Sherlock Fanfic - Tumblr Posts

John: Sherlock, can I speak to you for a minute? In private.

Sherlock: Ooh, someone's in trouble. It's me. I don't know why I did that.

lestrade: need i remind you, sherlock, of what happens when you interfere with a case?

sherlock: …the case gets solved?

Imagine

Here’s a little Johnlock blurb I wrote!

John opens the door to the bathroom. There stands Sherlock, staring at himself in the mirror with a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. A layer of shaving cream covers most of his lower face. Sherlock glances over, his gray eyes meeting John’s in the mirror.

“Oh… hey” John says a bit too quietly

He nods to acknowledge John's presence and continues to shave, the blade gliding across his face with practiced precision. There's a hint of exhaustion in his eyes. "Morning," he mutters in response.

“I didn’t even feel you leave the bed” John says as he walks up to the second sink.

A wry smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, but there's a hint of weariness in his voice as he replies, "I had a lot on my mind." He glances sidelong at John. "Didn't want to wake you."

John nods, leaning down to rinse his face in the sink.

Sherlock continues shaving, the sound of the blade against his face filling the air. He watches as John washes his face, but there's a hint of curiosity in his gaze. After a few moments, he asks, "You sleep all right?"

”Mhm, a bit hot, but it’s summer and all”

He nods slightly, still focusing on his task. "Summer nights can be uncomfortable. Too humid." He frowns, studying the last few patches of shaving cream on his cheek.

was that good?

A portrait of a friendship moving into a romance, and of trying to figure out how hold on when everything you have begins to fall apart. Drug use/unhealthy relationships, marking as possible dubious consent to be safe. Contains case-related violence and (trigger warning!) depictions of self-harm.

"It starts with a dance. It ends with blood. There is not so much distance between the two as one might think. Most things worth doing ultimately require either blood or tears and this one will extract both. But that is not for a long time yet. This is just the beginning, and right now there is only dancing."

Shelter - liriodendron

Read it on AO3!

Sherlock, throwing their head into John's lap: Tell me I'm pretty!  John, lovingly stroking their hair: You're pretty fucking annoying, that's what you are.

Hi so I’m looking for this BBC Sherlock fic on ao3 that I read maybe a year ago and I can’t find it anymore.

It was basically like a meta fic where Sherlock Holmes the novel existed in the BBC Sherlock universe, but only John is aware at first and then reveals it to Mycroft and Sherlock when he first meets then. I remember the fic ends with the pool scene with Moriarty and John and Sherlock have to tell him abt the character of Moriarty. I think they tell him that his goons probably think he’s a fanboy or smthing. I have another fic saved that’s similar to that called Aptronyms but its not the fic I’m thinking of.

Swallow

Swallow

Summary: Sherlock allows you to sample his favorite brandy. He has you drink it in the most unusual way.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Warnings: 18+ smutty content, petplay? (use of the terms “pet” and “master” but that's about it), consumption of alcohol, spitting kink (spitting drink into mouth), praise kink, a little bit of dumbification, hinted blowjob- Let me know if I forgot anything!

Word Count: 800ish

Any typos are my own!

A/N: YAY! 211 followers!😆 Thank you all so much! I wanted to get this little oneshot posted before I go to bed, just to keep your desires satisfied until I can put together something a little longer hehe 😉 Enjoy everyone!

Your head was resting on his knee as his fingers buried themselves in your hair, massaging your scalp. He chuckled when you purred at the spine tingling sensation. Sherlock gazed down at you as you pressed your cheek into the fabric of his trousers, your eyes closed in bliss.

“Does my little rabbit enjoy it when I give her pets?” He hummed, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear.

You peeked at him, nodding bashfully. You did enjoy his gentle caressing, perhaps even too much. You knelt at his feet as he reclined in his favorite armchair. He cradled your jaw as he grinned once more. His thumb rubbed your cheek.

“How sweet you are, pet. Such a good girl.” He murmured as he reached for his brandy on the side table.

You watched him take a sip, wondering what it tasted like. You had never been allowed to taste his favorite brandy before. He raised a brow, smirking as you gazed at him curiously.

“Are you thirsty, pet? I suppose a little sip won’t hurt you.” He cocked his head to the side. “What do you say?”

Sherlock was always adamant about using your good manners.

“Please, may I have a sip, sir?” You sat up straighter as you looked into his eyes.

“Good girl. Just a sip.” He tugged lightly on the back of your hair, making you lean back. “Open your mouth.”

Without hesitation, you opened your lips. Sherlock smiled at you, still tenderly stroking your cheek.

“You will take what your Master gives you, pet. And you will be grateful.” He reminded you of your place.

You nodded. The detective hummed and raised the glass to his lips. He took a big swig, holding the liquid on his tongue as he bent down. Your eyebrows shot up in surprise when he spat the brandy into your open mouth.

The action was humiliating yet so arousing. He emptied his mouth into yours, making you shiver. The brandy was strong and made your taste buds tingle as it coated your tongue. He licked his lips as he pulled away, cradling your jaw.

“Good rabbit. Now swallow.” He closed your jaw with his hand, watching you carefully.

You did so. It burned your throat and settled in your stomach warmly. You hiccuped, biting your lower lip as you coughed softly.

“T-Thank you, Master.” You rasped. 

Even though the drink wasn’t great, the fact that it came directly from Sherlock’s mouth made your pussy pulsate in need. He tossed his head back with a soft laugh.

“It is too strong, darling?” He watched you shrug. You didn’t want to seem ungrateful for not liking it.

“How about another sip?” He offered with a smirk and you hesitated. You squirmed, trying to get any bit of pressure on your aching cunt.

After a pause, you nodded. Without being asked, you opened wide for him. He grinned and took another sip. He spit it into your mouth again, this time tugging at your hair.

“Swallow.” He growled.

You obeyed, moaning as it burned all the way down. He snickered a little. You pinched your eyes shut, throbbing between your legs once more.

“Thank you.” You looked down, trying not to let him see you wince.

“What a good little pet I have. Taking what her Master gives her without a second thought. All you want to do is please me. Oh, yes. That’s all that tiny mind of yours worries about. How to please your Master. It’s your only purpose, isn’t it?” He cooed, setting the glass down so he could bring your face up.

“From sunrise to sunset, all you think about is me. What a loyal pet you are, sweet rabbit.” He purred, holding your face in his hands.

His praise made you squirm and nuzzle his palms. He smelled so good. The detective hummed as he watched you lean into his touch. It made you open your eyes when his hands fell from your cheeks.

“Look at what you’ve done.” He clicked his tongue, pointing to his lap.

You followed his finger, gasping when you noticed the bulge he was sporting. His finger snapped, bringing your attention back to his face. He shook his head scoldingly.

“What am I to do with this? Who will take care of this need I have?” He sighed dramatically.

You jumped at the opportunity. Tugging on his pant leg, you whimpered desperately. The need to please him filled you. You sat your chin on his thigh, waiting for further instruction. His permission was needed before you could make a move. Sherlock laughed at your eagerness. 

“My pet, will you take care of me? How sweet. Go ahead, unbutton my trousers. I have something else to slip into your sweet mouth.” He reclined and nodded for you to continue.

“And don’t forget to swallow what your master gives you, darling.”

A/N: Love you all! Goodnight 💜

Taglist: @sunshine-with-daisy @leigh70 @islacharlotte @lysarria @kebabgirl67 @pandaxnienke @identity2212  Credits: Divider- @firefly-graphics

Well, sitting in the park and thinking about a new sketch is wonderful. just like drinking your 3rd cup of coffee :)

well.. I think I'll publish a Sherlock fanfiction soon (spike: Sheriarty. ) Chapter 1 will be posted soon :) I love you all, stay tuned for more drawings

⛈✮M𝔬𝔱𝔥/V𝔢𝔫𝔲𝔰✮⛈

⟡20⟡🗡𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲/𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦🗡

𝕋𝕚𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕜/𝕎𝕒𝕥𝕥𝕡𝕒𝕕-@𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚋𝚎𝚍𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚜 

𝔸𝕠𝟛-@barbed_dreams

°˖✧𝚆𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚊𝚋𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛/𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚝. 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚠𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚆𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚙𝚊𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚖 𝚙𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚢𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔.  𝚆𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚕𝚞𝚟 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚜.✧˖°

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𝘐 𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘔𝘪𝘵𝘴𝘬𝘪,𝘈𝘯𝘯𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘴𝘶, 𝘔𝘪𝘮𝘪 𝘉𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘴,𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘦 𝘙𝘰𝘢𝘯,𝘡𝘈𝘕𝘋, 𝘊𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 '𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘺' 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘋𝘪𝘭𝘧𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘔𝘪𝘭𝘧𝘴. [𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘈𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘯 𝘏𝘰𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴]. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘵 [𝘱𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦]. 𝘜𝘱𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸, 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴, 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦.✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐖𝐢𝐩 𝐎𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞: 

-♟❀ᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀʟ ᴍɪɴᴅs❀♟

-☣︎⚚ʜᴏᴜsᴇ ᴍᴅ⚚ ☣︎

-⛧🕯ʟᴜᴄɪғᴇʀ🕯⛧

-🕸ⴵᴍᴀʀᴠᴇʟⴵ🕸

-  𝄞♪sʜᴇʀʟᴏᴄᴋ♪𝄞 

-👁๑ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀɢɴᴜs ᴀʀᴄʜɪᴠᴇs๑👁

Experiment

Sherlock Holmes x Reader

~★~❤︎~✦~

There are many ways to describe THE Sherlock Holmes: Eccentric, Determined, Odd, Genius. Those unfortunate enough to meet him in person would describe him as childish. It’s quite amusing to think that someone as smart as Sherlock would be so childish. He throws tantrums and pouts when he doesn’t get his way. Even when he’s solving a case, he’s giddy like his mommy brought him home a toy. So it should be no surprise he acts childish when he’s in love. 

Of course he doesn’t tell you about his new found feelings for you. No, he performs little experiments on you. Trying to inquire if you could share his feelings. He starts off slowly not wanting to alert you. He begins by increasing his physical contact with you. Just a simple brushing of knuckles when passing each other. Or a gentle hand on your back. Light innocent touches, that's all he dares to do. You don’t seem to mind which gives him confidence to continue testing the relationship between you too. 

He moves on from light touches to soft words. He’s not bold enough to openly flirt with you. That's not his style but he does tease you in his own way. He’ll whisper his explanations in your ear letting his lips graze your ear ever so lightly. Giving him the out if you should bring it up that it was accidental. He’ll give you compliments in the form of observations. ‘That colour blue suits you’, there simple barely there compliments but he still notes the reddish colour to come to your face at them. 

So far it seems you share Sherlock's feelings, but he needs something more concrete if he’s going to confess. So tonight he’s going to be more bold. Johns out with *insert girls name* Sherlock and you will have the flat completely to yourselves. Giving him the perfect atmosphere to collect the last bit of data he needs to know before he reveals his feelings. He needs your pulse, he’s been trying to get it the past week but you always evade him. Moving at just the right moment preventing him from gathering this crucial data. Tonight though he’s determined to get it. 

You have a bright smile on your face when you enter the flat holding a bag of take out. If you're being honest you find yourself nervous to be alone with Sherlock in this manner. Of course you’ve spent time alone with him before, though he was always working on a case. This was different, this time his focus would be on you. It is intimidating to have his undivided attention. Honestly you were so surprised when Sherlock texted you to come over. The simple short text of ‘John’s out come over’ It didn’t leave room for you to say no not that you would have. The thought of declining never even crossed your mind. As soon as you got his message you were responding, at first you thought he had a case. Though with a simple text he refuted the idea texting you that he was just inviting you over. 

After staring at the text for an absorbent amount of time you finally get ready. Picking up takeout on your way and that's where you are now. Sitting next to Sherlock watching some random tv program while eating your takeout. You’re the first to break the silence, “Is everything alright Sherlock?” You're trying not to ruin the evening but you can’t help but be curious as to what brought on this on. He’s been acting differently all week. It was subtle changes at least in the beginning.

Yesterday when the two of you were walking to the lab he grabbed your hand. Fully interlocking his fingers with you. He didn’t even acknowledge it so neither did you just letting him lead you to the lab. 

“Do you think I invited you over because something was wrong?” your face told him his answer. “John was out so I thought we could spend time together” you let out a soft ‘oh’. Not that Sherlock was listening, no he was focusing on your body language. Watching closely at the blush forming on your cheeks. Time to get his last few points of data. 

He feels more confident, especially when he moves closer to you and your pupils enlarge. Your voice is background noise to Sherlock, he focused on your pulse. That's beating rapidly under his finger tips. Experiment complete. 

He cuts you off mid-ramble placing a kiss against your soft lips. He smirks against your lips when he feels your pulse pick up. When he pulls away your eyes are still closed. “What- you just kissed me” your voice is shaky. 

“Yes and I want to do it again, if that’s okay?” While Sherlock was confident in his deducing skills. He was still uneasy about romantical advances.

“Please” you're already tangling your hand in his hair, pulling him back to you. 

Sherlock Holmes can be described as many things: Eccentric, Determined, Odd, Genius, and an amazing Kisser.

Any long chartered fics you mind sharing ?

anonie, i don't think i understand what long chartered means since im not advanced at english but 😔 if you mean long chaptered and word counts, i have like, tons of them! you can tell me what fandom you're into or else i'll be confused on how much to include. these are a fraction of my faves, ninety percent atla;

✧ atla x boku no hero academia [crossover]

in his elements by writergreenreads (complete, time travel, 115k word count) best crossover i've ever read. bamf aang-centric! lots of epic action with avatar in duty of both worlds. the a:tla villains are zhao and general old iron. bryke and co nearly failed to explore aang's childhood hardship as survivor, but this story does a perfect job on it. aang's scenes with the teachers, their problem kids, the whole gaang, and the spirits is something that i crave. when gyatso appeared and whenever aang told his pain to my man aizawa, i fucking cried.

✧ zuko/aang

avatar zuko series by the cloud whisperer (complete 6 books, 490k word count) has authentic cultural references. zuko and azula were twins; the first was born as the avatar, the latter was declared as one. it has everything we want, written with justice, especially for us fire royal family stans. lu ten is alive and the story just went epic from that, giving lots of twists for the plot. thanks to this series i almost forgot the actual one because, damn, every chapter is lit!

of sunflowers and chrysanthemum by thewriterscottage (ongoing, 42k word counts, horror and mystery) it has japanese mythology and folklore, along with intriguing spiritual and societal issue of war crimes which is why this is a diamond in the rough. shamanistic scenes are written superbly. there's always another side of a character being explored that you'll lost yourself in it. breathtakingly mystical.

duty and sacrifice by tumblinplace (ongoing, 49k word count) older zukaang as spouses binded by peace treaty, becoming fugitives together after agni kai. prepare for big yearning moments because this hits hard with its journey of placing duty and trust before one's own heart. characters dynamic are not only perfect, but insightful to the whole plot. now this one is my childhood dream come true.

100 years too late of harmony series by team alpha wolf squadron (first part complete, 92k word count) another epic canon divergence with intricately written journey. starts off with the saga of aang being tagged along by zuko who's in blue spirit mode, both unaware of each other's identity. effortlessly hooks you up till the end. the unrevealed mysteries in this series really got me dying from curiosity. sobs.

after the flame, a pause by thetpot (ongoing, 20k word count). this should be made into canonical comic, like the continuation of "the promise". i've been into formal political situation, and what happened in this story truly captures the silent but lingering mess of post-war events for its influential figures. an absolute slow burn which always left me needing more.

go check the lovely blogs of those creators out for more amazing works @the-cloud-whisperer @mikhailasart @tumblinplace @thetpot ♡

✧ jeon jungkook/park jimin

the omega revolution by pinkbts (complete 16 chapters, 158k word count) lots of military and action, which is truly my stuff, especially since its a dystopian abo society where omega are cruelly treated like breeding cattles. i feel like this should be made into a blockbuster movie. not a jikooker yet if you haven't read this.

✧ sherlock holmes/john watson

red lights out by days of storm (103 chapters, 333k word count) sherlock holmes with formula one au is such a goddamn brilliant concept. if you like cars and mechanical stuffs, here's the right fic. although i haven't finished it yet myself, this fic is uh-may-zing. i don't know how the creator could fit detective story into formula one. pure genius.

-Cheri Cheri lipstick

Sherlock Holmes once again got called for a new case,an new affair of murder in manors where the corpses where leff with an eerie distinct signature ; a crimson red lipstick mark on the victim's corpses,sometimes on their lips,neck,forehead or cheeks,all victimes were particulary targeted to rich business men and beautifu young women,maybe the muderer seeked revenge ?

As the victimes muderer acumulated,Holmes searched through the potential witnesses,as he interviewed them,they all talked about an elegant widow woman 'She was a happily married woman before she discovered her husband affaires with other young women'

'Her husband name was 'Jules Jenkins',one the victims found dead,they also said how they never seen her so devasteted about about learning about her husband's affairswith other women,the widow was named 'Isabella',his instincts told him he was close to discovering who is that murderer

Sherlock intended to start the pursuit of this mysterious woman,she carried such a mystery that Sherlock Holmes wanted to discover,he found the woman in her manor,

Infact she wore the same crimson lipstick,he interviewed the lady,visibly anxious at his encounter ,he then mentioned that her lipstick was exactly the same shade of the one in the murder scene,he then asked her if she knew a certain 'Jules Jenkins' for a second the woman face froze but she quickly shaked her head in a no, seeing the woman was about to deny Sherlock than asked about her husband's name,that the witnesses he interviewed told that she was married to that man,that the lipstick he found on her and found the tube was the same exact shade

Holmes quickly saw the woman furiously sweating and shaking ,she then fall to her kness,breaking down crying 'YES I KILLED ALL OF THEM' ,she gulped trying to calm down her voice filled with venom 'i did it because i saw how my husband cheated on me,i was disgusted by these pride filled maniacs who think they own the world,and these women who thinks all they derseves all that male attention' she shaked in rage at she was speaking,she felt her world collapse into knowing she certainly go to prison,Sherlock Holmes was staring at her with cold emotionless eyes as he proceded to her arrestation,

The day of her judgement came and she was recognized culprit to these murders,her eyes bawling out at the judgement crying desperatly,she finally got back all the sadnesses and rage the famillies have felt and how she wasted those lives,wasted

-THE END

Matilda May - Introduction

"They say blood is thicker than water but, maple syrup is thicker than blood. Therefore my loyalties lie with pancakes."

January 23rd, 2012. Matilda "Zephyr" May (LNU) is quite the unusual child. Her keen mind and incredible foresight, aid her inquisitive nature. Zephyr's had a...problematic life, one that's left numerous scars. However her life is changed forever when she's adopted by Dr. John Watson and Mary Morstan. Her somewhat reserved but cynical judgment of others reminds John of his former partner. As Zephyr's new parents bond with their daughter, they realize much of the child's history is steeped in mystery. She's a curious case.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters from BBC Sherlock (2010) only Matilda and other oc's.

Rated T - for murder.

Prologue

Title: Prologue

Word count: 1,586

Characters: John Watson and Matilda May

Warnings: Hints of abuse, unedited.

Notes: So here’s the prologue of my Sherlock story. It’s shorter compared to the next chapter I’m currently working on. If there are any triggers please tell me so I can add them to the tags. I haven’t edited it yet so take all typos and grammar mistakes with a grain of salt.

———

The waiting room was nothing like she'd imagined it being. It was small and crowded. Crowded with sick adults and sick children. It appeared each and every seat was filled by someone. Not everyone was sick but they were clearly afflicted with some sort of ailment or issue, very few appeared to only be in for a casual check up. Every now and then a nurse would come call out a name and off the patient in question went. They'd disappear behind the plain painted blue doors.

At least the waiting room had some form of entertainment for the young children. A small flat screen hanging from the wall about the children's area. She'd seen it on her way in, mutedly broadcasting Peppa Pig, that hadn't interested her in the slightest. Instead she focused her attention on the floor, head down trying to bring as little attention to herself as she possibly could.

She didn't dare touch the toys. Not only were they colourfully decorated breeding grounds for germs, they weren't hers. And she'd been rigorously taught, never touch what doesn't belong to you.

So she sat. Sat amongst the grownups in the room. Her neighbour seated to her right a complete stranger seated to her left.

A sharp acidic smell burned her nostrils. An unmistakable mixture of both cheap booze and classless cigarettes. She had a hunch the foul smelling stranger beside her engaged in the distasteful hobbies as her father.

She wanted to look, to just sneak a peek at the person beside her, but again that was something she knew better than to do. So she kept her eyes, those deep, earthy brown orbs, trained on her old trainers. They were so worn, her big toe was pushing its way through her right toe cap.

All she could do was sit and listen to the gentle repetitive tune of the wait rum music. It's soft rhythmic hum provided some comfort. It was enough to relax the poor girl's tense muscles. She didn't want to be there. She couldn't be there. But there she was and she felt utterly sick.

It was her well to do neighbour who'd made the appointment. The young woman claimed she wanted to ease some of the weight off the girl's busy father's shoulders. The child had had questions but thought it better not to ask them. She should have been more bold. Then perhaps she wouldn't be there.

Her neighbour, Cartia Hennigan, was a lovely young woman approaching her early thirties. She often meant well but had a tendency to overstep her bounds. Nonetheless, the little girl couldn't help but feel pity for the woman. Cartia, all her kindness and charity was nothing more than a façade, covering her great loneliness.

The little girl twiddles her thumbs, replaying the unfortunate event that landed her little butt in the stiff plastic chair. I have to be less of myself, she swore, this never would have happened if I had.

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. Her forehead throbbed, as if her brain was protesting. Her rational analysis was fighting against her self blame. She massaged her temple with her left index and middle fingers, pressing her right arm tightly against her stomach. It didn't help.

She sat straight, mimicking the posture of a proud queen, eyes still shut, she placed her palms on her knees gripping the fabric of her pant leg. In times of great distress she often found it best to disappear. Unfortunately, unlike the deep sea pelagic octopod she couldn't actually become invisible. She could retreat to the quiet sanctity of her own mind.

Some people retreat to what they call a "happy place". Her? Well... At least she had some place all her own, where the world would slowly fade away.

"Matilda Hennigan.”

Her little head flew up, eyes snapping to the kindly nurse standing in the door separating the waiting room from the rest of the clinic.

Her eyes darted to Cartia who was already standing, walking toward the blue, aluminum trim door. Her eyes widened, pupils anxiously constricting, she quickly pushed herself out of her seat then hurriedly followed after her neighbor.

When she finally reached the door she cast one more nervous glance up at her neighbor. "Shall we?" the nurse smiles warmly and holds the door open wider for the two to enter.

JWJWJW

Matilda sat on at the practice table hands folded like so, neatly rested on her lap. She had to admit this wasn't going as terrible as she'd originally envisioned it going. From what her father had told her, the doctors clinic was an utterly awful place reserved for terrible, no good people. And Matilda was certain she wasn't a terrible person. Or at least she tried not to be.

Her dad mustn't have done his research or had to have been thinking of another clinic. This one was adequate.

The nurse was nice enough. Mary? Yes, that was her name.

She was kind, she made the tedious tests Matilda was forced to endure more bearable. She'd commented on how cute Matilda purple pink polka dotted leggings were. And even promised the little girl a lollipop before she left.

Mary did however seem suspicious when Cartia explained the reason for her bringing Matilda to the clinic in the first place. Matilda wasn't sure why, maybe the explanation sounded weird. It was rather silly. She shouldn't have been playing so close to the stairs.

Matilda tried not to vocalise her disappointment when Mary left to retrieve the doctor, but failed accidentally letting slip a small puppy like whimper. It was unintentional and it bothered her.

Now she sat in the room, not quite alone, with her neighbour. Matilda hated the dressing gown. It left her exposed, back half vulnerable and visible.

At the very least if she moved in front of the mirror she could count how many freckles dotted her skin back there. Maybe like her forehead, nose, and cheeks they formed shapes in a connect the dots kind of way.

Matilda pushes herself up and jumps to the floor. Pain sliced upward like a swift blade through her left ankle. This unbalanced her making her landing less than perfect she ignored the feeling knowing the pain would subside momentarily. Then under the critically watchful eyes of Cartia, she pressed forward across the room toward the only thing that interested her. At least now that Mary was gone.

It was like most things in the public clinic, cheap, only standing about two Tildas tall. Matilda, standing a little less than an arms length away from the mirror, extended an arm gently resting her hand on the smooth reflective glass. It felt cool, good against her skin.

She stared at her reflection, eyes narrowing. She angled her body to one side. She didn't get why both Cartia and Mary seemed worried. She thought she looked fine.

Two rich brown eyes sparkled back at her - the colour of the earth after long torrential rains. Freckles dotted her face, like a chaotic mess of chipped marble. Matilda loved her freckles. A tumble of stringy blonde hair, with dark brown roots, messily pulled back into a low lopsided pony-tail hung between her shoulder blades. Yeah she looked fine.

Hold on. Matilda rolled her tongue across her cheek. There was a jagged cut that'd scabbed over on the right side of her temple, giving her a Harry Potter esque mark.

Matilda frowned, noticing the somewhat sickening shade of blackish blue on her skin, creeping out from beneath the neck lining of her dressing gown. Matilda pulled her collar down revealing a dark purple bruise spreading from the lower half of her neck to her shoulder.

Matilda could feel a lump form in her throat. Still... nothing to worry about. Bruises fade. She shouldn't have played so close to the stairs.

JWJWJW

Matilda heard the door open and shut, it's swift creaking noise made her arms go rigid.

The Doctor entered in a cable crew neck sweater and dark almost black jeans, his pepper salted hair was closely cropped. He had a face like some guy that'd seen much pain, and suffered much loss.

"Hello." Greeting the two, he had the posture of a soldier but after shaking hands with Cartia he visibly relaxed. "What's your name?" His voice came out like he'd just pulled a double shift the day prior, only functioning because he was running on six cups of tea.

Whilst he exchanged casual pleasantries Cartia, Matilda mindfully walked around him back to her seat at the practice table.

She knew how to keep a poker face, even in uncomfortable situations. As she went she observed the doctor carefully, eyes critically analysing every last detail of the pale man. Matilda bit her inner cheek. She'd found it was always best to keep her final findings to herself. Kept her out of trouble.

Dr. Watson gave a brief look at his clipboard before turning to Matilda. Already still, she felt a tight knot form in her chest, under his gaze. He knelt in front of Matilda, allowing her to see the stethoscope draped round his neck. Her first thought, strangulation hazard.

She leaned back sitting further in your seat. "Hey there, you must be Matilda." Her breathing stopped momentarily as the man extended his hand out for her to shake. "What a lovely name." He gave her a smile that just seemed so genuinely sweet. "I'm your doctor, Doctor Watson."

——————

I actually really enjoyed writing this story and it might be the one I chose to continue. I’ve seen stories where Sherlock has a child but none with John and so I’m writing this. Her name is Matilda in honour of my favourite reading character as a child. I hope she lives up to her namesake. She doesn’t have a last name as far as anyone thus far is aware hence her name being Matilda May. Her first name and second middle name. I do enjoy this story but am considering another for front runner of the year.

Chapter 1

Title: Eccedentesiast

Word count: 3, 312

Characters: John Watson and Matilda May

Warnings: bad dreams, panic attack?

Notes: Okay here's the first official chapter. I'll warn you I have a lot of "filler"/character chapters in mind before getting to the actual series episodes. Matilda needs to develop a sound relationship with John before thing get hectic. It's been two weeks since John took Matilda in as his foster child. She's still distrustful. Unsure whether it’s actually worth it to build a relationship with her foster father.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters from BBC Sherlock (2010) only Matilda and other oc's.

Rated M - for Treachery.

———————

Eyes a hickory as rich as the earth's soil blew open constricting in the illuminated void.

Matilda stood on a pristine reflective surface, icy chills one after the other creeped up her spine. Her body stood rigid and up right as straight as a stone pillar. The space around her was pitch black save for a single indeterminate white light source that illuminated the area. It seemed she was stuck in a void, an endless expanse of nothingness for miles and miles.

Compelled by some unknown force Matilda began to move forward. Under the weight of her soles the surface rippled. Was it water? It appeared to be liquid glass. A thin cool layer that furrowed and waved with each step. She moved forward at a slow pace, one foot after the other. The silence of the inky void made her blood as cold as the murky waters of Antarctica.

In the black she could sense a seed growing in the pit of her stomach, in her core she knew the feeling. It felt as much a part of her, as the heart drumming in her chest. Under Matilda's lightly freckled exterior, beneath the anxiety, she was... It didn't matter. It doesn't matter. She chose to ignore the feeling. there was nothing that could be done about it. Not now.

Matilda didn't need to look, she kept moving forward. She knew left, right, forward, and back there was nothing. She stood alone in the black nothingness.

The darkness swirled around her petite form pricking her pale skin. A chilling draught of air bit at her nape. It blew in from the west or... perhaps the East. She couldn't be sure. Matilda cautiously turned her head to look over her shoulder. She sensed— she could feel... Matilda brought a single hand to the back of her neck.

Yep.

The hairs stood on end. She stopped dead in her tracks, making a complete 180, the water rippled beneath her.

Bam, bam, bam.

Adrenaline shot through her system. It pumps and beats like it's trying to break through her chest. Matilda's eyes grew wide with fear. Every instinct she had screamed either run fast or curl up in a defensive ball and take whatever came. Matilda usually favored, was the latter. But something told her this time it was better to run— smarter to run.

Bam, bam, bam.

She ran bare feet slapping the reflective ground. The cold air cut her throat as she inhaled deeper and faster. Matilda never was much of a runner. Her short legs betrayed her. She punched away into the darkness, haring forward. She could hear the loud pounding gaining, closing the distance between her and it.

Bam, bam, bam.

Aimlessly she sprinted forward. She recognized the sound. It poured gasoline onto the spark of fear stabbing between her ribs. Fear torched her guts, churning her stomach in tense cramps. Her lungs began to burn making Matilda's breathing shaky and labored. Her legs felt like churning cement.

Bam, bam, bam.

Matilda's feet slipped out from under her. The world rushed by in a blur and she knew the pain was coming. The world went by fast, yet slow, almost suspended. Then impact. Every muscle in her body knotted up, weighed down by the icy hands of the darkness and exhaustion.

The sound was closing in, so loud now it made her ears bleed. The wind viciously blew in from behind, howl more like a wicked cackle.

Matilda pushed herself up on all fours. She couldn't bare to stand all the way but she had to move. She couldn't allow the pursuer to catch her. She couldn't. Desperately she crawled forward.

Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam... crack.

Looking down from her place in the void, Matilda tried to steady herself trying to comprehend what was going on around her. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she eyed her reflection beneath her. Hesitantly she presses a trembling hand against the cold liquid glass. The pounding ebbed into nothingness until, until silence was as absolute as space.

Matilda stared entranced by her reflection. A paralyzing hurt spread through her body like sharp, liquid metal. The face staring up at her was foreign, new. She couldn't hear her rapid breathing, ignored the fogging up of the surface from her warm breath.

A child stared up at her. Her eyes are a bold cunning brown, the color of dark chocolate, and her neat, earth after rain brown hair pushed back by a red headband. Her pale skin was a canvas for her numerous freckles, as if some one had strewn brown chips of marble about frivolously. She wore a dress that stopped above her knees — blood red.

The reflection wasn't hers.

Matilda's eyes, a weak shade of brown, were dim, the color of dying candle, and her curled dirty blonde hair slowly browning from the roots hung in matted knots. Her skin while pale was marked purple and blue in spots, her freckles were rather small and barely visible unless she purposely dotted them with markers. She too wore a dress, however it was one of a different style and the color — envy green.

Fear curled up inside her and clung to her ribs, settling uncomfortably in her chest. She began to inch back away from the inaccurate reflection.

Crack. A long thin crack followed her and her reflection, growing with each move backward. She immediately ceased her movement. It was too late the crack continued to creep across the surface, sounding like the crushing of bones. It worked and slithers branching off in different directions until it created a circle trapping Matilda in the center. Three large splits fractured the face of her reflection.

Certain the breakage was through, Matilda cautiously stood. Her legs were like jello but she managed. Looking around she saw no way out. No matter where she stepped the ground would break out from beneath her.

BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM!

She stood hand covering her ears, in the middle of the void that had become her world, a world decorated by it's own broken cracks. Her brown eyes flickered out, becoming full, glossy. Then all at once she collapsed, tears flowed freely down her cheeks.

She could call for help. What would be the point? Why ask for help when there's no one for miles, to hear you.

In her distress she didn't notice the lone pale inky hand reaching from the depths of her liquid reflection. Icy fingers gripped her ankle in the darkness. Eyes fearfully widened, a gasp escaped her lips. In a moment of pure instinct she reached out, fingers extended.

All at once the glass shattered below her. She opened her mouth to let out a desperate scream but all that came out was air. The realization flooded in, there was nothing to be done.

She went silently. The last piece of her to drown, a hand, desperately reaching out.

JWJWJW

Waking up can be a kind gift, especially when nightmares fueled by her childish insecurities plagued her somnolent mind.

Matilda woke faster than a cat dropped ice-water, eyes flung so wide each iris was a perfect orb of rich hazelnut chocolate. She felt a sharp pain, like a knife, in her chest. It weighed on her, as if she were Giles Corey facing punishment. Cold sweat coated her skin giving it a texture. With a long exhale she felt her limbs flex in shock. Everything was blurry, her head spun. Images of her horrible dream echoed in the back of her head.

She stole a glance at the clock on her end table, rhythmically ticking away the seconds. 1:37am. She blinked, closed her eyes, and blinked again. She wanted to scream, but that's not what she needed.

She sat up, dragging her feet off the bed. Wrapping her upper body in her blanket, she got off bed, dragging the too large single sized blanket behind her. She yawned, ambling down the quiet corridor.

She was only slightly surprised to find John, sitting alone in the dark family room, the dim light of his laptop softly illuminating his face. She had a feeling he'd be up. He always was, going over patient files preparing for his next work day. However he was usually in his room.

She quietly shuffled into the kitchen, careful not to disturb John. She'd be quick, no reason to bother him. She'd get what she needed and return to her room.

Better to be self-reliant.

She stood in the center of the flat's small kitchen, where a kitchen island would be if there was room. Around her shoulders her blanket, worn like a cape, trailed behind her like a wedding train. She sucked on her middle and index fingers, eyes glued on a particular cabinet.

I did this earlier, she recalled. Her eyes bounced around the room, looking for things that could help her situation. She couldn't replicate her trick from breakfast, everything had been moved over the course of the day. The step stool was missing. She needed to think of something. Matilda could hardly reach the counter top on her own. Peanut.

Focusing, Matilda drew in her lower lip. Her eyes lit up, idea after idea flooded her brain, streaming. Her eyes narrowed in deep concentration, as she flipped through her concepts as if they were pages in a toy catalogue.

No, no, no, wait... she paused. A particular idea was formulating in the back of her head. Doable, a bit chancy.

Matilda was wrong. (In more ways than one.) John wasn't up going over patient files, well not every night. In the dark room, sitting on the sofa, his typing had a relaxing sound. He'd drowned out the furious noise of the rain thunder against the window panes ages ago. The darkness in a way had become his sanctuary, a place to recharge and forget. Forget about things, people time had abandoned.

His eyes scanned his screen, and read through the typed out text.

"He hasn't got a clue! He's flummoxed! He's bamboozled!

He's stuck...”

03, August. The words awakened old memories he couldn't bring himself to forget. All memories come with a price. Good or bad. You can't go back and fix them. You can't go back and relieve them. As much as you wish you could.

"According to the flight details, he was checked on board. They found the stub of his boarding pass and napkins etc on his body. His passport has been stamped in Berlin Airport. He should have died in the plane crash. But he didn't.

He was in a car boot. In Surrey.

Obviously, I haven't got a clue but neither does..."

He clapped down the laptop. That's enough for now.

Out of complete silence arose a loud clatter, the sound metal colliding against wood. "What the hell?" John quietly muttered, silently cursing as he got up to investigate.

Following the sound he found himself in the kitchen.

Matilda was on her knees back to him rummaging through the lower shelf of one of the cabinets. A mess of pots and pans was chaotically sprawled out across the kitchen tile, the largest pile up blew the counter where Matilda was kneeling. It didn't take a high functioning sociopath to deduce what had happened.

"Matilda what are you doing?!" The little girl froze, all of her muscles went tight. "You can't be climbing on the counter, it's not safe." John took her under the armpits and set her on the ground. She did not like that. As soon as John let her go, she corrected herself. She stood straight, arms at her side ready to take whatever John doled out.

Her brain was a beehive, a buzz with thoughts. She didn't mean to make him upset. She just needed to calm her head after the bad dream. Her heart felt tight. Her breathing became more rapid, more shallow. Her hands like claws ran through her hair pushing back her hair.

"You could have seriously hurt yourself," John went on.

Thoughts accelerated in her head. Too many, too fast. She squatted, sitting criss-cross on the floor, trying to make everything slow to a pace her young brain and body could handle.

John's scolding wasn't loud; he had neighbors and thin walls. For Matilda however his voice was so harsh it rivaled gunfire. "What were you thinking?!"

He knew he'd overstepped when he looked down to see the small girl curled up in her blanket like an armadillo. She was curled up in the fetal position eyes trained forward, completely glazed over.

"Matilda? Matilda?" John softened his tone, carefully kneeling beside her. "Sweetie I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to raise my voice." Matilda remained unresponsive. He'd have assumed she was dead if not for the repetitive rise and fall of her stomach from beneath the blanket.

He waited. The rain floated down the window pane in gentle waves, the pitter patter is a soft form of music. Pellets of water plink across the asphalt scattering puddles all round the city. The gusting wind blew with great force rocking the trees carrying the droplets in diagonal sheets. He sat in the darkness tenderly stroking back Matilda's browning dirty blonde hair.

John half-asleep woke to the sound of gentle lilt. From Matilda came a humming sound. Her eyes mindlessly darted around the room, never settling on a particular spot. She was chewing on some of her hair, a habit that appeared to be calming her down.

After a while Matilda went quiet, pupils fixing on the man beside sitting on the floor beside her. She pushed the hair out of her mouth. Her voice was quiet when she spoke.

"Can I have hot cocoa... Please?”

JWJWJW

Was it the best parenting decision, agreeing to let a young child have a rich mug of hot chocolate before returning to bed? Perhaps not. Did it settle the child's shot nerves, melting them like fondue. The little girl swore by the creamy beverage, claiming it was often the simplest things that brought her comfort. Hot chocolate, her comfort beverage.

Matilda sat at the overhang counter, feet dangling over the edge of her seat. She had proved not to be one of those children. You know, the ones who ask every minute "is it done yet?" She wasn't one of those kids. She held herself poised, trying to forget the previous moments events.

Matilda had thoughtlessly been twiddling her thumbs, chewing the inside of her cheek. "Why are you so a miss? You in all your faults. You're a loon, a weirdo, a mistake." There it went, her studio inner dialogue, it was never her friend. She didn't have friends. "Can't even handle a measly nightmare. Such a frea—"

"Matilda," John's voice saved her from her own thoughts. "Here you go, lovely." Matilda flashes him a smile, not a scared one but too tired to be considered a genuine smile.

He placed a mug in front of her. It was the first time he'd been able to make her hot chocolate since he'd taken her in. Despite John repeatedly telling her that his microwave was better than stovetop — and that she wasn't allowed to use the stove — she was inflexible.

Her eyes suspiciously narrowed, this was not her hot chocolate. "Thank you," she murmured, kindly accepting the mug. John chuckled softly, the child was too polite. From the slight crinkle up of her nose he could tell she was perplexed. He could see the little cogs in her brain spinning.

What's this? She cutely tilted her head inspecting, the white whip dollop stacked on top of cocoa decorated with red rectangle flecks. She hesitantly sticks out her tongue, just barely touching it against the white whip. Chills.

For a moment Matilda wraps her small hands around the ceramic mug, letting the heat warm her clammy palms. "Thank you," she repeated more sincerely this time. Leaving the mug, with some struggle she managed to get off the tall tool seat without help. She had every intention of retaking her mug — she'd finish the cocoa in the safety and security of her own room — however John picked up the mug before she had the chance.

Matilda bit her lip, nervously twisting the fabric of her pajama top. "Question for the cocoa," John bargained. Matilda's lips pressed together, turned down at the edges, and she nodded. "Why are you up?" He asked delicately.

Matilda's right eye twitched.

Understandably, Matilda was the most reserved and withdrawn child he had ever had the pleasure of meeting. She was nothing like the children who so boldly so curiously sought the council of Sherlock long ago. She kept to herself. Only speaking when it seemed polite or required.

"Truth please," John requested squatting so he was eye level with the 33.4" girl.

Her self-confidence was basically dead in the water at this point. It'd been brutally grabbed from behind and held under the drink against its will. Not that herself self-confidence had much of a will.

With a shaky sigh, she submitted. "I had a bad dream.

There was always an adorable yet heartbreaking timidness to her actions and mannerisms.

"Do you want to talk about it?" John offered, kindly handing the still warm mug off to Matilda. She flinched at first, body readying itself for a scolding blow. But she relaxed as soon as she realized John was only returning the cocoa to her.

She fearing he would change his mind on a dime she swiftly took the mug, cupping it in her hands. "No. No, thank you." she politely declined taking exactly two steps back from John. Weird, he didn't seem mad about her shortcoming.

As she inched toward the corridor, eyes never leaving John, she brought the rim of the, 'Our Clinic Has An Awesome Doctor. True Story.' mug to her lips. Dark, rich and pepperminty the warm hot chocolate coated her tongue thickly before flowing down her throat.

"I'm always here for you, if you need me," John whispered, knowing he couldn't hear him already around the corner.

Matilda May. John couldn't help but care for the little girl. Not only because she was utterly adorable, but also because there was something so endearing about her in general. A bit rigid around the edges, she was sure a sweet little darling. She was broken and scared, she didn't quite trust him.

He was hopeful she'd come around, eventually. He just had to—

Matilda poked her head back from round the corner connecting the kitchen and the corridor. "Goodnight John."

John's mouth twitched, the corners of his mouth lifted up into a soft smile.

—give it time.

BBC Sherlock - Masterlist

Okay so I’m making a master list to organize the stories I write. Here you’ve arrived at the BBC Sherlock section. I hope you enjoy reading, feel free to peruse and check stuff out.

“Mediocrity knows nothing higher than itself; but talent instantly recognizes genius.”

The Curious Case of Matilda May

Prologue

Chapter 1