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Literature Text
Chapter 1: You’re an idiot
Once upon a time, a long time ago, there was a young boy by the name of Sherlock Holmes. He was different from the other children and bullied for it, not that he really cared. He had a friend, someone who he could talk to about anything and everything when he returned home from school, and that was Redbeard, his dog, aka his arch-enemy when at sea when playing pirates.
He groomed that dog every night, brushing it’s fur and tidying him up before they both retreated to bed, and at one point, Sherlock even wanted to start brushing the poor dogs teeth, like he had to, but Mycroft wouldn’t allow such a thing. That dog was no longer the family pet, but a family member.
But all that was back then; back when he was young and stupid. Now, middle-aged and wise, Sherlock sat comfortably in silence in his chair, watching as his flat mate, John Watson, a former army doctor, mumble angrily to himself as he tidied up various things in the kitchen.
“I can’t believe you, I really, really can’t.” John sighed, cleaning up the bloodstained wooden cupboards in the kitchen, “This will never come out!”
Sitting in his leather chair in the living-room, confined to it after his flat mate had told him off, Sherlock sat quietly, his clothes and skin covered in blood, “I can’t take all the blame. You have to blame Cornelia for some part of it.”
John shook his head, avoiding the massacred table, “I highly doubt Cornelia minded you trying to blend her heart in the blender! But you, for an apparent genius like yourself, forgot to put the lid on!” he growled. Oh Sherlock could be a handful, but despite it all, he was his best friend and somewhat the baby he had to sit on, metaphorically of course, and they did have some good times together. Scrubbing at the tiled walls, John briefly glanced over to his flat mate simply watching, “Go take a shower or something before you stain something else.” He shook his head.
And with that, Sherlock stood up and wandered into the kitchen, stopping as he reached the entrance to the hallway, “Thought I was confined to my chair,” he spoke, agitating his friend and rather enjoying it.
“Just go!” Watson huffed, “Before Mrs. Hudson comes up and raises the damn rent even more!” he sighed, returning to the wall and scrubbing.
Stripping down to nothing, the Detective looked at his blood covered face in the mirror, it was lucky he didn’t take the faulty parts of the diseased as well, such as those with STD’s and such things, or there would be a theory or two from the press.
∞
Once showered and dressed, Sherlock exited his bedroom and made his way out to the amazingly clean kitchen, although blood stains had penetrated the wood and left the biggest most awful stain, but maybe his landlady wouldn’t notice if they kept her out the kitchen.
Puffing out a breath and pulling his jumper sleeves down, Watson brushed his arm over his forehead and looked at the well cleaned man, “Good, now sit back down and don’t move. I’m going for a shower.” He decided, stumbling passed and slamming the bathroom door behind him.
Nodding, Sherlock stood centre room for a moment before retreating to his chair. Since when was he ever so good at taking orders, yet, after treading through old memories, he really wasn’t in the mood to argue.
Through his thoughts, the sound of the doorbell downstairs ringing caught his attention, bringing the Detective back to reality. He blinked, looking at his door before over to the bathroom, John had still not returned, and going by the bell ringing again and no friendly female voice yelling to the person, he assumed he would have to break the Watson rules and take the duty into his own hands, how tedious.
∞
Sherlock idly walked out and down the stairs, not in any hurry, hoping the person might just go away before he reached it, but the bell rang once again as he’d reached, great. Sighing, he reached out and opened the door, slightly shocked at the sight of the female standing there.
“Hey, Sherlock, it’s been a while.” You spoke, looking innocently up at the long lost school friend.
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Heated Temptations: BBC Sherlock x Reader Chpt. 3
You stumbled up the stairway as Sherlock continued to tug you to his flat. You could hear the door swing open, assuming that it was his partner, and followed both of you up the stairs. As all three of you advanced further into the building, you heard a sweet little voice that spoke with great concern. “Sherlock, who is she? Is she alright, she looks awfully worn down.”
Sherlock looked at the lady and proceeded anyways as he replied “Not now Mrs. Hudson, I’m busy.” She gave Sherlock a sad face as her input, as always, has been ignored. “Getting some food howeve
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Caring Mycroft x Reader
Many who know the Holmes brothers know that caring is not an advantage.
But did you ever wonder why they thought so? What made them who they are? Or, shall it be said who made them who they are now?
A look into the past will give the answer that everyone is striving for.
(Name).
(Name) is the reason for such an occurrence. For the strong men known now.
But how? What could this (Name) possibly have done?
They cared.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sherlock stared at the door from the chair in his small flat that he shared with his brother. You would be arriving soon. And by soon, he meant four minutes.
M
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Sherlock Holmes x Reader - He's Back
“No. You don't get to just walk back in here and think everything will be okay! No. It has been two years. Two fucking years, Sherlock!”
“(Na-)”
“Shut up. You left us. And I don't just mean (Son's Name) and I. I mean everyone. John, Mrs Hudson, Greg, Mycroft, Molly-”
“Molly and My-”
“Don't interrupt me, dammit.”
Sherlock shut up after that, casting his glance to the side for a brief second. After his reunion with John, which didn't go quite as planned, he thought things would go much smoother with his fiancée. Turns out, he was wrong. Again.
“Can I speak now?&rdquo
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An old School "friend" of Sherlock Holmes turns up unexpectedly on his door step almost ten years later with a case, well, more of a problem. Refusing to help, the situation gets worse, far worse. Oh how would Sherlock react feeling guilt ridden? [Total amount of chapters: Unknown, still writing.]
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