#Mycroft is my weakness

[musingsofmyown]

mycroft holmes is my favorite character?

more like i need therapy.

Every time I open Ao3:

(its mostly mystrade and/or Johnlock)

((we also dont talk about how my main OC is his biological-child and she's skeptical about Lestrade at first))

#Mycroft is my weakness #especially when he's being a good brother to Sherlock #or like super soft-vulnerable #omg give #aspen answers asks #thanks for the ask! #mycrofts-umbrella-in-the-tardis #at least I think that's your url #it got cut off 😅

[skyriderwednesday]

Hmmm... so if ASiS takes place in 1881, and I've said that Enola was nine the previous year...

Then evidently this version of Holmes and Watson meet when Sherlock is a few days shy of 24.

#fic writing #fiddling with a more idk canon-compliant enola idea? #and i like sevens so this version of her is 14 years younger than sherlock and 21 years younger than mycroft #(she must have married very young) #so at the time enola is ten in a moderately large house with only her mother and a handful of staff #while her eldest brother establishes himself as the british government #and her other brother is about to become quite famous #(i think it's funny that if you got all of the sherlocks who inhabit my brain in a room...) #(the one with a little sister would be the baby of the bunch) #((idk what i'm taking from books/movie/etc. yet [tho EH2 is probably garbage to me in this endeavour])) #((my basic concern is making sure that events outside of enola are happening in basically the right order)) #((so holmes and watson have each other at the right time/are doing their early cases in the right order)) #((and so on)) #((right now she's sitting at home with mum reading her brothers' letters over her shoulder and reading the strand)) #((deeply annoyed that mycroft writes very infrequently and sherlock replies to letters on a several month delay)) #((and also doesn't seem to be able to read her handwriting)) #((it's not a her problem - he's dyslexic and children's handwriting is a weakness in general)) #((but enola doesn't know that)) #(*she married young as in mrs holmes btw) #pseudo acd compliant enola au

[holylulusworld]

Mrs. Sherlock Holmes (1)

Summary: Your marriage starts rocky.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Wife!Reader

Warnings: angst, injured reader (light), mentions of getting robbed, angry Sherlock, implied innocent reader

A/N: A collection of drabbles on how you became Mrs. Sherlock Holmes.

Mrs. Sherlock Holmes masterlist

“Where is my brother? We need to talk about Enola and the upcoming event. She needs to make her debut…” you hear Mycroft downstairs. He’s usually a stoic and silent man, but you kinda like he’s silent and leaves you alone most of the time. “Where is the lady of the house? Maybe she can help my sister correct her behavior."

You hear his voice grow louder as Sherlock’s head housekeeper raises her voice. She always acts more like the lady of the house than a servant.

“Mr. Holmes,” you gracefully walk down the stairs, putting on a strained smile hurting your bruised face. “I’m afraid my husband is not at home. He’s solving another case.”

“Again?” Mycroft holds out his hands. He presses a quick kiss to your offered hand. “He should’ve left his lovely wife all alone so short after your wedding.”

“Sir, it’s fine,” you flutter your eyes shut as you try to keep the wrong words from spilling from your lips. It all became too much lately.

Sherlock's absence, and his displeasure in participating in your marriage. The head housekeeper acting like you are not Sherlock’s wife but a peasant.

“My dear, what happened?” Mycroft gasps when his eyes finally see your swollen left cheek and your split lip. “Please tell me my brother didn’t raise his hand on you. If he did, I’ll make sure he’ll regret putting his hands on you.”

“It wasn’t my husband,” you reach out for Mycroft and grab his hand. “He’s a little distant and mostly interested in solving cases but…he would never. I swear, Sir. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have gone to town on my own. But Mrs. Demeter refused to send for a carriage.”

“What happened, my dear,” Mycroft worriedly asks. He offers his arm to you, and wonders if you are lying to protect his brother. “Please do not fret. Tell me everything.”

“I left the house to get the books Sherlock wanted,” you sniff. “I paid for the books and carried the books out of the store. A woman ran into me, and I dropped the books. I tried to pick them up and then…” You choke out a sob. “There was a masked man. He ripped my bag out of my hands and hit me with it.”

“My dear!” Mycroft gasps audibly. “Did you tell my brother about this?”

“He wasn’t home,” you drop your gaze, ashamed about your weakness, and inability to stand up for yourself. “The owner of the bookstore helped me pick up the books and accompanied me to Scotland Yard but…they didn’t want to listen to me.”

“Did you tell them your name?” Mycroft is furious. “How dare they ignore a young lady in need.” He huffs as you tell him repeatedly it was your fault for not telling them your name. “Stop blaming yourself, my dear. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s my brother’s for ignoring his wife.”

Downstairs it sounds like a war is going on. Sherlock and Mycroft yell at each other. And you are afraid, Mycroft is winning.

Your betrothed falls silent after a while, and you hold your breath as you repeatedly hear your name. The last thing you wanted was to cause a rift between the brothers.

They already have their hands full with their younger sibling. Now you are causing trouble too.

You wring your hands while hearing footsteps on the staircase. You hold your breath and step away from the door. “Wife,” Sherlock grumbles as he opens the door. “Where are you?”

“I’m here,” your voice cracks. “Sir.” You add, in the hope of appeasing your husband. He steps inside your room, eyes roaming your body. “Please accept my apology.”

“What for, Precious?” He steps closer to cup your face with both hands. “Why didn’t you send for me? I would’ve come here to take care of my wife.”

“I didn’t want to disturb you, Sir. It’s nothing,” you close your eyes when his gaze gets too intense.

“You got hurt. This is not nothing,” he raises his voice but gets a grip seconds later. “No one touches my wife.” His lips press against your swollen cheek, but you only feel the warmth of his soft pillows, not the slight pain. “I will call for Lestrade. We will find the man hurting you.”

“I think he worked with the woman running into me,” you explain while Sherlock inspects your injuries. “She distracted me long enough for the man to steal my bag.”

“Why did he hurt you?”

“I-I didn’t want to give the bag to the man. You gifted it to me,” you shyly batt your eyelashes as Sherlock angrily furrows his brows.

“You are fearless, my dear,” he cracks a smile. “I am sorry about my absence. After our wedding, we should’ve…” He clears his throat. “I'll send for a doctor.”

“She’s well then?” Sherlock sizes the doctor up. “I need to know every detail. Please don’t shelter me.”

“Her cheek is swollen, but the cut on her lips is already healing. She’s mostly frightened of the person attacking her,” the doctor says. “I’d suggest not leaving her alone for the time being.”

“Sir, what are you doing?” You almost screamed when Sherlock entered your room. He softly whispered your name and picked you up in bridal style to carry you toward his bedroom.

“I’m bringing my wife to my bedroom,” he carried you out of the room. His chest swelled when you rested your head on his chest.

"Sir, I think...you have a case and..." you whimper. If he wants to finally have your wedding night, you are not sure you are ready to be with him.

“I shouldn’t have taken case after case. We didn’t have the chance to get to know each other better. I know this was an arranged bond my mother and your father agreed to. But I…I want you to know that I’ll protect you from now on.”

>> Part 2

Tags in reblog.

#sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #henry cavill is sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x y/n #Mrs. Sherlock Holmes

[no-side-us]

My first reaction to learning Watson has an older brother is the fact that both him and Holmes are the younger siblings in their families, which would make their tendency for misadventures and to getting involved in other people's businesses a life-long trait.

On a more morbid note however, the fact that Watson has an older brother, one with whom he seemingly had a not-so-good relationship with before his death, also paints his reaction to learning about Mycroft in a whole new light. Instead of the general happiness of finally learning about Holmes' history and family, there's an added layer of Watson getting to see a working, happy, brotherly relationship, one he presumably didn't have and now could never have.

And depending on whether or not you think Watson meeting Mycroft happened before or after this story leads to different interpretations. The Baring-Gould chronology puts The Greek Interpreter before The Sign of the Four, meaning Watson accusing Holmes of digging into his family history perhaps has a sting of envy for not having as good a relationship with an older brother as he knows Holmes does.

However, if The Greek Interpreter happened after this story, then Watson accusing Holmes could be what led to Holmes being so unyielding of his own family history, presumably so as to not upset Watson. Though Holmes is generally closed off about himself regarding those sorts of things.

In addition, the detail that Watson's brother drank himself to death makes Watson's view of Holmes' drug use in a new light as well. Looking at this paragraph specifically:

“But consider!” I said, earnestly. “Count the cost! Your brain may, as you say, be roused and excited, but it is a pathological and morbid process, which involves increased tissue-change and may at last leave a permanent weakness. You know, too, what a black reaction comes upon you. Surely the game is hardly worth the candle. Why should you, for a mere passing pleasure, risk the loss of those great powers with which you have been endowed? Remember that I speak not only as one comrade to another, but as a medical man to one for whose constitution he is to some extent answerable.”

Without the context that Watson is speaking about Holmes doing cocaine, I can easily imagine Watson talking to his brother about drinking too much. Obviously cocaine and alcohol abuse are different things, but the list of negative effects, not to mention the fact that Watson feels answerable to their condition could apply equally from a partner in crime as to a younger sibling to an older one.

The opening of the story reveals that Watson has wanted to, but not yet been able to confront Holmes about his drug use. I imagine Watson was the same way with his brother. And we know the watch he tests Holmes with came into his possession recently. Ergo, I'd say that his brother's death is probably the impetus for Watson to finally say something, so as to not repeat what happened with his brother.

#letters from watson #mary morstan next time yay #the sign of four #the sign of the four #arthur conan doyle #sherlock holmes #john h watson #mycroft holmes

[bs2sjh]

May 26 - Manipulate

A little jump back in time but one that will be very welcome to those who have been following the story. Enjoy!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Mycroft Holmes was a master of negotiation. He had brought peace to many and war to others just by whispering the right words in the appropriate ears. But he met his match the day Martha Hudson entered his brother's life. 

"Mrs Hudson, to what do I owe the pleasure of this phone call?"

"Your favourite scones are fresh from the oven. I'd like a little chat about something. The kettle is on. I expect you in 10 minutes." She hung up, leaving Mycroft aghast and impressed all at once. Needless to say, he was there bang-on ten minutes later. 

"I'm leaving 221b to Sherlock when I die." She said matter of factly as she poured the tea. 

"I am not a will writer, Mrs Hudson." He murmured between bites of delicious scone. 

"I know that, silly man. Sherlock isn't happy. He's lonely, and when I'm gone, I'm worried there will be no one to look after him."

"He's a grown man..."

"I know. But promise me, if living here becomes too much and he wants to sell, buy it off him for whatever cost. Help him leave if he needs to."

"You would have me manipulate a sale for my brother's happiness?" she smiled and offered him another scone. He cursed his weakness. He could never say no to her home-baking. 

Well, that should spark some questions. Hehe.

This is part of a multi-part fic for @calaisreno's May Prompt Challenge. All can be found here at a03!

#sherlock holmes #john watson #sherlock #221b baker street #johnlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock bbc #may prompt challenge 2024 #may prompts 2024 #221b ficlet #ao3 #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #angst #mycroft bbc #mycroft holmes #mrs hudson #Prompt: manipulate

[raina-at]

Family

More in the 'Mark and Rosie' 'verse, and since some of you asked to meet Mark, well, here he is.

-----

“And this is Uncle Greg,” Rosie says, pointing at the picture. They’re curled on the sofa in Rosie’s room, going through Rosie’s old photo album. “He was Paps’ best man,” she adds, pointing him out in the group photo of her fathers’ wedding. 

“He’s a fox,” Mark mutters, putting an arm around Rosie when she pokes him playfully in the ribs. “How are you related to him again?”

“Not at all. He’s Paps’ and Dad’s best friend.”

“You dads have a mutual best friend? That… must have been complicated for him in the past,” Mark observes, keeping his tone carefully neutral. He knows a lot of family history from Rosie, and he imagines navigating between these two strong but complicated men can’t always have been easy.

Rosie shrugs. “It’s not so bad. He’s sharing Paps with Aunt Molly, and she takes most of the emotional stuff. Dad’s far more stiff upper lip, so he and Greg mostly go to the pub and watch rugby.”

“Who’s Aunt Molly again?”

Rosie points to her in the group picture. “She had a bit of a pash on Paps, but she got over it, thank god.” She shudders. “Can’t imagine what she was thinking, Paps would have eaten her alive.”

“Some people like that,” Mark says, giving Rosie an insinuating smile.

Rosie blushes adorably and mutters, “Shut up, my dads are downstairs.”

“I told you we should have gone to mine.” 

Rosie rolls her eyes. “If you’re not interested, just say so,” she says, making to rise.

Mark pulls her back and kisses her neck in apology. “Sorry, sweets. Just teasing. Of course I’m interested. Especially since sooner or later I’m going to meet all of these people, and if they’re even a bit like your fathers, most of them will threaten to kill me, so I’d better learn about their weaknesses.”

Rosie laughs. “True enough.” She opens the album again and points at the pictures. “Uncle Mycroft won’t even have to threaten you, he’ll just give you a look, and that’ll be enough to put the fear of god into you. Greg and Molly are probably both going to be fairly direct about it, but they’re actually harmless. Nan and Granddad will probably not threaten you at all, they’re too polite. Fair warning, though, Hudders can get dangerous. Don’t underestimate her under any circumstances. I know she’s eighty-five and looks like Mary Poppins’ gran, but she’ll take you aside at some point and threaten to cut your balls off, and believe me, she’ll be completely serious and capable of doing it.”

Mark swallows, looking from the picture to the girl next to him. She’s radiant today. Hair in a messy ponytail, ancient jumper, ripped jeans, entirely at ease in her skin as always. It’s the most attractive thing about her, that complete self-confidence. She’s brilliant and beautiful, of course, but what makes her irresistible to him is the air of a person who can’t imagine what it’s like not to be loved unconditionally. Looking at the group of people making up Rosie’s family, he understands why now. Must be nice, he thinks. Knowing so many people would get murderously violent on your behalf. 

“What?” Rosie asks, blushing a bit under his scrutiny. “I know my family’s weird, and a lot—”

Mark puts a finger over her lips and smiles. “Ro, every family’s weird. We all have aunts we’re not related to and weird uncles and friends we love as siblings. I was just thinking that I hope one of these days they’ll protect me too.”

Rosie grins and leans in, brushing a soft kiss over his lips. Her eyes are fierce and flinty, and he’s reminded of both her fathers when she says, “Don’t worry, love. That’s my job.”

Mark pulls her in for a long kiss, thinking, If I get murdered for this girl, I’ll die a happy death.

---

I need a name for this 'verse at some point.

Tags under the cut as always, please let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged.

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @jrow @peanitbear @jolieblack @meetinginsamarra @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @lisbeth-kk @friday411 @givemesherbet-blog-blog @salmonsown @weeesi @thalialunacy @thegildedbee @dapetty

#johnlock #bbc sherlock #my fic #may prompts 2024 #the mark and rosie verse #it needs a name #parentlock #rosie watson #family

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

Hold Me

Sherlock thought his heart broke when his grandmother died. He was wrong. It got a crack, sure, but it was nothing compared to the heartbreak he felt when Victor walked out of his life without any explanation. 

Please, tell me what I’ve done wrong! I can fix this. I promise you. Anything, Victor. Please. Sherlock.

The letter was never answered.

Sherlock wanted to drown himself in the nearest river or rob the medical cabinet in Matron’s office and OD on whichever substances it contained. He never got the chance to do either because Mycroft turned up at Cambridge and took him away to their favourite place in France, their grandmother’s family home. 

After a week of fresh air, delicious food and Mycroft’s advice, Sherlock was able to shut the door to his heart. Infinitely.

“Seal it tight, brother mine. Only then can you be certain to never get hurt again. Sentiment is never an advantage.”

Sherlock was grateful to his brother for the advice. It worked and slowly the thought of Victor and what they had faded, and he was almost successful in deleting it. Almost.

He was always confident when he faced danger and criminals. Every word he spoke was the truth, unless he was lying to get a confession or trick said criminals. But that kind of lie came out easy and confident as well, because it was part of the game. His voice never faltered or showed signs of distress. He was quite certain he would pass a lie detector test if required.

***

It came as a shock to him that lying to Moriarty was futile. When he told the villain that he had no heart and Moriarty contradicted him, Sherlock knew he was beaten. 

John Hamish Watson, who thought himself to be ordinary and unworthy, did something no one had ever accomplished. By being himself, never put off by Sherlock’s odd behaviour, always praising his deductions, protecting him from harm’s way from day one, he’d torn the seal over Sherlock’s heart to shreds. It lay bare for anyone to crush and break, and Moriarty knew. The most dangerous man Sherlock had ever encountered knew his weak point, that he was human and not a stranger to sentiment and love. 

Sherlock could barely breathe after he’d tossed away the bomb jacket John had been wearing. John who’d urged Sherlock to run. John who’d been willing to die so Sherlock could live. 

He tried to stand up, but his feet wouldn’t cooperate, and he sunk to the floor, his head slumped forward. Meeting John’s eyes was out of the question. His own eyes would reveal too much now that he was utterly shaken and out of control.

A sound broke the silence. It was a choked sob. Sherlock realised it came from his own throat and tried to fight his transport to regain his normal superior posture but in vain. He was trembling all over. 

Warm hands on his shoulders startled him and all his defences broke when John spoke.

“Come here,” he said softly and pulled Sherlock to him.

Without hesitating or giving his movements a second thought, Sherlock encircled John’s back with his arms and held on for dear life. He rested his head on John’s shoulder finding comfort in the familiar scent from John’s skin.

“Hold me,” Sherlock whispered almost inaudible. “Please, John.”

And John held him as tight as Sherlock had ever been held. Sweet words were murmured into his hair.

“I’ve got you. Always. Don’t shut me out anymore, Sherlock. Let me love you the way you deserve. Please?”

*** 

Sherlock had thought it would be awkward once they returned to Baker Street, but John was nothing but determined when he’d set his mind to something. John showered first and when Sherlock came out from the bathroom, John was waiting for him and simply took his hand and led him to the bedroom.

Before Sherlock fell asleep in John’s arms, he asked John to promise something.

“Keep my heart safe, John. It won’t survive another break.”

And John, wonderful John, promised. Without blinking or hesitating. 

“I promise, my love. Your heart is safe with me. Always.”

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @peanitbear @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitchworld @helloliriels @topsyturvy-turtely @raina-at @7-percent @ninasnakie @sabsi221b

#flash fiction friday #sherlock fandom #sherlock #john watson #mycroft holmes #bbc sherlock #sherlock fanfic #johnlock #FFF239 #seal it tight

[tulipsforvin]

Hii I'm a new one here in your blog! How are you love?

Can I request a tooth rooting fluff of fatigued Mycroft from work (Moriarty The Patriot)x overprotective fem!reader?

Thank you have a nice day <33

a/n: hellooo❕ forgive my late welcome but i really hope you enjoy your time here. i'm good, thank you :) hope you're just as well ! ALSO AAAA i think i went ahead of myself and typed way more angst than fluff 😭😭

##: angst, fluff, maybe implications of depression if you squint ??

MY KIND OF WOMAN 𓍢ִ໋ ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ myc. holmes x f!reader

tonight the moon was far too dipped into the shadows of the dark to come out; too tired, too weary. mycroft seems to deeply relate as he trudges his way in, head throbbing and utterly exhausted.

his younger brother, sherlock, was being investigated for homicide of the media mogul charles augustus milverton but thankfully no proof had risen. yet.

that, atop the stress he's facing with the people of the nation complaining and pressuring that the lord of crime be caught and punished to death—not that he could life a finger, though. he'd already been bound to the moriarty's by the contract and his vow.

“haaa..” he exhales gruffly, taking off his shoes—he barely has enough energy to crawl himself towards the couch before plopping down on it. it's quiet, utterly quiet. and dark; like his current state of mind. dark, yet a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

mycroft's thoughts drift to the weight he carries—the responsibility of his work, the burdens of a brilliant mind constantly analyzing and strategizing for the sake of the nation. it was a relentless pursuit, one that often left him feeling isolated and exhausted, tired and battered. wrecked. he's tired, utterly so.

“....” mycroft pops open the abandoned whiskey on the coffee table, drinking from it. were you drinking? he wishes he could share a glass with you.

it's been too long, hasn't it?

it's been days since he's properly even had the time to look at you. he leaves for work at the break of dawn when you're still asleep and returns in the middle of the night; a perpetual, tiring cycle.

he feels like crying for the first time in a while—the weight is too heavy, too harsh on him. and he dips his head low, ducking his chin, even in the dark. as if someone would or could see him like this, so vulnerable and exhausted. he's glad you're sleeping in your shared bedroom — at least you won't have to see him this way, weak and pathetic.

“mikey?”

mycroft freezes, neck of the whiskey bottle still touching his lips. “...(name).” he croaks out and instantly regrets it. his voice is hoarse, cracked at the end, almost whiny. he hates being this way.

“you okay? how was work?” slowly you tiptoe your way to him—the atmosphere was heavy and you could sense it from miles away. your fingers rest themselves on his shoulder, standing behind him and you realize just how tense his muscles feel.

“the same as always.” he replies plainly—the same neverending work. of course he'd like to say more than just that one sentence to you but he worries that if he starts, he won't stop, and that once he starts, it won't end in a simple complain—it'll end in a breakdown, tears and all.

so he sits there quietly. still as a rock. not facing you.

clack. he puts the whiskey bottle down.

“i see.” you mumble. you know he hates being perceived as weak and vulnerable so you don't force him to face you either. instead your fingers begin to slowly knead his shoulders, massaging him.

and mycroft swears he feels a lump grow in his throat. he leans back against the chair in silence, further back against you. it feels good, he thinks. to be cared for and loved as much as you do to him.

“...thank you, (name).” he whispers earnestly. he recognises he became so accustomed to shouldering the weight of the world that he had almost forgotten the simple joy of being cared for. “truly.”

plop.

a tear falls down onto his lap.

“..of course, honey. anytime.”

but neither of you say anything.

plop. another tear.

he's embarrassed—the tips of his ears are red but he's also grateful that you're not saying anything further. he likes that you're respectful of him and his boundaries and that you're not forcefully prying it out of him. he would tell you himself, anyway.

“i thought i'd lose my little brother today.”

mycroft says it so suddenly that it makes you pause—and it makes your heart ache painfully. he seemed to be going through a lot these past few weeks.

“i thought that he'd end up behind bars, that we'd never be able to bicker again,” he continues slowly, as if spoken too fast and he'd overwhelm himself with his own words. “the constant demands and pressures placed on me... they never cease.”

your hands have gotten softer on his body, more gentle and kind. “i can see the toll it takes on you, mikey. it's okay to feel overwhelmed.” you press a faint kiss to his nape. “you're only human, after all.”

a small silence. and then he breaks it: “i'm...afraid, (name). i'm afraid of failing. of disappointing everyone. and most of all, i'm afraid of losing you because of this— this darkness that surrounds me.”

he's at last allowing himself to feel infront of you.

and this time mycroft turns his head to look at you; you're faced with a grief stricken mycroft, heavy tears dripping down his face. you are strong. stronger than you give yourself credit for. but even the strongest of people need support and love. let me be there for you. share the burden with me." you cup his cheeks and he nuzzles himself against your warm palms.

“i love you.” he whispers softly. weakly.

“i love you too, mickey. i'll always love and stand by your side. no matter what happens to either of us.”

“even if i were to be brandished a traitor the next day for conspiring with the lord of crime & keeping silent even after i became aware of their true identity?”

“even then i would love you.”

“and if i were to be executed the next day?”

your heart hurts for him—you realize this is one of his genuine fears that he's been constantly wracked with. “then i would follow you wherever you go, mickey—even after death, i will forever be yours.”

a mix of emotions flicker across mycroft's face; fear, longing, a glimmer of hope. he takes a shaky breath, his voice barely above a whisper. "promise me you won't give up on me, no matter how difficult it gets."

“i promise.” your voice is filled with determination and he breathes a sigh of relief—something he desperately wanted to do for a long time now. “you're not alone, mycroft; you never will be. as long as i'm alive you will always be well and protected.”

mycroft nods silently, lets himself be embraced by you—he'd allow himself this much of respite. he could face all the horrors the world has to show tomorrow. as long as he can rest in your arms tonight.

there were still a lot of thorns and you were certain there'd be more along the way, but you would never allow even one of those to graze him. you were dead set on clearing a better, smoother path for mycroft and make sure that no one would stand in his way.

you look down and for the first time you feel him softly sobbing into your chest. you kiss the crown of his head and hold him tighter.

yes, you think to yourself as you pat him. the scheming and mind wracking can be set aside for tomorrow. all you want to do is be with him right now.

and you're sure mycroft feels the same.

#so i finished this in like fifteen minutes or so #apologies if it's bad #mycroft holmes x you #moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #mycroft holmes x reader #mtp mycroft holmes x reader #mtp mycroft holmes #mtp mycroft holmes x you #mycroft holmes #mycroft holmes x reader mtp #mycroft holmes x you mtp

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Can you please help me find some sugar daddy fics? I've been obsessed with it lately.

Hey Lovely!

Well, I've never read any myself, so I can't give you any personal recs, BUT I did a tag search on my offline MFL list, and decided to make a new list for you because I need content, LOL!!!

So, here are the fics I have on my MFL list, and if you guys have any more to add, PLEASE do, as always!! Hope you enjoy!!

SUGAR DADDY FICS (MFLs)

See also:

Rich Sherlock (March 2020) (MY LIST)

Sugar Daddy Sherlock (SwissMiss)

Sugar Daddy Part 1 (Alexxphoenix)

Sugar Daddy Part 2 (Alexxphoenix)

Worth Its Weight by philalethia (E, 2,986 w., 1 Ch. || Sugar Daddy AU || PWP, Daddy Sherlock, Daddy Kink, Service Domination, Gift Giving, Unsafe Sex, Sex Toys) – “Remember,” John said, “when we talked about you not buying me extravagant things?” Basically: a little bit of Valentine's Day daddy kink. Part 2 of All the Rest 'Verse

An Erotic Sail by justacookieofacumberbatch (E, 4,533 w., 2 Ch. || Sugar Daddy AU || Age Difference, Sugar Daddy John, Yacht Daddy John, Praise Kink, Porn Without Plot, Boat Sex) – Sherlock, fresh off a Semester at Sea ship in Crete, sees a gorgeous older man, and I'm sure you can guess what happens next.

Practically Perfect by vitruvianwatson (E, 6,303 w., 1 Ch. || Sugar Daddy AU || Age Difference, Younger Sherlock, Older John, Finger Fucking, Anal Sex, Hand Jobs, Office Sex, Emotionally Insecure Sherlock, Barista Sherlock, Doctor John, PWP) – There was a knock on the door, and then it opened. John shook the thoughts out of his head and looked up with his fake “I’m your kindly doctor” smile plastered on his face, but a second later his jaw dropped because his “patient” wasn’t a patient at all. It was none other than Sherlock bloody Holmes. Not only that, but he was dressed in one of his more indecent outfits—skin tight jeans that looked like they’d been bloody painted on, and a purple button-down that was straining, to say the least, to remain buttoned. John wondered if he’d worked at the coffee shop in that outfit today. He shut the door and leaned back against it with a wicked smile, and John heard the click of the lock.

A Suitable Stain by vitruvianwatson (E, 7,647 w., 1 Ch. || Sugar Daddy AU || Sugar Daddy John, Barista Sherlock, Older John, PWP, Rutting, Anal, Clothed Sex, Masturbation, Dirty Talk) – John imagines what they must look like--the young, gorgeous university student, naked as the day he was born, draped over the well-dressed older doctor, the muscles rippling in Sherlock's back as his slim hips roll that beautiful arse up into the air and back down again, his spine curving beneath John's hand as he moves it to the small of Sherlock's back to feel the movement. The hard outline of Sherlock's cock slides back and forth across John's body, dampening his clothes with precome, and John moves both hands down to Sherlock's arse, squeezing and pulling him in harder.

To A Tee by lookupkate (E, 15,321 w., 14 Ch. || Sugar Daddy AU || Sugar Daddy John, Hospital Director John, Sugar Baby Sherlock, Accidental Meeting) – Sherlock receives a text from an unknown number. The man is under the impression that he needs a sugar daddy. After careful consideration...well, he could be right.

A Kept Man Isn't A Weak Man by Elphen (E, 20,429 w., 1 Ch. || Omegaverse || Sugar Daddy John, Age Difference, Alpha John, Omega Sherlock, Mpreg, Sex Toys, Mating Bond, Possessive John, Knotting, Masturbation, Dominant John, Mating Cycles) – Sherlock is just out of university, but due to drug habits acquired at said college, Mycroft has cut him off, hoping to put a stop to it that way. Instead, Omega Sherlock struggles doubly, both with his cravings and with finding a job that will not bore him to death and support him financially. Then, when he is on the verge of being completely destitute, he finds several hundred pounds ticking into his account for no apparent reason. He thinks it's Mycroft, but instead he receives an email from someone who promises to send him more money every fortnight and put him up in a flat rent free, on two conditions; he will stop taking drugs and he will occasionally be asked to be a companion for someone. He does not want to be bought like some toy, but what choice does he have? The first time the door bell rings, he is sure the man will demand sex. But instead he finds a very sharply dressed man with money and physical power in his mid-30s who wants to talk with him and take him out to dinner. Things quickly escalates on the emotional and physical side for Sherlock, but can you really have a relationship with an Alpha like that?

Sugar Daddy John Series by Sexxica (E, 22,504+ w. across 7 works || Series WiP || Sugar Daddy John AU || Daddy Kink, Twink Sherlock, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-Con, Masturbation, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Dirty Talk, Comeplay, Anal / Oral, Sex Toys, Praise Kink, Lingerie / Crossdressing) – The very best of Sugar Daddy John and his boy, Sherlock.

sherlock and his daddy series by rory_kent (M, 24,433+ w. across 6 works || Series WiP || BDSM / Sugar Daddy AU || Sugar Daddy John, Age Difference, Sub Sherlock, Daddy Kink, Military Kink, Subspace, Hurt/Comfort, Coffee Shop AU, Unilock) – Sherlock didn't mean to upset daddy he really didn't!

All the Rest (of What I Want) by philalethia (E, 68,082 w., 20 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting || ASiP, Texting, First Time, Daddy Kink, Sugar Daddy Sherlock, Daddy Sherlock, Sex Toys, Phone Sex, Sexting, Unsafe Sex, Service Domination) – After being invalided home from Afghanistan, John takes his therapist's advice and tries to meet people online. Specifically, he joins a fetish site, where he ends up interacting with a man called SH who keeps paying him money to perform odd tasks and seems very keen to take care of him. Basically: slow-build daddy kink. Part 1 of All the Rest 'Verse

Nine and a Half Weeks by CumberCurlyGirl and Kameo (E, 204,733+ w., 41/42 Ch. || WiP || American AU || Different First Meeting, Daddy Kink, Bottomlock, Anal Plug, Riding Crops, Spanking, Light Bondage, Anal/Oral, Aftercare, Posh John, Virgin Sherlock, Homophobia, Sugar Daddy John, Rimming, Coming in Pants, Light Dom/Sub, Past Sherlock / Victor, Light BDSM, Public Sex, John in a Kilt, Vibrators, Happy Ending) – Sherlock Holmes is about to graduate from high school in midwestern America. Despite his intelligence, his prospects are bleak due to poverty, an indifferent, alcoholic father and poor choices. One day, at work, he sells a riding crop to a handsome blonde Brit and his life is changed. He doesn't know what hit him - until he does. This is a story of a journey to love and self-acceptance and explores many themes along the way: drug abuse, grief, coming out, age difference, consent. Lots of sex but so much more.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #sugar daddy fics #my fic recs #marked for later fics

[girlwithhat]

I must be truly in the fandom now after I surprised myself by writing a Granada fic over the course of the weekend!

TITLE: Beloved's Ghost

SUMMARY: After Holmes' death at the Falls, Watson falls gravely ill while working nonstop through his grief. He’s visited in his feverish state by Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Mycroft, and…Sherlock Holmes?

NOTES: I think either Watson works for this - depends on when during the hiatus you place it. When writing, my mind started off with David Burke at the beginning but then ended with Edward Hardwicke.

In the weeks following Holmes’ untimely death, once I moved out of our Baker Street rooms, I threw myself into work against my better judgement, giving all my care to my patients and saving none for myself. Expectedly, one can only survive on tea, toast, and willpower for a short time before the weight of grief and exhaustion comes calling. The weather as of late had aggravated my old wounds compounded with exposure to patients plagued by fever and respiratory distress day in and day out. Falling ill swiftly, I was in such a terrible way that I was found slumped over my desk in my consulting room, mumbling whether I should have gone over the falls as well.

Though I slipped in and out of consciousness much during this prolonged illness, I was comforted by the fact that I was not as alone as I believed. I could count on seeing Lestrade; he read the newspaper and commented on cases that he wished Holmes and I could have assisted on. Sometimes Mycroft Holmes deviated from his routine to sit in silence that ranged from awkward to companionable for I knew his love for his deceased brother made his presence at my bedside a duty. Though I was no longer her tenant, Mrs. Hudson still insisted on fussing over me, bringing fortifying broth and extra blankets to my room above my surgery. Dr. Moore Agar made sure I was a compliant patient and administered sleeping draughts to ensure I received sufficient rest.

In between these familiar visits, I saw him. It was always the same: someone I did not recognize would stand by my bedside, blow the candles out, then become him with a worried look, a gentle touch, maybe a sigh before disappearing yet again. I must have been close to death to have my dear Holmes in my presence at those times.

“My dear Watson, do not leave me.” He said. This was the first time the spirit chose to speak to me in the darkness. A small candle illuminated half his face as he drew near.

“But you left me,” I murmured. Just his visage was enough to bring tears unbidden to my eyes tonight. Brave face discarded in my illness, the wounds of grief, tender still, threatened to open again at these appearances. I did not foresee them healing for a long time as his presence ever lingered.

A brush of cool fingers wiped away my tears. “Your current condition surprises me. There were hopes you were on the mend.”

“Still gripped by lethargy and despondency. Admittedly, my heart is more sick than my head,” said I, the truth coming to the surface in my delirium, “Your specter is both a comfort and a torture, Holmes.”

“A selfish act on my part. My continued weakness brings me here, to indulge the compulsion in the darkness. I fear I’ve caused you more pain, my devoted friend.”

“I fear the day when my mind ceases to conjure you up.”

“Truly? I would imagine it would be an improvement.”

“No no, but even then, my heart would keep you close.”

“Why?” He asked in a whisper. It was as if the ghost was having trouble understanding the depth of my attachment to the man he was.

“You know why. Forever my nearest and dearest…my Holmes."

“Nearest and dearest,” He repeated, reaching out to stroke my cheek tenderly, “I must go.”

“Must you?” 

“I…you will see me again. In time.”

As the emotion of this conversation took a toll on my depleted energy, I could feel the pull of slumber on my consciousness as my eyelids grew heavy. “Holmes..."

“Shhh…” I then felt the lightest touch of lips upon mine. “That is a promise.” 

I awoke sometime later feeling much better, my latest fever broken after having voiced my deepest feelings to the universe in the form of my beloved’s ghost. I knew Holmes would have been pleased he helped me regain my health in some capacity after all the times I looked after him. Once recovered, I resolved to take better care of myself. While his spirit brought me comfort, I did not desire to join Holmes so soon. I would see him again, in time. Till then, every night after my last patient, I would reverently read Holmes’ last letter framed in my consulting room, thinking back to his ghost’s kiss which felt so real.

#granada holmes #granada sherlock #granada watson #david burke #edward hardwicke #jeremy brett #sherlock holmes #john watson #doctor john watson #holmes/watson #sherlock holmes/john watson #granada fanfic #granada fic #granada holmes/watson #granada sherlock holmes/john watson

[futureplayboibunnie]

Hello! I really luv your work so maybe could you do more smutty sherlock stuff? Maybe dom!sherlock and a reader with a praise kink?

‘Distraction’

Sherlock x fem!reader

- I’M BAAAACK w another smutty ass sherlock fic. i swear all my sherlock fics are always so long, i need to get a grip but i really enjoyed writing this one. love u xx

Sherlock's mouth was twitching and his mind was in a constant state of strained unease. The world was asking too much of him and it irritated more than anything, Mycroft was breathing down his neck with a mountain load of cases he would never even get around to looking at and sometimes Sherlock just wanted to kick someone in the teeth, feel the blood pumping through his veins in a way a lousy case couldn't satiate. He was angry, annoyed, restless and uneasy.

Sherlock put himself in that situation though, he was being a hermit hiding out in his flat and he didn't even let John come in to entertain him- Sherlock could only think of you.

This was bad. He was in demand...but he didn't know what he was demanding for…you? He didn't know how to control his emotions, he felt something heady and particularly intoxicating about you, he was almost drunk off it. You were insatiable and it piqued his interest, you were a curious little thing, always poking your nose in places it didn't belong- including just Sherlock. Sometimes he just wanted to scold you for being too daring and risky, he didn't like the idea of you putting yourself in a dangerous situation for the sake of it...but you liked the danger of it all just the way Sherlock did. He didn't like that at all, it was like you could see through him in a way no one else could.

Sherlock knew you wanted him. It was obvious by the way you would eye fuck him in socially inept situations, in a crowded room- he admired your callousness although deep down he wanted to put you in your place. His accolades made you blush, his praises made your eyes gleam slightly, you loved him complimenting your work and he knew it was a big weakness within you. Your breath halted everytime you were near him and your mouth would pry open slightly and he had to surpress the urge to close your pretty little mouth for you- it was adorable and distracting at the same time. The universe was determined to pull him next to you...or was that Sherlock himself admitting he wanted you...in more ways than one? The calculations of it didn't make any sense and it was clouding his head, he didn't know how to make any of this go away, if only he could show you instead of talk.

You were bored of his moping, you wanted him to have some fun with you on another case and it was to cheer you up more than him. You just wanted to know what he was up to, Sherlock was always up to something, in a grey area of nothing inherently bad but nothing inherently good. Although he wasn't allowing anyone to visit him, you took it upon yourself to tease him out of hiding. You didn't really care for the ramifications, you never did.

You trodded up the stairs of his flat and you open the door slightly to let yourself in. Sherlock was pacing around, messing with the multiple experiments he was conducting at the same time. He was just trying to take his mind off of you, but these little thoughts kept meandering into his head.

You. Just you.

Sherlock heard the tremble of your breath first and he could practically hear your raised eyebrow at his strange but not infrequent behaviour- it was endearing. He got up from looking at his microscope when he heard your footsteps enter, he scrambled to look at your face again and it was etched in judgement but at least it was that of endearing judgement. He felt his ego straighten up, Sherlock couldn't remember the last time his ego was shaken, he was always so sure of himself but you obviously had to fiddle with things that best be untouched. Including Sherlock's innermost desires.

‘’You've been busy.’’ You remarked with a quirked eyebrow and a small smirk.

‘’Get out, I'm still busy.’’ Sherlock said breathlessly and it made him straighten his posture, he didn't like how uncertain and certain he sounded at the same time. He definitely didn't want you to go, but like always he had to act as if he didn't care for anyone or anything...especially something as useless and pathetic as desire and sex.

God he really wanted it though. You were wearing a skirt.

He could just hike it up and easily…

You interrupted his wayward thoughts as his blank face met yours.

‘’You're not busy, you just want a distraction. Any other day conducting this many experiments would've made you lose your mind. How can you be so detail oriented when you've got so many things going at once?’’ You walked around the room, tapping on the things Sherlock wouldn't let anyone touch. He was actually thinking of an answer to your question, though.

‘’I multitask. It can challenge narrow minded people.’’ His eyes thinned as he squinted at you intently, you twirled around and you met him with a knowing flirty half smile, scoffing at his insult.

‘’So snippy, need a distraction? Got another case.’’ You offered as you walked over to him to stare into his dark cerulean eyes, Sherlock was glaring down at you as your face was near his.

‘’I'm already distracted.’’ Sherlock admitted way too hastily and it made your eyes prick up.

Sherlock Holmes? Distracted? You were half joking when you said he just wanted a distraction, but he was? Even though your eyes were widening in surprise, you couldn't help but provoke him even further. You felt incredibly special seeing him so frail.

The things you wanted him to do to you was unspeakable and you felt a heated blush creep on the back of your neck and your cheeks.

‘’Wow. I never thought I'd live to see the day.’’ You smiled at seeing his hubris crack before you.

‘’Yes. It's a novelty for me too.’’ He said plainly, trying to hide and feign his hidden desire for you.

‘’What's got you like this then?’’

‘’You.’’ Sherlock blurted, but it felt deliberate. The perfect opportunity to just finally admit with a heavy heart that he wanted you, feel the weight of his innate desire free from his broad shoulders.

‘’It's your fault.’’He muttered.

‘’My fault?’’ You repeated.

‘’Yes.’’ He breathed as his fingers fell and brushed against yours and you felt your heart halt in its beating, scoff catching in your throat.

‘’Who do you think you are?’’ Sherlock's lips were dangerously close to your ear and it made you still against him, body heat merging with one another as you slowly pressed yourself against him.

‘’Who do I think I am?’’You scoffed as you blinked up at him, being a flirt as always. ‘’What about you….Sherlock.. what do you want?’’ Your voice was low and less immediate, stretching out whatever this was as a means to revel in it.

His hands travelled to cradle your face softly, large hands feeling the skin of your cheek as his thumb grazed the soft pink flesh of your lips. Sherlock felt oblivious to the world around him when all he could see and feel was you in his palm.

‘’I want to feel you. Naked. Beneath me.’’ His words were potent, dense and you felt like you had to pinch yourself, it must be a dream. Your heart was pounding in your chest and Sherlock could feel your sweet breath fan his face, eyes fluttering a little as you registered his words.

Sherlock Holmes...having a dirty mouth...is something that felt fictitious and delicious. The man was divine, so intense and brutal when he wanted to be- exactly your type. Your mouth was dry, the functions of your tongue forgetting how to move as his stare was that of raw intensity and pure longing. Mind racing and unable to pump the breaks, you were wondering how he would be in bed as of this moment. It wasn't an infrequent thought but you never in a million years thought it to be a reality, only to be conjured in your wildest and wettest dreams. You contemplated if he would be a dom or sub. It honestly could be either, he was so damn unreadable, you didn't know what was going on in that beautiful mind of his. You were keening to find out. The posh twat always loves the divine feminine dom, maybe that's a clue. Although, the way his eyes were scorching into yours made all of your thoughts draw to a blank.

‘’Are you going to talk sweetheart or are you just going to stand there gawking at me so vacantly?’’ His fingers jutted your chin up so he could make you squirm.

Sherlock loved it when he got that bodily reaction from you, it just confirmed that it was definitely not one sided and you were thinking of the lascivious things that best left unseen.

‘’I think I'm enjoying my mindless gawk thank you.’’ You flirted but he wasn't in the mood for any of your games. He's come to love that look in your eyes, the one of need, desire, to put it so crudely- eye fucking. Sherlock grabbed you by the cheeks, his fingernails indenting into the skin of your face, you were taken aback when he finally made his intentions clear. You honestly thought this was a part of a sadistic sort of experiment, but now it was actually piecing together- he wanted you. Sherlock Holmes wanted to undress you, feel your skin, fuck you in his bed.

‘’Don't be difficult, you surely can't be after your incessant need to catch my attention. Well, consider my attention caught...I'm simply asking because it's polite. Do you want me to put you out of your misery and make you finish or not?’’

‘’So vain.’’ You muttered, chewing on your lip slightly unsure of what to say without sounding like the thirstiest person ever.

‘’Do you want me to fuck you on the stairs because right now I will.’’ Sherlock was deadly serious, he didn't care if it was uncomfortable for you, he would take you in any shape or form, pin your hands behind your back, pull your hair make your brain melt with how good he made you full but you were still staring at him blankly.

‘’For fucks sake.’’ You finally breathed out before colliding your lips to his.

Like two magnets, like a moth to a flame- you simply just couldn't resist each other. Your fingers were in his hair as your body moulded to his, Sherlock was also quite surprised with himself, he'd never let anyone touch his hair but when you tugged on his curls he let out a delectable hiss. He really liked that. He wanted you to do it again. His kiss was passionate, certain and beautifully cruel.

‘’Tell me you want me.’’ You hummed against kisses, your fingers immediately crowning from his hair to his blazer and button down. Sherlock's hands were roaming around your body as if he owned it, his insanely large palm went to your ass and squeezed tightly over the fabric of your skirt. He was feeling brazen. His fingertips toyed with the hem of that skirt he just wanted to rip off, and felt at the skin of your ass under it. You shivered into his touch, every single feeling driving a new unforgivable sensation.

‘’I'll show you. Forgive me if I'm not polite about it.’’ Sherlock had never been this desperate before, to openly obey an order was foreign to him but you could pry just about anything out of him.

Sherlock clasped your hand and quite literally dragged you to his room, you had to suck in your squeals of delight, you couldn't believe any of this was actually becoming a reality. Your reality. He fucking wanted you. He slammed his door and pinned you up against it, lip to lip. Your moan echoed through his entire body, his soul rocked at the sensation. His lips found that spot behind your ear where your pulse was hammering, Jesus your heart was beating fast. It brightened his mood and amplified his ego.

You went to shrug him of his blazer but he got there before you. Sherlock ripped off your top with his bare hands, you inhaled sharply as the cool evening air hit your torso. He quite literally tore it off, the look in his eyes were that of ash and fire. Your lip quivered and your eyebrows tensed with that one look. The fact that he was the only one that got your legs wobbly and your heart stuttering was making him so insanely happy. The reaction to his kiss allowed hiim to deduce that you've been kissed before...but not often. The thought pleased him.

Nimble fingers went to unbotton his button down. You took your sweet time with this just to be a teasing little bitch. Your eyes went doe as you gave him a look of foax sincerity and sweetness

Oh...so that's how it's going to be.

You finally discarded it and the bulk of his biceps alone could crush you, his arms, his hands, his chest were so finely crafted he was akin to that of a Greek God. Sherlock pulled you from the door frame, he sat on the edge of the bed and you were standing infront of him.

‘’Strip for me.’’

He whispered, the fated words making the atmosphere damp and heavy and you enjoyed revelling in it. The way he said it made your mouth pop open slightly.

You were more than happy to oblige with his delicious demand. Your dignity was deteriorating with every moment you spent with him. Sherlock's blue eyes darkened as your fingers went to the zipper of your skirt, your intense gaze met with his, unwavering, downright carnal. His jaw clenched when you teasingly shimmied your skirt down your long, smooth legs. Your frame was fucking remarkable. Dear Lord it looked like you were crafted by the angels in heaven above. His stare fell to your feet, he smirked when he still found you in your impossibly high heels, he wanted to feel them dig into the small of his back when he finally fucked into you.

Sherlock wanted to paw at you like a filthy animal, his inhibitions fleeing him the longer he gaped at you. You bit your lip sweetly as your fingers fell to your back as you began the slow pace of unclamping your bra. You were so deliberate and he wanted to just fuck the pettiness out of you. Sherlock watched intently as you flung it to the other side of the room to care about later, your tits fell free and he just stifled the urge to grab you right now.

He just had to remind himself: patience is a virtue.

Giggling, your fingers hooked on the lace of your underwear and shimmied it down. He let out a scoff, almost entranced and confused at how beautiful you looked. Sherlock gripped onto your waist and tugged you between his legs, his fingers pinched onto the bare skin of your hips. His lips met with your soft lower stomach and he planted a kiss there.

‘’Beautiful...’’ He exhaled as he breathed in your intoxicating scent.

‘’So you can be nice.’’ You smirked down at him.

‘’Only to you. Only. You.’’ He said deadpan, you gushed when he emphasised the word 'you.' You tucked your hair back behind your ear bashfully as the waves of anticipation began creaking back into the airwaves. You weren't sure where he was going next with this.

Sherlock's grip daren't soften, he pulled you down onto the bed, your head hitting the pillow allowing your hair to sprawl out, he thought you looked like an angel- hair casting a halo like figure in your stance. He kneeled between your sweet thighs to stare down at you, face contorted in pleasure already. He hadn't even done anything yet, it made him chuckle lowly. Mocking you condescendingly but you didn't have it in yourself to care or argue.

‘’You've been begging for it haven't you? Just admit it. It's only us. Only you and I here...together. Don't be coy now.’' Sherlock was just revelling in your desperation and it made your insides sizzle and burn, it was almost unbareable. Your lips twitched as you flushed, unable to control how your body was reacting.

Sweet. Jesus. The effect this man had on you.

‘’You're quite the distraction.’’ You said meekly, they were the only words you could muster up. Your voice wasn't a reflection of your actions though, your hands had a mind of their own, flying to his zipper and roughly undoing his pants. Sherlock caught onto your wrist to stop you in your tracks, he would be lying if he said he didn't like the direction in which you were going in. Images of you choking on his cock flashed through the forefront of his mind, his breathing became heavier. His tongue glazed his lower lip as he let out a breathless scoff.

Yeah, maybe later.

‘’Ditto.’’ He muttered.

Sherlock pinned your hands against the bed beside your head, excitement thrumming through your veins at whatever delicious torture he was bound to inflict. His fingers pinched and palmed at your tits, a broken moan fell from your lips as his long thick fingers travelled down the skin of your stomach to your glistening pussy. You threw your head back. He swiped up and down before finally inserting a finger inside of your wetness, you squirmed under him as he bent down to kiss at the crook of your neck.

‘’Fuck...Sherlock.’’ You moaned out, physically incapable of keeping it in anymore.

‘’You can take it.’’ Sherlock reassured deadpan and impassive, almost like an

You huffed as he pistoned another finger inside of you, he was delighted with how wet he got you. It was an indicator of the amount of pleasure he was drawing out of you, his ego boosted tenfold. You exhaled as he finally pulled his fingers out, in the pale moonlight his fingers glistened. Giving him a perplexed look, Sherlock wanted to rattle you even more, drag it out, surprise you.

‘’Open your mouth. See how sweet you taste.’’ He chuckled, so obviously pleased with himself.

Your eyes widened slightly at his request but his hard glare made you believe that it wasn't a request but an undeniable demand. You couldn't say no to that look, that scorching, firey look. You opened your mouth and he was beaming at the sight. He stuffed his fingers into your wet mouth, suckling on his fingers to taste at yourself. Humming against his fingers, Sherlock felt his body buzz and his cock harden. You gawked up at him through your lashes, the look of neediness etched all over your face- the cherry on top of the cake, his fingers in your mouth. He wondered what you looked like on your knees. You let his fingers go with a pop.

‘’Good girl.’’ He praised and it made an incredibly obvious blush stain your face.

Oh, you loved that.

Your mouth slanted against his, tongues dancing against tongues as you felt your heartbeat hammering against your chest. Tugging his pants down, Sherlock's cock finally sprung free. You glanced down, eyes unable to comprehend how fucking big he was. It was curved, thick and leaking. You felt yourself salivate at the sight of it.

‘’Sherlock...please.’’ You begged and he decided to give you the mercy.

He pushed himself inside of you, clinging onto him for dear life. Sherlock burrowed and nestled himself in your hair and your skin, spiralling wih the fact he got you like this- this has to be a dream of some sorts. It simply cannot be real. Fingernails digging into his shoulderblades, he hissed into your skin as he rutted in and out of you. Your moans and groans creating a symphony of euphoria. Sherlock gazed into the vast planes of your glassy eyes, he could simply get lost in them forever. Your heels dug into his back and the pain was stunning.

‘’You make me weak...pretty girl.’’ Sherlock admitted breathlessly.

The whole world stopped. It felt like it was tipping on its axis. You made Sherlock Holmes weak. You couldn't fathom the power you held, you were drunk off it and it made you moan loudly against his lips. It felt like music to his ears.

‘’Sherlock.. you're a God.’’

‘’Not quite, but almost.’’ He teased as he kept up the brutal pace.

Sherlock just kept going and going. His libido was undeniably high. His stamina unrelenting. He was lost in the sweet sounds you made, the quirk of your body with every thrust was something he committed to memory. You felt yourself spiralling out of control. The intensity increased tenfold, the intimate eye contact the driving force of it all. You couldn't hold back. You were right at the edge. Euphoria hit you like a ten ton truck, waves of pleasure like lightning down your thighs; your knees buckled under the pressure as you gushed onto him, coating him in the generous amount of wetness he so easily illicited out of you.

‘’Stunning…’' Sherlock murmured before he was cut off by a gutteral groan rumbling from the insides of his gut. He stilled as he finished inside of you, completely and utterly spent. You grabbed his face and planted a kiss on his lips, curls wild as you carded your fingers through it.

Pants covered the room. Air thick with post coital bliss.

Sherlock rolled off of you and lay beside you in attempt to regain his breath.

But you were far from done. You darted your face to the side to remark at him.

Without thinking, you impulsively clambored onto his lap and his eyes widened in surprise. Fucking hell, you were insatiable. Your lips shattered against his again, his large hands roamed the expanse of your back and goosebumps littered your skin.

Sherlock spanked your ass and it made you rip your lips away from his.

‘’Christ. So insistent aren't you?’’

#sherlock fanfic #bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes smut #sherlock angst #sherlock x fem!reader #sherlock fluff #sherlock smut

[allielikeapearl]

Sherlock Holmes season 4, let's talk.

I recently watched Sherlock Holmes for the first time, I know I know. I regret not watching it earlier too.

I was not ready for season 4, as I had seen earlier tons of criticism around it. Now that I've watched it, I have somethings to say.

I like it.

Hear me out, it's a good season, in my opinion, but as a finale? No. But we got to see Sherlock grieving, we got to see him recognizing the importance of the people around him, we got to see Mycroft being nice, we got to see the Holmes brothers' relationship develop, we saw the trio working together, and we got to see Watson looking booooomb (he ages like fine wine).

Yes, the show could've had such a different path, much much much better, the writing felt weak, the sudden introduction of the sister, the "Saw" vibes, they were all confusing to say the least. The best episode is certainly the second, we got to see what we originally signed up for, aka Sherlock solving cases.

The sudden switch from a crime, mystery, comedy show to a "crime" drama show was really.. weird.

I can't stress it enough, MARTIN FREEMAN WAS LOOKING YUMMY IN SEASON 4, I would rewatch the whole season to see him again.

#sherlock holmes #johnlock #john watson #sherlock holmes season 4 #season 4 #mycroft holmes #martin freeman is so dilf #benedict cumberbatch #bbc sherlock #sherlock bbc #i am sherlocked #sherlock fandom #sherlock #watson

[rustys-lodge]

His ward Pt 2 (choice 2 )

Summary : After your little fight with Sherlock, you attempt to leave; The person that haunts Sherlock next is unfamiliar to your knowledge.

Warnings : physical violence. A little mention of jumping off a building.

A/N : It's very Mycrofty behavior...But it's also big brother in the 1880 behavior ?

Part 1 Part 2 choice 1

----

"If." Sherlock's voice filled the room again. "you do step out of that door, the consequences of that will be solely your responsibility to bear." The softness in his voice sent chills down your spine, as behind it hid a dark pitch that...You weren't sure you wanted to hear again.

With two fingers slightly curved around the door handle, your eyes dart from handle to Sherlock. You rotate the handle.

"Your mother has done a very well job educating you. Inside"

Your hand is gripped tightly. "NOW." And before you get to process anything, you find yourself flying back inside the house.

Ready to fight him off, you lifted your hand up to attack him. But he predicted your movement, as you found your wrist violently swinging backwards, causing you to stagger back.

"Listen here, little girl." Sherlock growled, suddenly cupping the lower half of your face in his hand, causing you to gasp in surprise. You attempted to lean back but the grasp on your face tightened and you found yourself swiftly pulled closer to the demon haunting your brother.

You groaned at the pain pulsating in your jaw, finding it harder and harder to steady your shaky breath...

"I am not your mother." You flinch at the anger lacing in his voice.

She's your mother too you f-

"I will not watch you disobey me like that." The detective growled again, leaning closer to your face. "Do you understand ?"

You shut your eyes closed as a whimper involuntarily escaped your lips . You can't look at him. You can't be this person...This isn't you. You're not weak.

Sherlock lets go of your arm. And you quickly falter back, gripping your aching arm...Your muscles have been stretched too much...It hurts to even move it...Along with your jaw. But what hurt more was the loss of your dignity...Of your identity.

"You're no different from Mycroft." Your voice, although low, tinged with disappointment. "You're just like him."

Your words feel just like venom shooting out of a serpent's fangs, to Sherlock. You can tell because he lowered his gaze to the ground. And a sudden sadness stretched across his features.

You couldn't tell whether it was really sadness, though...Or maybe shame ? disappointment ?

"You don't mean tha-" All of that anger washed away. "I am solely looking out for you...After all you're my w-"

You exaggeratedly sighed. "Say that I'm your ward again and I'll jump off of this bloody window." A hollow and unauthentic menace is spat out of your mouth. And you just turn on your heels.

"I'll be inside." You informed him, heading for his room. There's no need to talk more, or to argue. What needed to be said was said. For both parties. The fight is over.

"I'll bring you t-"

"Don't bring me anything." Your voice first sounded commanding. But....But you reconsider. "Please ?" Low and bitter, you can't get yourself to be inferior. That's what your mother taught you ! But...she isn't here at the moment...She's nowhere to be found. So you'll just have to do with this.

That is Until you come up with a better plan.

A sigh is merely audible from behind. And you pretended like you didn't hear it.

As soon as you closed the door, you collapsed to the floor, sobbing relentlessly.

You tried to keep it quiet, to stop yourself. But that only made it worse. You just...You don't know what to do anymore.

-----

@czheythebard @bunny24sstuff It's here ❤

-----

Huh, sorry for the angst. I just love it !!! Which ending is better ? i'd like to know. I hope yall liked thiiis ❤❤❤🌹🌹🌹

#sherlock holmes #enola holmes #enola and sherlock #enola holmes brothers #sherlock holmes x sister reader #sherlock holmes x sister!reader #sister!reader #sherlock holmes fic #sherlock imagine #henry cavil x y/n #henry cavil x reader #writing prompts #sister x brothers

[sandcobangevent]

Life on the Line

by Mush_Pit and @4thelneyj0nes

Read the fic or view the art on AO3!

John's heart races, his palms sweat, and his breath hitches as he sees that little notification flashing in front of Archie's photo.

He's screwed.

He is beyond screwed.

“You know just staring at your phone won’t solve anything,” Mariana comments watching John panic from the comfort of the living room couch.

“I know it doesn't! But reading it just…makes it real, you know?” John sighs.

Mariana shrugs, “Well, what if you aren't getting fired?”

“Oh yeah, I'm sure that after breaking a massive pile of plates they'll great me with open arms! Hell, they'll probably give me a promotion for that!” John snaps with sarcasm dripping through each syllable.

Mariana struggles to stifle her laughter hearing about the infamous plate incident that happened the day before.

“Stop it! It's not funny!” John pouts as his cheeks burn bright.

“Sorry, sorry. I just…what did you trip over again?”

John hesitates and turns away in embarrassment, “A b-banana peel…”

“Just like in a cartoon?” Mariana teases as another chuckle threatens to leave her mouth.

“This is serious! What am I going to do!? This is the third job I lost in the last six months! How am I going to pay rent or get Archie his food?”

Mariana's eyes soften as she walks over and rubs his back, “Hey, it'll be okay. If push comes to shove I can help with bills.”

John sighs, “You're my roommate not some hero. It's not your job to clean up my messes.”

“Alright. Then stop staring at your phone and face the consequences.”

John let's out a shaky sigh. He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help himself. He picked up the phone and read the text.

As expected, it was from the owner, but the text was more spine chilling than expected.

“Come meet me in my office.”

The walk to the restaurant was torturous. John couldn't help but feel like a cow being sent to the slaughter.

Stepping through the restaurant's dining room, John's legs started to feel weak. Just a few steps ahead of him was the owner's office.

Behind that chestnut door was the man that was going to fire him. John wanted to run away, and yet he found himself closing that gap and knocking on the door right under the golden name plate with the name “Mycroft” engraved.

A few tense moments pass before the word “Enter” is spoken from the inside. With one deep breath, John enters the belly of the beast.

The office was more cozy than expected. It was spacious with dim lighting, a red carpet, and mahogany walls. One could confuse it with a lawyer's office or some politician's.

“Please sit.”

Like a soldier, John follows the orders without complaint. He knew better than to try to make excuses. Not that he could, his mouth was too dry and the thought of speaking made feel nauseous.

He's watched many employees before him enter this office all in either tears or fuming with anger. He wonders which he would be.

Mycroft leans back in his chair and stares at John like a shrike eying the next mouse to impale.

After a few tense moments, Mycroft speaks, “Each of those plates cost £50 a piece and you managed to break 186 of them.”

“Y-yes and I'm so sorry. I will never-”

“I'm not finished.”

Immediately John shuts his mouth feeling the pit of his stomach grow deeper and heavier.

Mycroft notices how pale the other man had become and couldn't help but pity him, “I should fire you. Fire you and charge you for all those plates.”

John sinks into his seat waiting for the hammer to come down.

Mycroft sighs and leans back on his seat, “However, it seems like you have a guardian angel. Sherlock vouched for you. Claims that it was a complete accident and you slipped on a banana peel so you may go.”

John could've sworn that he had misheard. He wasn't going to be fired? Even more unbelievable…

…Sherlock vouched for him

Sherlock Holmes, the five star Michelin star chef. That chef vouching for some dishie!? Impossible! Ridiculous even!

“Well are you going to just sit there? Get to work.” Mycroft orders.

John immediately nods and eagerly reaches out to shake his hand, “Thank you! Thank you so much! I promise you I'll never break a plate ever again!”

Mycroft pulls his hand away before waving him off, “Yes, yes, now just get to work.”

Without another word John leaves the room fearing that if he stayed any longer the walls themselves would crush him.

Once safe in his station in the dish pit he lets out the breath he didn't know he was holding. He never felt so happy to see the pile of filthy plates waiting for him.

With a gentle touch he reaches to take one of the plates only to jolt up as someone taps his shoulder.

The soapy plate slips through his fingers. Scrambling, John tries to save the plate from crashing onto the floor but before he could do so someone else grabs the plate.

“You should really be more careful, Watson. We need these plates.” The voice behind him says.

John's heart leaps hearing that. He recognizes this voice. It is the voice he had heard many times before across the room calling out orders during dinner rushes.

Sherlock

“Could you help me?” Sherlock asks as dishie finally turns to him.

“H-help? F-from…from me?” John asks, shocked.

“Yes. One of my prep cooks called out today and I have potatoes to peel. May you help me?” Sherlock asks again.

John gulps as the taller man's looks at him so intently, “Umm…well, I haven't really ever peeled potatoes…other back home with my mum when I lived with her, but not much anymore!”

“That’s alright. I'll show you. Now come on.” Sherlock insists on tugging the shorter man towards one of the prep tables.

A box full of potatoes awaited them. Sherlock seemed unfazed by the mass of potatoes as he took one potato in his right hand and picked up his paring knife with his left.

John couldn't help but look at the young chef's hands. He never expected Sherlock to be left handed nor did he expect how delicate he was as he peeled off the tuber.

It was memorable to watch Sherlock work. If only Sherlock wasn't so reserved he could be bigger and better than Gordan Ramsey or any other chef.

���Are you just going to stand there and watch?” Sherlock questions.

John feels his cheeks heat up as he shakes his head and picks up a potato and a knife.

For a few moments, they worked in silence. Sherlock peeled his potatoes so effortlessly with skill just pouring out of him. That couldn't be said the same for John who was still working on his first potato.

“How's your head?” Sherlock suddenly asks.

John blinks, “M-my head?”

“Yes. Yesterday you hit your head when you slipped on the banana peel. I hope you are alright?” Sherlock asks.

John could feel his heart pounding as his cheeks became a dark shade of red, “Oh that! No, yeah I’m fine! Just a little bump in the head, nothing serious!”

Sherlock nods, satisfied with the answer, “That is good to hear. I like you all in one piece, Watson.”

This is the second time this day here John could've sworn that his heart has stopped. Has Sherlock always been like this?

Most importantly, why would he care for him of all people?

Before John could answer Sous Chef Lestrade entered the room, “Chef you have a call from one of the suppliers. Something about having problems with delivering the rack of lamb for tonight.”

Sherlock’s face seems to drop and his shoulders seem to tense as he sets down his knife and potatoes.

“Finish these,” he orders before disappearing around the corner.

John’s gaze followed Sherlock the best he could but it was as if the chef was never there in the first place.

The dinner rush in the Diogenes Club on Saturday nights are always the worst ones. Every table is booked, very demanding customers seated at every one, and not to mention the few fools who try to get in without a reservation.

Sure you might get lucky in getting an open spot on a Monday or Tuesday but it is impossible to do so on Saturday, and yet crowds of hungry people still line up around the whole building hoping the couple that reserved their seats months in advance wouldn't make it.

The tension in the kitchen is palpable. From the looks of all the cooks' faces you would guess that they were doing some major heart surgery not frying some foie gras. However, the cooks were less worried about feeding the customers and more concerned with being able to satisfy Sherlock.

Sherlock was a notorious perfectionist. If a bit of steak is a little too rare or too well done he would have the rotisseur refire another one and another until the steak is perfect.

At the moment, it was line cook Oliver who has become Sherlock's latest victim being stationed on garnishes for the night.

He was a young kid no older than twenty. Graduated from the Dudwell Cooking School. Graduated on top of his class too which is something John only knew because he always finds a way to bring it up.

Oliver was a good cook, a great cook even but his explosive temper always outshines his culinary skills.

“What!? Again!?” John hears Oliver shout.

As calm as ever Sherlock answers with, “Yes again. The mashed potatoes you gave me are pasty. I need you to refire.”

Oliver scoffs and rolls his eyes, “This is the fourth refire you told me to do! It's just some mash! Everything else is ready! If I do another refire it'll kill the whole table!”

“Yes it will, but if you've done it correctly in the first place we wouldn't have this situation.”

For a moment there was silence. A wrong kind of silence that has everyone at the edge of their seats.

Even John couldn't help but watch the whole thing unfold with the pile of dirty plates disappearing from his mind.

“You’re utterly insane, you know that!? Completely insane! You want your perfect damn potatoes!? Go on then! Do it yourself! I quit!” Oliver shouts, tossing his apron at Sherlock before storming out of the kitchen.

As Oliver walked past, John could swear that there was steam coming out of the boy's ears.

“Sherlock, what are we supposed to do now!? We need everyone here!” Lestrade questions already feeling a headache forming.

Sherlock doesn't answer and instead turns to the dishpit. John feels his heart leap from his chest as his eyes meet the Chef's sharp gaze.

Quickly he turns away and tries to go back to washing dishes but is soon interrupted.

“Watson?” Sherlock calls out.

John gulps, “Y-yes?”

“Do you know how to make mashed potatoes?”

John blinks, “M-me? Umm…well yeah I guess so…why?”

In that one moment Sherlock tosses Oliver's apron, “Put that on and cook then.”

John was too stunned to speak. Sure he has cooked at home mostly with his mum, but cooking here? In a professional kitchen alongside cooks with ten times the experience of him. It was ridiculous and yet he found himself putting on the apron.

John always watched the cooks from afar from the dishpit but had never imagined himself to be standing there in front of a stove other than a sink.

“Are you ready, Watson?” Sherlock asks.

Not trusting his voice, John nods.

“Good,” Sherlock smiles before addressing the kitchen, “Refire on table 47! One steak medium-rare, two sea bass, and one lobster risotto! Understood?”

“Yes chef!” Everyone calls back in unison before getting right to work.

Following the herd John scrambles to start on his dish but his hands are trembling. If from far the action in the kitchen felt intense, being here in the kitchen felt like war.

Two hands close around his shaky hands.

John jumps with the contact and looks up to see that the one holding his hands was Sherlock, “Relax. Panicking will only cause mistakes.”

For a moment the rest of the kitchen disappears with only Sherlock and himself being present, “Y-yeah…I'll…I'll do that.”

Sherlock chuckles, “Good now just focus on cooking.”

John feels a blush creep onto his cheeks as he nods and finally gets to cooking.

After the first moments of shock he finds his own rhythm. His first portion of mash was complete and he quickly placed it on the hot plate.

Sherlock takes the pot and examines the dish carefully before taking a spoonful from the top. John wasn't sure if he was terrified or excited watching Sherlock eat his food. All he knew was that he wanted to throw up.

After a few tense moments Sherlock turns to John and nods, “Keep it up, Watson.” He says as he places the mash on the plate.

John’s heart flutters as he rushes back to the station.

Due to the adrenaline, the night blew pass and the next thing John knew it was over.

“We lost Oliver but it seems like we gained John! In my opinion, thank God! That kid was driving me mad!” Lestrade laughs, patting John's back as the other cooks laugh and agree.

“I don't know about that. It was just for tonight, you know?” John nervously chuckles.

“Oh come on! Don't be such a downer! You were A rubbish dishie anyway!” Gregson jokes causing the rest of the group to burst into laughter.

The lightened mood lasts as they clean the kitchen. Laughter and banter is heard in between scrubbing down the stove top and mopping the floor.

It wasn't until hours later did John step out of the kitchen and into the chilly night air. He shivers for a moment before pressing his back against the wall as he takes out his phone.

“Got a light?” A voice suddenly asks, causing John to jolt up, “Jesus Christ! Are you trying to scare me to death!?” He snaps turning towards the voice only to come face to face with Sherlock.

His chef coat was gone instead replaced with a baggy black sweatshirt and sweatpants. John almost couldn't believe it, if he didn't see Sherlock in the kitchen himself it would've been impossible to believe that the man in front of him was the best chef in London and possibly the world.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Do you have a light?” Sherlock asks again, holding up his cigarette.

“Oh umm…no…sorry.” John mutters, “You know those things will kill you.”

Sherlock rolls his head, “So I'm told.” He says stuffing the cigarette back into the half empty cigarette box, “You held up pretty well tonight.” He comments.

“Oh y-yeah…umm…thanks Sherlock.” John says quickly, scrambling, “I mean chef!”

Sherlock laughs, “Sherlock is fine. To be honest I prefer it. Chef sounds too…formal.”

“And you don't like formal?” John questions.

“No, not at all. Unlike Mycroft I find formality unbearably boring. I prefer something more exciting. Maybe that is why I enjoy your company.” Sherlock smiles.

John's heart flutters as a blush creeps upon his cheeks, “Y-you do?”

“Of course, there's never a dull moment when you're around.” He affirms as he starts to walk towards the parking lot.

Before John could find his ability to breathe again the chef stops and turns back to him, “Lestrade is right. You are a lousy dishie, but you are a decent cook. We should cook together sometime.” he says before turning back and walking towards his car.

And for the hundredth time that day, John could've sworn that his heart had stopped.

#submission #sherlock & co #sherlock and co #event #fanart #fanfiction #flash bang #creative collaboration #sherlock holmes #john watson

[bs2sjh]

My first @flashfictionfridayofficial! Thanks for the great prompt!

Fandom: Sherlock (Johnlock, Mystrade)

I'm also posting it on Ao3. It's over 1000 words, so feel free to go here to read it!

cw: implied drug use, implied suicide attempt, implied torture

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

There had been a number of times where Mycroft Holmes had been made very aware that he did, in fact, have a heart beating in his chest after all.

The first was when a small, red-faced infant had been brought home. As Mycroft looked down at the crying, screaming thing, he didn't expect the sudden jolt in his chest. A stab of sudden overwhelming emotion. What was equally unexpected was that when he stroked his new baby brother's face and told him to quieten, that everything was going to be okay, that he would always be protected by his big brother, the infant had listened. William Sherlock Scott Holmes simply looked at his older brother, and Mycroft felt that deeply. 

The second time was sheer pain at finding his younger brother in a drug den, surrounded by needles, barely breathing. It wasn't the first time he'd found him in a place like this. But on this occasion, it felt different. Mycroft knew that this time, Sherlock had not meant to survive the encounter. Scooping up the younger man in his arms, his heart ached at how thin the boy was, at how little life remained in him. He took him straight to the nearest hospital, where they whisked him away, leaving Mycroft with his aching heart to sit and wait. It wasn't until many days later that Sherlock opened his eyes to see the concerned expressions of his family around him. In his heart, Mycroft knew that this wouldn't be the last time his brother would be in this situation. The pain was indescribable. 

The third time was seeing Sherlock chained up in a filthy cell in Serbia. His brother had spent two years moving around the globe, destroying pockets of Moriarty's empire single-handedly. That the criminal mastermind hadn't targeted Sherlock's family should have hurt, but strangely it didn't. Knowing that Sherlock had people he cared about enough to keep them safe meant that he valued at least some people in his life to prevent their suffering. It was a pity that John Watson didn't know the lengths to which Sherlock would go to protect him. It might have saved his heart some of the ache he was currently feeling. But seeing Sherlock beaten, tortured, at the edge of his sanity. Anger filled his heart this time. That someone could do this to his baby brother. Infiltration successful, Sherlock finally cut down from his bonds, too weak to stand, bleeding and barely conscious. Mycroft hardened his heart and made sure no one who had laid a hand on his brother was left to tell the tale. 

The fourth time was the hardest to bear. To know that Sherlock had once again sacrificed his life for a love that would never be acknowledged. By now, Mycroft was angry at John Watson. He had Sherlock's undying love but was so blindingly stupid not to realise that fact. So here they were, in a prison cell, Sherlock about to be sent away on a one-way mission to the place he had been rescued from not long before. All so that John Watson could be happy. And there was nothing Mycroft could do. His heart ached at how easily Sherlock would throw his life away for someone who merely considered him a friend. But nothing Mycroft could say would make Sherlock change his mind; he refused to tell John the truth, and that was that. The relief when Moriarty appeared on the screen, the phone call that followed, the pardon that he had hoped for arriving almost too late. His heart skipped with happiness only to sink again when he realised his brother had fallen back on old habits. No one who had seen that list could think otherwise. Sherlock had not meant to land in Serbia alive. Telling John Watson to look after his brother was the hardest thing he had ever done, but at that point, Mycroft knew he had to let go. His heart couldn't take any more. One day, Sherlock would succeed, and his heart would break. 

The fifth was a surprise. As Mycroft stood blinking at his brother, who was sitting at the kitchen table in Baker Street bouncing a three-year-old Rosie Watson on his knee, his heart gave the biggest lurch he'd ever felt. He felt for the chair he knew must be there and sank into it like his strings had been cut. 

"Best man?" His brother rolled his eyes and set Rosie on the floor, watching as she toddled off into the living room.

"Yes."

"But..."

"But what? You've been there every day, meddling, since I was born. For once, and once only, I'm asking you to be there. With me." Mycroft's heartfelt three sizes bigger; a lump appeared in his throat, and his eyes started to fill. Choking down the emotion, Mycroft coughed and turned away. 

"Don't tell me it broke him too. You two are ridiculous." John laughed as he walked into the kitchen. So a few weeks later, Mycroft stood next to his brother as he married his best friend, finally. 

If the fifth was a surprise, nothing shook Mycroft more than the sixth. He was standing on the edge of the dancefloor as he watched Sherlock waltz with his new husband, besotted expressions on their faces. It happened when the other best man approached. 

"So, normally, I guess I would be asking the maid of honour to dance. But seeing as that would either be you or me in this case, would you do me the honour of this dance?" Gregory Lestrade held out his hand for Mycroft, and at once, something like a bolt hit him straight in the heart. 

"I'd be delighted, Gregory." He accepted the proffered hand, and they waltzed onto the dancefloor. As they moved in time to the music, Mycroft felt his heart change. He continued to feel its presence long after the dance, the night, the week. Mycroft spent the rest of his life knowing full well he had a heart. It was a joyful feeling most of the time, and, on occasion, it ached. It got larger as their families grew and settled. And he never once said again that caring was not an advantage. Because he had learned that it most definitely was. 

@totallysilvergirl @lisbeth-kk @helloliriels @dapetty @calaisreno

If you'd like to be tagged when I post a new story, let me know!

#flash fiction #flash fiction friday #prompt 255: in the heart #bbc sherlock #sherlock bbc #sherlockbbc #john watson #sherlock holmes #sherlock #221b baker street #johnlock #mycroft bbc #mycroft holmes #mystrade #greg lestrade #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer

[raina-at]

Family

John slowly opens his eyes. The room is quiet. The lights are dim, and the television over his bed is showing cartoons on mute. The blanket is uncomfortable and it smells of antiseptics and human misery.

He hates hospitals. Well, on this side of the bed at least. 

There’s something heavy and warm lying on one half of his body. He looks down and sees Rosie, fast asleep, her head on John’s shoulder. Apparently, she took a bit of a break from colouring on his leg cast and fell asleep.

It’s impossible to tell what time it is, but he guesses it must be rather late.

The door opens and a nurse comes in. She smiles when she sees him awake. He nods at Rosie and motions her to be quiet and she nods.

“Everything all right?” the nurse asks quietly. 

John nods. “So far so good.”

“With a bit of luck, you'll be out of here by the end of the week,” she says, adjusting his pillow. “Your husband should be back in a second, he just stepped out to take a phone call.” She smiles at Rosie’s sleeping form. “Couldn’t get either of them to leave. You have a lovely family.”

“Thank you,” John says, returning her smile, not bothering to correct her about the assumption she made about Sherlock. It’s easier this way, no arguments about visiting hours. Also, he’s used to it. So many people think they’re lovers, and he’s long since stopped even trying to explain that they’re not, because honestly, it doesn’t make any difference. 

“Looks like the little one might be out for the night. I’ll bring in a cot for her later, we can settle you both more comfortably.”

“Thank you,” John repeats.

The door opens again, and Sherlock walks in. 

“Hey,” John greets him with a weak smile. 

Sherlock looks tired, but he returns John’s smile. “Hey yourself.”

The nurse excuses herself, muttering about seeing to the cot.

Sherlock sits down next to John’s bed and scrutinises him with narrowed eyes and what John calls his ‘deduction face’. “You still feel like shit, don’t you?”

“I was hit by a car not 48 hours ago, what do you think?” John asks, but he keeps his tone gentle because Sherlock looks exhausted and worried. “It’s not that bad, though. Could have been worse.”

“Three broken ribs, a broken leg and a light concussion, that’s not trivial, John.”

John holds out his hand and Sherlock takes it, clasps John’s fingers between both of his hands, moving closer to the bed. 

“I’m sorry I scared you,” John says, gently, quietly, careful not to wake Rosie. 

“Hardly your fault,” Sherlock mutters, looking down at their joined hands with a murderous expression. “That stupid driver. He’s lucky you weren’t hurt any worse, or I would have murdered him with my bare hands. Or maybe I would have just broken all his bones but let him live a life of misery and-”

“Calm down, love, you’re going to wake the Gremlin,” John soothes, squeezing Sherlock’s hand tightly. 

Sherlock grumbles something inaudible, but he subsides with the threats. 

Silence falls, and John watches Sherlock watch him. There’s obviously something on Sherlock’s mind, but John knows from experience that it’s better to let Sherlock work things out in his own time. 

“They didn’t let me see you,” Sherlock finally says, quietly. His eyes drop to John’s hand still entwined with his. “I had to tell them we’re married, otherwise they would’ve made me leave.”

“But you’re next of kin on all of my records,” John answers, frowning in confusion.

“There was a problem with the Internet, they couldn’t access your records.”

“I’m sorry, that must have been stressful,” John says, squeezing Sherlock’s hand. “I remember when they wouldn’t let me see you after you were shot.” He shudders a bit at the memory. “It was horrible. I didn’t know whether you were dead or alive for hours. I had to wait for Mycroft before they’d tell me anything.”

Sherlock looks down at their joined hands again, obviously lost in thought. “I was so scared,” he mutters, almost inaudibly. 

“You held it together like a hero for Rosie, though,” John says with a fond smile, remembering Sherlock and Rosie just before he was wheeled into surgery, Rosie holding on to Sherlock’s hand in a death grip, Sherlock white as a sheet but outwardly composed, explaining calmly to Rosie that John would be just fine.

“I was sick in the bathroom when Mrs Hudson came to take her home,” Sherlock mutters, still addressing their entwined hands. 

John smiles fondly. “I won’t tell her if you don’t.”

“John-” Sherlock looks up from their joined hands. “This is going to sound incredibly stupid-”

“We should get married,” John says, interrupting Sherlock.

Sherlock looks gobsmacked, and John congratulates himself silently for managing to surprise Sherlock Holmes. 

Sherlock blinks a few times in the way he has when his mind palace crashes, so John decides to take over the talking out loud part of the conversation. “I’ve thought about it before, but it never seemed urgent. But you know what I thought yesterday, when I saw you standing there? If anything happens to me, they’ll send Rosie to live with my sister, and we can’t let that happen.”

“But-” Sherlock blinks again. “But we’re not-”

“Sleeping together?”

Sherlock nods and actually blushes a bit. “I don’t-”

“You don’t want that, and I understand. I don’t, either. I know you don’t like sex, and I’m not interested in a sexual relationship with you,” John says gently. “But you’re everything else to me. You’re my friend, my confidante, my rock, my partner, my co-parent. My family. We live together, we work together, we’re raising a child together. You know how often I get asked if I have a partner? I never hesitate to say yes because that’s what you are.”

“You said romantic entanglements would complete me,” Sherlock says, his voice hoarse with emotions, his eyes wide and uncertain.

“That was six years ago, and I’ve learned a lot since then. You taught me a lot. Love is complicated, I get that now. And I love you. Not conventionally, but since when do we do anything the conventional way?”

Sherlock smiles slightly, but says nothing, so John continues,  “I was always looking for someone who’d stick with me, someone to spend my life with. Well, you’re it for me, Sherlock, and if that’s a problem for you, you’d better tell me right now, because otherwise, you’re stuck with me for good.”

“Not a problem,” Sherlock says, and there’s an expression on his face John has never seen before. Soft and gentle and hopeful. “You’re it for me as well.” He pauses. “And - I love you too. In case that was in any way unclear.”

John smiles, overcome with relief. “So that’s a yes, then? To the whole marriage, adopt the Gremlin, stay with me forever thing?”

“Yes,” Sherlock says, brushing a soft kiss over their joined hands. “That’s a yes.”

I think I never wrote Ace Sherlock/heterosexual John before, but there's a first time for everything. Fluff of the tooth-rotting variety here, sorry for the sappiness two days in a row.

Thanks for keeping us going with the challenges, @calaisreno!

Tagging a few people again: @keirgreeneyes @helloliriels @jrow @meetinginsamarra @catlock-holmes @khorazir @lisbeth-kk @thetimemoves @topsyturvy-turtely @fluffbyday-smutbynight @7-percent @the-reading-lemon and anyone else who wants to play!

#johnlock #bbc sherlock #my fic #johnlock fic #may prompts #family #tooth rotting fluff #ace Sherlock #heterosexual John #queerplatonic relationship #parentlock #slight John whump