherlock recognized the man who just walked in. It was the most sadistic member of Binenti’s mafia. And now this man was holding your face in his scarred hands. “Fair face. Too bad, soon it won’t be this pretty.”

      “Leave her, she had nothing to do with this!” Sherlock squirmed in his place, pulling the chains. But he was helpless, the chains keeping him in distance from the man. Nikolai Raskow, Russian assassin now he remembered. Nikolai’s face wasn’t visible, the flashlight only showing your face. But that was all Nikolai needed. 

      “Nothing? I remember she was the one you were texting when we got you. Must be important to you. No surprise though,  I admit – she’s gorgeous.” With those words, the man punched you in the face. Hard. At first you felt numb, pain came later. Along with blood that gathered in your mouth. “If she stays this pretty I might even keep her to myself.”

      “I said let her go!” Sherlock was furious, you could notice it without seeing his face. Sound of chains being pulled filled the cell. He couldn’t let you get hurt because of him. You should have never been involved in this.

      “No, Holmes. You treated our little princess like shit, now we’re gonna make sure you know how it feels like when someone plays with your feelings.” Nikolai reached to his pocket, but before he was able to pull out anything, your body started shaking. Then you began laughing. In an unhealthy manner that scared Sherlock.

      “Are you serious?” your voice was still shaking due to the tears and the pain, but madness was the one thing which definitely stood up. “Of all people you could kidnap you chose me? This man doesn’t give a damn about me, can’t you see that? You could as well cut me in pieces in front of him and he wouldn’t care…” another wave of tears arrived and you threw your head back. There was a fresh cut on your cheek, where Nikolai hit you. Your eyes were bloodshot from crying, face pale like death itself. 

      “Great idea, I think I’ll check if it’s true.” Something reflected the light of flashlight straight into Sherlock’s eyes. A razor, very sharp. “What do you say, Holmes?”

      “Let her go, I’ll return all the documents but leave her out of this!” Sherlock screamed, watching the razor helplessly.

      Nikolai only laughed, grabbing your hair and pulling it roughly so your throat would be exposed. And Sherlock was unable to prevent him from putting the sharp razor right to your throat. “The documents? Who cares about them? Clearly not my boss.” Nikolai made a small cut on your throat, causing you to squirm in pain. It wasn’t enough to reach any important veins, but the thin line of blood started flowing down your neck. “He only wants you to suffer before you die. Beating you would be pointless. But having you witness someone you care about die and being unable to do anything about it…”

      It was becoming harder and harder to focus on your surroundings. You could barely feel the cut on your throat. You were drifting away, closing your eyes. The sounds around you going quieter and quieter…

      The only thing you could remember was how someone kicked the door to the cell open and aimed a gun at your torturer. Then, only the chains around your wrists kept you from falling to the ground.

      Coming back to being conscious was painful. Hospital lights blinded you at first, but after a moment you were able to take a look. You were lying in hospital bed, with a few letters lying on the table beside you.

      And someone sitting on the chair next to your bed.

      “It’s nice to see you again, John…” you said, smiling weakly at him. Muscles in your face hurt, which made your smile disappear quickly.

      “Don’t try moving, you still haven’t gathered back your strength.” John told you calmly, taking your hand in his and giving it a reassuring squeeze

      “How long have I been unconscious?” you asked, closing your eyes for a moment.

      “Almost a week. You were hurt… badly. At first we didn’t know if we were even able to save you. You were lucky.” You huffed at his words, turning your head from him and gazing at the window. The only thing you could see through it was blue sky with some clouds. But anything seemed better than looking into John’s eyes at that moment. “You know, Sherlock was there the entire time, waiting for you to wake up. It wasn’t easy, forcing him to eat, sleep or even wash.” John chuckled softly as he watched you.

      A single teat escaped your eyes, as you still weren’t facing him. “I don’t want to see him. I can’t…”

      “I know it’s hard for you, but Sherlock…”

      “I just can’t, okay?!” you snapped at John, your glazed eyes finally meeting his. You were breathing irregularly, trying to stop yourself from falling into uncontrolled sobbing. “You’re a perfect match for him, John. You love danger. But I can’t do this… I don’t have it in me. I’m ordinary and I won’t change it. I can’t see him now. Because if I did… I wouldn’t be able to stay away… and that’s what I have to do.” It was hard, talking but you needed to voice your thoughts. Make it impossible to escape. 

      “You have no idea how I felt about him all those years. Even when we were kids… I thought I belonged with him. But I was too afraid to talk to him. I was shy and I hated it. Then he moved away and I read about his death.. I couldn’t forgive myself.” You didn’t even try to stop other tears from coming. All you needed was to be able to talk, which was becoming harder with every word. “When he came back… I thought I was given a second chance. I couldn’t waste it… But he… He’s danger. No matter what, I won’t be able to keep up with him. I just can’t, I can’t…”

      John didn’t hesitate to sit on your bed and wrap his arms around you, swaying you in his arms. At that moment you didn’t mind – you needed it. The tenderness Sherlock Holmes could never offer you. “I thought… I thought I could change him… But he’s what he is and…” you his your face in the crook of John’s neck, your body trembling.

      “You did change me…”

      Sherlock’s voice made you pull away from John. He was standing in the doorway, his eyes fixed on you, a single tear falling down his cheek.

      Sherlock moved slightly, just to make room for him to leave. John gave you last squeeze before pulling away completely and leaving the hospital room, leaving you alone with Sherlock.

      “I know that you don’t want to talk with me right now. So just listen to what I have to say.” He told you, but you focused your gaze on the edge of the bed. “I never expected them to get a hold on you… I’m sorry for all that happened to you. I’m sorry for being the reason you got involved in this…” he cleared his throat and that was when you looked at him. Sherlock froze, as you stared at him with narrowed eyes. Full of hurt, of hate.

      “You’ve said what you had to.” despite the rage boiling in your veins, your voice was weak, sad. “Now get out…”

      You sat on the backseat of your cousin’s car, trying to find a comfortable position to stay in for the long ride. You were leaving London, going back to your family house. Doctors said that you should stay in the hospital for a few more days, but you insisted on leaving. You didn’t want more time, as it could make you change your mind. You couldn’t afford that. You left a few notes for the people you grew familiar with. To John, Mary, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade… none for Sherlock. You hated saying goodbyes.

      Scamming through your purse you tried to find the medicine you were supposed to take at this point of the day. Then you found a small envelope with your initials written on top of it. The handwriting sent chills down your spine. You couldn’t read it, you just couldn’t… but you had to.

      I will never find the right words to apologize to you for what had happened. All I’m capable of doing is explaining how we got to this point. If I had only known that day I was going to be kidnapped, I wouldn’t risk texting you. But I did, because I had to say my goodbye. I knew it could be my last chance to tell you.        You did change me. Ever since the moment I first saw you look at me. You were the only person who didn’t see a freak. You stood for me, though you didn’t have to. You saw me as someone better, someone better than I had been. Throughout my entire life, it was your gaze that pushed me forward. Because of your faith in me, I knew I had to try to be that better person. Not that I accomplished anything close to that…        I never knew the proper way to thank you for that. Then you came to London and brought all the memories back. I knew you were never the type to handle stressful situations easily, I knew I couldn’t get you involved in whatever I was doing. But at the same time I had no idea of how to let you go.        This letter is my closure. We’ll probably never see each other again. And it is good, because never again I will let you be affected by my work. You deserve better than this.

       S.H.

      This week you cried so many tears, you couldn’t afford any more at this point. All you felt was this knit forming in your stomach, making it hard to breathe properly. You couldn’t understand it and you probably never would. You needed to distract yourself, turn your gaze away. You looked through the window of the car, only to see Sherlock Holmes standing on the other side of the street.

      None of you even tried to say or do anything. You only watched each other as the car’s engine started. You were leaving London for good and Sherlock’s gaze followed you, until your cousin’s car was out of sight. It was for the best…

Title: Our last Sunday Author: Dalila Ship: Sherlock x Reader Word count: 1.923 Request: “Could you do something with Sherlock realizing how close he was to actually losing Reader? As in, it could be days, weeks, or even months later after whatever happened and it just hit him that there had been the real possibility that she may not have been there any longer. Please and thank you!” Summary: Sherlock deduced you have a special date tonight. Meanwhile, strange feeling arises within him, one he can’t seem to understand. It wasn’t until you left when a certain memory opened up his old wounds. Warnings: none, I believe. Author’s note: I thought a lot about this one, unable to find the right context to mentioned request. Then a song popped out of my playlist - polish tango from 1935 (often referred to as the suicide tango), and I just got a little carried away xD Sentences in italic are the lyrics to the song, translated by me. I hope this lives up to your expectations.

      Now is no time to look for excuses…

      “You’re doing it. Again…” Sherlock mumbled from behind the files he’d been reading for a while now. You looked up from your book and furrowed your brows in confusion.

      “Doing what exactly?” his eyes got narrowed, his fingertips met under his chin and you knew what was going on. He was deducing you, and you couldn’t help but put your book aside and set more comfortably in the chair, turning your attention fully to him. His game was on, and you loved it. “Okay, tell me.”

      The fact is – it’s over.

      He didn’t answer you right away, rolling his eyes at you first. Even after four years of being acquaintances, it slightly annoyed him how… unusual you were with his behaviour. Once, you’d handed him a very difficult case to solve. Took him months, during which you remained by his side to witness all the progress he was making. And after the case was over, you just stayed by his side, for a very trivial reason – you were just as messed up as him and John. You loved crimescenes, murder stories and Sherlock’s attitude which you called his ‘strange sense of humour’. His comments didn’t affect you, his insults only made you laugh and whenever he’d read and expose you to the world, you were simply in awe. 

      “Come on, tell me!” you insisted, squirming like impatient child during Christmas Eve. Wide grin was spread across your face and your eyes reflected the flames from the fireplace.

      Today there is someone else, richer and better than me

      “You’ve been… humming.” He hesitated in mid sentence, not really knowing why.

      “That’s it?” suddenly your face was only showing disappointment. “I thought you had something good this time. You’re getting slow, Holmes. I hum almost all the time.”

      “You always hum differently. Pop songs are reserved for average days, whenever you’re feeling down you either stay silent or hum Disney songs, so they would cheer you up. Good days are for musicals, each musical representing different good emotion.”

      “I didn’t even notice… Of course I didn’t notice.” You laughed at yourself, shaking your head. There were a lot of things you did without even realizing it. Him explaining it to you was always something you’d enjoyed. It was good, how he was able to teach you about your own behaviour. “And what have I been humming today?”

      And along with you, he stole all my luck.

      Sherlock swallowed, something strange forming in his chest. Probably the consequence of his reunion with cigarettes, he thought. No, it wasn’t physical. Something made him feel… uneasy. “You were humming tango.”

      “Tango?” You repeated after him.

      “Yes, tango.” He blinked a couple of times before getting up and taking the violin in his hands. Something was off, and he needed to find it. Music had to help.

      “Oh, don’t you turn your back on me now – explain it to me! You didn’t say anything about tango before…” you leaned in, clasping your hands on your knees. Sherlock turned to you, examining you closely. Black heels, comfortable dress and hair pulled into a loose bun, a few strands of hair surrounding your face.

      I have just one request, perhaps the last one.

      “(Y/N), I predict you’re thinking about having sex tonight.” He said, smirking at himself a little. Your brows furrowed once more, before your eyes opened widely.

      “Go on.” You pushed him, smiling widely.

      “Your high heels are supposed to impress that man, your hair are put up because you want him to fully focus on you. You want his full attention tonight. But you didn’t fully dress for the occasion. You dressed comfortably, because you feel comfortable around this man. This indicates you’ve grown to both like and fancy him. And the tango… Despite having a common mind, you’ve got incredible instinct for music. Subconsciously you know what tangos are about. The most sexual dance in the world, one where there is always a controlling side and the controlled one. You’re clearly hoping for intimacy.”

      The first one in many years,

      Your smile widened a bit more, playful lights dancing in your eyes. He didn’t need you telling him he was right – he always was. You were never trying to keep secrets from him, your face being always an open book. Not just open – also welcoming. Something he didn’t see that often in people.

      I ask for this Sunday,

      “I should actually be going. I have to make dinner and… you know my cooking skills aren’t that good. It’ll take time.” You got up, ruffled his hair and offered him one last smile before you walked out of the flat. 

      One last Sunday…

      “Give my best to John if he shows up!” he heard you shout before you closed the door downstairs. With his violin still in his hand, he walked to the window and watched you catch a cab.

      Then the world can crash at our feet

      Sherlock tried to understand this strange feeling which was still growing inside him. As if an invisible first grasped his insides and squeezed them hard. His lungs had trouble breathing regularly, blood was rushing through his veins in an uncomfortable pace.

      This is our last Sunday…

      His eyes could see the bow moving against the strings of his violin, but his ears couldn’t catch the sound. Something was on his mind, but out of his reach. His mind palace had closed door, to which he didn’t possess the key.

      Today we’ll part,

      A memory he lost somewhere along the way. Not deleted, just pushed aside. Seemingly unimportant, but nagging. Like a ghost story from his past. A wound, which opened after years.

      There’ll be no coming back

      After a while, his ears began hearing again. He hears himself play the tango you’d been humming all day. He’d heard it once before from you. Two years ago, the day after your then boyfriend proposed to you. You were so fulfilled with happiness, you even managed to make Sherlock laugh. Walking around his chair as he presented the newest case to you, you hummed your first tango.

      Our last Sunday

      The locked door finally found their key. Rusted, forgotten. Why would your engagement affect him, bother him in any way? It was just another couple deciding to get married. Didn’t matter if it were you or a stranger from the street. Why would it affect him?

      So spend it with me

      He didn’t think much about this at the time. There were other things he found more significant. He was so absent minded with his case, that he didn’t even notice you’d been visiting his flat less frequently. You were slipping away, and he allowed it.

      Keep your caring eyes fixed on me

      It took your fiancé three months to cancel the wedding. During the preparations you both realized you just weren’t right for each other, not for longer period of time. You decided to keep the relationship civil, without holding grudge. But if you didn’t know… if you hadn’t decided to end this…

      One last time…

      He would lose you… Forever.

      The door in his mind were thrown open with a loud crack, as he finished the last notes of the tango. He’d lose you… There would be no more loud laughter to wake him in the morning. No one would force him out of bed, no one would scold him for not dressing up. The thought that was always tempting all of sudden became… unbearable.

      What would it be like?

      Every next Sunday will be yours

      You’d be happy. Maybe after some time there’d be a lot of arguments, but there would always be someone by your side to help you through it. You’ve had this uncanny ability to make friends at every step.

      But what will happen to me… who knows

      Sherlock would be miserable. John would still be busy with Mary and Rosie, you’d be away with your husband. He’d be all alone, unable to comprehend. Isolation, in which he’d eventually drown, would drive him mad. He’d start using again, and there would be no one keeping him from losing it all.

      All my dreams, my happiness

      Your smile would haunt him in his worst nightmares. The images of you happy, drastic contrast to his misery, would be his downfall. It was you who kept him sane for past months. You’d always pull him out of his deepest despair, no matter how much he’d push you away. 

      You wouldn’t be there anymore… 

      Gone for good…

      He’d made a mistake. Your tango wasn’t about sex. It was always about love. About letting the other person in control of your life. And the other person giving the same control to you. Partnership. You’d hum tango only for those, who you thought deserved your eternal love.

      There’s only one thing that matters – you being happy

      You hummed because you made your choice. You’d come to see this person as someone worth your lifetime. It was inevitable, letting you go. Whoever that man was, he was your future happiness. And even though Sherlock realized how selfish he is about you… he would never rob you of that happiness.

      So never worry about me again.

      “I forgot my documents.” You stormed to his flat for the second time that day. Your face was glowing with the most beautiful smile he knew. All of sudden, he saw you from completely another perspective. For the first time… “Sorry to bother you, I hope I didn’t interrupt anything. Bye!” you winked his way before turning towards the door.

      But before everything comes to an end…

      “Wait…” he stopped you, putting his violin aside.

      Before fate divides us…

      You turned to him once more, confusion clear on your face. “What is it?”

      Give me this one last Sunday.

      “Could you… stay here with me tonight?” his face didn’t reflect the mess that was going on inside his head. Inside his heart. Isolation was his ultimate desire, but you changed that. You came along and got him addicted. You were his strongest drug, one he didn’t even know he was addicted to. “This is not a good night to be alone…”

      Your jaw dropped slightly at his words. Never before would he ask for your company. Usually it was you, who decided to stay with him. Him asking you to stay tasted like… desperation. Fear. Something you’d never seen of him before. At least not like this.

      Sherlock saw you bite your lower lip. You were puzzled. Conflicted. Of all people, he’d known you the best. Not only because you’d been acquaintances… friends for years now. He could read you, everything about you. He was the only one who could understand you in aspects you didn’t understand yourself.

      It took you a while to grab your phone and send a quick text.

      “I’ll stay here with you.” Sherlock offered you a slight smirk. He may have been a sociopath, but you managed to break through all of his walls. He had no idea of when exactly he let you in. But he did, and soon he’d have to face losing you again. Losing you to your own fairy tale, one he could no longer be a part of. “Sundays are never good for dates anyway…” you said before humming your tango once more…

Title: My dear Delilah... Author: Dalila Ship: Sherlock x Reader / Moriarty x  Reader Word count: 1.150 Imagine: x Imagine Sherlock finding out you’ve been working for Moriarty all along. Summary: Sherlock rushes to rescue you from Moriarty’s criminal partner, whom you both were chasing, only to find out you’ve never been captured. Warnings: mention of torture, betrayal

        Sherlock walked into the old cathedral slowly, examining the terrain carefully with every step. Caution was always there, always lurking in his eyes but this time it was something different. It was his dear Delilah’s life on the stake. 

      All his life, he was searching for something to kill his boredom. His entire life dedicated for distractions, all sorts of it. People were dying all around and he was always there, always exactly where he was needed. Each time it was just another human with their own death riddle. Each one at the end easy. Distractions.

      Only recently Sherlock Holmes found the ultimate distraction, even if he hadn’t known that at the time. Delilah showed in his life out of nowhere. Seemingly, just another person whose life had been entangled with his, for no reason whatsoever. But he’d taken interest in you. That clever, mysterious and incredibly strong woman. One who didn’t take no for an answer, who could get herself out of any trouble with a playful smirk on her lips. Oh, that smirk of yours. Each time he felt like going down, like giving up on something, your playful smirk was the resemblance of victory. He just needed to be like you. Determined. 

      While he examined the cathedral, he summoned all the courage and determination he ever possessed. For you. It was your life he had to save. Not some random stranger, but you. He knew exactly how the world would look like without you and he was not willing to let the world be such an empty place. Not anymore. You were like the first ray of sunshine ever since his early childhood. His faithful companion…

      He was not going to lose you the way he’d lost Redbeard.

      Earlier that day he’d gotten a text. One that turned the world upside down. You were both chasing a criminal, supposedly Moriarty’s right hand. The only one who was this close to him. It was Sherlock’s top priority to get to her so he could get straight to Moriarty.

      But this criminal was clever. One step ahead of him. All progress he’d made in his chase after her was gone with one simple text, sent from your phone.

      Come on, come get me       Won’t you play along and get me?          ~ (Y/N)

      (Y/N), the most dangerous partner of Moriarty, the most important part in his criminal web. The most  sadistic, manipulative and evil woman out there was with you, doing God knows what to you.  You both had seen her work before. Very carefully planned tortures, driving victims to madness before they die. Sherlock quickly dismissed all the images that went through his mind. Your bruised face…

      He couldn’t let the image sink in and slow him.

      He was already so slow because of this… sentiment.

      “I thought you’d never came…” your trembling voice got to his ears. Quickly, he turned to your direction. And there you were, the only person Sherlock Holmes could never hurt. The only person he’d never even insult. You were there, looking gorgeous as always. Your (e/c) eyes visibly glazed over, few tears already on your cheeks.

      Sherlock ran over to you, no longer caring about the surroundings. He took you in his arms, something he’d never done before. He knew admitting to sentiment was even worse than sentiment itself, but he couldn’t help himself. Not anymore. You were alive with no signs of harm, only that mattered. Not his pride, not his safety. Only you… 

      “I will make (Y/N) pay for each one of your tears, I promise you…” he whispered in your ear, his hand softly stroking your hair. He could feel your body trembling against his.

      But only after a minute he realized, you’d been shaking not of fear – but of laughter.

      “Really?” you pulled away from him, pushing him forward. Your laughter echoed in the cathedral, the dark surroundings emphasizing your psychotic grin. One he’d never seen on your face before, it sent shivers down his spine. “My darling, guess I lost our bet.”

      “What bet are you talking about…” he stepped back, only then reality kicking into his brain. “Oh, I see…” Images of you flickering before his eyes. Each smile, each wink, every picture he’d saved in his mind – it was all a lie. “You’re (Y/N)”

      “Of course she is.” A familiar voice came to his ears, from behind him. Sherlock didn’t bother turning to him, his gaze still locked on your face.

      He couldn’t stand the thought of you betraying him. Not you.

      “And you did lose your bet, dear.” Moriarty walked past Sherlock and landed his hand on your shoulder. You smiled at him, with that smile which Sherlock had seen so many times, which he’d seen in his every dream. “I told you, he wasn’t that smart.”

      “I find it amusing.” Your eyes were piercing him like a pre-heated knife. “James said you were smarter than… ordinary people.”

      “But you…” he was losing it, couldn’t feel the floor under his feet anymore. The world around started to disappear, only you remained in his vision. Beautiful as always, and yet… “You weren’t supposed to be like this.” His scream echoed, filling the walls around you. 

      And you just laughed.

      “Really?” you looked at Moriarty, planting a tender kiss on his cheek. Blood boiled in Sherlock’s veins at the sight of that. Your hand rested on Moriarty’s chest, slowly going down. Sherlock didn’t want to look at it anymore, but he was trapped there. A silver line dragging him towards you, making it impossible to look away.

      Then you grabbed the gun Moriarty hid in his suit. You pointed it at Sherlock, with a playful smirk. His favourite playful smirk. “Maybe you just wanted to believe that.” You stepped forward, making your way towards him. And he wanted to step backwards, but something pulled him towards you. “Maybe you were just so desperate in your search for someone to trust to.” you mocked him, with a gun pointed in between his eyes. “John, Molly… it was never enough for you. You needed someone who’d made you feel special. You needed someone matching your level.” Your laughter hit him once more, like a ton of bricks. “But we were never matching. I’m higher than you. And you proved that on the very day we’ve met. I gave you a clue, right away.”

      “Of course.” The realization hurt him. But it wasn’t his pride that you damaged. All the time you’ve spent together, he’d do anything to impress you. And he missed the most important clue. “Delilah… Samson’s wife, the symbol of betrayal.”

      “What parent would name their child Delilah, right?” he couldn’t stop staring at you, as you lowered the gun and aimed it at his heart. Not knowing you’ve already hit him there. Already killed him. “Now, Jimmy… what do you think we should do with this one?”

Title: Emergency, code Hamish pt. II Author: Dalila Ship: Sherlock x Reader Word count: 1.268 Request: Your “Emergency, code Hamish” gave me a cute idea if you want to play with it. Reader and Sherlock are bored(uh oh) and decide playing Jenga on her baby belly is a great way to involve baby. Baby doesn’t agree and keeps kicking to knock the tower over!” Part one: x Summary: Boredom gets us all, but when it comes to 221B, it usually makes tables turn. Your pregnancy however broke the norms Sherlock was used to, so he decides to take advantage of it.

      “But I’m bored!” curly-haired man exclaimed, before reaching out to the pocket of his blue robe Signs of irritation arose on his face and it only made you laugh from the couch. “Where is my gun, (Y/N)?” he asked but didn’t wait for the answer, instead just dropping to his knees and reaching his hand underneath the cupboard. “That was childish, I know where you hide things.”

      You nodded your head with a slight smile, while Sherlock was taking our his gun from where you put it. You had your usual hiding spots, but none that Sherlock wouldn’t know about. Most of the time it wasn’t even about the hiding, but rather slowing him down. “Alright, where are the bullets?” he scoffed, looking at you with his eyes narrowed.

      “Normal parents usually make their unborn child listen to classic music, but you’d make them listen to the sounds of gun firing.” Adjusting yourself on a couch, you automatically rested one of your hands on your swollen belly. “I understand you want our child to be more like you, but I’d rather not have two gun loving people under one roof.” Over five months had passed since the day you told Sherlock you were expecting, and even though his panic over your health prolonged for months, he already managed to understand that pregnancy was not going to cause you serious injury. Of course, it would be easier if your back wasn’t in constant pain, but you couldn’t complain. The joy that arose in your heart at every step of pregnancy was more than enough to make up for every inconvenience that came your way.

      “Where are my bullets?” Sherlock’s voice now sounded more urgent, as he walked towards you with an almost psychotic expression on his face. This man was poisoned with boredom, to the point he was willing to do anything to occupy his mind.

      “I’m a pregnant woman and I refuse to sit here while you fire your gun just inches above my head. I threw them away.” You shrugged before crossing your arms just above your stomach. “Come on, sit here with me. Your daughter clearly craves for your attention.” A warm smile lightened up your features when you reached out for his hand and placed it on your stomach, knowing he could feel your child kicking.

      One corner of his lips twitched a little, but there was no other reaction visible on his face. He still had hard time processing emotions, especially when it came to their baby. “You can’t know it’s going to be a girl.” He stated calmly, lifting your legs so he could sit beside you on the couch. Your legs were now resting on his lap as you watched him with a smile. Despite acting rather cold, his hand remained on your belly. You knew that his sociopathic nature wasn’t something he was born with. It was a façade, one he so strongly wanted to believe in. His only shield, protecting him for so many years now. Getting through it took you years and he still had rather cool attitude, even towards you.

      “I don’t care that I can’t, I know it’s a girl.” Sherlock rolled his eyes at you, without gazing your way. “I’m bored too, think of something we can do together. And something that doesn’t involve weaponry!” You added quickly, before he’d suggest something off your limits. A sigh escaped his lips, as you clearly ruined one of his ideas. But then, playful lights began to flicker in his eyes.

      “What do you have in mind?” you asked, wide smile spreading on your face, even though you were also slightly nervous about whatever that man had imagined. On the other side of the living room, Sherlock was going through the shelves, in which you kept all the ordinary games. Then you could see him turning to you with Jenga in his hands and a mischievous smile plastered on his face. “Okay… this is too ordinary for you and your smile is too wide.” You deduced, narrowing your eyes. “What is the thing you’re not telling me and that will make me say no?”

      Without answering your question he made his over to the couch and settled there. Your legs were now loosely straddling his waist, as he sat in front of you with his legs crossed and the Jenga box on his lap. “I’m thinking it’s time for a family game. For the whole family.” His smile grew even wider as he looked at the Jenga and then at your stomach.

      “Sherlock Holmes, our child is not a table – we’re not going to play Jenga on my stomach!” you exclaimed, a sigh of frustration leaving your mouth. Ever since his panic had fleeted he was having ridiculous ideas, but this one was by far the most ridiculous one.

      “That’s quite an opinion for someone who wanted to check if placing a glass of water on my head will pull me out of my mind palace.” As if not caring about your words, Sherlock began taking out small blocks from the box.

      “That was something different!” you argued, rubbing your forehead with two fingers.

      “No, it wasn’t. Lestrade seemed upset about the fact the most important piece of evidence got soaked with water.”

      “Oh, fine!” you breathed out, sinking more into the armchair of the couch. “But keep in mind that I won’t stop breathing just so you can build a straight tower. And five layers is maximum.” You gave him a look, which didn’t take no for an answer. 

      “Deal.” Sherlock said before getting to building the tower. Without further discussion, you let your head rest on the back of the couch, watching him silently, as he tried to get the tower as straight as possible. However it wasn’t easy, since your child found that moment most suitable for the peak of activity. Sherlock didn’t even manage to place six blocks on your belly before the baby kicked from the inside and knocked the tower over.

      “You’re doing this on purpose, you’re moving.” He shot you an offended glare but you just laughed at him.

      “It wasn’t me!”

      “You just knocked the tower over, I haven’t even finished.”

      After a few more attempts, Sherlock finally managed to get the tower to have mentioned five layers. It seemed as if your child decided to take a rest from the kicking so you calmly removed one of the blocks from the bottom of the tower. But as soon as Sherlock touched one of the blocks, you felt another kick coming – as the tower fell over once more.

      “I’m beginning to think that he’s playing favourites.” Sherlock said, glaring at the ruined tower and your stomach. You needed to hold back another giggle.

      “Or maybe she’s just like her father. Ruining fun for other people.”

      “Oh, so I’m the fun killer now?” he raised his eyebrow at you. If it wasn’t for the humour of the situation, he would probably stay silent and leave at your comment but even you could see he was barely holding his laugh.

      “I may be the one exception to this. And it also may be the reason why I’m having a blast while she keeps ruining your tower.” Shaking your head, you reached your hand to place it tenderly on his cheek. You could see he was still slightly offended as he pulled back from your hand. “Oh, it’s going to be hard.” You sighed.

      “What exactly?”

Author: Dalila Ship: Sherlock x Reader Word count: 1.820 Summary: Sherlock Holmes isn’t a person to impress easily. And yet, you managed to impress and surprise the famous London detective and through that – you got a chance to entangle your life path with his. Warnings: some cursing. Author’s note: (IMPORTANT) This is an idea that made me start this blog. I’m very happy to present it to you now. I have ideas as to what could happen in following parts, but it’s up to you if they will be written. Make sure to leave your opinion, I’d highly appreciate it

       London is not a welcoming place. It’s a labyrinth of human misdeeds, intrigues and greed. Nobody could enter without being influenced by its toxic atmosphere. Seemingly everyone in their right minds would stay away from that place. Especially young, innocent birds like (Y/N) (L/N)

      The problem was – you had no idea what was about to happen. 

      “The show starts in five minutes, damn it! Move your motherfucking ass to the stage!” you heard someone shout in the back, as you finished placing an old dusty wig on your head which made you look like a man taken straight from 17th century’s drawings. For a moment, you took in your reflection in a broken mirror. It  had been broken for a while now but you still could see yourself clearly, so the theatre didn’t bother getting a new one.

      Theatre was your passion, your inner voice. Despite being born in a wealthy family of scientists, you couldn’t find yourself matching the scheme. Always searching for something that could be your own, something powerful and beautiful. Art was speaking to you ever since you were a child. But your parents wouldn’t allow you to ‘waste your intelligence and legacy of your family’, in a way of compromise you agreed to become a psychologist. It was the last year of studying psychology when you decided that you’re not going to be defined by someone else and dropped out altogether to chase your dreams.

      “Show time…” you sighed, giving one last smirk to your own reflection. Not that chasing your dreams didn’t have it downfalls…

      “Are you taking me to the theatre?” John asked, frowning at the sight of tickets Sherlock just bought. The place didn’t seem like a fancy one, actually it was probably one of the smallest and worst looking theatres in the entire London. But Sherlock didn’t seem to be bothered by this.

      “I’m not taking you. I think this is the place our murderer chooses for his meetings with his boss. I know that he’s going to be there tonight. And if we’re lucky, we’ll have some track to begin with.” Sherlock lifted his head and breathed in the evening air. The wind blew through his curly hair as he observed the way clouds were gathering over his city. 

      After having his moment, Sherlock stepped into the building, giving the tickets to an old woman who could as well be the inspiration for the stereotypical image of a witch. Both men walked past her and entered the audience. “But be prepared that our targets will be the only interesting sight tonight. This indeed is the worst theatre I’ve ever seen. As if the idea of theatre wasn’t repulsive enough.

       “My guess is you must be (Y/N) (L/N).” you heard a deep, somewhat husky voice behind you as you pulled off the wig from your hair. Once again someone came to congratulate you on your performance. It was usually pleasant, knowing your work is appreciated. But there were cases, when men came to mock you or try to lurk into your bed. Downfalls of being the leading actress in one of the least known little theatres in London.

      And this man sure didn’t sound like someone who just wanted to voice their appreciation.

      “Your guess is wrong, mister.” You responded calmly looking in the mirror to get a glimpse of the two men. The deep voice had to belong to the tall man with curly black hair. Very nice cheekbones. And a confused look arising on his face. The shorter man’s features weren’t as sharp. You could only assume that it reflected on their personalities “I might be (Y/N) (L/N). I could as well be Lady Macbeth, Christine Daae, Cleopatra, Anne Boleyn… or Mercutio.”

      “Mercutio was a man, right?” said the other. You couldn’t help but giggle a little as your gaze returned to your own reflection. 

      “Yes, he was. But we don’t have enough talented men to fill all the roles.” You responded, with much more kindness towards the man. He didn’t seem like anything close to a douche, that was all you needed to be polite to him.

      What you didn’t know was that those were Sherlock Holmes and John Watson you were talking to. The famous consulting detective who just found your artistic work… impressive. Never before in his life had he witnessed someone take in their character the way you did. It fascinated him how you managed to truly behave like the character you were playing. Not allowing your own body language to ruin the impression, even for someone as observant as Sherlock.

      You surprised him, something he couldn’t just walk past by.

      But before he had a chance to speak, to voice his thoughts you got up from the chair and looked into his eyes. It was enough for him to lose his track of thought. Normally, that would be the moment he’d discover everything about you. By just looking into your eyes, noticing every small change in your body. But there was nothing. A plain wall, through which he couldn’t get past. You blocked his deducing skills, which left him speechless.

      “Thank you for the kind words, Mister. But I’m afraid that would be the end of your visit. I need to prepare for the next play. It was a pleasure to meet you.” You told John with a kind, genuine smile on your face. Only now Sherlock realized that John had said something, probably the basic phrase that you must have heard a thousand times already.

      Sherlock would find the right words to describe your performance, but you didn’t give him the chance.

      Almost automatically you reached out to unlock the door to the flat you’d been renting for a while now. It wasn’t the best place to live in, but at that point, you appreciated any place that provided you heat and a bed to sleep in. Theatre payment wasn’t enough for you to rent a proper place without dying of starvation. 

      That was the moment when you realized the door wasn’t locked. And the memory of closing it was still fresh in your head. 

      Your thoughts started racing, as you wondered what should you do. Surely the only reasonable answer was to run, as fast as you could. Maybe call the police on your way. Never before had you even thought of someone breaking in, especially in a place like this. There wasn’t much to steal. All you had were some personal belongings, nothing valuable. 

      That was the moment you realized there was something in there you couldn’t leave behind. Something that drew you towards the door, regardless of the danger that could still lurk there. 

      You stepped into the flat with much more confidence than you actually possessed, only to witness a tall man standing in the shadow. Forcing yourself to resist the temptation to scream or show your fear in any way, you took another step forward. “I suggest you leave now, before I call the police.” It took all your strength to keep your voice from quivering. Not once in your life you heard that if you act like a victim, the other person shall act like the predator. That was the time to use that knowledge.

      The dark figure walked towards you, stepping into the light of the hallway. Almost immediately you recognized the man from the theatre.

      “What the… were you following me?” you asked, not even trying to hide your frustration. All of sudden the fear disappeared, leaving you simply… confused. For some reason you didn’t feel scared of that man. There was still a possibility he could be someone extremely dangerous but… he didn’t look like it. He looked puzzled…

      Lost…

      “Of course I weren’t, otherwise I wouldn’t be here first. I was waiting for you. I can see you’re a lonely young woman who just moved in to London. Influential background, but you cut yourself from your family. Or rather they cut you off. Most likely because you’re different than them. Your mind always wandering off to places they’d consider unreachable… am I right?” he seemed rather pleased with himself. And all he’d said was right. Your family cut you off after you dropped out of university, you moved here to finally be able to live your own life. But all that didn’t matter, not at that very moment.

      “Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?” you asked, not risking coming closer to him. Instead you moved towards the kitchen cupboard, your eyes not leaving his for even one moment. You needed to check if your treasure was safe, if the bracelet was still safe…

      “There’s no need to reach for the knife you want to grab, I’m not here to harm you.” The man said and raised both of his hands in a sign of defeat. For a moment you thought that grabbing the kitchen knife as a defence wasn’t a bad idea, it had to be a logical assumption for him. Little did he know sometimes you valued old sentiments more than your own safety. “My name is Sherlock Holmes.”

      “Oh… I’ve heard of you actually.” the realization struck you. His face didn’t look familiar, but the name did ring a bell to you. London’s favourite detective, a man granted with intelligence ordinary people couldn’t even imagine. And he was in your flat, for some reason. “But your reputation doesn’t justify you breaking into my flat. What is it that you want?”

      Sherlock narrowed his blue eyes at you. For a moment you stood in silence, observing each other carefully. “I was wondering what made you such a convincing actress. Your portrayal of a character is impressively accurate. I’ve never seen someone disguise themselves so perfectly into being someone else.” His words sounded strange to you, but you could understand his point. His unusual form of appreciation even managed to move something in your heart. You wanted to thank him for his opinion, but the words lost their way to your mouth.

      “Is that it? Is that the reason you violated my privacy by coming here?” the fact remained, this man was an intruder and no matter his intentions he had no right to enter to your flat uninvited. “If so, then get out and better don’t come back.” You moved, so the way to the door was all clear for him. You were tired after a long day at work and you were in no mood to deal with this detective celebrity. Even though his presence touched something deep down in you, played on a lost string of your heart.

      “That isn’t the only reason I came. I see that it’s hard for you to make ends meet. And I do value your skills, so… I might have an interesting proposal for you, (Y/N).” you noticed how sparkles of light danced playfully in his eyes.

      That’s how it started…