BotheredAsh
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botheredash.bsky.social
BotheredAsh
@botheredash.bsky.social
10 followers 13 following 23 posts
🦊 '97 | INFP 9w1 | 💙❤️ Sherliam is my sin and salvation | 📚 Fanfic addict (Sleep? Don't know her.) | 🔞 18+
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botheredash.bsky.social
Not what I was supposed to be working on, but here, have another mini fic.

Herbal Remedy

#Sherliam #yuumori
Herbal Remedy William wasn't sure what had woken him. Usually he slept through the whole night when he finally got there, though nightmares still snuck up on him occasionally. He blinked awake, the room cast almost completely in darkness but for the sliver of dim, flickering light creeping from behind the door. The sheets held the barest warmth when he stretched his hand out to the other side. Sitting up slowly, he swiped at his eyes. His feet soon found the cold floor as he pushed himself out of bed and made for the sitting room. Sherlock was there, head reclined against the back of the sofa, eyes closed. A thin trail of smoke wafted from the cigarette trapped between his lips, barely seen in the soft candlelight cast from the side table The scent of tobacco filled the air, cut with the gentle aroma of chamomile. William walked closer—careful not to startle—and slid into the space next to Sherlock, leaning into the warmth of his body. “A nightmare?” “How can you always tell…?” Sherlock’s voice was tired, raw, and just a little wrecked. William wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s middle, head settling on his shoulder. “You only smoke the chamomile blend when you have a bad dream.” Sherlock sighed a puff of smoke, his own arms falling around William, pulling him ever closer. He pressed a kiss into the heat of his lover's neck, letting the quiet stretch for a moment. “Do you want to talk about it?” The arms around him tightened and Sherlock shook his head. “Alright.” He pulled away from William’s embrace to stub out his cigarette before relaxing back. William could feel his breathing starting to slow. “Are you coming back to bed or are we sleeping on the sofa?” No response. William’s lips curved and he closed his eyes.
January 7, 2026 at 6:28 AM
botheredash.bsky.social
A little sneak peek at the fic im working on.

65°C

#Sherliam #yuumori
They draped from the bark in thick curtains, bodies layered upon bodies, the whole of them humming with a low, constant sound that vibrated faintly in the air. A few stragglers moved lazily around the perimeter, but most remained still, bound together by some silent agreement. “Apis mellifera,” Sherlock stated. “It has been rather warm the last few days.” “They seem… calm,” William spoke after a moment of quiet observation. Sherlock looked back at him and saw the slight apprehension on his face, in his stance. “They are. Just a bit overheated.” Sherlock made to move closer, but a set of fingers gripped his coat. He paused, feet straying no further, and placed his hand over William’s. “It's called bearding—I'm sure you can guess why. When it grows warm, they gather like this to cool the hive,” he explained. “Look at how settled they are. Do you hear it? That steady hum? That's the sound of content. Many voices, one sound.” William’s lips pursed, gaze drifting to the colony draping from the tree. “Albert swelled terribly the last time he was stung.” “You know,” Sherlock started, a memory surfacing, and his hands raised as if to conduct the orchestra of his thoughts, “I once solved the murder of a man—well, it wasn't actually a murder—but his staff were terribly convinced he'd been poisoned. There was just no reason nor evidence of foul play. I was informed he had fallen ill directly after taking a walk through the gardens, and upon examining the body, I found the culprit to be an incredibly bad reaction to an insect sting. Of course, the garden he had been walking in had been full of honey bees—a colony had taken up home there. I may have read every book the local library had on the little creatures.” He let himself breathe after his long explanation, his hands dropping to his sides. William was looking at him with a calculating gaze, a crease pinching his brows. “In retrospect, perhaps not the most reassuring anecdote.”
January 6, 2026 at 12:15 PM
botheredash.bsky.social
My whole collection, now properly displayed.
January 6, 2026 at 5:54 AM
botheredash.bsky.social
Another one from my Kinktober collection.

Camboy Liam (not to be confused with CATboy Liam, though now I feel like I should explore that more...) and Obsessive Sherlock.

#Sherliam
His mobile vibrated in his pocket. Eleven p.m. on the dot. Every Friday. Sherlock didn't even need to check, not after months of anticipating this very notification every single week. He knew what it said. Red Velvet is live. Of course, Sherlock was already at his desk, the stream open in one browser window—fullscreen. His room was dark, lit only by the glow of the screen and the soft amber burn of the cigarette smoldering in the tray beside him. His fingers were already curled into fists on his thighs. There was always a countdown. Only five minutes, but Sherlock’s foot started to bounce after two. The other three were spent in his head. What would he be wearing today? The icy blue silk from last week? Slippery, sheer, and sinfully soft—Sherlock had imagined the texture under his own fingers too many times to count. Or maybe the red chiffon, the one that clung like a second skin and left so little to the imagination it may as well have been painted on. He remembered the way it slid off one shoulder first. The deliberate pause. The knowing smile. Sherlock exhaled through his nose, sharp and restrained, his knuckles whitening. The chat was already flooding with thirsty anticipation, usernames scrolling past in a blur. He never paid them much mind. They didn’t matter. None of them mattered. He was the one who knew. He was the one who found him. The first time Sherlock had seen him, he knew he had to know more about the man behind that gaze. The beautiful creature who could hold an audience captive with a single look, whose tongue was sharp, whose intellect cut like glass. It had taken him two weeks to find a name. William James Moriarty. Sherlock adjusted in his chair, thigh muscles tight, the outline of his arousal already pressed uncomfortably against the front of his trousers. He made no move to relieve it. Not yet. Not until he could see him. He didn't blink. Not when the countdown bled into black. And especially not when the screen lit again—and there he was. On that same chaise lounge. Opulent mahogany and crushed velvet, the same deep color as his eyes. Sherlock sucked in a shaky breath as he took him in. Luxuriating across the scarlet upholstery like sin made flesh. Red Velvet. William. The lighting was warm and low-angled, just enough to catch on the sheen of his pale skin. His hair fell perfect as ever, golden locks brushing his cheekbones. Lips parted. Eyes half-lidded, gaze lazy as a cat in the sun. He wasn’t wearing much. A black lace robe—if it could be called that—cut at the thigh, tied loosely in the front, the delicate trim slipping off a shoulder. Beneath, nothing but a crimson thong, thin as a whisper, cut high on the hips and scandalously narrow across the front. Sherlock’s mouth went dry. William stretched slowly—arms overhead, body arched. His ribs flared faintly with the movement, pale skin catching the light in soft gleams. When he shifted, the robe pooled at his elbows and slid down further, revealing more of the smooth slope of his chest. Then he spoke. Low. Silky. Like honey dripping from the tip of a blade. “Good evening, my darlings…” Sherlock's trousers were already undone.
January 4, 2026 at 4:36 AM
botheredash.bsky.social
Christmas fic I wrote for a gift event on twitter. Ill put it on ao3 eventually, but for now, here it is.

#Sherliam #yuumori
(With the Angels) Let Us Sing “God rest ye merry gentleman let nothing you dismay…” Voices in harmony drifted up from the lamp-lit street below, twining with the winter chill slipping through the cracked window. William sat on the sill, his forehead pressed to the cool glass. He had been listening for the past ten minutes, humming along with the carolers outside. Clouds hovered in the sky above, dark and heavy, as if waiting for just the right moment to dust the city with snow. It was early evening now, the distant bells of a church tower marking the turn of the hour—barely heard over the hymn being sung. Down below, there were still stragglers walking the streets—hurrying along the pavement, ducking into shops. Behind him, the soft tick of the mantel clock kept time. Wood popped and crackled in the fireplace, flames casting flickering shadows across the darkened room. The savory scent of the stew they had eaten for dinner still lingered in the air. A new song began—slower—and he hummed in tune with the melody, his voice carrying softly through the apartment. Footsteps tapped gently across the hardwood, drawing closer to William’s position—barefoot, despite the cold floor. He continued humming as Sherlock paused at his side. His injured eye gave him nothing, but the soft puff of breath at his shoulder told him exactly where Sherlock stood. A hand passed into his line of sight—Sherlock’s, rough and familiar—open-palmed in invitation. William stopped humming, turning to look into those intelligent blue eyes he knew so well. “Si~ilent night…” William’s gaze flickered briefly toward the carolers below before drifting back to Sherlock. “Ho~oly night…” Sherlock nodded toward the hand he still held out, a soft smile quirking his lips. “All is calm… all is bright…” William took it and let himself be drawn from the chill of the window toward the fire. Sherlock’s grip firmed, his other hand settling at William’s waist, and William followed the motion easily, resting a hand at Sherlock’s arm as they began to sway. The voices outside grew distant, and for a moment their steps were clumsy as they tried to keep time. Sherlock’s voice joined the song—low and quiet in William’s ear—humming softly as the lyrics drifted in through the window. They fell into an easy, slow step. “Sle~ep in heavenly peace…” William joined in at the start of the next verse, his voice a little higher, a little airier than Sherlock’s heavier baritone. His hands released him, circling around Sherlock’s neck to draw him closer. Sherlock’s arms came around him in answer, firm and sure, pulling William fully into his chest. The movement slowed until there was hardly a step at all—just the faintest shift of weight, the hum of their voices threading together in the quiet. William let himself rest there, the side of his face settling against Sherlock’s shoulder, his breath evening as the song softened into little more than sound. A subtle glint caught his eye, and he glanced toward the window once more. Outside, the sky had lightened a fraction, tiny flakes fluttering in the winter breeze. William turned his face deeper into the warmth at Sherlock’s neck, breathing in the scent of tobacco, and pressed a small, tender kiss to the warm skin there. He let his eyes drift shut, smiling faintly, wrapped in the warmth of Sherlock’s embrace. “Sle~ep in heavenly peace…”
January 3, 2026 at 9:04 PM
botheredash.bsky.social
Just a silly Sherliam piece I wrote for Kinktober. Poor Sherly...

CW: Sex, Narcolepsy
#Sherliam
"Sherly..." William slurred. Sherlock’s attention snapped up to his face. He’d just been watching William sink down onto him, hands firm on his hips, guiding him inch by inch, the heat of him intoxicating. They were in the middle of it—on the precipice of something unbearably good—and now... William's lashes fluttered. His brow twitched. And then, like a marionette with its strings cut, he slumped forward—soft, boneless, head dropping gently to Sherlock’s shoulder. “S’rry…” Sherlock’s arms caught him without thought, the weight folding against him like surrender. “Liam?” he breathed, voice suddenly tight. But there was no reply. Only the warm puff of breath at his throat, steady, rhythmic, slowing. No. No, no, no. He could feel it—the shift from arousal to unconsciousness, like a switch thrown in William’s nervous system. Not sleep. Not post-orgasmic haze. This was narcolepsy—complete and unavoidable—and it had taken him at the most absurdly cruel moment imaginable. And really, he should’ve seen it coming. William had pulled an all-nighter the night before and barely slept the night before that. He was terrible at sleeping properly, worse when hyperfocused, and absolutely reckless about pushing his limits. Sherlock froze. He could still feel William—hot and tight around him, his muscles fluttering in involuntary pulses. And yet, completely unresponsive. Soft. Unaware. Still impaled. Still achingly, perfectly wrapped around him like some kind of biological shackle forged by the gods to test Sherlock’s will. Sherlock stared down in stunned silence, the absurdity of the situation rendering him almost lightheaded. “...You can’t be serious,” he whispered into the dark room. But oh, William was. His body had gone utterly slack. His breathing deepened. His cheek rested against Sherlock’s collarbone like he belonged there. Sherlock tilted his head back with a groan of disbelief and buried it in the cushions behind him. “Totally fine,” he muttered to no one. “Nothing unfair happening here. Perfectly rational evening.” One slow, involuntary twitch of his hips nearly ended him. “Fuck—okay. No. Don’t move. Don’t even think about moving.” He could feel everything. Every soft clench. Every ounce of heat. Every maddening heartbeat between them. His hands hovered, unsure whether to settle on William’s thighs or clutch at the cushions for mercy. Instead, he just breathed—shallow, frantic—while his body screamed for friction and his heart ached with affection. “Liam,” he said again, a little quieter this time. As if the name itself might stir him. “Darling. I don’t suppose you could wake up for ten more seconds?” Nothing. Sherlock looked down. William was curled against him like he’d been built to fit there. His face, still faintly flushed, bore the softest frown—like even in sleep, he knew he was causing trouble. Sherlock smiled helplessly. One hand rose to brush back his lover’s hair. “Beautiful menace,” he muttered, lips at William’s crown. And then, softer still, barely audible over the sound of his own fraying restraint, “Only you could make this feel like both torture and grace.” Another pulse, another involuntary grip. Sherlock grit his teeth and let his head thunk back again. “Sleep well, darling,” he exhaled. “I’ll be right here. Still. Absolutely. Still.” A pause. “…But the moment you wake up, I’m going to ruin you.”
January 2, 2026 at 7:06 PM
botheredash.bsky.social
Bramble

#WritingCommunity #FlashFiction
Bramble It was his watch again. The night was cool, the desert air dry. High in the sky, the moon sat almost full, casting deep shadows even in the dark. Coyotes howled off in the distance. His watch—and yet he felt like the one being observed. She was there again. He could see her through the brush, eyes shining in the moonlight. Her wild hair was caught in the thorns and bramble surrounding her. He had seen her several times over the last week. Sometimes in the mid-evening when the sun was setting, rays of light bouncing off her coppery hair. Sometimes in the middle of the night, like now, the green of her eyes glowing, predatory. Always when he was alone. Always bringing with her the prickly scent of juniper. He didn’t know what she was. She moved as if she belonged to the land, bare but for the pine needles that clung to her skin. The brush shifted under her feet as she backed away—a hand stretched out, beckoning him to follow. He set his rifle down.
January 1, 2026 at 1:38 AM
botheredash.bsky.social
This drabble is one of my older ones.

Blindsided

#Sherliam
Blindsided “Just what else do you see?” A rustle of fabric. William could just barely make out a shape within the light from the window. A hand held out. William gently took hold of it, mapping the contours with careful fingertips. An old burn on the back of his hand—not from heat, chemical in nature. Rough knuckles, physically adept. “Chemical experimentation. Corroborated by the faint scent of ethanol that clings to your coat, under the tobacco, that is. And boxing? Martial arts of some sort, I’m certain.” William turned Sherlock’s hand over, tracing up his palm, along his fingers. Calluses, right at the tips, narrow and precise. Nails short, not cut—the skin around them ragged. “You play the strings. Violin specifically. Your nails—torn. The skin around them worn raw. A bad habit.” “Correct on all accounts. You are incredible,” Sherlock said, his voice breathless in awe. William’s sightless eyes softened, his lips turning up into a genuine smile.
December 31, 2025 at 11:37 AM
botheredash.bsky.social
Still a bit early, but...

Private Party

#Yuumori #Alcroft #MyAl
Private Party Albert took another sip of champagne. The New Year's staff party really wasn't where Albert wanted to be tonight, but he hadn't been able to talk his way out of attending. And so here he was, drinking cheap alcohol, silently counting down the minutes. “You look as though you wish to be anywhere but here.” Mycroft Holmes came up beside him. He was the only reason Albert hadn't made to leave yet—with his deep eyes, velvet voice, and handsome face. His direct superior. “Am I that obvious?” He asked. Mycroft's lips twitched. “Only to me.” Buzzing chatter filled the air as the countdown moved closer to midnight. “Five! Four!” Everybody in the room had joined except them. “Three! Two! One!” The lights flickered out. A hand pulled him in. Warm lips pressed against his, just deep enough for a slow slide of tongue. “Happy New Year!” He barely had a chance to reciprocate before those lips were already pulling away. The lights switched back on and he saw Mycroft adjust his tie, the tips of his ears dusted in pink. Albert leaned in slightly, mouth curving into a smirk, and lifted his glass in toast. “To a… productive New Year, Director Holmes.” “Indeed. I anticipate a most fruitful venture this year.”
December 30, 2025 at 9:45 AM
botheredash.bsky.social
Catboy Liam drabble.

Purrfect Form

#yuumori #Sherliam
Purrfect Form Sherlock swore he brought a cat home. A dirty little thing with silky, pale fur hidden under all of the grime. He hadn't been planning on taking home the cat. London was full of strays, and he wasn't really the type to get soft-hearted about the feral little creatures. But this one had watched him with an almost calculating gaze during his most recent investigation—with scarlet eyes he had, at first, mistaken for copper. Peculiar. So he'd coaxed the feline close enough to scoop up and wrap in his jacket, curious once more at its patience for being handled. Perhaps not a stray after all. The little thing hadn't even twitched as he washed the dirt out of its fur. It had sat through the whole process in graceful stillness. It had been a losing battle trying to keep the cat off his bed when he finally decided it was time to sleep. He had eventually given up, letting it curl into his side with a defeated sigh. Of course, he hadn't expected to wake up with a naked blond man in his arms, complete with fuzzy ears and a sleek tail flicking about. Was he purring?
December 30, 2025 at 3:04 AM
botheredash.bsky.social
Working on a new project!

Huh... wonder why I chose these exact colors...

#yuumori
5 crochet squares in a pattern Colored squares in a pattern Moriarty the Patriot volume covers 1, 3, and 5
December 29, 2025 at 9:45 PM
botheredash.bsky.social
"If we could be reborn into another world..."

In the Next Life

#Sherliam
In the Next Life A hand closed around his wrist. William turned around to face the man who had grabbed him, finding brilliant blue eyes staring back at him. "Can I help you?" He breathed out, caught off guard by the abrupt interruption and the inexplicable jolt that ran down his spine when their gazes met. “No, I—Sorry—Do I know you?” The man looked as out of breath as he was, like he had run the whole block just to catch him. “I don't… think so…” But even as they passed his lips, he couldn’t help but feel as if those words were a lie. The man’s grip slid from William’s wrist to his hand, cradling his fingers with a familiarity William didn’t understand. A sudden breeze whipped past them, tossing ink-dark locks into the air. A breath passed between them. “I caught you…” William didn’t know why those words struck him the way he did. But he was going to find out.
December 29, 2025 at 6:35 PM
botheredash.bsky.social
A silly little Sherliam drabble.

#Sherliam
Goosed "I swear to God if that goose follows us home again—" "Sherly..." "—I'll roast it. Evil thing." They'd been on a walk through the park. A rare day off that William hadn't wanted to squander. And there it was, waddling after them. It never got close, just followed at a distance, but just the thought of it hovering nearby rankled Sherlock’s nerves. "Sherlock, it hasn't done anything to you," William reasoned, an amused smile curving his lips. "It's watching, Liam," he glared over his shoulder at the goose, as if daring it to come closer. William raised a sharp eyebrow and glanced back at the bird. "It's a goose, Sherly. It's not out to get you." His hand slipped behind Sherlock, quick and unseen, and gave him a cheeky squeeze. The sound Sherlock made was somewhere between a yelp and a scandalized gasp. “I, on the other hand…” “Liam, you scoundrel.”
December 29, 2025 at 6:12 AM
botheredash.bsky.social
This is it, guys. It's finally happening. After nearly a year in the fandom (my Moriversery is in January), I am finally watching the musicals.

#MoriartyThePatriot #Yuumori #モリミュ
TV with MtP musical on pause.
December 27, 2025 at 4:38 AM
botheredash.bsky.social
Just a little something im working on at the moment.

#yuumori #mtp #SherLiam
December 26, 2025 at 5:06 AM
botheredash.bsky.social
Ok, red and pink are obvious. I used green this time for ships I have read or written for that I enjoyed but wouldn't seek out. Left out all the others, or else I'd be here all day.
December 26, 2025 at 3:06 AM
botheredash.bsky.social
Might as well launch my most successful thing here as well?
December 26, 2025 at 12:26 AM