𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: It is finally Y/N's turn to walk down the aisle. Sherlock can't keep his eyes off of her. She is certain that the man waiting at the alter is the one she will spend the rest of her life with. Is he?
wedding fluff and angst
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Sherlock stood at the alter, hands clasped behind his back. To the wedding guests, his sharp stance would suggest ease. In truth, each deep breath he chased was laboured and unsure.
She was a vision in white. Precious in deep sheets of ivory.
Sherlock had never seen such perfection.
Y/N took measured steps down the aisle in time to the music's pace. A few steps further and the bride would become somebody's wife.
Sherlock promised himself he would not cry today. Not one tear, he swore. He was better than that. Still, as Y/N drew closer, step by step, he wasn't certain he could keep a dry eye.
He considered turning away or focusing on the flower arrangements set behind her shoulder. Anything to keep the strain in his chest at bay.
It was in that moment of deliberation that Y/N chose to wink at him. A small gesture, hardly visible behind her veil but even so, he caught it.
Propping his shoulders back, he chose to keep looking. Better to face the music than miss a flutter of her lashes or the quiver of her lip when she smiled.
Though his throat felt constricted and his chest heaved for breath, Sherlock Holmes could not turn away from the bride.
He registered John shoot him a grin from the left. He wasn't sure that he returned it.
"She's beautiful," John said in a hushed tone.
"She's beautiful," Sherlock repeated.
Three years earlier, Sherlock had met Y/N for the first time. Since then, she had stumbled through the flat each day, always with a shy smile and a soft spoken, "hello".
He loved her from the start.
Their highs and lows, they would experience together. When she threw her head back in laugher, teeth gleaming at something her lover said, Sherlock would see it. He often revealed his experiments to her, if only to see the wonder shine in her eyes.
Even after every lover's spat, Sherlock would wrap his arms around her and swear that things would look brighter in time.
He was right. By God, he was right. He had to be, for now, she stood just steps away from him, at the alter, incandescently happy in her wedding gown.
A slow tear trailed down Sherlock's cheek.
Y/N finally reached him and there was silence in the cathedral when the music at last, had died.
"You're crying," she said.
Sherlock choked out a laugh that hurt his head. "I'm not," he replied. He tightened his lips together to ease the line of worry that had suddenly appeared on Y/N's brow.
"You're beautiful," he whispered. Closing his eyes, Sherlock shifted her veil aside. His hand trembled as he pushed it just far enough to kiss her cheek.
Though he gave her the softest of kisses, he felt a sharp stab in his heart, as arduous as the touch of his lips on her skin was brief.
He dropped her veil again and opened his eyes. "Every happiness," he said to her. His gaze steeled into her own. He hoped she wouldn't understand but she did.
Y/N nodded and her veil rustled. "Every happiness," she said back to him.
Sherlock clenched his jaw and feigned a smile for the wedding guests that stared from the pews. Then, he took Y/N's hand in his own and walked with her for three final steps.
John waited beside the priest.
Sherlock presented the groom with his bride and took his position as best man.
He was good at that, after all; standing on the outside, looking in. It's how he captured so many of his friends' most private moments in the small space of 221B.
Throughout the ceremony, the words, "every happiness" rang in Sherlock's mind.
When John and Y/N shared their first kiss as man and wife, Sherlock clapped along with the others but still, "every happiness" lingered at the tip of his tongue.
He simply couldn't manage to add the words, "I wish you..." at the start.
Things would be brighter in time, he told himself.
He knew it was a lie but for now, he clapped.
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I'm crying. I have reposted this thing like, 10 times. Last time, I swear. omg. please work. If you'd like to be tagged, let me know.
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Sherlock x reader where the reader had a homophobic family, and the reader is scared to come out as bi.
Ship: Sherlock Holmes X Reader
Word count: 1.5K
Warnings: Uuuuuhh?? I don’t normally do these, I doubt they’ll stick, but… homophobia? Maybe swearing ig
A/N: Thank you SO much for the requests, these are so much fun to do. I hope this one met your expectations! Enjoy
“I don’t think I can do this, Sherlock,” you whispered, clutching your boyfriend’s hand. He wasn’t exactly a fan of PDA but your anxiety was practically dripping off you and had been for days now. You had set up a dinner with your parents under the guise of them meeting your boyfriend, but it had another purpose. You were coming out to them as bisexual. You had decided on a date and time about a week prior and now you were sitting on a train with your boyfriend, heading towards their house to take them out for dinner. Sherlock wasn’t exactly a fan of dinner either. Sitting down, small talk, interacting with other human beings… not really his strong side. It had taken several promises from you to coerce him into even coming along. You were not to voice your “pointless and extremely irritating concern” (a direct quote from him) for his health. And, for three cases, you would get the milk and you’d pick him up body parts from the morgue when needed. You didn’t really care what his requests were, you would’ve agreed. You needed him for emotional support. Because he was so emotional. And so supportive.
“You do it and then your silly stressing will go away,” he replied, smooth as always. You loved him, of course, but he really was an emotionless prick a lot of the time.
You fell silent, staring instead at your hands, your hand looking small in his. His hand, as pale as the rest of him, was almost motionless besides an occasional shift caused by the rocking of the train. Yours was trembling and whenever it got too bad Sherlock would cover it, wait for the trembling to calm and then move his hand back. He stared into space as he always did and you fidgeted around on your phone, glancing over the many open tabs on how to come out and what precautions to take, which did absolutely nothing to improve your worries.
You put your phone in your bag, which held your outfit for tonight—you absolutely refused to wear your nice clothes on the train, to Sherlock’s annoyance. He was always impeccably dressed, so he had nothing to worry about– Placing your head hesitantly on Sherlock’s shoulder, you bit your lip. At the added contact, you felt Sherlock’s body tense as he returned from his toughs and slowly turned his head to look at you.
“This is stupid, Sherlock. We should go home,” you mumbled, your cheek squished against his shoulder, making your words slightly slurred. “That is idiotic, [Your name],” he hummed in response. “I am positive this night will end up perfectly fine regardless of your parents’ response.”
“Sherlock, they’re my parents. Their opinion matters to me and if they can’t accept me I don’t know what I’ll do-” Your voice broke and you shut up to avoid crying. This was stupid, you should just get off the train. Sherlock stared at you for a moment, formulating a response.
“It’s…such a little thing, it didn’t matter to me or John or Mrs. Hudson or Molly-”
“Just…stop talking now, dear,” You mumbled, pulling away from him and removing your hand from his. You lent your head against the wall behind you, and shut your eyes for the rest of your trip.
It was already nightfall by the time you arrived, the air damp from a soft spray of rain as you walked towards your parents’ house. A few years after you moved out, they had sold the place you knew as a home and you had been upset beyond words. So many childhood memories had been sold away for someone else to claim as their own. You and your parents had never seen eye-to-eye, one of the reasons you moved out as soon as you could.
The new house your parents were in was quite simple. Despite being no more than two stories, it felt towering and imposing. And once you had knocked and the door was opened, you realized that even after all these years, your parents still felt towering and imposing as well.
After forced introductions, you excused yourself to the bathroom and changed into your nicer clothes and fixed up your hair as best you could. With a painted-on smile, you stepped back outside and found your parents. You grabbed Sherlock’s hand and intertwined your fingers. It was partly to seem like a normal, loving, functional relationship to outside eyes, but it felt reassuring as well, even though Sherlock seemed very quizzical about it. The conversation was very short on the way to the restaurant you had picked, partly on account of both your father’s and your boyfriend’s curt answers and a lack of anything to talk about.
The restaurant was fancy. Incredibly fancy. It had been easy enough for Sherlock to persuade Mycroft into pulling a couple strings and secure a reservation and you had never been so grateful to the Holmes brothers.
Once you were all sat down with a glass of wine and food ordered, some small talk—mostly between you and your mother— ensued. You dodged every question about your job, knowing your parents wouldn’t exactly approve of you working as a detective. Occasionally, you’d feel Sherlock shift next to you. He was across from your father, while you were looking at your mother. After giving a particularly awkward reply to one of your mom’s questions, you took a sip of wine, but were quick to put the glass down once you realized how much your hand shook. You stuck it under the table and forced on a smile as your mother started talking about London and how expensive your apartment must be. You thought you were gonna faint from anxiety when you felt Sherlock’s hand slip into your own. He wasn’t even looking at you, keeping full eye contact with your father as he talked about god knows what.
The food arrived. You wanted nothing less than to eat, and it seemed that the same was true about your father. He was deep in conversation and Sherlock actually seemed to be… conversing. You picked gently at your food, wondering when you should tell them when, to your surprise, your father actually addressed you. “[Your name], it’s like I said all along, I knew that whole…gay thing of yours was just a phase.”
Oh well, now’s as good a time as ever.
“About that,” You began, “I actually wanted to talk to you about more than just…us,” you said, motioning to you and then your boyfriend. “Uh-” Sherlock’s finger was gently tracing your palm, his eyes, along with your parents’, on you.
And your ability to speak English was suddenly gone.
You felt all their gazes on you, inquisitive, expecting. Your hands were shaking again. “I’m bisexual.”
Silence.
Regret had already begun to pool in your stomach, you felt tears prick at your eyes. Your hands were still shaking. There was relief, despite everything. You got it over with. Sherlock’s was still tracing your palm, his face devoid of any emotion as he waited for your parents to react.
“So, my daughter is not only gay, but a slut too. We really got the full package, didn’t we dear?” Your father spoke, turning to your mother, who was gathering up her things. Your father followed suit and they left without another word.
You didn’t speak. Sherlock led you out of the restaurant and you took a cab back to Baker Street. You stared down, never speaking, constantly blinking back a fresh wave of tears. He didn’t force you to speak. You didn’t want to. At home, Sherlock led you to his chair, gave you a fresh change of clothes and texted someone. He told you Molly would come over in a couple of hours.
The tears dried up, you wrapped yourself up in a blanket and slowly got your voice back, though you didn’t use it. Sherlock moved from John’s chair to the kitchen, from the sofa to just awkwardly standing next to you. Despite his emotionless mask, you could easily tell he had absolutely no idea what to do.
“Sherlock?” You asked, muffled underneath your blankets. His eyes found yours and he gave a hum, acknowledging that he was listening.
“You were right. Like always.”
“How so?”
“It is a little thing. Doesn’t exactly feel like something small right now but… It’ll be okay.”
Your heart was aching, but your tears had stopped and you knew that it would eventually be alright.
Hesitantly, you spread open your arms and stared at Sherlock with your best pitiful look. With a roll of his eyes, he bent down and pulled you into his arms. Your face was smushed lightly against his chest, but you didn’t mind.
“It really is a silly little thing, [Your Name].” When he spoke, his chest vibrated calmly and you believed him. You nodded, pulling away a centimeter or two so you could speak without muffling your words.
“Did you ask Molly to bring ice cream?“
“Do you really think I’d make the mistake of forgetting again?”
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: When Sherlock comes home high off the thrill of case solving, he proceeds to drive Y/N insane (in the best way, of course). Though he refuses to wind down and take a break, Y/N must use her wits to CALM. HIM. DOWN.
Sleepy Sherlock + fluff! ♡
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The drone of Mrs Hudon's vacuum thrummed below the flat. It was a lazy day on Baker Street, and Y/N could feel it's droll effects.
She stood by the kitchen table, steeping a cup of tea. It's colour drained out in ribbons as she watched with unenthused interest. Sherlock hadn’t made it home that night, so the flat was painfully quiet.
Y/N prodded at her teabag. She squeezed the last of its flavouring out with a spoon and sighed. "So this is what he means when he's bored," she muttered.
She was about to dump the tea for the sake of steeping another batch, when a familiar voice boomed from the front door.
"I AM BRILLIANT! Oh darling, I know my mind is first-rate, but there are moments where even I'm impressed by its rampant luminosity!"
Y/N gave a jolt at the sudden intrusion. The door crashed against its frame and she nearly lost grip of her teacup. The drink sloshed and burned the back of her hand.
"SHERLOCK!" she cried out. "You startled me!"
Sherlock ignored the reprimand and followed the sound of his partner's voice. His steps were quick, nearly giddy.
Y/N frowned when he creeped into the kitchen. "Three cases solved within a twelve hour span!" he hissed, excited. "I am on FIRE!"
Sherlock's hair was mussed and his eyes gleamed wildly. He sounded breathless when he spoke, as though he had raced across the city.
Y/N bit back a smile and tried to remember her annoyance. "What are you going on about?" she demanded.
Sherlock grinned, nearly buzzing. "A magnificent performance on my part! A tri-movement concerto where I cracked the cases in an eloquent sequence of acuity and guile!"
"Good day, I take it?"
Sherlock dragged his hand along the edge of the countertop until he reached Y/N. His rushed strides were clumsy as he stumbled towards her. He squeezed her shoulders and planted a fervent kiss on her cheek. "Oh, you have no idea!"
"Sherlock, maybe you should take a breather now. You've been out since yesterday. Don't you think a bit of rest is in order?"
He looked down and noticed the steaming teacup still in her hands. "No time for that," he chided. "Come hear about the investigations!" Sherlock tossed the drink to the sink, making the porcelain clatter. Before Y/N could object, he gripped her hand tight and led her to the living room.
Sherlock drew open the curtains with great zeal, his open arms casting shaded silhouettes against the room. "Let's set the scene," he said with a dark smile. He turned back to his partner and stalked around her, building up his narrative.
"A robbery, six missing persons, and a murder. All distinct at first glance, wouldn't you say?"
Y/N perched on the edge of an armchair and crossed her arms. She was amused by his dramatization but worried about his lack of rest. In the moments where Sherlock Holmes was still high off the thrill of case solving, he was nonstop.
"Yes, I suppose so. But maybe you can finish your story in the morning? A good night's rest will---"
Sherlock bent down and kissed the tip of her nose. His eyes were bright. "That can wait, dove. As I was saying, Lestrade believed the three events to be mere coincidences as well. But I soon discovered that---"
"--- that everything was interconnected? Yes Sherlock, that's very impressive."
Sherlock glanced at Y/N and quirked a brow. "I'm sensing disinterest," he noted.
Y/N sighed. She stood up and took his hands in her own. "Not at all," she assured. "I'd love to hear of your triumphs, but I'm more concerned with your wellbeing at the moment."
"I don't understand. I'm perfectly fine!"
Y/N quirked a brow. She studied the dark shadows beneath his eyes and the slight tremble in his hands. His scarf was done up in a knot, and he seemed pale.
"Take a quick look in the mirror and tell me again that you're fine."
Sherlock narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "A look at the mirror won't prove anything other than the fact that you worry too much."
"Then it won't hurt to look, now will it?"
Sherlock scoffed and glanced at the mirror hanging from the back wall. He studied his reflection in silence.
"Clever girl," he murmured, finally. "I've seen better days, haven't I?"
Y/N dipped forwards and kissed his jaw. "I would say so. You're not invincible, you know."
Sherlock sighed and pulled her against his chest. "True as that may be, there are certainly moments where I feel invincible."
Y/N felt his deft fingers trail through her hair. She leaned against him and listened to the steady beating of his heart. "Do you mean when you're out case solving?"
Sherlock pulled back until his eyes locked with hers. He tapped a finger to the tip of her nose and grinned. "Not quite. I mean to say that invincibility lies in the moments I stand by your side."
Y/N giggled. "You've gone soft from your sleepless nights," she hummed. "Let's get to bed." Before Sherlock could protest, she gripped the end of his scarf and pulled him away.
"But the sun is still shining! London won't sleep until nightfall, and I'm sure I can hold up another few hours!" His last words were muffled by a yawn that he tried and failed to suppress.
"Somehow, I'm not convinced!" Y/N laughed. "You're exhausted. Come on, I'll fetch you a pillow."
Sherlock smiled. There was no use countering her. Secretly, he didn't really mind. He felt a profound sense of comfort in Y/N's care.
He squeezed her shoulder from behind. "I'm in your hands," he whispered.
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Give Fixation a shot!
I haven't written anything in a while, so I'm just glad to have finished this!!! 😭
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: When Y/N is invited to a polo tournament on Deville manor, she never expects for the Holmes boys to fall for her during the weekend getaway. Though Sherlock is keen to make sparks fly, his love for Y/N seems more and more like a competition with his older brother.
Y/N soon learns that she has more on the line than simply getting her heart broken. She might also be at the centre of a dark conspiracy. 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭
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"Do you see John, anywhere?" Mary peered through her binoculars, searching for her husband on the open field. “I promised him we’d pop by before the match.”
Y/N huffed in amusement. Earlier that week, Mycroft had invited John, Greg, Sherlock, and by extension, Mary and Y/N to join him for a weekend's polo tournament. The four men would play against a team of Mycroft's colleagues over the course of three days. It was a prestigious event and several higher up's in the British government would be in attendance.
The renowned Deville manor served as lodging and camp, with the lord of the house acting as master of ceremonies. Lord Deville's property extended throughout the English countryside, its picturesque landscape making the ideal spot for a tournament.
Y/N had been quick to accept Mycroft's invitation, only waiting for Sherlock's agreement before blurting out a sharp "yes," herself. She'd been doing that a lot lately - observing Sherlock's interactions from a distance. She ached for his approval but couldn't discern why.
Y/N ambled past a team of rival polo players with Mary still linked to her arm. Socialites mingled in groups around her. They chatted softly, their fingers wrapped around champagne glasses. Y/N instinctively smoothed down the front of her blouse. She scanned the manor's busy plot and noticed a row of security personall in the backstands working to blend into the background. It didn't come as a surprise that Mycroft had invited them to such a shrouded event. The man dealt in secrets, even during his leisure time.
"Have you spoken to Mycroft lately?" Y/N asked absently.
Mary dropped her binoculars. "He's not exactly my confidant. Why do you ask?"
Secretly, Y/N was intrigued by Mycroft's low profile, but she shrugged it off under Mary's stare. "I was just wondering. Isn't it strange that he invited us all for a weekend getaway? Social niceties aren't really his speed."
Mary pursed her lips. "You know, I was wondering that myself. I’d say he has something hidden up his sleeve."
“There’s certainly more to him than meets the eye,” Y/N murmured. She ignored Mary’s raised brow and changed the subject. "Anyway, I can't wait to see Sherlock in his riding gear. Do you think he's ever played polo before?" She bit back a smile trying to imagine Sherlock in sport's attire.
"Somebody is awfully curious about the Holmes boys today." Mary's eyes gleamed with mischief. "In love with them, are you? Oh, the scandal!”
Y/N clicked her tongue in annoyance, off put by the unwitting truth in Mary’s quip.
"I'm only teasing, love." Mary leaned her head against Y/N's shoulder and tried to suppress a giggle. "Come on, I think I see our boys just up ahead!"
The pair stumbled along a gravel path until they came to the main stables behind the playing field. Inside, John and Greg stood next to their ponies, both dressed in their polo whites and helmets.
Greg was the first to see them. "Oi, ladies!" he called. "What do you think?" He gave them a twirl, showing off his garb.
They clapped, both delighted by the outfits. "Your turn, John!" Mary called to her husband. "Give us a spin!"
John rubbed his pony's mane. "Absolutely not."
"Come on, mate," Greg urged. "Just a small one." John glanced at his friends and sighed. He spun in a circle begrudgingly and ended with a bow. "Are you satisfied?"
"Don't play coy," Mary chided. She slid over to her husband's side and kissed his cheek. "You really do look quite sexy."
"You think so?" John pressed his forehead against hers, pleased with the attention.
Greg and Y/N shared a meaningful glance, neither a stranger to the Watsons' marital bliss. "Almost make you want a love of your own, don't they, these two?" Greg whispered dreamily. Y/N hummed in agreement. The Holmes brothers flashed in her mind. There and gone again in an instant. Though she smiled, the inspector's words brought an ache to the pit of her stomach.
She ignored it.
The sound of footsteps sounded from the other end of the stable. "Fashionably late, are we?" Sherlock stepped in with Mycroft in tow. His posture was relaxed and he radiated a confidence that could be perceived as hubris by those that didn’t know him. The polo whites clung to his lithe frame, perfectly creased and tailored. A red stripe ran up his rider's boots, a striking contrast against the bright ensemble. Though Sherlock had never worn athlete's wear before, if Y/N hadn't known him, she'd swear that he'd been riding since his youth.
"Terribly sorry about the holdup," Mycroft called out. He glared at his brother with controlled irritation. He also wore the team colours, though his uniform was stitched with a gold crest on the breast pocket, marking him as Captain. He stepped forwards until he reached Y/N's side. He caught her eyes, his gaze inquisitive. "A gentleman never leaves a lady waiting,” he said. Mycroft's words were deliberate and relayed an intimacy that Y/N had never expected from him before. She studied him, surprised by the soft smile peaking from the corners of his lips. He seemed pleased to see her.
The spell was broken when Sherlock squeezed himself between the pair. "Yes, quite right. Thank you for that rather mediaeval anecdote, Mycroft. Now, why don't you check on the ladies near the playing field instead? I'm sure they're keen to see you. Wives of your colleagues and all." Though his tone was light, a darker mood hid beneath Sherlock's words. He held his brother's gaze with steady defiance, daring him to stay.
Mycroft spared a last nod at Y/N before stepping out from the stables. Y/N stared after him, puzzled albeit intrigued by his energy. In her bewilderment, she nearly missed the gentle touch of Sherlock's hand upon the small of her back. She looked at him, flustered by the doting gleam in his eye.
He moved his hand lower until it wrapped around her waist. With the other, he fetched the reins of his mare, guiding it out from the stall. “John, Lestrade, I’ll meet you on the pitch. Five minutes, no more.” Sherlock dipped down until his lips were level to Y/N’s ear. "Walk with me," he breathed.
Y/N felt a pleasant warmth at the contact. She followed him and though time didn't still, it slowed enough for her to question her affections.
Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes.
Two brothers with distinct sovereignty. Both intent on surpassing the other on every intellectual front. Beyond that, a rivalry existed between them, one that transcended their skills of deduction. Contention came naturally between the brothers. One need only imagine what might happen if passion were introduced to the equation.
“Are you alright?”
Y/N blinked. Her thoughts had raced off and now Sherlock was studying her carefully, concern creasing his brow. He had led her to a garden labyrinth, the scent of English yew unfurling around them.
Y/N braved a smile. He was beautiful in the sunlight. She reached out and caressed the mare that had cantered alongside them. It nuzzled into her palm. “I’m fine,” she said. “I was just thinking about the match.”
Sherlock nodded absently. He placed his hand over Y/N’s so that they both caressed the horse. She could feel his pulse, controlled but forceful against her skin. She met his eyes. She nearly shied away from his focus but he tipped her chin forwards with the shadow of a touch.
“You’re lying,” he said. “You were thinking of me.”
Y/N tensed and the mare whinnied.
Sherlock took both her hands in his own and held them to his chest. “Do you think of me often, I wonder? Do you think of my touch? I know I dream of yours.” Y/N dropped her arms to her sides, numb with anticipation. Though anticipation of what, she couldn’t discern.
Sherlock Holmes was her friend and nothing more. She couldn’t let her silly fantasies seep into their exchanges.
The overshadow from the noon sun cast darkened contours on Sherlock’s face but it didn’t harden the softness of his eyes. Y/N could no longer deny the implication of his words when she felt the push of his leg press her against the labyrinth’s hedged wall. The prick of branches pierced her back but she held her breath.
“Is this alright?” Sherlock breathed. He had already drawn nearer, his body flush against hers. His breaths were laboured, the faint touch of his lips on her cheek electric.
Y/N nodded.
Sherlock pulled back. “I need to hear you say it,” he said. “Otherwise…” he let the sentence linger, giving weight to his words.
“Yes.”
He exhaled as though he were expecting a rebuff. “Thank you.”
Sherlock licked his lips before dipping forwards and catching Y/N’s kiss. He held the back of her neck, the softness of his touch suggesting a fear of fragility. Y/N tensed despite the thrill of their tryst. Her blouse dropped from a shoulder and she gasped at the sudden coolness punctuating her warmth.
Sherlock grinned as he pressed another kiss to her neck. He caught the exposed skin from the fallen sleeve and breathed in the fading scent of her perfume and the labyrinth’s flora. He pushed deeper into the crook of her neck, landing tender kisses along the delicate line towards her jaw.
Y/N stood rigid at first, her chin resting against Sherlock’s shoulder. All she could do was grip at the back of his polo shirt, still disconcerted by his sudden show of passion. “I love you,” she heard him murmur into her neck. Her breath caught before she heard it again. “I love you.”
Y/N let her head fall back on the hedged wall. She felt as though seeing through a veil, unsure of this new development. Just yesterday, Sherlock had treated her as a friend. Though she always wished for it to be true, she hadn’t expected to become his lover only hours later. Mycroft flashed through her mind, but she waved him away.
Why was she thinking of the elder Holmes brother when Sherlock stood there having just confessed to loving her? Mycroft had shown her a rare kindness today, but she couldn’t pretend that it meant anything.
What had changed?
“Sherlock, I —”
“Five minutes, nothing more, was it?” a voice called out suddenly.
Y/N flinched and quickly straightened herself out from behind Sherlock. She peeked behind his shoulder and saw Mycroft standing across from them. He seemed bemused yet his eyes relayed vexation and hurt.
Sherlock turned and faced his brother. “Has it been longer than that already?” he asked jokingly. “Time seems to have gotten away from me.”
“Indeed. You’re already six minutes past the mark.” Mycroft geared forwards, his steps deliberate, his mood icy. “Hello Miss Y/N,” he said. “I didn’t expect you to be the keeper of my brother’s protraction.”
Sherlock looked back at Y/N and grinned. “Our meeting was imperative,” he assured his brother, arrogance dripping into his tone.
“Recreational,” Mycroft corrected.
The tension was heavy between both brothers and Y/N shuddered at their subtle resentment. “Sherlock, lead the mare to the pitch,” Mycroft ordered.
Sherlock stood firmly. “Can’t you?” he said innocently.
“I can’t always be the one to clean up after you. Take responsibility, brother mine. Or else you’ll lead her astray.”
Mycroft’s words were cryptic and Y/N got the sense that the conversation had veered away from the mare.
Sherlock tensed but did as his brother commanded. Just before he left though, he turned to smile at Y/N. “We’ll pick up on this, I swear to it,” he said, pressing one last kiss to her cheek. She smiled back but felt nervous at the unspoken truths writhing between both brothers’ obscured words.
They were hiding something and she was somehow involved.
Mycroft watched his brother leave before approaching Y/N. “This is already a strenuous event for me,” he said to her. “Do not prolong my agony.”
Y/N shuddered. “What do you mean?”
He smiled, but there was a sadness to it. “You look lovely in that dress,” he said, ignoring her question.
“Mycroft?”
“Tread lightly. There are secrets to this tournament that I fear will destroy you.” He sighed. “Take care of your heart, for it will prove your undoing.” Mycroft unclipped the stitched crest from his breast pocket and handed it to Y/N. “Maybe this will help in time.”
Y/N watched as he stepped away after his brother. Her heart was beating fast and the labyrinth’s glamour was slowly losing its appeal.
What had just happened?
Y/N felt as though caught in a web. She couldn’t distinguish sibling rivalry from the threat of something more sinister happening on the Deville manor. She tucked the crest into her pocket, too off put to inspect the strange gift just yet.
She thought of Sherlock. Did he truly love her? It had all seemed so perfect until those last few moments.
Y/N tried to steady the frantic beating of her heart. She would search for answers soon enough. She would unveil the Holmes brothers’ secrets. She would decipher the ragings of her emotions. Until then, there was a polo match to attend. She hoped it would run smoothly but in the deepest parts of her, she knew:
Madness would ensue.
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*grabs you by the coat collar* wanna read Feels Like Christmas?
Hey guys! I hope you enjoyed this!!! I'm thinking of making "Game of Kings" a three part series, but I'm really not sure. It's a maybe possibly at the moment. So, if you're wondering about the sudden click where Sherlock randomly professed his love to Y/N without any context to the nature of their relationship... I'm leading up to that (hopefully). Is it genuine??? Is he playing with her heart??? Protecting her, maybe??? I don't know. And the sitch with Mycroft will come into play too. I hope this fic wasn't too messy.
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Christmas is just around the corner and Sherlock has left his holiday shopping to the very last minute! While he dashes for a quick gift for John, he runs into a stranger, and though he's quick to slight her, he's soon humbled by her kindness. 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟.
I just tossed Sherlock into a Hallmark movie. Did I mention there's mistletoe involved?
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“That’ll be ten quid, sir.”
Sherlock dug through his wallet and handed the cabbie twenty instead. “Keep the change.”
The cabbie dipped his flat cap and smiled. “Much obliged. Happy holidays, sir.”
“And the same to you.” Sherlock ducked out of the vehicle and pulled his collar up against the cold. Night was setting in and stray flurries had begun to gather. He quietly cursed himself for leaving his Christmas shopping for the last minute.
Sherlock rushed through the car park wracking his brain for a gift for John. He joined a mass of people clustered at the shopping centre’s entrance and squeezed himself inside. Hundreds of shoppers darted between stores, the foot traffic so heavy, there was scarcely room to breathe. Sherlock scanned the crowd incredulously. “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good cheer,” he muttered, already feeling his head begin to ache.
He took a step forwards, bracing himself, when he suddenly felt a push from behind. Sherlock turned abruptly, his eyes dark. “Do you mind?” he spat. A young woman stared back at him.
“I’m so sorry, I slipped.” She ducked down and retrieved something from the ground. “You dropped this,” she said, placing it carefully in his hand. “Again, I’m terribly sorry, sir. Merry Christmas!”
Sherlock looked down to find his wallet in his grasp. He felt a sting of embarrassment. “Thank you,” he began, but when he turned up, the young woman had already vanished, caught in the crowd. He glanced around the centre’s walking paths but she was gone.
Sherlock thrust his wallet back into his pocket and tried to ignore the guilt. He braved a smile and pushed through the gates of a candle shop. John still needed a gift after all.
An assortment of candles decked the shop’s wooden shelves. Votives, tea lights, pillars, and torches stood in lines, their colours, shapes, and package designs all rivalling the next. Some were lit and their distinct scents blended into a sweet gale.
Sherlock smiled in spite of himself. It felt good to walk through the perfume and fairy lights. Suddenly, shopping for his dearest friend didn’t seem like such a chore. He ambled past displays, sniffing the candles that caught his eye and tried to find one that best suited John. He kept a few favourites in mind, circling back to the deep earthy ones he found excellent.
Finally, Sherlock settled on a wicked Teakwood collection. He was choosing an accompanying gift box when a struggle sounded beside him. He glanced at the disturbance and saw the young woman from earlier on.
She had also chosen a Teakwood scent it seemed, but a man had snatched it from her hold. “Sorry Miss,” the man said, “but I’ll be needing this for my wife. I hope you understand, holidays and all that.” Sherlock watched the young woman press her lips together. It was obvious that she had already claimed the candle before the man swooped in.
Sherlock observed as a look of resignation replaced the irritation on her face. “By all means,” she sighed. “Happy holidays.” The man turned away without thanks, earning a sour glare from behind. Sherlock grinned. Holiday shopping always held the promise of surly customers and browsing disputes - it was rare to find a pacifist.
“Christmas certainly brings out the worst in us, doesn’t it?” he said aloud.
The woman caught his eye. Sherlock was sure that she recognized him and noted the wariness of her stance. “It isn’t meant to,” she said guardedly. She gestured down to his pocket. “Keeping your savings safe in there? We wouldn’t want you to drop your wallet again.” She spoke with a hint of bitterness, though Sherlock reckoned it was warranted.
He gave a curt laugh and patted his coat. “Under lock and key, I can assure you.” He sensed her ease a bit as he continued, “Which leads me to my apology. I didn’t mean to snap at you earlier tonight.”
The woman shrugged, but not before a look of pleasant surprise crossed her face. “it's no problem. What are the holidays after all, without a grinch to spoil them every so often?”
“Oh? I suppose you’re a right Christmas angel, then?” Sherlock laughed. “Really though, I’d like to thank you.” He reached out his hand. “I’m Sherlock by the way. It’s a pleasure.”
The woman smiled and returned his greeting. “Y/N,” she beamed.
Sherlock held her gaze a touch longer than necessary. Her eyes held the sort of kindness one expected during the festive season. He glanced down in curious observation. Her coat dragged from where she held it bunched in her arms and a cluster of bags weighed against her hips. Her clothes were disheveled from an evening of spending and Sherlock thought she was beautiful.
“Y/N,” he repeated. He liked the kiss of her name on his tongue. He took a breath and nodded graciously, cutting himself out of the trance. “Would you walk me to the cashier?”
Y/N smiled. She had caught the look in his eye but let her words drift away. “I’d love to.”
The pair queued up. They stood closer to one another than necessary but neither spoke aloud. Finally, Sherlock paid for his candle and led the way out. “Are you headed home?” he inquired.
Y/N hummed in affirmation. She focused her eyes straight ahead but was all too aware of Sherlock’s attention. She tried to keep the silly smile off her face and scolded herself for being so charmed by a stranger.
They walked to the back end of the shops until they reached an indoor waiting station. Behind the window walls, the sky had darkened into night and snow stormed in swirls. Cabs pulled in and out from the car park, picking up late night shoppers to bring home.
“It’s bleak out there,” Y/N exclaimed. She glanced at Sherlock but he seemed unfazed by the weather. “It’s not so bad in here,” he said lightly. The room was decorated with wreaths and tinsel. Plastic stars hung from the fan lights. He caught her gaze and his eyes crinkled in reassurance.
Y/N shied away from the sudden energy between them. Maybe it was the snow, or the promise of Christmas being only days away, or maybe it was simply Sherlock’s allure, but she found herself drawn to him. There was a kindness to his spirit and it called to her.
A cab pulled up by the curb and Sherlock tensed. “I’m headed to Baker Street,” he stammered. “If you live in that direction perhaps we could share a ride?”
Y/N cleared her throat, delighted by his nerves. “I actually live on the other end of the city,” she admitted. “But by all means, take the cab. I can wait for another.”
Sherlock fixed his scarf and shrugged off his disappointment. “Nonsense, I’ll stay,” he said. “Please, I owe you that much.”
She studied the resolute pinch of his brow and knew he wouldn’t renege. Still, she questioned him, “are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
Y/N glanced outside. The waiting cabbie seemed impatient but she was hesitant to leave Sherlock. After tonight, they would never see each other again.
“It was great meeting you,” she said softly. Y/N was just about to step outside when Sherlock caught her wrist. She turned around and was met by a kiss on the cheek.
Sherlock’s kiss was chaste and sweet. Y/N almost questioned whether she had imagined it.
Sherlock licked his lips shyly as she stared back at him surprised. “Tradition,” he breathed, nodding at the decoration above. Y/N looked up. Mistletoe dangled over them. She laughed, her eyes gleaming. “Tradition,” she agreed. Y/N leaned forwards and pressed a delicate kiss on Sherlock’s cheek. “Merry Christmas,” she whispered.
She pulled away and stepped outside. She could feel Sherlock’s watchful eyes behind her. Just as she climbed into the cab, Sherlock rushed to her doorside. He shielded his eyes from the snowstorm, but seemed determined to catch her before she was gone. “You left something behind!” he called out against the biting wind. Before she could respond, he had thrust a shopping bag into the seat beside her and a thin film of paper into her hand. “Merry Christmas!” he cried out beaming. He shut the door and the cab promptly pulled out.
Sherlock pulled his coat closed and watched Y/N drive off. Moments later, another taxicab parked along the pavement and he ducked inside, grateful for an escape from the cold. “Where are you off to, sir?” the cabbie asked. Sherlock leaned back into his seat. “Baker Street,” he replied.
The cabbie clicked his tongue. “Last minute shopping?”
“Something like that.”
The cabbie glanced in his rearview mirror. “If you don’t mind my asking, didn’t you buy anything? Looks pretty empty back there.”
Sherlock smiled. “I bought a candle,” he explained. “But then I found a girl.”
The driver bowed his head, puzzled by his customer’s aloofness.
Sherlock closed his eyes and grinned. He had left Y/N the candle as thanks, but had slipped something more meaningful into her hand: the gift receipt.
On it, she’d find his phone number and address.
If his Christmas wish came true, he’d see her again by the New Year.
“A gift from me to you,” Sherlock breathed. “Your move.”
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*grabs you by the coat collar* wanna read Hands of Gold?
Hey guys! Oh my gosh, I haven't posted a new fic since the summer! My winter break officially starts on Tuesday, so I'll be posting plenty of writing throughout December. I get that a lot of you might not be interested in my fics anymore, so if I'm tagging you and you'd rather I didn't pop up in your notifs, just give me a heads up and we'll... *sniffle* break up... I know, it's not you, it's me... *dies* Honestly though, let me know, and I'll remove you STAT! :p
Much love and happy holidays!! ❤️
Last thing... let's pretend that Sherlock still has a day or two to buy John a present! -- sorry about the repost! my fic wouldn’t show up in the tags!
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Summary: When Eurus entangles Y/N in her violent game of intellect, Sherlock must sacrifice something he never expected to care for. As he looks back upon what he will lose, he sees only the fragments of his shattered heart...
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Sherrinford, High Security Prison
“If you want her out of the game, you’ll have to burn her out of it.”
“Sister, please. I beg of you... don’t.”
Sherlock Holmes stood hunched before the monitor, his tone bleeding with desperation.
“I’m afraid this is non negotiable. It’s either her heart or her life. Choose one or I’ll have no choice but to take both. Of course, the bit about her heart won’t be in the metaphorical sense, you understand.”
A red light blared throughout the room and Jim Moriarty’s jives echoed off the walls. Sherlock’s fists clenched as he looked up at Eurus’ sickly smile of triumph.
“I can’t... I won’t destroy everything we’ve built...” he whispered to himself. “Not like this.”
Doctor Watson placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Your sister is insatiable and that makes her dangerous,” he said in a low voice. “There’s more at stake here than just your pride. Soldiers, remember? Maybe you should-”
“Not now John! Don’t you see? I love her!”
Sherlock blanched at his own admission. Y/N was the light of his life and he couldn’t let Euros jeopardize that.
John’s jaw clenched as he stared back with a look of sorrow. “That’s exactly why you need to do it. You need to break her heart to save her life.”
Sherlock looked down at the mobile phone in his hand. As the seconds ticked by, his beloved Y/N came closer to her demise. Eurus had set an assassin after her and unless he complied with his sister’s task, Y/N would face a swift death.
He felt a million passions ricocheting in his heart. There were no more tricks up his sleeve. Sherlock had to submit to his sister’s will or face the consequences.
“I won’t lose her...” he whispered. Taking a deep breath, Sherlock turned to John and nodded steadily. “Soldiers.”
With shaky hands, he dialled Y/N’s number and listened to the timbre of the rings.
He closed his eyes as the world spun around him, and his mind raced in reminiscence. Sherlock could suddenly see thousands of snapshots of the beautiful life which he was about to destroy...
***
“John, I’ve told you before, I haven’t the time for your little friend. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I have a case to solve!”
The doctor sighed and rubbed at his throbbing temple. “If you would just hear her out-”
Sherlock stepped over the coffee table and walked to the door. He made a point to swing it open with great emphasis. “Forgive me,” he said to the girl with a smile that was anything but polite. “But I am very busy. If you would kindly take your leave before-“
“It was the perfume, Mr Holmes.”
Sherlock paused at the girl’s quiet declaration. “Come again?” he asked, eyes narrowed.
Y/N cleared her throat. “The perfume,” she repeated. “The victim smelled of perfume the day her body was found.”
“I’m aware. Did you have a point?”
Y/N rolled her eyes. “Mrs Thewlis was allergic to Ethanol, the prime ingredient in perfume. She wouldn’t be wearing it unless someone forced her to.”
She crossed her arms as she continued on. “I asked Molly to run a toxicology test and the report came back positive. Traces of poison were found in Thewlis’ bloodstream, seemingly absorbed through her skin.”
She paused for effect. “My theory, Mr Holmes is that somebody sprayed the victim with a sort of chemical infused mist and that there was no murder weapon at the crime scene because the victim was wearing it the entire time!”
Sherlock said nothing. He simply observed the girl in curious silence before closing the door and walking towards her.
“You’re saying that somebody doused her perfume with poison?”
“Yes, Mr Holmes.”
“What’s your name?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.
“Y/N.”
“Y/N,” he repeated to himself. “Well Y/N, congratulations on cracking your first case.”
Sherlock couldn’t wrap his head around it. How could this girl have possibly picked up on something that he had missed? Normally he’d have felt a wounded pride, a violent jealousy at her intellect, but strangely enough, he felt nothing. On the contrary, Sherlock was intrigued by her sharpness. He suddenly felt a burning desire to know more about her.
Sherlock was snapped back to attention by the sound of her voice. “I’m glad that I could be of assistance. Good day, Mr Holmes.” Y/N gave a curt nod as a means of farewell and was just about to leave the flat when she felt a hand on her wrist.
She turned around and saw the consulting detective. “Please,” he said, extending a gloved hand. “Call me Sherlock. Will you stay for tea?”
***
A soft amber light streamed in through the gossamer curtains of 221B Baker Street. The delicate London breeze danced in through the window, making the thin veils flutter.
Y/N hummed softly as the quaint disturbance roused her from her sleep. She tilted her head to the side and caught a glimpse of the time. 5:45 on a Friday morning. She felt movement to her right, and was suddenly exposed to the morning chill as her blanket was yanked away.
Turning on her side, Y/N was met by Sherlock’s sleeping frame. She gave a shiver and was just about to reprimand him for hoarding the covers when something struck her.
She drew a breath at the sight of him lying next to her. His tousled hair was pressed against the pillow, soft and unruly. His bare chest heaved in slow breaths, moving up and down steadily. His face was unmarred by the stress of his waking moments. Sherlock looked comfortable and at ease.
Though she had been waking up to this same sight every morning for the past few years, Y/N felt as though she were seeing him for the very first time whenever she caught him in these quiet moments of dawn.
She reached out to touch him just to prove to herself that he was more than a perfect illusion. Her hand lingered mere inches away when Sherlock spoke, his voice heavy with sleep. “You’re awake.”
“Yes, a chill woke me. Somebody was greedy with the covers...”
He opened his eyes and grinned. “How tragic.”
With a soft groan he shifted and pulled Y/N closer, wrapping an arm around her so that she lay with her head in the crook of his arm. She sighed contentedly and grazed his skin with her fingertips. Resting her palm against his chest, she felt the steady beat of his heart.
“What are you thinking?”
Y/N paused for a moment. “I’m thinking that this might be too good to be true.”
“You’re right,” Sherlock said, propping himself up on an elbow. He looked down at Y/N and smiled. “This is much too good to be true, but I would be a fool to question it.” With his free hand, Sherlock cupped the back of Y/N’s neck and brought her close to his upturned lips. “I’ll be damned if I let anything come between us. I swear to you, I’m not going anywhere.”
Sherlock finally kissed her. As the morning rays shone through the airy curtains, Y/N took comfort in the thought that their love was infinite.
***
Gone was the music.
A familiar burning sensation prickled at the back of her eyes, but still, Y/N denied herself the tears.
She sat quietly in Sherlock’s old armchair, staring at the bullet ridden wall.
“Yoo-hoo,” called a voice from the doorway. Y/N hardly stirred as Mrs Hudson came bustling in with a tray of tea and biscuits.
“Morning’ dearie, I brought you a cuppa’! I thought you might fancy a treat,” the kindly landlady said, forcing a cheery tone.
She took a look around the room and frowned at the gathering dust and drawn curtains. “It’s a bit gloomy in here, isn’t it?”
Grief had taken its toll since Sherlock’s fall, and Y/N was a transparent reflection of it. Her eyes were bloodshot and held an emptiness to them as she reflected within the abandoned flat, lost in her memories.
“It’s fine, really,” Y/N said a weakly.
Mrs Hudson’s gaze shifted. Y/N was wearing Sherlock’s old coat. A mahogany patch stained the collar. A reminder.
“It’s been two years, love. It’s time to let go.”
A glossy trail streamed down Y/N’s cheek, but still she smiled. “He’ll be back,” she said, her voice cracking. “He promised me that he wasn’t going anywhere. If I just wait here, I’m sure-”
“He’s not coming back,” Mrs Hudson said gently.
Y/N turned away. “I told him it was too good to be true.”
Mrs Hudson smiled sympathetically. “I’ll be downstairs, love.”
Y/N grabbed hold of her chair’s armrests and squeezed. She winced as a hot trail of tears slicked her cheeks.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Sherlock wasn’t supposed to have been on that rooftop. He wasn’t meant to leave her grieving.
He wasn’t supposed to be gone.
Perhaps Mrs Hudson was right. Maybe it was time to move on like John had. Y/N ran a hand through her hair and let out a shaky breath. She was just about to reach for her tea when she heard a loud crash and a scream come from downstairs.
“Mrs Hudson?” Y/N stood up in a panic and rushed downstairs, heart racing.
“Mrs Hudson!” she cried out.
Y/N found her landlady in the kitchen, shattered porcelain on the floor. “Are you alright?” she asked warily.
“I’m sure she’ll be fine. It was simply a mild shock.”
A chill ran up Y/N’s spine at the sound of that distantly familiar voice. It can’t be... she thought incredulously. Carefully, she turned her gaze upwards and noticed for the first time the man standing at the doorway.
“Hello,” he waved awkwardly.
Standing at the other end of the room was Sherlock Holmes.
Y/N stared as he shifted uncomfortably under her critical gaze. Dressed in his signature trench coat and dress pants, he looked the same as the day she had lost him.
“New coat?” she asked, stunned.
Sherlock cleared his throat. “Yes, actually. Unlike yours, I suppose. I see you held onto the old one...” He looked to the floor. “it... well, it suits you, mind the gore.”
Y/N ignored his attempt at humour. “You’re back,” she whispered.
When he looked back at her, his eyes glistened. “How could you expect me to stay away?”
***
“You can’t be serious!”
“I swear it’s true!”
Y/N listened carefully from the hall as John, Mary, and Greg conferred in 221B. From what she could hear, they were talking about her and Sherlock. Though it had been months since they had reunited, the pangs of lost love still inflamed their passions.
“He actually said that to you? Those exact words?”
Y/N frowned at the excitement in Mary’s tone as she grilled John on something that Sherlock had allegedly told him. John laughed and Y/N peeked through the crack in the door to catch him kiss his wife lightly on the nose.
“Those exact words,” he affirmed softly. “Sherlock is thinking of proposing marriage to Y/N.”
Y/N let out a small gasp and clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound of her surprise. She blinked as a wave of emotions crossed through her. Marriage? Sherlock? These two words were foreign in the same sentence and she had to take a breath to contain herself.
“Bloody hell...” she heard Lestrade mutter from the flat. “Our boy’s found it,” he said softly. “He’s found his heart.”
“Keep your voice down!” John whispered sharply. “Y/N will be here any minute, and she can’t know!”
Y/N stepped back and leaned against the wall, closing her eyes. She felt her heart race and couldn’t stop smiling. Sherlock Holmes, the man that she adored more than she ever imagined she could, was on the verge of proposing to her.
“Sneaking about, are we?"
Y/N gave a start when she opened her eyes and saw Sherlock standing before her, brow upturned.
She straightened herself and smiled nervously. “I was just about to head inside.”
“Is that why you’re lurking just outside the flat, plastered against the wall?” Sherlock asked sarcastically.
Y/N shrugged, not knowing what to say. Just at that moment though, Greg opened the door to meet them.
“Oi, we could hear you gabbing out here. Are you coming in or what? We’ve been expecting you.”
Sherlock peered past the Detective Inspector’s shoulder and found John and Mary grinning guiltily inside. His lips twitched in a hidden smile as he deduced what exactly was happening. “Yes,” he said slowly. “We’ll be right there.”
When Greg stepped back inside, Sherlock turned to Y/N. “You haven’t been eavesdropping on others’ conversations, have you?” he asked sweetly.
She looked at at him in feigned shock. “I would never!”
Sherlock studied her, his smile growing as he regarded the charming glint in her eyes. In that moment, he caught flashes of a future with her. Since they had met, Sherlock had reimagined his previous notions of the dullness of domesticity. Though marriage had once seemed a burden to him, Y/N had changed that, and Sherlock knew that nothing would be grander than a quaint life by her side.
“What have I done to deserve you?” he asked softly. Y/N watched as Sherlock pressed her gently against the wall, and wrapped his arms around her. He kissed the crown of her head before leaning forwards and grazing the shell of her ear. “I love you,” he whispered delicately. Sherlock closed his eyes and whispered again, “I love you.”
***
Sherrinford, High Security Prison
“Hello?”
Sherlock’s eyes snapped open. He scanned the room, disoriented. He had felt safe for a moment, caught in remembrance, but the sterility of Sherrinford’s cell had cut through the dream.
He caught a flash of Eurus frowning from the monitor and looked back to find John standing solemnly behind him. Y/N's voice blared from hidden speakers. Nothing had changed.
“Hello?”
Sherlock drew a breath at the familiarity of the voice on the other end of the line. His task became clear once more. He pinched the bridge of his nose and gulped.
“Hello love,” he said, his tone strained.
Red lights flashed in warning and Sherlock looked up. “This isn’t a social call,” Eurus said icily. “Don’t try and mitigate the blow with pet names. It’s her heart or her life Sherlock, I think I’ve made that clear.”
A pang of alarm shot through him. There was no way out.
“Sherlock, is that you?” Y/N asked from the other end of the line. “Are you alright?”
Sherlock walked to one of the cell’s walls and leaned an arm against it, seeking purchase. He thought of Eurus’ hire, trigger finger itching for a clean shot.
“Sherlock?” she called again. “Can you hear me?”
Sherlock needed to burn her out of his story. "I pray you'll forgive me..." he whispered to himself. Standing tall, he straightened his collar and detached himself from the warmth that Y/N had inspired in him throughout all their years. Sherlock Holmes became ice.
“Y/N?” he said. “I need you to listen to me.”
"I'm listening," she said uncertainly.
Red lights flashed and Moriarity’s malarkey reigned.
"About us," Sherlock continued, "We've come far."
Y/N laughed. "You called to talk about us? What’s this-”
"Don't interrupt," he said curtly. "I need to fix this."
There was a moment of silence before Y/N responded. "What are you saying?” she asked slowly.
"I mean to say that I'm ending this. Our experiment."
"Experiment?” she scoffed.
Sherlock's voice was brisk and steady, devoid of feeling. "Indeed. You see, our relationship was was only ever a simulation of sentiment. A psychological examination. A game of science."
He could hear Y/N’s breath hitch and he clenched his fist in guilt. He was slowly approaching the end.
“It’s all been a rouse,” he said tensely. “ A clever experiment to test the naivety of the human mind, and you Y/N, were the ideal subject. Insecure, wide-eyed, and unduly retentive; you were foolishly loyal to a man that never cared, and it has proved your undoing.”
Sherlock waited for Y/N to hang up the phone. To curse him or yell obscenities from the receiver. He waited for her anger, silently praying she would cut him off. It was the only way Eurus would spare her, and Y/N’s acrimony against him was well worth her life.
She said nothing.
Subconscious sirens hammered in his mind. Sherlock couldn’t know for sure if she had believed him. He had to push harder. “ You’re nothing more than a failed enterprise,” he said sharply. He heard his voice rise until he was sure he sounded manic. “ You have nothing left to offer, so I implore you to leave me be!”
Silence dragged on until Sherlock finally heard Y/N sniff. She let out a shaky breath and spoke. “Sherlock,” she began softly. “I’m not sure what you’ve gotten yourself into, but you can’t expect me to believe a word of what you just said.”
no. no. no. no. no...
Sherlock shook his head furiously. She wasn’t supposed to be kind. She was meant to be hurt.
Y/N gave an unsettled laugh before continuing. “I love you, Sherlock,” she whispered. “I love---”
Shattered glass and silence.
Sherlock collapsed to his knees. “Y/N?” he asked gently. A shiver ran up his spine at the blackout stillness. “Y/N!” he cried out. His hands trembled in horror and bile rose in his throat. It isn’t so... he thought. it can’t be so...
“I’m afraid you’re out of luck, brother.” Eurus said softly.
Sherlock looked up at his sister, his eyes bloodshot.
She cocked her head to the side, feigning sympathy. “You failed,” she said simply. “Let’s move on, shall we?” The screen went dark and the cell lit up with crimson light.
Sherlock stayed abased, kneeling on the cold flooring. A damp heat trailed down his cheeks, but he made no move to wipe it away. He thought of Y/N. He thought of her smile. Her laugh. Her silence.
He thought of their thousands of moments past and the finality of her fall.
He kneeled in sterile reminiscence.
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*psssst!* try reading Corpses and Roses!!!
I FINISHED IT! I FINALLY FINISHED IT! THIS CURSED FIC HAD BEEN TRAPPED IN MY NOTES SINCE THE SUMMER BUT I FINALLY FINISHED IT!!!!
Hey you guys!!! What’s going on??? This fic is very heavy on the whole Molly x Sherlock ordeal back in Sherrinford, so I hope that’s something you’re into! I just thought it would be cool to write about snapshots from Sherlock and Y/N’s relationship, soooo yeah! Thanks for reading!!!!
If you’d like to be tagged in any future Sherlock fics, just tell me in the comments! (and if you’d rather not be tagged in ALL Sherlock fics, please specify; EX: Reader x Sherlock, Reader x John Watson...)
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Stolen kisses, soft caresses; it’s clear that Sherlock and Y/N’s relationship exceeds their supposed friendship. Their casual intimacy suggests the possibility of a romantic relation, but will either of them be able to make the first move?
𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲: Anonymous
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The bright rays of London sunlight shone through the gossamer curtains of 221B Baker Street as the consulting detective and his blogger sat quietly in their armchairs.
John focused on the screen of his laptop while Sherlock typed away at his mobile phone, presumably on Twitter.
“Knock, knock,” a voice called out from the hall.
John turned his gaze to the front door of the flat only to find Y/N peeking her head in through the doorway.
“Hello,” John said with a smile. “Come on in, make yourself at home.”
Sherlock twisted in his seat to catch a glimpse of Y/N. He granted her a crooked grin before ushering her forwards. “Ah, Y/N. You’re just in time. I needed a second opinion on this case.“
John frowned at his friend. “I’ve been here for hours. Why haven’t you asked for my opinion?”
“John, you know I value your companionship, but Y/N is better suited for-“
“Oh, shut up.” John huffed. “You’re in love with her, I get it.”
Y/N laughed. “You know we’re just friends, John.” She assured him.
“Mhmm,” he hummed unconvinced.
Ever since they met, it was clear that Sherlock and Y/N had a spark between them. Though they refused to be labeled as anything other than close friends, the intimacy of their body language and familiarity told a different story...
Y/N just rolled her eyes. “I’d be glad to help, Sherlock. But before anything, I brought you two some coffee.” Y/N approached Sherlock’s seat and handed him a paper cup. “Black, two sugars. Just as you like it,” she winked.
“You know me all too well,” he said, smiling at her fondly.
Y/N walked up to John and looked at him apologetically. “Sorry John, I wasn’t quite sure how you like yours prepared. Two creams, three sugars, is that alright?”
John took the cup warily. “Of course you would know his order but not mine.” Gingerly, he placed the coffee on the table to his left. “But thank you.”
The doctor paused as Y/N walked past him. “You smell great by the way. What scent is that, Chanel?”
Sherlock frowned. “Don’t be absurd John. Y/N only ever wears Diamonds and Rubies by Elizabeth Taylor.”
Y/N smiled as she approached the consulting detective’s chair. “You know me all too well,” she grinned before hopping onto his lap. Sherlock wrapped his arm around her instinctively and stroked her arm gently while he continued to scroll through his phone.
John stared after the couple and rolled his eyes. “Oh please, get a room.” He muttered to himself.
“We’re just friends,” Sherlock told him out of habit, eyes still glued to his phone.
“So,” Y/N exclaimed, running a hand through Sherlock’s hair. “What’s this about a case?”
Sherlock sighed and leaned his head against her shoulder. “I can’t seem to figure out how the victim knew her killer. I have thirteen possible theories at the moment, though I can’t seem to corroborate them with the police records.”
“I see,” Y/N mused as she unbuttoned Sherlock’s crisp dressing shirt to realign a button that was stuck in the wrong hole. “Well, have you considered the possibility that she may have met the killer the very day of her murder? I mean, from what you’ve told me of the case, it sounds very impersonal. Especially in conjunction with the mode of death, and the-“
“That’s Brilliant!” He exclaimed, turning up to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth.
Y/N wrapped her arms around Sherlock’s neck and beamed up at him. “Glad I could help,” she responded, looking at him intently.
John stared unimpressed as the two companions gazed at each other with clear adoration framing their features. “Yeah, definitely not an item.” He scoffed.
“We’re just friends!” They chided in unison.
Sherlock’s hand drifted upwards to readjust a falling strap on Y/N’s shoulder. “You know,” he mused, gently grazing her arm. “As much as it pains me to say it, perhaps John has a point.”
Y/N furrowed her brows as she moved to straighten the collar of Sherlock’s shirt. “What do you mean?” She asked, tucking away a stray lock of his hair.
“Well,” he began, fixing his gaze on her. “I’ve been giving quite a bit of thought to... us.”
Y/N shifted uncomfortably on Sherlock’s lap, unsure of what exactly he was referring to. Was he trying to say that he wanted to end their friendship?
“And I’ve come to the conclusion,” he continued slowly, torturingly. “That I would like nothing more than to further our relationship.”
Y/N let out a small gasp as Sherlock hooked a finger underneath her chin and drew her close. “If my thoughts, observations, and carefully drawn calculations are correct... I think I may just love you.”
With that, Sherlock pressed a quick kiss to her lips before pulling away and grinning. “I suppose we’re more than friends now,” he whispered.
Y/N drew a shaky breath. “Just a bit.” She laughed before drawing him in for another kiss.
John watched unimpressed from his seat. “All that’s changed is that you two have finally acknowledged what was already there.” He rolled his eyes jokingly and smiled warmly at his friends. “It was about time.”
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*psssst!* have a go at The Wingman!
If you’d like to be tagged in any future Sherlock fics, just tell me in the comments! (and if you’d rather not be tagged in ALL Sherlock fics, please specify; EX: Reader x Sherlock, Reader x John Watson...)
Casual intimacy fic? Yes please, sign me up. Thanks a ton to whoever sent in this req. It was *awesome sauce* I hope I did your request justice because I feel like my take was tad bit corny. Anyway, enjoy!
tagging the rockin’: @twisted-monster @starryeddie
Summary: It’s New Year’s Eve in London and Sherlock has quite the surprise for Y/N. A celebration in the city square becomes an adventure for the pair as the consulting detective sets out to end the year with a bang...
Fireworks and a New Year’s kiss, will that suffice?
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“Where exactly are we going?”
“Just a while yet, darling.”
“Sherlock, we’ll miss the fireworks!”
“I swear to you, where we’re going, each mundane firework from down below will appear as a supernova before your eyes!”
Sherlock Holmes weaved between the crowds on Trafalgar Square, pulling Y/N behind him. He held her hand firmly and led her through the pedestrian square’s maze of street performers, musicians and partygoers.
It was 23:50 in London and the city was alight with sparklers, luminaries, and neon décor. Londoners and tourists alike flocked the Square, dressed in sequined costumes, cheering for the start of the New Year.
Sherlock raced past Nelson’s Column and the four Lions as he made his way towards The National Gallery, Art Museum. He spared a glance back at Y/N, smiling at her disheveled appearance as she struggled to match his pace.
“Nearly there,” he laughed. “Don’t lag.”
“The... fireworks...” she huffed, out of breath. “If we miss them... it’ll be on you!”
“Oh, do try and enjoy our little sprint! The race against time is half the fun!”
Y/N hardly had time to roll her eyes before the consulting detective pulled her up the steps of the Gallery and through the doors, past a startled security guard.
“Oi! You can’t be here, the museum’s closed for the holidays!”
Sherlock didn’t slow down. “Run it by the Museum’s director! You’ll see that I’m the exception!” he called out behind his shoulder.
Y/N could hear the click of their heels against the marble flooring and felt a cool wind whip against her cheeks from their speed. She tilted her head up as she ran behind the consulting detective. The Gallery’s ceiling was obstructed by a large domed skylight. She smiled at the scattered stars that shone through the glass panels.
Sherlock came to a halt just as they reached a staircase hall and adjusted his coat. “I think we can walk now,” he gasped. “Frankly, I can’t run another step.”
Y/N held a hand to her chest, trying to steady her heartbeat. “We’re in an empty art museum,” she said incredulously. “You promised me fireworks in Trafalgar Square, and yet...” She waved her arms around as means of explanation.
“Where’s your spontaneity?” Sherlock teased.
“I left it back at Baker Street,” she deadpanned.
Sherlock grinned and kissed Y/N lightly on the forehead. “Off we go then,” he said. “I promised you fireworks and I am a man of my word.”
He led her into the Gallery’s maintenance elevator and hit a silver trimmed button. Y/N squinted at it since it differed from the others. “What floor is that?” she asked. “It isn’t a floor,” he hummed.
“What does that mean?”
“Patience,” he said in a sing-song voice, refusing to grant a straight answer.
Y/N could feel the elevator ascend and tapped her shoe in excitement. What was he planning? She looked to her watch and nudged Sherlock lightly. “Two minutes till’ midnight,” she pressed. “We better not miss-“
“And we’ve made it!” Sherlock exclaimed as the elevator halted with a ding. Stepping out of the silver prism, Y/N gasped at the sight before her.
“Welcome to paradise,” Sherlock winked.
“You can’t be serious,” Y/N said in awe.
The elevator hadn’t stopped on any particular floor but instead taken them straight to the rooftop where the night sky shimmered above. Stars glistened and the city lights shone brightly in a circle around them.
“Careful,” Sherlock said softly. “Follow my lead.” Carefully, he guided Y/N to the edge of the roof where the London Eye peeked from the distance and all of Trafalgar Square’s festivities could be seen below.
“Gorgeous,” Y/N whispered in awe. Sherlock stood behind her, trapping her between his arms as he pressed his hands against the rooftop banister.
“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” he whispered back, his breath tickling her ear. “I must say, your beauty does indeed rival the city view.”
Y/N shifted to look at him and pressed a lazy kiss against his cheek. Turning back to the Square below, she saw the giant screen that displayed the New Year’s countdown. Only thirty seconds remained until January First. “It’s almost time,” she mused. “Any last words before the year ends?”
Sherlock thought for a moment. “Only three, darling.”
He kissed the crown of her head. “I love you.”
The crowds began cheering loudly below, their volume increasing. London was on the brink of a new beginning and the partygoers counted down with the clock. Sherlock and Y/N watched as the final seconds ticked by.
5...
4...
3...
2...
1...
The clock chimed.
“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”
The crowds went wild and fireworks erupted. Sherlock wrapped his arms around Y/N’s waist, pulling her closer to him. The sky was suddenly alight with brilliant bursts of colour, each one grander than the last.
“And there would be your supernovas, as promised!” Sherlock yelled over the crackling and pops.
Y/N turned around and caught Sherlock looking up. The fireworks cast a coloured glow on his cheeks. He was enraptured by the lights, a gleeful expression on his face.
“Sherlock!” she yelled amid the noise.
He looked at her, his eyes crinkled in a smile. “Yes!”
“You’re forgetting a New Year’s tradition!”
He rolled his eyes jokingly. “I thought you knew me better than that! I would never forget something so important!”
Wrapping his arms around her once more, Sherlock pulled Y/N close and kissed her. She felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the brisk January night and smiled against his lips. Sherlock pulled back and pressed his forehead against her own.
“Happy New Year, my love,” he said, grazing her cheek with a gloved hand. “May this be our best one yet.” He took a step back and held both her hands in his own, the lights above showering them with sparks. “I am convinced that as long as we’re together, these next twelve months will be nothing short of perfection.“
Y/N smiled and kissed him lightly on the nose. “I’ll raise a toast to that.”
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Hey, you! Try reading London Flurries!
Happy New Year, everyone!!! I’ve been writing like mad, and saved up a bunch of fics that I’ll be posting every day this week! I really hope you enjoy them!!! Okay, just a heads up... I’ve never stepped foot in London, much less the Gallery, so yeah... some things are totally off. Can you even chill on the rooftop?? I mean, all I see is a glass dome, so unless you’re Ethan Hunt, I don’t even know how you’ll get up there. *cue mission impossible theme*
If you’d like to be tagged in any future Sherlock fics, just tell me in the comments! (and if you’d rather not be tagged in ALL Sherlock fics, please specify; EX: Reader x Sherlock, Reader x John Watson...)
