Summary:You always said ‘yes’ to Sherlock Holmes - today, was a day of change.
You descended the stairs from your apartment. You hit the base and approached the open door of 221b where you willed yourself not to peer inside.
You had almost made it past your neighbours when Sherlock called you name so loudly that it echoed against the walls. Faltering on the next step, you stopped and retraced your path until you were staring at the face of the consulting detective standing in the middle of the room.
“John and I are heading to the garden on Fifth Street to examine the crime scene. Your expertise will be required - you’ll join us, yes?”
With a short hum, you delivered an answer. “No.”
It was clear that the detective hadn’t heard as he clapped his hands with excitement. “Excellent! Now we’ll uncover the - wait, no?”
His mind finally caught up and when he turned to challenge your response, you were gone. John was in the middle of putting on his coat when he noticed his friend chase after you.
Thankfully you were only in the small lobby on the ground floor, putting on gloves to brace the weather outside.
“What do mean ‘no’?”
You heard him from the stairwell, footsteps growing louder until he was visible and smirked. “According to the Oxford Dictionary-”
“You know what I mean! I don’t understand why - hold on, you’re not still mad about last night, are you?”
Before you could respond, Mrs Hudson came rushing out from the back exit of her shop with a take-away cup in hand, gently pushing it into your hands.
“Now, you be careful there, dear. It’s fresh and very hot.” She mothered and turned to see Sherlock on the stairs, sending him a look of disapproval. “And shame on you for ruining Y/n’s perfectly good coffee machine by grinding the teeth of the deceased.”
“I was testing the effects of - oh, nevermind!” Sherlock abandoned his explanation when you disappeared from him once more.
You were now standing on the street curb as you waited for a taxi to hail down. He caught up behind you and stood directly in front of where a vehicle rounded around the corner.
“I upset you - but that doesn’t mean that you should just walk out on an investigative lead.”
As a cab pulled up to a stop, you opened the door and scoffed, turning to the man. “Your faith in me is a little disappointing, Sherlock. I’ll see you and John on Fifth Street.”
Characters: Sherlock x Reader, John Watson x Reader (platonic)
Warning: None.
Summary:Sherlock could be a little difficult. You were about to learn just how much when he comes down with an illness.
Sherlock had been looking miserable over the course of the day and you had suggested a small nap. He threw a fit and made you endure a lecture about why the solution was insulting until finally storming into his room and giving in to his body’s demands.
That was in the morning. It was mid-afternoon when you were sitting on Sherlock’s seat in the living room after work when the man finally emerged.
“For someone who considers naps to be ‘for babies’, you sure slept like one.” You poked and looked up from the newspaper in your hands, eyes going wide. “Wow, you actually look worse.”
Sure enough, the detective had sauntered out of bed still donning his robes, eyes watery, hair dishevelled while sniffling. Then when he spoke, his voice sounded nasally - clearly the signs were obvious to everyone but him.
“You look worse.” He repeated and then darted towards the front door.
Shooting out of the seat, you followed Sherlock.
He wasn’t supposed to be working!
The detective opened the creaky panel, paused and backtracked. Whirling around (making himself slightly woozy in the process) he walked back to his desk and threw papers about, mumbling about a ‘break in the case’.
He marched over and took you by the shoulders.
“He wasn’t hated by the press. He was hated by the mailman!” He let go and wobbled a little as he looked for his coat - which was folded on the mantelpiece.
“And you were hated by your immune system.” You muttered and moved over to the doorway. “Sherlock, you can’t go out half-dressed and infectious.”
The man had somehow put on his coat while breathing through a stuffy nose and thought he was fit to wander around London in such a state.
“Watch me.” He challenged from the middle of the room.
You grabbed the coat rack that was standing to the left, thankful that only a singular blue scarf was hanging on it, and pulled in front to stop Sherlock from moving forward.
“Don’t you take another step.”
In true Sherlock-fashion, the man indeed attempted to advance but was prod with the end of his own furniture - like some kind of animal. “Y/n, you’re being ridiculous. I’m… achoo!”
The sneeze had you smirking with the confirmation that you were right but the detective rolled his eyes.
“One sneeze doesn’t mean anything.”
You reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone while maintaining a strong grip on the coat rack in case Sherlock tried to wrestle it out of your hold.
“What are you-? Y/n-“
Pressing a button, you put the device to your ear until there was a voice on the other end.
“Hey, I need you at Baker Street…”
“Is that John?” Sherlock asked but was ignored.
“How quickly can you get here? Perfect. Thanks.”
Putting the phone away, you met Sherlock’s glare on the far end of the stick. His eyes were sullen, nose tinted red, and light beads of sweat were showing on his forehead.
“Are you happy now? John’s not going to let me out of the flat for a week now.” Sherlock complained, very annoyed.
“You’re not supposed to leave the flat until you’re better.”
Footsteps trod up the creaky boards as you held your defence. Mrs Hudson popped her head through the open door and saw the odd situation for the day.
“Yoo-hoo. I heard raised voices - what are you doing with the coat rack, dear?” She wondered innocently.
“Good, Mrs Hudson. I need you to knock your elbow into Y/n’s third rib.”
The instruction from Sherlock made the older woman frown. “What’s this?”
You quirked your brow at the man, “Don’t mind him, Mrs Hudson. He’s just running a bit hot. I think a lovely bowl of your homestyle soup will calm him down nicely.”
The landlady wasn’t the housekeeper but she made the most wonderful meals when someone came down with a cold. Nodding excitably at the request, Mrs Hudson turned around and returned to her kitchen to prepare the dish.
You refocused on the detective and tilt your head in the direction of the couch.
“Lay down.”
Sherlock leaned forward. “Make me.”
In one swift motion, you poked the man to his surprise. Sherlock’s muscles were already aching so the action wasn’t one that he wanted to continue and he finally conceded. The detective marched over to the sofa and plopped himself onto it heavily, letting out a small exhale of relief.
“You’re such a child sometimes.” You mumbled while setting the rack down. Crossing the room, you picked up a box of tissues and set them on the table within Sherlock’s reach. You moved over and pressed the back of your hand against his forehead, it was much warmer than it should have been.
“You have a temperature.”
Sherlock shuffled a little to lean over the edge and let out a series of coughs. You instantly moved back to avoid catching anything.
“It’s just the human body trying to regulate it back to normal.” He said, voice hoarse and almost admirable. He composed himself and laid back down with a small sniffle.
“I know how temperature regulation works, Sherlock.” You crossed the room to the kitchen and filled a glass of water before bringing it over to the man. “But if you don’t treat it now, you’ll be bedridden for weeks.”
The door at the base of stairs opened up, inviting a light gust of air and the brief sounds of London traffic. A low voice greeted the lady in downstairs. John had finally made it which meant that Sherlock couldn’t win his argument to leave.
As you placed the glass beside the tissues, John announced his entrance with a knock. You smiled and Sherlock pouted.
“I’m fine. Y/n’s just overreacting.”
Shaking his head, John had expected this behaviour from his friend and stepped into the flat.
“From the way you sound and the way you look, I think I was right to be called.”
You shot Sherlock a ‘told you so’ smirk to which he rolled his eyes. Turning to John, you walked over to hug him. “Thanks for coming so quickly. He was just starting to get difficult.”
“You stabbed me with the coat rack - achoo!”
John wasn’t the least bit concerned with Sherlock’s dramatic response. After the embrace, he conducted some quick checks on the consulting detective and confirmed the diagnosis that the man was had indeed caught a cold. You and John both agreed that it was because he had gotten soaked in the early morning rain the previous week to chase down a lead.
From the temperature that Sherlock had developed, John prescribed some medicine to aid his recovery knowing that if he got too bored from being sick, he’d shoot at the walls again.
He handed you a slip of paper, “I’ll call Lestrade to let him know that Sherlock’s out of action for a while. The back of it has the name of a good chemist.”
Nodding, you glanced at the words on both sides and stored the paper away into your pocket. You thanked the doctor once more as Mrs Hudson wandered inside and placed a tray on the table with two bowls of steaming hot soup.
“Here you are - my remedy to cure the chills.” She said brightly.
Sherlock shivered and pulled his robe a little tighter. “It’s just flavoured hot water.”
Thankfully, the woman barely noticed and looked at John. “I’ve packed some for you and Mary to take home.”
“That’s excellent, thank you Mrs Hudson.”
The landlady left and John stepped in the same direction before pausing, pointing in the direction of the sick detective.
“Look, call me at any time if he starts being an even more obnoxious version of himself.” He said.
You nodded and gave him another grateful hug. “I will, thank you.”
With some extra well wishes, John finally left 221b with the promise to visit in a few days.
Sighing, you realised that the flat had been scented with Mrs Hudson’s soup and your stomach made a low growl. Turning, you noticed that the bowls were still untouched. You stepped over to Sherlock and sat on the edge of the table.
“Come on, you need to eat something.”
“I don’t need it.” Sherlock grumbled.
“Fine.” You shrugged and picked up one humming in content as it warmed your hands. Then you took up a spoon and took a taste, complimenting in detail the landlady’s craft.
The creaminess of the tomatoes, the faint hint of thyme, the mouth-watering taste of…
Sherlock slowly sat up, an unamused glare on his face as he grabbed his own bowl of soup - clearly exhausted of listening to you describe the ingredients.
At first, he took a mouthful just to prove the point that he was eating… then the flavours danced tangoed with his taste buds and the man couldn’t help but let out a blissful hum.
You focused on your own bowl and smiled. “Good, right?”
Sherlock glanced at you briefly and swallowed his pride with the soup.
“It’s alright.” He admitted.
And for the next few minutes, you both sat in silence filling stomachs with the warm meal. You cast the occasional glance at the detective to monitor his illness but often found that his eyes would get lost in a thought that was no doubt tied to the theory of the mailman.
“You know, if you keep sitting so close to me you’ll catch my cold.”
As it turned out, he was referencing the way you had absentmindedly touched his forehead again. Pulling your hand back, you let out a small sigh and set down the empty bowl.
“Maybe.” You leaned back a little. “Besides, if I do catch it, I can easily infect Donovan after that snarky comment she gave me yesterday about my desk organisation.”
Sherlock shrugged as he sipped on the last of his soup. “Well…”
“I’ll poke you with the coat rack if you attempt to finish that comment.”
Sherlock began to chuckle until his coughing fit returned. For someone who was always on the move, you low-key enjoyed seeing Sherlock’s vulnerability. He was so human in the moment.
Smiling at him, you stood up. “You should get some sleep.”
Making your way over to the kitchen cabinet, you bent down and pulled out a light blanket. Instead of heading back the way you entered, you opened up the second door that led into the foyer and stared at the back of a familiar head of curls.
Sherlock had leapt to his feet the moment you were gone and was trying to sneak himself out. He succeeded the silent closing of the door until he turned around and saw his audience.
You pointed over his shoulder, a stern expression on your face.
“Back inside or the coat rack will be the least of your problems.”
He grumbled about it but you managed to get him inside. Reaching into your pocket, you pulled out the little paper that John had given you earlier.
On one side, there was a list of medicine. On the reverse, there was no name of a pharmacy/chemist but a little word of advice:
I’ll drop by tomorrow morning with the items. P.s. if you blink, he’ll run.
Summary:When Sherlocks case seems to be more then he can chew he takes it out on (Y/N). Things have been said that may not ever be forgiven and Sherlock doesn’t seem the least bit remorseful.
Summary-You and your father Sherlock have never been on good terms. He wanted you to thrive in academics while you wished to bless paper with your ideas and art. When one day an argument goes to far Sherlock must sit and face the consequences
Summary:Ever since Sherlock met you he has always needed your undivided love and affection. When suddenly that affection is given to something else he begins to reminisce his first time meeting with you, but now enough is enough and he is determined to keep you all to himself. Even if it is a few short hours.
Summary - Ever since meeting Sherlock everything seemed to be to be going great. Your life was spiraling upwards but so is your feelings for the great detective. When Molly’s jealous words get the better of you. Your insecurity seems to push Sherlock more in your direction causing another stepping stone to some thing greater and something more then just a friendship.
Summary:(Y/N) has just returned from her latest art venture to live with her grand-mother Mrs. Hudson. In doing so she occupies the apartment downstairs and becomes fast friend with the tenant upstairs. Over the months her feelings and their chemistry grow. In an effort to convey to Sherlock her feelings she gives him a gift.
Summary:You notice a difference in Sherlock’s behavior and it becomes more apparent when he begins to feel you up in front of John. Sherlock expresses his insecurity and how he is ready to take the relationship to the next level, but who knew that your first time together would be on the table you eat on.
Sherlock smiled to himself upon hearing his lovely girlfriend swear the fist thing Thursday morning. He knew exactly why she’s upset in the bathroom and the the sound of her opening her trusty pad only backed up his guess.
Her period has begun.
“Good morning love, sleep well?” He folded the newspaper and put it off to the side as she emerged from their bathroom. Y/N crossed the floor and sat in his lap, curling up to the warmth that his body provided.
“Good morning and there wasn’t much sleeping because somebody kept me up all night.” Her lips pressed against his neck as she nuzzled into it.
“I wonder who that was?” His body shook with laughter as she playfully smacked his chest.
“How are you feeling, any cramps? I know how terrible they get for you.” Y/N pulled back a bit to look into his baby blues with a surprised look on her face.
“What is it love?”
“You know.”
“Of course I know. For the past week we’ve had sex multiple, multiple times, which you initiated. Your breasts are sensitive as they are heavier and fuller than they regularly are. You’ve been craving a whole lot of sweets plus you’ve been bloated for a couple days now, I chose not to bring it up. Oh and then there’s the fact that I heard you opening your pad a short while ago.” Sherlock winked at her knowing that he checked all the boxes with his observations. Y/N rolled her eyes at him and placed her face right back into the crook oh his neck.
“You, Sherlock Holmes, never cease to amaze me. What am I craving now? Since you seem to know everything.”
“Strawberry cheesecake and cookies ‘n cream ice cream.”
“Screw you.” He got it right again. Chuckling, the curly haired detective kissed her head, rubbing her back soothingly in the process. A shit eating grin plastered itself onto his face as he spoke his next words.
“Shut up would you darling. You’re about as sharp as a sack full of soup when it comes to these things-”
“Sherlock-”
“And sadly I don’t have the time nor patience to draw a picture using crayons to explain it to you. So make yourself useful by leaving!” Sherlock knocked all the scattered books and papers that littered his desk in frustration, they weren’t making any progress in the case they were working and they had hoped that the teacher could be of use but she also hit a block.
“Sherlock! Y/N you don’t have to go, he didn’t mean that.” John wanted to smack his friend upside his head for speaking to the one woman that meant something to him like she’s some piece of garbage.
“He does.” Turning on her heels, she grabbed her bag and headed out the door and down the steps, John briefly glared at Sherlock as he chased after her.
“Y/N wait!” She looked over at him as she slipped on her coat to leave. John paused on the second step trying to come up with the right things to say to get her to not walk out the door and quite potentially Sherlock’s life.
“He’s an ass and says things that shouldn’t be said-”
“Like implying that my IQ level is in the bloody trenches, yeah I gathered that.”
“He’s just Sherlock being Sherlock.”
“No, that’s Sherlock being an outright twit that doesn’t have a filter.” Before he could squeeze another word out, Y/N stormed out the door slamming it shut behind her.
“You’re wasting time John, she’s of no use to us with our case. We have so much to-” John turned to look at the curly haired man that stood on the landing.
“What the hell was that?! You didn’t have to call her an idiot like that for goodness sake Sherlock, she’s an incredible woman. A woman that loves and cares for you, might I add and you’re self destruction is surely going to push her away.”
“Oh so what?” John rolled his eyes as he stomped his way back up the stairs to their shared flat.
“You are going to apologise and fix this with her because everyone knows that there isn’t going to be another woman to put up with you and your brash behaviour. I don’t even know how she’s put up with you for nine months.” Sherlock hung his head low, his words finally catching up to him. He knows that he did have to rectify his mistake of yelling at her and making her out to be an idiot when in fact, she’s remarkably intelligent.
“I’m serious Sherlock, as soon as we wrap this up you are going to fix this.”
“No, nope I need to go after her right now.”
“No, if you go after her that’s only going to end badly for your face.”
—
The rain was pouring down on all of London at eight forty-five at night and Sherlock’s pace quickened in the direction of Y/N’s home. He shook off the heavy water off of his coat as he took shelter beneath the awning over her front door.
Y/N placed her bookmark in the current novel she was reading and set it off to the side. The doorbell rung again and this time she willed herself from under her blanket and off the couch to go answer the door. It’s raining cats and dogs outside so whoever was at her door had to have a good reason to be.
“Hello- oh, it’s you.”
“Hello, may I?” As much as she would rather not let him into her home it was cold and wet outside and by the looks of it, he had walked here in the pouring rain; and she didn’t want him to catch a cold. She headed back up the stairs to her flat leaving Sherlock to let himself in and remove his coat as well as his shoes.
“Why are you here, Holmes? My level of intelligence is miniscule compared to yours and I’m sure you’d rather be in the company of someone that shares your level of competence.” Sherlock watched quietly as she fastened her robe to her body to cover up herself. Y/N was still angry at him for earlier and he knew that. He stood in the middle of her living space, dripping water onto her hardwood flooring.
“You know where your clothes are go change, your creating a puddle.” Y/N put the kettle on to make tea for the both of them, not like he deserved anything other than a proper slap across the face. While he was changing he tried to formulate the right way to handle this without shoving his foot in his mouth.
“Could we sit down dear?”
“Nope, I’m good right where I am in the kitchen, you could stay all the way over there.”
“Don’t want me close to you?”
“Unless you want to be bashed in the head with this kettle I think it’s best if you stay far away from me.” Sherlock brushed off her bluff, closing the distance between them with his long strides. Crossing her arms over her chest, she stared into the pair of blue eyes she’s grown to love as he stood mere centimeters away from her.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what exactly?”
“For losing my temper, yelling and for saying something I didn’t mean. I didn’t mean it when I called you useless or made a comment on your intellect, it was the spur of the moment. I was frustrated and I took it out on you when you were only trying to help.” Sherlock brushed his knuckles against her cheek and she instinctively leaned into his touch bringing a smile to his face.
“I get that you were frustrated but that isn’t a valid excuse Sherlock. You called me darling and a useless idiot in the same breath.”
“I know darling and I promise it’ll never happen again. Allow me to make it up to you.” The towering man kissed the crown of her head, cheek and bridge of her nose making her heart flutter at his affection.
“You’ve got your work cut out for you Mr. Holmes because I’m not going to make it easy for you and your astonishing brilliance.”
“I do love a challenge.”
“I know.” Sherlock finally pressed his lips against hers in a gentle kiss which was cut short by her kneeling him in the groin. He grunted in pain and stumbled back, holding his crotch in pain. Y/N smiled watching as he doubled over still groaning in agony.
“I deserved that.”
—
Honestly don’t know if I’ll keep writing for Sherlock but we’ll see.
Summary: It’s taken you a while to realise. But Sherlock Holmes is a very touch starved man.
Word Count:800
Warnings: none, just fluff and soft Sherlock
a/n: It’s been a while since I’ve written for Sherlock and I think it’s about time I go back to my roots :)
You hadn’t noticed it before now.
You hadn’t noticed when his fingers would drag across your palm when you released his hand, almost as if he were hesitant to let you go. You hadn’t noticed when his hold on you tightened and your shirt bunched in his fists each time he had his arms around you. You hadn’t noticed when his eyes softened and slid shut when your hand fondly made its way through his hair.
But now, as you lay together in the quaint living room of 221B it was clear as day. You suddenly couldn’t believe you hadn’t noticed it before. Sherlock Holmes was touch starved.
