“Ugh why are you here?” she said looking at Sherlock.
“Lestrade wanted me to solve a case, seeing as you were obviously no help with it,” Sherlock said with a smirk.
“Well we can’t all be psychopaths now can we? Besides you aren’t as important as you think really. You’re just Lestrade’s pet freak,” she said harshly. There was that word again. Freak. You hated when she called Sherlock that, the way she spat the word at him with such malice and hate.
“You know Sally,” you said releasing Sherlock’s hand and stepping in front of h
“Mrs. Hudson are you almost ready?” You called over your shoulder as you stepped into your red stilettos.
“Oh yes just one second dear!” She called as you heard her rummaging through a jewelry box. You turned back to the mirror again taking in your appearance when Sherlock and John came bounding d
You lugged the shopping bags with you until you finally reached the flat that you shared with your best friend John and his roommate, Sherlock. You’d been living with them for about 2 months now and you were never bored with the antics that were going on.
‘Thank god you’re back (y/n), I need to go out. Anywhere but here, just make sure he doesn’t blow the place up or something,’ John sighed as he indicated to Sherlock who was lying on the sofa curled up and facing the back of it. John threw his coat on, kissed your cheek and ran out the door before you could even speak.
You sighed and began to move into the kitchen with your shopping. For once there were no experiments or body parts in the kitchen. When you emerged minutes later, Sherlock was still sulking on the sofa.
‘What was that all about?’ you asked quietly, sitting down in Sherlock’s chair. He shifted slight
“You’ve already eaten half the tub, love. It’s bad for you.”
You let out a pathetic whine, “Johhnn.”
Your brother didn’t even look up from his computer, “Give her back the ice cream, Sherlock.”
“You know as well as I do that that much sugar is not good for a person’s system, she-“
He cut Sherlock off, looking up with an entirely unamused expression, “Just give it back.”
John opened his mouth to respond but caught a glimpse of you and let out a heavy sigh, shooting Sherlock a glare as he moved to crouch in front of you. You’d started to
“So this man is innocent, and was framed by his brother so that he would be sent to prison?” John asked Sherlock, making sure he understood correctly.
“Yes, it’s very obvious,” Sherlock said as he began playing a slow tune on his violin.
“That’s terrible,” John stated, “doing that to your own brother.”
“His brother was probably the favorite,” you replied from Sherlock’s chair, taking a bite of an apple Mrs. Hudson had given you earlier.
“Favorite? What does that have to do with anything?” Sherlock remarked.
“Well everyone has favorites, whether they admit it or not,” you replied. “And that favoritism often leads to jealously, especially when one comes from a rich family like that man did.”
“Not everyone has favorites,” Sherlock scoffed, still playing his violin.
You were the top forensic blood spatter analyst in the UK and it kept you rather busy and alone most of the time. Honestly that was how you preferred it, the living were cruel and overly complex and the dead were quiet and, frankly, simple.
When your jazzy ringtone broke the silence in your lab, you scooted your chair to where it was with a kick of your legs and then answered it, “(F/n) (L/n), h-how may I help you?”
Lestrade’s voice rang out on the other end with the words that you both hated and loved to hear, “(L/n) You are needed at a crime scene Asap.” He gave you a location, y
In all the time he’d known you, there had never been anything between you beyond a friendship that for some reason worked better than most and was stronger than he ever could have anticipated. It was something that had happened without him ever realizing, that friendship, but right now, sitting in his chair watching you making tea, he wished there had been more- not really for the love but to have a deeper connection, to escape from the loneliness he’d discovered in his heart.
He gave a fleeting smile at the skull still on the mantle before observing the rest of the fl
Sherlock continued to be an annoying know-it-all. John kept on blogging. And you were often at 221B. It was more of a home than your actual flat.
Except for the nightmares. They never seemed to get better. Only worse and more vivid as time went on.
What if Sherlock didn't get to you in time?
What if the crazy man had the chance to keep you?
Would he have blown you up? Or, something much, much worse?
These were things the night terrors focused on. Picking out one of the fears of your mind and conjuring it up into a 'reality'.
You never dare told John or Sherlock, though you were sure with the way the Holmes boy looked at you that he knew. How could he not? The detective was fantastic at noticing your details.
Currently, the three of you were lounging about in the flat. Sherlock in his chair with his silly violin, John in his with tea and you sitting off to the side with tea of your own.
You had disappeared to the bathroom to be sick for the third time today, covering your mouth and running before you had the chance to be sick all over the lovely clean carpet that Mrs Hudson just finished cleaning.
There could only be two possibilities as to why you were vomiting so much; one, mother nature was deciding to be a bitch as per usual. Or two, you were pregnant.
And you were hoping it was the first option.
Not that you wouldn't be happy that you were pregnant, with Sherlock's child of all things.
You just didn't feel like you were ready to bring a child into this world, you weren't even sure if Sherlock even wanted to bring a child into this strange yet wonderful world.
You weren't sure if Sherlock even liked children for that matter.
You threw your head into the toilet allowing whatever you had for breakfast this morning return.
You were thankful that your hair was in a loose bun.
"(Y/N)? Are you okay?" John asked, standing my
“He's going to be here soon. And he's coming with case pictures. That should cheer you up.”
“No, George. I don't belong here. I belong out there with him. He needs me. I don't belong in here.”
The old man paused, nodding slowly with a sad expression. “I know you don't. Why do you think it's so hard for me to come in? Still do it, though.”
“It's because you have me. You wouldn't still be here if I was. It's my fault.”
“No, it's your mom's fault..”
You snarled in disgust at the mere mention of the reason why you were in here.
“(Name.)” There was a knock. A smile erupted on your face at the sound of the beautiful man's voice. George immediat
In the flat of 221b, a certain army doctor and consulting detective were grumbling and complaining. The weather was a quite a bit hotter than usual, and with no air conditioner the heat inside was merely growing. They were very irritated with the heat, but even more irritated with you because you were paying no attention to it.
“Look at her sitting there so calm and complacent, acting as if it doesn’t feel like a furnace in here,” Sherlock said to John.
“Sitting right here Sherlock, I can hear you,” you said as you kept your eyes on your phone.
“Well I’m glad you can hear me because I would like to point out that you are being ridiculous,” he responded.
“You’re the one with a bag of frozen peas on your head,” you retorted.
“They’re not peas they’
You puffed out the smoke you were holding in your lungs through your nose, your eyes closed, “You aren’t real.”
Sherlock frowned as you took another long drag of your cigarette and then put it out on his gravestone, shaking your head as if trying to clear your thoughts. You turned and let your eyes slide open, looking at him for only a moment before drifting past him, “You aren’t real. Please go away. John’s already thinking of committing me and I would prefer that not happen.”
“(F/n)…” he called but you kept moving, “I don’t want to see you anymore, Sherlock. I can’t handle this. It’s unhealthy.”
You really didn’t believe he was there, what had you been seeing for you not to believe in what was right in front of you?
He jogged to catch up with you, placing himself in your path and holding your shoulders, and you looked up at him for a moment before yank
“Sherlock? Where’s the butter?”
“I used it for an experiment.”
“And you couldn’t have told me that before I went to the grocery so I could get more?”
You let out a little growl at the ceiling, “I’ll just have to ask-“
“I used all Mrs. Hudson’s as well.”
You slumped against the counter. All you had wanted was a grilled cheese. Just toasty bread and melted cheese. But of course in this household that was asking too much.
Two weeks. Two weeks you’d wanted a grilled cheese and every time you went to make one something came up. Needless to say that at this point the craving was almost unbearable.
John came into the kitchen to find you looking at your ingredients with the most dejected look on your face. You looked like a kicked puppy and it was damn near heartbreaking. He wrapped an arm around your shoulde
John chuckled from across the table, reading his own section of paper as you worked on the Sudoku puzzle in yours. It was a habit you’d both gotten into since you’d moved into their spare bedroom, you and John both got up at reasonable hours, switched off making breakfast, and then sat and split the paper.
He always read the news and you went for the crosswords and Sudoku, you liked the challenge and, while the crossword often went unfinished, you were fairly good at Sudoku. It kept your mind sharp for what ever challenges Sherlock was sure to get the three of you into.
You started scanning again, writing in a succession of numbers the nine had made apparent
John was making a much needed pot of tea, Sherlock was reading a book in his chair, and you were sitting in Sherlock’s lap.
You rested your head in the area between the neck and shoulder and closed your eyes, a small smile forming. Whenever Sherlock turned a page, he would move his hand to run his fingertips up and down your arm before returning it to holding the book.
Your smile broadened. While you loved the consulting detectives enthusiam and high intellect when he was on a case, you also loved it when Sherlock was calm and showed a gentle, romantic affection towards you.
Then the moment was ruined when Mycroft walked through the door.
“Good morning John, (name), Sherlock,” the older Holmes greeted.
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Child!Reader (Family)
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Word Count: 913
The sound of soft footsteps were heard as a small child ran up the steps of 221b. It wasn't a client, it was Sherlock Holmes' young daughter. The story behind how he got a daughter wasn't really a simple one. When he was on a case, he had found a young girl who wouldn't say a word. She had to be only about three or four years but she should have been speaking then.
Sherlock had somehow been put in charge of the girl, though luckily he had John to help him. He had grown attached to her over the time she lived with him and when he learned that her parents were dead (He has guessed they were from the start), he adopted her even though Mycroft had insisted that he didn't. He didn't listen, like always.
The two of you had gotten rather close over the year that you had been living with Sherlock. At first it was rather awkward, as Sherlock wasn't quite sure how to rais
Spying your older brother across the station, you crept up behind him with a mischievous grin and pounced on to his back. “You really need to be more observant, Johnny.”
He laughed and yanked you over his shoulder so he could sweep you up into a warm hug. “(F/n), you little brat! I was starting to worry. What took you so long?”
You giggled, pulling him to you tightly. “You always worry, you old worry wart. I was just delayed a bit. Arg It’s so good to see you!”
“It’s good to see you too, Squeak.”
He swept you off your feet again and you squealed, “John, put me down this second!”
When he wouldn’t, you poked his side lightly, causing him to
Sherlock Holmes was not an affectionate person. Everyone knew it and Sherlock himself knew. He was never that caring. He was rude and always in his own world. He walked over everyone that was below him and his ego was inflated. For one of his cases, he needed to befriend a woman named Ellie. She worked for a big company that Sherlock needed to get into. He didn't care for Ellie. Not one bit. She was important for the case but after that Sherlock never called her again.
It was only two months later, she showed up at his front door. She was yelling, as Sherlock stepped to the side to let her in. John looked confused to see a very angry woman in the room. "I can't believe you got me pregnant!" She yelled, shoving Sherlock. He didn't react much.