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Sadness b/c NaNoWriMo plot=nope and our fall break is almost over. :(
John had been out of the room for about an hour now. Sherlock wasn't even sure where he was—he felt a sudden urge to find him, however, when he realized that that meant he didn't know where Willow was. He took one last look at his sleeping fiancée and quietly got up to find his flatmate.

John sat on the living room sofa, absent-mindedly rocking the baby as he scrolled through something on his laptop.

He looked up as Sherlock entered the room. "How's Faith?"

"She's resting."

"Well that's good. Taking care of a baby is hard work." John turned back to his laptop. When Sherlock didn't leave, he looked back up. "Did you need something, Sherlock?"

Suddenly Sherlock wasn't sure how to put this. "I'd like to take Willow for—for a moment."

"You're acting like I've taken her from you!" John laughed—and then suddenly remembered that he had in fact taken Willow from Sherlock the last time he'd been trying to feed her (without success.) "Well, here you go."

Sherlock took Willow into his arms, holding her under the arms at an awkward distance. How had Faith shown him to hold her earlier?

"No, no—you're holding her wrong," John scoffed, echoing Sherlock's thoughts. He sent the doctor a foul look as the man took Willow back hurriedly. "You have to hold her like—well, like a baby! Lie her on her back and support her head like—never mind."

John took Willow back and sat down, giving up. Sherlock breathed out in an exasperated manner.

"I'll never learn to hold her properly unless someone shows me," he said coldly. John rolled his eyes.

"Hasn't Faith already shown you dozens of times?" John sighed and made no move to let Sherlock try again.

"Yes, she has," Sherlock muttered, "And I'll learn eventually if you'd both be patient with me."

"Sherlock, you have no idea how hard it is to be 'patient' with you."

"Just let me try," Sherlock whined. John grudgingly agreed, and Sherlock held his arms out to take Willow again. She murmured something as he shifted her in her arms to lie her on her back and support her head. He looked smugly up at John for a moment before the small infant began to cry.

John reached to take the baby, but Sherlock pulled away. "It's alright, I'll try to make her stop."

"Sherlock, you don't just make a baby stop crying! You have to comfort it, rock it, try to soothe it! Being gentle isn't something you're good at." John looked at him with an almost disappointed expression. Sherlock ignored him.

He tried to bounce Willow up and down like he'd seen Faith do, but she kept crying. Maybe if he put her over his shoulder like he'd seen people do in films? Pat her back? He took Willow and moved her up to his shoulder.

"Sherlock, what are you doing? That only works after the baby's eaten!" John moved to take her again, but Sherlock stubbornly resisted. He could do this on his own. He patted Willow's back softly, then a little harder. The crying got a little softer—she seemed to like the steady rhythm.

"What's going on?" Faith stood in the kitchen door, blinking sleepily at them.

"Sherlock's just being stubbo—"

"I'm trying to hold Will—"

Willow gave a loud belch, interrupting the two men before Faith had the chance to. There was a moment of silence, and a sudden look of discomfort crossed Sherlock's face.

"Oh, good! I was wondering when she'd need to burp, Sherlock—I fed her about half an hour ago." Sherlock sent a pointed look John's way. "You might want to change your shirt."

John looked on in sheepish guilt as Faith took Willow from Sherlock, sending him back to his room to find a shirt without baby spit-up down the back of it. Faith smirked and looked at John as if to playfully chastise her brother for being so impatient. John wrung his hands and handed her a tissue for Willow's runny nose.
Sherlock x OC {Commission for Iced-Ninja}
I couldn't fit the title in there :P It's called "Two Men and a Baby."

A very, very late commission for iced-ninja who has been very patient with me! I'm so sorry—DA kind of flew off my radar for a while since school's started. Please forgive me, friend!
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Laughing, you wheeled out of the kitchen with two cups of steaming black tea. "So, are all dates with you as exciting as that one?"

John had just told, in great detail, the story of taking a date to a Chinese circus only to have Sherlock crash it and end up getting the terrified girl in a hostage situation.

"I wish," John chuckled. "Nowadays I'm forgetting that there ever was such a thing as an exciting date."

"So you're not bringing in all those ladies?" You shot him your own pitiful version of a seductive glance, and the two of you burst into childish giggles.

"Sadly, no." While he tried to say it with a cheerful tone, he could tell a trace of remorse had slipped in with it. Your face showed no signs that you had caught it, but he wasn't about to underestimate a Holmes.

You sighed quietly. "Well, I'm sorry to hear that. Obviously my job keeps me from dating for reasons of being away for too long and in large amounts of danger. I can't say I wouldn't mind a romantic relationship, but I'm just not sure there's anyone out there that would be willing to put up with my work. I love my job, I really do—something about helping people out of such terrifying situations, and the satisfaction of winning psychological battles—but as you've seen, there are times when it can be overwhelming." You smiled. "But no matter. The rewards are far greater than the losses. I suppose I don't mind it as much anymore."

"That's good," John said encouragingly, though truthfully he felt disheartened by the fact that you weren't happy with your long-time single status. For reasons he couldn't pinpoint, your muffled unhappiness made him discontented.

You smiled almost wistfully. "Yeah."

There was a pause as you stirred your tea and took a sip. You cleared your throat. "So, it seems Mycroft wanted to pull Sherlock into his warehouse for something. How happy do you suppose he's going to be when he arrives home?"

John laughed. "Not very."

"What would Mycroft have to say to Sherlock that he couldn't to me, though? It must have something to do with me." You frowned and set down your teacup.

"Well, you don't need to jump to conclusions," John said carefully, not wanting you to feel upset. "It's possible it's something he doesn't want me to hear, and he just couldn't pull you aside because of the interview."

Your expression softened, but you still looked concerned. "But he could have found another time... Well, it's Mycroft. Who knows?"

"You can never know with a Holmes, can you?" John jested.

"Hey!" You sent him a mischievous grin, which he returned. "You know I don't really like doctors all that much, either."

John's expression turned to mock-offended, though he was trying not to grin. "Well lucky for you, I'm not your doctor. I'm your frie—"

He stopped himself just as Sherlock's tall form appeared in the doorway. "You were saying?"

You'd been sitting with your back to the door, and your head whipped around rather quickly. "Nothing, Sherlock. We were just talking."

Sherlock nodded and went to set down some grocery bags in the kitchen—wait, Sherlock had bought groceries?—and John breathed a sigh of relief, though he could have sworn you looked slightly disappointed. He cleared his throat.

"So, ah, what did Mycroft want?" John glanced cautiously in your direction, and you shot him a grateful look.

Sherlock waited a moment to put something in the fridge before calling, "Just some more details about the case. Nothing important at all. It doesn't concern you."

"Well, why did he need to pull you into his warehouse?" you asked, your face showing signs of concern.

"I don't know. He's Mycroft!" Sherlock huffed, slamming the refrigerator door closed. It seemed this answer suited you, as you shifted back to face John with a relaxed countenance.

"So," you started, "what were we talking about?"

John hesitated for a moment, not sure if he wanted to repeat what he'd been about to say before Sherlock had interrupted. He wished he could have taken his last half-sentence back. He'd been about to call you a friend—why wasn't that alright? From quite a bit of past experience, he could tell that to him, you were more than a friend. He—he could admit that. But whether or not you wanted—or he wanted, for that matter—to go any ways beyond that was an infuriating mystery to him.

"Oh, er, I was just saying how, uh—that I'm not your doctor."

Your expression brightened. "Right! And it's a good thing, too—you'd have a job bloody well cut out for you just trying to stop me from leaping off buildings and slamming body parts into things. I'd run you ragged."

John gave a hearty laugh. "I'm sure you would." Not that he'd mind.


"I forgot the milk," Sherlock groaned, coming into the living room and flopping heavily onto his armchair. You gave a small giggle at his rather haphazard composure.

"I'll get it," you sighed, putting your arms down by the wheels on your chair, ready to move. Both men made to stop you.

"No, it's fine—I'll get it," John said quickly, getting up to go put on his shoes. You groaned.

"Great. Now I'm stuck in a house with two men who want to do everything for me like the independence–squashers they are." You said this with a smile, discouraging any doubt that you were actually upset about not being able to go to the store on your own. It really was too much work to catch a cab on your own in a wheelchair, and right now you felt pretty lazy.

"I'll be back in a bit," John promised, slipping his shoes on and heading down the stairs.

"Bye!" you called after him, a small grin still echoed on your angular features even after John had closed the door to the flat behind him.

Sherlock cleared his throat rather loudly and you looked up. He only did that when he was really sick or something was bothering him. As of now, it was obviously the latter.

"Anything wrong?" you asked, holding your breath. If he was going to chew you out again over something as stupid as a moved experiment, you were going to lecture right back.

"How... attached are you to John Watson?" He said this in such a serious, mildly concerned manner that you burst into laughter. You could feel his scowl piercing the top of your skull.

"Attached? Sherlock, what are you reading into here?"

He cleared his throat again, slightly quieter. "(F/n), neither of us are daft. It's clear to me and hopefully to you that your sudden friendship with John is bordering on romantic."

Your brother was, in fact, so daft that it made you cringe. Something about the way he'd worded that put you instantly into a foul mood.

"Sherlock," you began slowly, masking the small bit of anger that flashed in your eyes, "what ever gave you the idea that I fancied John?"

"It seemed obviou—"

"I don't fancy ANYONE," you cried, "I CAN'T fancy anyone! I work months at a time, I can't even manage my own thoughts, and I most certainly cannot manage a friendship, let alone a relationship! It would never work, and we all know it! You even said so yourself the night John took my out to dinner! I'm not involved in any relationship—and I likely never will be."

"Well then tell John that so his boundaries are clear."

Your face couldn't even find the right expression for the surprise you took at this remark. "Sherlock Holmes, you can't possibly be suggesting that your flatmate fancies me. He'd have to be daft."

"Well, he's John."

You almost laughed. Almost. "Brother," you started in a patronizing tone only Mycroft could emulate, "I am fully aware that neither John nor I should really even try to fancy each other at this point. I—I don't fancy him. I'm not sure what gave you that notion."

"Er, do we need anything else? Besides milk?" John. You felt your face go white. Had he heard the whole thing?

"U-uh, just some bread I think? We're r-running out." Your voice squeaked, and you prayed you sounded not at all terrified.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at you, and you hissed at him, "What?"

"Disappointed, are we?"

"Sherlock, you will be silent this instant or I will phone Mycroft and tell him about all your black market purchases."

That did it.

"Sorry. You were saying something, John?" He was trying to hide amusement and failing miserably.

"Just bread and milk, then?" he confirmed with a smile that bordered on a grimace. You nodded, and he headed back down the stairs. "I'll be back in a bit."

When the door closed and you were sure he was gone, you turned back to Sherlock.

"You were saying?" he asked, almost sneering. You were too flustered to be exasperated with him again.

"Alright. While I'll admit I enjoy his friendship a great deal, I couldn't possibly maintain a relationship. He, on the other hand, goes on dates nearly twice a week. He couldn't possibly fancy me. Case closed."

Your brother heaved a sigh, obviously wanting to say more but refraining. You pursed your lips and opened your laptop, wanting to forget about the nagging feeling in your mind that said maybe Sherlock was right.

Or the hope that maybe you were wrong.
BBC John Watson x Reader- Chapter 18
Another chapter I'd already written that was just sitting around.
Just my attempt at getting the metaphorical ball rolling.

NaNoWriMo approcheth! Perhaps writing more of this will spark my writing bug. :)
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You took a deep breath. "I have to do this?" Sherlock gave you a look. You both knew this wasn't optional, and you weren't kidding anyone by acting like it was. He put a hand on your shoulder.

"You'll be fine. Sharing information isn't going to hurt you, I promise." You nodded, taking his advice to heart before steeling yourself for your meeting with Inspector Greg Lestrade. You felt ready enough to go over your case in detail, but there was still a part of you that felt ready to burst into tears. Nervously, you hoped he would be as friendly as possible and that you wouldn't start crying again.

"Alright. You'll be waiting out here?"

Sherlock gave a pained grimace. "Actually, our brother has asked that I meet him at his warehouse, so I will be stepping outside shortly. You may have to take a cab home."

"Oh," you sighed. "Okay. Well, I'll see you later then."

Your brother nodded, and you swiveled around towards the door that read Ins. Lestrade, holding your breath.


Mycroft paced the length of his desk at the warehouse, his feet clicking on the hard cement floor each time he stepped in his agitated rhythm. He had only just made his discovery but a half an hour ago, calling Sherlock the instant he'd made it and rushing to get to his warehouse before his brother did—Sherlock would be here at any moment. He abruptly ceased his pacing and sat down at the armchair behind the desk. He needed to look professional when his brother entered with an escort. His employees couldn't see him like this—terrified and at a loss for words.

A lone file lay crooked on the tabletop in front of him. It was marked with a blazing red label with two initials on it. Sherlock would recognize it instantly, he knew. Just as the thought entered his mind, two pairs of footsteps echoed up the stairway.

"Brother." Sherlock stood in front of him, looking slightly unamused. Mycroft sighed and waited until the escort was completely out of earshot.

"Sherlock. Please, can we put aside our dislike for each other for just a moment? We've found a match for the drawing she described to the artist."

At this, the younger brother's jaw went slack—but only for a moment, before he sharply pulled it up again, hurrying past his brother to the desk. And then fell promptly to his knees.

"Not—" he struggled.

Yes, his brother had indeed recognized the file, Mycroft thought.

"The one and the same, Sherlock."

"But he—he'd shot himself, I didn't think of the possibility—the damn shock dulled my senses. I should have forseen this. I should have forseen this." Mycroft watched his brother pace on the same ground that he had been wearing away moments before.

"Moriarty appears to have held the African bank hostage merely weeks after committing suicide on the roof. The records to the case involving anything about him are gone—probably taken before anyone had the chance to recognize him. We had pictures previously, but I hadn't bothered to take a look at them. If anything, I should have forseen this." Mycroft brought a hand up to his temple to soothe the oncoming migraine he felt pulsing in his veins.

"We both should have forseen this, brother. And now our little sister is in mortal danger because of it."

"Sherlock, you're going to need to act like everything is normal. Keeping her inside won't help because we both know Moriarty is smarter than that. Just don't let her know you've met him before. Don't let her know he's very nearly as intelligent as—"

"Don't say it!" hissed Sherlock. "Don't say another word! I will not let any harm come to her as long as I live."


"Greg, I just don't see why they need to question me about something that happened nearly two years ago," you sighed.

"(F/n), you see—a lot of information seems to be missing from that particular case file. We've recovered what we could, but we need to fill in the things we don't have." Inspector Lestrade sighed and leaned back in his chair.

"Well, is—is that about it?" you prayed he hadn't heard your voice catch.

"Yes, yes I believe that was about all we needed. Oh, wait—just one last question. Have you seen or heard anything from the hostage taker since the situation?"

Your eyes narrowed. Something in the question triggered a memory—no, you hadn't seen the man since Africa... or had you? Surely you would remember something as significant as meeting the man who had made your waking hours a living hell and your sleeping ones something worse. But an itch that could not be reached with anything tormented you at the back of your brain, somewhere down in the crevices that housed the crazies and the demons. You felt as though maybe you had seen him.

"... not that I can remember," you said slowly. Greg looked at you for a moment but then nodded.

"Alright. You may go. Thanks... and sorry, (f/n). This has been hard."

You smiled weakly at him. "Goodbye, Greg." The door shut behind you with a satisfying click.

You glanced nervously around the empty space outside of Lestrade's office. Sherlock wasn't anywhere in sight—was he still talking to Mycroft after two hours? No one was in the surrounding offices to see you, so you let your face crumple and a tear or two leak out before you composed yourself again and navigated through the hallways to the entrance. You would have to hail a cab alone.

"(F/n)?" A familiar voice met you at the door as the brisk chill of overcast London hit your face. It was John, you thought with a sigh of relief.

"Thank goodness you're here—Sherlock had to go with Mycroft for something," you breathed quickly, pulling John down by his arms into a tight hug. For a moment he was stiff and bent at an odd angle, and you nearly pulled away before he returned the hug gently.

"Are you alright? You look a bit shaken," he asked, pulling back to hold your shoulders and look at your face. You felt your face color slightly, but you ignored it and swallowed.

"Th—the interview was really hard. A lot of memories brought to the surface. But I'm alright." You found it difficult to look the doctor in the eyes, and when you tried it sent a thrill of electricity through you. You weren't kidding yourself with excuses of illness—but excuses of stress and the investigation being taxing were perfectly valid, you thought, some happiness flooding you at the thought. It was only the case.

"I'm sorry," John said, letting go of you. "I know this is hard for you. You'll get through it—I promise."

You pondered this as John stepped out into the road to hail a cab. You'd get through this. Just get through it. Let it happen, let everything flow past you and ebb away into a nothingness that will be forgotten and unneeded, unwanted. Events would play out, so you only needed to step back and let them  happen so you could move on with your life—but you had a feeling that your interpretation wasn't quite what John had meant. He had given it as more of a call to action, something to be brave for.

You stuck your chin up just a hair as you maneuvered your way into the back of the cab, letting John put your wheelchair in the boot. And gosh dangit, you'd give anything to be rid of the thing. Just five more weeks.


"I've got snipers on standby around the flat—they'll keep a close watch on you. I know you don't like it when I do these things to meddle in your affairs, but Sherlock—this is for (f/n)'s sake. You can't protect her on your own." Mycroft looked imploringly at his brother, who looked ready to burst at the prospect of his brother trying to protect you.

Sherlock opened his mouth as if to retort, but to Mycroft's surprise he closed it again. "Alright. Shall I give any word of this to John?"

"Only that the situation is more grave than we anticipated. There is no need to further agitate him. As we both know, it's hard to simply stand by when we know a loved one is in danger." Mycroft's features hinted at a smirk. Sherlock frowned.

"Brother, this is no time to make jokes."

"I wasn't joking," Mycroft said in a now more serious tone. "I merely meant that John would become more fearful than he already is, which is not something (f/n) needs to worry about. He would not conceal it as well as I know you can."

"Is that all?"

"Yes. Go and make sure she's alright—the interview will have shaken her up."

Sherlock nodded and turned to walk down the dim room towards the exit, saying nothing but knowing that both of them sensed the tense and fearful atmosphere in the room, thick and cloying.
BBC John Watson x Reader- Chapter 17
Wow.
I don't even know how long it's been. This chapter has been sitting here, finished, for who-knows-how-long.
I intend to finish this story, guys! I promise I'll do it, even if it takes me forever. :)

A few side notes:
-The timeline for this story is after Sherlock has come back from pretending to be dead. 'Tis why Moriarty is out of the picture... until now. Muahaha. Apologies if that plot twist wasn't what you were expecting. I'd had it in mind the whole time, so sorry if you were expecting something else!
-Yeah, you call Lestrade 'Greg.' It's only because you've worked closely with him before and you as the reader are pretty friendly. So yes.
-What is romance. What is plot development. Who knows?

Chapter 18 is finished as well (Wow, I did work a while ago! Who knew?) so I'll be posting that. ^^
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Status updates? Watch feeds? New layout?
I think yes.
That's a lot of points.

:iconprofessoradagio: is doing it and frankly... they're amazing. BLESS YOU, KIND PERSON.

Go check it out!

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NightWings99
Subarashii Risu
Artist | Student | Varied
:iconrequestsopenplz::iconrequestsopen2plz:

Hey! I do free requests! I can't promise I'll get around to all of them, but seriously feel free to pop me a note and I'll get back to you! :)

Hey there!
My name's Kimberly, but on the interwebs I generally go by NightWings or Night. You can also call me Risu, which is my kinda dumb self-given Japanese name. It means squirrel.

I am a person of many, many fandoms. So many that I can't list them all. Like, Potterhead Starkid Superwholocked Demigod Tribute Hetalian blah blah blah. I draw and write a lot of fan art.
I also really like writing poetry and original short stories. I even have a {finished!} book, written just for fun, starring some friends and I in a cool adventure-thing.
I prefer drawing anime/manga style, since I'm not the greatest at realistic, but my style falls somewhere in between the two.

I'm in high school doing lots of stuffs and being cool, I guess. I've wanted to be an author since 1st grade. I... don't really know what to tell people about myself in real life. *awkwardly wrings hands*
Yeah. I need to work on writing bios because I'm really bad at them.

I Love Villains Stamp by Drknz1300 A Hobbit by Maylar Grammar Nazi Stamp 2 by SanguineEpitaph Stamp: Team Loki by Anja-Z Romantic Stuff by MaruLovesStamps Judge a Book - Stamp by TheGreenDragonGirl Fish out of water stamp by HallowpointPaws Gryffindor-Stamp by Dinoclaws Writing by wyldflower Anti-Heroes Stamp by MissDudette Crowbar, Meet Face by Ravechu fictional character 2 by dark-dragon-wings HP Stamp by Sergeant-McFluffers think about how people perceive you by Colliequest Typing Stamp by In-The-Machine I love night stamp by coolmaggi Writers Stamp by shadow-wolf-haunts Password Stamp by Heart-Stamp Tumblr. Stamp by PFV0-Stamp XD Stamp by MimiMarieT Rats Are.. Stamp by IrkenInvaderTAK Christianity =/= Homophobia Stamp by AlfaFilly Safe Sex stamp by HappyStamp I love to write Stamp by HappyStamp Rain Stamp by Stamp221 Favorite Characters Stamp by Stamp221 So Be It - Stamp by Stamp-Abuse Epic Music Stamp by tranceofstardust im epic stamp by ohhperttylights Support NaNoWriMo Stamp by mirz-alt
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:iconwhitelynx57:
WhiteLynx57 Featured By Owner Aug 17, 2014
Thanks for the llama and the watch!
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:iconnightwings99:
NightWings99 Featured By Owner Aug 17, 2014  Student General Artist
:D no problem! You're a good writer.
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:iconwhitelynx57:
WhiteLynx57 Featured By Owner Aug 17, 2014
Thank you! You can read the rest of it through the link to my FF.net profile. It's not finished but it should hold you over until I can post more.
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Fire5567 Featured By Owner Aug 3, 2014  Student Traditional Artist
Thanks for the llama 
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:iconnightwings99:
NightWings99 Featured By Owner Sep 6, 2014  Student General Artist
You're welcome! *i like llamas.*
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X-Bloody-Ruby-X Featured By Owner Aug 2, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
thanks for the llama :D
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:iconnightwings99:
NightWings99 Featured By Owner Sep 6, 2014  Student General Artist
You're welcome! :D
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wolfsearch Featured By Owner Jul 28, 2014  Hobbyist Digital Artist
thanks for the llama :D (Big Grin) 
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:iconnightwings99:
NightWings99 Featured By Owner Jul 29, 2014  Student General Artist
You're welcome! :D
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DamaiMikaz Featured By Owner May 29, 2014  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thanks for adding Encouragement to your collections. I'm happy that you like it :la:
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