#and to your left you see mycroft not being able to talk to people

[princessaxoxo]

Strangers to lovers Part 2

A/N: this is now a multiple-part series.

Sherlock x reader

Summary: Being Enola’s sitter was an adventure, but not as much as falling for her brother, Sherlock.

Warnings: 18+ Only, cussing, angst, kissing

Word Count: 2k+

4 years later...

Dressed in your finest clothes with your suitcase in hand, you were ready to head to your family's home for a few days. The train was running a few minutes behind schedule today. Peaking your body and head forward a little, you saw the train before you heard the horn.

You happily stepped back, waiting for the train to come to a stop. You’ve wanted to get away for a while, and you knew spending time with your family would give you some relief. A smile was plastered on your face from the excitement.

People started to unload: parents with their children, lovers hand in hand, and many more.

You bent down to pick up your suitcase and started for the entryway to get on, but stopped once you saw him, Sherlock.

The smile you held dropped from your face. He got off with his brother, Mycroft, both of them talking and then looking around as if they were waiting to meet someone.

You took notice of who they were looking for—of course, Enola.

You took notice of how that relieved you; it made you feel better that it wasn’t another woman. It upset you that you still cared and that you still got jealous; you didn't want to, and you thought it had left, but seeing him again made you show how you still did.

Enola and you had kept in touch but weren’t as close anymore. The both of you would meet for lunch now and then.

Standing there, seeing them talk, you wanted to walk away; you needed to, but you were stuck and couldn't move. It was as if your feet were glued to the concrete. And then, with no warning, Mycroft noticed you, his eyes landing on you, and you knew you looked like a deer caught in headlights; your eyes bulged out.

You weren't breathing; you turned in a hurry before Enola and Sherlock turned to see that Mycroft noticed you.

Secretly hoping he didn’t realize it was you and that they wouldn't be able to tell from your back.

You were cursing the heels you decided to wear; you couldn’t walk fast enough as you were trying to push past multiple people, but you were failing.

All you could do was hope; they couldn’t tell it was you.

Sherlock looked at his brother, noticing Mycroft had turned his attention away. “What is it?"

He looked over at Sherlock. “Hm, your old lady friend was just here. I do have to say, she looked much better."

Sherlock gave a confused face, old lady friend. He thought. Who had he been speaking of?

Mycroft noticed his brother's turmoil. He rolled his eyes. “The one you always ran around with.” Mycroft looked at Enola and said, “She babysitted Enola."

Sherlock realized who he was speaking of now, and he turned his head in search of you, his eyes moving around the crowd of people. You were dressed differently, but he was able to tell it was you just from your backside.

He wanted to know why you were here—were you waiting for someone, maybe a lover?

He knew he had no right to be possessive over you, especially since he left you.

Enola tugged on him and said, “Come along; the carriage is waiting.” Sherlock nodded his head. But he took one look back; however, you were already gone.

“I’ll invite y/n over tomorrow for lunch,” Enola said with a big smile. Sherlock's stomach dropped at the thought. He was sure you would yell at him or hit him. And he wanted to have a conversation with you in private, but it felt too early.

Both Mycroft and Enola stared at Sherlock, waiting for his reaction. “Sound’s great. Can’t wait”

You rushed back home, slamming your door once you reached inside. You felt stupid; why did you rush away? You were over him. You decided a long time ago that you wouldn't allow him to upset you. But here you were, running away from him.

You put your hand on your forehead and started to hysterically laugh at yourself.

After you stopped, you wrote to your family to tell them you couldn’t make it. The excuse was horrible, and to make matters worse, a lie. You despised lying.

The next day, you dropped the letter off, and Enola found you: "Y/N, you must come to lunch with me at my home.” You were unsure of how to answer, "I don't think." Enola cut you off, making sure you weren't able to say no. "Great, I'll see you at 1."

You were left speechless as she left; of course, Enola would be able to find you. And get you to come to her house.

On the carriage ride to Enola’s house, you gave yourself a pep talk. You would only stay for lunch, maybe an hour? And then leave. And you certainly wouldn’t let Sherlock get under your skin; you just wouldn't pay any attention to him.

The home looked the same—more aged than the last time you were here four years ago.

You weren't alone for long before you could take another step. Enola was in front of you, pushing you to the dining room.

You expected to see Sherlock, maybe even Mycroft. But they were nowhere to be seen. “Sit, sit,” Enola excitedly said. “I have some biscuits for us," she said, pushing the tray full of desserts toward you.

Enola and you talked for what felt like hours.

She smiled at you. “I like this change.” She looked at you up and down. You turned your head in confusion about her comment; you hadn't thought you changed that much; you dressed differently; you were more socially acceptable; but that was all.

“Your style but attitude as well.”

You laughed at Enola but thanked her.

Soon after you heard multiple footsteps enter, you turned your head on instinct. As soon as you saw him, your laughter faded. “I do have to say, you look like a lady.” A dig from Mycroft was expected.

You rolled your eyes. “Pleased to see you as well, Mycroft,” you said with a small fake smile.

Sherlock didn't say a word, and neither did you. But the way he looked at you said a thousand. “I enjoyed this Enola. Thank you for the desserts and for making my afternoon. I’m afraid I must go."

“NO! Sorry, would you mind staying with Enola? Me and Mycroft just need a couple of more minutes.”

You were stunned when he shouted, but you agreed to stay with her.

Most of the time, you were in your head, not paying attention to her like you should’ve. All you could think of was Sherlock. You needed to talk to him; it was eating you alive.

Once you heard his office door shut and Mycroft leave, you told Enola that you’d be back soon and headed toward Sherlock's office.

Sherlock heard his door open and shut again. “Need something else, Mycroft?”, He didn’t receive a response.

So he turned his head and saw you standing against the door, speechless.

He coughed, "Y/N, how may I help you?” Sherlock was having a hard time looking at you.

"You... you actually can’t help me at all," you said, and he raised his face.

“After I say this, I am going to leave, and you won’t see me again; you don’t deserve to see me again."

He swallowed, getting ready for what you were going to say. Sherlock knew he deserved every insult and every hurtful word you would give him.

“You left me. You left me with only a letter; I couldn't believe that you didn't tell me in person. I waited for you all night. Once I saw the sun rising, I knew you were indeed a coward. A coward who didn't love me. A person who loves you wouldn't have done what you did."

Tears started to brim.

“I saw a life with you. And I thought.. " you sarcastically, let out a chuckle. “I thought you saw one with me too. But I realized I was just another fling to you.” You shook your head at him. “But just answer me: why would you let our relationship bloom just for you to let it go without a problem?"

Sherlock stared at you wide-eyed. “I am first and foremost a detective; I have always been that and never said otherwise. And I admit, I regret and have regretted the way I left you. You deserved more than that. But I loved you, and I still do. With every part of my being.” Sherlock patted his chest, where his heart was. “I couldn't let you go, not after that night. That night, you became mine. I knew what would happen, but I didn’t care. I was selfish. I am a very selfish man when it comes to you. There are things I regret, but I don’t regret keeping you to myself. And I never will.”

Sherlock walked towards you.

Your eyes stayed on him. “Thank you. I’ll take my leave now."

But your feet didn’t move; you were stuck in your place by his eyes that were blazing within.

“Okay, take your leave,” he said, and you nodded your head. Sherlock took notice that you weren't moving, reached behind you, and opened the door.

As your eyes didn't leave him, they spoke a thousand words you couldn’t say to him. Sherlock clenched his jaw, waiting for your next move to see if you would leave.

He slammed the door shut and grabbed you by your face, kissing you with passion. He pressed his body against yours. "Sherlock,” you whispered.

He didn't want you to speak; he wanted to kiss you. He never wanted to stop kissing you. He feared that if he did, you would leave and he wouldn't see you again, just as you said earlier.

You knew what was going to happen if you stayed; you were deciding what you should do.

“y/n, stay with me. please. I don’t want to lose you.”

You took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I have to go. If I stay, I’ll be the one who ends up hurting again.” You backed away from him and left. You said your goodbyes to Enola and tried to rush home.

Sherlock caught you outside. “Fuck, please stay. I’m begging.” He got down on his knees and hugged the lower part of your body. “I thought of you as someone who would never hurt me, but you did. You can’t just say sorry and beg me and think that’ll make up for your actions."

A tear fell from your eye, and Sherlock rose to his feet. “Are you going to forgive me?”

You put your hand on his cheek. “You need to earn my forgiveness."

He ran his hand through his head of curls. And shook his head continuously. “Let me at least see you home”, “No, you stay, and I’ll go. Have a good night, Sherlock.”

As you returned home, you were torn.

You wanted to forgive him, and he had you so close to letting that happen. You wanted to stay with him and forget the past. The other part of you was happy that you left; he needed to stir, and he needed to be without you.

Sherlock had many sleepless nights, but this one was the worst of all. All he thought of was you. His hands didn’t leave his hair, countlessly running them through and tugging on his stands. He started thinking of what he could do to earn your forgiveness. To get you back within his reach.

He hadn’t realized how long he had stayed up until he left his office and saw the morning sun. With the bright rays burning his eyes, he shielded himself from the sun.

Sherlock sat at the table, staring off into nothingness.

He heard a voice. “What are you going to do about her?"

Sherlock looked behind him and saw Mycroft. “That lady you seem to be interested in, what are you going to do?"

Sherlock only had one answer.

“Anything.”

Part 3

#henry cavill smut #henry cavill #first post #sherlock holmes #angst #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x you #henry cavill sherlock holmes #sherlock fanfic #sherlock fandom #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x reader #mini series

[faggotry-fandom-fanfic]

Evening Cuddles

Summary: Sherlock helps his friend fall asleep.

Ship: Sherlock Holmes x masc!reader Word Count: 1070

🔸The reader uses he/him pronouns and is called a man, and the relationship between him and Sherlock is inherently queer.🔸

A/N: It's just fluff based on pure vibes. I wrote it a while ago, rediscovered it recently and rewrote it today! The reader is implied to be Sherlock's roommate. I think/hope he's racially/ethnically ambiguous. Also, the reader is described as taller than Sherlock, but somehow, Sherlock is able to lift him up without any issues?? 😭I don't know, and I don't care to be honest. It's pure vibes, no common sense.

“[Y/N], are you even listening to me? [Y/N]?” Sherlock sighed, irritated at the lack of response from his companion.

Holmes shifted his position to look at the man sitting beside the window.

“[Y/N]?”

When the Detective, once again, didn’t get a response, his frustration went from “mildly annoyed” to “extremely irritated”. It wasn’t exactly in his friend’s character to ignore his pleading for attention. So Sherlock did what any reasonable adult would do in the given situation.

“OUCH!” [H/C]-haired man screamed out when the shoe hit him in the arm. “GOD DAMN YOU, YOU BASTARD!” [Y/N] slurred while rubbing the painful spot. “You’re worse than a five-year-old!”

“I was talking about something important. Something you promised to help with,” Holmes pointed out while walking up to his friend.

The taller man sighed and fell back on the soft pillows. His head was pounding, and his body felt like it was about to perish to dust any second. He was tired, and for some reason, he couldn’t verbalise it to his friend. Building sentences felt like a marathon. His brain refused to use English, forcing him to fight with his sluggish mind just to construct the easiest sentences.

“I know. I’m sorry.” [Y/N] finally mumbled, more or less, towards the dark-haired man beside him.

Sherlock just shook his head and kneeled in front of [Y/N], taking his hands and squeezing them in an attempt to provide some comfort.

“What’s on your mind? You hadn’t been yourself for the past week.”

[Y/N] ignored the question and just silently brought one of the detective's hands to cup his cheek. Silently absorbing the pleasant sensation of Sherlock’s rough fingers brushing against his cheekbones and warmth radiating from his palm. [Y/N] would never admit this, but sometimes he’d kill for more moments like this. Moments filled with silence and gentleness that were almost impossible to find in their life. Sherlock had this almost magical ability to become soft and gentle if he noticed that it was needed, but he never was great at recognising the needs of people around him.

“Just tired. Incredibly tired…” [Y/N] finally muttered while closing his eyes and hiding his face in Holmes’ hand.

“If you want to, we could take a little vacation. We’d stop taking cases for a while. Mycroft has a mansion in the mountains. Maybe fresh air will make you feel better, hm…?” Sherlock spoke softly, seeing how his friend was almost falling asleep in front of him.

“Mhm…”

Only now, when his face was mere inches away from his friend, could he see the mark that overworking left on a usually radiant face. [Y/N]’s skin was an unhealthy, muted colour as if he was made of wax. Dark circles painting his under-eye looked scarily similar to bruises. His hair was tangled and messy, framed his equally messy face, dirty with dust and dirt after a long day of working and running around London, searching for a case that’d satisfy Sherlock’s hunger for mental stimulation. It was frightening to see his friend like this – a shadow of himself. A ghost.

Sherlock’s face twisted with guilt, the awareness that he led to one of his dearest friends being so incredibly worn out that he wasn’t even able to form coherent sentences. He’s been whining about the lack of good mysteries for weeks now, and after a while, [Y/N] just wanted to help him and see him happy.

“You know what you need? A good sleep.” Holmes muttered, talking more to himself than to, already half-asleep, friend.

Sherlock stood up and carefully picked up [Y/N] from the settee. [H/C]-haired man himself, was already so exhausted that he didn’t protest. The only thing that he did was snuggle into the crook of Sherlock’s neck.

One of the many advantages of living in a small flat was that every room was close. So only after about a dozen steps were they already in [Y/N]'s bedroom. Holmes carefully placed his friend among his pillows and blankets and covered him with the woven coverlet. [Y/N] grunted, with upset painted across his face when he felt Sherlock’s hands leaving him.

“Don’t go…” he softly pleaded, grabbing Holmes by the sleeve.

Sherlock turned around only to be met with soft [E/C] eyes looking at him longingly, half-covered by eyelids. How could he deny his friend’s innocent request?

“If I’m not to go, what do you want me to do?” The detective asked with slight amusement in his voice.

“Lay with me… I don’t want to be alone…”.

[Y/N] looked like he was close to begging Sherlock to stay with him. Looking at his friend with such sorrow, as if the thought of Holmes leaving his side caused him physical pain. Sherlock felt his cheeks growing hotter while his knees became a bit softer.

Dear god.

“Alright, move over, so I’ll have a place to lay down…”.

[H/C]-haired man eagerly shifted, lifting the blanket, inviting the detective.

He’s just tired. He’s just exhausted and lonesome.

Sherlock tried to reason with himself while lying beside [Y/N]. But it was hard to logically explain how hot his face felt and how happy his friend looked while cuddling up to his side, a lazy smile spread across his handsome face. Fuck, his friend was just shamelessly cuddling with him. Making all kinds of “I feel good” noises, some sounding almost like purring. It was strange. So strange, almost wrong. But he’d lie if he said he didn’t like it. After a few moments, he relaxed and embraced the man lying beside him.

Fuck, shit, fuck.

Holmes tried to take a couple of deep breaths to calm himself down. His nostrils instantly filled with the eccentric mix of scents of old books, dust, chocolate and paraffin oil. The unmistakable smell of his friend. If he wasn’t freaking out already, Holmes would probably panic. He knew it was wrong. He knew he shouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.

But he smelled so good.

And his hands were so pleasant to the touch.

His breathing was so calm.

And he was so close.

It’d be a sin to not savour this moment as long as possible.

Sherlock was finally fully relaxed. He held his friend tight, relishing the smell, the feel, and the sounds [Y/N] would make. He was just so peaceful. So sweet. After a while, Holmes himself drifted to sleep. Happy and relaxed. Embraced by another man.

#sherlock holmes rdj #sherlock holmes 2009 #Sherlock rdj #x male reader #x masc reader #x masc!reader #x m!reader #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x male reader #sherlock holmes x m!reader #sherlock holmes x masc!reader #sherlock x reader #sherlock x male reader #sherlock x m!reader #sherlock x male!reader #sherlock x masc!reader #x reader fanfiction #x reader #x reader oneshot #x reader fluff #male reader #masc reader #masc! #male!reader #m!reader #rdj sherlock #rdj holmes

[aveline-amelia]

You couldn't kill your brother (shooting script for TFP)

So, I looked into this script when someone posted links to previous versions of the s4 shooting scripts. As far as I know, this was an actual version of the script for The Final Problem. If anyone has any evidence that this might not be real or accurate, please do tell me so I can add that in.

So, onto sharing some of my thoughts.

One line was that always stuck out to me as odd was Mycroft saying he never bullied Sherlock. That was such a strange word choice for him of all people. Only it was not his wording. In an earlier draft, Sherlock says: "You turned my sister into a ghost story to bully me." In the aired version, they cut the bully part out, but left in Mycroft's response.

They also changed Sherlock's line to Mycroft from "do be quiet, dear" to "shut up, dear". Previously, it was actually John who says "Shut up, Mycroft" after he doesn't stay silent after Sherlock's line.

Now the fandom all hyperfocused on the 'dear' part, but what I found strange was Ben C's delivery. Telling someone to shut up is usually done in a snappy way, but he says it rather calmly? And he still says "be quiet" later, which seems like a de-escalation? Like, he gets less mad that Mycroft won't listen?

Now in the new version, John says nothing and is completely silent. Why doesn't he say anything, wouldn't he also be interested in hearing the phone call?

There is also some new dialogue that was cut in the scene where Sherlock is forced to choose, such as Mycroft saying "for the greater good" and the line about flowers comes earlier, John saying to Mycroft he is the right soldier for the job and the smart one and Mycroft saying he is not and confessing to the Moriarty thing. Paraphrasing.

Also before giving the "how do you want me" line to Mycroft, Moriarty adds "fair enough."

My least favourite part was the narrative agreeing with Mummy Holmes about Sherlock being the grown up. At least in the aired version, I can headcanon we are not supposed to agree, but like this... ugh. Just ugh.

Now onto what I posted. If this is an actual scene, I have a thought to share.

Why on Earth would you cut this?

It adds so much. Sherlock trying to frame his reaction as an act of logic, before saying that, yes, he wasn't able to kill his brother. This being a revelation and a moment, implying Sherlock thought he was able to do it and being surprised he could not. He knew it was going to be hard, he says so, but he is surprised he wasn't able to go through with it.

Sherlock admitting he fears Eurus killed Mycroft, when in the aired version it was only implied and wasn't clear to everyone. Which makes me even more mad we never see the Holmes brothers talk about this! I will take a handshake at this point if they couldn't give us a hug. (with them as adults, I know we got one as children). And when I say that, I should clarify I want them both to be alive at that point and both to stay alive afterwards (sorry, my snarkiness is bleeding through. you know me ;)

Also just to end on a sad note I guess, and others noticed this before me, when Sherlock hugs and comforts Eurus, he at that point still fears she might have killed Mycroft (and is in middle of attempting to murder John). Yet she gets a hug...

#the final problem #sherlock tfp #tfp #tfp script #bbc sherlock #sherlock bbc #the holmes brothers #mycroft holmes #sherlock holmes #john watson #sherlock season 4 #sherlock s4 #also thank you for the well wishes regarding covid! nothing changed in either directions #i am mostly doing fine #anti eurus holmes #anti mummy holmes #just to keep my traditions

[big-brothers-blog42]

Blog post:2

uploaded on June 25, 2022

The game is on!

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Deduction battle:

There are two main versions (as far as i know) that can be played.

deduction battle: two or more players look at a object, person, or what have you and each person states their deductions or possibly observations if warrented. Whomever gets the most confirmed deductions correct of course wins the game.

The game played between sherlock and Mycroft is a fantastic example on how it should be played (Both versions). Just with less judgmentalness if your opponent is incorrect or makes a lapse in reasoning.

https://youtu.be/PVLcDTD5gU8

or

https://youtu.be/4V3NOuVctrs

Another version would be

speed deduction:

This should absolutely not be your main form of practice but it is useful in a more casual setting or if your new and need to get in the deduction mindset.

Anyways Speed deduction is the same as battle deduction but without the high need for accuracy.

Two or more players set a timer and each has to make as many deductions as possible. Be sure though to only have a timer that mildly pushes you to be faster. For example if you typically take 5 minutes to deduce then set a timer for 3 minutes.

Also it might be better to write down your deductions or record yourself talking.

There are two reasons for this.

The first reason is to push our boundaries without the fear of being wrong and to become more comfortable with being wrong.

Secondly you can study how your brain behaves when its on a time limit.

When looking over you can look over each phase of your deductions. Such as data gathering, interpreting the data, and our conclusions.

This will allow us to study our snap judgments, biases, how we observe and how our brains analyze data when on a time crunch.

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Hypothetical deduction:

Person (A) states a hobby, profession, or a scenario where a situation occurs.

Then person (B) or group (B) states how it could be deduced. For example person (A) chooses "How might hypothetically a violinist be deduced or observed? ". Then person or group (B) might say something like " Violinist tend to have calluses on there left hand, light deafness in their left ear, They might have some rosin on their body or potentially might even smell of rosin".

This is also a way for individuals to use their own personal experience and share them in a organic way. Like for example if you have any experience with the military then you might be able to share info like military "tells" that you may have noticed that could be deduced or observed.

Another benefit that it may lead to some interesting research topics.

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Social deduction games:

I'm sure most people have heard of social deduction games so I'm going to make this brief.

Social deduction is a genre of games that require you to read your opponent and to think rationally.

Games like poker, town of salem, mafia, diplomacy and sigh among us

https://youtu.be/vtKMYTF_3Js

would all be examples of social deduction.

Playing these games would naturally help improve reasoning and absolutely improve your body language and or verbal analysis of others.

(Note to self research: research if there's already research either involving multi model analysis, or maybe a conversation analysis of people playing these games.)

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Deduction/observation bingo:

Two versions:

the first way is that you and a group of friends watch the same media. And as you watch you mark off the bingo card. Ideally someone who's is skilled would watch ahead of time and create the bingo sheet. Then you play as you would typically.

(Ideally footage that hasn't been strongly tampered with such as a interview.)

The second method is that you and your group simply go about your days and cross off each bingo square you see. Ideally for each square you mark off you explain stuff like where did you see it, when did you see it, how did you reason and pretty much just explaining the context. Not a requirement of course but it may offer a opportunity for others to learn and to possibly cut back on potential cheating.

××××××××××××××××××××××

Group deduction (Not really sold on the name):

Person (A) researches a short clip (30 second to a couple of minutes) such as a confrontation, or whatever while group (B) watches and attempt to deduce the context and any other information about the individuals involved. Then any corrections would of course be made.

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i would like to end this post by saying that these are just what i either use personally to practice or I think might be useful to others.

#the science of deduction #deduction #detective #deduce #deductive reasoning #games #fun #practice #Notsurewhatimdoing #post:2 #Deduction content #my posts #2

[your-loss-would-break-my-heart]

Trying to save you from yourself (Part 1)

in which Sherlock goes missing and his brother has to go find him

Mycroft was half-asleep, looking at top secret CIA files and finding places to store the important information in his mind palace. Next to the current files, he also had a stack from the Russian secret service and some documents from Italy's and Taiwan's government. And a newspaper he would read when he was done. Mycroft loved newspapers, because they gave him insight to what the public thought. He always knew that if he couldn't see a fault in an article, he didn't have enough knowledge of the occurence.

There was a knock on the door, followed by a "Mr. Holmes, it's Anthea. Can I come in?" Mycroft quickly stored the last few facts, then threw all the secret documents in his desk drawer. "Yes." Anthea came in and closed the door behind her. She looked a bit worried, but not scared. Obviously whatever she had to say was important, maybe even nationally so. "The video surveillance people asked to meet you immediatly.", she said, "I have no idea what is going on, but they said it's 'of personal interest and significance'." Sherlock. He was the only person under surveillance who fit that description. And if he did something significant enough to make the department call for an immediat meeting, then... "Anthea, I'm going to need you to reschedule my afternoon tea with the prime minister. Set it to Thursday, 4 o'clock." Anthea nodded and stepped outside of the room. Mycroft quickly checked if everything was safe, then grabbed his umbrella and made his way to the surveillance building.

"What is it?", he asked, slightly out of breath. "We've lost him, sir.", one of them said, "We haven't seen him leave the house in the last two weeks." "Are you sure he's left the house at all? Have you spoken to the landlord?" Mycroft's voice was sharp. For goodness' sake, he thought, I need to hire some better people for this job. But then again, these are all people who won't be much of a problem, even if they end up spilling secrets. Others might behave differently. "Yes, I have.", a woman behind him on a desk said, "Sherlock Holmes no longer lives in Montague Street. The landlord kicked him out." This was news to Mycroft. He had obviously known his brother couldn't keep living there for long and even let his connections play to find a better suited place. But he wasn't aware that it already happened. "And why,", he said in a threatening tone, "Am I only hearing about this now?" Everyone shrugged. "We're sorry, sir.", the one guy said, "We kind of thought you knew already." "Yeah,", the woman added, "You told us yourself that he would get kicked out." "But that doesn't mean I know the exact date when!", he groaned in frustration. The team just looked at him. There was no guilt in their faces, only light amusement. Mycroft definitely had to hire some better people. People who valued their jobs, and who were even slightly concerned by his power in the british government. "Alright,", he said, "I'm going to give you a list of my brother's hiding spots in London. If you find him, contact me immediatly. If he's not at any of these places, contact me immediatly. Do you understand?" They mumbled words of affirmation, and Mycroft wrote down a list of Sherlock's weird hide-outs, directly on someone's game of sinking ships. Then, he left the room again. This time, if things were as he thought, he would have to do the detested legwork by himself.

As soon as he walked out of the building into the pouring rain and opened his umbrella, he called the police. "Hello, Detective Inspector.", he said. Lestrade greeted him with slight worry in his voice. So there were people intimidated by him after all. "I would like to inquire: when was the last time my brother helped you with a case and consequently, when was the last time you've seen him?" Lestrade answered that it was over a month now and that he had sent Sherlock a message asking for help recently, but haven't gotten a response. "I thought he was maybe just uninterested,", he said, "But now that you're calling, I'm pretty worried about him. Can I help you with anything?" Lestrade is a peculiar fellow, Mycroft thought, how in the world can a policeman care for my brother when he has always treated the police force so poorly? "I'm worried too,", he admitted, "But I would rather not get authorities involved." "I didn't mean that- I mean I could help you as a friend." "Oh." Now he didn't really know how to respond to that. He didn't need a civilian out there searching through all of London, but he was sure there was sentiment involved in this offer and if he were to decline, it would have a negative effect. And maybe he did have a job for him to do... "If I send you a list of drug dealers known to governmential surveillance, can you question them? I'm certain at least one of them has had contact to my brother, and their information might be extremely helpful." Lestrade took a second. "So you're telling me that you have a list of drug dealers?", he asked, "And you've been sleeping on that?" Mycroft sighed. "Yes, and I will ask you not to arrest them. As a matter of fact, they are the least dangerous ones we know about and it would be a shame if they got taken away and replaced by their more power-hungry fellows." As so often, Lestrade was dumbfounded. "And here I thought drugs were illegal.", he mumbled. "They are." "I know, but-" This time, Mycroft cut him off. He didn't have time for banter like this, he didn't have time to talk to Lestrade at all. "We can discuss this later. For now, will you help me question these people or not?" I might come off as harsh, he thought to himself, but the situation really is dire. "'Course,", Lestrade said, "I'll help you find Sherlock. I mean he's my friend." "Excellent." He ended the call and quickly sent the aforementioned list per text. Not particulary safe, but he didn't have time to dictate it.

He'd been walking while on the phone, and was now at his first destination; St. Bartholomew's Hospital and Medical College. He entered and closed his umbrella, then made his way to the morgue. The corridors showed no signs of Sherlock's presence, but then again, they were frequently cleaned. The only thing Mycroft could make out was that a group of students went this way, and before them the employees. He recognized Dr. Hooper's footprints along them, but couldn't see Stamford's. Wednesday was probably his free day. Well, at least Dr. Hooper was present.

"Excuse me, sir, are you searching for anything?", a young woman asked. Finally, Mycroft thought. "Yes. I'm from the police,", he lied and handed the helpful lady his (quite fake) police license, "I would like to speak to Doctor Molly Hooper." She looked confused, giving the license back. "O-okay, but can I ask why?" Mycroft smiled at her, hoping that it would come off as friendly and not arrogant. "Certainly not,", he said, "But let me assure you that your coworker is in no trouble herself. I only have to ask her when she has last seen someone." Now the lady looked worried. "Oh- I hope it's nothing bad, geez. I'll get her, wait here a second." She was gone and Mycroft was on his own again. The morgue made him uncomfortable, but he didn't bother acknowledging it. After all, who likes being around dead people? Except his brother. And all these people working here, who were desensitized to no end. He checked his phone, but there weren't any messages from Lestrade or the surveillance. He sent Anthea a quick text, telling her to get a car. If Dr. Hooper didn't know anything, he'd have to ask Stamford, or find a way into his brother's network of homeless people. He hoped it wouldn't come to the latter.

About five minutes later, Dr. Hooper came around the corner, all her movements frantic. Mycroft suspected she was going to have a panic attack. "Doctor Hooper,", he greeted, trying to be the least threatening he could be, "Thank you for coming here so quickly. I'm sorry to disturb you at work, but I'll have to ask you some questions." She scanned him and Mycroft could almost hear the millions of sudden thoughts racing through her brain. He could see that she was worried to no end, despite not being sure who this was about. She was looking for a policeman and Mycroft's greeting confused her, because he looked nothing like someone who would interview witnesses for Scotland Yard. Furthermore, there was a bit of disappointment. She thought that for something so personal, the police would at least send someone she knew. And lastly, there was that nervousness of not at all knowing what she had to do. She'd obviously been part of police investigations before, but always as a medical professional, never as a witness. "Y-yeah, sure.", she stuttered, "Who is this about?"

"Sherlock Holmes.", Mycroft said. She gasped and the worry in her eyes deepened. "What about him?" "He's missing." "Missing?", she asked, "Who reported him as missing?" "That is not your concern." She blinked in confusion. "Sorry, I know, but... he's Sherlock Holmes, isn't he? He's always missing until he comes in again. No one knows where he spends his time, especially now that he's homeless." Mycroft didn't expect that. To his knowledge, Dr. Hooper was the closest to a personal assistant his brother had, and it was odd that he wouldn't inform her on his presence or absence, especially because he often collaborated on projects with her. "So... you don't know about his current whereabouts?" She shook her head. "No, not really. I don't think anyone knows. To be honest, I don't think even the police could find him if he really wanted to stay hidden. Did Scotland Yard not tell you about him?" At this rate, Mycroft couldn't keep asking. She obviously knew nothing, and had grown a bit suspicious. He probably should let her know he wasn't with the police, otherwise she would ask them questions they wouldn't know how to answer.

"Sherlock Holmes is correct when he says the police are idiots.", he stated, lowering his voice and trying to be a bit more intimidating than before, "I would never consult them." That was true, he didn't want to get authorities involved. His brother was probably not doing things within the law. Dr. Hooper looked really confused now, so Mycroft decided to keep talking before she could form a sentence. "No, my interest in finding Sherlock Holmes comes from a... personal grievance." Personal grievance as in 'he ran away and now I have to run after him because I'm his brother and apparently also his babysitter', but personal grievance nonetheless. Dr. Hooper came to a different conclusion though. "So he's- he's hiding from you?" Good enough. "Possibly." But if this is only an eleborate game of hide and seek, I'd be enourmously relieved and angry to no end, he thought. "Who are you?!" Her voice trembled between irritation and the realization that if Sherlock was hiding from him, he really must be dangerous. "Someone who's concerned about him,", he said. This was completely true, but it was always funny to see how twisted this statement became when it reached the other person's mind. Dr. Hooper looked more angry than scared now.

"I'll let you know,", she said, "That there are security cameras here and if I'm not able to report you to the police myself, then the recordings are enough to send them your way." Wow. This was the first (not high or drunk) one to threaten him. He couldn't say if she was immensily stupid or if that was just sentiment speaking, but it didn't matter anyway. He looked around very slowly, so that Dr. Hooper could follow him. He'd chosen a place where there were two conveniently placed security cameras. Both were obviously turned the other way and not moving at all. She gasped a little. Mycroft found it odd that she hadn't noticed before, given that these cameras were not only always moving in the corner of one's eye, but also making a quiet buzzing noise whenever turning. Nevertheless, it worked in scaring her. He decided that this would be a good impression to leave on. "I don't think I have to tell you what kind of danger you are in, Doctor Hooper, do I?" She shook her head.

"Why are you doing this?", she whispered. Mycroft smiled, and this time he was sure it would come off as fake. "Don't be worried.", he said in his 'friendly police officer' voice. He let his smile linger a few seconds and then dropped it to say the next sentence dead serious. "I will inform you when I find him." She was taken aback and he used the time she had to think to smile again. "Good morning." And without anything left to do here, he turned around and walked outside, leaving Dr. Hooper baffled.

#bbc sherlock #sherlock fanfiction #mycroft holmes #greg lestrade #molly hooper #trying to save you from yourself #there's gonna be a part 2 #i mean obviously #and to your left you see mycroft not being able to talk to people #i'm sorry the part before the cut is so long but it's really the earliest one I could make

[fangirlings-things]

Rescheduled Lesson

❦ PART. II

Fandom: Enola Holmes

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x female reader

Word count: 3K

anon said: Can I request a Sherlock x reader where she visited Enola often when Sherlock left on long cases, so they became good friends? And when Enola runs away to find her mom, she goes to stay with the reader, which Sherlock deduces and tries to get her to let him find Enola and talk to her? -&

A/N: this request was amazing and I loved every bit of it!!! I put all my inspiration in this, tried to make the personality of the character good, so I hope you like this piece, love, I did my best!! (also I’m thinking about a part 2? if you guys like it let me know, I would be delighted to write it) (had to repost guys, I'm sorry!!)

also, the tag list for this fandom is open!!!

gif credit: @henrycavilledits

❧ You knew the Holmes family was nothing like the other families that lived in the countryside. The father had died many years before. The two oldest sons had already left home, to live their lives and follow the careers they desired. On that incredibly big house, where once lived a family, there was only a mother and her youngest child left. Perhaps the fact that you yourself was considered a little off by other people, was the fact that made you become friends with them.

You lived completely alone, surrounded by books in a small house. Your life was made of studying, researching and writing texts about science. You loved it, great authors of the matter being your inspiration. You tried to learn their teachings and with luck, wanted others to learn as well. You almost couldn’t believe when one day in the middle of a sunny afternoon, Eudoria Holmes had showed up at your door and invited you to her house, where she asked you to be Enola’s science teacher. She educated her daughter not for society, but for herself, so that she could find her own path when she came to grow up. That instantly made you respect that woman and accept her offer.

Twice a week you would go to the Holmes’s house and spend hours and more hours teaching the girl. Darwin, Copernicus, Newton, Galilei. She was eager to know and you were eager to teach her. She was the first student you had that actually wanted to learn and that was amazing. Made you proud and happy, more than you could say. At the evening, Eudoria would ask you to stay for dinner. You would put lessons aside and talk and laugh together. They were like your family, the one you didn’t had.

You were always excited for the days of teaching Enola to come soon. They were your absolute favorites of the week. In the beginning of the afternoon of one of those days, you had been incredibly surprised by a knock on your front door while you gathered the books you would make the girl read and study. Frowning, because you never had visitors or received letters, you went to attend the door.

And when you opened it, you saw that your visitor was Enola herself.

“Hi, Miss (Y/L/N)” the girl smiled at you, a little forced smile that instantly made your frown grow deeper. She was wearing boy’s clothes, even a hat, and her long brown hair had been hidden inside of it. “I’m afraid today’s lesson will have to be rescheduled”

“Enola, what…” you began, confused. You had seen her dressed in boy’s clothes before around her house, that wasn’t a big deal. She did find them more comfortable, she had told you before. But the fact that she concealed her hair as if she wanted to hide it and the expression on her face, something that you couldn’t quite identify but resembled urgency, was enough for you to get anxious.

“Please, Miss (Y/L/N), can I come in? I promise I’ll explain everything you want to know” she pleaded, eyes locked on yours as she did so. The tone on her voice made you nod and take a step to the side, locking the door once she was already inside. “I had never been here. Your house is really amazing” the girl seemed overwhelmed by all the books and unfinished texts you had around, laying on tables and shelves.

“Thank you” you said, mind still running fast as you tried to understand what was happening. You walked after the girl, that had advanced until she reached the next room of your house, one who only had two couches and a table. “Enola, what is going on?” her face instantly lost the admiration she was having for your belongings. Her eyes went to the floor, and she went silent. That made you sight. “Enola, you promise you would explain. And you know you can trust me”

That seemed to make her come around, because she sighted as you had just did and sat at one of your couches. Or better, she laid down on it, placing her head over a pillow and focusing her eyes on the roof. Her hands were joined over her chest. “I came here because I wanted to hide, Miss (Y/L/N). I’m running away”

Your eyes went wide at that declaration and you sat on the other couch, realizing that would probably be a long conversation. “Enola! Think about your mother! She loves you. Your disappearance will hurt her deeply”

“No, no, I’m not running away from my mother. I’m running away to find her” the girl sat straight on the couch, eyes meeting yours again like they had before at the door. She could see the confusion in your eyes grow by each word she spoke. “My mother went missing a few days ago, Miss (Y/L/N). She didn’t say goodbye or said where she was going. She only left me clues, here and there that I’ll have to use to find her”

Worry got a hold of you, the same worry you had recognized on Enola’s eyes. Eudoria. Where would she have gone? Was she fine? Not knowing you realized, was terrible. As you thought about what Enola had just said, another question got to your mind. “If your mother is missing, who are you running away from, Enola?”

“My brothers. Sherlock and Mycroft. Well, especially Mycroft, because he wants to send me to a finishing school, that prepares young women for society” the clear disgust in her voice would have made you laugh if you weren’t so worried.

“Where will you go to find your mother, Enola? What plans do you have? Do you want me to go with you?” all questions left your mouth in such a rush, that it seemed like you had just spit out the words one after the other.

The young girl smiled kindly and got up, going to sit right next to you on the couch you were on. She grabbed your hands in hers gently and squeezed them tightly. “Thank you for offering to go with me, to support me, Miss (Y/L/N). Is more than my own brothers have done. But this is something I have to do alone, I have to be the one to find her and know why she left. And I think that the less you know, the better it will be”

Oh, that girl. You smiled while you looked at her. Eudoria had raised her to be a force of nature and had achieved that goal, brilliantly. You squeezed her hands back in affection. “When will you leave?”

“At sundown today” she said, so quickly that you realized she had already thought about everything. At least, on that phase of that 'plan' to find her dear mother. “Will walk to the train station, not the closest one but the next, and get on the first train in the morning tomorrow. In this way, I’m quite sure my brothers won’t be able to understand my intentions soon enough as to catch me”

“Very well” you passed your arms around her and hugged her tight, sighting. “Let’s get you some food for your journey, then. If you find Eudoria and she finds out I let you almost starve I’ll get in trouble”

Enola laughed as she hugged you back.

════ •⊰❂⊱• ═══════ •⊰❂⊱• ════

Enola had left at sundown of the previous day, just like she had said she would. Carrying nothing more than money her mother had left her, a bag of food you had given her and her favorite book of yours, Origin of Species, you had watched her walk away into the night alone, as her name backwards spelled.

You had spent the whole night incapable of sleeping, wondering if she was fine and if she hadn’t encountered any dangers as she travelled on foot. You worried so much but all you could do, was hope that she would stay safe and find her mother. Soon.

On the next day, you had spent the morning and the beginning of the afternoon distracted. Tried to complete some of your works, but couldn’t. Your mind would always go back to the gone girl and her well being.

You had frustratedly been trying to read the same page of one of your books for fifteen minutes, without being capable of keeping any attention on it, when for the second time in a long time, you heard knocks at the front door.

You got up instantly, leaving the book forgotten upon the closest table as you rushed to the door, already smiling at the thought at Enola had came around on her idea of going alone and was back to ask you to go with her.

When you opened the door though, you realized that it wasn’t Enola who had knocked. It had been a man. A man you had never seen before.

He was tall, it was the first thing you noticed. The fact that he had no beard, was the second. And then, details of him came rushing into your mind through your eyes. He had short, curly hair, bright eyes and memorable features. He wore a white shirt, a brown vest with small white details in it and a brown suit as well as trousers of the same color. No tie which was insula for men that well dressed.

“May I help you?” you frowned at him, holding the wooden door firmly with one of your hands. To receive the visit of men, had always made you nervous. You lived alone, after all, and the world was becoming a more violent place day by day.

“I hope so” he said, which such confidence on his voice that it actually made you raise your eyebrows at him. His eyes were fixed in you, analyzing your face with much intensity. Far more than you thought it would be appropriate. “I’m Sherlock Holmes. And I suppose you are Miss (Y/L/N), my sister’s science teacher”

You took a moment to watch him again, trying to put into your mind that the man in front of you was the Sherlock Holmes, the detective who was making a name on England, solving the most incredible and difficult cases on his own. After long seconds of silence where you only stared at each other, you cleaned your throat. “I am in fact Enola’s teacher, Mr. Holmes. How did you know?”

“I found her works, studies on great science authors. They all had writings on the borders where she constantly mentioned a desire to please and make a 'Miss (Y/L/N)' proud. It only took me a visit to one of the closest houses to ask who it was and get pointed in your house’s direction” he explained, in an impersonal tone quite fitting to a detective. He saw the incisive tone look you were giving him, filled with suspicion, and smiled slightly as he looked at his feet, before focusing his eyes back on yours. “I came here because Enola ran away from home, Miss (Y/L/N). And I think she would come here to see you if she needed help”

You sighted, looking into his eyes. You remembered Enola’s words, where she had told you Mycroft was the one who wanted to send her to a finishing school, the one who had made her run away. If that had been Mycroft Holmes at your door, you would have denied being her teacher or even knowing the girl, wanting to cut the conversation short. But that was Sherlock Holmes. Enola hadn’t expressed much anger towards him and honestly, he would for sure find out the truth on his own. He was the best detective there was in the nowadays. You tell him, would just spin faster the process and you would be able to send him away sooner.

“Come in, Mr. Holmes” you took a step aside, motioning for him to come in. He did, in slow calculated steps and once he was inside you closed the door, sighting. You expected him to say something, but he didn’t. Not at first. Instead he walked around just like Enola had done, eyes floating through the uncountable books you had, all in a complete mess over the tables, piles and more piles of them . “She was indeed here, your sister”

He turned his head to look at you, a genuine smile on his lips. “I was already certain of that” then he walked towards one of the tables, fingers running through one of works. The paper was a bit kneaded, but he didn’t seem to care. “The works you did with Enola, the amount of things she learned… they were quite impressive”

You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to contain your surprise to know you had impressed the most impressive man of all, Sherlock Holmes. You waited for him to speak again, but he didn’t, just kept on walking through the room and inspecting your things with his perceptive eyes. “I don’t know where she is, Mr. Holmes. She left many hours ago”

He placed his hands on the pockets of his trousers, turning completely to you the resemblance of his previous smile on his lips. “And I believe she didn’t tell you what were her plans?”

“No and if she had, I wouldn’t tell you” you said and went to sit on a chair, at the table he had been studying with his eyes previously.

“Mind if I take off my suit?” he asked simply. You just nodded for him to go on, not giving it much thought. He took off his brown suit in gracious movements, then placed it in one of the other empty chairs close by. “May I ask why you wouldn’t tell me my sister’s plans, Miss (Y/L/N), if you knew them?”

“Enola said your brother wants to send her to a finishing school” you replied, watching as one after the other, he folded the sleeves of his white shirt until they got close to his elbow. Unconsciously, you noticed how his muscles could be seen from under his shirt. “To try to turn such a brilliant, incredibly smart young girl into a 'lady society' would be a terrible mistake. She shouldn’t be forced to do it” at the end of that sentence, Sherlock Holmes had grabbed two books in his hands and after reading the tiles, he went to the shelves and started placing them there. “Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?”

“I am organizing your books, Miss (Y/L/N). In alphabetical order, of course. Like I’ve noticed you do after a quick inspection” he smiled at you again, placing those two in place. Then, he went to the table and grabbed a few more. “I personally agree with you. I don’t think Enola should be sent to such a place, but she is my brother’s ward. It is out of my hands” he read the titles, then turned around to return to the shelves. “I suppose you weren’t raised as a lady of society also, for you live by yourself apparently and your academic interests”

“You’re wrong” you said with a little smile taking a hold of your lips, and that made him stop organizing the books and look at you with a frown. She shouldn’t be wrong often. “I was raised to be a lady, until the point where my parents died. After that, I started to live on my own, for I had no more relatives. It gave me a chance to become who I wanted to be, instead of whom I was being carved into”

“You chose your own path” he said with a bigger smile this time and when you nodded in agreement, he returned his look at the shelves. “How did your parents die?”

“They were murdered” you tried to swallow the knot on your throat. Even though they had been controlling parents to the most when regarding your future, they were still your parents, and you loved and missed them. “The police never found out by whom”

“The police can be quite… inefficient” he turned back around with his hands already empty. “I’m really sorry”

“Thank you” you said, squeezing your lips in a thin line as old memories came to surface. Things you hadn’t you thought about in a long, long time. “If there isn’t anything else, may I escort you to the door?”

Your polite way of sending him away made him smile.

He placed the books he had just gathered back on the table, grabbed his suit and accompanied you towards the door, not bothering to dress the piece again. You opened the door and he stepped out, turning to look at you once more. His eyes were curious, interesting. Full of something you couldn’t quite identify, so mysterious as his sister’s.

“If you find Enola, don’t stop her from trying to find your mother” you told him, trying to repress the emotion in your voice. “Not knowing what happened… can be quite disturbing”

“I promise, stop her, is not my intention” he looked down at his feet once again, as if he was thinking for a brief moment, before his eyes went back to yours. “I could try to find out what happened to your parents. Who was their murderer”

“I don’t have much money, Mr. Holmes” you told him, your turn now to look down at your feet.

“I never said you would have to pay” he replied and with that your gaze snapped back up to meet his, and that made him chuckle. You couldn’t deny he looked quite beautiful when doing that. “You were there for my sister through much time and when she needed help, when I wasn’t. That is enough paying for me. Think about it, Miss (Y/L/N). After I find my sister and discover where is my mother, I am willing to take over your case. If you want me to” he nodded his head in your direction in a silent appreciation for your reception in your house and began to turn to walk away, but stopped himself in the middle of such movement. “May I know your first name?”

You smiled softly at that. “It’s (Y/N), Mr. Holmes”

“Please, call me Sherlock”

And after that, he walked away.

#imagine #x reader #fanfic #imagines #enola holmes fanfic #enola holmes imagine #enola holmes #sherlock holmes fanfic #Sherlock x reader #sherlock imagine #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes imagine #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill #henry cavill sherlock holmes #henry!sherlock

[mycrofts-gunbrella]

Caring is the Greatest Advantage- Part 2 (Mycroft Holmes x Reader)

AN- Thank you so much for the love I received on the first installation of this series! This one is more of a bit of a filler chapter, getting everything kind of settled down- next chapter should be both a little heart-breaking, but also heart-warming! Hope you guys enjoy this part!

Word Count- 4435

It had felt like no time at all had passed until the intruding sunlight pierced through a small crack in Mycroft's navy curtains, casting bright white lines throughout the dark room and stirring you from your slumber. Warmth, inability to move properly, body moving to the movement of somebody else's breath; you took a brief glance down and noticed the pale hand that lay flat against your stomach, the silk-clad arm that wrapped over your waist and connected you to the form behind.

 Your cheeks flushed instantly, embarrassed both at the situation and at how much you had to admit you were incredibly comfortable. Eyes flickering to the clock, you sighed, 7am, still too damn early for somebody that had only had a painfully low amount of sleep after residing into bed so late the night before. Mycroft was still sound asleep behind you and you smiled, content knowing that he was finally able to rest and let his mind have a much needed break. Rolling over softly, slowly, you turned your body to face the elder Holmes, smiling slightly at the peaceful look on his features before instinctively tucking yourself in a little closer to his chest and closing your eyes once more, breathing in the residing peppermint and green tea shower gel he had used the night before and falling back into a slumber- there was no way you wanted to disturb him while getting up and a few more hours kip sounded heavenly.. you'd also be lying if you didn't admit it felt calming being held in Mycroft's arms in this way. As you settled back into unconsciousness, the peeking Mycroft allowed the corner of his mouth to flick upwards for a mere second before he, too, elected to treat himself to a lie in- God knows he hasn't had one in the last 20 odd years. Neither of you were quite sure at which point during the night you had managed to get yourselves in such a position at all, having left you in Mycroft's grasp when only a short while earlier he had fallen asleep to you stroking his hair- Mycroft had joked in his head that it was likely due to him always liking the position of power, and apparently that didn't relent just because he was asleep.

3 more hours had passed before you felt your eyelids twitching once more, your eyes opening to the sight of Mycroft's collarbone- evidently your body noticed how much you liked how he had smelt post-shower and led you to seek to get it closer while you slept, your nose just poking underneath the folded collar of Mycroft's pyjama top. You pulled away slowly, embarrassed and petrified that Mycroft would notice your proximity and trying not to wake him. He still lay still, chest rising slowly with each inhale and exhale of breath, the fingers that rested on your cotton clad hip twitching upon occasion, brow furrowing every now and then as he dreamed. In his own way, Mycroft Holmes was an incredibly beautiful man- not that he would see things that way; 'brother mine, you may have the looks but I clearly inherited the intelligence gene. So sorry you had to pull the short straw', he had spoken to Sherlock during one of the small gaming evenings hosted at 221B (Mycroft never wanted to attend and ensured you had to be there if he had to 'endure the small-talk of goldfish' for an hour or so, and rewarded you each time with dinner the following evening). He had spent his entire life that he was around other people being ridiculed for his appearance. In Primary School he had first started experiencing the comments on his weight- he had been the only boy who never wanted to go out to play sports, electing instead to spend his breaks in the school's library. He blames the Librarian for his significant weight gain as Mrs Tubbs, ironic as the surname sounded, spent a lot of her lunches treating Mycroft to an abundance of cakes and pastries, claiming his interest in the library was likely the only reason the school still needed her, treating him in thanks for his love of reading. High school was perhaps the worst experience, the whole school had elected to nicknaming him Fatcroft- at first, if anything, Mycroft was more disappointed in the lack of imagination that came with the nickname, but as the five years ticked by he found the nickname altering to 'fatty', before finally stopping altogether as nobody chose to speak to him at all. College hadn't been much better, his circle of friends still remaining empty, though bullying continued from other people about his weight, and also his clothing- growing up, the Holmes' hadn't been the most wealthy family, leaving Mycroft attending college in his father's hand-me-downs; trousers that cuffed at the ankle from the large height difference between them, shirts that's buttons threatened to burst with each inhale of breathe. This had continued in university until Mycroft decided to try and get himself in shape in his final year before he moved into the world of employment. Obtaining his place in a position in the British Government allowed Mycroft to live comfortably, very much so, and his collection of well tailored three-piece suits were his proud reminder of how far he had come. Of course Sherlock has equally been very unrelenting towards Mycroft, whether it was about his weight, his hair, his clothes, acne, anything- Sherlock was on it and wanted to bring his brother down each time, even still now. Mycroft liked to pretend still that it caused no bother, but you didn't need the deduction skills of a Holmes to know that was bollocks.

Your eyes scanned his body slowly now, the slightly loose skin around his neck that had come with both age and weight loss, the small stretchmarks that had lightly covered the exposed part of his shoulder. Your hands that were tucked round his body could feel the slight pudge that still clung round his hips and his belly, a factor you liked but knew Mycroft hated with a passion, skipped meals to try to lose. His legs had been the same. While looking thinly muscled in his well tailored suits, you had walked in once to him on his treadmill in his running shorts, noticed the small stretchmarks that had rested behind his knees, a few down his calves, and some disappearing up over his thigh (he had been incredibly embarrassed and ended up switching to running trousers, though telling you his decision was purely down to the effectiveness of the lycra trousers over their shorter competitors, how the choice was 'obvious'.) Mycroft was far from perfect in his own eyes, but to you at least? He was still beautiful, he was human, and that's how you've felt about him for pushing 4 years now, though he would always take your genuine compliments as pity and wave them off, disappearing almost instantly after.

"It's incredibly rude to stare, Miss L/N." Mycroft's voice made you jump out of your skin as your eyes returned to his face.

"Miss L/N? You haven't called me that since... you interrogated me when I started working with Greg." You joked, suddenly becoming aware of your proximity and peeling your arms from his waist and chest, returning to your own side of the bed. Mycroft's fingers itched to pull you back a little but stopped themselves.

"Ah yes, I apologise for.. that."

"The interrogation or the cuddling?" You teased, only lightly, not wanting to break the trust and for Mycroft to put his barriers back up. Mycroft raised his left eyebrow, offering his 'you know full well what I'm talking about' look, his expression looking nonchalant had it not been for the pink tinge to the tips of his ears. You rolled your eyes and sat up, shuffling the duvet to your mid thigh and stretching your arms audibly.

"Don't apologise, that was... lovely?" You didn't know how else to describe it without coming off weird, not that your chosen wording was particularly well thought after. Mycroft followed suit in sitting up and failed to answer you back. "Don't make it weird, it felt good and neither of us have slept in til.." You read the clock once more. "Fuck me, gone 10? For a long time." Mycroft smirked, choosing to ignore talking the on the part of the close embrace and instead on your choice of language.

"Is your language always so colourful in the mornings? You may have to work on your bedside manner before I allow you to stay in here again." Another raised eyebrow and a flash of a smile. You avoided picking him up on the term 'allow' in his statement- knowing Mycroft, it was his way of trying to make it sound like he hadn't asked for you to stay, as though he was in control of everything and didn't truly need you, but you both knew that was a lie. He was just still trying to work around the embarrassment of needing, and actually quite enjoying, the company of another human being. You pressed a little more in your teasing and climbed your way out of bed.

"My bedside manner? How many times have you rated a woman's behaviours the morning after she spent the night in your bed?" Padding to the bathroom. Mycroft let out a small snort as he watched you disappear behind the door.

"One, so far, but there's always tomorrow." He let out, making your movements stop a little in the bathroom. Previous sexual encounters wasn't typically a conversation that arose between the pair of you, partly because the topic never came up, and partly because you hadn't slept with someone else for the better part of 5 years. When it came to Mycroft you had never heard of any previous relationships, or encounters, though he was a very private man- it wouldn't surprise you if previous relationships had to be kept on the downlow but, equally, it wouldn't be a surprise at all if he were still a virgin; his history of social interactions, or lack thereof, signifying enough that the likelihood of him having a previous partner was very slim. It wasn't a topic you ever intended on asking him about, mainly because there was no real reason for you to care at all. "I can hear your brain whirring, I despise it." He quipped, reaching over to grab his phone and send a quick message to Anthea to bring you over some clothing and other things she suspects you will need within the next couple of hours or so. You hummed, disagreeing with him entirely. "I've never shared a bed with someone previous to last night, excluding Sherlock as a child, hence the awkwardness upon waking. I never had the desire for it, nor did I ever see the appeal." You hadn't missed that he was speaking in the past tense, would have argued it was just a mistake in wording.. but Mycroft doesn't do that. So he had enjoyed last night, you smirked to yourself. "Also, rather than palming at your hair like some baboon, the second drawer on the cabinet to your left contains some spare toiletries and such items I had Anthea purchase after your visits became a little more.. frequent." You opened the mentioned drawer and found a hairbrush, hairbands, a toothbrush, toothpaste and deodorant, feeling thankful that he cared enough to even bother to do this.

"See, you can't despise me. You love me really." You sang, locking the door behind you to completely freshen up and try to appear slightly more presentable in Mycroft's shirt and yesterday's leggings. Still sat in bed, Mycroft froze a little. He knew you had only meant it as a joke, to tease him for breaking his rule of no sentiment when he was around you, but the thought still sat weird in the pit of his stomach, his heart still beat a little faster in his chest and he shook his head to himself. He wasn't proposing he was in love with you, of course, that was preposterous, though he wasn't quite sure what his emotions were around you. He cared, yes, a lot more than he cares for anyone. Less than 24 hours ago he had stared death in the face, quite literally actually, and yet he felt more fear seeing your life on the line- he was willing to sacrifice his own life for yours. His breath hitched at the memory and he closed his eyes. Caring wasn't an advantage. Caring was ridiculous, humiliating, idiotic, shameful. Caring led to him laying his own life on the line, risking one of the most important people in the British Government, allowing himself to be vulnerable, to SHOW he was vulnerable. And yet...

"I've made a brief itinerary for today." Your voice let him blink back to reality, sliding out of his bed to head to his wardrobe to get ready for the day. You skipped behind him, pulling him away from the closet doors by his elbows and standing him in front of you. "And wearing those isn't on the list, in fact, if I see a hint of a suit today I may well go loopy and burn the lot." Mycroft frowned. "You're having a break from normality, no suits allowed. Just because you've woken up pretending to be your usual smartass self doesn't mean I'm letting you off. I'm not as clever as you are, Mycroft, but I know very damn well how somebody who's concealing their emotions looks like, too well." He kept that thought, would bring it up at some point, but let you continue. "You should know by now I wont judge you, ever, at all. The stuff that happened last night? The sleeping, the not letting me go? I won't mention it to anyone- I teased you on it as a way to try and make you laugh, I wouldn't do that around other people without your permission. Christ I care about you, probably more than I care about myself so please spare the lies of being fine. If you want to sit in bed all day and cry? I'll get the tissues. If you want to act like you're fine and not talk about anything, we can do that too. Everything that happens is down to your discretion, and I want you to trust me, and to trust that I won't take the piss and mean it." You smiled at the end, glancing at your feet a little and looking back up when he didn't answer- but his shoulders slumped, his back broke away from his perfect posture and he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Right. Now back to my plan. I suggest no 'human day time clothes', I make breakfast- no exceptions, I make a mean scrambled egg, we wack on a couple of DVDs and then, if you're feeling up to it, we can play some music and you can talk me through what happened? Don't feel pressured to, I just.. want to let you know that the option is there." Mycroft stiffened slightly at the thought of speaking so soon, the panic clearly showing on his features as you reached for a hand that rested by his side, holding it between your two smaller hands. "Don't worry about it now, you don't have to tell me a thing, ever. Just know that you can." Still unsure on the appropriate way to respond to your ramble of clothing choices, food, plans, and admittance to caring on his behalf, Mycroft spoke on the most mundane of the suggestions.

"I do hope you're not expecting me to spend the day in my pyjamas." Mycroft already felt agitated having the silk pressing against his skin during the hours of day, tugging the hem of the top slightly away from his stomach as though adding emphasis.

"Oh no, of course not. How detrimental would that be if you spent the day in your pyjamas like any other person has done." You placed the back of your hand against your forehead, feigning shock as Mycroft rolled his eyes at you. "But you could at least change into some sweats and a t-shirt or something." Mycroft stared again. "You're joking? Not even one set? Not one? Have you even WORN them before?" Mycroft opened his mouth each time you asked a question, shutting it as your next followed.

"It isn't my choice of exercising attire, and I can assure you I am not sitting in lycra all day, for both of our sakes. Perhaps I could just forgo the waistcoat and tie?"

"Oh most definitely, sounds like the epitome of at home comfort." Mycroft glared, looking as though the down speaking of his suits equated to somebody calling his mother a whore. You slowly leant forward, whipping Mycroft's phone out of his shirt pocket and jumping back on the heels of your feet, logging into the device with ease and starting a phone call. Guessing Mycroft's password the first time a few months ago had been scarily easy, him swearing you to utmost secrecy at the meaning behind it; Sherlock's date of birth- 'bit easy isn't it?', 'it's simple enough that nobody would suspect it true.', 'I got it..', 'yes but you're a welcomed exception. Now give it back.'.

"Y/N that is official Government Property. There are items on that device that, should it be known are in your hands, would get you thrown into a prison so far away tha-"

"Anthea, hi! It's Y/N, so sorry for the intrus- mine's in the bathroom still, it would have been too late. Anyway.. you know a lot, right? Including the trouser size Mycroft wears?" A pause.

"You wouldn't dare." Mycroft mouthed. He was a strong man, well trained, if he really wanted to take the phone back it would have been in his hands already, you a mess on the floor- but he didn't, not even sure he had the energy to, and thus you continued.

"That's brilliant. Could you pop over at some point of what's left of this morning and bring him a variety of jogging bottoms, a few t-shirts, fuck it, why not, and some sweatshirts or hoodies please? I can treat you to scrambled eggs as thanks?" Another pause. "You're a star, thank you so much. See you soon!" Anthea declined your offer of breakfast (likely because of the time) but agreed to bring you everything else along with the stuff requested earlier in 20 minutes.

"You are the spawn of the Devil himself." He whipped his phone back from your hands and nestled it in his trouser pocket this time. You were daring, but not THAT daring.

"Bite me Holmes." It was rare for Mycroft to be able to quip back and forth with another person without completely losing his sanity and becoming angry, but with you it felt like a relieving release; watching you shoot words towards him with no malice behind them, no intentions of truly being upset with him, he actually enjoyed it.

"Could get Anthea to do it for me being as she's being used to go clothes shopping for me now."

"Mycroft you literally send her to pick up your dry cleaning."

"Touché."

***

True to her word, 20 minutes later Anthea knocked at the front door, making you startle as you put your dirty plates from breakfast in the sink, feeling accomplished that you had managed to convince Mycroft to eat a slice of toast with scrambled egg. Mycroft stood but you were faster, pushing him back down in his seat.

"I am perfectly capable of meeting my own PA at the door."

"So am I. Just sit bloody still or I'll glue you to the chair." You beamed at Anthea as you opened the front door, taking the few bags from her hands. You offered her inside but she politely declined, stating she had far too much work to do and was satisfied that you were treating Mycroft with the utmost care. "Myc? Time to feel the most comfortable you ever have in years." You walked back to him, holding the bags up almost childishly with a grin on your face. The nickname still settles oddly in Mycroft's mind, had anybody else dared to shorten his name he felt the constant need to correct it, and often did- you remember on one occasion when Greg had called him Crofty for a laugh and got whacked with his umbrella- but from you it just felt.. endearing. Sherlock used to bring it up a lot, question outwardly why you were allowed to give him nicknames but he wasn't, but Mycroft always found some kind of response that more so belittled his brother rather than reference to his own sentiment.

"I still don't see why this is necessary.."

"You've said already you don't want to be in your pjs anymore, and these are the most comfortable back up." You peered in the bag and grinned. "Oh how cute, Anthea picked us up a matching set. Mycroft took a mental note to remember to bring that up to Anthea later. She always means well, and Mycroft wasn't entirely sure he would ever be able to work without her as his Personal Assistant, but the issues that entail with the time the pair of them have to spend together is that she always knew everything- he wouldn't be surprised if she understood Y/N and his relationship more than he does, and these sodding clothes proved it. "Go change, don't make me do it for you." Mycroft blinked, standing to grab the clothes from your hands as he had no real doubt that you would do such a thing. He glanced at the materials in his hands, admitting silently that the materials did feel exceptionally soft before rolling his eyes at the print on the front of the black t-shirt he had been handed- the red, white and blue of The Who's logo standing proudly centred on the fabric- before reaching the bathroom and changing into them. You had elected to just get changed in the front room, praising Anthea mentally for also bringing you clean underwear, and grinning as you stared at the front of your new shirt in the mirror. You were slightly peeved that you had to remove Mycroft's button up from your frame, the rich fabric having felt wonderful, but your new The Who merchandise was definitely a good replacement- your shirt having been white in comparison to Mycroft's black.

Mycroft felt utterly ridiculous, attempting to tuck his t-shirt in the waistband of his jogging bottoms before giving up, the strange shape the wedged material had given his behind being enough to make him decide to settle with it being loose over his hips. He cast a glance to his bedroom, thinking of his usual attire that resided just behind the closed door before sulking down the stairs- everything you had done for him so far he had been incredibly thankful of, so the least he could do was dress up like a bit of a chav for the rest of the day. You were already dressed, perched on the sofa while surfing the television channels as Mycroft ushered his way inside the room, sitting on the other side of the sofa instantly and not saying a word. You looked over and whistled in approval.

"See, that's not so bad is it? And you still look just as dashing as you do in your suits." Mycroft's cheeks burned a little as he took interest in playing with the hem of the shirt.

"I don't know if that's an insult or a compliment." He commented, having disliked the way he appeared in these clothes he panicked he looked just as undesirable in his suits after your words. Not that he needed to look desirable, of course. You shuffled over and moved closer to him, pulling the front of your own T-shirt to make him see you were in matching attire.

"I don't think I could ever stop complimenting you, Mycroft. Especially when you have such a cool shirt on." You placed a hand on his upper arm, squeezing a little to show you meant it. "You could have come in in a bin bag and still radiated elegance, but if you're really that uncomfortable.."

"It's fine." Mycroft blurted a little, trying to not show that your compliments effected him at all, that they made him feel better in the clothes he was now wearing. "I'm only thankful Anthea elected to choose a relatively decent band. Had she arrived with the Sex Pistols I'd have been back in a Westwood faster than you could say God Save the Queen."

"Watch your tongue Myc. I may be here to support you but I will not tolerate blasphemy against my music choices." You jabbed his arm once with your finger in warning before focusing your attention back to the television. "Right so I've lined up the collection of The Young Ones because I think that show is appropriate for any mood." You spoke, moving back to the other side of the sofa and watching as Mycroft looked at the gap where you had just been. You shuffled to get comfortable and patted the top of your thigh in offering, Mycroft only looking a little awkward as he fidgeted in his seat. "I won't bite.. unless you move on to berate the Clash.." He nodded and laid out, the back of his head resting on your leg as you played the first episode of the show, grinning already when Rik Mayall's character appeared on screen, and petting Mycroft's hair in attempt to make his body stop being so stiff. It wasn't long until he had relaxed, laughing along at the characters' misfortunes with you, relishing at how much he was fond of laying in your lap in such a way, the way your fingers brushed through his short hair, how it just felt so natural to you to want to be this close to him, to be here willingly. And caught in this moment of domestic bliss, Mycroft had completely forgotten about the fact you had wanted to talk about yesterday's events with him, find out what happened. So for now, he would appreciate what he had here with you, whatever 'it' was, until, he thought, you inevitably decide not to speak to him again.

#mycroft holmes #mycroft #bbc mycroft #bbc mycroft holmes #mycroft holmes x reader #reader insert #bbc sherlock #mycroft x reader #mycroft x reader smut #mycroft holmes x reader smut

[fluffbyday-smutbynight]

Way Too Deep (TAB rewatch)

Going back to The Abominable Bride? What is this madness?

Do not fear, I won't even dwell on the hidden meanings of the whole parallel reality set in 1895. Instead, this will be the beginning of my modest attempt (read: slightly disfunctional coping method) at making some sort of sense out of S4. I could read all the meta, and agree with it even, but at the end of the day I just have to take the raw data and digest it on my own.

Why start from TAB? If I recall correctly, it wasn't originally conceived as a bridge between the two seasons – and yet, it has such a peculiar structure that I can't justify it being just a coincidence. If you will, I'll look at the frame rather than the picture.

TL; DR: what if Sherlock overdosed on the tarmac plane... and never came back?

So, let's begin well into the third act (1 hour or so into the episode):

MORIARTY: Because it’s not the fall that kills you, Sherlock. Of all people, you should know that. It’s not the fall. It’s never the fall...It’s the landing.

Sherlock wakes up on the plane and the narrative trick gets exposed: the Victorian adventures were a creation of Sherlock's drug-fueled mind.

Sherlock's usage is not exactly news to us - hello, heartbroken Shezza in a crack den - but this time it feels different. It's not just escapism or the siren's call of addiction; he doesn't look high, not even to John Watson MD, which by the way has already seen him under the effect. This is the very intentional treading the fine line between sanity and delirium, between life and death:

JOHN: For God’s sake! This could kill you! You could die!

SHERLOCK: Controlled usage is not usually fatal, and abstinence is not immortality.

...all for the sake of "solving a case" or, should we put it in plain words, going deep and deeper into his own mind.

Strap yourselves in, 'cause we're going for a ride. From this moment on, we'll bounce back and forth between reality and hallucination, the two separated by a boundary so unstable that we won't even see it.

Notice how heavily drugged-Sherlock sounds fairly coherent so far – and yet, when Mycroft speaks:

MYCROFT: A week in a prison cell. I should have realised [...] that in your case, solitary confinement is locking you up with your worst enemy.

...his mind palace fabrication unexpectedly bleeds into reality:

JOHN (offscreen): Morphine or cocaine?

SHERLOCK: What did you say?

JOHN: I didn’t say anything.

SHERLOCK: No, you did. You said ...

(As he says the next sentence, it’s Sherlock’s lips moving but we hear John’s voice.)

SHERLOCK/JOHN: Which is it today – morphine or cocaine?

What did spur this abrupt transition? What is Sherlock's worst enemy? Himself, his addiction or... Moriarty, though a figment of his imagination, trapped in his mind palace?

Victorian Sherlock goes on with his investigation, which ends with the crypt scene. Sudden plot twist: under the bride's veil there's not Mrs. Carmichael, but... Moriarty again.

MORIARTY: Is this silly enough for you yet? Gothic enough? Mad enough, even for you? It doesn’t make sense, Sherlock, because it’s not real. None of it. [...] This is all in your mind. [...] You’re dreaming.

Cue another transition to a hospital room, which looks just a bit surreal. What's up with the red blanket and the carpeted floor? Why is Sherlock just lying there in his suit?

Doesn't look very much like an overdose intervention... because it isn't. This is not reality.

In fact, Sherlock goes on all jolly to unbury Emelia's corpse (let me be pedant: just like a recent overdose patient should do), and we're given a couple lines that reinforce how much of a pressing matter all this is to him:

SHERLOCK: It’s why we came here! I need to know.

JOHN (turning away): Spoken like an addict.

SHERLOCK (straightening up to look at him): This is important to me!

Sherlock and Lestrade dig, Mycroft supervises (lazy sod, eheh), until the casket is unearthed – pay attention to what Mycroft says here:

MYCROFT: We do have slightly more pressing matters to hand, little brother. Moriarty, back from the dead?

And yes, immediately after Moriarty is mentioned, another turn into surreality takes place; the skeleton moves on its own, a spectral voice calls, and Sherlock is back to his mind palace.

VOICE (rhythmically, as if reciting lyrics to a song): Do not forget me.

... and Holmes starts violently and wakes up to find himself lying on his side on a narrow rocky ledge. Water is pouring over him as if it is raining heavily.

HOLMES : Oh, I see. Still not awake, am I?

"Still not awake" - what a peculiar choice of words. The line between reality and hallucination is feeble because it's not there; the plane, the hospital, the cemetery? All fabrications of his own mind.

Look, even Moriarty must be tired of beating around the bush, 'cause he doesn't talk in riddles anymore. He just lays it out:

MORIARTY: Too deep, Sherlock. Way too deep. Congratulations. You’ll be the first man in history to be buried in his own Mind Palace.

MORIARTY: I am your WEAKNESS!

MORIARTY: I keep you DOWN!

MORIARTY: Every time you STUMBLE, every time you FAIL, when you’re WEAK...

MORIARTY: I... AM... THERE!

MORIARTY: No. Don’t try to fight it. LIE BACK AND LOSE!

So, not only Sherlock has gone deep into his mind palace, he never got out of it and he literally can't.

John coming to the rescue must represent Sherlock finally waking up... or does it?

WATSON: So, how do you plan to wake up?

HOLMES: Between you and me, John, I always survive a fall.

In fact, Sherlock jumps and falls deeper down and while we're told he always survives the fall, we're never told about the landing. We're circling back to what Moriarty said.

At this point, is Sherlock waking up on the plane again even real? Do overdosed people just wake up like that, and go on with their day like nothing's happened?

Furthermore, if Sherlock really woke up on the plane, this should be where the episode ends.

Why, instead, go back again to 1895?

HOLMES: It was simply my conjecture of what a future world might look like, and how you and I might fit inside it.

HOLMES: From a drop of water, a logician should be able to infer the possibility of an Atlantic or a Niagara.

Where is this happening? What's the "Atlantic" (or Niagara, or Reichenbach) we should be able to infer?

The structure of TAB – the back and forth between past and present, fiction and reality - reminded me of this zen koan:

"Once upon a time, I, Zhuangzi, dreamt I was a butterfly, fluttering hither and thither, to all intents and purposes a butterfly. I was conscious only of my happiness as a butterfly, unaware that I was Zhuangzi. Soon I awakened, and there I was, veritably myself again. Now I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly, dreaming I am a man. Between a man and a butterfly there is necessarily a distinction. The transition is called the transformation of material things."

As you may know, a koan is a paradox: for instance, you can't be both man and butterfly, but at the same time you can't be definitively sure about one or the other. This is where we're left at the end of the episode – hanging on the doubt that what we've seen so far has been imagination disguised as reality: Sherlock can't be both in present time (having woken up on the plane) and in the Victorian setting we've just seen.

So we should infer that he is still stuck in his mind palace, and his hallucination is not only about the 1895 timeline, but comprises all the scenes set in present time, too -"It was simply my conjecture of what a future world might look like"; also, he might have overindulged with his drugs, to the point of never coming back to consciousness.

WATSON: As for your own tale, are you sure it’s still just a seven percent solution that you take? I think you may have increased the dosage.

Notice how the overdosing incident will never be mentioned again, which makes sense if we assume that it's a point stuck in time with no foreseeable resolution – an idea which is supported by Mycroft's notebook, in the form of the Minkowski Metric we can see there:

a formula referring to special relativity, more specifically "the spacetime interval between any two events is independent of the inertial frame of reference in which they are recorded" (x)

All this, in the perspective of interpreting S4, makes for an interesting premise... but we'll look into it another time.

_____

Dialogue transcript source: Ariane DeVere

#sherlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock meta #sherlock rewatch #the abominable bride

[luxwritesfanfic]

Right Where You Left Me

Reader gets déjà vu in a way she never expected. Or, the one where Sherlock is the gift that never stops giving. AU!Bucky because he always has your back. Enjoy!

Author’s Note: There is a lot of angst and multiple different aspects that could be very triggering for some within this work. Please be mindful of the trigger warning below and if you see something that you feel should be listed, message me and I will edit accordingly!

Trigger Warning: Severe depression, suicidal ideations, suicide attempt (overdose), forced vomiting, talk of death in general, angst with a happy ending

Sherlock Holmes/Reader

You couldn’t really tell how long you’d been lying in bed for. Time was such a foreign concept to you now. It was either before the fall, when you were happy and he was with you, or after the fall, where you were all alone. You weren’t alone physically because your friends would never allow for that. Since the fall, you’d been staying in Sherlock’s flat, and Mrs. Hudson would always bring you a plate of whatever she was cooking and put it in the fridge. And like clockwork, she’d come every Sunday and clean the fridge out from where you didn’t touch any of the plates. She never seemed to mind, though, and she never stopped bringing you food.  

Bucky would come by every day and check on you and help you do things around the house. And by help you, he did everything for you. Mrs. Hudson would let him stay in John’s old room whenever he needed, and he’d make sure you showered and that your laundry was done. He would tell you he does this because he loves you and that even though you weren’t born his sister, you would die that way.

John had moved on and moved out and you were happy for him. Mary was lovely, and you wished you could move on with your life, but you couldn’t. You knew he was taking it just as hard as you and that you both just had different ways of coping with the pain.  

When you had to quit your job, Mycroft was immediately there and offered to take care of you financially. “Please, allow me to do this for you. It’s what my brother would have wanted. He couldn’t stand me when he was ali—here, so the least I can do is make him happy where he is now,” he said quietly. Pigs must’ve been flying in the window behind you because when you reached to hug Mycroft, he met you halfway. You cried nonstop for days after that.

You had tried to be better after the scare, not for you, but for your family. You don’t remember much from it, but you do know that no one brings it up around you and you haven’t been left alone for longer than a few hours since.

You woke up with your face propped up against something cool, but you could barely open your eyes to see where you were. Your stomach was in the most pain it had ever been in and everything around you sounded so far away. You remember being yanked back and fingers were shoved down your throat and someone, Bucky, was standing over you and holding you up saying through tears, “I know it hurts and I’m sorry, but you have to throw it up, Y/N. You have to. I can’t lose you, too.”  

Everything hurt and in between gags you could hear Mrs. Hudson crying and begging whoever was on the phone to get there faster. You had never heard anyone scream like that and you were sorry you were the one who caused it.

Even though you’d promised Sherlock he would never lose you, Fate stepped in and you lost him. When you thought about the turn your life had taken, you just told everyone you were keeping your end of the deal.  

Bucky knocked on your door and stuck his head in. “Mornin’, Y/N. I’m gonna start some laundry and make us some coffee and then I’ll be back, okay?” You could tell he was worried by the tone of his voice, but he did a good job of hiding it. You didn’t say anything back to it and he didn’t expect you to.  

Bucky came in a little later with some towels in his hand and a coffee in the other. “I know you’re not feeling real good today, so I was thinking I could wash your hair for you? You can just bend over the tub and I’ll do all the work. I’ve even been watching some videos on how to braid and then you won’t have to worry it matting up either.” He set the coffee down on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed next to you.  

By this point you were already crying into the pillow because how could the people in your life love you this much when you had nothing to offer them anymore?

“I love you so much,” you cried, and Bucky’s heart broke at the sound, “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry and I love you.”

He brushed the hair away from your face. His hands were warm, and it made you feel human again. “You don’t have to be sorry. I love you and I will take care of you for however long you need me to. God knows you would-- and have, done the same for me. So, let me wash your hair for you and I can tell you all about how Lestrade constantly shits on Anderson now as an eternal tribute.”  

You smiled and although it wasn’t full of life, he was just as happy to see it. You ended up just getting a shower and Bucky rushed next door to get you a sandwich in hopes that you’d eat for him, too.  

As you were brushing your hair out, you heard multiple voices. You heard Bucky, and he sounded… shocked? And then there was John and then just as you were about to reach for the door you heard it. You would know that baritone voice anywhere. Barging out of the bathroom and almost tripping over your own two feet, you came to a full stop.

“Sherlock?”  

There he stood in the middle of the room with John a few feet behind him, and Bucky with his back to you, seemingly always ready to protect you. It looked like him and it sounded like him, and hell, it even smelled like him. You couldn’t believe it.

“Y/N.” He went to make a step towards you but seemed to have think better of it. It was better if he assessed your reaction to seeing him first. It had been so long since he had last seen you and while he silently fought the raw want he had to hold you, he knew you were seeing red.

“I don’t even—I can’t-- can’t even comprehend this. Where do I start? Where the fuck have you been? You were dead, Sherlock! I watched you…” You squeezed your eyes shut, steeling yourself the best you could. You weren’t going to cry. You had too much to say. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw John and Bucky slip through the front door. You were sure that was their best bet.

Sherlock said nothing as you went off because there was really nothing for him to say. He understood why you were so mad with him, even if he wasn’t generally self-aware when it came to his own feelings, he wasn’t that daft. He had come prepared for this and he was going to make it right.

“No, you know what? Don’t say anything. I don’t even want to hear it. I have been fucking rotting in this flat while everyone else was able to move on with their lives. I was here, because I couldn’t live without you. My world stopped. I do nothing, Sherlock, nothing but sit and lay in your bed and cry into your old shirts!” You were yelling now, hands running through your hair as you tried to make sense of it all. Somewhere in the back of your mind you made a mental note to thank Bucky for making you get up and shower this morning.

“I quit my job, Sherlock. Mycroft has been paying to keep me alive and Mrs. Hudson and Bucky take turns to make sure I’m still breathing every other hour because they’re scared that if I’m left alone for too long, I won’t be. And poor John, I see him and start fucking bawling because then all I see is you. I stopped caring about everything, and everyone else, because the only person I cared about looked me in the eyes and walked off a fucking building!”

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but you quickly cut him off.  

“Seriously, don’t speak. You don’t get to just waltz in with John after all this time—you know what? There’s the million-dollar question. Was I the only one who didn’t know you were alive? Because so help me God, Sherlock, I’m this close to losing it.”

He didn’t know whether or not he should actually speak, but he took the cue after he started to physically feel the heat from the deathly glare you were giving him. You quite literally looked deranged but that didn’t stop him from taking a step towards you. He always seemed to chase danger, and you were no exception.

“No… you weren’t the only one. John only just found out a few weeks ago, and only a few select people knew the whole time.” Sherlock was careful with his words. He knew he was walking on thin ice.

You didn’t say anything to that, and Sherlock found that even scarier than when you were yelling.

“Hah, select people, huh? I like that one. So, where were you staying? Were you in London this whole time? Shit, you could’ve been downstairs for all I know. I guess I wouldn’t be a select person to know that, though, would I?”

Sherlock grimaced. Things were going worse than he imagined, and he already figured it would be pretty bad. That was an understatement. “I had to jump around often for everyone’s safety, but I stayed in London for the most part. I stayed with Molly when I could.”

You laughed in his face at that, and you clamped your hand over your mouth, turning your back on him lest you start laughing again. He watched you with furrowed brows and you knew he wanted to speak but you couldn’t do it right now.  You took a few steps towards the kitchen window and looked out at the bustling London streets beneath you. For months your world stopped, and it seemed so real when in reality nothing stopped at all.  

“Great, great. That’s so great. Splendid, really.” You murmured to yourself and perched your free hand on your hip. Drumming your fingers against your lips, you began again.  

“Bucky had to glue the windows down because he thought I was going to jump, and you were staying with Molly.” The tone of your voice was venomous and if looks could kill, Sherlock Holmes would be dead for real this time.

Sherlock winced. “Y/N, please, let me—” You cut him off, speaking louder this time. Your face was void of emotion, but your eyes betrayed you as the tears started to fall freely and your voice cracked under the weight of everything that was being said.

“Bucky had to glue the windows down because I thought I was going to jump, and you were staying with Molly! Damn you, Sherlock Holmes! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” You grasped at the kitchen counter to steady yourself as you gasped for air between the sobs that you couldn’t contain anymore. Your heart ached so badly that you actually clutched your chest, afraid that it was going to break through your ribcage and abandon ship. You could barely register Sherlock coming up behind you through your tears and as he willed you to face him, you noticed that his eyes were brimmed red and glossy. Even sad, Sherlock looked as beautiful as a doll.

“I always come when you call, why didn’t you come for me?” You cried, fisting your hands in his shirt so tightly that you thought heard buttons pop. Your head was swimming and you had never felt more betrayed in your life. How could Sherlock turn to anyone but you? Had you not made it clear that you would do anything for him?  

“I called for you every single night, Sherlock! Begged for you, mourned you, I—” The tears wouldn’t stop flowing and your voice was starting to crack from its sudden and harsh overuse.

It was then that Sherlock wedged himself so close to you that you didn’t even have the space to move your head and look up at him. A pair of strong arms wrapped around your back and you were being squeezed so hard to him that you thought you’d either die from a heart attack or suffocation. And even now at the hands of Sherlock, neither seemed that bad. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He whispered against your forehead again and again as if he was repeating a chant he had been practicing for some time.

“I love you so much and you didn’t even call! Why didn’t you call?” Your words were lost to the both of you now, spoken into his shirt and distorted by your sobs. Sherlock held you as you cried and tried to contain your shaking body against his as you let out months of sadness and pain and despair. You were so overwhelmed that you couldn’t think straight.  

“I know, I know you do, and that’s why I couldn’t call. I couldn’t call for you.” He held onto you as he spoke like you would disappear. Sherlock had decided before he even stepped foot into the flat that he would not lose you again. In his time away from you, he was subjected to feelings he could only describe as both love and heartbreak in equal measure. Being apart from you had left him feeling a void that nothing could fill, but it was his love for you that he relied on to keep you safe and away from him.  

Sherlock pulled back from you and while it was only by a few inches, you suddenly felt worlds away. You go to pull him back to you when he gathers your hands in his and leaves a trail of ghostly kisses along the spread of your knuckles.  

“I have never begged for mercy in my life…” He murmurs, eyes never leaving yours. He was determined; that much you could tell. Your eyes widened as he lowered himself to one knee, and then two. “Until now. I have hurt you in ways that are beyond comprehensible. Please, grant me the mercy I do not deserve to explain myself. I am willing to bare myself before you if you’ll have me.”

You were in shock at the sight of Sherlock on his knees before you. You had heard him apologize maybe twice in your time of knowing him and here he was, begging for you to hear him out. All you could do is nod.

You expected him to stand up again, but he sat in place and looked up at you with so much love in his eyes that felt all the anger you were harboring dissipate under his gaze. He took a deep breath and prepared himself. If you were ever going to forgive him, he knew that he would have to be honest. And he knew that if he was going to be honest, he would have to admit the feelings he had for you and hope that he could express them in a way that you could understand.

“There were constantly people watching you, and John, and pretty much everyone else who held any value in my life,” he explained, rubbing his thumbs over your fingers as he spoke absentmindedly, “they knew you would be suffering, they counted on that. And if you weren’t, they’d know something was going on. Your suffering had to be real, or else it wouldn’t have been believable. I didn’t want to keep you in the dark. But I had no choice. When I faked my death, I had some help. I stayed with Molly here and there because she already knew, and my relationship with her is is…different for ours.” He paused.  

You were hanging on every word he said. You could tell he was being sincere, and even though you were upset, you understood. If leaving Sherlock meant protecting him, you would do it too.  

He cleared his throat and started again. “Molly was a safer option. They would have expected less of a reaction from her. And if things were to go wrong…” Trailing off, Sherlock squeezed your hands. You knew what he was trying to say, and you didn’t dare breathe. “You were not someone I could lose. It couldn’t have been you. So yes, I stayed with Molly, but I worked constantly to make it so that I could come home to you.”

You couldn’t take it anymore. “Sherlock,” you whimpered, pulling him to his feet by his collar and back to you where he belonged. He followed suit quickly like he was reading your mind.  

For what seemed like the first time today, you were truly taking him in. He was just as beautiful as he was the day he left you. You reached up to brush away a stray curl from his eyes and smiled at the way he seemed to try and follow your touch.  

There were so many things that you couldn’t be sure of, but this is something you’d always know to be true. You loved Sherlock, terribly, terribly, so. If loving him was the only purpose you ever found in this lifetime, you would be sure not to fail him.

You were lost in other when the sound of footsteps climbing up the stairs drew your attention. Sherlock followed your gaze as you watched John enter the flat from the living room.

“Is everyone okay up here? There was a lot of yelling and then it got pretty quiet…” As he rounded the corner to the kitchen, he stopped in his tracks at the sight of you braced against the counter with a small amount of space between you and Sherlock that he must’ve recently graced you with because you could barely move before. His hands rested on your hips and your hands had found solace on his shoulders. John looked like a deer caught in headlights before he covered his eyes with his hands and made to walk back out, determined not to ruin the moment that all of London was waiting on.

“Fuck, I’m sorry! Don’t mind me, pretend I was never here!” He called out as he dashed back down the stairs so quickly you thought he had fallen and you were sure you heard him say to someone, “I told you so!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the whole situation and when you looked back at Sherlock, you realized he was already looking at you. Even after everything today, you still caught yourself feeling nervous under his heavy gaze.  

“So, it’s okay when you stare but not when I do?” You teased, hoping that he couldn’t see the blush you could surely feel. Sherlock squinted his eyes at your comment as if he didn’t understand what you meant but gave you a devilish smile all the same.  

“I’m sorry.” He wasn’t. “But you are confirming that you do stare at me, right?”  

You were torn between smacking the smirk off his face or kissing it, whatever compelled you the most and right now it was a tie. Rolling your eyes, you brought your hands down to his arms and gave them a squeeze. Not even realizing you were thinking out loud, you whispered something about having déjà vu. This caught Sherlock’s attention, and he moved tiniest bit closer to you. “Déjà vu? How so?”

Cursing yourself under your breath, you laughed and dipped your head down between the two of you, laughing at how ridiculous all of this was. “Jeez, it’s been years now. I had the most realistic dream that’s stuck with me all this time.”

Sherlock tsked at you and moved to bring your head back up so that he could properly see your face. He cupped your cheeks and in the most familiar way and just like in the dream, you were breathless.  

“Go on,” he urged, voice like velvet, “tell me what happened in your dream.”

You all but melted under his gaze. Sherlock, in any form, would always have this effect on you it seemed. His thumb brushed along your lower lip as his own parted. Physically he was with you, but mentally he was far away committing this memory to only a place he could see.

“Use your words. I’m paying raft attention, aren’t I?” Once again you thanked Mrs. Hudson and her choice in countertops because if it was any less sturdy you were sure you would collapse and bring him down with you. On second thought—

Any coherent thought was lost to you when Sherlock nosed your cheek, and you couldn’t help the gasp that left your lips or the words after.

“I told you I loved you, Sherlock. That’s what happened in the dream.” Your words were spoken so quickly in the effort to chase after his lips but he held you still, waiting and wanting in front of him.  

You whined like a child. None of anything that happened today was fair to you, but one kiss and you would forgive all of London for keeping your detective’s secret.

“Well, I guess the only proper response to that is for me to tell you that I’ve loved you for ages, my dear girl.” He smiled against your skin and you thought that this was it. You had officially lost your last marble, and this was the delirium finally setting in. You welcomed the insanity happily.

“Say it again, please. I need to hear you say it again.” You begged, everything hitting you at all at once.

“I love you,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. “I love you, and it’s only ever been you. It couldn’t be anyone else but you. You…didn’t you know that?” His eyebrows rose up and you stopped him in his tracks. That was Sherlock for “are you dumb?”

It was then that you decided you were done with talking before he had the chance to say anything smart. You pulled him down to you so quickly that you missed the shock that flashed in his eyes when your lips finally met. After years of yearning and pining for the man in front of you, you finally had him right where you wanted him. There were so many things you wanted to say to him, but no words would express how you truly felt about him and lucky for you, Sherlock was more of a hands-on learner.  

When you finally broke apart, you got to admire the man of your every hour in all his glory. The mussed hair and kiss swollen lips really added to his already suave look and you couldn’t help but smile like an idiot. “You’re handsome. So handsome, seriously, it should really be a crime. I can finally tell you that without any shame.”

He returned your smile tenfold, and you thought if you could make his eyes crinkle like that just one more time in your life that it would be a life well lived. He acted as if he was mulling your statement over, rolling his bottom lip between teeth. “You could’ve mentioned it before. It might’ve helped me make my deductions much sooner.”

You slapped him on the shoulder but then worked on smoothing his shirt out while he watched you with a gentle fondness that he reserved just for you. You still had so many questions that you wanted answered but you knew those could wait. Something had been generous enough to answer your most asked prayer and you weren’t about to be ungrateful for even a second.  

Placing one last (for now) kiss on his cheek, you led him to the door to the flat and swung it open. “Hey, has Mrs. Hudson seen you—”

As if on perfect cue, Mrs. Hudson shrieks so loudly that any bad memory you have of her yelling is now a good one.

“Sherlock!”

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[barbasbodaciousbeard]

I can see us Lost in the Memory

Summary: Caring is not an advantage. To Mycroft, this was a belief he found through the calculated logic that ruled his life. If was analytical and detached and certainly had nothing to do with Sherlock or the childhood neighbor.

Love You to the Moon and to Saturn

A/N: In a break from my regularly scheduled SVU writing, here’s a four part Folklore inspired Mycroft Holmes thing.

Salt air, and the rust on your door I never needed anything more Whispers of "Are you sure?" "Never have I ever before"

When the Holmes parents invited Ruth on their vacation to start the summer, she couldn’t resist the chance. Her mom would be busy, and the family would be staying on a beach in a little house for a week. You’re just so good with both my boys Mrs. Holmes had said with a soft smile as she pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Since Christmas, she’d had late night phone calls with Mycroft regularly, sneaking the handset for the phone to her room and staying up to happily listen to the minutiae of his day and tell him about her own. To help calm his worries, she took to dropping by to visit Sherlock. But this trip in May would be their first time together save a stolen weekend after midterms where she’d made it to Oxford.

When she arrived at their usual home, not the country house she was so used to, Sherlock darted out, wrapping around her as she laughed. He was almost not a little boy anymore, though she was certain he’d find something broken that they’d try to rebuild together.  She could see Mycroft’s frame in the doorway, and her breath caught. He’d only gotten stuffier since going to Oxford, always in a suit. It worked for him or she’d have teased him mercilessly for it. There was also the fact that she was simply overjoyed to see him. 

“Missed you,” she said softly, looking up at him as Sherlock watched them suspiciously before going back into the house.

“And I missed you, Ruth.”

“Mummy, I think Mycroft and Ruth are going to start snogging.” The youngest Holmes ran to the kitchen, and Ruth flushed a deep pink and giggled as the very tips of Mycroft’s ears changed color.

“Do you care if she knows?” Ruth asked, and Mycroft was acutely aware of the power he had to hurt Ruth in that moment. He would never dream of it, but this would potentially be over in three years, at which point hurting her would be inevitable. But still he held out hope he could balance both.

“Not at all,” he said softly, the same dignified air he always carried. But instead of staying away as he led her in, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her lips before placing a hand on the small of her back and leading her into the house. His mother and father had the kindness to leave them be, and the drive went smoothly. When Sherlock became antsy, Ruth watched as Mycroft told him about people he’d encountered at university, problems in the dorms. It was a game the pair had always played when Sherlock had to be kept still too long. The younger Holmes would tell Mycroft how obvious it was his roommate's girlfriend had been eating all the food from the common area, and Mycroft would pretend he hadn’t figured it out with the same reasoning.

“Ruth, come here,” Mrs. Holmes had said, calling her to the kitchen as she left the boys to unload bags from the car. “Are you dating my son?”

“I love him very much.”

“The boys are in the last room on the left. You’ll be the first on the right. Behave yourselves, allright?”

“Yes ma’am.”

The evening found them watching Sherlock as Mr. and Mrs. Holmes went to dinner, and since Christmas, he’d discovered documentaries again, sprawling on the couch to watch one on pirates. It was good to see some things didn’t change. What had changed was that Mycroft was willing to give him a little more space. They cooked dinner together, and Ruth was rewarded with soft brushes of his hand over her back as he passed. She suspected he’d always be himself, not one for casual affection when someone could see. But when his brother was tucked into bed, there were soft kisses that grew more desperate and whispered confirmation they were both sure. She stole the Oxford sweatshirt from his bag after, determined not to let his mother find them anything but decent but wanting to keep everything on her as some extension of him.

“I don’t know why they got you a sweatshirt anyway,” she teased lightly, watching him smoke in the dark. “I’ve never seen you in a shirt without a collar.”

“I suppose mummy thought I might wear it to sleep. I don’t think she expected it to be worn by someone else during a post-coital cigarette.” He wore cotton pajama pants and a plain t-shirt, though she expected he had sets with collared shirts for when he was at school. The wind blew in from the water, and she wished she’d grabbed pants instead of letting the crewneck serve as a dress. He noticed her shiver, holding out an arm as he exhaled smoke. She pressed against his side and his arm wrapped around her. 

“Just someone?” she teased. “You know, I think I might be your girlfriend.”

“How is that any different than we’ve always been?”

“It means we build a future together. Don’t date other people. Communicate regularly.”

“I suppose you are my girlfriend,” he said, though she could tell he didn’t particularly care for the word. 

“So you think about a future with me?”

“Constantly,” he admitted, choosing to omit how much of that was grappling with the danger Rudy’s position could put her in when he took over. That he’d have to eventually tell her about Eurus. But he was young and selfish and certain he could separate it.

Your back beneath the sun Wishin' I could write my name on it Will you call when you're back at school? I remember thinkin' I had you

Ruth had never been able to get Mycroft to the beach in anything but a polo shirt, but it seemed the way the last of his baby fat had melted off at university meant he was willing to join his brother and Ruth in the water. He still wore a polo shirt and boat shoes with his swim shorts, but he slipped both off and followed when Sherlock beckoned he and Ruth to join him in finding the sandbar. He almost said no until he saw how giddy Ruth looked as she peeled the other unworn bit of Oxford merchandise he’d acquired: a t-shirt that would have fit had he not lost weight. He liked seeing it on Ruth; it made him realize he was getting territorial.

“C’mon,” Sherlock called to them from the water’s edge. 

“We’re coming, Sherlock,” Mycroft scolded gently. “You must wait so we can be sure the tide doesn’t whisk you away.”

“Don’t scare him,” Ruth said, swatting his arm before she hurried and ruffled his brother’s hair. “We’ll find the sandbar, but then Mycroft and I are going to come back to land. I think you ought to see how big of a sandcastle you can make. Maybe even big enough you can hide in it.”

“Do you think there are artifacts in the sand, Ruth?”

“Probably not ones we’ll want to keep. But maybe bottles or keys.” The tide was low enough when they waded to the sandbar that Ruth and Mycroft could sit on it and watch as Sherlock ran along. He could dig as well, finding shells and loading them into the pockets of his swim shorts.

“Why must we be in this wet sand instead of on the towels on land?” Mycroft huffed, and Ruth poked his side.

“Your brother missed you. He likes you being close, even if you aren’t a part of his excavation. He’ll want to build soon, and since shells aren’t restorable like a trowel, he’ll go back to land for a sandcastle.”

“He only yells when I call him.”

“And what does he yell about?” Ruth had heard Sherlock during one of these calls. One of the calls where Sherlock yelled at Mycroft for leaving. But this would pass. She always promised Mycroft that it would pass, and Sherlock would understand his big brother would always come home. 

“Don’t look so proud,” Mycroft huffed.

“It’s not often I’m the one who’s right.”

“You’re often right when it comes to feelings.”

“I love you. My big brained robot.”

“I love you, my darling.”

“That sounds way more romantic than big brained robot. But god, I like hearing you say it. I know it isn’t easy for you.”

“If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.” He had a glint in his eye as he looked down at her, and she smiled broadly up at him, delight apparent.

“You read Jane Austen?”

“Everyone does.”

“You only store things you want, Mycroft.”

“When I read it, I thought of you. I was fifteen. I was a fool and didn’t process what that meant for another year. But whenever I read a poem or a novel and they talk about ardent love, your face is my first thought. I wish I were someone who spoke so eloquently of his own feelings. But I do not understand why I love you. It honestly perplexes me. You are wild and hard headed and love the most mindless things. But I would gladly listen to you describe popular music or the intricacies of a flower crown for hours because of the way your smile and laugh sound more melodic than any symphony. What is unbearable in others only serves to make affection blossom when it is in you. Perhaps it’s because I feel I understand you like I can’t understand most, and I feel that you see me not just as some big brained robot but as who I am. And I am grateful for that, even if it perplexes me to no end.”

 “God, you really can be sappy,” she said, tearing up as she wrapped around his middle. Without his parents or peers there, he was more comfortable to stay sitting as perfectly upright as ever, but slip an arm around Ruth and press a lingering kiss to the top of her head. “You’ll keep calling when you go back to school, right?”

“I will. And we’ll figure how to see each other. I know it hasn’t been easy. Uncle Rudy has so much for me to do on top of my course work.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me, Mycroft. It’s four to six years we have to get through. We can do that.”

“Have you thought about university?”

“Cambridge or Oxford. The latter, while a delightful institution, is due to a bias for a certain student.”

“What do you want to study?”

“I think I’d be a good teacher. Kids Sherlock’s age.”

“You’ve always done well keeping him engaged. That’s a feat in and of itself. But, I always expected that you’d pursue English. Write.”

“I need a job.”

“Writing is a job. You could work in editing too. But, you write so beautifully. And it makes you so happy. I’m certain you would flourish. It may be harder, but you’re intelligent enough to parallel plan and work until you’re published.”

“You really think so?”

“I know. And I’m always right.”

“Cambridge is about as far as London from you. Or maybe I’ll go to Oxford.”

“I just want you to select the institution you wish to learn from. I’m sure we can find a halfway point. If not, we can alternate visiting each other.”

“You wouldn’t feel weird if I showed up in your daily life?”

“You’re a part of my daily life. It would be a perpetual summer. Who wouldn’t wish for that?”

“We’ve just only ever had the summer.”

“There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there? I suspect you’ll tire of me when you realize I’m relaxed in the summers.”

“I imagine you wear suits everyday. And your socks, tie, and pocket square all match.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, darling. I don’t wear a tie every day.”

“Oh, there are pictures of  Mycroft in a suit with no tie. Is the top button undone? This is simply scandalous.”

She stretched herself up to kiss him, no hesitation now and fingers brushing through auburn hair. Only the screeched order to Stop being so gross from Sherlock convinced them to pull apart, and Ruth was quite sure he was grinning down at her.

Back when we were still changin' for the better Wanting was enough For me, it was enough To live for the hope of it all

“Are we going to have to chase the two of you from each other's rooms all summer?”

“Mummy, she is my girlfriend. Is it the worst thing if I sleep beside her?”

“You’ll do more than sleep.”

“Yes, Violet, because a bed is the only place teenagers will shag. Never a field or a car or the storeroom at their job. They’re good kids. Leave them be.”

“Siger, this is the third time in a week! Do you want to deal with her mother when we return? She’ll be chasing our boy from her house night after night.”

“Since when does Ruth sleep in her own home? She’s in our guest room most nights. We can feign propriety if it is of such importance and say ‘Oh! I didn’t know he’d snuck into her room’ if for whatever reason Debora learns.”

Ruth was by Mycroft’s side, cheeks pink as she watched his parents. They’d tried to be careful, but she never woke up in time to hurry to her own room. She wanted to tell them her own mother wouldn’t notice anyway, so she should be able to climb into bed with Mycroft. They were talking about flats at Oxford, little ones they would stuff full of books and she’d ensure were always stocked with flowers. She’d made up her mind she’d go there. Mycroft was ready to tell Rudy he was in love, and it didn’t matter what the job entailed; Mycroft could balance it if it meant he’d have Ruth. For once, he was hopeful.

“Both of you, listen to me,” he said firmly, arm around Ruth. “Where do you think she stayed when she visited me at Oxford? This began at Christmas, so I hardly believe it to be a phase. I love her, and upon her graduation, we intend to get a flat near the university. Accept it now, or accept it later. It does not matter to me. This is the reality.”

“You’re following him to Oxford?” Violet seemed to be appraising her now. 

“Yes.”

“You really do love him?”

“Yes.”

“Just don’t make me a grandmother any time soon,” she said finally, obviously acquiescing as her husband followed her to the kitchen again with quiet assurances they’d be fine. Ruth’s cheeks were pink, but she wrapped around Mycroft and kissed him.

“What is that for?”

“You professed your love for me to your parents? You finally put your foot down over something and it's me?”

“I wish to maximize every moment I have you by my side between now and August.”

“I’ll miss you so much.”

“We’ll sort it out. Two terms. Then you’ll follow me to Oxford.” 

“Ruth will leave too?” The soft voice of Sherlock came from the hall, and she pulled away from Mycroft to kneel by him. 

“It’ll be just like the end of summer,” she promised. “It was harder with your brother because he lives with you. But, you usually only see me in the summer, and I’ll still be here for every summer. Who else will help me excavate the garden?”

“Why does everyone go to Oxford?”

“They don’t. But lots of people go to uni, and you will too one day. You’ll get a degree to be a detective or an archaeologist or marine biologist.”

“I don’t want you to go.”

“It’s a whole year away. You’ll be a teenager.”

“I guess that’s an okay time for you to go to Oxford.” He bent to look around her to his brother. “You could do well to learn from her, Mycroft.”

“You need to stop being so rude. He’s getting a degree so he can afford to keep you out of trouble forever and ever, kiddo.”

“I’m never in trouble.” 

“Mhm. Never, ever have I scooped you up before mummy could catch you performing experiments.”

“Shh!”

Ruth simply laughed, moving to stand again, Sherlock’s gaze again fluctuating between bored and curious about the world around him as she moved to sit in the arm chair beside the one Mycroft had settled into with his book. She opened her own, feet tucked under her, reaching towards him and resting her hand on the small table between them. He looked at it before resting his hand in hers.

“I like this,” she said softly. He made a noise of agreement, legs crossed. “I could get used to it.”

“We’ve a whole summer ahead, dear.”

That night found them tangled in bedsheets, not bothering to pretend he was going to be sleeping in the room with Sherlock. He rather liked sleeping by her, and he was grateful she was so content to lay against his side, close enough it was intimate and safe, but not requiring their bodies to be tangled. But she did like to play with his hands, especially in the afterglow. She would trace the lines of his palms or the veins on the back of his hand, watching her own actions in the moonlight. He stopped her tonight, letting his fingers slip between hers. She smile down at him, her hair a curtain as she leaned to press a gentle kiss to his lips. 

“Get some sleep, Ruth.”

“Does anyone ever take care of you, Mycroft?”

“I don’t need to be taken care of.”

“Everyone does. And I’m going to from here on out, okay?”

“I don’t need to be taken care of.”

“How often do you sit in the sun and read for pleasure at Oxford?”

“There isn’t time.”

“I’ll make sure there is when I’m there. You need to give yourself breaks.” He didn’t agree, but instead of arguing, he pulled her to his side, deciding he could tangle himself with her awhile, savoring the closeness. 

“You are too gentle for this world, darling. Please never change.”

#Mycroft Holmes #mycroft holmes x reader #mycroft holmes x oc #mycroft x reader #mycroft x oc #mycroft holmes x original character #mycroft x original character

[megs-mostly-past-random-fandoms]

Foolishly Intelligent

Based on this request:  I love your imagines! I would like to request a Sherlock imagine if that’s alright? Something along the line of the reader being Mycroft’s and Sherlock’s far younger sister. She tries to connect with her brothers but often feels left out. She started in her teens by Learning everything about murders, investigation and politics in order to find common ground with her brothers. Ad an adult this leads to her being part of Scotland Yard and always giving Greg an heart attack due to jumping into dangerous situations. He’s had enough and decides after one close call too many to involve her big brothers to chew her out.

Here you are! *Familiar Characters are NEVER mine!*

Fandom: BBC Sherlock

Warnings: Angst, arguing, Caring big brothers that pretend not to care because one is a high-functioning sociopath and the other is Mycroft XD, mentions of possible crush??

Pairings/Characters: fem!reader, brother!Sherlock Holmes, brother!Mycroft Holmes, Greg Lestrade

Greg Lestrade had had it. You were a wonderful detective, that much was true, but you had a bad habit. You liked to put yourself in dangerous situations ALL. THE. TIME! You would often quite literally throw yourself into harm's way to get the job done or to protect others. Greg normally wouldn't say anything even though it gave him a near heart attack every time. But since learning of Sherlock's fake death, it had become worse.

         The man could sort of understand where you were coming from. You had big shoes to fill with your brothers being who they were. Even as a child, you'd had trouble connecting with them. You had gone out of your way to learn and do things to help your relationship. And it wasn't that they didn't love you or respect you. It was that they could often have full conversations just through a look or that they would play their little deduction games and you would feel left out.

         You'd told Greg, after having a few drinks one night, that you had been trying since your teens to connect with Sherlock and Mycroft. You were just as intelligent as they were so you began learning about murder, investigations, and even politics from an early age. Still, nothing seemed to help you connect with them. You'd even joined the Yard to spend more time with Sherlock.

         But this last time was one too many for Greg. You had nearly died and the DI had a soft spot for you. In fact, you were the only Holmes the man could stand being around for more than a few minutes at a time. He didn't think he could take it if you kept running head-on into danger, but he knew you wouldn't listen to him. So, as he sat there next to your hospital bed waiting for you to wake up, he contemplated who you would listen to. There were only two people that popped into his head.

         With a soft sigh, Greg stood and left your room to make a call. "Hello, Gavin. Has there been a murder?" Greg pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn't lose his temper now. "No, Sherlock." Sherlock scoffed on the other end of the line. "Boring. If you've nothing interesting to offer me, I'll say goodbye now."

         "WAIT!" Greg shouted, then a little more softly added, "Your sister's in hospital." For a moment, there was only silence. Then Sherlock spoke again, "Watson, call Mycroft. St. Bart's?" Greg confirmed and was promptly hung up on. You were going to hate him when you woke, but at least your brothers might be able to talk some sense into you.  

         Sherlock burst through the doors a little while later, with Mycroft sauntering in a few moments after. "Would someone care to explain why I have been dragged from an important meeting?" Mycroft asked, prompting Greg and John to glare at the younger Holmes brother. "You didn't tell him?!" Greg hissed before turning to Mycroft, "Long story short, your sister's here. She decided to go into a hostage situation, alone, with no sidearm." Mycroft's brows furrowed briefly before a look of pure rage came over his features for a moment.

         "And you didn't stop her?" Greg opened his mouth, but it was Sherlock who answered, "Oh please, Mycroft. Y/N would never listen if the lives of others are in danger. Not to Gordon anyway." Greg once again rolled his eyes. Would that man ever call him by his actual name?

         "He's right. She doesn't listen. She's always throwing herself into situations like this. I thought, when she wakes up, the two men she looks up to the most could talk some bloody sense into her. Maybe then she'll listen." Both Holmes brothers merely stared at the DI, causing him to huff and walk away with John at his heels. He couldn't deal with them any longer for the moment. He needed to return to your side.

         Just his luck, you were already awake when he pushed the door open. "Inspector," you greeted tersely. You had seen John behind him so you knew Sherlock wasn't far behind. "Don't look at me like that, Detective." You scoffed. "Like what? Like you betrayed my trust by calling them in? I know they're here. Might as well bring them in so I can hear all about how disappointed Mummy will be." Greg's brows furrowed in confusion. "Y/N…I just want you to be safe. Your brothers do too."

         "Oh? Which brothers? The one who chucks himself off a building and pretends to be dead for 2 years? Or the one who knows about it and says nothing? Or the ones who refuse to let me into their lives, no matter how hard I try? I know I'm not brilliant like they are, but I try, dammit. And this is the only time I ever seen them away from home. When I'm in hospital."

         "Fine," Greg soothed, "Fine. Don't talk to them. I don't care. But you have to stop being so reckless and stupid, Y/N. For my sake." Greg gaze your hand a little squeeze before leaving the room and allowing your brothers to walk in. For a moment, you said nothing, watching the space Greg had just been occupying. You were trying not to cry. Your brothers didn't do well with hysterics.

         "Sherlock. Mycroft," you said. "Look at me, Y/N." You sighed softly. You knew you weren't exactly acting like an adult at the moment. That would get you nowhere with them. You swung your (e/c) eyes over to them. Sherlock stood with his hands in the pockets of his coat while Mycroft stared intently at you. They were both trying to deduce something about you. "Stop it," you ordered sharply, "Stop trying to deduce me and just ask me the question you want to ask." They exchanged a glance before turning back to you.

         "Inspector Lestrade informed us that you threw yourself in harm's way yet again." You shrugged a bit. "I would again too. There were children in there. The elderly." Sherlock let out a scoff. "And that makes it okay for you to be so monumentally stupid?"

         "I'm NOT stupid! Just because I'm not as callous as you are doesn't mean I'm an idiot, Sherlock! God, now I see the problem. It was never my fault we never connected. It was yours. You never tried." Your brothers stared at you in surprise. You had never spoken to them that way before. You rolled your eyes and groaned when your head began to hurt again.

         "Just go. Both of you. You can tell John and Inspector Lestrade that they are welcome here. I don't want to see you two again for a while." You turned your head away from them both, indicating that you were done with the conversation. You heard them open the door to leave. "Oh, and don't you dare call Mummy. I'll tell her myself when I know I'm alright." Neither of them said anything, but left the room.

         When you heard the door close behind them, you let a few tears finally fall. You hadn't wanted to blow up at them and you'd mostly likely end up apologizing later, but for now you were upset. You didn't have long to stew in your anger though before the door opened again. You turned to look and sighed. "I thought I told you to go."

         "And we did. You failed to specify just how long you consider to be a 'while'. We listened to what you said and now it is your turn to listen to us. Despite what you may think, you are no closer to 'connecting' with Mycroft or myself by running head-long into danger." You arched a brow at him. "Oh, you mean like you do?" Sherlock didn't look impressed, but you could see Mycroft trying not to smirk.

         "The point, little sister, is that, in spite of everything, your welfare is important to us. We need to know that you are safe. The career you've chosen lessens that likelihood, but deliberately putting yourself in situations where you could die destroys our hope for it completely."

         "Oh gee, Mycroft, you do care," you replied sarcastically. You let out another sigh, "Look, I'm sorry. I know you're right. Just…please. Please stop letting this be the only reason you even check in with me. I know I'm not like you two. I never have been, but stop shutting me out. Okay? If you can promise me that, then I will promise to try and be more careful. For Mother and Father's sake. And for Greg's." You tried not to let your face show any emotion. Nothing to give away anything.

         "Who?" You laughed lightly while Mycroft arched a brow. "We will discuss that topic at another time. I suppose I can agree to your terms. Sherlock?" Sherlock's blue eyes met yours and he nodded. You smiled; a genuine smile for the first time since they walked in the room. "Good. Now could you please leave? I'd really like to sleep now that I've been yelled at by both my brothers and my boss."

         They opened the door again and you sat up. "Oh, and seriously. Don't tell Mummy." With a chuckle, your brothers left and you laid back to get a little more rest. Mycroft and Sherlock nodded at Greg when they exited the room, knowing he'd heard everything anyway. Greg breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully things would get better now. Greg looked in at you and smiled when you gave him a tiny wave.

(a/n: I hope this does your request justice!)

#bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes #mycroft holmes #greg lestrade #x reader #holmes sister reader

[mca-attack21]

The Final Problem

Sometimes you questioned why you couldn’t have dated someone more ordinary.

You were especially questioning this now and you, John and Sherlock were being held hostage by Sherlock’s forgotten and psychotic sister, on a secret prison that Mycroft Holmes had so tenderly described as the epitome of hell. You didn’t know what was worse, the fact that no one knew you were missing and even if they did figure it out, they’d no idea on how to find you, or the fact that you were at the mercy of Eurus who was revealed to have an alliance with Jim Moriarty. 

Sherlock had tried to assure you that everything would be okay. He would find a way out, he always did. But you could see through his fake smile and hopeful words. You knew that he was just as anxious as you were.

You were going to sarcastically ask about his brilliant plan when a voice filled the room.

“Hello? Is anybody there? I’m stuck on a plane. Everyone’s asleep. Please help me,” a small child’s voice filled the speakers.

“Hi, can you hear me? I’m here. I can help you, just tell me your name,” Sherlock answered softly.

“Mommy told me not to tell my name to strangers,” she replied, fear evident in her voice.

“Oh, that’s alright. I’ll just tell you mine then. I’m Sherlock and my friends and I are here to help you,”

“I’m scared,” she informed.

“It’s okay, I’m-” he started before the call clicked off.

Eurus spoke up, “That’s better.”

Sherlock snapped, “Put her back on, let me help her.”

“Not so fast brother mine, you have to play along if you want phone privileges,”

“Play along?” you asked.

“Yes, I have developed a series of tasks for the three of you to complete. Each one testing your morality and character. And believe me when I say that time is of the essence,”

The three of you had no choice, not when lives were at stake. You proceeded into the room the Eurus had revealed. 

First, Sherlock was made to choose between you or John to kill an innocent man. The incentive? If you did not, his wife would be killed. John protested, but Eurus reminded him that your only chance for survival was to play along. Sherlock took the gun from the hatch and thought it over briefly before handing the gun to John. His logic is that John was a soldier, he had killed before and was better equipped to handle the emotional kickback of it. John nodded in agreement as the man pleaded with him to do it. John asked him if he wanted to pray, and assured him that he was doing a truly honorable thing. 

He aimed the gun and prepared to shoot, but at the end of the day he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. So the man took the gun from him and waved it around frantically before shooting himself, hoping that would be enough, but either way he wouldn’t have to watch his wife die. You looked away and John cursed. Sherlock waited, curious about what his sister’s next move would be.

Eurus was bored by the reaction and didn’t hesitate to shoot the wife

“Why? Why’d you do that?” John demanded.

“You didn’t follow the rules. The condition of her survival was that you or Y/n had to shoot her husband. You chose to save your conscience and now the blood of two people is on your hands,” Eurus answered.

“Now then, off you go to the next room, and Sherlock collect the gun, you will need it later on” she said as one of the doors opened.

“On the table you will find a file with three pictures. One of the men murdered someone with the gun that is hanging up. Figure out who the murderer is and condemn him to his fate,” Eurus instructed. 

“Oh and to add some suspense-” she said clicking on the tv in the room that contained a video of Moriarty making ticking noises.

“Okay,” Sherlock muttered before taking in every aspect of the photos, quickly eliminating one of the three brothers.

Eurus then spoke up, “At this point I would like to add some emotional context.” She then opened the blinds to show the three brothers each chained to chairs over the side of the ocean. “You have one minute Sherlock.”

“John, tell me everything that you can about this gun,” Sherlock ordered.

John listed off facts and that was when Sherlock realized who the killer was. Everyone was relieved when Eurus revealed that he had correctly chosen. She then forced him to condemn the man to his fate. Sherlock struggled momentarily, then remembered the little girl and the plane, easing his conscience with what he had to do next. He said the words and condemned the man to his death, but instead of dropping him, Eurus proceeded to drop the two innocent men.

Sherlock protested and she responded by dropping the guilty man as well. “You see Sherlock a life does not weigh more considering guilt or innocence,”

“Fine, whatever, I played along Eurus, now let me speak to the little girl,” Sherlock requested.

“Fair enough,”

“Hello? Can you hear me?” Sherlock questioned.

“Yes, I can, you went away,”

“I’m sorry about that, can you tell me where you are?”

“I-I don’t know”

“What about the plane? Is it big or small?“

“It’s big,”

“Okay, now,  just do me a favor and look out the window. Is it day time or night time?”

“It’s nighttime,”

“What can you see? Is there land or water?”

“There’s water, with lights in the distance,”

“Very good, now are you sure that there is no one to help you? Have you really really checked?”

“Yes, everyone’s asleep,”

Before he could continue, the call clicked off, and Eurus spoke, “Okay you three off to the next one, it’s time for John and Y/n to have a turn.”  

A door opened and as the three of you walked through you saw a small table with six glasses on it and a bottle in the middle.

“What is this?” John asked.

“It’s spin the bottle with higher stakes,” Eurus replied.

“And what are the rules?” you asked.

“You and John take turns spinning from the bottle, drinking from the glasses. One of them is poisoned. Also, Sherlock is not allowed to touch any of them. If you refuse, he dies. If he intervenes you both will die,”

“So we’re basically playing roulette,” John realized.

“Yes, but we have no choice, I’ll go first,” you answered, taking a step forward and spinning the bottle. You hesitated to take the glass it landed on and downed the contents reluctantly. Sherlock and John looked at you with concern.

“I think I’m fine,” you said, smiling fakely.

John stepped up next and spun the bottle, repeating the process, and also coming out seemingly fine. 

You stepped up again, knowing that there was now a 25% chance that you would receive the poison. 

“Sherlock, I-”

“No talking, just spin the bottle,” Eurus interrupted.

But one look at Sherlock told you that he knew and that he loved you too. You spun the bottle and emptied the glass, not feeling any different.

“I’m fine,”

John spun the bottle, and downed the contents of the glass.

“I’m okay,” he spoke.

There were now only two left. You could feel Sherlock’s anxiety as you picked up the glass, a fifty fifty shot of it being the one that had been poisoned. You closed your eyes and paused for a moment before downing it. The realization that you were fine came with little relief.

John’s expression went blank when he realized what this meant. 

“That-That’s okay. We’ve had a good run. Sherlock, you were the best man I’ve ever-” he started but was cut short as he saw you reach across the table and grab the glass downing it without a second thought.

“What? Why would you do that?” he yelled.

“You have a daughter. And Eurus don’t you dare retaliate because I followed the rules, and vagueness always falls to the side of the informed,” 

“Remarkable Y/n, you’ve proven your loyalty,” Eurus said.

Sherlock came to your side and pulled you into a hug both waiting for the worse. Then he realized that for something that was ingestable and rapid-acting, you’d already be dead. 

“So, none of the drinks were poisoned? Otherwise, she’d already been dead,” he deducted

“On the contrary, dear brother mine, all of the glasses were poisoned. It’s slow-acting, and the only way to get the antidote is to finish the trials and come find me. Even then, they might not make it.” 

“Wait,” you said as Sherlock and John were already to the next door.

“We played along, let Sherlock speak to the girl on the plane,” you spoke.

“Fine, fair is fair, you have another two minutes,”

“Hello, is anyone there?” the girl asked through the phone fear even more present in her voice. You could easily tell she’d been crying.

“I’m here again,” Sherlock replied.

“Why did you leave me? Why do you always leave?”

“I don’t want to, but we haven’t got much time. I need you to go to the front of the plane-”

“Where the driver is?”

“Yes, where the driver is, very good,”

“Are you in the front of the plane?”

“I am, it’s very loud and there are a lot of buttons,”

“Do you see the radio? Like a walkie talkie? Can you hear anyone talking to you?”

“No, there I don’t see one,”

“Okay look out the window, tell me what you can see now,”

“The lights, they’re getting bigger,” she said before letting out a short scream.

“What? What happened?”

“The whole plane, it’s shaking,”

“That’s just turbulence,”

“I’m scared,” she whimpered.

“I know you are, but I’m here and I’m going to help you,” Sherlock reassured.

The call clicked off again and the three of you had no choice but to proceed to the next room. Your mind was racing with the realization of what you just did. You were going to die. Even with Sherlock being Sherlock, you couldn’t expect him to be able to save you. Not this time.

“Hey sis, don’t mean to complain, but this one is empty. What happened? Did you run out of ideas?” Sherlock asked.

“Not at all Sherlock, it’s time to pull out that gun I had you grab earlier. You have one bullet and one choice to make, John or Y/n. Only two of you proceed from here. You have to choose one or the other, lover or friend. And remember you are limited on time, between the poison and the plane in the sky” She gleamed.

“Okay, alright then. Thank you Sherlock, for everything. Make sure that the quote on my gravestone isn’t something stupid. And no flowers.” you said taking a step towards Sherlock.

“What are you doing?” John demanded.

“I’m making his choice simple. You are a doctor who saves lives, and you have a daughter. Sherlock will learn to love again, but he cannot orphan a child,” you explained voice wavering ever so slightly.

“You can’t-” John started as you turned back towards Sherlock.

“Now then, you can not blame yourself, this isn’t your fault. And no turning to drugs, a promise is still a promise whether or not I’m here to hold you to it. Just make it quick. I love you,” you said, turning your back to him trying to make it easier for him. You really hoped that he wasn’t going to make it any harder than it needed to be.

Sherlock raised the gun, he needed to think.

“Sherlock, you can’t actually be serious. You can’t do this,” John pleaded from the side.

“Jim Moriarty said you would make this choice,” Eurus said as she watched the scene unfold before her.

A single tear rolled down your cheek as you waited. Sherlock’s face changed and John watched, fearful of what was about to happen, just as Sherlock lowered the gun.

“What are you doing? They’ll both die if you don’t shoot her,” Eurus shouted.

“Not on my watch,” he muttered.

You turned around just in time to see him placing the gun under his own chin.

“No, no, Sherlock you can’t,” Eurus complained.

“10” Sherlock started,

“9”

“8”

“Sherlock,” you warned

“7”

“6”

“You don’t know about Redbeard yet,”

“5”

“Sherlock, stop it at once!” Eurus called as she sent darts into the room.

“4” Sherlock whispered, focus draining.

“3”

“2” 

But then darkness consumed him completely.

When he awoke, he was confused on where he was. His mind completely blank for a moment before allowing him to remember. He scanned his surroundings. He was in another cell, this one was much smaller and the walls were covered in pictures of him from childhood to the present. He was thinking through an escape plan when he was interrupted.

“Sherlock? Are you there?” the little girl on the plane called out.

“Yes, I’m here,” he answered.

“You said you would help me and you went away,”

“I’m sorry, I got cut off. But I’m here now,”

“Why don’t grownups tell the truth?”

“I am telling the truth, I promise, you can trust me,” he said trying to calm her.

“You were gone for such a long time, where did you go?”

“I’m honestly not quite sure. Do you know how long I was gone?”

“No, I don’t”

“Are you still in the front of the plane?” he asked

“No, it was scary.”

“Well I need you to be super brave and go back to the front of the plane,”

“I’m going,” 

“Are you there?” he asked.

He heard a gasp and then John answered, “Yes, I’m here,”

“John? Are you okay? Where are you? Is Y/n there?” Sherlock questioned.

“I’ve just woken up, but I think I’m okay, and Y/n’s with me, she’s still asleep. Where are you?”

“I’m in another cell and I’ve spoke to the girl on the plane again, she says we’ve been out for a long time,”

“She’s still up there?”

“Yeah, the plane will keep flying til it runs out of fuel. Now, tell me everything you can about where you are,”

“It’s dark, cold, the walls are rough, stone I think,” 

“What are you standing on?”

“Also stone I think, there are like 2 feet of water and chains, Sherlock my feet are chained,” he replied.

“Okay, that’s alright I’ll find you. Focus on Y/n, see if you can wake her. Also be aware that between the weight difference and the amount consumed she is going to be affected by the poison significantly sooner than you. I can’t know the specifics without knowing what it was or how much the dose was, but it’s very important that you keep her lucid for as long as possible,”

“I will,” he said moving to your side, stepping on something. “Sherlock, there is something else in here,” he added.

“What?”

“Bones,”

“What kind of bones?”

“I can’t tell, but they’re small,”

Then the realization hit him, “Redbeard…”

“Who is Redbeard?” the little girl chimned in.

“Oh, hello again, did you make it to the front of the plane?”

“Yes, but I still can’t wake the driver up,”

“That’s okay, what can you see now?”

“I can see a city and a big wheel,”

“Okay, that just means that you and I get to drive this plane together, just you and me,” Sherlock explained.

“Look again for the radio, it should be in reach of the pilot,”

“I still don’t see it,”

“That’s alright, keep looking, we have plenty of time,”

“My ears hurt,” 

“Does the city look like it is getting closer?”

“Yes, a little bit,”

“Alright, that means that you’re nearly home,” he said, beginning to feel helpless.

“Sherlock,” John spoke, “We’re in a well. Y/n and I are in the bottom of a well,”

‘There aren’t any wells in the prison, and why is there a draft?’ Sherlock thought. Then he figured it out and pushed one of the walls out to reveal that it was a trick and he was really back at his childhood home.

This is when Eurus chimed in, explaining his final task. 

Meanwhile:

“Come on Y/n, wake up,” John urged as he was checking your pulse.

“John?” you asked groggily.

“Yes, I’m right here.” he smiled, taking your hand.

“Where are we?” you asked, trying to stand.

“We’re at the bottom of the well. Now take it easy,” 

“Where’s Sherlock? Is he okay?” you asked, realizing the severity of the situation.

“He’s fine and he’s coming to help us,” John reassured.

“That’s good,” you replied lightly, feeling the exhaustion of the day taking its toll.

John noticed your shift in demeanor, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” you yawned.

“Seriously Y/n, tell me how you are really feeling,” he prompted.

“It doesn’t matter, it’s not like we can do anything about it,”

“Humor me,” John insisted.

“Well obviously I’m tired, wet, and cold. My head hurts, but everything else is kind of numb,” you replied unaware that Sherlock heard every word.

“Check her breathing and keep her talking,” Sherlock ordered lowly, before turning his focus back to Eurus. She told him to discover the truth about Redbeard, solve the puzzle, and save his friends. She then began to sing the song from their childhood.

“Eurus I went through that song, every line. Every word. There was a beach tree out on the grounds and I dug and dug and dug, and there was nothing. No one,”

“It was a clever little puzzle wasn’t it Sherlock? I think it’s time to up the stakes.”

“Sherlock!” John called out, “The….filling….water”

“John! Are you okay? You’re breaking up.” Sherlock asked to receive no response. 

The comm was failing, and you and John tried your best to move away from the water.

“Eurus, I don’t understand, what am I missing?” Sherlock pleaded.

“Hello? The plane, it’s tilting!” the little girl screamed into Sherlock’s ear.

“The bones....Y/n…..they aren’t dog….they’re human…..hear me?” John’s voice came through in pieces, but it was enough for Sherlock to figure it out.

“Finally Sherlock, it took you long enough. Dad was allergic to dogs, so no matter how much you begged we could never have one. Redbeard. Wasn’t. A. Dog.” Eurus revealed.

And then Sherlock remembered. He remembered his young friend with red hair, Victor Trevor, who he called Redbeard when they would play pirates. He remembered how he went missing. He remember searching for him and trying to reason with his sister to tell him what she did.

“You and Victor were inseparable. You always played pirates, but I wanted to play too,” Eurus recalled.

“You killed him, you killed my best friend” Sherlock realized brokenly.

“I never had a best friend, I had no one. No one to play with. And soon, you will have no one too,” she replied falling back into song.

“Okay fine, let’s play,” he said intently, dashing out of the room and towards the gravestones with the funny dates realizing that they were the key to the puzzle. He worked to complete the cipher and crack the code once and for all. He was finally going to solve his first case. 

Meanwhile:

The water was now at chest level and still rising. You were struggling more and more to maintain your grasp on consciousness. Only registering bits and peaces of what John was saying. Your mind was foggy, adrenaline being the only thing aiding it.

John came to your side, checking your pulse again, as it became harder and harder for you to focus.

‘John....Sherlock.....Eurus....The Girl.....Sherlock....The Plane...’ your mind was struggling, but then you put the pieces together.

“You-you have to tell Sherlock,” you said taking John’s arm and staring at him as if the fate of the world relied on it.

“Y/n you’re fine, you can tell him yourself when we get out of here,” John replied with a fake calmness to his tone.

“No, the plane, you have to tell him about the plane,” you urged.

“What about the plane?” John questioned.

“It’s not real, it’s all in her mind,” you explained, “Please John you have to tell him. It might save him.”

With that, you felt a rush of dizziness and sort of stumbled forward into John who had to reposition himself in order to keep you both upright.

“Okay, hang on Y/n, I’ll tell him. Just stay with me,” John promised.

“Sherlock?” he called out,

He shook the ear piece trying to get it to work. “Sherlock?” he repeated.

“John! Are you okay?” 

“Yes, but the water is getting higher and we’re running out of time, where are you?”

“I’m solving the song,”

“Is that strictly necessary?”

“Yes, it’s the key to all of this. How’s Y/n?”

“Not good, but she wanted me to tell you that the plane isn’t real,”

“What? How does she know?” Sherlock asked.

John turned to you to ask for your explanation and noticed with dismay that your eyes were closed.

“Y/n? Y/n you have to wake up!” John demanded.

Sherlock becoming overwhelmed, elected to take the comm out of his ear. He needed to think. He focused on the song and the dates and figured it out:

“I am lost. Help me, brother, Save my life. Before my doom. I am lost. Without your love. Save my soul. Seek my room.”

And without a second’s hesitation, he sprinted to Eurus’ room. As he entered the building he could hear the girl on the plane again and it made sense now, you were right.

“We’re going to crash!” she screamed.

“I think it’s time you told me your real name,” Sherlock huffed.

“I told you, I can’t tell me name to strangers,”

“But I’m not a stranger am I? I’m your brother” he said as he opened the door to Eurus’ room to find her sitting in the middle of the floor, tears running down her cheeks.

“I’m here Eurus” he said as he carefully tried to approach her.

“You’re playing with me Sherlock, we’re playing the game.” she smiled, eyes still closed.

“Yes, we are playing a game. I get it now. The song was never a set of directions,”  he spoke softly.

“I’m in the plane, I’m going to crash, but this time you’re going to save me” she said fearfully.

“Look how brilliant you are, your mind has created a perfect metaphor. You are high above us all alone in the sky and you understand everything except how to land. While I am just an idiot on the ground. But I can help you land, I can bring you home,” he said softly sitting in front of her.

“No, no you can’t it’s too late,” she cried.

“It’s not too late,” he assured her.

“Every time I close my eyes I’m on the plane and lost. Lost in the sky and no one can hear me,”

“Open your eyes,” he whispered, taking her hands, “I’m here and you’re not lost anymore”.

 As she looked at him, he saw for the first time how much of a child she still was. There was so much fear in her eyes. “You just took a wrong turn last time, this time get it right. Just tell me how to save my friends,” he pleaded. 

Meanwhile:

John tried unsuccessfully to wake you up. He was forced to support your weight completely which was becoming harder and harder to do. The water was now at the bottom of his neck and he knew that time was running out. He was starting to give up hope when the water stopped. 

“Sherlock!’” he yelled hoping that his friend was nearby. 

“John! Help is here, Scotland yard,  they’re getting rope and bolt cutters. Y/n - Is she still breathing?” Sherlock asked, fearful of the answer.

“She’s-I can’t tell. I’m holding her up and don’t want to move her,” he explained. 

“I have the antidote, Eurus gave it to me before they took her away,” Sherlock said.

Moments later multiple officers came back. The tossed down a harness for John to wrap around you so that he could move freely. As soon as your weight was supported, he checked your pulse and breathing.

“Sherlock,” he called up.

“Yes John?”

“She’s still breathing,” 

Sherlock was filled with relief. Everything after that happened quickly. The team lowered some bolt cutters down and John was able to sever the chain. They then worked together to pull you out of the well. You were immediately taken to the ambulance and Sherlock injected you with what he had calculated as the needed amount of the antidote. Due to the beginning signs of hypothermia along with the unconsciousness, the EMT’s decided that it was best to take you to the hospital. 

Sherlock debated momentarily whether to join you or to wait for John. He decided to stay and wait for his best friend.  Pulling him tightly into his arms as he exited the well. Sherlock wasted no time administering the antidote and then sat with John as another EMT gave him an on-site work up.

“She was right you know, the plane wasn’t real” Sherlock said.

“Really?” John asked as they began to walk away from it all.

“Nope, just a metaphor,”

“What happens now?”

“Now, my sister will go back to prison. My brother will make sure she is taken care of after facing the wrath of my parents. You go home and see your daughter, holding her just a little tighter than normal. I go to the hospital to see my girlfriend, and if she is okay, take her back to her apartment where we will spend the night. Tomorrow, we will all meet at Baker Street and clean up the mess from the explosion, putting our lives back together again,” Sherlock answered matter-of-factly. 

“Do you really think that it’ll be that easy?” John asked, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders as they got in a cab.

“Of course not,” Sherlock smiled and John rolled his eyes.

The rest of the car ride was comfortably silent, both of the men were replaying the events of the day in their heads, considering how close they had come to losing everything. Sherlock’s mind drifted to his sister. He wondered if this had all been avoidable, if only he had been there for her sooner. He also wondered that if his mind was capable of covering up Victor Trevor, what other truths had it spared him? But mostly, his mind focused on you, he hoped that you were okay.

As the cab stopped, John had asked Sherlock to call with an update as soon as he knew anything. As much as he wanted to go and see you himself, Sherlock was right that he really needed to spend some quality time with his daughter. On the way to the hospital, Sherlock was caught off guard as the driver’s phone rang. The cabbie picked it up spoke for a moment before handing it to Sherlock, “it’s for you,”

“Hello Brother Mine,” he said knowing that only Mycroft would have the resources to pull this off.

“Sherlock, I’m so sorry, are you okay?” he asked. 

Mycroft had been away on official government business which is why the three of you had chosen now to go see Eurus in the first place. He must have received word from one of the boys at Scotland yard what had happened.

“I’m fine, had quite the run in with our little sister,” Sherlock answered.

“I heard. Any news on Y/n yet?” he asked sincerely.

“I’ve just arrived at the hospital. I need to give the cabbie his phone back. Impressive by the way. I’ll call you soon,” Sherlock replied.

“Sherlock?” Mycroft called out.

“Hmm?”

“I truly am sorry,”

“I know”

And he did. His brother was only ever trying to do what he thought was in his best interest. Sherlock may not have entirely agreed with his methods, but never doubted that his heart was in the right place. He pulled out his wallet and generously tipped the cabbie before heading inside and asking the nurses station as to your whereabouts and condition. She informed him that she would have to check with a doctor and asked him to be seated in the waiting room.

He sat down and waited as patiently as he could muster. He wanted, no, he *needed* to see you and to hold you. The few minutes it took the nurse to return felt like an eternity to everyone’s favorite consulting detective. In that time his brain was being particularly cruel and  reminding him of all of the things that could be wrong. For instance, you could have been unconscious longer than he anticipated, he might have calculated the wrong amount of antidote, you might have neural deficits, you might- before Sherlock could continue torturing himself, the nurse reappeared. She informed him that you were awake and practically ready to be discharged, just waiting for a confirmation from the doctor. She gave him your room number and pointed him in the right direction before excusing herself to do more work.

His face lifted into a smile as he opened your door. You were already sitting on the side of the bed in some scrubs (since your clothes were soaking wet). And just as you saw Sherlock, the phone rang and you answered it, signaling for him to wait a second.

“I forgive you,” you said without missing a beat.

There was a pause as the other person spoke.

“Of course I knew it was you, Mycroft. Who else would manage to call me before Sherlock could even get into the room,”

-another pause-

“As I am sure you already know, I am fine, as are your brother and John. And I was serious, I don’t blame you and while I know it is a mue point to tell you not to blame yourself, I do feel that it it necessary to remind you that-”

-a briefer pause-

“Of course not, I-”

-pause-

“Goodnight Mycroft, try to get some sleep,” you finished before hanging up the phone and turning to Sherlock with a smile.

“Your brother is something else,” you said as you motioned for Sherlock to sit next to you.

“That he is,” Sherlock agreed, wrapping his arm around you, “how are you feeling?”

“As well as can be expected considering the circumstances,” you answered.

“That’s acceptable,” he said, pulling you in tighter.

“How are you doing?”

“Why are you asking me? I’m not the one who was poisoned and nearly drowned.”

“No, you’re just the one who had to face a secret sister, multiple deeply unsettling moral dilemmas, confront childhood trauma, watch his girlfriend and best friend almost die, twice, among other things. So I’ll ask again, how are you doing?

“As well as can be expected considering the circumstances” he said repeating your earlier answer.

“I love you,” you said wishing that you could undo the day and spare Sherlock from it entirely. You leaned back into his embrace taking in the comfort of knowing that even if you couldn’t change the past, you could be there for him moving forward.

“I love you too,” he replied, thankful that you were okay and thankful that it all was over.

The two of you continued to sit like that just quietly taking in each others’ presence. It would take twenty minutes for you to be officially discharged and another twenty to arrive at your apartment at which time you elected to shower and head to bed.

As you fell asleep in Sherlock’s arms, his mind was still trying to wind down. He sincerely hoped that you would be okay. He, you, and John had been through a lot. He knew that he would be fine, and that John was better equipped to compartmentalize his emotions after his time in the military. You, on the other hand, were a wild card. He had never been around you when you went through anything traumatizing, and had no idea how you were going to react. He promised himself that no matter what, he would be there for you. Eventually, he was able to fall asleep, his mind somewhat eased.

The next day as Sherlock predicted, the two of you would meet up with John at Baker Street to begin repairing and cleaning the flat. Mycroft had stopped by briefly to provide each out you with new cell phones and explained that he would be paying for the repairs as well as for your medical bills. He also informed that Eurus was back in a newly secured prison and he was leaving to go speak to his parents as Sherlock requested. He apologized again for everything and then left. You, John, and Sherlock bid him well and then continued to clean up. After a while, the three of you went downstairs and collected Rosie from Mrs. Hudson and go out for dinner. 

You looked between the four of you as Sherlock was explaining something brilliant and John was listening intently, looking away occasionally to make sure his daughter was doing okay. A smile found its way to your face as you realized that this was your family. No matter how bad things got, nights like these made everything worth it. This. This is why you would never elect to date anyone more ordinary, even if it would be the death of you.  

#Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock #Sherlock Holmes fanfiction #sherlock holmes series #sherlock BBC #sherlock x reader #sherlock x you #sherlock x y/n #sherlock imagine #sherlock imagines #sherlock fic #sherlock fics #sherlock holmes fic #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes imagines #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x y/n #john watson #john watson imagine

[guardmesherlock-rowan]

Zombie Apocalypse headcanon

I honestly love this!  Though if there is a zombie apocalypse I’ll be honest, you do not want me on your team.  I will most likely be among the first to go, I have my own zombie apocalypse plans which revolves around experiments. 

I wonder how the guys handle this!

Sherlock Holmes

At first there were small incidents and he would accuse Mycroft of covering it up.  But eventually the outbreak would be so severe there would be no avoiding it getting out of control.  Sherlock would learn to recognize the traits people would start to exhibit if they were infected and hiding it.  Of course he would be taken out of ground zero by his brother to hide away in a military complex.  Although Sherlock would much prefer to be on his own without his brother or the military ‘protecting’ him.  He would also rather be out there looking for John.  It would be a battle of wits of Sherlock trying to get out so he could find John, who would undoubtedly be alive.

John Watson

John would be out the door trying to help protect people.  He would shoot at the zombies, and be separated from Sherlock when he got picked up by Mycroft.  John would find a group to stay with.  With his field medical training he would be invaluable to the group, along with the little things he picked up from living with Sherlock, such as helping to recognize when someone may not be telling the group the whole truth.  However, John would become harder over time as members of the group left, joined, died.  With his PTSD getting worse.   

James Moriarty

He’s fine.  He has friends in places of power, and some that are still alive on top of that.  He was one of the first people made aware that the government couldn’t stop it this time, and he did not delay in taking precautions.  He has his own methods of getting somewhere safe, away from people, own emergency supply.  Plus he has the help he needs.

Mycroft Holmes

You would never have known if he could help it.  In a world with different experiments going at once, and so much focus on living longer it isn’t ridiculous for there to have been a few undead incidents.  However, once it goes out of control he would have teams mobilized to pick up those most important.  It would kill him if he couldn’t get to everyone on his list, it would be inevitable and he wouldn’t let it show that it bothered him, but he would remember.

Jack Stillman

He would long to be out there, on his own, an artist among monsters, who would be there to stop him from having his own fun?  The answer would be Moriarty.  Which would be the better bet in long term survival, but Jack does have his preferences.  Staying with M would mean the group would have a doctor on hand, and additional support in dealing with other survivors they come across.

Sebastian Moran

Two Words: Head shot.  He would be in charge of keeping M safe.  This man would take the most shifts as look out, sniping any zombie he saw.  The problem would be the cats.  Others would be concerned about them carrying the disease into the group.  James pulled some strings and got a military doctor to come and examine the cats to make sure they were not infected or carrying it and to help in how to plan to keep them safe.  If he would have to leave them behind, he would have to leave them behind.  Cats are resilient, he knew this.  Though he would prefer to take them with, James knows that.

Jeremy Cassel

He is on Mycroft’s list, though it is seemingly more for sentimental purposes than survival.  And while Jeremy is happy to tease Mycroft about caring, he doesn’t waste time before he figures out how to sneak out.  The Phantom Thief is now doing what he can to help protect others who are not in a position to help themselves.   Most likely he would end up going missing from where Mycroft wanted him to be, and Mycroft would accept that.  Hoping to see him when this was all over.  

Hercule Poirot

Also on Mycroft’s list, and he takes it.  Doing what he can to help find a solution to fix the problem, scolding those who let it get to this point, if they are still alive.  When they find more survivors he would be among the representatives talking with them and making sure no one was infected.

Arthur Hastings

Surprisingly also finds himself safe, though more because he was already with them when things happened.  No one would say for sure if he would’ve been on Mycroft’s list, though Hercule promises that Arthur would’ve been on his.  He helps with checking the CCTVs to spot survivors.

George Lestrade

In the first wave he jumped in, fearful, shaking, but he got to work protecting those he could, and trying to escort people away from the zombies.  He wasn’t a great shot with the gun, but he could get the job done.  Definitely threw up a time or two when he could catch a breath or when he went to check on survivors only to find the recently eaten.  He would have himself a few quiet sobs, but mostly he would give a lopsided faked confident grin to those he was trying to protect.  However, I fear he would not last long if he didn’t start checking those survivors for bite marks.

Mikah Hudson

Ideally he would be picked up with Sherlock. Ideally Mycroft would send team after team to find him.  Ideally he would’ve been at home.  However, if he was at school, he would have found a small group to be with and have barricaded themselves in.  Leaving him to rely on the skills taught to him by the grown ups in his life.  He would be a reliable member of the group, but it would not be without its own dangers.  They would steal what food they could from the cafeterias, but someone would have to be able to sneak out to get it.  

Henry Jekyll

He was one of the first to be moved to a protected spot, even before it got out of control.  They needed his research for further experiments.  It would seem no different than others times he would be hunkered down for security reasons, although it might go a little longer than he’d like.  Additionally, he would make an addition to the list of people to be on the lookout for to pick up. 

Edward Hyde

At first he thought they were messing with him.  Zombies?  Probably a prank, maybe even a prank show!  But with the first zombie he had to fight off and that thought was gone.  He would shout at the military personnel who would come for him about how they were idiots for putting people in danger with these experiments, he would check that his brother is alright.  But he would decline to come with, even to the point of running away.  He would find his own way to survive, even gain a few tag along members to his ‘not a group’ group.  

‘Irene’

What the bloody hell do you mean Zombies?!  She would be quick to get away from them and hide during the initial wave.  She considered trying to go to Moriarty for help but decided she’d rather be a zombie with a chance of biting the man than ask for a favor.  With a smile and a few soft words she would travel group to group, getting along most with Edward in his, being careful to avoid John when she heard he was also alive and somewhere out there.  

[Where is MC?]

Sherlock - Would’ve made sure you were either picked up first, or refuse to go until you were with him.

John - Once you were with him, he would always keep you within arms reach, sleeping with his arms wrapped around you, waking up often to make sure you were still okay.

James - With him of course.  Doing his best to make sure you never saw a single zombie.

Mycroft - Immediately he would come to get you with a group of soldiers, not that he didn’t trust them but more he didn’t trust them not to make a mistake and put you in danger.

Jack - With him.  Although he would make sure you were aware of what was going on, he would be teaching you what he knew just in case.

Sebastian - Also with him, but you would hardly ever see him.  Mostly you would be startled awake in the middle of the night when he would crawl into bed next to you, though he would be gone before you woke up the next day.  He had many precious people he needed to protect.

Jeremy - he would’ve left you with Mycroft.  While he would want to be out protecting people and helping he would rather you stay safe.  Though he would be happy to have the help if you followed, he would make sure you stayed with those you were helping to protect if the undead approached.

Hercule - He would make sure you were safe first, and while he helped he would ask that you stay away, just in case someone infected came in.

Arthur - He would want you safe, he would demand that he either be allowed to go get you or that you were picked up.  If they refused to go get you he would leave to find you.

George - He would bring the survivors he found back to you and do what he could to protect you all.

Mikah - If you’re brought in together because he was home, he would stay by your side, trying to take your mind off of things.  If he was away at school he would pray every night for your safety.

Henry - You are also on his list, though he would hardly ever see you making sure you were kept in a place where you could be comfortable and safe.

Edward - Offer you his place when the soldiers came, asking you to go somewhere safe.  If not, he would make sure you were protected.  Teaching you self defense whenever he had a chance.

‘Irene’ - you are her first stop.  Her first priority.  She would find you and help you hide, checking over you to make sure she wasn’t too late.  She’d do what she could to help make sure that you two were accepted into whatever group you two came across, but always insisted to keep moving, never staying with one group for too long.

#guard me sherlock #zombies #zombie apocalypse #Sherlock Holmes #John Watson #James Morairty #Mycroft Holmes #Jack Stillman #Sebastian Moran #Jeremy Cassel #Hercule Poirot #Arthur Hastings #George Lestrade #Inspector Lestrade #Mikah Hudson #Henry Jekyll #Edward Hyde #Irene #talk to me #anon

[chubbyreaderwriter]

Matchmaker

Mycroft Holmes x Chubby/Plus Size Reader

Prompt:  Could you write a one-shot where the reader is a dectective in Scotland yard, who met sherlock for the first time recently and sherlock still knowing that his brother is lonely decides that she would be a perfect fit for him and tries to set her and mycroft up... Basically I'm looking for a sherlock plays matchmaker.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: none? 

Masterlist 

“So dead man on the floor, house ransacked, what do you think?...Sherlock? Sherlock!” Said man jumped out of his trance and turned to face Lestrade who was looking at him with frustration, “Well?” Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Come on Garret, this is easy even for you, wedding ring missing from the finger, seemingly half the possessions gone, absence of any pictures. It was the wife if you couldn’t see that already. Now enough about that, who’s she?” Greg sighed and rubbed his face with his hand before looking over to where Sherlock was facing, “Detective (L/N)? What about her?” 

Sherlock said nothing, just observed you and Greg looked at John next to him. The former soldier just shrugged, “I don’t question it anymore Greg, I’m sorry.” Greg looked at Sherlock, then you, then back to Sherlock, “You like her or summit?” Sherlock hummed in approval, “Not for me.” John chuckled from how confusing his friend was being but like he said, he didn’t question it. 

Without a word of warning, Sherlock made his way over to you, “Hi, I have a proposition for you which I have no doubt you’d be interested in. I would like to have you accompany a friend of mine to an evening meal. Judging by the past few failed relationships, you don’t like being lonely, even if you know you’re not compatible. But you’ve been making more of an effort in your appearance lately which can only mean you’re looking for another relationship.” You chuckled to yourself, “And you must be Sherlock. Given what people say about you, the last thing I expected you to be doing was setting me up on a date.” 

Sherlock huffed impatiently, “Yes yes, now will you go on the date or not?” He clasped his hands together, a silent plead for you to accept. You thought it over for a few moments, could it really hurt to try it out? And you doubted someone who called themselves a detective would actively put you in danger so what was the harm? Nodding your head, “Okay fine, but you owe me.” Sherlock scoffed but shook your hand, “Deal, here’s your phone back, I’ll text you with the details.” You were shocked but mostly confused when Sherlock gave you your phone back, when did he take it from you? You weren’t really mad at him though, he had given you something to be excited about. 

It had been a while since you had any excuse to dress up for an occasion and Sherlock had just presented it to you on a silver platter. Normally, you wouldn’t agree to this kind of thing but it had been difficult to date because of your new job now, being a detective was a turn off for most men, it seemed like. 

. . .

“A what?” Sherlock rolled his eyes at his older brother, “A date, I know it’s been a while but you must remember what a date is.” Mycroft let out a sigh of frustration, “And what makes you think you can meddle with my love life like this?” Sherlock looked at Mycroft, “Oh get over yourself, you’re lonely and you know it, I’m just trying to help. Maybe then you won’t be so...you.” Mycroft glared at Sherlock, “Listen brother mine, how many times do I have to tell you that I am not lonely. I do not need you to be playing matchmaker for me, if I wanted to be in a relationship, I could easily go out and find myself one.” 

Sherlock accidentally snorted from holding back a laugh, “You really think so?” At the sight of his brother’s anger, Sherlock calmed down, “Just go on the date, you’ll thank me later, she’s lovely.” Mycroft gritted his teeth, “Who is ‘she’?” Sherlock texted his brother a picture of you that he had taken from your Facebook profile, “Her name is (Y/N) (L/N) and she works with Graham.” Mycroft frowned, “Who is Graham?” Sherlock looked down at his phone as he started flicking through twitter, “Oh you know Graham, Scotland Yard, grey hair, could stand to lose a few pounds.” Mycroft leaned back in his chair, “You mean Greg Lestrade.” Sherlock nodded, “That’s what I said.” 

Sherlock turned and left his brother’s office, but Mycroft shouted after him, “Where am I supposed to be going?!” He didn’t hear a response but his phone vibrated to show a text from Sherlock with the time and address. He sighed as he rubbed his face with his hand, why did he have a feeling he was going to regret this? Mycroft was tempted to just refuse to go on the date to annoy his brother but as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he was lonely and a little companionship might be nice for once. Spending each night alone in his large, empty house was getting rather tiring over time. 

. . . 

You had been told to dress ‘fancy’ so you had worn your best dress in your closet, a long sleeved, off the shoulder light pink knee length dress that flattered your body by making your waist seem smaller to give you more of an hourglass shape. You had your hair styled just how you liked it and you had decided to wear heels for this date because you didn’t want to risk seeming under-dressed and you didn’t have any flats that would match the dress. You had a small clutch that had your purse, some makeup and perfume in, as well as your keys. 

You had taken a taxi to the address Sherlock had given and you were not surprised to see a very fancy restaurant, one that looked more intimidating than anything else. You weren’t sure what to do but luckily as you were stood staring at the building, you heard someone clear their throat next to you. You turned to see a man dressed in a suit and had an umbrella with them? It hadn’t been raining but you decided not to question it. You smiled at them, “Hello,” 

Mycroft had been a little taken aback when he saw you, you almost seemed too good to be true. He was never someone who had much preference for looks, but you were just so beautiful. He could tell by the look on your face that you had never been here before and were nervous, symptoms of a blind date he presumed. He walked over to you and cleared his throat to get your attention and when you smiled at him, he almost forgot what to say, you had such a captivating smile. When you started to look weary of him, he realised he actually had to say something to you, “My apologies, I don’t suppose you’re here because of Sherlock?” Your shoulders dropped slightly in relief, “Yes I am, are you my date for this evening?” 

Mycroft nodded in agreement and held out his arm for you to take. While the date wasn’t his idea, he was still going to be a gentleman. Your nerves started again when you walked inside the building, it was all so elegant and posh and you felt really out of place in here. You bit your bottom lip as you looked around, half listening to your date talk to the hostess. It was then that you realised you didn’t know his name yet. When the two of you were taken to a table, you cleared your throat, “I’m (Y/N) by the way, it’s nice to meet you,” Mycroft hummed, “Likewise, I’m Mycroft.” Your eyes widened a little, “Mycroft? That’s an unusual name isn’t it? I like it though.” 

Mycroft studied over you, trying to pick up on all the deductions he could about you but he seemed to have a little trouble concentrating and everything was a bit of a blur. You leaned forward a little, “So how do you know Sherlock?” Mycroft straightened in his seat, “He’s my little brother?” Mycroft could see the amusement in your face, “Really? What’s it like having a genius for a brother?” Mycroft scoffed, “I wouldn’t say he’s a genius, I’ve always considered myself the smartest between us.” You could help but chuckle a little to yourself and when you saw Mycroft’s confused and partially offended expression, you explained yourself, “If you were really that smart, you would’ve noticed that I’d rather have this date anywhere but here. I’m not made for fine dining.” 

Normally, this would have annoyed Mycroft, not being able to see something as obvious as this. But you intrigued him so he was more focused on learning more about you. He waited until there was the least amount of people watching and then grabbed your hand, leading you outside of the restaurant, “Where do you propose we go now?” You turned to him and looked at him with a curious expression, “You want to go watch a movie together?” Mycroft hummed, “It depends on the types of movies you prefer.” You smiled, “I like old movies.” “Hm, then I believe I have something to show you.” And that was how you found yourself being driven to Mycroft’s house.

It was weird that you didn’t feel uncomfortable around him, you didn’t feel scared of him or felt any bad vibes from him. He was surprised to feel oddly at ease with you as well, he felt like he could tell you anything despite having known each other for a very limited time. When you arrived at Mycroft’s house, you were taken back by the size of it, “My god, are you some kind of secret billionaire? Where do you work?” You giggled to yourself as you looked around the walls and ceilings, taking it all in. Mycroft had disappeared into the kitchen for a small while but could hear you talking as he came back with wine and two glasses, “I work for the British government.” 

You stopped in your awe, “Are you serious? That’s pretty cool.” Mycroft felt a sudden burst of pride at how easily you were impressed with him. He smirked to himself, “I suppose so, may I ask you a question?” You gladly took the glass of wine from his hand and took a drink, “Go ahead,” “What were your first impressions of me?” You walked closer to Mycroft, “Well, I thought you looked a little fancy and uptight and I still do, but you looked like a man who was lonely in my opinion. Very cute though.” You winked at him over the rim of your glass as you took another drink and Mycroft for once, didn’t have anything to say. 

You smiled at him, “Go on then, what did you think of me?” Mycroft cleared his throat and looked down at his own glass of wine, “I thought you looked beautiful, a little intimidated but someone who wasn’t afraid.” You blushed from his words and the two of you were lost in a moment between the two of you just looking into each other’s eyes. You hadn’t realised the two of you started to get closer until he was almost touching you. You cleared your throat, “So what was it you wanted to show me?” 

It was like the two of you were pulled out of a trance as Mycroft blinked and moved back one step to create some distance between the two of you. He walked down the corridor to lead you into his ‘theater room’ which looked like a small cinema in your opinion. You were in total awe of this man and his house, it was so big and fancy you were almost scared. Mycroft had you sit in a seat next to him when your eyes caught the projector, “I haven’t seen one of those in absolutely ages, my parents used to have one when I was a kid.” Mycroft smiled briefly at you as he set it up, your attention being directed in front of you when the light flashed on, illuminating the dark room. 

You had been excited to watch the movie and you had to stop yourself from laughing when you saw Mycroft mouthing the words along with the actors out of the corner of your eye. You were having such a good time, you almost didn’t want it to end. It was halfway through the movie that ,Mycroft put his hand up on the chair arm and didn’t realise your hand was already there until he felt it underneath his own. He was a little embarrassed about it and wasn’t sure what to do, should he keep it there? Should he take it away? Just as he was about to pull his hand away, he felt your fingers slowly wrap around his own, holding his hand. Mycroft felt his heart beat rising as he in turn held your hand and you smiled to yourself, only half focusing on the movie now. 

It was disappointing when the projector stopped as the movie was over, that meant you had to let go of Mycroft’s hand while he got up to turn off the device. You stood up and stretched, the chair had been comfy but it was awkward to sit in the same position for a long time. You smiled at Mycroft after you checked your phone to see the time, “It’s getting late, I suppose I should head home.” Mycroft was unable to hide his disappointment in your words, but it was going to happen sooner or later. He was surprised to see how close he felt with you after knowing you for so little time. 

Mycroft called his driver to take you home, wanting to ensure that you got home safely. “Are you sure? I can just get a cab, it’s not too much trouble.” “Please, I insist on it,” You had begrudgingly accepted his offer and the two of you waited at his front door until the car pulled up. You turned to face Mycroft, “I had a wonderful time you know.” Mycroft nodded, “As did I,” You opened your mouth to say something the same time as Mycroft and you lightly chuckled, “Oh sorry, you first,” “No, please, I’d hate to interrupt.” You bit your lip before you asked, “Would you perhaps like to do this again sometime?” Mycroft had been hoping that’s what you were going to say, “It would be my pleasure.” 

You blushed a little and looked at him for a moment before standing up on the tips of your toes to kiss him on the cheek, he was a lot taller than you. Quickly, you turned around and walked over to get into the car, not looking at him until you were inside so he couldn’t see you through the tinted windows. You relaxed against the leather seats, letting out a deep breath. Your head had just touched the back of the seat when your phone buzzed. Curious to see who was texting you, you pulled it out of your clutch and read the notification on the lock screen. It simply read, “Had a nice date? - SH” You shook your head but grinned at the message before turning your phone off again, putting it back in your bag. What a weird day. 

#sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlock x chubby reader #sherlock x plus size reader #Mycroft holmes #Mycroft x reader #Mycroft x chubby reader #Mycroft x plus size reader #chubby reader #x chubby reader #plus size reader #x plus size reader

[oneblueumbrella]

Thirty-minute Thursday

Howdy folks, in the interest of making sure I write on a regular basis, I’m starting Thirty-minute Thursday. The idea literally pulled me out of bed last night so I could scribble it down.

Basically: I grabbed a plot bunny, set my timer, and wrote for thirty minutes. I did one single pass edit, mostly for typos, and now I’m sending it out to you.

I hope to continue this each week, both to stretch my writing muscles and ease back into the tumblr-verse.

FORTUNE

PROMPT:  "A beautiful, smart, and loving person will be coming into your life," the fortune cookie says to Greg. Greg laughs in the Chinese restaurant. He doesn't believe in those things... Two minutes later, Greg bumps into Mycroft Holmes…

Greg rolled his eyes, re-reading the words. Outwardly, he was pretty sure he looked as sceptical as anyone would, reading such a fortune. Nobody would know how much those words had hit home. If he was a believer in karma, or fate or whatever, it might spark hope. Instead, Greg knew both karma and fate were human constructs, designed to make some people feel better about themselves, or less responsible for their lives or something.

If karma was real, he had no idea what he’d done to deserve Karen. Clearly he’d pissed off someone, because even now she affected his life. He wouldn’t be standing in this dodgy Chinese, the last place still open near work on a Thursday night, closer to midnight than he’d care to admit. Overtime wouldn’t matter this much; he’d be able to afford some decent food, and without all the hours at work, he could cook it for himself.

But she took so much when she left – literally and figuratively – so he was the guy who took on plenty of overtime when it was available. Greg was pretty sure people thought he was a workaholic, or maybe just a boring lonely old guy. That was closer to the truth than he cared for. A broke, lonely old guy was more like it. He was only boring because there was no time for anything interesting anymore. A quiet pint sometimes, and the football if he was lucky, but otherwise, life had not ended up where he thought it would.

If only karma was real. Greg reckoned he’d done some good in his life, tried to help people, let little old ladies go ahead of him at the checkout. Sure, there were some stupid decisions when he was younger, but nobody was hurt by a teenage boy scribbling on a wall somewhere, or wearing truly terrible clothing, or listening to awful music. He’d be due something good by now, by his reckoning.

Smoothing the paper out, Greg read it again.

A beautiful, smart, and loving person will be coming into your life.

He’d thought all those things applied to Karen, when they met; now he knew better. Knew to look past the superficial to find beauty, past loud statements to find quiet intelligence. Had seen it in people he was too afraid to approach.

Right now, when he thought of beautiful and smart and loving, one figure rose in his mind, and nobody in the world would be able to guess who it was. He’d learned to read the quiet mannerisms, to see the subdued reactions to the world surrounding that astonishing man. More than Sherlock, Greg appreciated the understated gestures of love Mycroft Holmes showed his brother. The two of them were the most undemonstrative people Greg had ever met, and he often wondered what their childhood had been like, to produce adults so different and yet so similar. He’d never had the courage to ask either man.

“Here you go!” the cheery man behind the counter said, passing Greg his order.

“Thanks,” he said, cradling the thin bag. It was hot, but he made it out the door before he had to shuffle it to the other hand.

As he did, the fortune cookie paper slid from his grasp, and Greg automatically ducked to grab it. Something crashed into his head, or he crashed into it, and with disconcerting suddenness he was sitting on the ground, blinking, his head pounding and stars dancing across his vision.

“Shit,” he said finally, more out of shock than anything else. What the hell did he hit his head on? There was nothing in the middle of the footpath, surely?

“Are you hurt?”

The voice was familiar, and Greg froze. Surely not. Not here, at such a late hour. Not after the fortune cookie.

“I’m fine,” Greg said, scrambling up. “Hi, Mycroft.”

“Gregory,” came the response, along with a suppressed smile. “I apologise, I was reaching down to pick up your…”

“Fortune,” Greg said with a self-conscious smile.

“Ah,” Mycroft replied. “An important prediction, if you are so intent on keeping it?”

“Maybe,” Greg said with a smile. He closed his fist around the paper. “Right now I’m more interested in this, though.” He raised the bag containing his dinner.

“You have not yet eaten?” Mycroft asked, his eyebrows raised.

“It was a late one,” Greg agreed.

Mycroft hesitated. “Might I offer you a lift home?” he asked.

“Sure,” Greg said. He ignored the irrational beating of his heart at this. Mycroft had given him a lift before, and it was hardly the start of anything significant.

“I have often wondered,” Mycroft said when they were settled in his car, “why it is you take on quite so much overtime.”

The direct question made Greg blink. “I beg your pardon?” he asked blankly.

“I apologise,” Mycroft said. “Last time we spoke, you encouraged me to ask a question when I hesitated. I understood it was acceptable to do so.”

“Yeah,” Greg agreed. “I did. Sorry. Just tired.”

“Yes,” Mycroft replied. “Hence my question. I apologise if it is too personal.”

“Not at all,” Greg replied. He sighed. This was the point he could laugh it off, change the subject; Mycroft would certainly take his lead. But he was tired, and it was a legitimate question, and if he was being honest with himself, it would be nice to talk to someone that wasn’t taking his order – either at work or in the dodgy Chinese.

“I have to,” he said finally. At Mycroft’s raised eyebrow, he added, “My ex-wife cleaned me out. Pension’s only a few years off but it’s not enough to stay in London, so I’m trying to save as much as I can until then.”

Mycroft stared at him. “I see,” he replied finally.

Greg shrugged. “It’s alright,” he said. “My clearance rate’s pretty high with all the extra hours. Might even get a promotion before I retire. That’d make the pension a bit better.”

“Gregory,” Mycroft said, “Please allow me to offer you an assurance.” He drew a deep breath. “Should you ever lack for a place to live in London, I will gladly accommodate you. I have access to a number-”

“No, Mycroft,” Greg interrupted, feeling himself flush. “I mean, thanks, but it’s fine.”

“It is not,” Mycroft replied with a heat that surprised Greg. “To be left in such a situation is far from fine, and if I am in a position to rectify it, I would wish to do so.”

Greg stared for long enough that Mycroft eventually looked away. It was fairly dark, but Greg would bet money Mycroft was flushing.

“Why?” he asked. “Why would you offer that to someone?”

“Not to someone,” Mycroft corrected him. “To you.”

“Me?” Greg asked.

“Yes,” Mycroft replied simply, and to Greg’s astonishment his usually reserved face showed a range of emotion Greg was not even sure Mycroft even felt.

Holy shit.

“Oh,” Greg replied. He glanced out the window, blinking. “We’re at my place.”

Mycroft nodded. Greg’s heart pounded as he said, “Can I offer you a drink?”

“A drink?” Mycroft repeated.

“Or not,” Greg said. “A fortune, maybe.” He handed over the paper. “I think I’ve already got mine.”

Mycroft read the tiny words, his mouth dropping open at the implied meaning. When he looked back up at Greg, it was with a question clear in his eyes.

Greg nodded, heart in his mouth.

Mycroft returned the nod, swallowing hard as he followed Greg from the car.

+++

Five months later, the fortune sat framed in the entrance to a small, comfortable flat in central London, close to Westminster and Scotland Yard.

Five years after that, it adorned the bedside table of a cottage in a very tiny village an hour from central London, in which two very happy men had agreed to retire.

#mystrade #thirtyminutethursday #iamwriting

[katsura018]

Little fanfic idea? draft? For SherLiam *cough* borrowing ideas from great pretender, acca, and kuroshitsuji *cough*

1. The underground auction (SherLiam already together) (1/2)

William is eager to see the opening of a museum as he is interested in a particular painting he saw through the newspaper and pamphlet. Since everyone seemed busy around the house and others were out being enslaved by Mycroft on different missions, as Moran complained before, William decides to sneak out like how he would when he was kid. He wore working class clothes and felt nostalgic just walking around the city. 

He also, thought of inviting Sherlock. He arrives at the entrance of 221B Baker Street, only to see the door open. Lestrade is shoved out and Sherlock is heard screaming “I don’t care about such a boring case! In the first place, I don’t care of some stupid paintings or art or whatever!” Watson adding a “That’s so mean! Just because you’re frustrated doesn’t mean you should shove us out like this!” Watson follows Lestrade outside to help the old man. “Then you do it.” Sherlock says coldly and shuts the door.

“You know it’s impossible for meee!” Watson argues. Lestrade and Watson both sigh like their souls came out instead of just breaths.

So he’s not interested in paintings… maybe I should just go alone then. William thinks to himself.

“Hm?” Lestrade stares. “Eh? What is it, Lestrade?” Watson notices he was looking somewhere.

“Ah..” Watson sees William

“AAAh!!! -MOR-“ Lestrade tries to scream in excitement but gets his mouth gets quickly covered by Watson. “SSSSSSSHHHH! Sherlock might hear you!” I’m annoyed with Sherlock right now, so I’m not about to just let him be happy to see William! Watson quickly thinks.

“EMhmm?” – Lestrade.

“Ah, Moriarty-san, why are you here, and what’s with the clothes?” Watson notices the museum pamphlet in William’s hands.

“Ah, this is, I was going to invite Sherlock, but it sounded like he wasn’t interested.” William confesses.

No, regardless if he’s interested or not I bet he’ll go anywhere with you. Watson thinks. BUT, earlier was too much so…

“Moriarty-san, this must be fate working. please help us out!” Lestrade joins.

It’s revealed that the main painting had went missing in the museum that William wanted to go to and that the museum can’t start the opening without the painting. Lestrade explains all the info he knows to William on their way on the carriage.

-

Back at 221B, Sherlock is on his way out the door to go visit William, he was already frustrated with the deadly guard dog always In the way whenever he tried to visit William, so adding that very boring and stupid case from Lestrade was like an icing in the cake. He needed to recharge with William’s healing existence. He passes Ms. Hudson only to hear that she saw Lestrade, Watson, and William riding away on a carriage.

-

The museum had a rather long line of people and carriages outside, it was near opening. Lestrade and the others are given permission to enter immediately. After the museum manager introduces himself with frustration in his face and panic, William observers the people and the manager. With the info from Lestrade however, he had already solved it and does agree that for Sherlock, it was a stupid and boring case. William explains that, the painting was only misplaced due to a little error in the painting names and how the advertisement in the paper and the pamphlet were inconsistent and that the true painting was already displayed somewhere else with another name, basically something like when you miss to answer a number on your test and got the order wrong, failing the test.

The staff panic but thanks to William, it was quickly resolved when he points to where the real painting was. He also speculates that there was a missing painting, but it was also misplaced in a not so popular part of the museum, so no one really cared about it and was only concerned by the main painting.

As thanks, the manager lets William and the others roam around the museum in advance compared to the people still waiting outside. After a while of William explaining the wonders of the different paintings to Lestrade and Watson in a rather uncharacteristically excited manner, to which the two both found cute and interesting had no mind listening too.

A guard comes up to Lestrade saying someone was looking for him and was demanding entrance.

It was Sherlock, knowing they had William with them. Watson and William were busy looking around to hear.

Lestrade: No, sorry, I don’t know anyone with that name.

Guard: Eh? What? But isn’t that the famous detective! He even appears in papers with you?

Lestrade: Nope, never heard of him.

Lestrade denies he knew anyone liked that, despite the guard’s confusion of already knowing Sherlock as a famous detective.

Another guard let’s Sherlock in, as a fan. Sherlock gets in and meets them with a menacing smile, directed to Watson and Lestrade. They hide behind the smiling William, who only noticed that Sherlock had arrived after the two gently shoved him to Sherlock and mentioned wanting to go the Museum café. The two makes their escape and Sherlock is left alone with William and a museum guide.

Sherlock first questions the clothes and how William got there, he sulks on how William gave up inviting him to the museum after that, stating anywhere would be fun if they were together. William smiles to Sherlock, observed by the guide.

William, changes his attention to the guide and asked the farthest route to the painting that he was most interested in. On their way, William talks about the different paintings and statues they pass, having a little game of guess what kind of painting this is or what is the message the artist trying to pass through their creation or what kind of painter had created the paintings. William was knowledgeable enough about some painters and asked the right questions to make and keep Sherlock interested and intrigued. They were holding hands the entire time and Sherlock would sometimes hug William from behind while they observed and nearly dissected a painting with their eyes.

They finally arrive to the painting William was interested in; its placing was weird like it was being hidden. Sherlock stating that people wouldn’t normally be there unless they got lost. William starts talking about the painting adding in questions to Sherlock to get his point of view. The painting was a person in a dress, eyes unseen, only a small smile, Sherlock points out that it was a man. William starts talking about the painter and how he was dedicated to this particular model, how most of the works centered around him.

William lets go of Sherlock’s hand and moves closer to the painting, Sherlock takes out a cigarette and steps back. Their position was, William near the painting, Sherlock a few steps behind William’s left side and the guide directly behind William, also only a few steps away.

The guide quickly steps forward and aims to grab William’s right arm, his vision from William quickly changes however, to the Museum floor. Sherlock had faked the cigarette break and was able to grab the guide’s arm and throw him down. The guide tries to struggle free but was unable to move. Sherlock and William questions ‘her’. They had realized from the beginning.

The guide explains how she was first repulsed by their flirty behavior. She turns quickly to Sherlock and confesses that she wants him to take a request. It was to look for a missing person, the person in the painting. Sherlock is annoyed at the selfish request after being called disgusting, but with William’s smile, Sherlock agrees to take the request.

They meet up with Lestrade and Watson in the café, Shelock first introduces the client to Lestrade and Watson, he instructs them to note all the information the client had then leads William to another table. He touches William’s face, asking again how William walked all the way to 221B and at what time did he sneak out. He orders a full meal for William with water and a coffee for himself.

After getting the information from the client, the client leaves and goes back to work while Lestrade says he’ll start asking around as well for any reports. Watson, William, and Sherlock head back to 221B.

-to be continued.

#Sherliam #Yuumori #yuukoku no moriarty